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ISSUE #20

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er forget! v e n l ’l u o y s y a d holi

ISSN 1449-3543

TR AV EL TO

GREENLAND ARCTIC EATING THE NETHERLANDS MUSIC & MAYHEM PAPUA NEW GUINEA THROUGH THE LENS

KENYA A WILD RIDE OMAN SPOTTING LEOPARDS UNITED STATES LA LIKE A STAR ge tlo stm ag .co m

COOK ISLANDS SLOWING DOWN INDONESIA JUNGLE SPIRITS JAPAN A SOBA EXPERIENCE

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get in the know! The pilgrims of the Vegetarian Festival hold sharp blades to their lips and violently shake their heads, sending streams of blood cascading down their chins.

thailand

text: ryan libre and tim patterson images: ryan libre

the tourist mecca Phuket is one of thailand’s most popular destinations – a place for sunburnt revellers to meet, mix and be merry. its Vegetarian Festival, however, remains a distinctly local, authentic and somewhat gruesome affair.

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irecrackers burst and smoke waFts over the temple grounds. men brandishing sacred swords and axes emerge from the inner sanctum of the shrine. one of them, a burly man draped in a tiger skin, paces in front of the temple entrance, growling. as the crowd shrinks back and crouches down against the pavement, the men drool, eyes rolling back in their skulls, and pull whips around their own necks.

Possessed by spirits, the men are sent into a frenzy of self-mutilation by the beating drums.

Limbs shaking, they swing the axes over their heads, opening raw cuts along their spines. After spinning in circles, they hold the sharp blades to their lips and violently shake their heads, sending streams of crimson blood cascading down their chins.

Such is the scene on the opening day of the Phuket Vegetarian Festival, a religious event so bloody and bewildering that it is a miracle it has survived into the twenty-first century. Held annually in late September or early October on this island in southern Thailand, the ten-day Vegetarian Festival is one of the greatest displays of faith in the modern world.

The few Western tourists that experience the Vegetarian Festival generally do so while passing through town on their way to the island’s famous beaches. Most festival events take place in Phuket town, a pleasantly laidback settlement located near the south-east corner of the island, some distance from the white-sand beaches of the western shore where the majority of hotels are situated.

As an island visited by sailors for centuries, Phuket is considerably more diverse than the Thai mainland. The influence of Portuguese seafarers is visible in the architecture of older buildings and many residents can trace their ancestry to Chinese immigrants. While most Thais are Buddhist, the religious culture of Phuket is a mix of Buddhist, Taoist, Muslim and Christian faiths. This doesn’t quite explain the Vegetarian Festival, though. It’s unique to Phuket, and while best described as a Taoist ceremony, it does not fit neatly into any one religious tradition.

If you watch the festival for an hour you will be shocked. If you stay long enough for the shock to wear off you will be both curious and confused. If you can bear the fresh blood and

get in the know! Buddhism is the national religion of Thailand, but all major religions can be found in the country.

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thailand

relentless firecrackers for a few days you will be emotionally moved. If you stick around for several days and attend events from 5am until late at night, you will probably gain a deep respect for the religious tradition and for the saints who mortify themselves for the spiritual wellbeing of their community. At its heart, the festival is an opportunity to experience faith and selflessness in ways the modern world has nearly extinguished.

The event’s misleading name may explain why it has not yet become a tourist attraction: ‘Vegetarian Festival’ doesn’t sound like much more than a lot of vegetables. That said, the tofu on offer at the festival is superlative – golden skinned, full-flavoured, bursting with juice and served in bite-sized chunks topped with sweet chili sauce. Even diehard carnivores will enjoy feasting on the delicious vegetarian Thai food served in the local restaurants, street stalls and the grounds of the temples. Most restaurants offer cafeteria-style vegetarian meals. Just point to a dish that looks appetising and staff will fill your plate from a large serving tin. A simple but delicious plate of food costs 30 baht (A$1).

Culinary highlights include slices of perfectly ripe mangoes slathered in rich coconut cream on beds of sweet sticky rice; spicy green curry pocked with bitter eggplants the size of marbles; and cold Chinese noodles topped with fresh basil and light curry sauce. Fresh spring rolls and deep-fried spring rolls abound, along with boiled mushrooms and roasted sweet potatoes.

Snacks consist of chewy fried balls of sugary dough served hot from the flame, green papaya salad with crushed peanuts and lime juice, bags of roasted chestnuts or plates of stir-fried noodles spiked with glistening green onions.

A thirst developed from choking on firecracker smoke is readily quenched by a big glass of freshly squeezed orange juice or a papaya smoothie. Vats of iced coffee provide quick caffeine stimulation for morning ceremonies.

