The Yak Travel by The Yak Magazine

travel june2020

field of dreams mybali the big chill venice surf& turf dragon town nippon ski

JL . BATU ME JAN NO. 8 CANGGU BALI - IND ONE SIA FORREST MINCHINTON Photo HARRY MARK

www.theyakmag.com

travel junE 2020

The Yak Magazine Sophie Digby, Nigel Simmonds, Agustina Ardie Creative Director Stuart Sullivan Sales & Marketing Amik Suhartin Production Manager Istiana Graphic Designers Irawan Zuhri, Ida Bagus Adi Accounting Julia Rulianti Distribution Made Marjana, Kadek Eri Publisher PT. L.I.P Licence AHU/47558/AH/01/01/2011 Advertising Enquiries Tel: (+62 361) 766 539, 0851 0043 1804, 0851 0043 1805, 0851 0043 1796 info@theyakmag.com sales@theyakmag.com Snail Mail & Walk Ins The Yak Magazine, Kompleks Perkantoran Simpang Siur Square, Jl. Setia Budi, Kuta, Bali 80361, Indonesia Magazine printed by Gramedia Outdoor assets by Supaprint

on the Cover: fields of gold. photos: d.hump.

OK you know the drill. No part of this publication may be copied or reproduced electronically or otherwise without prior permission from the Publisher. Opinions expressed are those of the authors not the Publisher. The Publisher reserves the right to refuse advertising that does not comply with the magazine's design criteria. The Yak will not be held responsible for copyright infringements on images supplied directly by advertisers and/or contributors. Check us out online, we’re awesome (if we do say so ourselves). Peace.

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contents

obsessions Classic Bali travel Posters from the '30s

bali My Bali

hong kong Dragon Town

iceland Chill

venice A Renaissance For Venice

Lombok Surfari

Where The Wild Things Are

76 84 6

lombok

menjangan

surf & turf

South To Sian

niseko

Niseko

Köpskam is a Swedish anti-consumerism term used to describe the shaming of someone buying something new, especially apparel. And you can see why. According to the United Nations, the fashion industry produces more carbon emissions than all international flights and sea shipments put together. We, at The Yak are not here to call out Bali’s fabulous fashion industry where, on the whole, Bali’s fashion brands manufacture locally in Bali, create endless jobs and for the most part have adopted ‘slow fashion’, with its concern about quality instead of quantity. Producing garments that can last for years, with designs that are not viewed as disposable. Köpskam is part of the millenial movement. The alternative to what went before. So in this issue, #66 of The Yak magazine, we go with just that – the alternative – Alt. Living. Starting with two very important causes in our One World and skipping past our regular feature New In The Hood, our Out of The Box shouts out sustainability, quality and design with two of the products being uberenvironmentally friendly. No.1 – Meet Peter James – shoemaker; and No.2 a must-have – the multi use “cotton bud” – no need for more seahorses to be using your throw-aways as rafts to drift along the ocean currents, thanks! Our People section introduces you to some of the known and unknown faces. Paul Ropp, the original disruptor, and Cindy Cowan, film producer, about to launch Seekers – a documentary on those seeking the higher self, the higher vibration, alongside ancient rituals, beliefs and customs – and yes, parts of it will be filmed here on Bali. One of our most respected environmentalists is up next – Femke den Haas – and her JAAN foundation. Please give generously! We follow that with a string of local heroes until we come to the “slant” of this issue, “Alternative Living” – #altliving. Where we sound-heal at Pyramids of Chi, deprive our senses of all stimulation in an almost-alien flotation tank and end up finding equilibrium with Aura Soma using their patented colour, plant and crystal energy oils. Alternative nutrition by Zoe Palmer-Wright is up next, which, we might need to note, is becoming more mainstream, so surely it will not be alternative for much longer. We then go and reap the benefits of the ‘gifts from Mother earth’ for our facials and massages before we go off on an out-of-town treasure hunt for pre-loved fashion. After all this alternative living, we might just need to come back to base camp with some more pampering – we’ll take this one at Blow Bar in Seminyak, thank you – and head south to check out the Conrad Bali’s massive make-over. Digital detox is next on the cards as we spoil ourselves on the brand new, luxed-out Phinisi called Magia II – Come aboard and broaden those horizons, people! So, having replenished the soul and the spirit, it is time to look at pleasing the body. Our Oral Pleasures and Taken Not Stirred will whisk you through our favourite eateries and watering holes; of note is Bebek Timbungan on Sunset where delicious, authentic Balinese food can be shared and enjoyed – definitely a Yak favourite, definitely different – and, if you have not yet tried your host island’s cuisine, we think it’s high time you did! Fully sated on all levels, we find ourselves with nothing left to do but check out AstroYak by the fabulous Dallas Kalmar, and see what the stars and planets have in store for us this next quarter – any alternatives here, we wonder? Maybe book a private horoscope reading for 2020 to find out… As ever…May The Yak be with you! 8

yakbak Dear Yak, First of all, I wanted to say thank you for your support of Kate Wood, we have had so much attention since you started to promote us. Some of the highlights have included an email from Hong Kong Airlines magazine who saw our products in Yak #64 and as a result invited us to be included in their onboard shopping catalogue. Then after the magazine launch party at the Kempinksi Hotel we met several new customers, one of whom bought a bamboo bicycle from us to display at KOKO Bamboo Restaurant in Ubud! There’s more. After The Yak golf event at Bukit Pandawa the lady who won a pair of our glasses came back to our shop to buy more and has now become a valued customer and friend. PLUS we’ve had customers come into the store to claim their Yak VIP discount when they made a purchase. So – thank you and I hope your find this email encouraging.

Dear Yak, I just got back to Freemantle after a long trip from Bali to Italy and then Perth and I just wanted to let you now my copy of The Yak was much admired in every port of call!

Best regards, Dina Daly Kate Wood Originals

Best regards, Jane Hyde Oxfordshire, UK.

