tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38050549563595022272012-05-22T02:52:45.591+10:00Tales from a 35 litre backpack..One woman, one backpack and a one way ticket.Biancanoreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-91383427311816765642012-05-22T02:37:00.002+10:002012-05-22T02:37:29.533+10:002012-05-22T02:37:29.533+10:00Suz and Bianca 'do' Mulhacen in the 3rd person..<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaktaking views of the Sierra Nevada..</td></tr>
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Sitting on the balcony in the mild heat of a Spanish spring evening Suz and Bianca decided to hatch a plan for their coming free two days. After a week-long, fun-filled apartment Bianca didn't feel much more for partying and Suz, always easily pleased, was up for anything. So they decided between two options; hitchhike to Cordoba or get altitude on the highest mountain in Spain. In the spirit of adventure and a little more of a challenge the gang commenced research into the latter. Weather looked good; only just negative temperatures at the summit and mostly sunny - a little bit of wind but nothing to worry about. Bus schedule; early morning to Capileiera and last bus back to Granada to catch a concert at 16:30 on Saturday - perfect! So at 23:00 Thursday night it was decided to rendezvous at 0930 hours in order to commence the journey.<br />
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Bianca awoke early to embark on an acquisition mission, calling on all the people she knew in Granada, to find a warm sleeping bag and hiking boots suitable for snow. Riding through the old cobbled streets of the Albaicin on her valiant steed and donned with backpack she enjoyed the fresh morning air and awesome views - snow capped mountains and golden light bathing the 1000 year old castle perched on the hill. She stole into the cave of two of her adventure buddies who were more than happy to provide item one on the acquisition list. She failed to find the boots and took two pairs of socks and plastic bags instead.<br />
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Suz was waiting patiently when Bianca arrived and indicated, without being pushy, that the two really 'ought to get a wriggle-on if they were to make the appropriate bus. And that they did, without a hitch. Although shortly into the ride Suz was overcome with a sense of deja vu feeling as though they would find out in a few hours that they were actually on the wrong bus in the wrong direction. Bianca chuckled and hoped she was wrong.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are you ready for action Suz?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes I am Bianca!</td></tr>
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<a name='more'></a>After two and a half hours of winding roads and spectacular views of white-painted villages dotting the hills of the Alpjuarras the pair disembarked the bus in Capileira (alt. 1486 meters). The little old lady at the information was delightful as she drew in by hand on the map the path to reach the summit of Mulhacen - dominating the Sierra Nevada 3,478 meters.<br />
For a lack of words to describe the scenery Bianca prefers to do it with pictures instead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packed light and ready to go..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting the journey..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Capileira..</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain goats on the way..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suz in the mountains..</td></tr>
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At some point hours into their walk and just before the first refugio the pair stumbled upon the cortijo of Antonio who was talking to his dogs - a kind old goat farmer who invited them in for a wine and a little food. This was good timing as the two were rather parched and in need of a small rest. They learned many a thing - or thought that they did with their basic Spanglish - had a laugh and exchanged a shared passion for a life lived simply.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunching in Antonio's simple yet awesome little house..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antonio the goat farmer..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kitchen..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trusty old goat dog..</td></tr>
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Passing only by the first refugio only to stop and collect some water a group of middle-aged dutchmen exhibited wonderment at the small amount of provisions the two had decided to bring and advised that the sign above the water-tap read 'water not drinkable.' Much to the groups concern - Bianca decided to drink it anyway.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way..</td></tr>
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The girls arrived, much later than expected, at the site where they assumed they would find the second refugio after meandering for some time, crisscrossing along the river. The sun was setting, the wind was picking up and it was starting to get a touch cold. Without saying so - it would achieve nothing - the two started to find themselves a little bit concerned. Silently agreeing that this was not an ideal situation to be in at this hour the pair went over the contingency plans if no refugio was found in the coming mintues. Option one: build an igloo. Option two: walk an undetermined distanced to a possibly existing refugio down the trail. Or option three: descend to the refugio they had passed two-hour before with head-torch assist. Bianca at that moment quite fancied the idea of building an igloo - after all it's what MacGyver would have done. But before putting contingency plan number one into place the pair gave one last try at finding the 'un-missable' refugio. And.. Eureka! There it was. Perched in the bosom of the mountains bathed in a stream of light while cherubs chorused hallelujah.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally the refugio!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the refugio..</td></tr>
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Inside the refugio the glow of headtorches turned on the girls like the peering eyes of bats in a cave. They'd awoken their slumber. But the girls didn't mind - not one bit - because now they could feast on their after hike pasta and rice in the warmth of a small space heated only by the bodies of other sweaty hikers.<br />
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After stealing a little more sleep than the other savvy mountaineers - armed with icepicks, crampons, climbing gear and assorted goretex - the duo awoke to an empty refugio, snarling winds and air crisper than when they'd arrived. Donning every last item of warm clothing they owned - Bianca was glad she brought that extra jacket - it was hard to believe in the heat of the day yesterday that they would have needed it right now. Under-prepared and over-enthusiastic Adventure Barbie Suz and Bianca started up the mountain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freezing but ready to go..</td></tr>
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As they ascended towards the ridge the views became incredible while the wind became unbearable. Little-by-little the wind picked up and when they had almost reached the summit it was almost impossible to stand. "We should find a windbreak!" Yelled Bianca as she dove to the ground. Suz was quick to follow and the two, huddled together behind the safety of two-feet of mounted rock, giggled at this ridiculousness. As Bianca braved the wind and cold to remove her camera Suz scrambled on all fours outside the safety perimeter of the windbreak. Rushing back after only a few moments she concluded that it was probably ideal that they didn't do that again. And with that the two decided - after all, safety first - to again brave the elements and head back on down the little old mountain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning summiteers..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the summit..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was getting quite a bit windy..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giggling none-the-less behind the windbreak..</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back down to the refuge safe-and-sound..</td></tr>
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Now you'd think the adventure were over - but neigh. The girls had one more mission to accomplish; make it 2000 meters back down the mountain to the bus stop in order to catch the bus at 16:25. Their ever so talented Alaskan friend was playing her very first concert and should they miss it.. well, they simply couldn't. Suz had started to walk a little bit gimpy and the next time Bianca turned around she was sporting a rather large tree-branch as a walking stick. Reaching the cortijo of Antonio he inquired as to the nature of Suz's injury. "Oh no problem, just a little pain." Bianca was also concerned to the extent of Suz's injury and hoped she wasn't pushing herself too much on account of reaching the bus for that evenings highly anticipated event! Antonio recommended an alternative route down the mountain to Capileira - shorter and a more gradual descent. Perfect, just perfect!<br />
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Only that this route didn't end up being much shorter and walking along the 'impossible to get lost' path the two achieved just that. Winding along the water canals and through the pine forests they tried as hard as possible to enjoy the fog crawling through the mountains and the ever changing landscape.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views along the way and Suz's gimp stick..</td></tr>
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Aware of the impeding bus departure and unideal nature of their situation - not one said a word. Not until Suz said, "Go ahead without me! Maybe you can stop the bus. And.. if you can't then take it anyway." But Bianca wouldn't have it. They started together, they finished together. So half jogging (Bianca) and half gimping (Suz) down the mountain they pushed forth. The alternative path popped the girls out at the end of the village with 2 minutes to spare and no idea where the bus stop was. So with a lucky-optimist frame of mind they continued against the odds through the village until they sighted their departure point - it was 16:30. They sighed. A bus full of grey-nomads was there but alas it was not the one. "Shit." Bianca was just about to ask the driver if there was enough room for a little Australian and Alaskan - after all who could say no? - when he informed the deflated and exhausted duo that the public bus had not yet departed. "No?" They inquired with disbelief. So when, 5 minutes late, the public bus turned the corner and rolled to a stop the squealed with triumph! Thank-god this is Spanish time.<br />
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<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=109615" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dmulhacen%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dmulhacen%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=mulhacen&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0" width="700" height="525"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-9138342731181676564?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0Mulhacén, Sierra Nevada National Park, 18413 Capileira, Spain37.051279 -3.312650937.0005885 -3.3916149 37.1019695 -3.2336869tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-40523857483364405152012-01-17T08:35:00.001+11:002012-01-17T08:45:01.692+11:002012-01-17T08:45:01.692+11:00.. a travel/photography project ..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://apictureproject.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://www.tumblr.com/photo/1280/apictureproject/15950920008/1/tumblr_lxwgvayO7x1rnoyoq" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Someone once asked me on my travels [when trying to come up with an idea for a way to share my travels] - what's the one thing that you can do that no one else can? I deliberated over the question for some time and came up with the answer - see the word through my eyes. So here is my response to that question: a collection of photographs that try to share with you a place or an experience without needing to explain who I am or what I do. The collections are subjective and sometime there may be a lot of information or very little. I hope to share the way I experience the world and let the viewer interpret the information themselves. Coming to you wherever you are..<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-4052385748336440515?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-42585544647981500182011-10-30T05:04:00.003+11:002011-10-30T05:05:32.195+11:002011-10-30T05:05:32.195+11:00Fingers crossed for the opportunity of a lifetime!<object height="525" width="700"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F55124029%40N04%2Fsets%2F72157627572747591%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F55124029%40N04%2Fsets%2F72157627572747591%2F&set_id=72157627572747591&jump_to="></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=109615"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=109615" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fphotos%2F55124029%40N04%2Fsets%2F72157627572747591%2Fshow%2F&page_show_back_url=%2Fphotos%2F55124029%40N04%2Fsets%2F72157627572747591%2F&set_id=72157627572747591&jump_to=" width="700" height="525"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-4258554464798150018?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-4641839092911637022011-07-21T04:07:00.000+10:002012-05-22T02:52:45.595+10:002012-05-22T02:52:45.595+10:00Bang Kong Lo: Village life in Laos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Laos is wonderfully beautiful. From the impossibly beautiful landscapes ranging from riverside vistas, patch worked farmlands to striking limestone karsts. What I found more amazing (which continues to prevail throughout South East Asia) was the kindness and hospitality offered by the local people. <br />
