So, the internet. It’s a wonderful thing. And blogs, you know, kind of need it. And remote islands in Indonesia? They don’t have it. So yeah. That’s why (assuming we ever get internet), I will be posting a bunch of blogs at once. For now, I write them in my journal to be posted in more urbanized regions (fingers crossed for Bali).
Our last stop was the island of Flores. Sound familiar? Well, maybe. It’s the first place we’ve been to that I’d heard of and if you read the National Geographic article about pygmy humans, you might recognize the name too.
On Flores, anchored near a town called Maumere, we had a fun six days. We shopped in an outdoor market where squatting ladies sold fruits and veggies, fishermen displayed their latest catches with grins and sharp knives, and chickens were kept under tables to be sold live and squawking. From there we found that the chickens would be tied upside down to motorbike handlebars and rushed to their dooms. We feasted with the locals and learned how to peel the meat off the spine of a whole grilled fish. We watched them eat the eyeballs too, but we chose not to partake of this delicacy.
The best part of our time in Maumere, as far as I was concerned, was our trip up the volcanic mountain Kelimutu to see the fabled “color changing lakes”. Everyone we spoke to insisted that we go up early to see the sunrise, so we scheduled a private van to pick us up at (oh god) 3:30 AM. It had been rainy and cloudy the few days leading up to our adventure, and our local friends promised to pray for good weather for us.
Unbelievable as it may seem, I managed to awaken before 3 AM and wasn’t even the last one ready to go. We drove the dingy to shore and then it was off we went on our three hour drive. Up we drove through windy mountain roads, going slowly to avoid wandering goats and cattle, as well as oncoming motorbikes and buses.
Now, I said that we left at 3:30 and the drive was 3 hours long. This would lead one to assume that the sunrise was around 6:30. Imagine our surprise when, with almost an hour to go, the sky began to lighten. By 6 o’clock, we could no longer ignore it, the sun was well above the horizon. Sunrise (I have since checked on an early watch shift) occurs around 5:45 around these parts. So sunrise at the top of the mountain- fail.
As it turned out, this was just as well. The volcano was wreathed in clouds. When we reached the trailhead near the top of the mountain, it was so foggy that the trees dripped down on us. For the first time in weeks (or has it been months?), I shivered.
And so it was up to the color changing lakes with us. I was somewhat dismayed to discover that we could not expect a rave party light show from these lakes. Rather, the lakes changed colors unexpectedly from season to season. Psh! What was so exciting about that? You leave a swimming pool untreated long enough and it will do that too.
Nevertheless, we pressed on. We witnessed a bird with an incredibly loud warble that resembled Nintendo shooting noises, and this raised our spirits as we shot imaginary lasers at each other in time with the chirps. But alas, when we reached the lakes, our hearts sank again. The craters were filled with impenetrable fog. Unless these supposed lakes were white right now, we were totally unable to see them. We hiked from crater to crater and peered hopefully down… nothing. We tossed rocks in, hoping to at least hear a splash… nothing. We searched the monkey feeding grounds, hoping for some form of entertainment, and though we sacrificed a cucumber in hopes of enticing them… nothing.
Disheartened, we took pictures of the posters so we could pretend we had seen something. As we prepared to depart, we climbed one last time to the first crater, to peer again over the “safety fanch” (a spelling error we found hilarious). Mournfully we tossed pebbles into the mist and then, as if some volcano god was pleased with our mineral sacrifices, the fog began to lift.
There were, indeed, lakes! One was red, the other, a brilliant turquoise with yellowish scum. The third was still mostly shrouded, but appeared black. And as we gazed, hooted with glee, and delightedly snapped pictures, distant screeches that could only be monkeys came drifting across the valley below. Lo and behold, at the monkey feeding grounds, there were monkeys. Kitten shared her apple with one while the rest of us perched on a bamboo structure, filming and photographing.
Utterly pleased with ourselves, and rather exhausted, we returned to our driver, and, 3 hours later, the boat. Kelimutu color changing lakes- totally worth it.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Here Be Dragons?
No cruising trip in Indonesia is complete without a trip to the largely uninhabited, hot, dry and inhospitable island of Komodo. So on our crossing from Flores to Bali, we stopped briefly on Komodo island for some dragon hunting.
As we sailed up to the island, Kitten and I debated the habits of Komodo dragons. She searched the hills, anticipating large herds to be loping gracefully across the grassy hillsides. I scanned the cliffs and rocky areas, expecting to find cave dwelling, grumpy, fire breathing specimens. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you which one of us was correct. As it turns out, Komodo dragons are considerably more elusive than we gave them credit for, and though we searched high and low (nervously), they evaded us.
