Self Indulged Travel Magazine #5

ISSUE #5

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INDULGED www.selfindulged.com

Photography by Sandra Herd

Mongolian Mayhem: Stranded in Eastern Mongolia

Loving Lysefjord TOP TIPS for Travel Portraits ...and much more! +WIN Lonely Planet’s BEST of TRAVEL 2012 with “Where’s Dave?”

TRAVEL - MONGOLIA - LYSEFJORD NORWAY - JUMBOSTAY - PRIZES - AND MORE!

ISSUE #5

Well we’ve certainly covered some miles since the last issue, including a train ride from China to Mongolia and back to China again.

After leaving China we arrived in the UK via Malaysia, bought a car and took ourselves off across the channel. We touched four countries in two days...a very exciting moment for an Aussie. In Western Australia you can drive for twelve hours and see just three towns so the thrill of ‘country hoping’ was one we indulged in further.

We hopped to Belgium, The Netherlands (yes, we bought clogs), Germany, Denmark, Norway and Sweden which is sadly where we had to put a temporary hault to proceedings.

Dave’s mum had fallen very ill...within 24 hours we were back in Australia. Thankfully she is making a fantastic recovery and we’re enjoying our time back at home.

Our car now awaits us in Sweden and we will return.

But first lets look back over the adventures of the last few months in this Issue.

Mongolian Mayhem showcases some cool images from a five day tour in the East.

We travel to Lysefjord in Norway, forgetting that driving 500km in Western Norway takes much longer than driving 500kms in the flatness of Western Australia and we offer some inspiration of sights to see in wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen.

If you’re a keen photographer there are 10 top tips for shooting travel portraits...a sometimes daunting (but if you get it right - rewarding) experience and finally a chance to WIN Lonely Planet’s new release BEST OF TRAVEL 2012 - just in time for the new year so you can start planning your own adventure.

Hope you enjoy!

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Written by Sandra Herd Photographed by Sandra Herd Designed by Sandra Herd Produced by Sandra Herd Edited by Sandra Herd Research by Sandra Herd

IN +W OF ST L E B VE A TR 12 20 60!

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www.selfindulged.com www.shotsinternational.com sandy@selfindulged.com Self Indulged takes no responsibility for links leading to external content. By reading this publication you are agreeing to click on external links at your own risk.

The links have been included soley as a source of information only.

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WISH YOU

If you’d like to send me an email with your thoughts/comments/ideas about the mag, please use the following address...

sandy@selfindulged.com Click the bottletops above to LIKE on Facebook or to FOLLOW on Twitter.

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WERE HERE! ::I’ve enjoyed all 4 issues of your magazine.

I love it! Well done, it’s really interesting, well written, and beautifully phpotographed. How you manage something this good on a little laptop in China beats me.

C. Henderson:: Cheers Chirs....if there was a prize for the best email you’d win it with this one! hee hee - Sandy ::I work in China teaching English and just recently found your mag on the Travel China website what a cool concept. Great story on Mt Emei, it’s certainly not for the faint hearted. A group of us went there last year and stayed at the same monestary, my girlfriend scared the monkeys off by screaming.

Anyway, cheers for the mag-looking forward to the next issue ‘A new follower’ - John:: Thanks John. ‘Screaming’ was my fall-back plan. - Sandy ::Cool photos in your magazine. Will you be writing about more photography tips for those of us still learning? I have a new nikon that I will be taking to the states with me in a few months and would like to learn more before I go.

Sherri, Ireland:: Hi Sherri, There are some portrait tips in this issue. Hope you enjoy! - Sandy

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A W R O N D R O J F E S LY Home of THE BO

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I’

m sitting in the Øygardsstølen (Eagles Nest) carpark above the small settlement of Lysebotn in the South-West of Norway typing this on my laptop...absolutely gutted. Gutted because I’m in the stunning fjords of Norway’s West coast and have discovered that my completely unreasonable fear of heights/climbing will not allow me to climb the Kjerag trail above Lysefjord. I got as far as the first trail of chains (for people to hold on to) and had a severe case of “get me the hell off this rock - phobia”. Dave, my other half, escorted me down, very kindly negating to use the words pathetic and loser, and shot off again bounding up the trail like a mountain goat. As I sit here in my shame, I watch an endless stream of trekkers ambling across the rocks. Nimbly stepping onwards and upwards on the 2 ½ hour trail that leads to the coveted landmark; The Bolt.

And here I am. In the carpark with a five hour wait. A professional photographer, a travel writer. With nothing to shoot and nothing to write about...

We drove from Oslo on a last minute whim. A whim born out of a few pints of the local brew, at the Beer Palace in Oslo. It would be criminal to be in Norway and not at least ‘pop in’ to the fjords which run up the South-West coast of Norway. We didn’t have time to get to Bergen which is the main ‘gateway to the fjords’ but we could take a quick jaunt to the more southerly region near Stavanger...to Lysefjord. So we set off on the 6 hour drive through some stunning scenery; red painted houses dotted around the autumn landscape, passing wooden churches and mirror lakes and then finally through the ‘tinged with purple’ rocky landscape on the road to Lysebotn.