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Life in Laos is centered on farming and rural villages. Even the capital of the country, Vientiane, is the only thing which would come close to being called a ‘city’ was most of the time 'quiet.' A few kilometers on either side of the city you’re again greeted with grazing cows and green rice paddies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HGuh6vtTXQI/TicSEcPOh8I/AAAAAAAAAHo/LqJFRqIs_Go/s1600/The+village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HGuh6vtTXQI/TicSEcPOh8I/AAAAAAAAAHo/LqJFRqIs_Go/s640/The+village.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering Ban Kong Lo</td></tr>
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In the south of Laos I’d been given tips about an underground cave which was described by other travelers as, ‘one of the most amazing caves’ they’d ever seen. Destination: Tham Kong Lo. Indeed the cave was spectacular with visitors making a popular day trip from Tha Kheak to visit. But what many visitors fail to discover is the charm, positivity and amazing people who live in the villages around the cave.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out around the cave</td></tr>
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Originally I stayed with a family near the cave for 3 days; exploring the village and swimming in the cave lagoon. But after finding out about plans for a resort development close to the entrance of the cave I was drawn back a second time to absorb the village which I came to love before the possibility of rampant development would change it forever. A French man who had been coming to the village for 10 years said that, ‘the change is coming. It’s still like it was 5 years ago.. but as soon as it gets put in the Lonely Planet, it’s over.’ The January 2011 edition of the LP listed for the first time the only guesthouse which has recently been built in the village. <br />
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It’s a struggle to accurately describe the town and capture all the dynamics. One thing which is certain is that a strong sense of community exists. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DlgPEFqQZ10/TicRIxT40KI/AAAAAAAAAHI/Ho_3oTEGnGU/s1600/Hanging+out+around+the+village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DlgPEFqQZ10/TicRIxT40KI/AAAAAAAAAHI/Ho_3oTEGnGU/s640/Hanging+out+around+the+village.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling faces in the village</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RvIlZQBr-IU/TicQ-cvs5bI/AAAAAAAAAHE/cQ6v2xQ-TzM/s1600/Hanging+out+around+the+village+II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="152" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RvIlZQBr-IU/TicQ-cvs5bI/AAAAAAAAAHE/cQ6v2xQ-TzM/s640/Hanging+out+around+the+village+II.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out about the village</td></tr>
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In the mornings the girls come and bang on my door to wake me up.. ‘Bianca, Bianca!!’ We eat breakfast around a small table beside the kitchen fire before walking to school. Books clutched against their chest the girls stop by friends’ houses on the way to pick up friends before we reach the dusty school grounds. There are 5 classrooms and children are roughly grouped by age. There are only 5 teachers so sometimes, when all children are in the classroom and aren’t helping in fields, there are 40 or more children in each classroom. It’s difficult sometimes for the teachers to control all the kids and is frustrating to see those who really want to learn hindered by those distracted individuals who couldn’t care less. There is not a strong emphasis places on learning as the children will eventually help their families with farming or with the eco-tourism project based around the cave.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out at school</td></tr>
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Which is quite impressive. As you enter the cave grounds some polite young Laos boy will ask you if you need help. Unlike many parts of South East Asia the tourism based around the cave is relaxed and fair. The boat-men take in turns to transit tourists through the caves, there’s a list and they are called by surname. The women will point you to someone else’s noodle/drink-stand if they have already had many customers themselves. There are no signs of the desperation for business that can be seen destroying the sense of community and balance of life in other places; Vang Vieng instantly springs to mind. No-one speaks much English but which hand gestures and a smile.. it works. <br />
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At the height of the day the sun is blaringly hot. School takes an intermission. And the mood slackens to a slower pace. When it gets much too hot my little Laos sisters ask, ‘Bai am num?’ We pile up 4 on a bicycle and they make me ride them to the lagoon for a midday cool-off. Really the only way to escape the heat. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out at the lagoon</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out at the house</td></tr>
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When the afternoon school session finishes the ladies go fishing for the evening’s dinner while the kids take some of the smaller nets and help. Occasionally some of the boys come to help when they’re not on ‘boat duty,’ a grand laugh listening to their squeals and giggles. Depending on which fishing hole we’re at Dali and I go to pick mangoes or cucumbers to snack on and duck past the veggie patch on the way home to pick up more herbs for dinner.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing and at the veggie patch</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4aLjRMw5IuM/TicR4FZ38iI/AAAAAAAAAHc/VGY9bRNXsTE/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4aLjRMw5IuM/TicR4FZ38iI/AAAAAAAAAHc/VGY9bRNXsTE/s640/home.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little home on the right</td></tr>
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The village chief organized evening English lessons for the time I was there in the village ‘office’ to try and teach the boat-men some basic phrases which will help them when guiding tourists through the cave. The men, young and old, gather with their little notepads and pens eager to learn some new phrases to joke and communicate with the tourists. Our teaching materials consisted of a blackboard and one Laos-English phrasebook which someone had from many years ago. So I improvise writing and speaking Laos on the blackboard (with a little help) and try to construct logical sentences from the existing poor translations. The boys all wave to the tourists and giggle when they can practice their new English. <br />
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A sure highlight from my time in Laos was attending a full-moon festival. And not like those that jump to mind with fluro-painted drunkards dancing about. This one was hidden in the next village from Ban Kong Lo down by the river. I smiled while I watched the village girls ‘get ready.’ Some things will be the same world over; girls will be girls. They put on the little makeup they had, did their hair and fussed over their clothes, changing and changing again. We rode out on bicycles and trekked through the dark ghost-like village to find the party which seemed to be in the middle-of-nowhere. We crossed a group of boys who obviously made the girls nervous as they giggled and dragged me to run away whenever they got closer. The men set-up gambling games and the ladies sold barbequed goods and sweet treats. Like at any good Laos celebration there was truckloads of Beer-Lao and ridiculous dancing to the backdrop of a pop-influenced take on traditional Laos music. We danced and laughed till we were tired.. we still had to make the ride home and after all it was a school night. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vGYpxo5OH64/TicQNVxVEgI/AAAAAAAAAG4/xB-vvRevnI4/s1600/Full+moon+II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vGYpxo5OH64/TicQNVxVEgI/AAAAAAAAAG4/xB-vvRevnI4/s640/Full+moon+II.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full moon rising</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKl9_VJmMQo/TicP81yvGiI/AAAAAAAAAG0/XkhHNtcTaZw/s1600/Full+moon+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jKl9_VJmMQo/TicP81yvGiI/AAAAAAAAAG0/XkhHNtcTaZw/s640/Full+moon+I.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready and riding to the party</td></tr>
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My last night in the village I had a sleep-over with one of the closest friends I made in the village. We laid in bed talking with what limited Laos I knew and about the equivalent English that Dali knew. But somehow we were always able to communicate. I teased her that next time I visited she would be married and she teased me back that next time I came I’d have babies for her to play with.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qLxwds9zQc0/TicSBfas3zI/AAAAAAAAAHk/l61Ywkwy1_0/s1600/The+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qLxwds9zQc0/TicSBfas3zI/AAAAAAAAAHk/l61Ywkwy1_0/s640/The+girls.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of my favorite little sisters</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRzrNN0-B9s/TicPycjmULI/AAAAAAAAAGw/xuxQQkeDTEA/s1600/Baci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KRzrNN0-B9s/TicPycjmULI/AAAAAAAAAGw/xuxQQkeDTEA/s640/Baci.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traditional bon voyage Baci ceremony</td></tr>
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During the two weeks I was taken in by the people of the village and warmly welcomed in their lives. Anybody else who has had the pleasure of visiting this village would be quick to agree with me when I speak of generosity of the amazing people who live here. I am continued to be completely inspired by those people who have nothing but have the most to give.<br />
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<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dkong%2Blo%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dkong%2Blo%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=kong+lo&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0" width="700" height="525"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-464183909291163702?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-67747435171742062862011-07-11T22:48:00.005+10:002011-07-12T18:51:27.126+10:002011-07-12T18:51:27.126+10:00Deserted island paradises..Bungalow for $5 per night meters from the beach. Hugs from the cutest Malaysian sea gypsies in the world; Dyla and Rosa. Djembe and guitar on the beach under the stars. Beachside wedding ceremonies. Barefoot and giggly village missions. Daily afternoon mini beach volley-ball tournaments with the Thai boys. Perhaps the coolest and eclectic collection of travelers in one spot..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JUUgTD1C-14/ThrbOmGStPI/AAAAAAAAAGU/xIyniEdd7bk/s1600/ko+jum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JUUgTD1C-14/ThrbOmGStPI/AAAAAAAAAGU/xIyniEdd7bk/s640/ko+jum.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ko Jum, Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Six kilometers of deserted white sand beaches. Sunset and whiskey in Hammock-topia. Supply missions to the other side of the island. 'Lost' style speculations and reenactments. Swimming in crystal clear 30 degree water. An overwhelming desire never to leave the island..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-svjXh3AV7jc/ThrbPqkYUJI/AAAAAAAAAGY/btCwWEE28ZQ/s1600/Koh+Rong+%252831%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-svjXh3AV7jc/ThrbPqkYUJI/AAAAAAAAAGY/btCwWEE28ZQ/s640/Koh+Rong+%252831%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ko Rong, Cambodia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sweaty hiking missions to secluded beach bays. Private chartered boats and diving in the deep blue beyond. Couchsurfing in a hammock underneath the stars. Hanging at The Office, culinary delights at Ticks and fits of laughter playing Shithead at Rastabar. Giggling like little schoolgirls. Afternoon snorkeling with the sharks. Evenings dancing and salsa on the beach. Returning to do it all again..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OsM27nS_Sg/ThrbQPlKvAI/AAAAAAAAAGc/sOszXJab3xo/s1600/lang+khai+bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5OsM27nS_Sg/ThrbQPlKvAI/AAAAAAAAAGc/sOszXJab3xo/s640/lang+khai+bay.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ao Lang Khai, Koh Tao, Thailand</td></tr>
