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Why Do Some People Always Get Lost?

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Thursday, April 18, 2024

Like many of the researchers who study how people find their way from place to place, David Uttal is a poor navigator. “When I was 13 years old, I got lost on a Boy Scout hike, and I was lost for two and a half days,” recalls the Northwestern University cognitive scientist. And he’s still bad at finding his way around. The world is full of people like Uttal—and their opposites, the folks who always seem to know exactly where they are and how to get where they want to go. Scientists sometimes measure navigational ability by asking someone to point toward an out-of-sight location—or, more challenging, to imagine they are someplace else and point in the direction of a third location—and it’s immediately obvious that some people are better at it than others. “People are never perfect, but they can be as accurate as single-digit degrees off, which is incredibly accurate,” says Nora Newcombe, a cognitive psychologist at Temple University who was a co-author of a look at how navigational ability develops in the 2022 Annual Review of Developmental Psychology. But others, when asked to indicate the target’s direction, seem to point at random. “They have literally no idea where it is.” While it’s easy to show that people differ in navigational ability, it has proved much harder for scientists to explain why. There’s new excitement brewing in the navigation research world, though. By leveraging technologies such as virtual reality and GPS tracking, scientists have been able to watch hundreds, sometimes even millions, of people trying to find their way through complex spaces, and to measure how well they do. Though there’s still much to learn, the research suggests that to some extent, navigation skills are shaped by upbringing. Nurturing navigation skills The importance of a person’s environment is underscored by a recent look at the role of genetics in navigation. In 2020, Margherita Malanchini, a developmental psychologist at Queen Mary University of London, and her colleagues compared the performance of more than 2,600 identical and nonidentical twins as they navigated through a virtual environment, to test whether navigational ability runs in families. It does, they found—but only modestly. Instead, the biggest contributor to people’s performance was what geneticists call “nonshared environmental factors”—that is, the unique experiences each person accumulates as their life unfolds. Good navigators, it appears, are mostly made, not born. A remarkable, large-scale experiment led by Hugo Spiers, a cognitive neuroscientist at University College London, gave researchers a glimpse at how experience and other cultural factors might influence wayfinding skills. Spiers and his colleagues, in collaboration with the telecom company T-Mobile, developed a game for cellphones and tablets, “Sea Hero Quest,” in which players navigate by boat through a virtual environment to locate a series of checkpoints. The game app asked participants to provide basic demographic data, and nearly four million worldwide did so. (The app is no longer accepting new participants except by invitation of researchers.) Through the app, the researchers were able to measure wayfinding ability by the total distance each player traveled to reach all the checkpoints. After completing some levels of the game, players also had to shoot a flare back toward their point of origin—a dead-reckoning test analogous to the pointing-to-out-of-sight-locations task. Then Spiers and his colleagues could compare players’ performance to the demographic data. Several cultural factors were associated with wayfinding skills, they found. People from Nordic countries tended to be slightly better navigators, perhaps because the sport of orienteering, which combines cross-country running and navigation, is popular in those countries. Country folk did better, on average, than people from cities. And among city-dwellers, those from cities with more chaotic street networks such as those in the older parts of European cities did better than those from cities like Chicago, where the streets form a regular grid, perhaps because residents of grid cities don’t need to build such complex mental maps. Orienteering—a sport that combines cross-country running with map-based navigation—is popular in Nordic countries. This may be one reason why people from those countries tend to be better navigators than people from elsewhere. Border Liners Orienteering Club / Flickr Results like these suggest that an individual’s life experience may be one of the biggest determinants of how well they navigate. Indeed, experience may even underlie one of the most consistent findings—and clichés—in navigation: that men tend to perform better than women. Turns out this gender gap is more a question of culture and experience than of innate ability. Nordic countries, for example, where gender equality is greatest, show almost no gender difference in navigation. In contrast, men far outperform women in places where women face cultural restrictions on exploring their environment on their own, such as Middle Eastern countries. This cultural aspect, and the importance of experience, are also supported by studies of the Tsimane, a traditional Indigenous community in the Bolivian Amazon. Anthropologist Helen Elizabeth Davis of Arizona State University and her colleagues put GPS trackers on 305 Tsimane adults to measure their daily movements over a three-day period, and they found no difference in the distance moved by men and women. Men and women also were equally adept at pointing to out-of-sight locations, they reported in Topics in Cognitive Science. Even children performed extremely well at this navigation task—a result, Davis thinks, of growing up in a culture that encourages children to range widely and explore the forest. Most cultures aren’t like the Tsimane, though, and women and girls tend to be more cautious about exploring, for good reasons of personal safety. Not only do they gather less experience at navigating, but nervousness about security or getting lost also has a direct effect on navigation. “Anxiety gets in the way of good navigation, so if you’re worried about your personal safety, you’re a poor navigator,” says Newcombe. The Santa Barbara Sense of Direction Scale is widely used in navigation research. Studies suggest that people are fairly accurate at evaluating their own sense of direction. Hegarty et al. / Intelligence 2002 / Knowable Magazine Personality, too, appears to play a role in developing navigational ability. “To get good at navigating, you have to be willing to explore,” says Uttal. “Some people do not enjoy the experience of wandering, and others enjoy it very much.” Indeed, people who enjoy outdoor activities, such as hiking and biking, tend to have a better sense of direction, notes Mary Hegarty, a cognitive psychologist at the University of California, Santa Barbara. So do people who play a lot of video games, many of which involve exploring virtual spaces. To Uttal, this accumulating evidence suggests that inclination and early experience nudge some people toward activities that involve navigation, while those who are temperamentally less inclined to explore, who have less opportunity to wander or who have an initial bad experience may be less likely to engage in activities that require exploration. It all snowballs from there, Uttal speculates. “I think a combination of personality and ability pushes you in certain directions. It’s a developmental cascade.” Mental mappers That cascade presumably influences acquisition of the specific skills that are hallmarks of good navigators. These include the ability to estimate how far you’ve traveled, to read and remember maps (both printed and mental), to learn routes based on a sequence of landmarks and to understand where points are relative to one another. Much of the research, though, has focused on two specific subskills: route-following by using landmarks—for example, turn left at the gas station, then go three blocks and turn right just past the red house—and what’s often termed “survey knowledge,” the ability to build and consult a mental map of a place. Of the two, route following is by far the easier task, and most people do pretty well at it once they’ve taken a route a few times, says Dan Montello, a geographer and psychologist also at the University of California, Santa Barbara. In a classic experiment from almost two decades ago, Montello’s student Toru Ishikawa drove 24 volunteers, once a week for ten weeks, on two twisting routes in a tony residential area of Santa Barbara that they’d never visited before. Later, almost every person could accurately state the order of landmarks along each route and roughly estimate the distance travelled between them. But they varied widely in their ability to identify shortcuts between the two routes, point to landmarks not visible from where they stood, or sketch a map of the routes. Those who couldn’t identify shortcuts or find landmarks may suffer from an inability to create accurate mental maps, the researchers think. Research by Newcombe and her then graduate student Steven Weisberg underscores the importance of such mental maps in navigation. They asked 294 volunteers to use a mouse and computer screen to navigate along two routes through a virtual town. Once the volunteers had learned the routes and the landmarks they contained, the researchers asked them to stand at one landmark and point to others on both routes. People fell into three classes, the researchers reported in 2018 in Current Directions in Psychological Science. Some people had formed a good mental map: They could point accurately to landmarks on both the same and different routes. Others had good route knowledge but struggled to create an integrated map: They were good at pointing within a route but poor between routes. A third group was poor at all the pointing tasks. That ability to build and refer to a mental map—a person’s survey knowledge—goes a long way toward explaining why they’re better navigators, Montello says. “When the only skill you have is the ability to think in terms of routes, you can’t be creative to get around barriers.” Survey knowledge gives the ability to navigate creatively, he says. “That’s a pretty stunning difference.” Not surprisingly, better navigators may also be better at switching modes and choosing the most appropriate navigational strategy for the situation they find themselves in, says cognitive neuroscientist Weisberg, now at the University of Florida. This could mean using landmarks when they are obvious and mental maps when more sophisticated calculations are needed. “I’ve moved toward thinking that our better navigators are also using a lot of alternate strategies,” Weisberg says. “And they’re doing so in a much more flexible way that affords different kinds of navigation, so that when they find themselves in a new situation, they’re better able to find their way.” For example, when Weisberg moves around Gainesville, where he lives now, he keeps track of north, because that works well in a city with a regular street grid; when he goes home to the winding streets of Philadelphia, he relies more on other cues to stay oriented. Researchers do not yet know whether every bad navigator is simply poor at survey knowledge, or whether some of the lost might be failing at other navigational subskills instead, such as remembering landmarks or estimating distance traveled. Either way, what can poor navigators do to improve? That’s still an open question. “We all have our pet theories,” says Elizabeth Chrastil, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of California, Irvine, “but they haven’t reached the level of testing yet.” Pros and cons of GPS Simply practicing seems like it should work—and, indeed, it does in lab experiments. “We can improve people’s navigational abilities in virtual environments,” says Arne Ekstrom, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of Arizona. It takes about two weeks to show fairly dramatic gains—but it’s not yet clear whether people are really becoming better navigators or just getting better at finding their way through the particular virtual environments used in the experiments. Support for the notion that people might improve with practice also comes from studies of what happens when people stop using their navigation skills. In a 2020 study published in Scientific Reports, for example, neuroscientists Louisa Dahmani and Véronique Bohbot of McGill University in Montreal recruited 50 young adults and questioned them about their lifetime experience of driving with GPS. Then they tested the volunteers in a virtual world that required them to navigate without GPS. The heaviest GPS users did worse, they found. A follow-up with 13 of the volunteers three years later revealed that those who had used GPS the most during the intervening period experienced greater declines in their ability to navigate without GPS, strongly suggesting that GPS reliance causes diminished skills, rather than poor skills leading to greater GPS use. Experts also suggest that struggling navigators like Uttal could try paying closer attention to compass directions or prominent landmarks as a way to integrate their movements into a mental map. For Weisberg, the only way he learns spaces in an integrated way is by paying attention to major cardinal directions or prominent landmarks like the ocean. “The more attention I pay, the better I can link things to the map in my head.” He recommends that struggling navigators ask themselves which way is north ten times a day, referring to a map if necessary. This, he suggests, could help them move beyond mere route knowledge. There’s another option for those who don’t really care about improving their skills as long as they just don’t get lost, Weisberg notes: Just make sure your GPS is handy.Knowable Magazine is an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews. Get the latest Science stories in your inbox.