It was early evening as we took the road through the mountains. A low cloud had set in and the visibility was about 3 meters on the single lane road. Now and then the road would slope downwards and cross over a portion of lake, an eerie feeling of not knowing where the water started and the road stopped meant 13 SELFINDULGED

that full concentration was needed to navigate and we both were on high alert for cars coming in the opposite direction and dozy sheep warming their bottoms on the warm tarmac.

As we turned on to the last stretch towards Lysebotn we hit a 31km stretch of single lane switch backs, 27 hair raising, hairpin bends descending nearly 1000m into the fjord below.

The clouds cleared just long enough for us to appreciate the amazing and bizarre formations on either side of the narrow road. There were hundreds of cairns, built by travellers adding one or two rocks over time to already established piles on hills, in pools of water and even on the top of sign posts. The little rock piles were everywhere...we pulled over and found an obligatory pebble to add to one of the piles.

This road through the mountains wouldn’t be here at all except for the fact it was purpose built in 1984 for access to the Lysebotn Power Station. For just five months of the year the tiny village of Lysebotn can be accessed by this road, attracting travellers, thrill seekers and base jumpers to its tiny township. A few B&Bs, a hostel, a camp ground and ferry terminal make it a popular destination for an overnight stay. The small reception area for the campground and hostel also doubles as a tiny pub and restaurant. September marks the end of the season, the accommodations are now largely deserted and the last base jumper for the season made his final jump yesterday...final for the season, I mean - he made it safely to the bottom.

And so here I am, still in the car park. Giving you what I’ve got about the area and hoping that Dave got a good shot of ‘the bolt’ which I can pass off as my own. It is raining heavily again. I forgot to mention earlier that I am sitting in the car with a hot flask of tea and a packet of Oreos. Tomorrow we will get the ferry to Preikestolen - Pulpit Rock on the opposite side of the fjord. I was advised at the camp last night that that walk is for ‘pensioners’ - Bring it on!C

o s t o n e ...th ! t i b easy

Kjerag Bolt: Described on the tourist information board as, “A round stone block, held in place in a crevice, is to be seen 300m to the west of the drop at Nesatind. Many have been tempted to go across and stand on the bolt but for most it should be more than enough to just look at it.�

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Side note: Don’t let my complete fear of being on the planet dissuade you from doing this trek. I’m only writing of my own experience and doubt that others are as inept at putting one foot in front of the other...upwards, as I am. I don’t choose to be this pathetic, it’s an uncommon talent.

For your information, the actual sign at the base of the trail says the following: “It is an impressive experience to walk along the Lysefjord to Kjerag. From the top at Nesatind there is a 1000 metre drop to sea level. (-This is where those crazy Base-Jump people jump from.)

The walk to Kjerag has to be described as hard.

It begins with a steep climb up the cliffs from 640m above sea level to 825 and continues along the fertile Litle Stordalen. The path then follows a track up and over a new ridge before coming down into Stordalen which is the main valley behind the Kjerag Massive. The path then winds a little towards the Lysefjord and from that point climbs steeply along the edge of the massive over polished granite out to the cairn at Nesatind. *When the mountain is wet (it was!) parts of the route can be very slippery (like plunge 1000m to your death slippery or just, you may slip over slippery??) *In icy conditions the trip is not recommended. *The trip is not advisable in foggy conditions or strong winds. *Be prepared for the fact that the weather can change very quickly even on fine summer days. * It can be dangerous if you lose track of the red markers. (Yikes - did I mention my sense of direction isn’t very good either.) *Due to the steep drops the tour is not recommended for small children. (or Sandra) Have a safe and pleasant walk!”

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The Eagles Nest cafe and visitors centre. It closes during the ‘off’ season, starting from early Septemeber. The building looks out over Lysebotn and Lysefjord. I took this shot from the start of the trail to the bolt...this was as far as I got.

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Lysefjord at dusk. The rocks in this area have a purpleish tinge that can be seen in the evening light and also when the rocks are wet.

Waterfalls cascade down all the way along the fjord, the streaks you can see in the water towards the bottom of the frame are caused by jellyfish swimming near the surface.

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The morning ferry needs to be booked as it only carries 6-8 cars. There is a tourist ferry which costs more. The ferry makes several stops, including one at Forsand (a good drop off point to get to Pulpit Rock if you have a car) and terminates at Stavanger. In winter the road into Lysebotn is closed...a ferry is the only way in or out.

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Mongolian Mayhem Words Sandra Herd Photography Sandra Herd

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They say the first thing you should do when you arrive in the Mongolian capital of Ulaan Bataar is leave to see the rest of Mongolia. I’m not really sure who ‘They’ are, but we took their advice and left the day after we arrived. We were heading out on a 5 day tour, organised by the owners of the Golden Gobi, a hostel and hub in central UB who are known for their tours around Mongolia, largely due to the fact that they are listed in the Lonely Planet Guide. If you’re looking to join a group to help keep your tour costs down, there’s a fair chance you’ll find travellers at the Golden Gobi but, be warned... customer satisfaction is not their first priority.