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Monsooned on a deserted island. No boats for 4 days. Sitting on the beach in the rain. Card game delirium induced laughter. Cups of tea with little old men in the village. Being bare a few people well at the end of the season..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0l_fWcBauOs/ThrbQzZ92qI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ms7oLqGRXCQ/s1600/perhentian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0l_fWcBauOs/ThrbQzZ92qI/AAAAAAAAAGg/ms7oLqGRXCQ/s640/perhentian.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coral Bay, Pulau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Awestriking beauty. Perhaps the most amazing snorkeling ever. Communal style dining; fresh caught fish and amazing Indonesian fare. Choice of lagoon or beach swimming. Perfect weather and even better company. A place of dreams..<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pulau Malenge, Sulawesi, Indonesia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Boating to secret beaches. Guitar serenading in a cave. Packed picnic lunches. Snorkeling about. Laughter with a Chilean, an Italian and two Greeks. Strolling, reading and relaxing..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nSo3u5RmKL8/ThrbRx89ABI/AAAAAAAAAGo/vRI6e5br8d8/s1600/thailand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nSo3u5RmKL8/ThrbRx89ABI/AAAAAAAAAGo/vRI6e5br8d8/s640/thailand.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ko Phi Phi Lay, Thailand</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Stunning views from beach-side bungalows. Reading, writing and extreme-o relaxation. Exploration trips to tiny boat building villages. Morning sweet coffee, pancakes and fruit salad. Guys climbing trees to fetch the freshest coconut ever. Waking up with a smile..<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ae4dZa4pZaI/ThrbSmwNLgI/AAAAAAAAAGs/xhYysf9UfdU/s1600/waiterang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ae4dZa4pZaI/ThrbSmwNLgI/AAAAAAAAAGs/xhYysf9UfdU/s640/waiterang.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiterang, Flores, Indonesia<br />
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</tbody></table><object height="525" width="700"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dbeach%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dbeach%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=beach&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dbeach%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dbeach%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=beach&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0" width="700" height="525"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-6774743517174206286?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-31063822043016357322011-06-14T21:46:00.003+10:002011-07-12T18:03:31.911+10:002011-07-12T18:03:31.911+10:00Some of my favorite subjectsWhile the landscapes across South East Asia are particularly breathtaking. Nothing is more enjoyable or rewarding than hanging out and playing with the kids. Their open nature and complete lack of fear make for effortless communication and stunning natural models.. always at their pleasure. Behind every picture there is always a story of how I got them to laugh or pose, a skill which is definitely rendered with practice. They might not have much but there is certainly never a dull day if you manage to find yourself in the company of the always cheery and cheeky kids of rural villages. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uo66g40K2Xs/Td9JRs4qroI/AAAAAAAAAFA/HoieZS78nb4/s1600/04+Shelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uo66g40K2Xs/Td9JRs4qroI/AAAAAAAAAFA/HoieZS78nb4/s200/04+Shelia.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h0sAhHnlyMc/Td9OTFjzDHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/QmuqoJSlNp0/s1600/09+hiking+around+local+villages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h0sAhHnlyMc/Td9OTFjzDHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/QmuqoJSlNp0/s200/09+hiking+around+local+villages.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vu0tgeTrcxo/TXr08Onm2XI/AAAAAAAAACA/QYVoU-OIm2k/s1600/IMG_0889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vu0tgeTrcxo/TXr08Onm2XI/AAAAAAAAACA/QYVoU-OIm2k/s200/IMG_0889.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="525" width="700"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dkids%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dkids%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=kids&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dkids%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dkids%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=kids&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0" width="700" height="525"></embed></object></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-3106382204301635732?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-38309188263788106602011-05-27T17:38:00.008+10:002011-12-21T02:55:29.667+11:002011-12-21T02:55:29.667+11:00The mountains of Myanmar – with nothing but a hand sketched map and a name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3554/5771133078_ba70a38b53_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3554/5771133078_ba70a38b53_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Arriving in what was meant to be Kalaw at 3:30am but turned out to be Aungban I grabbed my things from the undercarriage of the bus and took a moment to think on the side of the road. Apparently there had been some miscommunication with the bus driver and we had already passed Kalaw. Unsure of where I was or how far Kalaw actually was all I knew I was somewhere between there and Schwenyuang, the junction to Inle Lake. In the darkness a moto-taxi driver approached me to ask where I was going. ‘Kalaw,’ I said. After a bit of a chit-chat I was able to decipher that Kalaw was only 15kms back the other way... about 20 minutes by motorbike. The chap to my right offered to drive me there for the outrageously inflated tourist-night-price of $5. After paying more than the locals for my bus ticket (pocket money for generals) from Yangon, I wasn’t in the mood for giving my money to people who didn’t deserve it. If I waited till light I would be able to get a pick-up (mini-truck with two metal benches down either side of the tray), shared with about 20 other locals, for about 500 kyats (about 50 cents). Moto-taxis are always more, and especially at the ungodly hour of the morning I had found myself in. So I offered the guy a very modest 1000 kyats.. I’d be lucky if he accepted even in the daytime. Because he felt sorry for me, the bus didn’t drop me off where it was meant to and I was alone, he graciously accepted my offer. I wisely donned my jacket in the crisp mountain air and we set off on our way. <br />
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By the time we arrived in Kalaw I was absolutely freezing. Shivering from head-to-toe my moto-driver stopped by a small fire lit on the side of the road by some locals where I could defrost in the pre-dawn darkness. I couldn’t be bothered getting a hotel room so I waited out until first light at a small Nepalese tea shop on the side of the road where I enjoyed (for the first time since visiting Nepal) real chai and freshly cooked samosas. <br />
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Most people come to Kalaw to begin a 3 day hike to Inle Lake through traditional Palaung villages and scenic Myanmar country-side. However, the route is set and there are many people hiking it.. I’ve come to realize that this really isn’t my style. I received alternate information from a French couple in Yangon that there was a Nepali family in the hills, 2 hours from Kalaw, that they passed for lunch on the first day of their hike and that it was possible to stay there. So at first light, with nothing but a hand sketched map and a name.. I headed into the mountains beyond Kalaw in search of them. <br />
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Passing the wooden buddha pagoda where I needed to make a ‘right’ I was invited to join the monks for tea and breakfast. Locals came in to pay their hommage to buddha and were rather more excited to pose for photos with me.. I was only happy to oblige. <br />
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A further hour into the mountains I hoped I would pass some locals who could perhaps point me in the right direction, I was looking for ‘Motie.’ Not passing any villages I wasn’t sure if I had come the right way.. there wasn’t much around but country-side and tiny pagodas dotting the mountains in the distance. I pushed on with the notion that if worse came to worse and I didn’t find them after 2 and a half hours or so I would about turn and head back to Kalaw. A short while later I passed some local women heading into the fields to pick tea. ‘Motie?’ I asked. A perplexed look on their faces. ‘Modee? Motay? Moday?’ I continued. ‘Ugh!’ They nodded and pointed up the hill. ‘Jezubeh!’ Thank-you.<br />
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<div>Continuing and further on the road forked left and right. A dilemma in the journey.. because I've done it before, I know how much of a pain-in-the-ass it is to walk for hours in the wrong direction. As I was pondering a famer passed on his horse-drawn cart so I attempted to ask him in which direction I could find the mysterious Motie. This time he understood me immediately and pointed to the left. I smiled, I love it when things just work. Appearing ahead of me was a lone house perched on the side of a hill. This had to be it! And indeed it was. A sign proclaimed Viewpoint: Nepalese resting place. </div><br />
The clinkering of pots and pans steered me to the kitchen where the family were having breakfast. ‘Mingalaba!’ Hello I proclaimed as I entered to which everyone loudly replied, ‘Namaste!’ ‘Have you had breakfast, please eat!’ Stated Motie’s beautiful wife as I dropped my bag on the dirt floor and parked on a small wooden stool around the open fire. Chai, home-made chapatti, dhal.. it was like being in Nepal again. Only better. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They named this place Viewpoint for a reason. This place was beautiful.. perched on a hill in the middle of nowhere, so quiet and relaxing. Sitting and listening during the day you can hear the distant click-clack, click-clack of a train snaking through the hills, ladies singing as they pick tea and the wind rustling the leaves. All the while surveying the paths that meander through the hills, looking for possible hiking paths to explore for the days to come.<br />
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I set off for hours into the hills exploring local villages and visiting distant pagodas. The locals always asking, ‘Te?’ as the hold up one finger enquiring if I am ‘only one.’ Nodding and smiling as I raise a solitary finger they always smile back as they give me thumbs up or hold a fist to their chest, strong lady. I found lonely train stations, monks in monasteries atop hills and locals preparing for weddings as I hiked along narrow paths and railway tracks.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0msUZKQheX4/Td9PlSGEx9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/nHqXmK8NgAY/s1600/10+local+villages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0msUZKQheX4/Td9PlSGEx9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/nHqXmK8NgAY/s320/10+local+villages.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4g83j1OAry0/Td9Msv7JsWI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/QPIvBiZ0fcg/s1600/08+Asking+for+directions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4g83j1OAry0/Td9Msv7JsWI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/QPIvBiZ0fcg/s320/08+Asking+for+directions.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2lg-YdYWnNo/Td9Q4sLiX9I/AAAAAAAAAFg/O1iBPp2NyA8/s1600/11+picking+tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2lg-YdYWnNo/Td9Q4sLiX9I/AAAAAAAAAFg/O1iBPp2NyA8/s320/11+picking+tea.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h0sAhHnlyMc/Td9OTFjzDHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/QmuqoJSlNp0/s1600/09+hiking+around+local+villages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h0sAhHnlyMc/Td9OTFjzDHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/QmuqoJSlNp0/s320/09+hiking+around+local+villages.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Back at the house Motie listens to BBC One as he prepares food and takes a break from chopping firewood. It is in the height of the dry season and the wet season is approaching so it’s important he gets it done this week. Next week he will burn to clean his land in preparation for the fertile seasons ahead. Watching intently as Motie cooks I take mental notes on how to recreate these wonders when I arrive somewhere with a kitchen. We eat banana flower salad, dhal, assorted curries, fruit straight from the tree, chapatti, naan, samosa, fresh milk, home-made tea.. list goes on and on and on and on. ‘Have you seen my Christmas tree?’ He asks. ‘No.’ I reply with raised eyebrows. ‘Ok remind me later tonight to show you my Christmas tree.’<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RZS8KLzlzPQ/Td9Ki5VVzKI/AAAAAAAAAFE/R7nkxZ6ocQY/s1600/05+homemade+wonders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RZS8KLzlzPQ/Td9Ki5VVzKI/AAAAAAAAAFE/R7nkxZ6ocQY/s320/05+homemade+wonders.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EOKikdL11vE/Td9LG6ZP6sI/AAAAAAAAAFI/QOsKMvmzIXk/s1600/06+kitchen+of+dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EOKikdL11vE/Td9LG6ZP6sI/AAAAAAAAAFI/QOsKMvmzIXk/s320/06+kitchen+of+dreams.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Motie’s family arrived in Myanmar when his grandfather was picked up from the Indian army by the British on their colonization tour of the Indian subcontinent. The family’s old colonial house where the children grew up is still in Kalaw but Motie decided for a more peaceful life in the hills. He is happy to live off his land, make as much money as he needs to survive and support his family and lead a content and peaceful existence. Motie sits and chats with the workers from his fields for cigarettes, beer and sometimes something stronger at the end of a long working day. As friends pop past the house to buy tea you can tell he is a man well respected in the community.<br />
