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Tourism & Remote WorkJune 28, 2024

How the Faroe Islands Turned a Voluntourism Project Into a Dream Vacation

Photo credit: Emily Madinsky. Retrieved from afar.com The Faroe Islands famously has [more sheep than people](https://www.afar.com/magazine/how-a-herd-of-sheep-put-the-faroe-islands-on-the-map). But in 2023, approximately 130,000 foreign tourists visited the remote Nordic archipelago of 18 volcanic islands located halfway between Iceland and Scotland, outnumbering the roughly 54,000 full-time Faroese. So it’s no surprise that the self-governing region of the Kingdom of Denmark is more concerned about the growing population of tourists than sheep. Like [Venice](https://www.afar.com/magazine/venice-to-implement-tourist-entry-fee-in-2024-what-to-know) and [Amsterdam](https://www.afar.com/magazine/amsterdam-will-have-the-highest-tourism-tax-starting-next-year) before it, the Faroe Islands will begin charging tourist taxes in October 2025 that will be used to finance a Nature Preservation Fund for the maintenance of hiking paths as well as other local tourism initiatives and nature protection schemes. But unlike other destinations, the Faroese government has taken another, more unorthodox approach to preventing overtourism by immersing visitors in the maintenance of the islands’ fragile natural environment and creation of a more sustainable infrastructure. Each spring, the [Closed for Maintenance, Open for Voluntourism](https://www.afar.com/magazine/the-faroe-islands-will-close-for-a-weekend-to-all-but-100-volunteers-and-you) program shuts down some of the country’s most popular sites for a few days. In exchange for free room and board, several dozen international volunteers are invited to participate in various infrastructure projects across the islands, including constructing pathways to preserve the islands’ natural beauty as well as installing wayfinding signs on trails and roads to keep both visitors and locals safe.

Tourism & Remote WorkMay 10, 2024

A slow journey through the waterways and islands of southern Vietnam

Photograph by Ulf Svane. Retrieved from nationalgeographic.com The river has eyes. Flashes of blood red and pearly white peer through curtains of coconut palms along the riverbank. Others push through the flotsam and jetsam of the Mekong, breaking up congregations of swollen-stalked water hyacinths and coconut husks borne along by the torpid current. Legend has it that this mighty waterway is ruled by river monsters, but these fiery eyes are painted onto boats — big ones laid low with mountains of coconuts, little ones ferrying fishing traps and fruit farmers cradling jackfruits and durians. “It’s a tradition of the area to decorate boats like this,” says my guide Jerry Le, baseball cap in hand, his American-inflected drawl lifted onto the breeze that follows in the wake of a large cargo ship passing our open-sided sampan boat. “We believe the eyes are a window to the soul, so by painting the eyes on, they’re giving the boats a soul. Then the boats help protect their owners — especially at night.” Known locally as the Nine Dragon River, the Mekong has so many limbs that it’s easy to get lost in its anatomy. It writhes for 2,700 miles from China through Myanmar, Laos, Thailand and Cambodia until eventually erupting in Vietnam at its widest point, where I’m sailing its delta for three days. From Ho Chi Minh City, we’d driven two hours south west to a tiny jungle dock at Mo Cay near the point where the river drains into the South China Sea. The plan is to head deeper west into its tributaries to reach the Mekong city of Can Tho. In Ben Tre province, where my boat has launched, coconuts are at the heart of life for entire communities. We motor past women hunched in their riverside front yards, husking their harvests with machetes. Open-sided barns are piled high with coconuts ready for processing.