All part of the service. Claim your 20% discount at Kate Wood Originals by signing up to become a Yak VIP at http://bit.ly/YakVIP

Why thank you kindly Jane. Do let us know where we should send the cheque.

Best regards, Michaela Boriotti Liddon Pearls Peripatetic publishing from Bali! Hopefully you stole it from one of the island's fabulous venues ... still our best international distribution network! Dear Yak, In a world sadly fast becoming bereft of courtesy and gentility – where trolls rule Twitter and racists run amok – I just wanted to say your magazine remains a pillar of decency in priase of the good life.

In The Lap Of: Byron Kelleher all blacks rugby legend Byron Kelleher joined us for our ninth Yak golf event . . . arriving in Bali the night before he was sans luggage having been parted from it by a relcalcitrant airline. "I literally have nothing to wear," he told us with just hours to go before the game. No worries. After a quick chat with our friends at RipCurl we rustled up some of the finest sporting gear known to mankind and hey presto – the legend was good to go. Fore!

REFRESH YOUR TASTE BUDS! Hit up W Bali’s favorite beachside restaurant with the new refreshing healthy lunch menu. Recharge and enjoy the spectacular view!

For reservations +62 361 3000 106 bf.wbali@whotels.com starﬁshbloorestaurant.com

obsessions

Vintage travel posters remain highly sought-after items for collectors enamored by travelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s golden age.

obsessions

You’ve probably seen vintage posters depicting travel to Indonesia – the one with the Balinese woman balancing a basket of fruit on her head, a steamship plowing the sea towards “Batavia”, a Balinese temple at water’s edge framed by palm trees, a KLM propeller plane tracing a yellow route from Amsterdam to Batavia... The popularity of vintage posters has exploded in the past 10 years with people all over the world collecting and displaying them in their homes and offices. Corporations are buying back posters they once discarded. Museums are discovering posters in their dusty storerooms and putting them on display. These activities and the last 30 years of ever-increasing interest confirm that posters are gaining recognition not only as wonderful decorative objects, but also as important artistic and cultural artifacts. Travel used to be a slow, luxurious indulgence, remember? No, me neither, but I get a nostalgic whiff when I am face to face with a vintage destination poster. A vintage travel poster takes me back to a time when a journey took weeks and even months on a ship or train to arrive in a far off exotic destination the likes of Bali or Java. In the 1890s, advertisers, using the best commercial artists of the day, commissioned large private collections of poster art. Some of the best known names in fine arts started out as poster artists, among them Henri de Toulouse – Lautrec. By the Roaring Twenties, tourism had become big business, and governments competed for prestige and currency by commissioning artists to produce scenes that would entice the viewer to take trips to exotic locales. The posters were hung on the walls of public buildings and kiosks in railway stations and across Europe and America. Stone lithography, a procedure refined and simplified in the late 1800’s by a Parisian printer and artist named Jules Cheret (1836-1932) was the media of choice. By drawing the images on large lithographic stones, enormous posters were printed in vivid color. The process involved as many as 17 individual color applications, which had to be applied to each individual paper one color at a time. It is rare to find vintage posters on the market today that survived the ravages of time and abuse by the elements while posted as advertisements. Thanks to the fanatical collectors of the last century, many of whom acquired as many as 500 or more unique

vintage posters, a limited number of the relics are still around for us to enjoy. It is their limited supply that makes vintage poster art collecting a good investment. The value of a rare vintage travel poster is based on the reputation of the artist, the popularity of the image, the print’s condition, and its rarity. I spoke with the owner of Sarah Stocking Galleries in Los Angeles. Stocking has been collecting and selling rare vintage posters for 35 years. The Bud: “What is it about vintage travel posters that makes them so popular?” Sarah Stocking: Vintage travel posters are one of the last great values in the world of art collecting. They were created to entice a wider audience than say product posters, and therefore more of them survived, making them more accessible. The original posters of Java, Batavia (the Netherlands word for Java) and Bali are rare and represent a very small niche. There are a handful of people who want the few that are out there. Whose idea were the travel posters in the first place? Travel posters were commissioned by railroads, then shipping lines. After WWII, the airlines began producing posters. As travel evolved into a viable industry, Chamber of Commerce’s, local municipalities and government sponsored tourist boards began to commission the artists. Which years produced the best travel posters? The 1920s to the 1930s between the World Wars. Range in value? $1200 to several thousand dollars and more. If someone wants to buy a vintage destination poster, where should they begin to look? With an experienced art dealer like myself or other vintage poster experts. The International Vintage Posters Dealers Association is also a good place to start. Chris Cloutier, a fine art poster collector, restorer and reseller, claims on his website www.posterfix.com, that the recent increase in the visibility of poster art has driven demand to the highest levels ever. Some posters have seen values triple in value over the past few years, with some commanding as high as six figures at public auction. Cloutier finds his vintage posters mainly in Europe at markets, printers, book and paper dealers, auctions and private collections.

Cloutier advises potential collectors to choose their vendor carefully. The vendor should have experience with rare poster art, offer extensive information about the art form, and a guarantee from the gallery as to authenticity and origin. One happy customer in this particular avenue of the collecting world is Karen Waddell, owner of Terrazzo Restaurant in Ubud. A collector of the rare and valuable travel posters, she grew up in the cradle of art collecting – her father's business the Waddell Gallery of New York. Waddell's obsession with rare and valuable travel posters featuring Indonesia began as a fluke. “I was looking through poster art at a gallery in Chelsea, New York, when I saw one that said 'See Java.' I had to have it. The gallery owner told me there was a whole series dating from 1939 to the 50s. She put me in touch with the owner of a Bali poster in London, and I added that one. One day a customer commented on one of the posters on the wall of the restaurant – he personally had worked with one of the artists. He led me to the KLM poster. Later, I saw a magazine ad with a Sumatra poster on the wall of an office. I looked everywhere for that poster, spreading the word far and wide that I was looking for it. My mother found it at last at an art show I sent her to in New York. The owner of the poster, as it turned out, lived five blocks from where I'd grown up in New York and where my mother lives to this day." In a day when travel conjures visions of long security lines at airports and being stuffed into and between miniscule airplane seats, it is no surprise that we relish art that reminds us of a time when travel was slow and luxurious and led us to unexplored corners of the earth. You can see local examples of vintage travel posters advertising Indonesian destinations at Terrazzo Restaurant in Ubud. For more information: www.sarahstocking.com www.internationalposter.com www.postergroup.com www.vintageposterbank.com www.posterfix.com www.gallery29.com www.vintage-poster-art.com www.postershow.com