The link between vegetarian food and selfmortification is the overarching emphasis on purity and sacrifice. By abstaining from meat, sex and alcohol, festival participants prepare themselves for ritual purification and communion with the spirit world. After being possessed by spirits, faith and devotion is then demonstrated

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if you watch the festival for an hour you will be shocked. if you stay long enough for the shock to wear off you will be both curious and confused.

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a typical day: 5am – Wake up early to watch the spirit mediums become possessed at the shrine.

7am – Grab breakfast and then follow the ritual procession to the sea and back to town.

12pm – Indulge in a communal meal at the shrine.

2pm – Enjoy a well-deserved nap, resting for evening activities.

6pm – Dinner at one of the restaurants near the shrine.

8pm – Dodge firecrackers during another procession through town.

10pm – Grab a snack from a street vendor and then crash out for the night.

publicly by undergoing the ritual mutilations.

Being vegetarian brings good luck. Self-inflicted suffering gets rid of bad luck.

On most days, the festival begins before dawn with the participants being ritually possessed by spirits at the local shrines. Once possessed, the spirit mediums are pierced through their cheeks with objects ranging from swords to ceiling fans and imitation assault weapons. Possessed and pierced, they march several kilometres through town to the sea, past crowds of locals. Marchers are attended by friends and siblings who wipe away the blood that trickles from their cheeks and pour shrine-brewed tea into their open mouths. By the time the marchers return from the sea, many are on the verge of collapse.

get in the know! Thirty per cent of Phuket Thais are Muslim, many of them of Malay descent.

After another ritual that ends the period of possession and returns their human spirit, the exhausted men – and a few women – faint into the arms of their companions.

It’s well worth waking up early to experience the full breadth of the festival. Before sunrise the shrine is already filled with unbelievable sights and sounds. A man about to become possessed dry heaves and dances, while another man already inhabited by the gods speaks in tongues and shudders uncontrollably. At the front of the shrine, a medium is being pierced through the face with a shaft that is one metre long and has the diameter of a golf ball. The head medium, praying in the voice of a three-year-old boy, pushes through a small crowd of onlookers while holding a mace that he will use to mortify himself.

Once the mediums begin their march to the sea, onlookers throw firecrackers to test their resolve. The firecrackers are timed to explode on the men’s bare feet and in front of their faces. Some are even tucked into their clothes.

Despite the noise and flames, none of the spirit mediums so much as flinch. For the small boys of Phuket, this firecracker free-for-all is clearly a highlight of the year. The men believe that while possessed by the spirits, their physical bodies will be protected from permanent harm. This logic explains the horrific-looking piercings, which also demonstrate the mediums’ selflessness. The associated pain is welcomed as an opportunity to ensure good luck for their community.

On the festival’s ninth day, it reaches a feverish peak that lasts until 3am. Having survived the firecrackers and the self-mortification, spirit mediums are further tested by walking across burning beds of charcoal and climbing bladed ladders barefoot. Protected by the gods, the possessed men are able to complete these seemingly impossible feats unscathed, a remarkable demonstration of the selfless power of their faith.

safety tips: Unless you undergo ritual spirit possession and receive protection from the gods, getting too close to the festival action carries risks.

Firecrackers are thrown at all members of the procession and sometimes find their way into the crowd. The loud noise and smoke can be frightening, but the real danger is if a firecracker explodes against your skin or gets inside your footwear. Closed shoes are a prudent measure. Some eager photographers wear layers of protective clothing that resembles full combat gear.

Although the vast majority of Phuket residents are gracious hosts, the festival crowds also attract pickpockets and petty criminals. Since food is cheap and there’s not much to buy, it’s smart to take only a small amount of cash out into the streets. get in the know! The Vegetarian Festival was possibly brought to Phuket by a wandering Chinese opera group.

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The Strip presents a veritable feast of nightlife, from trendy rooftop bed bars (at the very swank Mondrian) to bucking bull beer barns (the aptly named Chop House) and everything in between.

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get in the know! The Strip in Vegas was named after the Sunset Strip.

united states

Is that a celebrity I spy? Justin Jamieson keeps tabs on the A-List as he swans around LA, baby!

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’m LookIng out over SunSet StrIp from the floor-to-ceiling windows of my seventhfloor suite in the Sunset tower hotel. In the distance is Johnny Depp’s house with its medieval turrets poking above the dense paparazzi-proof treeline.

To my right is the Chateau Marmont, famous for feeding everyone from Paris to Prince and infamous for the death by overdose of legendary comic John Belushi in the early 1980s. To my left is the newly refurbished and renamed Andaz West Hollywood Hotel. In the 1970s it was colloquially known as the “Riot Hyatt.” Televisions were tossed off balconies and motorcycles and groupies were ridden throughout the hallways, thanks mainly to the Brit-rock invasion of Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones and the Who. With the sun melting into the smoggy distance behind the downtown LA skyline and the neon of the Strip buzzing to life, it’s time to head out.