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Here is our tale.

There were four of us in the back. To ease the cost of the tour we’d agreed to join with two other guys who had travelled to Mongolia as part of their ‘gap year’. Our van had a padded ceiling on the inside (we assumed to absorb the pain when our heads hit the roof on the off road portion of the trip) and the appearance of an old soviet military vehicle on the outside.

50kms into our trip I had an inkling that something was wrong...from the left side window I sighted

the imposing silver statue of Mongolian hero, Chinggis (Ghengis) Khaan off in the distance (a sight that was reserved on our itinerary for ‘day 5’) and a few kilometres after that we were officially off-road. Back at the Golden Gobi, the owner had talked us through the tour saying that day one would be a full day of driving on tarmac road with a short off-road drive until we reached our destination but already we were making use of the padded ceiling as the van drove off into the Mongolian steppe.

mobile phone in a clandestine fashion and, although I don’t actually speak Mongolian, I was grasping the general gist of the conversation between the guide and the driver which I assume went something like this; “I thought you knew where we were heading!”

“Nope you’re the guide, I’m just the driver...you’d better figure it out quick or we’re all going to die in the Mongolian outback ”

Our guide began playing with her unreceptive SELFINDULGED 23

A traditional ger. This is where we stayed for lunch on our first day of the tour. Although the weather was bad the ger was surprisingly comfortable inside.

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“Imagine a car load of people turning up at your front door and asking if it would be OK to cook lunch in your house...that’s exactly what we did.”

An Ovoo by the side of the road. Our driver pulled over with an offering and circled the ovoo three times. The nomadic people of Mongolia believe that this will bring safe travels.

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We stopped twice while the driver asked for directions, our guide assuring us that we were not lost we just needed to confirm that we were going the right way – semantics... but we were happy enough in the van, it didn’t matter too much to us which way we went because the view out of the window was the same – grassland, in every direction.

The monotony of the drive was broken as we drove up to our very first ‘unscheduled’ ger. (Ger is the name for the round transportable ‘tents’ that the nomadic Mongolians call home. The word yurt comes from the Russian equivalent, the Mongolian word ger means, quite simply, ‘home’). Imagine a car load of people turning up at your front door and asking if it would be OK to cook lunch in your house...that’s exactly what we did. Our surprised but gracious hosts allowed our guide the use of the stove as we unpacked the food from the back of the van and we got to see the inside of our first authentic ger. A real Mongolian family in their real Mongolian ger, and I was thrilled. There were two side by side, the inside was furnished simply to our eyes but our guide explained that this was actually quite an elaborate interior.

Furniture is generally kept to a minimum because it all has to be packed up and moved when the seasons change and the nomadic families move on. The gers are taken down and re-erected but whatever is inside also has to be packed up and moved. Most families now have a truck or van of some kind to help with the move but even with this modern convenience, shifting heavy furniture up to four times a year would get rather tiring.

So the interiors are kept relatively simple, although we did spy a flat screen TV in the back of the room to go with the satellite dish and solar panel that we noticed on the outside of the residence.

Like most women around the world, the owner was a little concerned that the ger was ‘a mess’, it delighted me to know that,

even though we live so differently, we are still fundamentally the same. We put her mind at ease by explaining how lovely it was to sit inside a real ger, an experience none of us had ever had before. She disappeared for a while into the neighbouring ger and reappeared with a large flask of hot tea - a milky concoction that had little resemblance to a western cup of tea, and a large tray of aaruul which looks very much like hard cheese but here’s a word of warning...it is not cheese.

Take a small piece and then if you like it have another. The Mongolians love this stuff, it’s a protein snack that will go anywhere and has an indefinite shelf life. It’s actually just curdled milk, dehydrated and thoroughly dried in the air and sun (often on the roof of the ger) making it rather tough, which is why it’s often sucked instead of bitten. Dave played his lactose intolerance card as the rest of us sat there nibbling the corners off our aaruul chunks until we could find a suitably subtle method of disposal that didn’t require ingestion.

Our first meal of the tour was the best, a hearty stew of tinned meat and root vegetables. As we thanked our wonderful host for her kindness her husband appeared on the horizon, galloping towards the homestead, dressed in the traditional dark Mongolian overcoat and wearing his ‘cowboy’ hat completing a picture postcard scene of Mongolian life.

Back in the van our attentions were turned to the fact that we were still lost, we eventually came to another homestead of a more luxurious nature, the driver managed to bog the van in a tiny stream and we hoped out to discover that this would be our accommodation on the third night of the tour. I was starting to think we were doing our itinerary backwards, it didn’t matter to me which way round we did the trip as long as we actually got to do it. Our van had already stalled twice for no apparent reason and seemed reluctant to want to start again. The guide explained that our driver

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was new and didn’t have much experience (in Outer Mongolia with no phone reception or GPS in the car…great!) she then went on to explain that the vans are all owned by the drivers so they know how to fix them in most situations, “Well, the experienced ones do”.