When we arrived, Adub and I made an initial foray onto the island. Komodo in the late afternoon felt eerie. The beach we landed on was fenced in by mangroves and we were already feeling wary of crocodiles which purportedly live in the same places as Komodo Dragons. Cautiously, we made our way through the low trees, ducking through narrow vines that hung from some branches and avoiding swampy looking ground. Beyond the mangroves was a large dry mudflat scattered with driftwood, abandoned sandals and the odd sun-bleached bone. A few nearby trees were blackened by fire. It truly felt like dragon territory.
We went carefully. Our cruising guide informed us that Komodo Dragons could grow up to 3 meters, weigh 150 kilograms and run 30 km per hour (I now understand why they are not simply called Komodo lizards). If that wasn’t daunting enough, we also knew that dragon bite was extremely dangerous. Komodo Dragons have paralyzing bacteria in their mouths, so once they bite you they can take their time eating you. As we walked, we stopped often, and peered around for potentially hungry reptiles.
Our fears were unfounded; there were no dragons nearby. We saw two wild boars but otherwise returned unimpressed. The next morning we searched again. Kitten came with us this time, and in the blazing sunlight the island felt less menacing. Even so, we were careful to look everywhere and stay on high ground as we combed the savannah-like hills. Again, no luck. We returned to the boat drenched in sweat (there is a reason these islands are homes to giant lizards- so incredibly hot and dry), unbitten, and unsatisfied. It was time to move on.
And so, no dragons. I think I will look for them at Bali Zoo. This is sad, but the moral of the story is… um… wild animals are wild? I should not expect them to come at my beck and call. I suppose this is why zoos were invented.
On the topic of dragons: What is the difference between a Komodo Dragon and a dinosaur? Komodo Dragons don’t breathe fire, nor do they fly. Why aren’t they Komodo Dinosaurs? Do Komodo Dragons like treasure? Do they kidnap innocent young maidens?
On a similar note- isn’t a Pterodactyl a fireless dragon?
As we sailed up to the island, Kitten and I debated the habits of Komodo dragons. She searched the hills, anticipating large herds to be loping gracefully across the grassy hillsides. I scanned the cliffs and rocky areas, expecting to find cave dwelling, grumpy, fire breathing specimens. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you which one of us was correct. As it turns out, Komodo dragons are considerably more elusive than we gave them credit for, and though we searched high and low (nervously), they evaded us.
When we arrived, Adub and I made an initial foray onto the island. Komodo in the late afternoon felt eerie. The beach we landed on was fenced in by mangroves and we were already feeling wary of crocodiles which purportedly live in the same places as Komodo Dragons. Cautiously, we made our way through the low trees, ducking through narrow vines that hung from some branches and avoiding swampy looking ground. Beyond the mangroves was a large dry mudflat scattered with driftwood, abandoned sandals and the odd sun-bleached bone. A few nearby trees were blackened by fire. It truly felt like dragon territory.
We went carefully. Our cruising guide informed us that Komodo Dragons could grow up to 3 meters, weigh 150 kilograms and run 30 km per hour (I now understand why they are not simply called Komodo lizards). If that wasn’t daunting enough, we also knew that dragon bite was extremely dangerous. Komodo Dragons have paralyzing bacteria in their mouths, so once they bite you they can take their time eating you. As we walked, we stopped often, and peered around for potentially hungry reptiles.
Our fears were unfounded; there were no dragons nearby. We saw two wild boars but otherwise returned unimpressed. The next morning we searched again. Kitten came with us this time, and in the blazing sunlight the island felt less menacing. Even so, we were careful to look everywhere and stay on high ground as we combed the savannah-like hills. Again, no luck. We returned to the boat drenched in sweat (there is a reason these islands are homes to giant lizards- so incredibly hot and dry), unbitten, and unsatisfied. It was time to move on.
And so, no dragons. I think I will look for them at Bali Zoo. This is sad, but the moral of the story is… um… wild animals are wild? I should not expect them to come at my beck and call. I suppose this is why zoos were invented.
On the topic of dragons: What is the difference between a Komodo Dragon and a dinosaur? Komodo Dragons don’t breathe fire, nor do they fly. Why aren’t they Komodo Dinosaurs? Do Komodo Dragons like treasure? Do they kidnap innocent young maidens?
On a similar note- isn’t a Pterodactyl a fireless dragon?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Anchor Away!
Well, it’s two weeks into my new life as a professional sailor and I believe I have discovered the true meaning of being a cruising sailor. No, it’s not about the beauty of the sea, or harnessing the wind to fly across the water. Nor is it about traveling the world and seeing new things and places. No, the true meaning of being a sailor is learning how to be completely lazy, with only brief periods of intense activity. That’s right my friends, I have left my gainful employment as an educator of midget Koreans to be a layabout on a boat. It’s excellent.