Research suggests that experience may matter more than innate ability when it comes to a sense of direction

Like many of the researchers who study how people find their way from place to place, David Uttal is a poor navigator. “When I was 13 years old, I got lost on a Boy Scout hike, and I was lost for two and a half days,” recalls the Northwestern University cognitive scientist. And he’s still bad at finding his way around.

The world is full of people like Uttal—and their opposites, the folks who always seem to know exactly where they are and how to get where they want to go. Scientists sometimes measure navigational ability by asking someone to point toward an out-of-sight location—or, more challenging, to imagine they are someplace else and point in the direction of a third location—and it’s immediately obvious that some people are better at it than others.

“People are never perfect, but they can be as accurate as single-digit degrees off, which is incredibly accurate,” says Nora Newcombe, a cognitive psychologist at Temple University who was a co-author of a look at how navigational ability develops in the 2022 Annual Review of Developmental Psychology. But others, when asked to indicate the target’s direction, seem to point at random. “They have literally no idea where it is.”

While it’s easy to show that people differ in navigational ability, it has proved much harder for scientists to explain why. There’s new excitement brewing in the navigation research world, though. By leveraging technologies such as virtual reality and GPS tracking, scientists have been able to watch hundreds, sometimes even millions, of people trying to find their way through complex spaces, and to measure how well they do. Though there’s still much to learn, the research suggests that to some extent, navigation skills are shaped by upbringing.