My faith in our driver and guide was starting to wane.

This homestead had a shower and beds and looked like a great place to spend the night but it was still early afternoon and we had some ground to cover to get to our designated homestead. After receiving directions from the owner we set off again in search of Khangil Nuur Lake and our ‘home’ for the evening. Eventually we came to a Lake but nobody seemed to know the name of it, we were off road now, driving down a faded track in the grasslands. We could see a few gers in the distance and a Landcruiser flying the German flag parked by some trees. Thinking they may have a map (yep, that’s right…we didn’t have one) we pulled up to enquire if they’d be so kind to let us peruse it. The Germans had hired the Landcruiser and were spending eight weeks driving around the entire country. I envied their self sufficiency and their time frame. They would get to see all of Mongolia, from the Gobi in the South to the Altai Mountains in the North West, they were on the trip of a lifetime…and they didn’t have a map either, just a Lonely Planet Guide to Mongolia and a GPS with expired batteries.

We thanked them anyway and commended them on their valour.

“Silly boys!” our guide scolded as we drove away. “They should have a guide out here, it can be very dangerous if they don’t know where they’re going and they don’t speak Mongolian.” The irony of the situation was obviously completely lost on her.

We finally arrived at our destination at Khangil Nuur in Khentii province. (48 07’ 29.16’N, 109 21’ 45.69’E – Google Earth Co-ordinates) The main homestead, shared by a middle

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Just outside of Terjl National Park a local waits with his bactrian camel and golden eagle as tourists pose for photos on their way out of the park.

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“I was a drop-in, a late comer. I’d obviously missed the instructions about what to do in a monastery in the instance a smoking bowl is handed to you”

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aged couple (Tovshoo and his wife), was a permanent residence with a log cabin with a small ger (our accommodation) next door.

Behind the cabin were two long drop loos in tiny wooden shacks and a double storey log cabin which we were told was a government research station. A Mongolian family visiting from the city were also staying there in the double storey cabin and, as a result ,we were greeted by four adults, one baby, two small girls, two teenage boys (the nephews of the other visitor) and the owners’ four legged entourage; one horse, five dogs, two goats and a sheep with an identity crisis (he tried to hang out with the dogs, much to their disdain). There was a cattle shed of sorts with about 20 head of cattle. Just before dusk the women milked the cows, the boys walked down to the river to collect some water and the man of the house mounted his unsaddled horse to go and check his hunting traps.

We awoke the following morning to the sound of buzzing, the rain from the previous night had cleared and the sunshine had brought out the flies, the normal flies and the ‘bite you and draw blood’ horse flies. Our location by the lake meant that the influx was unrelenting. The eldest teenage boy was constantly in and out of the ger imparting his wisdom, practising his English and hiding out from any chores that required his attention in the main cabin. Each time the door opened a new swarm entered the premises, joining the hundreds of others, bustling in the corners of the tiny windows above the door frame looking for an exit.

THE MONASTERY After breakfast, we jumped at the chance to get out of the ger and headed out to the Balden Baraivan Khiid Monastery, a short drive from where we were. We piled in the van with Tovshoo, and the two teenage boys and an urn of milk that Tovshoo had brought along as a gift for his neighbour who lived Baldan Baraivan Khiid Monestary

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A wrestler wins his bout at a local Nadaam. The winners parade around with their arms outstretched mimicking the mighty golden eagle.

near the monastery. Balden Baraivan was once a large complex, home to over 1500 Lamas. It was built at the end of the 17th century and, like most monasteries in Mongolia, was badly damaged by the Communists in the period between 1937 and 1939. Fortunately, the monastery has undergone a restoration, although there is only now one resident Lama the Monastery itself still functions as a place of worship were locals gather. After exploring the surrounding area I became engrossed in taking photos around the outside of the main building, (including the cover shot for the mag), and didn’t realise that everyone else had disappeared. I could hear a voice coming from inside the monastery and realised that the others were probably inside, I ducked my head though the door to see a full ceremony in progress with a lama at the front praying and an audience (including our party) sitting on benches who all looked over as I entered the room. Embarrassed at disturbing the prayers, I tiptoed in and parked myself on the end of the front bench as the Lama, unperturbed, continued with his chanting and bell ringing. Trust me to walk in on the interactive segment of proceedings; within moments a smoking bowl was passed to the person on the very end of the front bench…that person was me. With all eyes on me, including the Lama’s, I took the bowl but had no idea what they actually wanted me to do with it. I was a drop-in, a late comer; I’d obviously missed the instructions about what to do in a monastery in the instance a smoking bowl is handed to you. I looked to Tovshoo in desperation who moved his head in a circular fashion offering little elucidation for my predicament. Seeing my embarrassment and obvious confusion the Lama’s aid kindly took the bowl and handed it to the man next to me who enthusiastically wafted the smoke into his face with his free hand and then passed the bowl around his body, clockwise, three times. The bowl was passed around the congregation until everyone had been sufficiently blessed. I kind of hoped they’d give me another shot at it but the aid took back the bowl before I got a chance and, with a few final words from the Lama, the ceremony was finished and I was left unblessed but with a clearer chest than everyone else in the room.

looking forward to going back to the ger with a shower that we’d passed on Day 1. No water had been provided for washing aside from a small tin on a post outside with a bolt drilled into the bottom. This was sufficient for hand washing but there was no way to warm a bowl for a real wash, and not enough gas had been provided on the tour for a luxury such as heated water, barely enough had been supplied to cook the food.

