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Noah

Advertising and Services: The Pork Knuckle Suits Up

In 2009 I started The Flying Pork Knuckle to share some of the strange and quirky things I've experienced while living abroad. Most of these stories were written under duress or threat of punishment. My lovely wife has high expectations for me -- as she should. Since moving abroad in 2008, we've been to over 2o countries throughout Europe and Asia. Entertaining, witty and consistently sensible, here's what readers are saying about Noah Pelletier's writing: 

"Brilliant choreography, yanked my head around and around...I was heart-sick and furious." -- Mary Sojourner, NPR commentator and author

 "I was keeping track of my favorite lines ... but somewhere around the wet market I said f*** it, they're all good. Great stuff." -- Hal Amen, Editor, Matador Network

"This piece hits so hard -- and without any suggestion of a heavy hand. Awesome!" -- Jason, reader

A Word on Style

My writing style appeals to The Independent Traveler, someone searching for the ‘unique’ or ‘transformative’ experience. As a person who derives his online sense of identity through travel, I prefer "contemporary vagabond," a term like-minded travelers will identify with. A variety within, rather than outside, mass tourism, the contemporary vagabond is an informed consumer who appreciates transparency, both in what they read and advertising. In a world where 'reality' is prized yet hardly ever experienced, my readers have 'been there, done that' and, as a result, have a fine-tuned bullshit detector. 

The FPK Difference 

What separates The Flying Pork Knuckle from other blogs is that it goes beyond travel itineraries and photos, striving to capture the essence of something – the back alley graffiti, a struggling street artist, the local’s pub – one stumbles across during the journey. Rather than including photos of people and places, I’ve created illustrations to further communicate (exaggerate) my connection to the places I've been.

Advertise With Us

• For an exciting list of options and ad prices click here 
• I am a regular contributor to Matador Network, the world's largest independent travel community, and my stories are often discussed by readers. 

Rules or Some Such

Every place has its rules, whether you’re in America or elsewhere. Break the rules, and the penalties can vary. Fines. Judgmental stares from others. Maybe you don't even know you are living by a set of rules. “I live by my own rules,” you say. Wrong. You are a textbook nonconformist. Take a hike.

An Example:
I’m from The Crystal Coast, North Carolina, and we like our barbeque. It's got to be made with spicy vinegar. That's the rule. But see what happens when you go to South Carolina and try the barbecue. They like it with mustard. Maybe you don’t like it. Heaven forbid--maybe you do. What next? The rule says you move the family to South Carolina. Change your facebook status to “Barbecue Treason.” So long. Enjoy the fireworks. Don’t forget to send your mother a birthday card.

As you may know I am Caucasian. On time I asked an African-American woman how she was doing and she says “I’m blessed.” I made the mistake of interpreting this as a competition, and proceeded to seethe in anger."I'm blessed too, damnit!" Her answer had a strange affect on me. I'd never heard it before. Maybe this particular woman grew up saying this her whole life.Imagine that.
    My new rule is to think twice before jumping into a blind rage. Now I'm blessed, too.
 

• I live in Dusseldorf. I play by German rules, without full knowledge of societal rules. But I'm learning. Here are some mental notes:

When you go out to eat with a German, they tend to keep both hands above the table. Keep one hand below the table, and they will be suspicious as to what you are doing with that hand.

Don’t look around like a stargazer when you’re walking down the sidewalk. People have made a point of knocking me with their shoulder, as if to say “stay focused, pinhead. The answers are not in the stone garlands and naked nymphs peering down at you from the buildings.”

If you’re an old man, wear brown shoes and walk with your hands behind your back. If you’re an old lady, buy a dog that looks like you, then dye your hair to match.

• I used to live in China. I don’t know if I lived by their rules or not. As a white man, people stared at me. Basically my very existence was a spectacle. That's an exaggeration. Here is another.

Don't set the place on fire. Don't urinate on it to put it out. Fine. But who visited this scenic spot that made the sign necessary? Never mind. I know these people. Maybe this list started with 3, and gradually grew to 7. The problem, I believe, is that these restrictions are too specific. 

I'm going to put a sign on my bathroom door. These rules have not been violated. They are purely for my entertainment. Here's what it will say:

Three seems to be enough, although I could narrow this down to one:

Be respectful to the surroundings and try real hard to keep your pants on in public.

If you've ever wondered...

"how does a journalist remain fair and balanced?"

...then my new story in Matador Network is probably too hip for you.

read it here: Notes on Trying to be Famous

"I’d dream of performing to sold-out crowds. Because I was what music moguls called a “specialty singer,” my plan was to start small, singing backup for artists like Björk or Meredith Monk until being discovered."

Duck Hunting in America

If you haven't read it already, hurry over to Matador Sports and check out my latest story  

How to Shoot a Duck : ...Finding the juxtaposition between shotguns, camouflage, Larry the Cable Guy, and history....

"I didn’t notice the kick of the gun so much as the water rise up around him. When it settled, the duck was half submerged, floating like a ruined toupee."


     Thank you for reading, and big ups to David Miller for another fantastic layout...

NEW!! Published in Matador Network

 This is my new story published in Matador Nights. 

    You can read it right here How to Feed Your Lover in Spain

Big ups to David Miller for another great editing job, and thank you, dear reader, for the great comments.

Notes From My Travel Diary: Going Topless

On a summer afternoon in Düsseldorf, I went to the park and sat beside a willow tree with a steak sandwich and bottle of beer. An emerald lawn, a crushed brick walkway, hedges like walls -- no ultimate Frisbee tournaments happening here. After finishing my sandwich, I wanted to get some sun but was concerned about taking my shirt off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after two years, it’s that Germans take their park-going very seriously.

There were an awful lot of stuffy pant / jacket combos and stern expressions. I could understand it if we were in a cemetery or locked in a conference room together, but this was a park. Who were these people? One woman was wearing black polyester pants and a quilted Chinese jacket. It looked like the sort of outfit Lady Mao might have worn while she typed up “The Little Red Book.” Which was worse -- enduring the critical stares from (mostly senior) passers-by or the shame of living with a farmer’s tan?

   
Fortunately the man sitting on a bench by the fountain made this decision easier. He was tanning, shirtless, but his belly spilled over his shorts in a way that made him look both naked and pregnant. A kinky tableau. As with most unfair comparisons, he made me feel better, not just about taking off my shirt, but basically about my existence. The sun felt good, and after taking off my shirt I decided to hike up my pants legs to my knees. But why stop there? Rest the beer bottle on your stomach, I thought. It’ll feel good.
   
And it did. Throw in a kitty pool, and you’d have a scene straight out the trailer park.

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