LIFE ON THE RUN
A TR AV EL MAGAZI NE.
CONTENTS
................................ 2. . . . . . . . EDITOR’S LETTER by LAURI LYONS 5. . . . . . . . CHASING ICE by JAMES BALOG 19. . . . . . . . LA MUJERES FLORES by EUNICE ADORNO 33. . . . . . . . AKHARA by ANAMITRA CHAKLADAR 45. . . . . . . . FAREWELL TO BURMA by TIZIANO TERZANI 51. . . . . . . . SAMI by ERIKA LARSEN 69. . . . . . . . WELCOME TO OKAMURALAND by TIM OKAMURA 81. . . . . . . . FOLK by JOHN PAUL PIETRUS 91. . . . . . . . AMERICAN HOME COOKIN’ by CRYSTAL CARTIER 101. . . . . . . . THE GREAT DOWN UNDER by LAURI LYONS 109. . . . . . . . RULES OF THE ROAD
................................ Cover photo by JAMES BALOG
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FROM THE EDITOR
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The road one takes may not be built with certainty, but may it
always be your own path. That’s how I feel about the journey we call life. You can do the safe thing, the easy thing, the expected thing, or you can do your own thing. We at Nomads are choosing to create our own path, one issue at a time. Its been a while since we last dazzled you, but we are back in a big way. Our passion and energy are fueling our intentions, as we expand our horizons and bring you a fresh view of the world. As we move into 2013 and shift our consciousness to a higher level, I think we have all become aware of the importance of taking care of Mother Nature. In this issue we pay homage to Mother Nature with several stories, including a stunning feature titled Chasing Ice. Through the beauty of James Balog’s photographs of melting glaciers, we are able to see the effects of climate change during our time. Also featured in this issue are the nomadic Sami tribe of Sweden, the Flower Women of Mexico, and the natural beauty of Folk in the English countryside. We have happily created a glorious feast for your eyes and heart. I hope you enjoy all the cultural flavors as much as we do. Happy holidays!
Live, Transform, Inspire,
- Lauri Lyons
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LIFE ON THE RUN
A TRAV EL MAGAZI NE.
LAURI LYONS Founder, Editor-in-Chief. Lauri is a jet setting artist, journalist and consultant. She is the author of Flag: An American Story and Flag International, as well as a contributing writer for The HufďŹ ngton Post. Her photographs and essays have been featured in Fortune, Stern, The Fader and The London Observer. Her installations and photographs have been exhibited at The Walker Art Center, Brooklyn Museum of Art, & The International Center of Photography. - www.laurilyons.com
MAD ANTHONY aka ANTHONY MARSHALL , Creative Director. Anthony is a New York based artist & brand builder. He has designed branding and product for major companies such as Nike, The North Face & Adidas. - www.madanthonynyc.com.
RACHAL TAI, Special Agent. Rachal is a junior in Communication Design at Parsons The New School For Design. She is currently focusing on branding & web design and aspires to work as an art director in the future. Her interests are traveling and discovering foods from different cultures.
................................................... for ADVERTISING, INQUIRIES & SUBMISSIONS contact: editor@nomadsmagazine.com creativedirector@nomadsmagazine.com Nomads Magazine is a registered trademark. 3
CONTRIBUTORS
........................................................ EUNICE ADORNO is a Mexico based photographer. Her work has appeared in such publications as El Independiente, Reforma, Marie Claire and National Geographic Travel. She is the author of The Flower Women. www.euniceadorno.net TIZIANO TERZANI was an Italian journalist and writer, best known for his extensive knowledge of 20th century East Asia. He was the author of Behind The Forbidden Door, A Fortune-Teller Told Me, and Letters Against the War.
ANAMITRA CHAKLADAR is a photographer and cinematographer based in New Delhi, India. He has been documenting South Asian culture for over twenty years.
