bedreddin
Ozgur Can Leonard Joined: September 18th 2004
Logged in: November 11th 2011
Logged in: November 11th 2011
In the meantime, I'm trying to blog at least once a month from the countries I'm visiting. I'm not interested in Western Europe, so don't expect pictures of Venice here. My blogs are basically my impressions of places and events, and are liable to contain large sections of rants. If you don't like it feel free to criticise, but don't expect me to change my style. If you're just looking for facts on countries, try the CIA world factbook.
Finally, I have a policy of accepting all comments, whether I agree or disagree or want to smash your face for being a fascist. So take the comments with a grain of salt; I endorse none of them.
Travel Blog Posts
me shortly before the adventure
It all began with a description in the regional introduction to Aceh Selatan in my little brochure: a peaceful secluded bay 2km over a small hill from a village 12km south of the small town of Tapaktuan; there is a small hut whose owners only occasionally come by. And where there is habitation there must be access to fresh water. I had spent a week bumming on beaches on Sabang Island (aka Pulau Weh) and I was ready for another experience of paradise. I awoke from my first night spent in a hotel since Ketambe, nearly a month ago. A smiling english-speaking young man I had met the day before was hanging around waiting for me downstairs: "So, I have nothing to do today, maybe I can take you around.. there are waterfalls and jungle treks..." ... read more
Ever since he pounced on me saying Orang Putih! and knocked a Ringgit off the price, he's become my regular fish vendor. The lady in front of me seems surprised (presumably by my buying fresh fish), and he explains something of which I only caught "Duyong". Yup, I stay in Pulau Duyong I explain in English, pointing across the river to the little kampung island (as LP would describe it). She smiles to reassure me. My fish-walla asks his usual "two kilos?" to which I reply with my usual istinggo kilo which he repeats in English: half kilo? That's enough to last me three dinners, even with my voracious appetite. These are Ikan Kembong, meaning "fat fish", 9-10cm long grey-and-black scale-less fish: I daub them in a mixture of salt and turmeric before frying them. That ... read more
Hardware is good. It expands your horizons, it empowers you, and spurs you into action: if you're lugging around a stove, a metal pot, an aluminum wok, a melamine bowl, spoons (3), a spatula and a knife, you'd better be using them. So, although I'd been reluctant to visit that most prominent of tourist destinations, the Taman Negara (lit. National Park) of "the world's oldest rainforest", the thought of gaming the system -- by showing up with enough food and gear to spend a couple of days in the jungle and avoid the infrastructure established to make sure you pay out the nose -- seemed attractive. I had been relegated to cooking boiled-water foods -- oatmeal, instant noodles with canned sardines, etc -- with a water heater during the 2 weeks spent in Melaka, and I ... read more
Large trees with foot-long broad leaves and box-shaped fruits stretch almost parallel to the sand out towards the sparkling sea, providing a natural canopy under which to escape the heat or the rain. Under the trunk of one is a triangular mosquito net (mine) with sand piled on its sides and attached to wooden sticks in the corners to keep out vermin and mosquitos. Draped width-wise and covering half of it as well as the trusty pack is a dark blue rain poncho. It provides shelter from rainstorms if I crouch in the middle of the makeshift "tent" and fold up my mat and sheet under me. Also under its generous canopy are two glass bottles containing kerosene at various degrees of fullness. And to complete the picture -- in addition to my sheet airing and ... read more
Take a banana. Wrap it in rice. Wrap the whole thing in a coat of banana leaves and grill it on a charcoal fire. Call it delicious. Wake up as early a possible. Rush to the market religiously as soon as you open your eyes. The villagers will be selling their wares: women in sarungs with shawls draped criss-crossed around their heads or with straw sun hats, crouched beneath their stall umbrellas. Pick up that snake fish writhing on the sidewalk and put it back in its bucket. It doesn't matter that you don't know its name or how it manages to survive all day without water. Smile when the seller woman seems amused. The villager sellers will start to go home around 9ish. Better hurry to get those bananas and mangoes. Don't stroll leisurely down ... read more
I can't possibly email all of the (very few) people who may be curious as to my safety... but in case you care, I'm OK, I was in a restaurant when the stuff hit the fan, and we sat tight for a couple of hours (turned off the lights, shut the doors and pulled down the shutters).. then walked back to the hotel, where we stayed in on the 28th (when the entire city was shut down and you couldn't even find a taxi to take you to the border), and the situation was a bit better today although definitely not normal, and so we crossed, and are now in Amritsar, and Benazir's madness is left behind... Yes, I'm alive and I'm safe. Thanks for caring.... read more
The wine is a very light red. Like it's been diluted. It's reasonably strong, though. I had too much to drink last night, so I'm slowly sipping my single cup. Wali's brother is drinking with us and lets out a sigh of "Ya Alya". It was supposed to be Allah, but Pakistanis can't pronounce shit. Tonelessly blaring from religious cassette shops and carts, pre-pubescent voices screaming "Alya! Alya !".. It's disturbing and shameful. We're here to make our own gods tonight. Or goats. I'm not sure which they said. Possibly both. Humps of dough are handed out. Last year there was a French girl who made really good goats with eyes and a face and everything. The competition is on. At the temple the kids were re-decorating the walls with paintings today. The elderly French man ... read more
I'm sitting in front of a fire blazing in a fireplace. Timber rafters, concrete floor, windows and a door that don't quite close, two beds covered with my junk. This is "my" room: the family's guest room. There were 15 people sleeping here before I got here. Now it seems like there's hardly room for another person without crowding. Sitting on a plastic chair next to me is Wali Khan, my landlord, wearing light blue shalwar kameez and a beige "chitrali" wool hat; he won't shave his week-old stubble until the first day of /chowmas/ when the neighbors will come with flowers and tell him to put aside his mourning for his dead relative and celebrate the festival. "I think I'm even older than you" he had said when I first met him. He's trying to ... read more
Gilgit. Northern Areas. Pakistan. Liberation Day Celebrations. As proof of the army's training, professionalism, and combat-readiness, we the crowd are treated to a mock operation, with soldiers repelling down ropes from an airborne helicopter to secure the area. I saw the same yesterday: total and complete *amateurs*. One was too scared and had to be pulled back in. It took maybe 20 minutes for 8 people to disembark. I'm sure that's enough time for all Taliban in a 10 mile radius to show up with RPGs and blow the thing out of the sky. I'm redeeming the time writing a postcard: "Greetings from Pakistan! This is a lake near a glacier I hiked to the other day. I bet it doesn't match your mental image of Pakistan... It's beautiful here but it's getting cold." After the ... read more
There's an eagle or otherwise large bird of prey perched on the frame of a satellite receiver. The call to prayer just began, with two mosques managing to go in syllable-for-syllable tandem for at least half of it. That's a first! The sun has just set. There's a bit of fog gathering around and above the low buildings. There's a fair bit of motorcycle- and rickshaw-din (my SW radio picks them all up for some reason), birds are hovering overhead. I'm retiring early for the night to write before I forget and things become drowned out in the vague haze of time. Just down the road is my food joint. Past the fried fish joints and the puddles of sewage. I saw the main cook from a distance, between the skinned chickens hanging by their necks, ... read more