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As the sun falls to the horizon the smoky sky turns brilliant shades of pink and red and all is eerily quiet. In the evenings the sky is cluttered with stars. With naught a light source in sight you can see the shape of the hills on the horizon silhouetted by the brightly shining stars. In the distance you can see fire trails burning across cleared farmlands. As I walk back to the kitchen Motie beckons for me to follow him. We walk to the back of the house where he points to the forest and says, ‘There, my Christmas tree.’ Wow, the whole forest is a light with the flickering of fireflies. An absolutely amazing sight.. my eyes fixed as I sit and watch these peculiar wonders of nature.<br />
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I was truly touched to meet this amazing family and experience this magical place. Many things learnt and many things shared. A last round of chapatti before I don my backpack, say my see-you-later’s and hot foot back down the mountain. Alone, all my belongings on my back and the wind in my hair.. I’m on the road again, just how I like it.<br />
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<object height="525" width="700"> <param name="flashvars" value="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dkalaw%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dkalaw%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=kalaw&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0"></param><param name="movie" value="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.flickr.com/apps/slideshow/show.swf?v=104087" allowFullScreen="true" flashvars="offsite=true&lang=en-us&page_show_url=%2Fsearch%2Fshow%2F%3Fq%3Dkalaw%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&page_show_back_url=%2Fsearch%2F%3Fq%3Dkalaw%26w%3D55124029%2540N04&method=flickr.photos.search&api_params_str=&api_text=kalaw&api_tag_mode=bool&api_user_id=55124029%40N04&api_safe_search=3&api_content_type=7&api_media=all&api_sort=relevance&jump_to=&start_index=0" width="700" height="525"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-3830918826378810660?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0Kalaw, Myanmar20.6333333 96.5666667000000420.6182718 96.55482220000005 20.648394800000002 96.57851120000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-55987599207080280722011-05-04T12:25:00.005+10:002011-07-12T01:40:46.702+10:002011-07-12T01:40:46.702+10:00Indonesia Chapter 5: Rinjani, your mine. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOSyV1-ERvI/TcCrfNDjHEI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KgOfKRUz8kg/s1600/Panorama+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOSyV1-ERvI/TcCrfNDjHEI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KgOfKRUz8kg/s640/Panorama+1.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunrise which started it all</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Rinjani. Your ass is grass.<br />
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Towering above the Bali sea at 3726 meters Rinjani is one monsterous volcano. The concluding statement in a guidebook states, ‘Finally, understand that people die every year on the mountain; it shouldn’t be approached lightly.’ A reason why I deliberated for so long on Gili Air about the weather conditions. After negotiating a very nice price with a trek operator and deciding that, surely, the weather would hold up I headed straight from the Gilis up the mountain.<br />
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Day 1: From sea level to POS III<br />
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I arrived in Senaru to commence the hike much later than the others in my group who started hiking at aroud 9am, it was now midday. I was a little worried as to what the weather would do but of course the people organising the hike wont tell you that it’s a bad day when they can make money from you. Ideally, I would have loved to hire my own gear and a guide to do it on my own. But without having at least one other person to split the costs it, financially, didn’t make much sense to do it this way.<br />
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So I was man 4 in the group who, by now, should have already been having lunch at POS II. The first two hours of the hike were lovely. Climbing up tree branches to get a foothold along the muddy path. Then, as it did most days at around 2pm to 3pm it started to rain. And I don’t mean just a bit of a light shower; it rained. Waiting for half an hour it looked as though there would be no relenting, it had set in for the remainder of the afternoon. Out came and on went the ponchos (an absolutely must for traveling in the monsoon). I was also keen to bring out my secret weapon; the Fivefingers. Without sounding too much like a sales rep, these are amazing shoes which look like wetsuit booties and have individual toe pockets. Essentially it’s like walking barefoot.<br />
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Now the muddy path was like a river. Water was cascading down the mountain like a waterfall. Now with my gecko feet I was able to trudge around in the water confidently without worrying about getting my shoes wet or stepping on something where I might roll my ankle. I was invincible and moving with the agility of a gazelle. All the while the rain made its way down through the jungle canopy above. The sound of the water on the leaves was hypnotic.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2HjhwlvJz8Y/TcCxEtKNKZI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/te85W2rvBUM/s1600/IMG_9641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2HjhwlvJz8Y/TcCxEtKNKZI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/te85W2rvBUM/s320/IMG_9641.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Continuing like this for another 3 hours or so I arrived at POS III (2300m) where the remainder of my group had arrived only an hour earlier. The porters and guides were busily errecting tents and preparing food all the while it still raining. Everybody was shivering and soaking wet but my spirits were high none-the-less. People commented on my insane-looking shoes while I pranced lightfootedly about the camp.<br />
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Day 2: POS III to Base Camp<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-txVwOEfCiEk/TcCtdHIvNrI/AAAAAAAAAEI/J0qtYU0jhv0/s1600/IMG_9611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-txVwOEfCiEk/TcCtdHIvNrI/AAAAAAAAAEI/J0qtYU0jhv0/s320/IMG_9611.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volcanic sunrises</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border: medium none;">We were up early to make the 2 hour climb to the crater rim in time for sunrise. I’ve done a lot of hiking up volcanos in the pitch black for the sunrise and it’s quite a difficult thing. Headtorches are a must to find the rough and not-so-well-defined paths. The sky was starting to lighten, I still hadn’t arrived at the creater rim and I wasn’t entirely sure if I was following any track. Not seeing anyone around me I decided my best option was continue ‘up.’ As the sun peaked it’s head over the horizon the morning dew glistened on the grass. The morning fog lifting slightly to reveal the rolling hills and sea below.<br />
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Arriving at the creater rim (2600m) alone I was breathtaken at the landscape below. Inside the caldera was a second volcano peak surrounded by an impressive blue lake finally overlooked by the summit of Rinjani. I could never have imagined that the scene waiting for me would be so spectacular. Looking down the shear cliff into the lake I couldn’t see a clear path for descent into the caldera. I needed to find my group and guide. Continuing precariously along the rim I could see in the distance the red and yellow tents at Pelawangan I where I should have arrived. Before starting the descent into the caldera lake I took a few more moments to stare in awe at the beauty of my surroundings.</div><div style="border: medium none;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qWmAQjOe0c/TcCsIW3tC1I/AAAAAAAAAEE/itDddVeC9SI/s1600/Rinjani+%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="286" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qWmAQjOe0c/TcCsIW3tC1I/AAAAAAAAAEE/itDddVeC9SI/s640/Rinjani+%25284%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;">The two hour descent into the caldera was steep but relatively easy. There were lots of strong foot- and hand-holds and were no match for my Fivefingers. Now at ground level the lake seemed so much bigger and the late morning light increased the vividness of its colour. Before finally resting for lunch on the lake edge we hiked nearby to some hot springs.<br />
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The spring water bubbled straight from the ground and you could smell the sulphur in the air. They were much too hot for swimming but just perfect for reviving our feet after a long morning of walking. It felt a bit surreal really; sitting in hot sprigs, in the middle of a volcano in the middle of Indonesia. I don’t think I could have even imagined this a week ago.<br />
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The final leg of the day was the steep 2 to 3 hour climb to Pelawangan II (2900m), the base camp for Rinjani summit attempts. A lot like the first day, the climb to base camp was relentless. As always the afternoon rain had set in and I was sweating inside my poncho. I prefer to hike alone in these situations, getting into my own thoughts and own rythym. I enjoy the challenge.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zcaYRwXsXjs/TcCvSmWC1WI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0ZR9rY4LzUI/s1600/IMG_9638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zcaYRwXsXjs/TcCvSmWC1WI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0ZR9rY4LzUI/s320/IMG_9638.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from basecamp</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border: medium none;">Finally arriving at base camp and looking back over my shoulder I could see where we had come from earlier that morning. Up to the opposite side of the rim, down into the caldera, around the lake and back up the rim on the side I was now. All the while the scenery breathtaking.</div><br />
In the evenings the only way to escape the cold was to snuggle into your sleeping bag in your tent. After a full day of walking it was nice for an early night anyway. I was sharing my tent with a Dutch guy. As it turns out he snores… like a motherfucker!<br />
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Day 3: Summit and Back<br />
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Of course our summit attempt began with intention to arrive at sunrise, leaving at 2.30am. Again it was dark and a headtorch was mandatory. Most people had flaked out on the summit hike, feeling they were too unfit, or opting to stay in bed. Our guide told the Dutch guy he wouldn’t make it so I stole out of the tent quietly in the morning. The first hour or so of a hike I always find the most difficult. This is where you find your rythym and overcome your physical tiredness. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eKxfji9YzNw/TcCx7RV7J1I/AAAAAAAAAEU/89INwwyy2tM/s1600/IMG_9698.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eKxfji9YzNw/TcCx7RV7J1I/AAAAAAAAAEU/89INwwyy2tM/s320/IMG_9698.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another day, another sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The hike was tough. Hiking in the pitch black along a small, gravely and exposed path you had to check constantly, left and right, to make sure you didn’t stray too far to the edge. On one side you fell to the caldera below, on the other you fell down the steep mountain. One wrong step had taken the life of a French guy a couple of months before. The path was incredibly steep and gravel. Every time you took two step up, you fell one step back. I really had to make a conscious effort to drive the toe of my shoe into the ground so I wouldn’t lose so much ground. Step-by-step, I told myself. Somewhere near the top (maybe an hour or more of walking) and feeling like this climb would never end I passed by a group of English lads taking a breather. I told them to go ahead of me, they were faster, but they insisted I go first, ‘If we don’t go together we’ll never make it.’ <br />