Nurturing navigation skills

The importance of a person’s environment is underscored by a recent look at the role of genetics in navigation. In 2020, Margherita Malanchini, a developmental psychologist at Queen Mary University of London, and her colleagues compared the performance of more than 2,600 identical and nonidentical twins as they navigated through a virtual environment, to test whether navigational ability runs in families. It does, they found—but only modestly. Instead, the biggest contributor to people’s performance was what geneticists call “nonshared environmental factors”—that is, the unique experiences each person accumulates as their life unfolds. Good navigators, it appears, are mostly made, not born.

A remarkable, large-scale experiment led by Hugo Spiers, a cognitive neuroscientist at University College London, gave researchers a glimpse at how experience and other cultural factors might influence wayfinding skills. Spiers and his colleagues, in collaboration with the telecom company T-Mobile, developed a game for cellphones and tablets, “Sea Hero Quest,” in which players navigate by boat through a virtual environment to locate a series of checkpoints. The game app asked participants to provide basic demographic data, and nearly four million worldwide did so. (The app is no longer accepting new participants except by invitation of researchers.)

Through the app, the researchers were able to measure wayfinding ability by the total distance each player traveled to reach all the checkpoints. After completing some levels of the game, players also had to shoot a flare back toward their point of origin—a dead-reckoning test analogous to the pointing-to-out-of-sight-locations task. Then Spiers and his colleagues could compare players’ performance to the demographic data.

Several cultural factors were associated with wayfinding skills, they found. People from Nordic countries tended to be slightly better navigators, perhaps because the sport of orienteering, which combines cross-country running and navigation, is popular in those countries. Country folk did better, on average, than people from cities. And among city-dwellers, those from cities with more chaotic street networks such as those in the older parts of European cities did better than those from cities like Chicago, where the streets form a regular grid, perhaps because residents of grid cities don’t need to build such complex mental maps.

Orienteering
Orienteering—a sport that combines cross-country running with map-based navigation—is popular in Nordic countries. This may be one reason why people from those countries tend to be better navigators than people from elsewhere. Border Liners Orienteering Club / Flickr

Results like these suggest that an individual’s life experience may be one of the biggest determinants of how well they navigate. Indeed, experience may even underlie one of the most consistent findings—and clichés—in navigation: that men tend to perform better than women. Turns out this gender gap is more a question of culture and experience than of innate ability.

Nordic countries, for example, where gender equality is greatest, show almost no gender difference in navigation. In contrast, men far outperform women in places where women face cultural restrictions on exploring their environment on their own, such as Middle Eastern countries.

This cultural aspect, and the importance of experience, are also supported by studies of the Tsimane, a traditional Indigenous community in the Bolivian Amazon. Anthropologist Helen Elizabeth Davis of Arizona State University and her colleagues put GPS trackers on 305 Tsimane adults to measure their daily movements over a three-day period, and they found no difference in the distance moved by men and women. Men and women also were equally adept at pointing to out-of-sight locations, they reported in Topics in Cognitive Science. Even children performed extremely well at this navigation task—a result, Davis thinks, of growing up in a culture that encourages children to range widely and explore the forest.

Most cultures aren’t like the Tsimane, though, and women and girls tend to be more cautious about exploring, for good reasons of personal safety. Not only do they gather less experience at navigating, but nervousness about security or getting lost also has a direct effect on navigation. “Anxiety gets in the way of good navigation, so if you’re worried about your personal safety, you’re a poor navigator,” says Newcombe.

Sense of Direction Quiz
The Santa Barbara Sense of Direction Scale is widely used in navigation research. Studies suggest that people are fairly accurate at evaluating their own sense of direction. Hegarty et al. / Intelligence 2002 / Knowable Magazine

Personality, too, appears to play a role in developing navigational ability. “To get good at navigating, you have to be willing to explore,” says Uttal. “Some people do not enjoy the experience of wandering, and others enjoy it very much.”

Indeed, people who enjoy outdoor activities, such as hiking and biking, tend to have a better sense of direction, notes Mary Hegarty, a cognitive psychologist at the University of California, Santa Barbara. So do people who play a lot of video games, many of which involve exploring virtual spaces.

To Uttal, this accumulating evidence suggests that inclination and early experience nudge some people toward activities that involve navigation, while those who are temperamentally less inclined to explore, who have less opportunity to wander or who have an initial bad experience may be less likely to engage in activities that require exploration. It all snowballs from there, Uttal speculates. “I think a combination of personality and ability pushes you in certain directions. It’s a developmental cascade.”

Mental mappers

That cascade presumably influences acquisition of the specific skills that are hallmarks of good navigators. These include the ability to estimate how far you’ve traveled, to read and remember maps (both printed and mental), to learn routes based on a sequence of landmarks and to understand where points are relative to one another.

Much of the research, though, has focused on two specific subskills: route-following by using landmarks—for example, turn left at the gas station, then go three blocks and turn right just past the red house—and what’s often termed “survey knowledge,” the ability to build and consult a mental map of a place.

Of the two, route following is by far the easier task, and most people do pretty well at it once they’ve taken a route a few times, says Dan Montello, a geographer and psychologist also at the University of California, Santa Barbara. In a classic experiment from almost two decades ago, Montello’s student Toru Ishikawa drove 24 volunteers, once a week for ten weeks, on two twisting routes in a tony residential area of Santa Barbara that they’d never visited before.

Later, almost every person could accurately state the order of landmarks along each route and roughly estimate the distance travelled between them. But they varied widely in their ability to identify shortcuts between the two routes, point to landmarks not visible from where they stood, or sketch a map of the routes. Those who couldn’t identify shortcuts or find landmarks may suffer from an inability to create accurate mental maps, the researchers think.

Research by Newcombe and her then graduate student Steven Weisberg underscores the importance of such mental maps in navigation. They asked 294 volunteers to use a mouse and computer screen to navigate along two routes through a virtual town. Once the volunteers had learned the routes and the landmarks they contained, the researchers asked them to stand at one landmark and point to others on both routes.