BIASAGROUP.COM | BALI SEMINYAK - SANUR - UBUD | JAKARTA KEMANG

bali

photographer Stephane sensey travelled bali by bike as the lockdown began to take hold and discovered a paradise worth saving.

A paradise lost?

bali field of dreams.

Stephane, you responded to the situation in Bali by grabbing your camera and jumping on your bike to explore the island. Where did you head to and what did you find? I came back to Bali in March after a stay in my hometown, Biarritz, by which time the health situation in Indonesia had become quite worrying. So I decided to confine myself at home in order to avoid any risks. A month later the situation had become even more uncertain, with no more tourists arriving on the island, so I decided to take the weekend off and head into the hinterland. It occurred to me I might be able to record this historic time through photography, and to my great pleasure these few days of freedom turned into an unforgettable immersion of several weeks into authentic Bali. After some research I decided to head first to Munduk, and after a few photographic stops on the way I arrived at Sanak, a place of great charm and character. “Sanak“ means “family“ in Balinese, and the name perfectly matches the atmosphere of this place. It was to be my home for the next 15 days. Sanak and its surroundings are the stuff of dreams for a photographer; you only need to take a few steps to chance upon scenes of great beauty. Every day I took to the surrounding roads and then paced the endless maze of small tracks in search of atmosphere that could represent the dignity of this Bali. It was an intense and unforgettable time. The pandemic situation worsened however, so rather than return to my home in Umalas I decided to move on. I obtained a certificate of good health from Singaraja hospital and despite an accidental fall that forced me to rest for a few days I continued my journey to Sumberkima Hill Retreat, another exceptional place of great beauty which

faces the ocean and the majestic Ijen volcano and is located not far from the largest national park on Bali. This proximity to the ocean would allow me to discover a community very different from that of Munduk, since the vast majority of the population of Sumberkima relies on the ocean for its livelihood. So after a few days of rest I started to explore, taking long boat trips at dawn and spending my days trekking in the hills which surround the property. For the second time in my life I fell in love with Bali and its people. Do you think it’s easy for many people, especially those centred around the beaches, to forget or even ignore the true nature of Bali? Bali has for several years now been confronted with mass tourism which is content to follow the arrows on the ground from arrival at the airport until departure. A few visits to highly tourist sites, an evening on the beach at Jimbaran, a stop in an oleh-oleh center … are enough for many of the tourists here. Some have even given up referring to the island as ‘Bali’ – it’s all about going to Canggu, visiting Deus to buy a T-shirt then on to La Brisa to make some selfies before heading out to Batubolong for a night of drinking and dancing. It seems to me only a small percentage of people who visit the island have any real knowledge of what Bali is about. Going forward it makes sense for me that the island should focus on this clientele, creating an authentic experience for visitors, rather than focusing on nightclubs and tattoo studios. It should be about quality not quantity. Were people friendly towards you? I’ve lived in Bali for more than 10 years now and I am familiar with the language and culture, and

bali magical bali.

age of innocence.

bali

as with many places I have had the opportunity to explore I know that first contact is important – a smile and some kindness go a long way. Given this I experienced total immersion into the authentic and very friendly Bali, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank – from the bottom of my heart – all the people who were part of this adventure with me. Did you see much evidence of poverty? Most of the Balinese I met during this escapade in the north of Bali live from agriculture and fishing, and it is not uncommon to find a fisherman crossing the beach in the morning and then on to his piece of land in the afternoon to harvest peppers or rice. A large portion of the people we see working in the fields are only employees and are paid in kilos of rice at the end of the harvest, which allows them to provide for their families. When it comes to fishermen, it is not uncommon for them to come home with just enough fish to feed their own. It’s true that these men and women are not very rich but they show great dignity and very often smile, even though they have very little. They deserve great respect.

of tourism. It seems obvious to me that Bali has lost its way.

How were the villages you encountered coping with the Covid situation?

I would say the meetings and the shared moments in the middle of a rice field … or on the edge of the river. There was magic every day waiting for the sun rise … on a narrow bamboo bridge over a majestic river, surrounded by hundred year old trees … or on the beach at Sumberkima at sunset. In the end the most beautiful moments were the words exchanged … a father asking his daughter to dance for us, a large family who were so happy that I took their picture. Sharing these moments with them was so enriching.

To be frank I was pleasantly surprised. At each village entrance there were check-points where you had to wash your hands, have your vehicle disinfected and of course wear a mask, all of which was accomplished in good humour. Do you think tourism in Bali has lost its direction? Bali is better known today for its beach clubs than for the beauty of its nature and the attraction of its Hindu culture. I was delighted to see that Governor Koster had recently admitted (for the first time) that the culture of Bali has been exploited for the sake

Is tourism ruining Bali? I would not go so far as to use the word "ruin" because Bali still has the possibility of modifying its management of tourism. The colossal income of tourism transformed part of the Balinese society and at the same time the contours of the Balinese economic sector. Far too many people today see in Bali only an opportunity to do business and hardly care about the harmful consequences that ‘business at any cost’ can have on the island and its population. Let us not forget that originally Bali was an agricultural island and that it might be interesting to think about a new sector of activity instead of focusing just on tourism. The current situation described by the governor is generated by the capitalist world whose slogan is profit, profit and more profit! What were your most striking experiences during your travels?