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So for the final hour I had 4 hilarious English guys following me pepping each other up yelling, ‘Come on we can do it!’ All the while singing a soundtrack to the climb. At one stage it was a touching rendition of United States of Eurasia and a rather energetic performance of Bat out of Hell. By this stage everyone was fighting the mental demon who was telling us we couldn’t get there and battling physical exhaustion. We were doing whatever we could to keep ourselves distracted.<br />
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As sky was lightening we could see the peak we’d climbed for so long to see. We were all now hiking together, spirits lifting as the summit was within reach. Placing one foot in front of the other I realised I was no longer climbing up, I was on level ground. I was at the summit. We all erupted into adrenilan fuelled hysteria. Shouting, hugging and throwing hi-fives all about the place. I’ve never felt such a rush just from walking. The view from the top was spectacular. You could see all the way over Lombok and to the sea. I knew the path we’d hiked was narrow but now in the early morning light I could see why people have died on summit attempts. Certainly not for people easily afraid of heights. In fact, in the darkness one guy turned back after half an hour because he could continue no longer. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c6ra4E7kzJQ/TcCy-jKWhpI/AAAAAAAAAEc/0iFnR55wmHI/s1600/Rinjani+%25287%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c6ra4E7kzJQ/TcCy-jKWhpI/AAAAAAAAAEc/0iFnR55wmHI/s640/Rinjani+%25287%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summit success</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AkCR-ToNZY/TcCzBDnwZuI/AAAAAAAAAEg/nIHoJ-y0rj0/s1600/Rinjani+%25289%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="344" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AkCR-ToNZY/TcCzBDnwZuI/AAAAAAAAAEg/nIHoJ-y0rj0/s640/Rinjani+%25289%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whisked clouds and people approaching the summit</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QuLTnT8gzJ4/TcC0dzHRCrI/AAAAAAAAAEo/teMbyO81v7E/s1600/IMG_9706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QuLTnT8gzJ4/TcC0dzHRCrI/AAAAAAAAAEo/teMbyO81v7E/s200/IMG_9706.jpg" width="133" /></a>Tiny ant-like specks of people trailed up the crater rim while the morning light broke over the summit. Clouds whisked over the top of the mountain creating a sort of ‘cloud rainbow.’ After haning about until it was much too cold to do so.. my fingers could no longer master the camera to take any shots.. it was time to blow this scene. Two ghours and 40 minutes up, an hour and a half down. Make no mistake, that volcano was one steep mo’ fo’. Half walking, half skiing, half running down the now well lit mountain I fell into a fit of laughter when I was passed by my guide; a 5 foot, 50 something-year-old Indonesian man, wearing sneakers much too big for him, tights and a beanie, carrying a frozen black monkey that we found on the summit, running down the mountain before slipping and falling flat on his bum. Picking himself up he was laughing just as much as me. An absolutely tremendous mental memory.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLlnTFqOvkE/TcCy2XpmONI/AAAAAAAAAEY/uIVLvpwKAO4/s1600/IMG_9703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLlnTFqOvkE/TcCy2XpmONI/AAAAAAAAAEY/uIVLvpwKAO4/s320/IMG_9703.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cruising through the farmlands</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border: medium none;">Back at base camp we stuck it to all the people too lazy to get up at 3am and shared our photos with those of who weren’t able to make the summit over pancakes and coffee. No need to linger though.. we still had a good 6 hours of hiking to make it back to the nearest town. Not much further on I realised that I had serious issues with walking ‘down’ things.. my knee pinching in pain ever step. There wasn’t much to do but lather that shit up in ye old trusty tiger balm and pop some anti-inflams. Expecting nothing less, the scenery was again spectacular; mist rolling across farm fields to the sound of tinkling cow bells. </div><br />
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</div><div style="border: medium none;">Cruising back through the open fields myself, reflecting on the days and months passed. Life is sweet and I just annhialated an active volcano in Indonesia!</div></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><img height="43" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2qWmAQjOe0c/TcCsIW3tC1I/AAAAAAAAAEE/itDddVeC9SI/s320/Rinjani+%25284%2529.JPG" style="left: 137px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 1625px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" /><img height="63" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zcaYRwXsXjs/TcCvSmWC1WI/AAAAAAAAAEM/0ZR9rY4LzUI/s320/IMG_9638.jpg" style="left: 231px; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 147px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" /><br />
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I am in Sabah. The Malaysian state of Borneo and the scene before me yields a peculiar air. The city in the peak of the afternoon is quiet. Restaurants are closed. People seem wary and on edge and can be seen silently napping in the stall side chairs and hammocks. <br />
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It occurred to me I had arrived during the religious month of Ramadan where Islamic devouts abstain from food, drink, sex and cigarettes between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Things already move quite slowly in this corner of the globe and it seemed as though the world had eerily come to a standstill.<br />
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It was difficult to judge the mood of the people, especially the ladies, their heads and faces veiled with the hijab. In much of the Western world the thought of an Islamic culture breeds nervousness. In the past images of serious white clothed Arab men with checked scarves nestling on their heads and women in full length black would flash across my mind. Although I was fairly well covered I still felt the piercing stare of wandering eyes. I was as intriguing to them as they were to me. But as I wandered through the streets I felt no need to fear the unfamiliarity of the unknown culture I was witnessing for the first time.<br />
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As the sun fell lower in the sky the streets took on a new atmosphere. The golden afternoon light bathed the city in colour as roadside stalls were hastily constructed touting a myriad of sticky sweets, colourful jelly drinks and other tasty treats patiently awaiting my discovery. The mood was transformed into one of jubilation as children rushing home from school and parents passing by from work picked up snacks to savor for later. <br />
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I foolishly assumed - and you could be forgiven for thinking the same - that Ramadan is not about food. In fact, Ramadan is all about food. As the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon every day the family gathers inside to celebrate breaking the fast with a modest feast of fruit, rice and meats. Younger members of the family laugh and poke each other playfully as they offer each other stories from their day past while – in keeping with good Malay hospitality - the wise, but plump grandmother makes sure that no-one has an empty plate.<br />
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As she turned to offer me fruit the family seconded her invitation; beckoning for me to join them at the low, round table. Accepting a curiously pink, hairy rambutan I couldn’t help but beam with delight. Terimah kasih banya, thank-you very much! And although I could see only the grandmothers’ eyes through the slit in the daintily bedazzled cloth adorning her head I no longer had difficulty in reading them. Behind the hijab she squinted as her cheeks pushed toward her kind eyes in a smile.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-7852645063545402011?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-29497252341630606252011-04-26T11:52:00.000+10:002011-04-26T11:52:46.056+10:002011-04-26T11:52:46.056+10:00Change of plansAfter nearly 9 months on the road and an appauling lack of posts to show for it, I've decided to change my game plan on the posting front. I'll instead try and upload short stories and photos from places that I've really enjoyed. So the format will be somewhat ecclectic but easier to follow and enjoy and for me to post more regulary. I feel way too overwhelmed with information if I even have to think about writing about all the things I've been up to!<br />
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I'm not sure if anyone even reads this.. but stay tuned and enoy!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-2949725234163060625?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-85461983482297761502011-03-14T22:16:00.001+11:002011-05-20T22:00:49.237+10:002011-05-20T22:00:49.237+10:00Indonesia Chapter 4: Komodo Dragons, Lombok and the GilisForgetting the journey to the springs and getting back to reality we realised that it was quite a trek to get back to Bajawa. With no idea if there was any more transport or if it was even possible to get back to the town that day the road had to be hit. Commence walking. Hoping for a ride from someone, it was getting dark and cold; we stopped two guys on motorbikes and negotiated for a price back to the town. They had to drop some things off to their home before they could take us. Not two minutes later a ‘trek,’ truck with planks of wood in the back for seats, passed by heading to the town for an eighth of the price of a motorbike. Some things are just meant to be. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking across Rinca</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Descending into Labuan Bajo at sunset, west Flores, on the next day you could see islands scattered across the bay. The light reflecting from the water accenting their silhouette. It was absolutely beautiful and instantly I forgot about the long, and loud, 8 hour bus ride it took to arrive. Labuan Bajo is famed for its world class diving (and snorkeling) and close proximity to the Komodo Islands National Parks which includes Rinca Island. Heading out to the islands you can instantly see the change in landscape. A bizarre thing really when they are so close in proximity, but have obviously been separated for many, many years. On Rinca the scenery is savannah, a dramatic contrast to the tropical rainforests and volcanoes of Flores. Hiking across the island you feel like you’ve taken a step back in time. Komodo dragons prowl the land, some as big as 4 meters. It reminds me of a time when dinosaurs roamed the earth. It’s important to keep your distance though as a bit from one will become severely infected due to the bacteria in the dragons’ mouth. For sure, you cannot survive such an encounter. The Komodo can smell food and blood from kilometers away so for this reason the kitchen is strategically built up on stilts. It’s also said that menstruating women should stay off the island for safety. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passing storm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Heading back to the mainland after frolicking with the fish in the corals we encountered perhaps one of the worst storms our captain has seen in 20 years. The wind was strong, we were heading straight towards it and the only place to seek refuge was behind the steering room. It was impossible to even peer beyond the corner as you were pelted with hard rain coming in at 90 degrees. The boat was at full power but seemed to be going backwards and it felt as though we would never get out of it. At one stage, when I could see the boat crew become a little worried, I even checked for where the life jackets were located. If someone were to be knocked off board they would have been blown to, well… who knows where? They say that the sun shines after the rain and this time it was as though the heavens opened and golden sunlight warmed our cold bodies. Everyone was hugging and hi-fiving that we made it out.. Because for a second it didn’t seemed so likely.<br />
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Diving around the islands is spectacular because of changing currents and perfect water temperatures for colorful and vibrant coral. At first plunging into the water you don’t know where to look. There are colors and fish everywhere. Descending to 30 meters the scenery changes and the fish become bigger. Big schools of fish swim in the currents below and smaller fish hide amongst the corals and flap about in eddy currents. I must remember to breathe from my regulator because it’s easy to keep your mouth wide open in awe. An hour passes by way to quick and before you realise it’s 3 minutes at 5 meters and time to ascend. Breaking the surface everyone pulls out their regulators, takes off their masks and can say no more than, ‘Awesome!’ <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tempting fate</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border: medium none;">Have you ever seen anyone fishing for Komodo dragons? Well this is what the local dive guys thought would be a fun thing to do while we waited on the dive boat for a group of people to visit the land of the lost. A fish on the end of a weight belt was the lure of choice for the 3 or 4 Indonesian guys who competed against each other to show their manliness. They would very confidently step from the boat and walk down the jetty to tease the dragons. This usually ended with the dragons chasing them, giggling and squealing, down the jetty before they leaped back onto boats while others pushed the boats away from the jetty. Perhaps not the safest game to play but extremely entertaining none-the-less.</div><br />