People fell into three classes, the researchers reported in 2018 in Current Directions in Psychological Science. Some people had formed a good mental map: They could point accurately to landmarks on both the same and different routes. Others had good route knowledge but struggled to create an integrated map: They were good at pointing within a route but poor between routes. A third group was poor at all the pointing tasks.

That ability to build and refer to a mental map—a person’s survey knowledge—goes a long way toward explaining why they’re better navigators, Montello says. “When the only skill you have is the ability to think in terms of routes, you can’t be creative to get around barriers.” Survey knowledge gives the ability to navigate creatively, he says. “That’s a pretty stunning difference.”

Not surprisingly, better navigators may also be better at switching modes and choosing the most appropriate navigational strategy for the situation they find themselves in, says cognitive neuroscientist Weisberg, now at the University of Florida. This could mean using landmarks when they are obvious and mental maps when more sophisticated calculations are needed.

“I’ve moved toward thinking that our better navigators are also using a lot of alternate strategies,” Weisberg says. “And they’re doing so in a much more flexible way that affords different kinds of navigation, so that when they find themselves in a new situation, they’re better able to find their way.”

For example, when Weisberg moves around Gainesville, where he lives now, he keeps track of north, because that works well in a city with a regular street grid; when he goes home to the winding streets of Philadelphia, he relies more on other cues to stay oriented.

Researchers do not yet know whether every bad navigator is simply poor at survey knowledge, or whether some of the lost might be failing at other navigational subskills instead, such as remembering landmarks or estimating distance traveled. Either way, what can poor navigators do to improve? That’s still an open question. “We all have our pet theories,” says Elizabeth Chrastil, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of California, Irvine, “but they haven’t reached the level of testing yet.”

Pros and cons of GPS

Simply practicing seems like it should work—and, indeed, it does in lab experiments. “We can improve people’s navigational abilities in virtual environments,” says Arne Ekstrom, a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of Arizona. It takes about two weeks to show fairly dramatic gains—but it’s not yet clear whether people are really becoming better navigators or just getting better at finding their way through the particular virtual environments used in the experiments.

Support for the notion that people might improve with practice also comes from studies of what happens when people stop using their navigation skills. In a 2020 study published in Scientific Reports, for example, neuroscientists Louisa Dahmani and Véronique Bohbot of McGill University in Montreal recruited 50 young adults and questioned them about their lifetime experience of driving with GPS. Then they tested the volunteers in a virtual world that required them to navigate without GPS. The heaviest GPS users did worse, they found.

A follow-up with 13 of the volunteers three years later revealed that those who had used GPS the most during the intervening period experienced greater declines in their ability to navigate without GPS, strongly suggesting that GPS reliance causes diminished skills, rather than poor skills leading to greater GPS use.

Experts also suggest that struggling navigators like Uttal could try paying closer attention to compass directions or prominent landmarks as a way to integrate their movements into a mental map. For Weisberg, the only way he learns spaces in an integrated way is by paying attention to major cardinal directions or prominent landmarks like the ocean. “The more attention I pay, the better I can link things to the map in my head.” He recommends that struggling navigators ask themselves which way is north ten times a day, referring to a map if necessary. This, he suggests, could help them move beyond mere route knowledge.

There’s another option for those who don’t really care about improving their skills as long as they just don’t get lost, Weisberg notes: Just make sure your GPS is handy.

Knowable

Knowable Magazine is an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

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How Italy got its citizens — and me — to adopt a rigorous recycling scheme

Italy has become a global leader in recycling, in part by relying on households to do a lot of the work.