Besides…there were no bowls. The wet wipes were doing a good job but after a three hour hike though the hills the previous afternoon the need for a hot shower was becoming a necessity, not just a luxury.

We said our thanks and goodbyes and drove about 500m before the van stalled. The driver pounded heavily on the accelerator as he flicked the key over in the ignition, over and over again.

We jutted forward, the engine kicked in…then fizzled out. After several attempts we got out of the car, the passenger side seat was pulled out and the driver buried his head in the engine pulling at bits and pieces and banging stuff. With the front seat still at the top of the hill, we pushed the van onto the slope in the hope that we could jump start it. It rolled down with a few splutters before coming to rest at the bottom…dead. We were making a tasty change from horses and cattle, the horse flies had zeroed in on our location and were taking big chunks. We were 500m from the ger and a long way from civilisation, being eaten alive by swarms of hungry flies. After twenty minutes we couldn’t take any more. The car was dead, the driver, busy trying to fix the problem, had been bitten all over his face and arms and was coming up in swollen welts everywhere. We grabbed our bags, a few bottles of water and walked back to the ger which thankfully, had a telephone line. We urged the guide to call back to the Golden Gobi and send out a rescue party.

That was at 10am in the morning. By 5pm we were still waiting. The guide was reluctant to call the Golden Gobi back and when she did at 5.30pm we were told that someone had ‘just left UB’ and would be there around 11pm that night… so we were stranded in the fly infested ger for another full day. We’d been bitten through our After a second night in the fly (and now mos- clothes, on our hands…pretty much everywhere. quito) infested ger we were well and truly ready We were dirty and miserable and the open toilets to leave early on the morning of Day 3. We were (with the flies) were becoming diabolical.

Preparing the marmot for eating.

Fill with hot rocks then pluck the fur and blowtorch the flesh. Hunting marmot is illegal in most some of Monogolia.

“...death by bubonic plague was not something my parents would want to see written on my travel insurance papers.�

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THE MARMOT In the afternoon we gathered around a metal drum on the porch of the small cabin. They were burning cow dung, it supposedly helps keep the flies away. The family were expecting guests from the city that evening and Tovshoo was going to be cooking a special meal for the occasion. Marmot. A marmot (or ‘Tarvaga’ in Mongolian) is a large ground squirrel that looks rather cute and is extremely susceptible to a lung infection known to scientists as Yersinia pestis, more commonly known to us as ‘The Plague’. Although Mongolians have been hunting and preparing the dish known as boodog for thousands of years, Tovshoo was a little sketchy about the legality of what he was doing. We watched with macabre interest as the marmot was prepared in the traditional fashion. Its head was removed followed by the intestines, leaving a fury, headless body ‘pocket’. Glowing hot stones from the fire were stuffed into the carcass and Tovshoo jiggled these around into the limbs of the marmot, each one sizzling as it hit the flesh inside.

Once the carcass was filled with the stones the neck hole was bound with fishing wire and the body blew up like a balloon under the pressure from the hot stones. All of this was happening in the open air, the flies were still around (and on the marmot) but we were engrossed in the procedure. As Tovshoo carried the marmot from the cabin to the open grass, it sprung a leak under its armpit, steam was screaming out from the hole like a pressure cooker and we giggled as Tovshoo clipped off a claw and shoved it, unceremoniously, into the offending hole to plug the steam. He then plucked off the bulk of the hair before setting to the whole thing with a blow torch, skilfully using the flame to burn the fur from the bloated body and a knife to scrape back the residue. After about an hour the finished marmot looked similar to a large roast chicken and, I have to say, more than a little appetising. We might even have been tempted to try a morsel aside from the fact there was no way of telling if this was an infected marmot or not and death by bubonic plague was not something my parents would want to see written on my travel insurance papers. As it was, the marmot boodog was saved for the guests of honour and we settled for pasta with a sprinkling or dried meat back at the ger. That night we pitched our own tent as an

escape from the infestation and heard the new driver pull up just before midnight and we pulled out the wet wipes, knowing that our chance to have a shower was gone and tomorrow we’d be heading back towards Terejl National Park for our last night on the tour.