Did you find a lot of pollution? Pollution is a recurring problem in Bali as the infrastructure doesn’t match the volume of waste created by 145,000 hotel rooms and four

majesty.

bali

bali falling in love and (right), rice culture..

bali net gains.

golden age.

bali palm calm and (right) spirit of the people.

million inhabitants. On the Munduk side, pollution is limited to waste that we unfortunately notice in rivers since no real waste collection is effective. In the region of the national park the presence of fish farms on the seaside are very harmful to the corals because of the chemicals used. Pollution of the environment is of course one of the great challenges of the present and future for the island. We need better management of the tourist industry to safeguard the island, but on the other hand we are entitled to wonder why Bali has yet to set up effective waste treatment plants, since the non-treatment of waste water is very harmful to the environment. How are we going to protect what is pure about Bali? Bali simply does not have an equivalent and should be protected as such. The difficult period that we are going through now should allow

awareness and a re-examination of the policy of tourism development here. This magical island certainly deserves something other than being managed as a huge amusement park where the only concern is the total number of entries at the end of the year. The fact that Governor Koster is apparently aware of the current Bali situation is a good starting point which requires strong action to safeguard the environment and the identity of the island of the gods. It seems to me that being inspired by the tourism policy of Bhutan or even the Galapagos could be beneficial as it is urgent to have better control over the flows of tourists arriving in Bali each year. Bali and its authorities must invest in quality and not quantity, it is in my opinion imperative in order to safeguard of this paradise that we love so much. Stephane, thanks so much for talking to us. www.stephanesensey.com

hong kong Nightscape unrivalled.

P h oto s : D. H u m p T e x t: J u l e s

It's the free-wheeling centre of SouthEast Asia and a drinking town to boot. Hong Kong has come a long way since the prehandover days of imperial arrogance and white domination. Today it rests on its hardwon laurels as a city that vibrates to the beat of an ecletic international rhythm.

hong kong Many before me have had a Hong Kong experience of course – I believe everyone should. Mine started right from the airplane doors when friends invited me to join them for dinner at the China Club. Located on the top three floors of what used to be the old Bank of China Building, just across the harbour from Kowloon, this is famously a membersonly club, but if you are looking for a way in don’t try to find a back door or service elevator – most upscale hotels can acquire a reservation for you, given a few days notice. As I walked through the doors it was easy to imagine what it must have been like in 1930’s Shanghai – from the ornate silverware to the elaborate tea and noodle ceremonies, the attention to detail here is immaculate, and old world. There’s an unrivalled collection of modern Chinese art that fills the walls, and sculptures spread throughout the corridors. One of the pieces that left its mark was a pair of leather brogues that looked like they were made for a man five meters tall. Big shoes to fill indeed. Hong Kong is all about the view, many people will tell you that. Skyscrapers tower over the harbour, and after a great meal we ended our night by enjoying a drink on the outdoor terrace overlooking the stunning cityscape that has become the mark of this curious and vibrant city. I bid my friends good night and headed back to my room at the nearby Fleming Hotel. This urban lifestyle pad is a perfect place for a short stay on Hong Kong island, situated as it is close to the Convention & Exhibition Center and some great shopping and nightlife choices, all within five minutes of the lobby door. There were more surprises ahead: as I ascended to my room, I mistakenly got off on the wrong floor. Straight away the odour of elegant perfumes wafted into the lift, and I could tell this was no ordinary level in the hotel. I got out, curious to see what was going on, and I walked straight into what the hotel calls “Her Space”, filled with foot massage machines, beauty care products and all the current popular fashion magazines. My curiousity piqued, I lit up all the floor buttons in the elevator looking for “His Space.” When I finally found it I wasn’t disappointed. The floor was filled with gaming consoles, from the Playstation 3 to Xbox 360 and Wii. It also included a golf putting green alongside an iPod dock entertainment system, men’s magazines and an extensive DVD library. I don’t mind admitting I spent the next couple

Aberdeen or bust.

hong kong HK junkage.

hong kong

of hours enjoying the plethora of testosterone-fueled time killers on offer. I awoke the next morning late and groggy, and in need of local colour. After visiting the China Club, I wanted to go a little more basic with my food choice, so after a recommendation from the staff in the lobby I headed for the streets to find some good dim sum. In Wan Chai there is a multitude of open-air street food cafés, offering more dim sum dishes than your heart could desire. I found my particular venue, had my feed and whilst sitting back satisfied, realized why this cuisine has been part of the country’s food staple for hundreds of years. With my belly full and my schedule empty, I aimed to experience some of Hong Kong’s famed sights. After hearing from some friends about a massive fish market, I was curious and headed for the Tung Choi district. A quick cab ride through front and back streets and I found myself standing on the curb looking at what seemed to be a huge wall of goldfish in plastic bags. Confused, I asked the vendor if I was in the right place. He told me that all these fish were destined to be pets, but the market I was looking for was not far away. Somewhat relieved that the goldfish were safe and sound (as much as one can be in a plastic bag), I made another cab ride to the Lei Yu Mun Fish Market. From the first step out of the taxi, I knew I was in the right place. The smell of a fish market is of course unique and this particular example was quite overwhelming on the senses. I entered through one of the many alleyways that led deep into the market’s heart. It really is a sight to see, wall-to-wall stalls housing any and every thing that constitutes seafood in the Chinese mind. Every colour, shape, species and size existed somewhere in that market. I squeezed through crowded footpaths for an hour, and couldn’t help but realize that some of the fish around me had more space in their tanks than I had on the path. I searched for a way out, and after a couple of encounters that were lost in translation, and wrestling a giant crab for a photo…I escaped. I headed across town with my sights on the harbour. I'd been told that the Star ferry was one of the easiest ways to get from Wan Chai to Kowloon, and I was more than happy to try something that didn’t involve traffic. As the ferry pulled into port, the first thing that struck me was the feeling that this mode of transport had not changed much over the years. In fact much of Hong Kong feels like that. Modern and sleek in many parts, it retains an antique charm that borders on romantic. Deck