When it comes to a night out in West Hollywood, the most difficult decision is where to go. Having been told that four Oscar winners have just

text: justin jamieson images: justin jamieson

checked into the Sunset Tower, it is very tempting to simply spend the evening staking out the celebs in the art deco Tower Bar (once the room of the famous gangster Bugsy Seigel). Highprofile guests are nothing new here. John Wayne once lived in the hotel and kept a cow in the back garden to guarantee fresh milk for his visitors. Joan Collins moved in recently while her house was being refurbished and it is not uncommon for an impromptu jam to happen on the Tower Bar piano when Elton John is in town.

I try to imagine stumbling home later in the evening to find Elton belting out ‘Tiny Dancer’ and joining in on backing vocals. Only in LA. As we head out I’m sure that we pass Ringo Starr.

It’s happy hour at Red Rocks, a ramshackle bar lit almost entirely by neon beer signs. It is perched halfway down the strip, on the turn that heads north towards those more iconic rock venues that promise the ‘next’ Doors or Guns N’ Roses. With the Aussie dollar so weak I happily exploit the two-hour ‘happy hour’ and am ready for a bite to eat. My girlfriend recognises a number of restaurants thanks to

her obsession with New Weekly and we choose Katana (apparently Paris was there recently), a Japanese-style extravaganza with sushi and sake in abundance. Sure enough, our waiter is a struggling actor. His fame reached some not-so-dizzying heights a year ago with a bit part in a Disney Channel feature. Unperturbed by a recent lack of work, he tells us between courses that his big break is just around the corner. So is our dessert, I mention. He’ll probably end up the next Tom Cruise.

The Strip presents a veritable feast of nightlife, from trendy rooftop bed bars (at the very swank Mondrian) to bucking bull beer barns (the aptly named Chop House) and everything in between.

Hotel bar hopping seems to be in vogue – from the Tower Bar at Sunset Tower or the pool party nightclub of the Standard Hotel to the rock chic of the 1200 Bar at the Sunset Marquis. Even Gordon ‘Fucking’ Ramsay’s new place in the London West Hollywood is on the list.

We wander past the Comedy Store where Richard Pryor, Robin Williams and Jim Carrey first stood up. We pass a bookstore with an old

get in the know! The sidewalk cafe featured in the final scene of Woody Allen’s Annie Hall was the Source restaurant, a vegetarian bistro located at 8301 Sunset.

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united states

poster promoting an in-store Leonard Cohen reading from the 1970s and then pass the Viper Room, now renowned for the death of a drugfilled River Phoenix out the front. Our ultimate goal is the true Strip experience: live rock music at the Roxy. Guns N’ Roses cut their teeth here, as did Mötley Crüe before them. A few doors down sits the Whiskey A Go Go, where the Doors once had a residency. This is the corner of LA where rock has been born and reborn. The band Run Doris Run are playing loud and hard and the Roxy crowd are going with them all the way.

I’ve had two too many martinis on our bar hop and too happy an hour at Red Rocks to be too discerning, but in my unsteady state I can’t help but think that I might be privy to the next Axl Rose prancing across the stage. I buy a T-shirt just in case. On the way out I’m sure we pass Tommy Lee. A late-night hamburger at Mel’s Diner puts the pickle on the patty of a perfect night out.

I can only imagine the many rock gods who’ve shovelled down a burger and fries here in the post-gig early hours. The lizard king Jim Morrison was a regular, as were Hendrix and Janis Joplin.

Janis was also known to sing for her supper at Barney’s Beanery further down the road. The thought crosses my mind that things didn’t finish up too well for this trio and I decide to call it a night, hoping that Elton won’t be up when we get back to the hotel. On the way in I am sure Sean Penn is sitting in the lobby.

Although the Strip is a delight at night, it loses its lustre when the sun rises on a Hollywood hangover. It’s the middle of winter but the temperature is a comfortable 23°C. We have two detox options. The old-school celebs head #44 get lost! ISSUE #20

for Palm Springs, where fresh desert air and renowned spa treatments ease the pain of over-imbibing. The young guns head to the nearby beaches of the Pacific Ocean. Unable to contemplate the two-hour drive to Palm Springs, we head up to Santa Monica. Although only twenty minutes away, it is a complete contrast to the hustle and bustle of the Strip. Nestled in between the mansions of Malibu and the lunacy of Venice Beach, Santa Monica has the personality of a laidback skater or surfer dude.

Split in half by the Santa Monica Pier, an oldstyle amusement park built out over the water, it was here that surfers, frustrated by a wave drought, first attached wheels to wood and began skateboarding.

Although the water is refreshing and eases my hangover somewhat, the surf is flat so we rent bikes from Perry’s Cafe and take in the sights.