Our itinerary had long since gone by the wayside and from here on in we were winging it. We were heading back to UB via Terejl National Park via a small town where we would collect some supplies and get some lunch. As we pulled into civilisation we got a wonderful surprise. The town was hosting its own nadaam and it was happening that day. The Nadaam Festival is one of the biggest dates on a Mongolian calendar. The main event is held in Ulaan Bataar but each aimag (province) within Mongoila also holds its own local event around the month of July. The games consist of three main sports. Wrestling, archery and horse-racing. We watched some wresting on the local stadium, humungous men wrestling smaller but more agile opponents, the victors parading around the field mimicking the mighty golden eagle before taking on their next competitor. The locals had dressed in their splendour and their attire was wonderfully colourful and smart. The men and boys in their overcoats and hats and the women in their own embroidered equivalent…this was what I wanted to see. The costumes, the games, the people of Mongolia.

THE MAGIC Finally satiated by a huge lunch from the local restaurant, we left the town and drove to another homestead for our final night on the tour. This particular homestead was a busy place. There were four gers in all and shortly after we arrived another 3 vans deposited more tourists from the Golden Gobi who would also be spending the night. We decide to pitch our own tent again to make room for the others. More tea and arruul was laid out for the guests so we excused ourselves and went outside to watch a huge storm cloud roll in from the mountains in the distance. I stood for as long as I dared with my camera and tripod, watching the pink lightning as it streaked across the Mongolian sky. The skyshow was spectacular, closely followed by a deluge which sent us running for the cover of our goose down sleeping bags and sturdy little tent. The thunder rolled on all night.

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Pink lightning storm on the Mongolian steppe. Our tent is just behind the ger, the ger was full of other tourists that night from the Golden Gobi... luckily we’d brought our own tent with us.

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The next day was our final on the tour. We made the obligatory visit to Terejl National Park to see turtle rock and we stayed for lunch and were talked into horse riding by our trip companions.

They had visions in their heads of galloping across the open plain but no such luck for them.

Happily our horses were ‘tourist’ horses. Docile and slow. Which was fine by me.

As we piled into the van for our final drive back to UB, the driver turned the ignition and….nothing. Dead. Seasoned professionals at this, we instinctively all jumped out of the van and began to push. We’ll laugh about this later we said…and we did, over a steaming hot feast of curry and beer when we were safely back in Ulaan Bataar. *NOTE* It can be quite dangerous to go out into the Mon- expected to work, our drivers and guide acgolian wilderness in a vehicle that is unprepared. tually did a good job. The Golden Gobi on the other hand needs to put back some of My main concern with the Golden Gobi tours (and the money they charge for the tour towards this is also based on feedback from others who the tour instead of pocketing the lions share had similar tales to tell) is that there are no conas profit and providing meagre rations of tingencies for an emergency. We had no map, food, gas (for the stove) and petrol. Our tour no GPS, no satellite phone (we’re just lucky that was short and relatively close to UB but if we broke down at the ger and not in the middle of you’re planning on heading out further, parnowhere), no tools in the car and no spare petrol. ticularly in the colder months, I’d recommend The food was limited (we actually did our own you research your tour provider thoroughly shopping at a small supermarket on day four and give Golden Gobi Tours, and their dodgy to ensure there was enough food for the next 3 transport, a very wide berth. meals), the drivers apparently are ‘not allowed’ to carry spare petrol and when we got lost on day one our guide was concerned that we’d used more petrol than we should have and we may not have enough to get back to the nearest town… this in turn then restricted our ‘sightseeing’ as the driver was reluctant to use more fuel.

No means to wash were ever provided…I don’t mind roughing it a little but 5 days on the road without any offer of water (particularly when water is available) is a bit extreme. Even for washing-up our guide had to wash the dishes in the greasy deep pan she had used to cook with.

Restrictions on the number of gas bottles she had been given to cook with meant there wasn’t enough to heat any water for washing…again, we had to replenish gas ourselves at the shop on day 4.

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The inside o f the ger wher e we stopped for lunch.

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TOP TIPS FOR TRAVEL PORTRAITS

One of the most challenging aspects of travel photography is photographing strangers, especially if you don’t speak their language. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to capture a fleeting shot from a distance but more often than not the best shots are the ones where some interaction (no matter how subtle) has taken place between the photographer and the subject. On the following pages are some tips to help make the challenge of creating a great travel portrait a little bit easier.

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#1 #2 Notice the background.

When taking a portrait shot it’s best to keep the background uncluttered and to fill the frame with your subject. My eye was drawn to this shot by the bright colours in her clothes contrasting against the dark background. At the time she was standing outside under a pergola, the background was all in shadow but enough sunlight was hitting her face to get the shot.

ISO 320 Focal Length 200mm f5.6 1/160 44 SELFINDULGED

Know your gear.

Practise using your camera until you know how to change fundamentals (ISO/shutterspeed/aperture etc) without thinking about it...particularly if you have bought a new camera for a fantastic trip. You don’t want to miss a great shot because you couldn’t change your settings in time. If you know your camera well you’ll have more time to think about composing the image.

ISO 200 Focal Length 300mm f6.3 1/500

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#3 #4 Engage with the subject...even if you don’t speak the language.