boys lowered and raised the docking bridge by hand to the sound of a school bell; even the lettering on the side of the vessel reminded me of some nearly forgotten past. Yet the spotlessly clean ship really did offer a quieter, faster and cheaper way to cross from Hong Kong island to Kowloon and the mainland. At around 30 cents per crossing, it rivals even the cheapest motorcycle and taxi options and offers one of the best uninterrupted views of this majestic city. A must-do for any visitor. I left the ferry with a clear head and went to find a locale for an evening cocktail and snack. I’d heard about a restaurant called Sevva, so I asked directions and received some vague hand signals for my trouble. I surprised even myself when I arrived without any bother, and I headed straight to the 360-degree outdoor terrace to enjoy a drink and look over the bustling city below. The restaurant’s wine collection was immense, but I was much more interested in their cocktail menu. Besides having some of the best on the island, Sevva hosts one of the most spectacular views of the world famous Light and Sound symphony on the bay. I was lucky enough to arrive just in time for the night’s show. The light show was an amazing visual experience, lasting over ten minutes and including more than 40 buildings in the array. Rated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the “world’s largest permanent light and sound show”, the dazzle takes place every night at precisely 20:00 on both sides of Victoria Harbour. It’s a definite must-see for anyone who passes through Hong Kong’s splendid midst...indeed there's a lot to experience in Hong Kong. I spent the rest of the evening among some of the regulars, most of whom looked as if they had come straight from the office, some still talking shop. Satisfied with my day in Hong Kong I pulled myself up from the ridiculously comfortable lounger on the roof deck and got a cab back to The Fleming. Whether you’re a jet-setting business mogul or a backpacker succumbing to wanderlust, Hong Kong is a place of wonder in the playground that is Asia. Checking almost every box, its streets and districts offer a plethora of culture and craziness alike. Just a week within ‘The Pearl of the Orient’ offers time aplenty for sight-seeing, fine dining and explorations into art and entertainment. And then there's the X-factor, which Hong Kong has in spades. It’s difficult to express perhaps, but Hong Kong has what other Asian destinations lack. Style, energy (to the point of mayhem), and a unique sense of itself. Old and new together in historic embrace, married at the hip by money, mystique and myth. www.thefleming.com

HK hunkage.

hong kong

This page: Lights fantastic. Top left and down: Kung-fu kid; Fishy; The fabulous Fleming Hotel.

iceland

hang out with history in iceland. text: Joe Yogerst photos: d.hump

I WAS sure I'd walked in on a room full of ghosts â&#x20AC;&#x201C; three women seated around a smouldering hearth in a sod house on Iceland's west coast. Two of them dressed like medieval peasants, the third like a Viking princess. Hair long and unruly. Hands stained with grease and soot. Poking at the fire, chatting in old Norse. A vision from 1,000 years ago, deep and dark in the Icelandic past. No other people within sight or sound, I was alone with these eerie characters. But just as I was about to slip out of the house and back to my car, they looked around, glaring at me through the dim light and swirling smoke. The princess beckoned with a lanky finger. "Who, me?" I asked, thinking I was dog meat, or at best a toad. "Of course you," she responded in perfect English. "Don't be afraid! Come in! Join us!" Moments later, the mystery was solved. The "princess" was Alma

Gudmundsdottir, director of the local tourist office; the "peasants" were a friend and her teenage daughter. All of them were actors in the living history performance that plays each day at Eiriksstadir, a homestead in the secluded Haukadalur Valley. There, Eric the Red lived before his banishment from Iceland, and his son, explorer extraordinaire Leif Ericson, was born. "Eric was a bit of a troublemaker," Alma explained as we stood in front of the house, looking out across the treeless, emerald green landscape. "He was always arguing with his neighbours, probably over grazing rights. After one of these arguments, he murdered the farmer over there." She pointed to a farmhouse on the other side of the valley. "He was finally 'outlawed' after murdering two other people â&#x20AC;&#x201C; meaning that anyone could kill him without punishment. Rather than wait around for certain death, he took his family and his livestock and sailed away to Greenland."

iceland fields of gold.

warm up.

iceland midnight sun equineimity.

tranquil rush.

out of the blue.

iceland

aurora.