Of all the sources of culture shock I might have anticipated after my partner and I bought a home in 2022 in northern Italy, trash collection never crossed my mind. I didn’t know going in that Italy had become the top overall recycling country in the EU and one of the best for household-level recycling — in part by relying on those households to do a lot of the work. I quickly got my crash course. In short: In our town, Lesa, we have to sort trash into six categories: “wet” (compost), plastic, glass, paper, metal, and “dry” (aka everything that isn’t recyclable, which isn’t much). Like our neighbors, we keep six bins in our kitchen, one for each category, and our kitchen is in fact designed around this need. (There’s yet a seventh “green” bin for yard waste, but that generally goes in the shed.) One type gets picked up every day except Sunday, meaning we have to put some form of trash out nearly every night. Some categories go in government-issued bags, while “wet” must be in biodegradable bags, glass goes in an unlined bin, and paper goes into designated reusable open bags. The household bin arrangement: Most of the receptacles fit neatly into drawers and cabinets, with the exception of the paper bin. Sarah Stodola It was a lot to learn. But once I got the hang of it, the recycling and trash sorting efforts stopped feeling like an inconvenience and became something like second nature. I’d go so far as to say it felt satisfying to contribute in this way on a daily basis. Thirty years ago, Italian households mostly took out the trash in one go. Since then, nearly all residents of Italy have at some point reprogrammed their habits, just as I had to. This behavior shift, along with investment in domestic waste-processing infrastructure, has been integral to Italy’s recycling success. Getting residents on board Italy’s transformation into a recycling powerhouse began in 1997 with the Ronchi Decree, a law that created a compulsory minimum recycling rate of 35 percent, placed the responsibility for achieving it on municipalities, and empowered them to manage both the logistics and financing of the subsequent efforts. The law came about after a waste-management crisis in the region around Milan brought the issue of trash processing to the forefront of Italian politics. Most municipalities today set their own local waste collection tax rates (known as the TARI), while recently a few have moved to a “pay-as-you-throw system,” with fees based on the amount of waste a household generates. The Ronchi Decree also placed responsibility for trash sorting at the household level — as opposed to a single-stream approach, where waste gets sorted at facilities — with measures to get residents on board built into the legislation. Marco Ricci, a circular economy expert in Italy who worked with the national government on the legislation’s rollout, points to several factors that helped shift individual behavior, including a new door-to-door collection system and, in most localities, giving residents the necessary bins and bags free of charge. Still, people needed convincing, with concerns about both costs and the program’s effect on their time and their kitchens. “The resistance was approached in a very simple and effective way: a lot of local meetings,” Ricci said. He spent a few years going from town to town, working with mayors and other experts to explain the new scheme to residents. This federally coordinated outreach campaign ultimately reached about 50 percent of the Italian population, he said. Regional implementation, rather than relying on a national system, was key. “It was fundamental,” Ricci said. “Italians are really closely linked to their community, and we made use of this community feeling.” Because small communities were easier to communicate with directly, rural areas ended up adopting the new system more quickly than the big cities. In addition, both local politicians and residents proved more willing to learn from others and hold neighbors accountable. As a result, a domino effect swept the less populated areas of Italy: Once people saw their neighbors using the new bins, they wanted their own, and once mayors saw neighboring towns finding success in recycling, they wanted in on it, too. Fines for improper waste disposal were part of the equation, but equally important were softer incentives, such as the policy of providing residents a set allotment of bags for nonrecyclable trash, which is only picked up if it’s in those bags. If someone were to use up her allotment too quickly by including too many recyclable items, she’d be out of luck until the next allotment. This is all the motivation most residents need to sort their trash properly. In 2006, additional legislation mandated raising Italy’s minimum recycling rate to 65 percent of all household waste, a requirement that went into effect in 2012 — years before the EU set the same standard in 2018. By then, Italy was well ahead of the game. Individual change, collectivized I met Maria Grazia Todesco while doing some volunteer translating for a local museum. She has lived in Italy her whole life and currently resides in Solcio, a town neighboring mine. Since she’s experienced Italian trash collection both before and after the changes of recent decades, I was curious to get her take. She told me that the new system definitely requires more effort and attention — but to her at least, it feels well worth it. “With a little goodwill, the task becomes easier,” she said. “I think it was a necessary choice and very useful if we want to somehow safeguard our planet. Each of us individuals can do a lot to achieve the goal.” Lesa and Solcio are in the wealthier northern part of the country, where recycling efforts have long been among the best in Europe. In recent years, Italy’s southern regions have been making notable progress as well — despite the need for more processing facilities in the south and challenges with a wider recycling industry that resists close monitoring, similar standards and enforcement mechanisms now exist throughout the country. Still, the need for reinforcement and education remains. Erum Naqvi, a friend of mine back in New York who also owns a home in Lesa, said she initially handled her trash the same as she would back in the States — which is to say, not thinking much about tossing most things into the bin destined for the landfill. But one afternoon, a local police officer showed up to give her a warning about sorting, bagging, and putting it out correctly. Naqvi quickly got herself up to speed. She is careful about sorting correctly and keeps the trash pickup schedule pinned next to her door, consulting it every day. Naqvi has now changed her habits even back home. “Coming back to New York, I felt so guilty not doing it [to the same degree]. It’s instilled in me a more positive approach toward recycling,” she said. For me, it’s been revelatory to witness the collective impact of individual efforts, and to participate in it. Nearly every evening in Lesa, households place the appropriate bags or bins out next to their doorsteps, creating a consistent tableau throughout town. Looking up the next morning’s category, then preparing it and putting it out, has become part of my after-dinner routine. Early every morning, collection trucks built small enough to pass through the town’s ancient, narrow streets arrive before most residents are awake — except on glass collection day. Those trucks arrive later so as to not wake residents with the inevitable clatter of glass as it’s dumped from the bins. In the winter months, the nonrecyclable trash gets collected just once every two weeks. Nothing has surprised me more than finding myself struggling to fill even one small bag during that time, so thorough is my sorting of the recyclables. That’s a common observation — and a sign that individual action, like trying to produce less garbage, becomes a whole lot easier when the system is designed to support it. — Sarah Stodola More exposure Read: more about rising recycling rates and circularity in the European Union (Eunews) Read: about the definition of “recycling,” and the difficulty with achieving true circularity for certain products, especially plastics (Grist) Read: about the origins of the chasing-arrows recycling symbol — and how that symbol came to lose its meaning (Grist) Read: about New York City’s recent efforts to mandate composting (Grist), and why the city is now pausing fines for noncompliance (NBC New York) Read: about some common misconceptions with recycling, and how an overemphasis on recycling can obscure more important efforts to reuse and reduce (The Conversation) A parting shot Waste management has long been a troubled industry. When we as individuals “throw something away,” we’re really just sending it somewhere else for someone else to deal with — that same paradigm can play out on a global stage, even going so far as cross-border “waste trafficking.” One of this year’s prestigious Goldman Environmental Prize recipients, announced this week, helped challenge such a scheme between Italy and Tunisia. In 2020, Italy illegally sent 282 shipping containers filled with common household garbage to Tunisia. Thanks to prize winner Semia Gharbi, and other advocates, the majority of the waste was returned in February of 2022 to the same Italian port where it originated, as shown below — and the scandal also led to tightened regulations in the EU. IMAGE CREDITS Vision: Mia Torres / Grist Spotlight: Sarah Stodola Parting shot: Ivan Romano / Getty Images This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How Italy got its citizens — and me — to adopt a rigorous recycling scheme on Apr 23, 2025.

Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica

The Nekajui—a Ritz-Carlton Reserve—has officially opened its doors in Guanacaste, Costa Rica. Nestled within one of the world’s most biodiverse destinations, the resort offers travelers an ultra-luxury retreat amid the pristine natural beauty of Costa Rica’s Peninsula Papagayo. This property marks the first Ritz-Carlton Reserve in Central and South America and is the eighth addition […] The post Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

