28.3.12
19.3.12
Yangon
I'm gonna come straight out and say it: I'm not a huge fan of Paris.
Maybe I lack the imagination to make the city's history come to life. Its symmetry and grand boulevards leave me indifferent. The fabulous museums, the iconic metro signs, the triumphant arcs that stand guard on every roundabout, are like the distinctive traits of a woman that is altogether too beautiful to approach. Better to appreciate them from a distance and save myself the embarrassment of rejection.
Yangon, on the other hand, steps right up and lets me smell its armpits. The former capital of Myanmar is poor, dirty and always recovering from some major natural or man-made disaster. Yet at the same time it's one of the most romantic places I've ever been to.
Maybe I lack the imagination to make the city's history come to life. Its symmetry and grand boulevards leave me indifferent. The fabulous museums, the iconic metro signs, the triumphant arcs that stand guard on every roundabout, are like the distinctive traits of a woman that is altogether too beautiful to approach. Better to appreciate them from a distance and save myself the embarrassment of rejection.
Yangon, on the other hand, steps right up and lets me smell its armpits. The former capital of Myanmar is poor, dirty and always recovering from some major natural or man-made disaster. Yet at the same time it's one of the most romantic places I've ever been to.
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| Telephone cabin Yangon-style (credit It says tourist) |
16.3.12
Farewell Indonesia
Time to say goodbye to Indonesia! One last song by Ms. Ayu Ting Ting and we're off to Myanmar. The guy in the red t-shirt should have his own tv channel, by the way.
15.3.12
Bira pink
We stayed in Bira for about a week and loved every second of it. In the absence of photographs, let me describe some scenes and people I will never forget.
Mr. Achmed
Pimps of the world, beware! No matter how badass you think you are, there is a man in Bira who outshines you all. Mr. Achmed is his name and he makes Kool Keith look like a school girl. Sitting comfortably on the terrace of his boat-shaped restaurant with his crew, his luxurious hair almost reaching the ground, this former captain of the seas would drop truth bombs non-stop. For your benefit and education, I will share a couple of his more memorable phrases:
On karaoke ladies
“I don't pay for girls. If they find me attractive, I will sleep with them. But not pay. I'm sorry! I would be shy for myself.”
On his beautiful wife “
I love my wife only 60 percent. How can you love someone 100 percent? You wouldn't be able to love yourself. First, I love myself. I'm sorry!”
On his career as a captain
“I once took a German to the Banda islands on his small boat. Thousands of miles away. When I get there, they ask me for my captain's license. I don't have it. They told me I couldn't sail this boat to their port. I told them: 'I just did, I'm sorry!'”
Mr. Achmed
Pimps of the world, beware! No matter how badass you think you are, there is a man in Bira who outshines you all. Mr. Achmed is his name and he makes Kool Keith look like a school girl. Sitting comfortably on the terrace of his boat-shaped restaurant with his crew, his luxurious hair almost reaching the ground, this former captain of the seas would drop truth bombs non-stop. For your benefit and education, I will share a couple of his more memorable phrases:
On karaoke ladies
“I don't pay for girls. If they find me attractive, I will sleep with them. But not pay. I'm sorry! I would be shy for myself.”
On his beautiful wife “
I love my wife only 60 percent. How can you love someone 100 percent? You wouldn't be able to love yourself. First, I love myself. I'm sorry!”
On his career as a captain
“I once took a German to the Banda islands on his small boat. Thousands of miles away. When I get there, they ask me for my captain's license. I don't have it. They told me I couldn't sail this boat to their port. I told them: 'I just did, I'm sorry!'”
13.3.12
Bira blue
In my previous post, I mentioned that our camera got stolen on the night bus from Rantepao to Macassar, the capital of Sulawesi. The thing hardly rated as a high-tech gadget and was easily replaced, but its memory card carried all the photos we took during the first month of our travels.
This could have been avoided if we had made a back-up. In fact, a few days before the theft we were about to commit ourselves to some serious archiving, when someone said “Let's do something else” and we forgot all about it.
But in travel, as in wife swapping, your luck can change. To illustrate, let me tell you about the day after that unfortunate nocturnal journey.
This could have been avoided if we had made a back-up. In fact, a few days before the theft we were about to commit ourselves to some serious archiving, when someone said “Let's do something else” and we forgot all about it.