I can’t remember exactly how long it took to get from Flores to Lombok. What I do remember is it took; one early morning 5 hour ferry, a 2 hour hitchhike in the cabin of a truck, a long night bus across Sumbawa, another ferry crossing and a final 3 hour bus landing in Mattaram early afternoon the next day. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Point break at Kuta</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"></span></div>Destination: Kuta. And I don’t mean Kuta Bali but Kuta Lombok. I feel the need to differentiate between the two, just to clarify that I’m not a loud, Aussie drunkard (scoff if you will). Finding your way by public transport is easy. But what I did notice, getting closer to Bali, you must bargain a little harder as local drivers have come to expect a little extra money out of the unaware tourist. Of course you can avoid this dilemma by catching a ride with a much nice local who will, often, go out of their way to drop you right at the doorstep of your destination. Kuta attracts surfers. It was strange to overhear two guys chatting at a restaurant about an annoying beginner who kept dropping in on their waves. It’s such a subculture and I haven’t been exposed to the lingo in such a long while. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"></span></div>Exploring by foot finding reef breaks, awesome shakes and amazing food. Not to mention postcard-esque blue water, long white beaches framed with tall palms. The kids at Mawin beach (compared to others in the area) were a breath of fresh air, not asking for money, just wanting to run and play and be picked up and thrown in the water. It was nice to see kids just being kids… and being a kid too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxing on Gili Air</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After giving the Indonesian public transport system perhaps a little too much patronage it was time to hit some islands again. The Gili islands in north-west Lombok are 3 islands boasting beautiful beaches and perfect snorkeling. Unfortunately these are now connected to Bali by a speedboat which makes them more accessible to a lot more people. Gili T, the largest of the three, now has a fully fledged party scene attracting people spilling out from Kuta, Bali. I was chatting to a local guy at the small port and was surprised to hear him speak English with an Australian accent. I chose to explore the two smaller islands often overlooked by those who are looking for a bit more action. From the islands you can pop off into the sea to discover submerged treasures like hidden reefs and shipwrecks. Sitting on Gili Air in the morning looking over to the mainland you can see the sun rise over the daunting Gunung Rinjani. A 4,100 meter volcano whose peak is often hidden amongst the afternoon clouds. For days I watched the weather deliberating whether or not to attempt to make the long 3 day hike to the summit. It was as though it were challenging me saying, ‘Come on, you know you want to.’ <br />
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</span></div>The day I bit the bullet and decided finally to make the climb I was witness to one of probably the most spectacular sunrises I’ve ever seen. Perhaps it was a sign. <br />
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Next up Chapter 5: Rinjani you're mine..<br />
<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-8546198348229776150?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-29615564791553518772011-03-14T21:44:00.003+11:002011-05-20T22:01:39.259+10:002011-05-20T22:01:39.259+10:00Indonesia Chapter 3: Westbound, Flores and the Simple Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Landing in Maumere in Flores, much closer to Australia but still miles away from home, the choice of which direction to travel in was much simpler. Options were east or west. But with visa limitations and consideration of an exit strategy the only viable option was to head west, exit stage Singapore.<br />
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The first thing I notice about changing locations in Indonesia is the 'vibe' of the place and the people. This is largely influenced by the location (beachside vs. jungle) and more-so by the religion. The general initial feeling about Maumere, where there is substantially more Catholic influence, was that the people were a little colder, perhaps guarded. This didn’t last long once you busted out a swift set of pearly whites and threw in a ‘selemat pagi’ or ‘siang.’ Also, the feeling of villages by the beach is, as you would expect, a lot more relaxed. As you will notice everywhere in Asia, but perhaps more so by the beach, people spend the days lazing about sleeping and, well really.. just doing nothing. ‘Ojek [motorcycle taxis]’ and ‘bemo [public minibuses]’ drivers in Indonesia are especially good at this. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-V2eV04ZwZ90/TX3w5pDRsGI/AAAAAAAAADc/Gob_lnlN3dc/s1600/Maumere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-V2eV04ZwZ90/TX3w5pDRsGI/AAAAAAAAADc/Gob_lnlN3dc/s200/Maumere.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bungalow view at Maumere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Before starting west a few days were required to charge my batteries. A standalone bungalow perched at the sea fringe east of Maumere and closer to the Salor and Alor archipelagos was ideal. Apart from reading and swimming, I explored the beaches and villagers further east. Walking through palm tree plantations there is always a smiling young guy who is only ever too keen to scale a tree to fetch a coconut. Sitting in the grass, looking out over the water and sipping coconut water is probably one of the best ways to refresh after walking along the beach in the hot afternoon sun. Further east I found the small beachside village of Nagahale where they build impressive boats from traditional methods. With my limited Bahasa I was able to find out that it takes approximately 3 months and 4 rather small, but deceivingly strong, boat builders to complete one. Friendly people and smiling children, I think I would start to like this new part of Indonesia.<br />
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Catching local buses through Indonesia is an experience in itself. First you must find the bus (sometimes it finds you), negotiate your price and metaphorically buckle yourself in for the ride. If there’s no room inside then the roof or hanging from the side are acceptable places to squeeze in extra passengers. Of course there are chickens and other live goods, but not too much room for swinging cats. Loud indo-pop is always the soundtrack to any bus or bemo ride, volume set to ‘can’t quite talk but not quite yelling to the person next to you.’ The buses are always in a hurry. Horns blaring as they overtake, on the wrong side of the road around a blind corner, the pickup with 10 people in the back. The scenery is beautiful. From the window, snaking through the jungle, you can catch glimpses of the crystal blue water of the ocean imagining what a relief it would be to plunge into it. Higher up now in the hills you can see the peaks of volcanoes. Some dormant, some active.<span style="color: white;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue lake at Kelimutu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kelimutu is a ‘very active’ volcano in the middle of Flores overlooking the small roadside village of Moni. Most people catch buses to near the top of the volcano for sunrise where it’s a short 20 minute walk to the viewpoint. Alternatively, and this is what I love, you can walk through villages, getting to the heart of Indonesian life. Walking this way you cross a rickety bamboo bridge by a beautiful waterfall before negotiating ‘barely there’ dirt paths pass banana palms. Of course you must leave early to arrive in time to catch the sunrise. Under the cover of darkness it’s possible to sneak past the national park ticket office, avoiding paying the entrance fee. Arriving nearly 2.5 hours later near the summit you can see the sun start to peak its head from beyond the horizon. From here you can see two amazingly colored caldera lakes: blue and brown. At the viewpoint a hoard of German tourists are taking the obligatory group photos before being herded back down the hill into their bus. Timing it so that I arrive at the viewpoint alone they pass with their walking poles, Gore-Tex jackets and other gear well overprepeared for a leisurely walk from the car park. From the summit a 3rd, deep red lake is visible. And if you make a 360 degree pan of the landscape you can see all three lakes disappearing and reappearing amongst the low clouds. Walking back down the mountain tumbling rice paddies and other farmlands are now visible. Impossible greens are highlighted by the golden, early morning light. <br />
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Places in Flores may be geographically close together but by Indonesian transport distances are much longer. Stopping overnight in Ende to break up the otherwise 15 hour journey to Bajawa from Moni was a wise decision. Finding accommodation is always easy but sometimes irritating. It seems as though as soon as places are listed in the Lonely Planet they decide that their services are second to none and as such inflate their prices accordingly. However, walking just 100 meters around the corner to a street which is not surveyed you can find much fairer priced accommodation. This is not always the case of course, some business owners don’t see dollar signs when you walk in and are more than happy to discount the room on account of your student budget. If you’re just willing to look you can always find something a bit cheaper. <br />
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Bajawa, wow! I struggle to find an adjective which accurately describes this place. For sure, a highlight of the trip so far. Nestled in amongst tropical jungle and surrounded by volcanoes it really is the definition of beautiful. Hitching a ride in a petrol tanker down the mountains to find a traditional village the scenery only became more spectacular. The driver stopping occasionally to let us take photos. After ever turn the response was, ‘Wow!’ The village of Bene showcased traditional houses and women working with traditional weaving methods. Although it was beautiful, the people yelling out across the road for us to buy a ‘ticket’ made it feel a little less authentic. With only a name, and feeling like a bit of adventure, we headed further down the mountain in search of the Malanege hot springs. <span style="color: white;"> </span><br />
Walking, hitching, walking, and walking. It took some time. Stopping every half an hour or so to get a local to point us in the right direction, it seemed as though we would never find it. There was absolutely no signposting for it, no maps and definitely relied on the directions from locals to find it. Eventually (some 2 hours later) we stopped by a local home where we asked the lady for the hundredth time, ‘Malanege mata air panas?’ To which she replied, ‘Mandi?’ [Mandi: Bahasa for shower] ‘Yes!’ So she showed us through her yard and out the back where we were greeted with the most amazing hot spring I have ever seen. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Malenege hot springs</td></tr>
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Imagine. Two rivers meandering through the jungle; one hot, one cold. Then meeting at a secret place tumbling over rocks and mixing in the pool below. These are the Malanege hot springs. Sitting where the two rivers mix you can feel currents combining. Sometimes receiving a gush of slightly cooler water. It was just before dusk so the locals started arriving at the springs one-by-one for their afternoon shower. Now I was just a fly on the wall watching a very proud mother and father with their first newly born child. The father bathing her, gently pouring water over her little head. The grandfather sitting in the background watching, an air of wisdom and knowledge about him. Two young boys being teased by their uncle who kept dunking them under the water while they squealed with excitement. Watching the scene unfold I couldn’t help but smile. <br />
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Next up Chapter 4: Komodo dragons, Lombok and the Gilis<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-2961556479155351877?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-19642634413812606062010-11-21T15:43:00.004+11:002011-07-12T01:43:10.165+10:002011-07-12T01:43:10.165+10:00Indonesia Chapter 2: Moluccu, Toraja and the Pelni trilogyThe Moluccas are a collection of approximately 1000 small but beautiful islands that lie between Sulawesi and Papua and prove to be more difficult to navigate than the Togean Islands. I explored Pulau Ambon and Pulau Saparua in just over a week but would need nearly my whole visa time to really get to know the area. I was hoping to get to the Banda Islands, but that's a story in itself.<br />