JAMES BALOG is the Founder and Director of the Extreme Ice Survey. Balog is the author of six books, including Survivors: A New Vision of Endangered Wildlife and Tree: A New Vision of the American Forest. James is the recipient of the Leica Medal of Honor. His latest book and film is Chasing Ice. www.jamesbalog.com THYRA HELGESEN is a Minneapolis based illustrator and designer. She is a recent graduate of the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. www.thyrahelgesen.com
JOHN PAUL PIETRUS is a London based fashion photographer and filmmaker. He is a regular contributor to Vogue China, Vogue Brazil, and Italian Vanity Fair. His images have been exhibited throughout Europe, Asia and New York. www.johnpaulpietrus.com CRYSTAL CARTIER is a Los Angeles based food photographer. Her clients include Marie Claire, Elle -Belgium, Parade Magazine and MTV Networks. www.crystalcartier.com
TIM OKAMURA is a Brooklyn based painter. His work has been exhibited at MoMA P.S.1, Art Basel Miami, and London’s National Portrait Gallery. He is represented by the Lyons Weir Gallery. www.timokamuraart.com ERIKA LARSEN is as Fulbright Scholar and a magazine photographer. She specializes in human-interest stories about people connected to the natural world. Her most notable bodies of work are Young Blood, The Hunt and Sami. www.erikalarsenphoto.com 4
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In the course of shooting assignments
about retreating glaciers, photographer James Balog was stunned to see that extraordinary amounts of ice were vanishing with shocking speed. Ice that had taken centuries to form, was disappearing in just a few years, months or even weeks. This was a geologic scale change, happening right now, in our own time.
Most of the time, art and science
stare at each other across a gulf of mutual incomprehension. Art looks at the world through the psyche, the emotions and the unconscious. Science looks at the world through rational and quantitative means. James Balog founded The Extreme Ice Survey (EIS), to merge those two parts of human understanding and to document what is happening to the world’s glaciers.
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The EIS is an innovative, long-term photography project that merges art and science, to give a “visual voice” to the planet’s changing ecosystems. One aspect of the EIS is an extensive portfolio of photos, celebrating the beauty, art and architecture, of ice.
The project is a collaboration between
photographers, filmmakers, engineers, scientists and educators, all devoted to documenting and communicating, the changes transforming the arctic and alpine landscapes, today.
Currently, 27 time lapse cameras are
deployed at 18 glaciers in the Nepalese Himalaya, Greenland, Iceland, Alaska and the Rocky Mountains of the U.S. The time-lapse videos reveal how fast climate change is transforming large regions of the planet.
The time-lapse cameras can function
in and withstand temperatures down to minus 40 F., deep snow, winds up to 160 miles per hour, torrential rain and rock fall. Typically these cameras are anchored to cliff faces, above the glaciers. Each unit weighs more than 100 pounds. Solar panels collect power that is stored in batteries.
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Some camera locations are so remote that EIS team members were probably the first people to ever visit the sites. Field teams reach the cameras on foot, horseback, dogsleds, fishing boats and helicopters.
In
2008, EIS recorded the largest calving event (ice breaking off into the ocean), ever captured on film. The awesome event occurred at the Ilulissat Glacier, in Greenland. A huge block of ice, three miles wide and three-fifths of a mile deep (approx. the size of 3,000 U.S. Capitol Buildings), broke off in a little more than an hour.
Real-world
visual evidence has a unique ability to convey the reality and immediacy of global warming. The visuals also celebrate the otherworldly beauty of ice-cloaked landscapes and help scientists better understand the mechanisms of glacial retreat.
Becoming
aware of the climate change, is the first step toward caring about a distant landscape most of us will never experience in person. We are becoming more able to connect the dots between what happens far away, the rising sea levels, and other climaterelated issues closer to home.
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photography & text by
EUNICE ADORNO illustrations by
MAD ANTHONY
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The Mennonites are a Protestant group, originally based around the Christian Anapaptist denominations, in central Europe. Today there are 90,000 Mennonites living in Mexico.
