Somewhere between waking up to peaceful lagoon views; swimming in a warm, empty sea before breakfast; and feasting on spicy pumpkin stew at lunch, I started to wonder: Why isn’t this place swarmed with tourists?

View of lagoon from bungalow, Tribewanted, John Obey beach

I could guess the answer—this was Sierra Leone, the tiny corner of West Africa best known for an ugly slavery history, a decade-long civil war (1991-2002), and the violent thriller Blood Diamond—but it still didn’t make sense. As I surveyed pristine John Obey beach, where Scott and I stayed our first few nights at eco-tourism venture Tribewanted, the word “paradise” easily sprung to mind.

John Obey beach, Tribewanted

Note to the National Tourist Board: If you’d like to make a good first impression on all future visitors to Sierra Leone, send them directly to Tribewanted. Created by Brit Ben Keene and Italian Filippo Bozotti in 2010, after Keene founded the concept on a Fijian island in 2006, the Sierra Leonean initiative takes the community-based tourism model—in which the community, a fishing village in this case, has a stake and sees real benefits—makes it sustainable (using solar power, organic gardens, compost toilets, bucket showers, local building materials, etc.) and throws in a cross-cultural twist: Why not have visitors and villagers live together, and learn from one another? Visitors have the option of volunteering any skill they have, or not: The founders also took care to select a village situated on a vacation-ready strip of spectacular coastline, backed by jungly hills.

Bucket shower, Tribewanted

 

Communal kitchen, Tribewanted

Our six days at Tribewanted, then, were filled with swimming and playing with the village boys, reading in hammocks and chatting around the communal kitchen table, hiking forests and endless stretches of vacant beach. We studied the local cuisine, of course, visiting the chaotic local market, foraging for edible fruits, and cooking with the kitchen staff (recipe to come!), and were helped immensely by the fact that Tribewanted serves Sierra Leonean dishes every day for lunch—spicy, hearty food that always includes a generous heap of tasty, locally harvested country rice. Each night after copious amounts of local seafood and poyo (palm wine), we found our cozy bungalow via headlamp, fell asleep to a chorus of frog calls and the crashing of waves, and awoke to birdsong and, well, the crashing of waves.

Waterloo market, Freetown Peninsula

Groundnut soup with country rice, Tribewanted

Our swimming buddy, Osman

It was idyllic. We could have left, quite satisfied, after a few days at Tribewanted, but we itched to see more of the country. Armed with a 4x4, a driver, and guide/fixer named Sergeant Bull, we drove to dusty inland cities Kenema and Bo—and through their diamond-mine-pockmarked surrounds—to soak up their distinctly relaxed energy, staying in rundown, generator-powered hotels and going out dancing and drinking at night. We ensconced ourselves back in nature, under a tent on stunning Tiwai Island—a tropical wildlife sanctuary and solar-powered community conservation program in the tranquil Moa River—where we hiked amid primates between local meals meticulously prepared by the resourceful village chef. We haggled for blankets and gawked at the overcrowded streets and elegantly dilapidated colonial architecture in Freetown, the mountain-backed capital city so named for the liberated slaves brought to settle there in 1787.

Bo Town, where the streets are lined with diamond shops

Tropical Tiwai Island

Sierra Leone, it turns out, is an exceedingly rewarding place to visit, full of discovery and unexpected charm. But while we met countless inspiring people living and/or working there—a freelance tour guide turned community activist, a U.S.-educated lawyer working to untangle her country’s judicial system, Australians building orphanages, Brits running a kids’ football academy—travelers were scarce. In fact, in our 12 days we encountered just five others who were there for the sake of travel, and only one of them came from outside Africa. What gives?

Roadside food vendor, Kenema

There are a few obvious explanations. It’s expensive, between the airfare, visa, yellow-fever vaccination (a requirement), and sky-high gas prices. There are lingering notions of Sierra Leone being unsafe or unstable (it’s neither). There’s not much infrastructure for tourism, nor regulation of things like cutting down trees (unfortunately, there’s startlingly little forest left to protect). And for a country on the bottom rung of the U.N. Human Development Index, with a life expectancy just shy of 48 years, there are plenty more pressing challenges in the way. Boku, as the Krio- English-speaking Sierra Leoneans would say.

Freetown's King Jimmy Market

But for the adventurous and outdoors-loving traveler, Sierra Leone should most definitely be on the radar, as should those smart, forward-thinking tourism initiatives we came across—Tribewanted, Tiwai Island, the handful of other community-based ventures we saw along the Freetown Peninsula. They make the most of the country’s natural beauty and cultural heritage while taking measures to protect them. They employ and educate the local population and see that they benefit from sharing their land with visitors. Even as mass-market hotels and big beach resorts break ground nearby, these small ventures inspired us to rethink what travel in developing countries should look like—and gave us hope that sustainable, community-based tourism just might be where Sierra Leone is headed. 