I had come to Scandinavia's most remote country in search of natural treasure – the glaciers, geysers and lava fields that make Iceland an outdoor adventure paradise. But I also discovered, quite unexpectedly, a people who recall their rich history – replete with Viking warlords and real-life witches – as if it were yesterday. Twelve hundred years ago, this North Atlantic island was settled by the outcasts of Viking civilization. The baddest of the bad. The weirdest of the weird. People like Eric the Red who were so radical, so violent, so off-the-wall, they were judged unfit for what was already a pretty wild society. Struggling against extreme weather and stark geography, they were forced to build a new society from scratch. Along the way, they founded the world's oldest surviving democracy. And in typical Icelandic fashion, they did it like nobody else before or since. Starting in 930, the island's nobles gathered every summer at a place called Thingvellir (Plains of Parliament) on the banks of the Oxara River. During this week or two, all of the nation's annual legislative and judicial business was conducted. "It was more than politics," said guide Geir Rogwaldsson as we gazed from towering basalt cliffs that mark the plains' western boundary. "Maybe more like Woodstock. The entire nation came to Thingvellir. Peasants, fishermen, priests – everyone. Because around all of the politicking was a huge outdoor festival with music and markets, mud wrestling and matchmaking. Two weeks of extreme merriment during which people got married and pregnant and oft times very drunk." This summer tradition, the cornerstone of the Icelandic nation, went on until the late 18th century when the capital was established in Reykjavik. Nowadays, the plains are the centerpiece of the island's oldest and most popular national park, a place where archaeology complements incredible geology – lava fields, glacial rivers, the country's largest lake and a dramatic fault line that marks a sharp divide between the European and North American tectonic plates. I uncovered more of Iceland's offbeat history during a drive around Westfjords, a rugged peninsula that juts into the Greenland Sea and long considered the island's most remote corner. Even today there are few paved roads and just a smattering of villages. The scenery is drop-dead gorgeous – glaciers hanging above deep blue bays, puffins clinging to precipitous cliffs, long and lonely golden beaches with nary a human footprint. But for hundreds of years, Westfjords harbored one of Iceland's darkest secrets: sorcery. Given the area's long winters, extreme isolation and dire poverty, locals turned to witchcraft to solve their everyday troubles. By the 17th century, Westfjords was the hub of Icelandic black magic and a backlash that resulted in dozens of witch trials and burnings at the stake. All of this comes to life at the fascinating Sorcery and Witchcraft Museum in Holmavik, a fishing village in the sparsely populated Strandir district. Tucked into a warehouse beside the wharf, the museum explains why black magic flourished in the region and details various means by which it was practiced. One of the most common was carving a magic symbol, the "Hulenhelmer," onto a piece of lignite. It was then dipped in ink and pressed against your forehead as protection against enemies. But the ink had to be a blend of blood from your own finger and the heart of a living raven, mixed in a bowl with raven's brain and pieces of human stomach. My personal favorite is the spell for raising the dead. Start by painting a secret symbol on an oak plank using blood from the big toe of your right foot and the thumb of your left hand. Place the plank on the grave of the person

you want to bring back to life. Walk three times around the graveyard church in a clockwise direction and then three times in a counterclockwise direction. The dead spirit will then spew forth from the earth. But you must immediately snatch the zombie by the neck and squeeze until it begs for mercy. Only then will the zombie follow your commands. On the way out, I asked the museum curator if people in Holmavik still practiced sorcery. "It supposedly ended in the 18th century," she answered. "But there have always been stories in this area about people with special powers." Then she flashed a sly smile. "Nowadays, we just don't call it sorcery or magic." Rugged beauty Iceland's top natural attractions include: Gullfoss (Golden Falls): Spectacular double cascade that tumbles 100 feet into a narrow basalt gorge. A footpath leads to the "spray zone" at edge of the chasm. Expect to get wet. Geysir: Geothermal spring where the term "geyser" was born. The original Geysir, damaged by earthquake and human interference, erupts infrequently these days. But the nearby Strokkur geyser spouts off every five to 10 minutes, a plume of water that rises about 100 feet in the air. Langjokull: Iceland's second largest and most easily accessible glacier. Guided snowmobile, snow jeep and dogsled treks available from the mountain base at Skalpanes. All cold-weather clothing and equipment is provided. Dyrholaey: Spectacular headland on Iceland's south coast, flanked by a beautiful, black-sand beach and eerie offshore rock formations. Prolific bird life (puffins, Arctic terns) and great views of the volcanic Westmann Islands. Army surplus "duck boats" take visitors on amphibious tours. Jokulsarlon: Deep, iceberg-filled lagoon at the foot of Breidamerkur Glacier, formed since the 1920s when the local climate began to change. Sightseeing boats make frequent cruises, but the lagoon is also ideal for kayaking. Lake Myvatn: Iceland's equivalent of Mono Lake, rich in both rock formations and migratory bird life. More species of duck breed here than anywhere else on the planet. Numerous walking trails and hot springs within the national park that protects the lake. Latrabjarg: Both the westernmost point in Europe and the largest seabird cliff in the North Atlantic, a spectacular 700-foot cliff that provides a home for millions of seabirds. The offshore waters are notorious for shipwrecks but are now a haven for hard-core sea kayakers. Blue Lagoon: Iceland's most renowned hot springs and also the most commercialised, with restaurant, gift shop and spacious modern locker-rooms built right along the shore. Best after sundown during summer "White Nights" when an eerie blue twilight bathes the entire complex. If you go Iceland Climate: White Nights (24 hours of daylight) last from early June through mid-July. Summer daytime highs are in the high 50s (°F) or low 60s, nighttime lows in the high 40s. Weather conditions are unpredictable: rain, sun and wind are common on the same day. Details: Icelandic Tourist Board, www.icetourist.is, or Iceland Tourist Board North America, www.goiceland.org.

venice

A Renai ssance for Venice

The tropical Christmas is never quite the same if you are a Brit, and after a few years of silly hats in hot weather I started to pine for something a bit closer to home. After all it’s about family and I don’t have any here, so time to get off the island. Last year it was Margaret River (Australia) – myself, brother and 80-year-old dad – which certainly ticked all the boxes as far as eating and drinking went, but it’s a long way and a big commitment for all concerned. So this year it was to be Europe, easier for everyone and a chance for me to catch up with old friends over the break. But where to go?

words by michael harvey images by d. hump

costly but cruisy.

venice

flight of fancy.

nun of the above.

venice

italian classic.