Perry’s might consist of a collection of shacks dotting the boardwalk but it is an institution, selling great food and renting everything from classic Schwinn bikes to a beach butler who caters to your every seaside whim. Perry himself left the cold of New York City back in the 1960s armed with nothing more than a dynamite get in the know! Dan Ackroyd (one of the original Blues Brothers) part owns the House of Blues on Sunset Strip.

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We have two detox options... Unable to contemplate the two hour drive to Palm Springs, we head up to Santa Monica. Although only twenty minutes away, it is a complete contrast to the hustle and bustle of the Strip.

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get in the know! Errol Flynn once lived at the Sunset Tower Hotel.

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confessions

razor’ s edge text: luke wright

image: karl mautner

TrAVELLINg ON THE

luke wright mourns hair long lost courtesy of backstreet barbers the world over.

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lycra mini skirt and a revealing blue blouse.

From memory, his name was Miguel and he had a moustache. Not only was Miguel the town’s resident transvestite, he was also its hairdresser. After a stint exploring the Amazon and its tributaries, my appearance was rather unruly and my hair was in need of a little attention. I decided a visit to Miguel’s salon (also his family home) was in order.

I was positioned in front of a mirror and next to a blaring television. Behind me sat Miguel’s entire family – about ten in all – watching either me or the TV. The buzz cut was a great success but the cut-throat razor again brought disaster.

Why Miguel took it upon himself to begin etching (with the razor) a neat, bald box an inch deep into

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t was the flamboyant poet and playwright, oscar wilde, who once said that “to regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development.” although I largely agree, I often look back on some events in my life – mostly in far-flung locales with bungling barbers wielding cut-throat razors – and wonder if there’s not a slight flaw in his argument.

Let’s take the mortifying minutes during which a Vietnamese man shaved my ears as an example. I figured that arranging a haircut in Ho Chi Minh City would be a simple enough task: I would play a quick game of charades with the barber, acting out a convincing haircut scene, and he would guess the rest. What I didn’t count on was that he would also shave my predominantly hairless ears and create the fluffy regrowth that has forested them since.

I sat in the chair, a wide-eyed and sweaty head protruding from a hair-encrusted cape, while a fan shunted hot air across the room. Pictures of David Beckham in various stages of undress hung on the walls. My barber competently carried out the pre-arranged number one all over without a hitch. But then, without warning and with the deft hand of a Sydney street magician, he whipped out his blade and ran it along the ridge of my left ear. Swiftly bringing it down over the lobe, he rendered my unsuspecting ear as smooth as a fresh rice-paper roll in one devastating delivery. He looked at me and nodded, eager for my endorsement. Not one to cause a fuss, I gave him the thumbs up, allowed him to shave the other, paid him well, and walked out into the city sun. Oscar, I honestly regret this moment – I now have extra-hairy ears.

If I cast my mind back to a remote Amazonian jungle town, I recall a Colombian wearing a pink

there was something rather unsettling about a gathering of people watching while a crossdressing, moustachioed mincer made my head into a work of art.

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the hairline above my brow will always remain a mystery. It was like a frame for my forehead.

By this time, the family had diverted all their attention to me. There was something rather unsettling about a gathering of people watching while a cross-dressing, moustachioed mincer made my head into a work of art. With the final

flourish of his razor, the box was complete and everyone clapped and whistled. Miguel did a little hip-shaking dance. Oscar, I assure you, I wish this had never occurred.

Thinking back to a trip to Turkey, I remember a rather hirsute old man in a bazaar barbershop who insisted that I needed a trim and tidy up. A bit like the pot calling the kettle black, I thought, but it seemed like a reputable establishment. It had a barber’s pole out front. I was again in the market for a straightforward clipper-cut, nothing as fashionable as the styles displayed on the faded posters lining the shop walls. If this downy old chap could replicate an all-American manperm from those pictures, he would have no difficulty with a buzz cut.

The clipper-cut went well enough; he could have oiled the blades a little for smoother sailing, but I had no urge to complain. I will admit to feeling a little uneasy when he unsheathed his razor and went about carving at the sides.

However, he seemed very much the professional and I let him continue. It was when he got around to the back that I began to fret. For lack of a spirit level or any spatial intelligence whatsoever, the barber would slice a few hairs at the back and then step about four steps away to see if it was straight. In his bid to give the straightest cut in the Ottoman Empire, he actually whittled it away until the hairline, although impeccably straight, went up to almost above my ears.

Unquestionably, Oscar, I lament this incident in Istanbul.

My dear friend Oscar Wilde once said: “I always pass on good advice. It is the only thing to do with it. It is never of any use to oneself.” If I may offer a traveller in need of a haircut some wise counsel for the road, it is this: let it grow.

get in the know! The term ‘barbershop music’ arose after several well-known gospel quartets, such as the New Orleans Humming Four and the Southern Stars, were founded in neighbourhood barbershops.