There, in the middle of highways
like labyrinths, I met the ďŹ rst women: mysterious and silent, in the shade of a tree, looking at me intently. There was no hello, no dialogue. It was a strange encounter. An indelible landscape to which I often return, since I consider the ďŹ rst contact with a stranger, the one that is most fascinating. A shock that will never be the same again. This was also the case for me with these mennonite women.
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After
that meeting, I set out in search of them, on a journey to the communities of Nuevo Ideal, Durango, La Onda, and Zacatecas. In these isolated communities – desert-like places – the withdrawn lives of these mennonite women continue. Just as it had been since the time of Álvaro Obregón, who during his government (1920-1924) granted this community land in the states of Chihuahua, Durango, and Zacatecas, where they live to this day.
Over the course of our meetings, my
fascination with them grew. At certain moments, I found myself trying to understand their feminine way of life in the country, with their elegant dresses, black shoes and socks.
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Over time I came to understand them
better. I understood the value of their houses and the flowers. The houses, and in particular the kitchens, constitute a kind of secret on the horizon, where the Mennonites take refuge, for hours on end, among objects and trinkets full of personal meaning.
Separated
from work and from their husbands, the women forge their own universe, fashioned out of chats, memories, secrets, friendships, pleasures, and diversions. They hide this universe beneath their cumbersome, unrevealing clothes and a reserved gaze, directed at the world.
For their part, the flowers are the common denominator among these women. The flowers appear in their dresses, in their objects, in their names, and in their gardens. The flowers have thus provided a title for the series: “The Flower Women”, or in their native tongue (German), “Fraum Blaum.”
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Our
conversation took place in Spanish and, at times, with gestures ďŹ ltered through German. But our real point of connection has been human feeling, which we share as women. These isolated communities contain, for me, extraordinary lives. The world of these women is fascinating to me, enigmatic.
That journey has also come to signify
a great adventure for me, by which I also extracted myself from my daily world and set off on those dusty roads, toward my own back story.
As the daughter of Christian parents,
I remember certain moments of my early childhood of conservative customs, marked by the presence of religion in our lives. In some way, I seek in their colors and their customs, something of my own history. Looking at these mennonite women, is also to be looked at, by them.
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It is one of the coldest days of the
season and the icy winds following fresh snowfall in Himachal and Kashmir, enter the bone marrow as people shiver in Delhi. In these hostile weather conditions, a young man dressed only in langot (a piece of cloth tied like an underwear). Several others dressed in langots roam around the courtyard of the akhara busy with their daily chores, unperturbed and completely unselfconscious of their bodies.
Founded in 1925 the akhara (wrestling pit) was a gift from industrialist KK Birla to Guru Hanuman, a legendary wrestler and trainer, who used it to groom young wrestlers as world-class competitors.
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Guru Hanuman was an icon in the
wrestling spectrum in India. His old akhara is considered as the epicenter of wrestling in India. It has produced some of the ďŹ nest wrestling talents of the country.
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Indeed,
time stands still here, despite the hype around the wrestling Olympic bronze, won by Sushil Kumar. Before Kumar’s Olympic feat, he trained in a huge ramshackle dormitory in Delhi, with abysmal facilities. He shared a living space with other youngsters, completely ignored by the sports establishment. Nothing much has changed in this akhara since 1925.
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The door that leads to the akhara bears the testimony of time. The small door looks like the typical entrance to an archaic temple, tucked under a tree, in the backwaters of a small town. One wonders how these 6 feet plus wrestlers, manage to wriggle in and out of this miniscule structure with such ease.
The door leads to a small courtyard that has several gas stoves strewn all over. On some of these stoves, empty utensils used for boiling milk are yet to be cleaned. Some drops of milk and coarse almonds stuck at the bottom, give a clue of the ingredients. Few steps further you can get a glimpse of a small pit ďŹ lled with sand, that has young boys trying hard to pin down their counterparts in a wrestling bout.
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Senior wrestlers dressed in langots
watch carefully while a vocal instructor keeps the young boys on their toes. The instructor in a blue jacket with ‘India’ written on it keeps patting the heads of boys and men who bow down to touch his feet, reaffirming the old guru-shishya parampara. Thus is a long legacy of great wrestling, Indian style.