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I arrived in Ambon on a Monday and there were two options of getting from here to Banda: a reasonably priced flight or a Pelni ship headed from Sulawesi to Timor which stopped briefly in the islands. By now I shouldn't need to explain the problems associated with the schedule (or lack thereof) of the Pelni fleet. The once-a-month boat which was headed that way was, or was not, coming within the week. No body really knew about this. So it seemed the best option to reach the islands was a 16 seat, small, twin-engine airplane which departed only on a Wednesday and a Saturday. The low frequency of flights meant that the Wednesday flight had already been fully booked so I secured myself a seat on the Saturday flight and headed to Pulau Saparua, east of Ambon on a public boat, in the meantime. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring rockpools</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Life in Saparua is meant to be easy. Accommodation was a small room in collection of about 5 set back less than 50 meters from the beach and overlooked by an old Dutch fort. Afternoons were spent lazy in the hammocks strung underneath overhanging trees on the beach with a good book. This was of course in-between swimming in the consistent 27 degree water and exploring the rock pools up the beach. A full, fresh, seafood dinner, if you wished, could be served to you on your porch while you watched the water and the setting sun. Otherwise grabbing some street food, a few cold Bintangs and sitting on the beach under the stars was another great way to enjoy the evenings.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hidden beaches</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This small sea-side village, to me, is the very definition of Indonesia. The consistent 'mister-misters,' only speaking Bahasa Indonesia, playing volleyball and soccer with the kids, being disgraced by my extremely little knowledge about the World Cup (the kids know everything here, EVERYTHING!), exploring the local market and trying new unknown foods, hitching rides in the back of trucks and hiking about discovering non-lonely planet listed beaches. The kids and people in Saparua are amazing which I think is contributed to by the non-existence of any 'tourism,' in the classic sense at least. When people aren't trying to make any money from you, it's amazing how much they have to give. It's places like Saparua that make you realise that the world is full of great people.</div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5KlBVSQjL7A/TX3tMi6jYMI/AAAAAAAAADI/JKVvtgSoxCE/s1600/Booi+village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5KlBVSQjL7A/TX3tMi6jYMI/AAAAAAAAADI/JKVvtgSoxCE/s200/Booi+village.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mosque at Booi village</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Around Ambon this was no exception. At one point, after making my way to Booi village on the west side of the island, I realised that there were no ‘warungs’ or ‘rumah makans’ in which to acquire lunch. For those who know me well, they know that this could pose some problems, mainly for those who have to deal with my food related (or lack-there-of) mood changes. Graciously, a kind old lady invited me to eat in what I could only assume was some sort of community centre (childcare, medical or something?) with the other people they were feeding. So sitting on the floor cross-legged with the other old men and ladies I enjoyed a simple meal of rice and vegetables. The generosity of people who have little to give continues to amaze me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>If you thought, from my description, that the Togean Islands were difficult to get to, then the Banda Islands do not exist as far as I'm concerned. It turns out that the Wednesday flight had been cancelled due to 'technical difficulties' and that everybody who was on that flight had been scheduled for Saturday while the Saturday people got pushed back a day to Sunday. It's obvious that this makes no sense and I'm convinced that there is a monkey making decisions somewhere about Indonesia's transportation. So, the mission to the Banda Islands was aborted. Even if the re-scheduled Sunday flight were to leave, there would be no guarantee of when you could make it back off the islands, as you can only book a return flight once you arrive to the island and the Pelni looked to be nowhere in sight.<br />
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So the options for leaving Ambon were these: a flight for a considerable fee or, a 'luxury' Pelni experience for about a fifth the price and only 20 times longer. In the interest of conserving as much cash as possible, and of course in the name of adventure; I'll give you one guess which option I chose. Matching the size of the Umsini, the Ceremai was all the things I'd become the expect from a Indonesian cruise ship. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9T12u7LK7rQ/TX3tZSukjCI/AAAAAAAAADM/oJv2TXU-hWw/s1600/pelni+sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9T12u7LK7rQ/TX3tZSukjCI/AAAAAAAAADM/oJv2TXU-hWw/s200/pelni+sunrise.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise with the crew</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A laugh was all I could imagine when I went to inspect the Ekonomi class sleeping arrangements and found half-torn sleeping mats and cockroaches crawling over the floor. Instead I found myself a nice small patch of hard floor between baggage, surrounded by large Indonesian families, groups of giggly teenagers who obviously don't see 'buleh' on Pelni ships, glaring old men and some friendly young musicians in the staircase landing somewhere between first and second class. Sleep in Indonesia is always interrupted by morning 'namaz' and being aboard a Pelni is no excuse. At approximately 4.30am hoards of young and old men clad with traditional sarongs make their way to cramp the ship 'mushola.' A plus, however, is being woken up in time for sunrise.. a perfect photo opportunity in the middle of the ocean.<br />
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Food on this journey was somewhat better than that of the last however, I wasn't willing to risk it and bought myself plenty of 'telur kacang' and 'tic-tac snack,' the only Indonesian snack-food substitue for a meal. There's only so far though that these will get you and after the better half of 2 days and 2 nights aboard the boat, I was well and truly hanging for some nasi goreng. <br />
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Arriving in Makassar back in Sulawesi, and deciding that my body clock hadn't nearly had enough of a flogging, I decided to mission on to Tana Toraja before, as luck would have it, there was another Pelni to Maumere in Flores in 3 days time. The fact that there was one any time soon surely proved that it was meant to be.<br />
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Toraja was absolutely amazing. I was fortunate enough to arrive the same day Pasar Bolu, the big animal market, was in full swing. I could happily spend hours walking around markets observing the people, digesting the smells and sights and dreaming up endless possibilities of culinary delights. The big draw-card about the market that day was the buffalo which were being sold for eventual sacrifice to the gods in exchange for deceased family members' ascent in to the afterlife. If you happen to arrive on the right day, you can actually see this happening on a day of the 5 day traditional Toraja funeral ceremony. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AzAPtTnpL9M/TX3tl4oWxLI/AAAAAAAAADQ/VbZpcvT7dUg/s1600/toraja.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AzAPtTnpL9M/TX3tl4oWxLI/AAAAAAAAADQ/VbZpcvT7dUg/s200/toraja.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traditional houses in Torja</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Unfortunately I had not arrived in the peak of funeral season (I'm not kidding, this exists) so I spent the day walking barefoot and knee deep through rice paddies as I made my way from an amazing viewpoint at Batutumonga, through small villages, back down to Rantepao. Little old women working in the rice paddies helped me to find my way by pointing me along small paths along their edges. People in the villages were all smiles as they asked me the usual questions. A dialogue for the day went a little like this: old lady (in Indo), 'where you from?' Me, 'the top.' Old lady, 'where you go?' Me, 'the bottom.' Old lady, 'oh.' I'm not sure if that was exactly the information they were looking for, but they seemed content with my response. At one point I yelled (in Indonesian) to a little boy, 'how are you?' To which he replied, 'I don't speak English.' Perplexing, I did have a little laugh to myself though. Nothing beats the smiles on the faces of everyone who you're willing to stop and have a conversation with in either Bahasa or English. I'm sure it brightens their day as much as it does mine.</div><br />
The completion of the Pelni trilogy was the leg from Makassar to Maumere in Flores. A shorter trip than the last, but equal to that of the first, this trip was surprisingly delightful compared to the previous trips. The boat was smaller, less crowded and considerably cleaner. It wasn't long before being intercepted by one of the officers who introduced himself as, 'Mr Hankey. No hanky panky.' To this, I nearly wet myself laughing. Mr Hankey's hospitality was amazing! I spent the journey after this in the bridge room with the captain and other ship crew. Hankey even made me a meal and offered unlimited use of the crews' tea and coffee supply, the best! I think that this qualifies as the Pelni equivilant of being upgraded to first class. Chatting to Hankey about the ship and him telling me about others who had braved the journey I asked him, 'When was the last time they were on the ship?' He replied, 'Oh about 4 months ago. But you are the first Australian I think. Yes, Kylie, you are the first Australian on my ship.' Later in Java I was talking to an Indonesian guy who said that one of his first childhood memories was seeing Kylie Minouge singing 'Locomotion' on the TV aboard a Pelni from Jakarta to Surabaya.<br />
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Up until this point I had spent the previous 5 nights 'sleeping' on Pelni's or night buses (if there's a night bus I take it for sure, saves a nights accommodation expenses) and the past 8 nights up before 5am. So needless to say, I was ready for a little R&R. A small bungalow on the beach in Waiterang, really in the middle of nowhere, some kilometers east of Maumere was a perfect place to do this. <br />
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Next up Chapter 3: Westboung, Flores and the simple things...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-1964263441381260606?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-2578442164055618142010-11-18T00:29:00.004+11:002011-03-14T21:17:33.366+11:002011-03-14T21:17:33.366+11:00Indonesia Chapter 1: Pelni, Sulawesi and the Togean Islands<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Indonesia. I think it's love. From the endless 'mister-mister's to the epic boat rides, and from the overwhelming consumption of rice to the consistant inconsistencies. I miss it already. I started my jounrey in Kalimantan, crossing to Sulawesi, flying to the Moluccu Islands, crossing back to Sulawesi briefly before crossing over to Flores, then heading by boat and bus all the way west visiting Lombok, Bali (briefly) and Java. Sixty days just wasn't enough! I think it would be possible to spend over a year in Indonesia and still not have visited all the islands. In fact, I'm sure.. considering there are over 17,000!</div><a name='more'></a><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-zPQqSbvTQoo/TX3ouWGXJwI/AAAAAAAAAC4/6n7cc8lXstM/s1600/secret+lagoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>So my journey in Indonesia commenced with a boat ride. Neigh, a ship journey. And not just any ship journey.. but that aboard the infamous Indonesian Pelni. Now readers, a Pelni is a very unique experience. Allow me to attempt to share with you. Firstly, I had no idea what I was getting myself in to when I boarded the ship in Tarakan in Kalimantan in an attempt to reach Panteloan in Sulawesi. Walking to the ship up the jetty I started to realise what people had meant by the Pelni being a 'big' ship. It looked large from afar but as I approached it's size completely dwarfed the thousands of locals boarding (who looked more like ants than people). I can only speculate to the amount of people on this ship; but imagine a 9 storey ocean liner cramed so full of people that they are forced to sleep on the numerous ship decks, the stairwells and anywhere else there was room, leaving only tip-toe space through the hallways. I would guess more than 2000. And there were only 3 'buleh' (Indonesian for caucasian persons); me and a young English couple. Needless to say, this isn't a typical tourist vessel. Upon boarding we were swifty escorted by a concerned security guard to his office and told, "Tarakan orang (people) are very dangerous. Criminals. But you safe here. Stay here and I keep you safe." Ok. What HAD I got myself into? Of course the three of us, on our stringent student-backpacker budget, had only 'Ekonomi' tickets which meant we all had a single hard wooden bench to sleep on in the lower deck of the ship, with no airflow, cramped among the supposed 'criminals,' crying babies and I'm also sure I heard a rooster crowing somewhere down there. We thought that it surely couldn't be that bad. We only had, what I naively thought, 8-10 hours till our destination. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-SexeE89nmZ8/TX3oIQnqGII/AAAAAAAAAC0/rocsIu3fzSo/s1600/still+smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-SexeE89nmZ8/TX3oIQnqGII/AAAAAAAAAC0/rocsIu3fzSo/s200/still+smiling.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Above deck, still smiling</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After a few hours we gathered confidence to head to the upper deck and explore the ship. Thankfully, conditions everywhere else in the ship weren't nearly as bad as those down in the Ekonomi section. But, after discussing with many locals in psuedo-Indo (thank God I bought a dictionary in Tarakan before I boarded the ship) we recieved converging information about the ship arriving at 8 o'clock, the next evening! Wow, time-anticipation-fail. Up until this point the maximum amount of time that I had spent on any public transport was about 6 hours. Now, 6 hours is a complete piss in the park. Hell, 30 hours seems like a completely reasonable time to spend on a single public transport mode.</div><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-94_T1HcZmT8/TX3mvBq4vhI/AAAAAAAAACw/qArAklkUarc/s1600/Pelni+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-94_T1HcZmT8/TX3mvBq4vhI/AAAAAAAAACw/qArAklkUarc/s200/Pelni+dinner.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dinner, I shit you not!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The journey was memorable. Rice and (insert some random mystery meat here) for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. Once we recieved a deep fried, severed fish head atop our, somewhat dirty, bed of rice. That time it was straight to the kiosk to purchase the life-saving Indomie mie goreng. Chatting to all the locals, trying to work out what the hell they were saying. The Pelni certainly gave me an intensive course in converstaional Bahasa Indonesia. We recieved special treatment by not getting kicked out of all the places the locals would otherwise; the first class lounge and outside the bridge room. By the time we left the ship everyone knew we were there and were coming over to say hello and take our photos (I wonder how many random Facebook photos we're in?). And our security guard friend ensured that we were the first ones off the ship, even ahead of the first class passengers. We felt privilaged considering we'd payed less than just about anyone else to be on that ship.</div><br />
You know when some things are so bad they're good? The Pelni is definitely one of these experiences. Thirty hours later we arrived at our destination.. somewhat dehydrated (purposefully for fear of having to use the toilets, imagine) and malnourished, but high in spirits none-the-less. Love or loathe the Pelni? I choose love.<br />
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High on the priority list for the three muskateers at this point was beach, sun and relaxing. However, for this to occur we would need to make the 11 hour car ride from Pantaloen to Ampana in order to reach the (somewhat pain-in-the-ass-to-get-to) Togean Islands. The taxi ride was torturous, to say the least; rallying across the coastline while our driver chain-smoked the entire journey (seriously). Arriving at Ampana at 6am and realising that there was actually no boat to the islands until the next day we crashed, hard, at a hotel in the meantime. <br />
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I thought I'd nearly cry, I'm sure like most others who complete the marathon journey, when I saw Kadidiri Island! Arriving (after an additional 8 hour boat ride) to the island we were greeted with crystal clear water, home to vibrant coloured coral and tropical fish, white sand beaches and perfect blue skies. Snorkelling in the bath-like temperature water, enjoying the sun set over the water was definitely the perfect end to the first, and certainly not the last, multi-mode-transport adventure. <br />
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For anyone who has been to the Togean Islands, they will know what I mean when I say they are un-fricking-believable! As the lonely planet says, '[the Togean islands] are difficult to get to, and even more difficult to leave.' As such, everyone you meet out there is staying 'longer than expected.' Because of its remote location, the group of islands attracts a different crowd of people than you might find elsewhere in Indonesia such as Bali or the Gili Islands. Often you wont find people on 'holiday' looking for a party but rather long-term travellers or those who aren't afraid of a bit of an adventure. At the end of the day everyone would commune at the long tables under the dining bungalo for food, bintangs and a de-brief on the days activities. The great group of people on the island and the home-style communal dining further make this my favorite group of islands in all of Indonesia.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-zPQqSbvTQoo/TX3ouWGXJwI/AAAAAAAAAC4/6n7cc8lXstM/s1600/secret+lagoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-zPQqSbvTQoo/TX3ouWGXJwI/AAAAAAAAAC4/6n7cc8lXstM/s200/secret+lagoon.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our secret lagoon</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Over the course of a week I canoed to a secret lagoon where we saw, what we found out later, possibly a baby whale who got stuck in there; made a 3 hour ride in a small outrigger to climb an active volcano on Una-Una, sleeping on the floor in some random families house; dived at a perfect B-24 bomber wreck of Pulau Kadidiri; snorkelled an amazing reef and explored white sand secluded beaches off Pulau Malenge; got a little bit silly with some arrak with the Bajo family whose losman we stayed at in Kadidiri; and slept in shack-like bungalos on the beach.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UzCfTpTmzh4/TX3p6bbqxvI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Xeeq-_vfhq0/s1600/makeshift+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" q6="true" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-UzCfTpTmzh4/TX3p6bbqxvI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Xeeq-_vfhq0/s200/makeshift+bed.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping under the stars</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But all good things must come to an end. In order to leave the islands you must first determine when the boats are leaving. Finding information is somewhat impossible in Indonesia, people rarely know anything about public transport; it arrives when it gets there, it leaves when it's full and costs as much as you're willing to agree to. Approaching the end of Ramandan and the beginning of Idul Fitri this was only all too clear. For example: in previous days there had been no boats leaving the island but the day we all decided to leave, four mysterious boats departed the harbour. The 10-hour night boat to Gorantalo was overcrowded due to the massive amounts of people on the move to be with their families for the holiday. As a result, you slept wherever there was, or wasn't, room. My original choice of sleeping on a makeshift bed of a plank of wood balanced on two oil drums, under the stars, on the ship roof was foiled by the arrival of a massive storm and torrential rain. Getting off the roof of the ship could have ended badly as it was a case of scrambling along the edge, holding on to the rails and climbing down a ladder to the slippery deck below. Instead, I slept in the 1 metre wide, nearly dry, hallway of the main deck while people had to tip-toe around everyone else who was sprawled about blocking a clear path. It seemed as though this style of travel was becoming a regular occurance for wanting to get anywhere worth while in Indonesia. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Pulau Bunaken in the north of Sulawesi was next on the cards after the 20 hour journey out of the Togean Islands. Days on Bunaken are best spent in the water diving some of the best reefs in the world, relaxing in the hammock reading and enjoying life's simpler pleasures. Bunaken had a similar lifestyle to the Togeans, but because of their more accessible location, have more tourists and holiday makers. Having said this, it's still possible to find a quiet place away from the more 'resort-style' accomodation by opting for the losmens run by quirky local families.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">After enjoying island life a little more and much deliberation on where to head next (the options were north, south or east) I booked my first plane ticket in Indonesia headed for Pulau Ambon in the Moluccu islands further east of Sulawesi with the intention of later heading to the Banda Islands.</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Stay posted for Chapter 2: Moluccu, Toraja and the Pelni trilogy..</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-257844216405561814?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-30553030756213016012010-10-28T22:54:00.002+11:002010-11-18T00:34:28.989+11:002010-11-18T00:34:28.989+11:00Top 10 phrases you should know in IndonesiaLearning how to speak a little bit of the language in Indonesia has helped me go a long way! It's helped me get cheaper-than-local prices, get on the right bus, learn some sweet stuff from the kids, know what the hell I'm eating and impress the locals. Here are some of my favorite/most useful phrases to know and understand:<br />
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1. Mau ke mana? (where are you going) - Indonesian people love to know where you're off to next. Either so they can sell you a ticket for the bus or, more often, just for a friendly chat.<br />
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2. Dari mana? (where do you come from) - Of course they equally love to know where you've come from. But this one is tricky: sometimes it can mean where from today, or other times is can mean which country you're from. Usually they're just happen with an answer, they're too polite to tell you you've answered the wrong question.<br />
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3. Hati-hati! (Be careful) - I love yelling this out to people when they're doing something that's probably a bit of an OH&S naughty. Always gets a smile. I think they like that I'm looking out for them.<br />
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4. Suda lama di Indonesia? (how long have you been in Indonesia) - I usually just give the stock answer of 1 month, it saves hassles.<br />
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5. Suda kawin? (are you married) - You could be forgiven for thinking that Indonesian people are a nosey bunch, but maritial status is a major definition of your standing in the family and community. Of course I was already married : )<br />
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6. Di mana swami? (where is your husband) - Obvious next question. FYI: he was at home working, unfortunately he didn't have any holidays. Someone has to earn the money, geez!<br />
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7. Kamu baik hati (you are very kind) - Always a good one to throw in when bartering for stuff. Said with a smile, this one goes a long way.<br />
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8. Wooah, mahal! (wow, it's very expensive) - This one goes hand in hand with a bit of a drama performance.<br />
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9. Bisa murah harganya? (can you make it cheaper) - The follow-up question to number 8. And yes, they can make it cheaper.<br />
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10. Saya kecil, sama-sama orang Indonesia (I'm small, the same as Indonesians) - Gets a laugh. But I do like that everything here is Bianca-sized.<br />
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Ooh there are so many more that I could mention! I actually find now that I am relieved when people don't speak English. It's much easier asking for what I want in the local language. It's been fun!<br />
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Get more out of your travels, learn a few important phrases : )<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-3055303075621301601?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3805054956359502227.post-54006962973454781752010-10-25T21:07:00.000+11:002010-10-25T21:07:29.409+11:002010-10-25T21:07:29.409+11:00Everyone's an effing travel blogger...So how hard could it be? I've decided, with much deliberation, to start a travel blog so that friends and family can catch up with my whereabouts and what-dos. Perhaps the fact that I don't have a computer will slow me down and internet connections on the road are infrequent and frustratingly slow. However, I realised that while I'm living right-here-right-now, no one else in the world knows what I'm up to. So please... enjoy!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3805054956359502227-5400696297345478175?l=talesfroma35litrebackpack.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Biancanoreply@blogger.com0