The Nekajui—a Ritz-Carlton Reserve—has officially opened its doors in Guanacaste, Costa Rica. Nestled within one of the world’s most biodiverse destinations, the resort offers travelers an ultra-luxury retreat amid the pristine natural beauty of Costa Rica’s Peninsula Papagayo. This property marks the first Ritz-Carlton Reserve in Central and South America and is the eighth addition to the brand’s exclusive portfolio. Its name is derived from the Chorotega word for “lush garden.” Spread across 1,400 acres of dry tropical forest perched atop coastal cliffs, Nekajui features 107 ocean-facing rooms and suites, along with three luxury treetop tents that merge indoor and outdoor living. The accommodations include expansive guest rooms starting at 872 square feet, one- and two-bedroom suites, the four-bedroom Nekajui Grand Villa, and 36 private residences with two to five bedrooms. For guests seeking the utmost exclusivity, Villa Guayacán offers a 10-bedroom retreat set against a dramatic natural backdrop. The resort’s architecture marries luxury with local culture and nature, incorporating native materials and sustainable design practices. This blend of contemporary style and environmental stewardship is evident throughout the property. Culinary offerings at Nekajui are designed to be as memorable as the surroundings. The signature restaurant, Puna, features indigenous ingredients paired with refined global techniques, while an exclusive cocktail program—developed in collaboration with The Herball, specialists in sustainable, culturally inspired mixology—promises a unique beverage experience. In addition, the Nimbu Spa & Wellness center spans 27,000 square feet and boasts a striking hydrotherapy pool, emphasizing the restorative power of water—a nod to its namesake, which means “water” in the Chorotega language. Guests can also explore a 250-acre natural sanctuary that offers a variety of outdoor adventures, including ziplining, guided wildlife hikes, and canoe excursions through local mangroves. For golf enthusiasts, the resort provides access to Peninsula Papagayo’s private 18-hole, par-72 Arnold Palmer Signature course. Room rates at Nekajui, a Ritz-Carlton Reserve can vary widely based on the season, room type, and booking conditions. Currently, pricing isn’t published as a fixed rate on many platforms. For example, one Reddit user mentioned booking a stay for three nights at roughly $2,670.47 (around $890 per night) for a family discount, while other discussions have suggested that standard rates could be significantly higher than comparable properties in the region. Most major booking platform require you to input specific travel dates to view the current rates. This dynamic pricing model reflects factors such as room selection, occupancy, and time of booking. For the most accurate and up-to-date room cost information, it’s best to check the official Ritz-Carlton Reserve Nekajui page or contact their reservations team directly at +506 4081-1221. The post Nekajui: Ritz-Carlton Reserve Opens in Guanacaste, Costa Rica appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

National Park Service Withdraws Black Community in Louisiana From Historic Landmark Consideration

A Louisiana landscape where centuries-old sugar cane plantations and Afro-Creole culture remain preserved along the Mississippi River will no longer be eligible for consideration for federal recognition following a request from state officials

WALLACE, La. (AP) — A Louisiana landscape of centuries-old sugar cane plantations and enduring Afro-Creole culture along the Mississippi River had been eligible for receiving rare federal protection following a multi-year review by the National Park Service.But this month, the agency withdrew the 11-mile (18-kilometer) stretch of land known as Great River Road from consideration for National Historic Landmark designation at the request of state officials, who celebrated the move as a win for economic development. Community organizations bemoaned the decision as undermining efforts to preserve the rich yet endangered cultural legacies of free African American communities that grew out of slavery.Ashley Rogers, executive director of the nearby Whitney Plantation, said the decision to remove the Great River Road region from consideration for federally granted recognition was due to the “changing priorities” of the Trump administration, the latest blow to “a culture under attack.”“It’s 100% because of the politics of the current administration, it’s not because we’ve suddenly decided that this place doesn’t matter,” Rogers said. A multi-year National Park Service study on the area completed in October concluded that the “exceptional integrity” of the Great River Road landscape conveys “the feeling of living and working in the plantation system in the American South."Plantation buildings are so well-preserved that director Quentin Tarantino used them while filming “Django Unchained,” to capture the antebellum era. But there's also a rich and overlooked history of the enslaved people who worked the plantations, their burial sites likely hidden in the surrounding cane fields and many of their descendants still living in tight-knit communities nearby.The study deemed the region eligible to gain the same federal recognition as around 2,600 of the nation’s most important historical sites, including Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate and Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s residence. However, the determination was “premature and untimely” given that a grain terminal that threatened to impact historic properties was no longer planned, said the National Park Service’s Joy Beasley, who oversees the designation of historic landmarks, in a Feb. 13 letter to the Army Corps of Engineers. Beasley’s letter stated the reversal was prompted by a request from the state’s Department of Environmental Quality, which is tasked with regulating environmental protection and has made no secret of its support for industrial expansion.The head of the department, Aurelia S. Giacometto, framed the decision as freeing the region from federal meddling and oversight and opening up pathways for development.“I’m grateful that the Trump Administration understands that states and localities are better at determining their interests relating to clean air, water and developing industry than leaving crucial decisions like those to Washington,” Giacometto said in a statement.Port of South Louisiana CEO Paul Matthew said in a press release that companies are clamoring to develop and expand along the Mississippi River, which would improve quality of life and spur economic growth without sacrificing cultural legacies.“If you really want to lift people out of poverty, you get them work and increase job opportunity,” Republican Gov. Jeff Landry said.Local historical and community organizations believe the region can instead improve its economy by focusing on preserving and promoting its history. Ramshackled homes and shuttered buildings in the area are endemic of longstanding underinvestment in these communities, but it's not too late to reverse this trend through means besides industrialization, said Joy Banner, co-founder of the local nonprofit The Descendants Project, which is restoring historical properties in Great River Road.Banner helped lead efforts to successfully halt the construction of a towering $600 million industrial grain terminal that would have been built in her hometown, the predominantly Black community of Wallace — spurring the National Park Service's study. A spokesperson for the Army Corps of Engineers said any future industrial development in the Great River Road would still need to consider the potential impacts on historical and cultural heritage.In the region's Willow Grove neighborhood, 76-year-old Isabella Poche still trims the grass and repaints the tombs at the cemetery where her mother, sisters and other relatives were buried with help from the Black community's generations-old mutual aid society she now leads. Beyond the furrows of the sugar cane fields where her family once worked, a large plantation home stands in the distance by the river's bank. It's a peaceful place she hopes to see protected.“I don’t want to move anywhere else,” Poche said. “I've been here all my life."Brook is a corps member for The Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse News Initiative. Report for America is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues. Follow Brook on the social platform X: @jack_brook96.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Sept. 2024

How Latinos are redefining identity beyond perfect Spanish

Discover how the term "no sabo kid" evolved from a put-down to a symbol of cultural pride, as Latinos embrace their identity beyond language fluency and challenge traditional expectations.