But in travel, as in wife swapping, your luck can change. To illustrate, let me tell you about the day after that unfortunate nocturnal journey.
8.3.12
Tana Toraja
When I was a kid, my father worked for the marketing department of a German car company. This meant that my sister and I spent an inordinate amount of time at motor shows and race circuits. Unfortunately, we found most of those events rather boring. Too young to drive or drink champagne, we routinely resorted to a savage pillage of the various promo stalls that accompany any car function.
2.3.12
Gunung Rinjani
There it is, leaning back nonchalantly in a pillow of clouds. Even covered in fluff, Gunung Rinjani, the second-highest volcano in Indonesia, looks freakin' awesome. “We're gonna climb that thing?”, asks Hannelore. Hiking is sort of against her religion, as are most activities involving ugly footwear.
Yes, we are climbing that thing and we're starting from a small town called Senaru. There we find a trekking outfit and meet the people we will be spending the next three days with: porters, guides and six other unfit members of the tourism tribe.
Kali Bambang
Now, walking through the jungle is quite monotonous. It's green, you know. You don't see any animals, because of the green. Beneath the foliage it's hot and humid. Also, very green. The trees are called Klak and Kali Bambang, which sound like names for mixed drinks to me. Which might explain why, during the first four hours of the climb, I feel as if I had too many cocktails before dinner.
That all changes when we reach the tree line. Suddenly the air becomes cooler, the fog that hangs like drapes between the shrubs miraculously lifts and we are standing in a wide and open space that reminds me of the Scottish Highlands. The soil is black here, with a stubble of yellow grass. The few windblown trees that remain have enough room to stretch their branches wide. I don't know what it says about me, but I find this charred landscape infinitely more romantic than the wilderness we just left. A poem is called for, me thinks.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Cumulus commuters
Onwards! The sky is beginning to bruise, night must fall and we shall be forced to camp. A strong wind is blowing, so the guides decide we should pitch our tents in a narrow gorge that offers some protection from the elements. At 2700 meters above sea level we can see all the way to the summit of Gunung Agung in Bali.
The sun drops like a hot air balloon and the clouds hurry from the valley below towards the Java Sea, a string of cumulus commuters on their way home. Dinner - nasi goreng and a banana pancake for dessert - is shared by a small campfire, while the stars make their grand entry. It's good to be a tourist.
And it gets even better. The next day we trek towards the crater. The higher we get, the looser the ground we tread. It's heavy going and for a minute I'm worried that Hannelore might go volcano on me and start spewing rocks in the general direction of my head. But she keeps her cool and is rewarded with the view of a lifetime.
Jules Vernesque
Gunung Rinjani's caldera is a world within a world. Looking down on it, you feel as if you've unwittingly stepped into a Jules Verne story. An abundance of trees, a sky blue lake and a wizard island with its own small crater contribute to the effect. Descending into this idyllic microcosm down a rocky path, you notice the sound of birds whistling and realize you hadn't heard birds since you crossed the tree line yesterday. There are fish in the water, obviously. At this point you wouldn't be surprised if Bigfoot came up to you and asked what you were doing in his crib.
At the bottom of the crater we take the time to bathe in a hot spring and have lunch. Then we start climbing again, but this time our destination is the real summit of the volcano. Our tireless porters set up camp for the second night at the far side of the caldera's edge. If all goes well, we will be standing on top of Gunung Rinjani, 3726 meters above sealevel, by daybreak. A Kodak moment that should inspire some formidable posing.
Fairdeegowks!
I wish I could tell you we made it to the top. When I woke up at 3 AM for breakfast - Hannelore had wisely decided to let this one pass and catch up on some sleep - the wind was howling and our guides carried worried looks on their faces. A few years ago an unaccompanied German had fallen to his death just a few hundred meters from the summit. They didn't want us to recreate the experience.
After some deliberation, we decided to try our luck anyway. Equipped with a flashlight and all the warm clothing we could find, we started the ascent. After a while, the gale calmed down and we were beginning to feel pretty good about ourselves. Those fools in their tents would be hearing about this for a long time! Lazy, no-good fairdeegowks!