Not the home in London, that’s for sure. No snow to trudge through or even just look at, not a lot to do apart from moan about the bone-numbing damp, and complain about the dreadful shite that’s on the tele. Not worth travelling half the way around the world for. So what about the countryside? Makes a lot of sense if you live there but we don’t, so might as well go abroad and avoid the M25 altogether. A skiing resort would be perfect, maybe Lech in Arlberg, Austria or Vald’isere in France. Perfect except that my dad doesn’t ski and bad things can happen to older people on ice. Okay then, a city break . . . how about Barcelona? Better in the summer. Munich? Been there done that, lived there for 10 years. Berlin? Not really Christmassy. Rome? Too Catholic, too many mangers everywhere. What about Venice? One of my favourite cities but full of busloads of tourists (literally) stamping the place into the ground and Americans who can’t believe it really is older than 200 years – loudly comparing its authenticity to The Bellagio in Vegas. Plus it’s a tourist rip off with some of the worst restaurants in the world (easy to tell which ones though, sporting six menus in different languages in the window with lurid pictures of pizza. Crap.) But out of season it could be a different ballgame entirely. What about the weather? Will anything be open? Where to go for Christmas lunch? How to get around? Where to stay? Cheap to get to? Out of season, off the beaten track, that’s always been the best way to travel I have found. Searching for suitable accommodation, we tried the North Bank – less popular with tourists but still close to the sights. Venice is, after all, quite tiny. With 16 million tourists a year the population is still only 60,000. We found the Palazzo Barbarigo, an old converted palace on the corner of the Grand Canal and Rio San Polo. Accessible either by water taxi to the front door or via a labyrinth of unsigned tiny alleys only a metre wide to the back door. No fat American is accidently going to stumble upon this by foot, they wouldn’t even fit down the alley. Off the beaten track it is. Getting to Venice off-season is no problem, no more expensive than a drive from London to Cornwall. A water taxi is the most impressive way to transfer from Marco Polo airport – only 20 minutes door to door – and although expensive at 150 euros it is way better value for money and a lot more comfortable than a ridiculously priced gondola ride. The hotel has 18 rooms decorated in art deco style, a lot of red and black and textured wallpaper. The rooms look out to one of the two canals and the accommodation is centered around a lounge/bar area running along most of the first floor with a balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Spectacular. The library at the back of the property still has the original 15th century crafted wooden ceiling. Although serving breakfast and snacks, the hotel doesn’t have a restaurant which means a major objective every day is to find somewhere for lunch. And dinner. We are up for the challenge. Getting around is easy. Getting lost in the maze of alleys is part of the fun, it’s as if they were designed to confuse pirates. We are happy to discover that most of the people thronging the small squares close to the hotel seem to be locals. Turning right, the charming winding alleys lead eventually to the Rialto bridge. There is some of the most exquisite shopping I have seen in a long time – mainly pieces of Venetian craft, and only the occasional carnival mask. With no high streets to attract international brands, most of the shops, restaurants and hotels are still in the hands of owner families. This means that they display an attractive individuality linked with a personal service that has long been absent in other European cities. There is a shop selling nothing but gloves in fine Italian leather. My father decides he needs some to match his purple scarf, they have every hue of purple available . . . ”suits you sir!” Next stop the Rialto market with its spectacular array of freshly landed fish and seafood. Of note are the slightly alien looking spider crabs, extremely popular here but actually exported from Cornwall where there is little demand. The Rialto in Venice was the primary European centre for commercial exchange from the 12th century, right through the middle ages, benefitting from the Venetian dominance of

venice 62

maritime trade, including silks and other exotica from the Far East. The Rialto was mentioned several times by Shakespeare in The Merchant of Venice. The earliest of the banks was the Banco Giro, from which the current term Giro derives. Its present day guise is a restaurant enoteca standing on the same site as the original bank, preserving much of the early architecture. We ask if it is open on Christmas day and book a table for dinner. First problem solved. Crossing Venice’s second most famous landmark, the Rialto bridge (incidentally covered in appallingly unimaginative graffiti, and also about to accept billboards to fund a renovation project) I am reminded of Kuta beach with the amount of hawkers and tourist tat available. Or maybe not. The views are still iconic. There are a lot of shops selling eye wateringly expensive Murano glass pieces that look hideously kitsch to the untrained eye, or maybe this is where kitsch was invented. It’s a ten-minute walk or 20 minutes browsing to St Mark's square, which only a month ago was seriously underwater. The Venetians, however, do not make a drama out of a crisis. Their city, like Jakarta, has been sinking right from the start, but unlike Jakarta they have planned for it and so most residences and certainly all palaces and museums have their living and communal spaces on the first floors and above, with the ground floor often quite open to the elements. They could certainly afford the weather resistant marble. If you want one of the most expensive coffees or ice creams in the world, St Mark’s square is certainly a good contender, but then again you are not paying just for the victuals themselves. It is still hugely impressive and just fantastic to be there without the madding crowds that infest it throughout most of the rest of the year. Up until now the day has been fairly misty, very atmospheric actually, with mist roiling along the canals as if blown from a massive dry ice machine. As we walk along to the gondola stands giving on to the lagoon, the sun breaks through the mist and it feels quite surreal, like being on a film set, which I suppose is exactly what it is. Running down one side of the square is the Doges palace, another of Venice’s essential landmarks. The detailing on the outside of the building and arches is stunning, much of it not even accessible to the human eye. Various bits of the building date back past the 14th century, but it has been restructured and restored countless times due to fires, structural failures, infiltrations and organisational requirements. Ancient Venice was the end of the Silk Road and was therefore all about trade and politics, The Doge was the top dog who not only lived at the palace, but also presided over the institutional chambers that received foreign ambassadors and delegations. Normally there would be a Disneylandesque queue taking hours before you reached the entrance, but at this time of year we breezed straight in. The ostentatious wealth on display, art on walls and ceilings, statues, fireplaces, armouries, chambers, ante-chambers, must have certainly given pause for thought as the delegations of old waited for an audience. And then there is the Bridge Of Sighs, the name referring to the sighs of prisoners as they paused for a final glimpse of freedom across the lagoon and San Giorgio before they were escorted over the canal to the dungeons. The dungeons are pretty scary. There aren't many in the world that attract as much of a hoo-ha as Harry’s Bar, opened in 1931 by Giuseppe Cipriani on the waterfront in St Mark’s Bay. In 1948 he invented the Bellini, a mixture of white peach juice and sparkling prosecco, named after the 15th-century Venetian painter Giovanni Bellini. Not content with just the one iconic concoction he then created the Carpaccio – slivers of raw beef with fresh lemon and a spray of mayonnaise, naming it after another painter, Vittore Carpaccio. Harry’s bar boomed as it became a must-visit destination for Americans wishing to dine out on stories that they had once sat in