By Alyssa Cruz | Edited by Dianne SolisJustin Delgado identifies as Latino. His parents are Puerto Rican, and he grew up visiting the island. The 21-year-old with dark hair and eyes doesn’t speak Spanish fluently.Delgado is one of the thousands of people, usually children or grandchildren of native Spanish speakers, who have been called a “no sabo kid.” The term is a play on words, rooted in the incorrect way to say, “I don’t know” in Spanish. The correct form is “No sé,” with “to know,” or “saber,” being an irregular verb.Muriel Gallego, an associate professor of applied linguistics-Spanish at Ohio University and a native Spanish speaker, said “no sabo” started as an insult. But that shame has flipped into sharper examinations of identity and what makes a Latino or Latina.“This shaming for not using proper Spanish is going to shift the longer the generations are distant from the grandparents or the first generation who came fully monolingual,” she said. “I think most of the shaming comes from there. The older [generations] – the abuelas, the tías that say, ‘Oh, you don’t know.’”Justin Delgado during one of his family visits to Puerto Rico.Photo courtesy of Justin DelgadoThe term “No sabo” may have started as a degrading insult, but many Latinos are changing the narrative and wearing it as a badge of honor. TikTok alone has more than 67.4 million posts under the term “no sabo kid.” “When they say ‘no sabo,’ they think it means ‘no culture’ – but that’s just not true,” Delgado said.In fact, according to Pew Research Center data from 2021, “72% of U.S. Hispanics ages 5 and older either spoke only English at home or spoke English very well, up from 65% in 2010.”Every person’s experience with learning another language differs, and Delgado’s is no exception.His mother was born in Puerto Rico, and his father’s family was part of the great Puerto Rican migration to New York City. The couple met as students at the University of Puerto Rico. Afterward, the couple moved to the U.S.Born in Georgia, Delgado moved to Ramstein, Germany, when he was 3 years old due to his father’s military deployment. Because his father was on active duty, Delgado spent most of his time with his mom, who only spoke Spanish.“On that base, my mom didn’t know English,” he said. “And at that time, when I was really young, both me and her started learning English together. Instead of teaching me fully Spanish, she was like, ‘We both got to learn English’ because she’s by herself.”After deployment, the family moved to Enterprise, Alabama. There weren’t many opportunities there to learn Spanish, plus he was in a private Christian school. “I was the only person of color in that school.”More moves followed until the family landed in Virginia, near Arlington. The city’s diversity prompted him to try Spanish in high school — fortified by an inspiring trip to Puerto Rico to see family. “They would be like, ‘Man, you gotta learn Spanish.’”“I needed to connect back to my roots,” he said.“We wanted to add that twist where it was like, ‘Yo sabo.’ It was for people to feel empowered to make that mistake.”Last summer, Delgado completed an internship in Quito, Ecuador. Before going to Ecuador, Delgado said he and his mom were ecstatic he was going to have the opportunity to immerse in a Latino culture for the entire summer and practice his Spanish.While in Ecuador, Delgado worked with Comciencia, a multimedia organization dedicated to spreading awareness about social and environmental issues. He helped with video production and photography editing projects in the Amazon Rainforest.Not only was Delgado learning skills to boost his professional development, he was also finally immersed in a Latino culture 24/7.Delgado said he faced a little razzing from his coworkers about his Spanish, but it was always from a place of love.“They would call me ‘the no sabo kid,’ and at first I was like, ‘What the f—?’ But then I realized they didn’t mean it with ill intent because that’s what I am,” he said.Justin Delgado and Ecuadorian llamas during his visit to Quito, Ecuador.Photo courtesy of Justin DelgadoGallego, the linguistics expert, even questioned what is “correct Spanish.”“We are the ones who own the language, so what is correct Spanish? We decide that,” she said.Policing “correct Spanish” can have a negative impact, Gallego said.“They go back home, and they say, ‘The teacher said it was wrong,’ and the mom is an undocumented person, maybe working [on] a farm, and she said, ‘Oh, the teacher might be right, so we are in the wrong,’ and then they stop using it, right? Or they stop taking Spanish.”Carlos Torres also saw himself in the term “No sabo.” A Los Angeles native, Torres was raised by his mom, a Mexican immigrant. As a single mother, teaching him her native language fell through the cracks, her son said.“Language wasn’t a huge priority for my mom because she was an immigrant and needed to work,” Torres explained. “She only went up to middle school in Mexico, and she really wanted me to learn English so that I could teach her English.”Now 32, Torres said it was not until after college and during the coronavirus pandemic that he started to be dedicated to fully learning Spanish. According to him, his wife Jess always had a stronger Spanish vocabulary, so he would often ask her how to say certain words. That phrase, “¿Cómo se dice?” became a ritual. It sparked the idea for the game “Yo Sabo.”“Yo Sabo,” created by Jess and Carlos Torres.Photo by Alyssa Cruz for palabraThe Yo Sabo deck consists of three types of cards: “¿Cómo se dice?,” “Prueba” and “Chancla.” The majority of the cards are “¿Cómo se dice?”, which consists of a word in English with its Spanish counterpart at the bottom. The words, mostly nouns, are varied, ranging from “raccoon” to “jaundice.”“We got to make a game out of this because I know I’m not the only one struggling with this,” Torres said. “(We wanted) to see how we could test and improve our Spanish in a fun way and kind of get people who are shy to practice their Spanish and be willing to make mistakes.”With the help of a graphic designer, the couple was able to flesh out the mechanics of making the game and begin production. In 2022, they printed their first 500 games and sold out. Torres said they have sold over 22,000 games.“‘No sabo’ has such a negative connotation,” Torres, the game’s co-creator, said. “We wanted to add that twist where it was like, ‘Yo sabo.’ It was for people to feel empowered to make that mistake.”The flip of the put-down draws praise.“There’s the other side of the coin, which is something that happened historically with these mock names, which is now people are reclaiming it, and so that offensive meaning kind of washes out,” Gallego said.The team worked to popularize their game by flexing their social media muscles. The game has over 122,000 followers on TikTok and 25,000 on Instagram. Through the accounts, the couple hosts “lightning rounds,” where they rotate through the “¿Cómo se dice?” cards with self-proclaimed “no sabos.”Torres said social media has really helped them elevate their brand. He detailed how the game has provided new perspectives about the different barriers many Latinos face against learning Spanish.“The more we’ve sold and the more we’ve connected with other families, we’ve learned so much about how in some places it was literally illegal to speak Spanish and you were reprimanded for speaking the language,” Torres said. Regardless of different circumstances, Delgado, Gallego and Torres all emphasized that knowing Spanish does not equate to “latinidad.”“What makes you Latino?” Gallego, the linguistics professor, asked. “You decide.”