But after two and a half hours of climbing, just as we were nearing the summit, the wind picked up again. In that coldest hour of the day, just before dawn, we were forced to hide behind a large boulder and wait for better weather. Shivering and running out of Jaffa cakes to distribute, our guide finally suggested we should return to camp and we all happily agreed.
The way down was pure bliss. More of those Scottish hills, some Asian savanna scenery and a minibus waiting at the foot of the mountain. Looking back from the rearview window, I had to admit: this volcano was just too freakin' awesome.
Yes, we are climbing that thing and we're starting from a small town called Senaru. There we find a trekking outfit and meet the people we will be spending the next three days with: porters, guides and six other unfit members of the tourism tribe.
Kali Bambang
Now, walking through the jungle is quite monotonous. It's green, you know. You don't see any animals, because of the green. Beneath the foliage it's hot and humid. Also, very green. The trees are called Klak and Kali Bambang, which sound like names for mixed drinks to me. Which might explain why, during the first four hours of the climb, I feel as if I had too many cocktails before dinner.
That all changes when we reach the tree line. Suddenly the air becomes cooler, the fog that hangs like drapes between the shrubs miraculously lifts and we are standing in a wide and open space that reminds me of the Scottish Highlands. The soil is black here, with a stubble of yellow grass. The few windblown trees that remain have enough room to stretch their branches wide. I don't know what it says about me, but I find this charred landscape infinitely more romantic than the wilderness we just left. A poem is called for, me thinks.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Cumulus commuters
Onwards! The sky is beginning to bruise, night must fall and we shall be forced to camp. A strong wind is blowing, so the guides decide we should pitch our tents in a narrow gorge that offers some protection from the elements. At 2700 meters above sea level we can see all the way to the summit of Gunung Agung in Bali.
The sun drops like a hot air balloon and the clouds hurry from the valley below towards the Java Sea, a string of cumulus commuters on their way home. Dinner - nasi goreng and a banana pancake for dessert - is shared by a small campfire, while the stars make their grand entry. It's good to be a tourist.
And it gets even better. The next day we trek towards the crater. The higher we get, the looser the ground we tread. It's heavy going and for a minute I'm worried that Hannelore might go volcano on me and start spewing rocks in the general direction of my head. But she keeps her cool and is rewarded with the view of a lifetime.
Jules Vernesque
Gunung Rinjani's caldera is a world within a world. Looking down on it, you feel as if you've unwittingly stepped into a Jules Verne story. An abundance of trees, a sky blue lake and a wizard island with its own small crater contribute to the effect. Descending into this idyllic microcosm down a rocky path, you notice the sound of birds whistling and realize you hadn't heard birds since you crossed the tree line yesterday. There are fish in the water, obviously. At this point you wouldn't be surprised if Bigfoot came up to you and asked what you were doing in his crib.
At the bottom of the crater we take the time to bathe in a hot spring and have lunch. Then we start climbing again, but this time our destination is the real summit of the volcano. Our tireless porters set up camp for the second night at the far side of the caldera's edge. If all goes well, we will be standing on top of Gunung Rinjani, 3726 meters above sealevel, by daybreak. A Kodak moment that should inspire some formidable posing.
Fairdeegowks!
I wish I could tell you we made it to the top. When I woke up at 3 AM for breakfast - Hannelore had wisely decided to let this one pass and catch up on some sleep - the wind was howling and our guides carried worried looks on their faces. A few years ago an unaccompanied German had fallen to his death just a few hundred meters from the summit. They didn't want us to recreate the experience.
After some deliberation, we decided to try our luck anyway. Equipped with a flashlight and all the warm clothing we could find, we started the ascent. After a while, the gale calmed down and we were beginning to feel pretty good about ourselves. Those fools in their tents would be hearing about this for a long time! Lazy, no-good fairdeegowks!
But after two and a half hours of climbing, just as we were nearing the summit, the wind picked up again. In that coldest hour of the day, just before dawn, we were forced to hide behind a large boulder and wait for better weather. Shivering and running out of Jaffa cakes to distribute, our guide finally suggested we should return to camp and we all happily agreed.
The way down was pure bliss. More of those Scottish hills, some Asian savanna scenery and a minibus waiting at the foot of the mountain. Looking back from the rearview window, I had to admit: this volcano was just too freakin' awesome.
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