While we do spend an awful lot of time sitting around and sleeping, we do occasionally have some excitement. Here are some highlights from the last few weeks:
A new mammal species has been discovered in Australia. It is the elusive Drop Bear- a cousin of the better known Koala. While Koalas are cute, cuddly Eucalyptus connoisseurs, Drop Bears are vicious carnivores that fall on you from above and devour your flesh. While there is some controversy about the actual existence of the Drop Bear, we remain certain that this ferocious predator exists. We are also on the lookout for the Kraken, which we hear resides in these waters this time of year.
Meet the crew. We have our fearless leader, Boyscout, who is the owner of the boat and knows everything about the boat. He is self assured and reliable. His status as an Eaglescout is part of the reason my mother is able to deal with me being on the boat.
Next we have Kitten, the other girl on the boat who adores animals and makes sure we know the words for kitten and puppy in any language we may encounter. She has never sailed before joining the crew, but is a senior member at this point, and more capable than she gives herself credit for. She is Boyscout’s girlfriend.
Last we have Adub, a founding father of the organization who is friendly and generally a nice dude. As Boyscout and Kitten are a couple, Adub and I generally find ourselves hanging out somewhere else to give them space.
Tides are crazy in Australia. The tides rose and fell 28 feet at our mooring in Darwin, Australia, which meant that we periodically got trapped on land or on the boat (moorings are buoys that you can tie your boat to). One night this meant that, when we returned too late, our dingy was more or less sitting in mud. Kitten and I laughed our heads off as Boyscout and Adub attempted to row through the murk. They failed. Another night, Kitten was on the boat and tried to pick me and Boyscout up on the dock. She ran the dingy aground three times and we hitched a ride with a crazy, salty old Australian sea dog, who cursed and cackled at the disappearing water and almost fell in since the boat was about five feet below the dock. Though we had considered swimming back to the boat, we chose to try our luck with the Australian, since man eating saltwater crocodiles are very prevalent in Darwin.
Our first stop in Indonesia. The island of Kisar is a lovely little place. The locals almost never see visitors and so get very excited by new people. The invited us to dine on delicious rice and fish with them, gave Kitten a baby to hold, invited us to hide in their homes from the rain, and offered to take us on rides on their motorbikes. They all wanted to take and be in pictures with us and, since they all had camera phones, we posed an awful lot. The locals also rescued us from the coral head that our anchor chain got wrapped around. After 15 hours of fighting the trapped chain from the boat, Boyscout and I dove to look during low tide. While we could barely reach the chain before scrambling back to the surface, desperate for air, an incredible Indonesian diving boy and 15 of his closest friends came to our aid. Wearing only homemade goggles (for comparison, we had masks, snorkels and fins), our savior dived down and untied the three times wrapped around chain. He only went down twice and was down there for almost a minute at a time, muscling the chain off the coral. It was amazing.
Alright, well, back to sailing. Our next stop is unknown. Even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.
Avast me good mateys and good winds in yer landlubber’ ports till I write ye again!
While we do spend an awful lot of time sitting around and sleeping, we do occasionally have some excitement. Here are some highlights from the last few weeks:
A new mammal species has been discovered in Australia. It is the elusive Drop Bear- a cousin of the better known Koala. While Koalas are cute, cuddly Eucalyptus connoisseurs, Drop Bears are vicious carnivores that fall on you from above and devour your flesh. While there is some controversy about the actual existence of the Drop Bear, we remain certain that this ferocious predator exists. We are also on the lookout for the Kraken, which we hear resides in these waters this time of year.
Meet the crew. We have our fearless leader, Boyscout, who is the owner of the boat and knows everything about the boat. He is self assured and reliable. His status as an Eaglescout is part of the reason my mother is able to deal with me being on the boat.
Next we have Kitten, the other girl on the boat who adores animals and makes sure we know the words for kitten and puppy in any language we may encounter. She has never sailed before joining the crew, but is a senior member at this point, and more capable than she gives herself credit for. She is Boyscout’s girlfriend.
Last we have Adub, a founding father of the organization who is friendly and generally a nice dude. As Boyscout and Kitten are a couple, Adub and I generally find ourselves hanging out somewhere else to give them space.
Tides are crazy in Australia. The tides rose and fell 28 feet at our mooring in Darwin, Australia, which meant that we periodically got trapped on land or on the boat (moorings are buoys that you can tie your boat to). One night this meant that, when we returned too late, our dingy was more or less sitting in mud. Kitten and I laughed our heads off as Boyscout and Adub attempted to row through the murk. They failed. Another night, Kitten was on the boat and tried to pick me and Boyscout up on the dock. She ran the dingy aground three times and we hitched a ride with a crazy, salty old Australian sea dog, who cursed and cackled at the disappearing water and almost fell in since the boat was about five feet below the dock. Though we had considered swimming back to the boat, we chose to try our luck with the Australian, since man eating saltwater crocodiles are very prevalent in Darwin.