As we sat by the Li River this old lady approached us on the shore selling mandarins. She was hunched under her burden and had obviously spent years carrying a heavy load, her twisted body the proof of a very hard life. I didn’t want any fruit but I did want to take her photo so I offered her money for a mandarin and a little extra for a photo. She happily obliged and sat on the shore for a while with us as she peeled herself a mandarin and shared it around.

ISO 400 Focal Length 40mm f4.2 1/60sec

Be ready for the shot & share your image.

Particulary when kids are involved, you never know what they may do next. It’s best to have your camera ready and pre-set for the light conditions...just in case you get a smile like this. Kids also love to see the digital image in the back of the camera, share it with them and then get ready for their next pose.

ISO 400 Focal Length 40mm f4.2 1/60sec

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#5

Turn up the ISO Although this shot was taken in a very dark room, using a flash would have killed the mood of the shot. The bright daylight filtering in from the door and windows was providing a beautiful rim light around the subject that I didn’t want to loose. I took a spot reading off her face then turned the ISO right up to get the shot.

ISO 25600 Focal Length 80mm f5.6 1/60

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Focus on the eyes.

Out of focus eyes can ruin even the best placed portrait. Whenever we view a portrait shot our eyes naturally go to the eyes within the frame, it’s how we engage with the image. If the eyes are fuzzy your viewer will quickly lose interest in the image.

ISO 250 Focal Length 62mm f5.0 1/125 sec

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#6

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#7

When possible, ask first.

Asking for permission doesn’t neccessarily have to be a verbal exchange.

Often a simple tilt of the camera can be used to communicate that you would like to take a photo. This image was taken with a 300mm lens in a crowd. I pointed the camera at the old man and when he turned and noticed the lens, I lifted my head from behind the view finder and smiled, he nodded and paused for the photo before disappearing back into the crowd. The other great thing about asking permission is that your subject will then generally look straight into the lens giving the viewer that ‘eye contact’ with the subject.

ISO 160 Focal Length190mm f5.0 1/250 sec

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#8 #9 Pay when appropriate.

If you see a busker or street performer and you’d like to photograph them, make sure you leave some coins in the hat. I always think it’s bad manners to photograph them and then walk away without paying. Make sure you keep some small denominations of the local currency with you for such an occasion.

ISO 200 Focal Length105mm f8 1/125 sec

Surroundings Shooting an environmental portriat gives your viewer a context. They can tell a lot about the subject based on the environment you include within the frame. Again, avoid irrelevant clutter and shoot just the subject within his or her environment. Position yourself so that you have the key elements within the shot, choose your aperture carefully f2-5.6 to blur out the background or f8 upwards to include some detail within the rest of the frame.

ISO 500 Focal Length 70mm f6.3 1/60 sec

#10

Smile & Have Fun! More often than not, the person you are taking a photograph of will smile right back.

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Where’s Dave?

Every issue we show you a photo of Dave and it’s up to YOU to tell me where in the world he is.

Have a look at the photo opposite and email your answer along with your name, full address and contact number to

wheresdave@selfindulged.com

All correct answers will be collated and a winner will be drawn on the 30th of December 2011. Two winners will be drawn and for the first time we are accepting entries from anywhere around the world. Please note the prize will be the ‘English’ version shipped from the Australian Lonely Planet office!* 2 TO E GIV Y! A AW

CLICK HERE FOR TERMS & CONDTIONS

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WIN LY NE TS O L NE PLA ST OF BE VEL A TR 12 20

ISSUE 4 Answer: Dave is in the hot springs at Lake Batur, Bali.

* Image for illustration purposes only. Competition open worldwide however, the guide book will be in English.

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In

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SPIREd by

COPENHAGEN...

If you ever find yourself lucky enough to be standing on the streets of wonderful Copenhagen, do yourself a favour and look up. Better still, take a bus to the Christianshavn District to Our Saviours church, jog up the 400 spiralling steps (150 of which are outside leading to the tip) and look down...out across the ‘City of Spires’.

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Our Saviours Church (Vor Frelsers Kirke) This spire was added to the church in 1752 by the Danish architect, Lauritz de Thurah more than 50 years after the church itself was completed. The oak spire rises 90m above the city and, once on the outside staircase, you can climb to the very top where the spiral comes to a gradual end.

On a sunny day the views are spectacular and you can see the Oresund brigde which connects Denmark to Sweden.

The spire is wrapped with a gilded bannister and topped by a 3m tall statue of Christ standing upon the gilded globe.

At sunset the spire gleams over the city... there is a small fee to climb the tower but you won’t regret paying it.

Christianborg Palace Spire This spire sits atop the Christianborg Palace, home of the Danish Parliament (Folketing), the Prime Ministers Office and the Danish Supreme Court.

The spire is 85m tall and is part of a reerected palace after the original landmark was destroyed by fire in 1884.