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We arrived in Kengtung at sunset.
After many miles of tiresome ascents and descents, through narrow gorges between monotonous mountains, where the eye never had the relief of distance, we suddenly found ourselves in a vast, airy valley. In the middle of it, white pagodas, wooden houses and the dark green contours of great rain trees, were silhouetted like paper cutouts against a background of mist, that glowed first pink and then gold in the setting sun. Kengtung was evanescent, incorporeal like the memory of a dream, a vision outside of time.
The town was at supper. Through the
open doorways of the shop-houses, with dogs on the thresholds, we could see families sitting around their tables. Oil lamps cast great shadows on walls dotted with photographs, calendars and sacred images. There was no traffic on the streets; the air was filled with the quiet murmur of evening’s isolated voices and distant calls.
A
fair was in progress in the courtyard of a pagoda. People crowded around the many stalls lit by small acetylene lamps, to buy sweets and gamble with large dice that had figures of animals instead of numbers. Wideeyed children peered through the forest of hands holding out bets to the peasant croupiers.
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Night
fell in Kengtung, timeless night, a blanket of ancient darkness and silence. All that remained was a quiet tinkling of bells, stirred by the wind at the top of the great stupa of the Eight Hairs. Led by this sound we climbed the hill by the light of the moon, which, almost full, rimmed the white buildings in silver. We found an open door, and spent hours talking with monks, sitting on the beautiful floral tiles of the Wat Zom Kam, the Monastery of the Golden Hill.
That
afternoon several lorries had arrived from the countryside full of very young novices. Accompanied by their families, they were all sleeping on the ground along the walls, at the feet of the large Buddahs, with their faint mysterious smiles, that glimmered in the light of little flames. Statues though they were, they were dressed in the orange tunic of the monks, exactly as if they too, were alive and had to be shielded from the night breeze that came in at the windows.
When we left the pagoda it was still a
couple of hours before dawn, but along the main street of Kengtung a silent procession of extraordinary figures was already under way. Passing in single file, they seemed to have come out of an old anthropology book: women carrying huge baskets on long poles, supported by wooden yokes across their shoulders; men carrying bunches ofducks by the feet; more women, moving along with a dancing gait to match the movement of the poles.
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Sitting on the wooden stools of the
Honey Tea House we had breakfast - some very greasy fritters, which a young man deftly plucked with bare hands from a cauldron of boiling oil. We dunked them in condensed milk. Among the soldiers and traders at the other tables on the pavement, Andrew saw a friend of his, the son of a local lording of the Lua’ tribe, and invited him to join us.
People continued to file past on their way to the market. We saw some men dressed entirely in black, each with a big machete in a bamboo sheath at his side. ‘Those are the Wa, the wild Wa’, Andrew’s friend informed us with a certain disgust. ‘They never part from their big knives’.
He told us that since he was small his
father had taught him to be extremely careful of these Wa. Unlike the ‘civilized’ Wa, these had remained true to their traditions, and they still really cut people’s heads off. Shortly before the harvest, when their fields are full of ripe rice, the wild Wa make forays into their neighbor’s lands, capture someone - preferably a child - and with the same sycthe that they later use for the harvest, cut off his head.
‘They bury it in their fields as an
offering to the rice goddess. It’s their way of auguring a good harvest’, said the young man. ‘They’re dangerous only when they go outside their own territory. At home they don’t harm anyone. If you go and visit them they are very kind and hospitable. You only have to be careful of what you they give you to eat!’ 49
At times, he said, someone invited to dinner by the Wa finds a piece of tattooed meat on his plate. In a word, it would seem that the Wa are also cannibals - at least if you take the word of their neighbors, the Lua’.
I asked Andrew and his friend to help
me find a fortune-teller. Divination is a widely practiced art in Burma. It is said that the Burmese, geographically placed between China and India - the two great sources of this tradition - have been especially skilled in combining the occult wisdom of their two neighbors, and that their practitioners possess great powers. Superstition has played an enormous role in the history of the whole region.