Our first stop in Indonesia. The island of Kisar is a lovely little place. The locals almost never see visitors and so get very excited by new people. The invited us to dine on delicious rice and fish with them, gave Kitten a baby to hold, invited us to hide in their homes from the rain, and offered to take us on rides on their motorbikes. They all wanted to take and be in pictures with us and, since they all had camera phones, we posed an awful lot. The locals also rescued us from the coral head that our anchor chain got wrapped around. After 15 hours of fighting the trapped chain from the boat, Boyscout and I dove to look during low tide. While we could barely reach the chain before scrambling back to the surface, desperate for air, an incredible Indonesian diving boy and 15 of his closest friends came to our aid. Wearing only homemade goggles (for comparison, we had masks, snorkels and fins), our savior dived down and untied the three times wrapped around chain. He only went down twice and was down there for almost a minute at a time, muscling the chain off the coral. It was amazing.
Alright, well, back to sailing. Our next stop is unknown. Even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.
Avast me good mateys and good winds in yer landlubber’ ports till I write ye again!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Goodbye Korea
As I write this, I am sitting on an airplane that is taking me away from Korea. My destination: the Southeast Asian seas. It’s a bittersweet journey, because saying goodbye is always hard, but I can’t pretend that Korea wasn’t really the place for me. Though it may not have been all that I had hoped, and certainly was never in my plans, I believe my six months in Korea were time well spent.
I’ll definitely miss the people I met. I have friends from all over the world now- an open invitation to crash anytime in Ireland, places to stay all over England, friends scattered throughout Canada, the US and Australia. I’ve learned about many more cultures than Korea’s, met people who have been more places than I can think of. There’s some friends who biked from China to Ireland (they did have to take a boat for the last bit), sweeping across the entire Eurasian continent. A bunch of my friends have worked as volunteers in South America. Another friend visited Russia on a whim for a week. Bodacious Brit is going to be a bridesmaid next summer in South Africa. It really is quite a head-trip. And, even taking no notice of their exciting lives, I have just made some simply amazing friends. I will miss them terribly.
I will miss Korea too. I’ll miss my favorite foods, my hangouts, the nightlife, the history, the random nudity, and the craziness of living and working in a considerably different country. I’ll miss poking fun at ajumas and ajoshis and having stilted conversations with Koreans who laugh at me but appreciate my attempts to learn their language. I took a taxi ride a few days ago and was able to tell the taxi driver that I didn’t live in my nearest shopping center. I usually use the name of the center to get me home from Seoul, and it always confuses the drivers when I ask them to go somewhere else when we get there. He laughed for a solid minute when I said “Save Zone che apartu animnida”- Save Zone is not my apartment.
I’ve loved visiting the palaces and museums, participating in the festivals, seeing the traditional and not so traditional performances, and doing a not insignificant amount of souvenir shopping. Korea has a rich history and is a fascinating country.
I’ll even miss my kids… I think. Well, not the hellions.
Annyeong hi kesseyo Korea. It’s been real.
I’ll definitely miss the people I met. I have friends from all over the world now- an open invitation to crash anytime in Ireland, places to stay all over England, friends scattered throughout Canada, the US and Australia. I’ve learned about many more cultures than Korea’s, met people who have been more places than I can think of. There’s some friends who biked from China to Ireland (they did have to take a boat for the last bit), sweeping across the entire Eurasian continent. A bunch of my friends have worked as volunteers in South America. Another friend visited Russia on a whim for a week. Bodacious Brit is going to be a bridesmaid next summer in South Africa. It really is quite a head-trip. And, even taking no notice of their exciting lives, I have just made some simply amazing friends. I will miss them terribly.
I will miss Korea too. I’ll miss my favorite foods, my hangouts, the nightlife, the history, the random nudity, and the craziness of living and working in a considerably different country. I’ll miss poking fun at ajumas and ajoshis and having stilted conversations with Koreans who laugh at me but appreciate my attempts to learn their language. I took a taxi ride a few days ago and was able to tell the taxi driver that I didn’t live in my nearest shopping center. I usually use the name of the center to get me home from Seoul, and it always confuses the drivers when I ask them to go somewhere else when we get there. He laughed for a solid minute when I said “Save Zone che apartu animnida”- Save Zone is not my apartment.
I’ve loved visiting the palaces and museums, participating in the festivals, seeing the traditional and not so traditional performances, and doing a not insignificant amount of souvenir shopping. Korea has a rich history and is a fascinating country.
I’ll even miss my kids… I think. Well, not the hellions.
Annyeong hi kesseyo Korea. It’s been real.
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