Hiking near River No. 2 beach, Freetown Peninsula

Editor’s Note: This is the first of a series of posts on Sierra Leone. Stay tuned for more, including detailed coverage of 15-plus traditional Sierra Leonean dishes. We'll leave you for now with the giddy farewell we received from some kids when we stopped to change a flat tire on the Bo-Kenema road (it seems we interrupted their dance party). Go ahead and watch: We dare you not to smile.

One of many temples to dibi, or grilled meat, in Dakar, this dibiterie boasts a cult-like status in the capital: It’s said to be musician Youssou N’dour’s favorite, dispensing inexpensive, expertly prepared food at all hours in suitably questionable hygienic conditions. After hearing the place reverentially spoken about by more than one trusted expat, we knew we had to find it.

Problem is, nobody had any clue where it was. Armed with limited directions— “somewhere near the Sandaga bus station”—and even more limited French, we wandered the dusky streets around the area marché, or market, where hours earlier we’d elbowed our way through crowds of sellers. Now it was quiet, empty but for some passersby and a handful of peanut vendors. We asked five different people if they knew a dibi place nearby, trying different variations of “dibi?” “Youssou N’dour dibi?” and “dibi Haoussa?” (the last one referencing the Hausa people of Niger, indicating also the type of dibi found here—Nigerien style, not Senegalese).

After 15 minutes of walking in circles, we found a man who showed some recognition, and even spoke a little English. He led us through an unmarked, completely nondescript doorway into a dim, sweltering room with a few grill stations, a dirt floor, and blue, smoke-stained walls. Eyes still adjusting to the smoky dark, we were ushered to a wooden bench and pointed to the meat on the smoldering grill before us. Moments later we were presented with some tiny pieces of meat (mutton, we guessed) threaded skewer-like onto delicate sticks, the meat coated in a spicy, powdery cornmeal-esque mixture. Noticing our hesitation, the grill man brusquely showed us one way to eat it: wrapped in mayo-spread bread with freshly grilled onions and mustard.

It was absolutely delicious, a flavorful sandwich enhanced by its rugged, shadowy surrounds. Just don’t ask us how to get there.

Street food: In the advent of the recent food-truck revolution, it’s been given a romantic connotation. But street food to us has always meant those dirt-cheap, true-blue local joints that you find while wandering a new city, the kind of places that make you immediately envious of the patrons and skeptical of the grub—a healthy suspicion that your gut instinct will either embrace or ignore. It might be termed the five stages of street food:

1. “Look at all the people chowing down on this corner! They are clearly enjoying that food.”
2. “Damn, does it smell good right here!”
3. “I wonder if this will make me sick.”
4. “Eh, it’ll be fine: big crowd, no flies, everything’s freshly cooked. I see plastic glov—oh, maybe not. Well, there’s a washbasin, at least.”   
5. [mouth full] “Pass the hot sauce?”

At Eat Your World, we know we have a lot more street food to cover—and we look forward to one day eating our way through the great street eats of Morocco and Taiwan, Turkey and South Korea, and documenting them on these pages. This list is clearly not meant to be a “best of the world.” (To date us just a bit, the last time we traveled throughout Southeast Asia, we both had film cameras, and it did not even occur to us to use a precious shot or two on Bangkok’s or Ho Chi Minh City’s street food.) But while we have street food on the mind, we’d like to highlight a few of our favorites that we’ve encountered while traveling for this website. Some embody the down-and-dirty type described above, some are more refined, but all were sold and eaten outside, on the street or in a market.

Torta de Tamal, Oaxaca

We loved many street foods across Mexico, but this simple torta de tamal—a tamal Oaxaqueño, with chicken and mole negro sauce, sandwiched inside a soft, slightly hollowed-out bolillo roll—surprised us with a level of deliciousness we did not expect from a carb-on-carb concoction. The woman selling them outside our guesthouse in Oaxaca quickly became a part of our morning routine. (Read more.)

Dahi bhalla, Delhi

Delhi’s a gem for street food, and this chaat, from a perpetually crowded counter in the heart of Old Delhi, is one of the most popular in town—particularly on a sultry day, when the cooling, creamy dahi (yogurt) beautifully balances the hot curries you’re undoubtedly also consuming. Smothered unseen by the yogurt is a peppery bhalla (bready fried lentil fritter); on top are pomegranate seeds, chewy raisins, and sweet tamarind chutney. Like many chaats, this is a perfect amalgam of sweet, tangy, creamy, and spicy. (Read more.)