After
three days in Kengtung, Andrew and his friend had not yet found me a fortune teller. Perhaps Andrew’s Protestant upbringing made him reluctant, or perhaps it was true that the two most famous fortune tellers were out of town ‘for consultations’.
Finally,
on our last evening, we found one playing badminton with his children in the garden of his house. But with great kindness, he excused himself: he received only from 9:30 to 11:30 in the morning, after meditating. I tried to persuade him to make an exception, but he was adamant. He had made a vow imposing that limit ‘to avoid falling victim to the lust of gain’. If he broke that commitment he would lose all his powers, he said. His resistance impressed me more than anything he might have told me.
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words & photography by
ERIKA LARSEN
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I came here the first time in August 2007.
Here is the Scandinavian arctic. I wanted to learn about the arctic landscape and the people. Now I am staying in Kautokeino, Norway. Living with a family and learning the Sámi language. They are a reindeer herding family. I did not know very much about Sámi people. I knew nothing at all. During my time here I am creating images, a film and journals. I am not sure what will become of these things or this experience. I used to think knowing the answer to that question was important. Now I do not. I have come on a search to understand the primal drive of the modern hunter by taking an inclusive look at an original hunter-gatherer society. I have come to see if when the land speaks there are those that can interpret its language. I have come in search of silence so that I could begin to hear again.
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August 2008
The trip from the south of Sweden took more than 30 hours driving and after that there were still boats and then walking paths. When I arrived I saw a lavvo (sámi style tent), cabin and a lake. The first day we cooked a soup made from the moss we picked in the trees. I cut wood and stacked it. I cleaned the dishes. I watched her gut birds she would later cook. I heard her speak in Sámi language, her mother tongue. The sound was slow and melodic. I could create a whole journey in my mind from the mood induced by the tonal range and rhythm of the language. She told some stories of her family and her culture. I could have listened for hours. I guess that is why I am still here.
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May 2009 I see Sámi People living in two worlds. They are of the now. They are of the past. When I am here a week seems like eternity. This place will change me forever. I am a storyteller and this becomes clearer now. The days are nights and the nights are days. The reindeer move at night because the snow is harder and easier to move. Therefore so do we. This place is Coalmmejavri. It means shallow water between two lakes. Time does not exist here, not really anyway. Yesterday I stood in a vacuum of fog, Murku, winter fog. It was a place where everything could exist but nothing does. We stay in a lavvo and I what I think most queer is that even though the tundra seems absent of all life we get visitors everyday. I can’t say for sure where they materialize from since I have yet to see another lavvo but I suppose in the vastness of the tundra it would be foolish of me to think we are alone. This life is hard, the work with the reindeer. The weather is ever changing and uninterested in the comfort of those who inhabit the landscape. The weather takes all the energy out a man. He wears it on his face. But the people are proud of their work. They are proud to be Sámi. Every ounce of their being is Sámi.
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July 2009
Last evening we waited to mark the calves but the weather got so cold that the reindeer moved far down the mountain. Sunna arrived only yesterday and she has cleaned around the cabin. I washed all my clothes by hand and used a washboard. Until today a washboard was something that hung as decoration in a country home.
January 2010
I was asked today what it meant to live with a new culture. To immerse yourself with intention of learning and exchanging. I was asked what advice I would give other artists when thinking about doing the same. I answered that I think we should be extremely thoughtful that our projects are something we are whole-heartedly willing to engage in on a full time basis and that we are ready to be transformed because as an artist and as a person this type of experience will strip away numerous layers of yourself and many preconceived ideas we may have had about our work, why you are doing it and about life in general. However the most important thing I believe it will give us a greater understanding of what it means to be human.