Rosenborg Castle Located in the centre of Copenhagen, Rosenborg Castle was built in 1606 for King Christian IV. Visitors are allowed inside. The ticket price is 75kr to visit and children are free. Strangely, photo permission is an extra 20kr.

St Nicholas Church Spire In 1795 the original Sankt Nikolaj Kirke burnt down, the tower was the only thing left from the original church. In 1909 a brewer named Carl Jacobsen (The Carlsberg Breweries), donated a new spire for the Church designed by H.C. Amberg (another Hans Christian).

The generous Mr. Jacobsen also presented the city of Copenhagen with another gift which was unveiled in 1913... it was the Little Mermaid.

Fredericks Church Technically this isn’t a spire, it’s a dome but it’s still an icon of Copenhagen.

With a span of over 30m it is the largest church dome in Scandinavia. In this shot the painters hang from the top spire in order to carry out the restoration work.....rather them than me!

The Old Stock Exchange One of the oldest buildings in Copenhagen (1640) displays this unusual spire.

The tails of the four dragons twist all the way up to a spear with three crowns which are said to represent the Kalmar Union between Denmark, Norway and Sweden. The spire is just under 60m high - not the tallest but probably the most unusual.

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And finally...

Okay, it’s another pointy thing that isn’t actually a ‘spire’ but it does symbolise an important Copenhagen landmark - Tivoli Gardens.

This famous amusement park first opened in 1843 and is the second oldest amusement park in the world.

This particular ride is called the Himmelskibet, (The Sky Ship) when it first opened in 2006 it was the worlds tallest carousel with a height of 80m. Great for city views if you can stay foccussed whilst spinning at up to 70km/hour!

Haven’t booked your accommodation in Stockholm?

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Why not just WING IT!

Words Sandra Herd Photography Sandra Herd

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Monkey Forest

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The rain battered the windshield as we

drove on through the deluge towards Arlanda Airport just outside Stockholm. Under normal circumstances boarding a plane under these weather conditions would make me more than a little apprehensive but these we not normal circumstances and, after two weeks of camping around Europe, I couldn’t wait to get on this particular plane for a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

We’d reserved the ‘Black Box Suite’ for the night...an easy room to find, right at the back of the ‘grounded’ Jumbo Stay Hostel. The actual hostel is a Boeing 747 jumbo jet that has been cleverly and loving renovated into a 27 room hostel at Stockholm’s International Airport.

Our double room was spacious and cosy, complete with an ensuite and big fluffy dressing gowns. There are a range of room options to choose from. The cheapest is a dorm room and the most expensive at 3300SEK a night, is the Cockpit Suite. As the name suggests, this room was the original cockpit of the plane. The room number is 747 and much of the old cockpit panelling is still there with dials and headsets dangling from the ceiling.

in 2002. In 2008 the she was towed to her final destination at the entrance to Arlanda where she proudly stands today.

As we drifted off to sleep we could feel the gentle buffeting of the howling wind outside... the smallest bit of turbulence reminding us that we were actually on an aeroplane, sleeping in the tail.

The next morning, breakfast was served in the cafe. The coffee machine gurgled away, dispensing a hot latte into my Jumbo Stay mug.

The breakfast trays were actual aeroplane trays, luckily the food was not ‘aeroplane’ food.

Excited by the whole concept, before long I was imagining Jumbo Stays in exotic locations all over the world, with the inflatable emergency slides attached to the side delivering you into a crystal clear swimming pool with stewards in little hats providing cocktails at the bar.

Alas, like many people who stay at an airport, we were just travelling through; we bid the plane farewell and looked forward to a pleasant onward journey.

Click here for more info on Jumbo Stay.

The plane was originally commissioned in 1976 by Singapore airlines - in her life as a passenger jet she has worked for a number of different airlines before being decommissioned

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PARTINGSHOTS

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WHAT - WHERE - WHEN - WHY WHAT The Oslo Opera House.

Opened in April, 2008.

WHERE Located on the Bjorvika Peninsula, Oslo, Norway.

WHEN Anytime on the outside although, I wouldn’t chance walking up it’s sloping sides on an icy winters day.

On the inside, the Opera House is open on weekdays from 10am to 6pm or until the start of the performance and on Saturdays from 10am to 2pm or until the start of the performance.

WHY Because it’s one of the funkiest buildings in Oslo and you can walk on the roof.

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PARTINGSHOTS

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WHAT - WHERE - WHEN - WHY WHAT A beautiful Norwegian landscape.

WHERE Somewhere on the E134 towards Kongsberg.

WHEN This is Autumn although I imagine the scenery in Norway is spectacular all year round.

WHY This isn’t a specific place you should go to, more of a reminder to keep your eyes open on the drive. This was taken on the side of a main road (the E134) on a bend...not the best place to try and take a photograph but with the trees reflecting so perfectly in the still lake below I couldn’t resist jumping out of the car to take a shot.

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Issue 6 - the first edition of 2012 will be out on the 1st of January...hopefully we make it through a European winter...brrrrr!

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“Fear is a darkroom where negatives develop.� ~ Usman B. Asif