Halal chicken/lamb over rice, NYC

You either love or hate New York’s omnipresent “street meat.” At the good stands, we are firmly in the former camp, finding its aroma irresistible and its simple mix of seasoned meat, fluffy rice, fiery red sauce, and cooling white sauce seriously satisfying…especially at 2am. (Read more.)

Poffertjes, Amsterdam

These fresh, pillowy mini pancakes stole the show for us at Amsterdam’s Saturday farmers market in the Noordermarkt: hot and doughy vessels for lots of powdered sugar and butter. What’s not to love? (Read more.)

Elk & buffalo brats, Denver

A former repo man and biker is now Denver’s resident tubed-meat genius, grilling up “gourmet game dogs” on the street (and now in a restaurant too). Served with a healthy schmear of cream cheese, the elk jalapeño-cheddar brat and the Southwest-style buffalo brat were both excellent—juicy and spicy, with a crazy-addictive creaminess thanks to the cheese—and the meat is locally sourced.
(Read more.)

Arepa con queso, Cartagena

The most classic Colombian street food, the arepa is a hot, savory disk of corn and white cheese, slathered with butter. ’Nuff said. (Read more.)

Toasted cheese sandwich, London

The humble cheese toastie, what some of us would call grilled cheese, gets elevated by top-notch ingredients—shredded Montgomery’s cheddar, chopped leeks/onions/garlic, Poilâne-baked sourdough bread—in London’s outdoor markets. The crunchy, gooey, nutty result is comfort food at its artisanal best. (Read more.)

Local scallop sandwich, Victoria, B.C.

From a refurbished shipping container on the harbor came this incredible “burger”: three local Qualicum Bay scallops with aioli, tartar, and lemon-pickled onions, topped with a tempura pickle. The fresh taste of the sea mingled with crunchy, creamy tang. Heaven. (Read more.)

Your turn: What's your favorite street food? (If you have a picture of it, show us!) And where MUST we go next for the best street eats?

I remember the days of always having one camera, two lenses, and a flash with me on my travels. That’s all changed with the iPhone. Last October I (finally) bought one, and happily tossed my old Samsung that could hardly connect to the internet into my ATC (antiquated technology drawer). I quickly fell in love with the portability and playfulness of my new phone’s 8-megapixel camera and actually became stressed about traveling with it. Would I still use my Canon 5D? Would I learn to rotate? Would I have to take pictures of everything with two cameras?

My first trip dealing with this dilemma came a month later, when Eat Your World headed to Amsterdam with some friends. My immediate observation was that I took way more photos than is usual for me. I documented everything with the iPhone, moments for which I would never have used my Canon: at the airport, on the plane, our first night out. I had a ball and spent every free moment uploading the pictures to my Instagram app, choosing an appropriate filter. I was consumed. I was obsessed. Our second day it rained, and my bulky Canon never even made it out of the bag. With ease the iPhone captured countless memories in bars, restaurants, inside our rented apartment.

Day three saw sunshine, and I finally remembered the fine piece of equipment I had ignored for 48 hours. With my 5D, I strolled the canals of Jordaan, framing photos and enjoying every click of the camera. I zoomed in and out, knowing I’d have some nice big files to work with when I got home. Every so often I’d pull the iPhone out of my pocket for a quickie. I’d found my happy medium: Each camera will have its place in my future—at least until the iPhone can take 50-megabyte photos.

Reviewing our food map en route to the airport (iPhone)

Sunny day in the Jordaan (5D)

Colorful bikes by the canal (5D)

Laura & friends at the Seven Bridges (iPhone)

Any other photographers out there have this dilemma?

It was 1997 the last time I was on the Charles Bridge in Prague. I was a college student backpacking through Europe, and this moment of Dixieland jazz in the heart of Europe, pictured above, hit me strongly. I wasn't much of a photographer back then, but this is one of the few photos during that trip that actually told a good story and made me proud. When I started shooting professionally, I took the photo out, scanned it, and had the smudged, fingerprinted, black-and-white 4x6 sitting on my desk for years. When we started a Prague section on this site, I knew I wanted it to be a header.

Fast forward to October of this year: I'm back on the Charles Bridge. The same Dixieland jazz band was rocking, as the rain that had settled over the city finally let up. I took some more photos and enjoyed the beats, as I did when I was 21. When we got home we took a look at the two photos and realized the banjo player was the same—a bit older, but showing the same energy and love for his music, 14 years later. To think of how many times this man has been photographed playing these same songs amazes me. His smile tells the whole story.

Also, check out the video!