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Čakčamannu, 2010
Is it possible to outgrow that which you know so well and begin like a child again? To speak for the first time. To stand for the first time on hard ground, see beyond a meter to new yet familiar faces. To touch those things that once existed out of grasp. To search, as if even in the smallest place, there is an endless frontier. Golggotmánnu, 2010
I am not ready to leave this place. The longer I stay the more it suits me. I feel more a stranger in my own home than I do here. The land is like a magnet. A person can either repel or connect to this landscape. I believed I saw the Sámi living in two worlds, but perhaps that is also a reflection of myself. Maybe it is why I can see both worlds at all. Do we have to choose one or the other, or is the realization that both exist create enough of a possibility to live in both. Golggotmánnu, 2010
So as this world becomes more real to me, the other fades away. As it fades, so do the desires, wants and needs that defined me. I have begun to learn again, I have begun to learn that things had become so familiar to me, in that one world, they were out of my site. I have no answer when asked why, but if I could imagine for a few minutes in time, I see myself walking on a path.
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When one walks into the creative space of Tim Okamura, it is plain to see that you have entered into what can easily be called Okamuraland. His creative universe is peppered with cosmic symbols, coded messages, kings and queens, and an extraordinary paint job. As a matter of fact, painting is the name of the game in Okamuraland.
Tim Okamura has been on his creative journey for quite a long time. The child of Japanese and Canadian parents, he grew up in Western Canada, surrounded by nature and a lot of people who didn’t look like him. He was different, in a time and place, where being different wasn’t so good.
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Like most artists, he identified with
the cultural misfits, who also didn’t fit in with the cool crowd. He learned to paint, tagging along with his father to Sunday art classes and later attending art school. What he was unable to behold on his home turf, soon became the inspiration for his artistic universe in Brooklyn.
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His palette is a bountiful mixture
of urban american realism, warrior queens, the ďŹ ve elements of hip-hop, Native American mysticism, and a dash of existentialism. It’s an explosive visual punch, that manages to ignite your imagination, while creating a new arts mythology, that is culturally inclusive, rather than exclusive.
Like all great talents, Okamura creates
what is not traditionally seen, and challenges the viewer to be receptive to a new way of thinking. Not an easy task, when you’re producing work about race, culture, gender and class, in contemporary art. The challenge becomes even greater when your subjects are represented as being proud and very much present, instead of as marginalized victims. Okamura and a few other painters are bringing some much needed heat, into the ice cold art world.
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Politics
aside, his paintings draw you in with their layered mixture of techniques and themes. The conscious and subconscious are consistently present on his canvases. Oil paint mingles with grafďŹ ti, serpents y in the air, and buffalos appear on basketball courts. Okamura usually enlists his friends to strike a pose for his creative concepts, and thus begins his nightly dance with the brushes. He considers painting to be his form of daily meditation, as well as his labour of love.
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Okamura’s
latest project, Heavyweight Paint, is a collaborative exhibition and documentary ďŹ lm, that depicts the day to day rituals of being in love with paint. Heavyweight chronicles Okamura and three of his fellow painters, preparing for what they hope to be their breakout exhibition. The theme of the show is boxing. Okamura is bringing sexy back into the ring with his new paintings of female boxers. Sounds like another T.K.O.
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photography by
JOHN PAUL PIETRUS
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American Home Cookin’ The leaves of Fall and the chill of Winter, brings a bounty of textures, colors and tastes to wet our palettes. Indigenous to our land is the taste of mother nature, in all her rustic glory.
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As I packed my bags for Australia, I
couldn’t help but think about Crocodile Dundee, Aboriginal people, the Bee Gee’s and kangaroos. Other than that I didn’t know much about the Great Down Under. However, I did know that I really wanted to go there. So off I went, Virgin Australia non-stop to Australia. As a quick aside, I wouldn’t mind living on VA, their planes are actually much more comfortable than my apartment (spoken like a true New Yorker).
As
you are approaching Australia you can’t help but become excited, as you look out the plane’s window. Even from above, you realize that something special is about take place in your life. The word that comes to mind is expansion. Immediately upon arrival you realize that everything is bigger, wilder, and older than probably everything you have ever known.