"They're not shortcuts": How weight loss drugs became the business of shame

Fat-shaming drove people to Ozempic. Now its competitors are using shame to try to lure them away

As New Year's resolutions kick into high gear, weight loss goals top many people's lists. Like clockwork, advertisements for weight loss programs and supplements are popping up on social media, ready to pounce on the demand. The weight loss drug market is exploding, with new products entering the scene to compete with big names like Ozempic. It is no surprise, considering the millions of people worldwide struggling with obesity, PCOS and diabetes. The medications' promise of weight loss without a complete lifestyle overhaul has sparked hope and controversy, and the market shows no signs of slowing down. Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro and other GLP-1 drugs have transformed how obesity is treated and have corresponded with a 25% decrease in weight-loss surgeries. Sixteen new drugs are set to enter the market in the coming years, per Reuters, and analysts estimate the overall market could expand to $200 billion by 2031. There's an ongoing debate about how GLP-1 drugs fit into a comprehensive strategy for managing obesity, their potential side effects and costs.  The growing market also has revealed societal attitudes that include complicated layers of stigma and misunderstanding.  How shame boosted GLP-1 drugs Fat-shaming is not a new concept. "In western society, fatphobia and anti-fatness are so ingrained in how we think about body size, health and self-worth," said Katherine Metzelaar, dietitian and owner at Bravespace Nutrition. "There's this belief that being thin equals being beautiful, disciplined and healthy while being fat is often unfairly linked to laziness or a lack of self-control." "It all leads to this idea that fat people are somehow less deserving of respect or dignity," she said. "Diet culture plays a significant role in pushing this, too, making people believe that anyone in a larger body is just not trying hard enough, leading to the scorn and derision we see.” The use of GLP-1 drugs sparked the term "Ozempic shaming" to describe the negative perceptions faced by those who choose medical interventions for weight management. Some critics argue that using the drugs is akin to "taking a shortcut," overlooking the complex factors that contribute to obesity.  "Some people think weight loss has to be grueling to be 'real' or 'earned' and see things like surgery or medication as taking shortcuts," said Dr. Raj Dasgupta, chief medical advisor for Garage Gym Reviews. "This belief overlooks how tough those options are and ignores that everyone's journey is different. It's an outdated mindset that simplifies a very complicated issue." Joshua Collins, licensed clinical social worker at SOBA New Jersey, said "medications like Ozempic (Semaglutide) help address underlying metabolic and hormonal issues, such as insulin resistance and appetite regulation." "They're not shortcuts; they're tools — much like using medication to manage diabetes or high blood pressure," he said. "Criticizing someone for using Ozempic reflects a misunderstanding of weight science and reinforces harmful stereotypes about health and effort." "Criticizing someone for using Ozempic reflects a misunderstanding of weight science and reinforces harmful stereotypes about health and effort" GLP-1 competitors also use shame The rest of the weight loss-market has tried to capitalize on this criticism through a marketing approach that devalues GLP-1 medications. Advertisements tout over-the-counter supplements as “Nature's Ozempic," and warn that “GLP-1 meds are effective but come at a steep price." “My doctor thinks I am being scammed,” some ads say, with the taglines "This is NOT Ozempic, but Your Metabolism Will Love It," "Ozempic Power In a Capsule” and "Works 3x Faster than Ozempic." Dr. Michael Chichak, medical director at mental health clinic MEDvidi, said GLP-1 medications come with benefits and risks like any other treatments, but "fear-mongering tactics and misinformation are done to further a certain agenda." "The weight loss industry already preys on individuals, using fear and shame as they are known to be more emotional triggers as opposed to using scientific evidence when marketing their product," he said. "These companies begin by diffusing trust in the medical and pharmaceutical industry, advertising themselves as a safer option, highlighting how GLP-1 medications are more dangerous and encouraging using ‘natural’ alternatives." This can discourage people from seeking treatment altogether, experts said. Many patients may feel pressured to justify their treatment choices, which can lead to stress and feelings of inadequacy, affecting their overall well-being. Treating obesity as a moral failing rather than a medical condition has been "immensely harmful to patient care," said Dr. Rehka Kumar, chief medical officer at online weigh loss program Found. "The weight loss industry already preys on individuals, using fear and shame, as they are known to be more emotional triggers as opposed to using scientific evidence when marketing their product" "As a physician, I find it deeply troubling when patients are shamed for using evidence-based treatments, whether anti-obesity medications or bariatric surgery," Kumar said. "This stems from the persistent but incorrect view that body weight is a matter of willpower. Science shows that weight regulation involves genetic, environmental, hormonal and neurological factors. This bias results in inadequate care, with less than 10% of eligible patients being offered evidence-based medical treatments for weight management and insurance coverage for obesity treatment being denied at rates three to four times higher than other chronic conditions." Combating the stigma requires increased awareness and education about the legitimate medical purposes of these medications while providing evidence-based, personalized care that considers the patient's unique circumstances and goals and treats them with dignity, experts said. "We have the opportunity to reshape the culture and impact a realistic symbol of beauty which is based on healthier standards and body types, genetics, among other factors," said Max Banilivy, clinical psychologist and vice president of education, training & client/staff well-being at WellLife Network. "We need to teach children and families and the media to have accurate and healthy messages. Not all bodies are the same." Read more about this topic

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