Australia is basically Jurassic Park
come to life, again. Queensland, a state in the far Northeast of the continent, is one of lushest areas I have ever visited. The State houses the Daintree Rainforest, the Great Barrier Reef, and a multitude of Aboriginal tribes. If you can only make one trip to Australia, consider Queensland the destination for one-stop adventure.
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As I arrive in the small city of Cairns,
the ďŹ rst thing that hits you is the warm humid air. You feel like you are smack in the middle of the tropics. The lush green landscapes could easily convince you of the same. Later that night, I caught a ride with a mini van, for what I thought would be a quick bite to eat.
I
quickly realize that in Australia, when night falls, darkness completely takes over. It was country dark outside, as we traveled through what seemed like a jungle of darkness. When we reached the Flames of Fire restaurant, I was wondered why everyone was standing outside drinking wine, instead of being inside the restaurant.
Well, guess what? Australians are big
on people experiencing their country, as opposed to just visiting it. So, the restaurant was literally tables and chairs in the rainforest, in the middle of the night! The only lighting available were standing torches and candles. Did I mention that my ride left and would not return for approx. 3 hours?
For
entertainment, an Aboriginal storyteller dressed in a traditional loincloth, enchanted us with a brief history of his tribe’s land and culture. A truly fascinating and beautiful presentation. Unfortunately, after a 17 hour ight, I need toothpicks to keep my eyelids open.
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The
next morning I managed to remove the toothpicks from my eyes. I headed to Port Douglas to board a luxury catamaran for my exploration of the legendary Great Barrier Reef. Not a bad job. The Great Barrier reef is the largest coral reef in the world and houses an unmatched array of sea life. Aboard the Tropical Journey’s catamaran, I received basic intro lessons for snorkeling. Did I mention that I barely know how to swim (emphasis on the word barely)?
As I plunged into the crystal clear turquoise water, I immediately felt like I was entering a new dimension of life. There is so much life going on underwater, it makes living on land seem boring. Thoughts of Jacques Cousteau ran through my mind. As I tried to forget that I was breathing out of a tube, while clumsily flapping around in shark infested waters, I was awestruck by the natural wonders of the reef.
If you want to feel insignificant, dive
into the Great Barrier Reef. I hovered over giant turtles, saw clams the size of beach balls, and witnessed massive schools of fish swimming by. After flapping around for a while, my fellow snorkelers and I kicked ourselves over to one of the famous Low Isles, which are like the real life Gilligan’s Island. After going under in the Great Down Under, the next obvious thing to do is head into the jungle.
I arrived in Daintree, which is a town
situated in the middle of the Daintree Rainforest. The Daintree rainforest is the oldest rainforest on the planet (approx. 45,000 years old) Inside the forest you will find one of the top rated spas in the world, the Daintree Eco Lodge and Spa. 104
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The lodge consists of 15 rainforest
villas on stilts. I’m not talking about manicured plants and lawns. I’m talking about your own private villa in the middle of a rainforest, complete with suspended rope walkways, a natural waterfall, a five star spa and plenty of wildlife.
After checking in, a lodge employee
knocked on my friend’s door to inform him that his villa just happened to be a local boa constrictor’s favorite hangout spot. She asked him to step out of the room to take a look at the snake. She informed my friend that there was no need for him to worry, the snake does not bite. Upon seeing the boa constrictor, my friend’s eyes bulged out of his head.
To comfort him, I said that the woman
was probably right. The snake would not bite him, it would just kindly wrap itself around his body and swallow him whole. Did mention that all of the other rooms at the lodge were booked? I offered to let him sleep on my couch. Being a real man, he declined and said he was cool, as his eyes screamed “Help Me!”.
Outside of the snake, the Daintree Eco
Lodge is a unique “one with nature” lodging experience. You feel like you are living out a tree house adventure with luxury perks. You are completely surrounded by the ancient beauty and mysteries of the rainforest.
While staying at the Daintree, I signed
up for a few cultural activities. The Kuku Yalanji are a group of Aboriginal people native to the area. They provide cultural tours and activities for tourists to learn about Aboriginal culture. The Kuku Yalanji taught me their traditional way to spear fish. Yes, that means I was out in the ocean throwing a spear at some unsuspecting fish. Luckily for both the fish and the Aboriginals, my good arm was pretty pathetic, to say the least.
Later I went on a boat ride down
the Daintree river. The tour started as a postcard perfect view of the river. My tour guide asked me if there was anything in particular that I would like to see on the river. Of course I said, “crocodiles!”. With that command he steered the small boat in a new direction, that quickly began to resemble the film ‘Apocalypse Now’.
As
we slowly sailed through the foreboding jungle, we spotted an unfathomable amount of healthy looking crocodiles. Did I mention our boat was basically a rowboat with a motor on it? As we proceeded down the river, I couldn’t help asking my guide, what was the strangest thing he has ever seen on the river. He coolly replied, ‘From time to time, I’ll see a crocodile swimming along with a cow in its mouth’.
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Once back on land (thank God!),
I headed off for a tour of the Australian outback. My guide was with renowned Nugu-wara (aboriginal tribe) storykeeper, Willie Gordon. Willie enthralled me with creation stories about the Universe, the Nugu tribe and rock paintings dating back to the early millennium. While exploring, he also taught me outback survival skills, such as eating ants for protein and hydration. After I freaked out, I ate a bunch of ants, which tasted like lemonade (yum!).
Making the trip to the Great Down
Under is an experience that goes far beyond your wildest dreams. You too can live out your Crocodile Dundee fantasy, while gaining ďŹ rst hand knowledge of Australia’s mystical beauty and fascinating culture.
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PRICELESS TRAVEL TIPS from our contributing ROAD WARRIORS
................................................................................ The most important thing I do when you arrive in a new destination is find a spiritual guide. The local spiritual guide (ie: tarot card reader, fortune teller), is the person who knows the best places, the best ride, best prices. He is the person who has all my confidence.
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Pack your toiletries bag in your carry on luggage. Grab a meal in the local markets. They have the best food, for very little money.
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Always have your hotel’s business card on you. You won’t have a problem if you get lost.
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-- Eunice Adorno
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..................... Learn how to say, at the very least, hello and thank you in the native tongue of where you are visiting.
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Remember, you are a guest in their country, so the least you can do is respect them with a few words in their own language.
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Be adventurous and do something you wouldn’t normally do: sky dive, scuba, whatever. But remember to be safe.
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Talk to locals, try to get tips from them on their favorite places to eat and see.
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Get travel insurance. Very basic, but I’ve used it a lot and it has saved me thousands.
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Get an open ended ticket if you can, chances are you might want to stay on a bit.
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-- John Paul Pietrus
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If the local water is questionable, brush your teeth with bottled water. Always skip ice in your drinks. Never pack your house keys in your checked luggage.
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-- Lauri Lyons
..................... Remember to pack extra underwear and socks.
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Carry medication with you and not in a checked a bag when on an airline.
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Bring a camera and camera charger or plug adapter.
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• Always bring your phone and
phone charger.
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Pack a bag of snacks.
-- Thyra Helgensen
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Do not keep your money, passport or anything valuable in the pockets of your backpack. It will be gone before you know it. Wear a fanny pack or small shoulder strap purse similar and put valuables in there instead. It may look very unfashionable but I have never lost anything valuable by carrying everything in a small purse close to myself. Save free samples of shampoos, conditioners and other toiletries. They are especially handy and do not waste a lot of space and weight allowance when you are packing for and coming back from your wonderful trip.
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Make sure you double check the TSA website for items you can and cannot bring back into the country. Otherwise the TSA agents will be enjoying your gourmet food instead of you.
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If you see any foreign insects anywhere on your belongings or even your body, do not squish it. Try to find an object to flick it away, or trap it with a container. Never ever squish a bug.
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-- Rachal Tai
Wear stretchy pants on airplanes.
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Get off the beaten path as much as possible, when reasonably safe of course.
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• Take the winding road, there’s
usually so much more to see. -- Crystal Cartier
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