the same place as the likes of Ernest Hemmingway and Orson Welles. Obviously not at the same time though. Unsurprisingly, they don't give it away in Harry’s Bar – 25 euros for a cocktail and twice that for a burger – to the horror of those who contribute to the ongoing slating it receives on Tripadvisor. (Why would you order a burger?). It's a sign of the times, however, that everything is not so rosy at Harry’s bar as its success is directly proportional to the state of the Italian economy. After years of raking it in, the 80 or so bar staff were asked to take a pay cut in line with reduced revenues, but in true Italian style they refused, leaving 80-year-old Giuseppe Ciprani Junior to wait on the tables himself. Instead we hopped on a Vaparetto, the local waterbus which, aside from walking, is the most economical way to navigate Venice's labyrinthine waterways. There are two circular lines plying the grand canal with boats every 10 minutes and stops every few hundred metres. They are crowded with locals, and are surely one of the most enjoyable forms of public transport any city has to offer. The mist adds a fourth dimension to the priceless views as yet another monumentally impressive piece of ancient architecture hoves into view . . . it's like a time warp back to the days of the Silk Road, and one can only imagine how it must have seemed for ye olde mariners arriving by ship for the first time . . . some kind of Atlantis looming out of the murk. We jumped off after 10 minutes and four stops back down the Grand Canal at Academie bridge, just past the Penny Guggenheim Collection. The pedestrian bridge is only one of two spanning the Grand Canal and dates back eons – its ornate railings are covered in padlocks, more than a couple of hundred of them and in bigger clusters near the apex. Couples make a pilgrimage here to seal their vows for each other, locking a padlock as a symbol of their love. Early the next morning I noticed the padlocks had mostly gone – realising it must be a daily cycle ending with some chap and a pair of bolt-cutters making space for next days influx of lovers. Having successfully, thus far, eschewed the touristy establishments, we were back in the small alleys and squares populated mostly by Italian speakers and it was time for lunch. We fell upon the Ristorante Cantinone Storico, a seemingly understated establishment blending into locale, just by a bridge on a small canal, as in fact are most places in Venice! Main course was sea bass baked in salt accompanied by a 2006 Brunello di Montalcino from Bioni Santi which followed a couple of bottles of a crisp and slightly spritzy Gavi. Our waiter, Constantin (a Romanian), it transpires, is the boyfriend of Viola (Russian), our bartender at the Palazzio Barbarigo. Suitably impressed by our alcohol intake, Constantin dispatches himself to retrieve a bottle of 1963 Italian brandy he has been saving for just such a Christmas occasion. We get a little noisy, much to the disapproval of the two middle aged women (Welsh) on the next table who appear to be trying to understand the age gap between myself and my fiancé. They are obviously dykes who should have stayed in the valleys drinking warm beer. Invigorated and refreshed we decide on one last piece of sightseeing for the day, diving headlong into a maze of alleys trying to find La Fenice, which rivals La Scala for the top spot of Italian opera houses. Verdi's Rigoletto and La Traviata were first performed here, and Maria Callas sang here frequently. For such a famous place it is inordinately difficult to find, but that is part of the charm of Venice – always something surprising round the corner. Staggering back to the hotel we reflect on our first day in Venice and congratulate ourselves on beating the tourist traps. Out of season and off the beaten track, that's us. Tomorrow it's Christmas and we still have two more days left, plenty of time to buy handbags, shoes and anything made out of leather including some very aromatic wild boar sausages.

pole vault.

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lombok

Drive, park, surf, drive, eat, drive, sleep. Three old friends take a '63 Landie to Lombok for some high times on surf and turf. Words: Ano Mac. Photos: Harry Mark.

are we there yet?

lombok

This is the story about three friends. All of whom herald from the same small coastal town in Western Java, all of whom had fallen under the spell of surfing. A spell cast by those first surf pioneers who roamed the southern coast of Java looking for waves during the '70s, '80s and '90s. It’s a small knit community, their town in paradise. Full of people who rely on each other for everything. A place where they shared what little they had. For these three, and a handful of others who aren’t the focus of this yarn, that included the first surfboards they’d managed to acquire through travellers, either from breakage or gifts. Their town was fortuitous enough to be on the map for the water magicians who passed by. Blessed with a wave that’s now something of an international attraction. But that’s not the focus of this story either. The oldest of this trinity, Husni Ridhwan, was whipped up into traveling and surfing from a young age. He’d caught the bug and he was good at it, something the trio have in common. At one point he’d competed and had been Indonesia’s Longboard Champ. But he was too laid back for the whole rigmarole that is competitive surfing. A woman, a daughter and work conspired to make him move to Australia many moons ago. The youngest, Dean Permana, left to seek something he foresaw in his future, something he couldn’t find in that blip on a map. He upped roots travelling to Bali just over a year ago. That left just Deni Pirdaus in paradise. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not lonely, as I said before, he’s still got a mass of mates up where he lives, it’s just that they aren’t pertinent to my tale. This is an account of an opportunity. The timing was right. All three were in Bali for a moment and when a friend-of-a-friends old Mark II Landrover from 1961 was offered up to use they hatched the plan for a short surf trip. The car would move them, but they knew it wouldn’t go fast or far, so they looked east, a place they didn’t get to often but somewhere they knew had waves – Lombok. They wanted to take advantage of this shared location and with that thought in mind the three of them loaded the Landie to the hilt and set out on 'surfari'. If you leave late in the evening you can time it right and miss the traffic from Canggu to Padang Bai. The

trio knew that the crossing on the car ferry could take anything from five to 10 hours, so leaving on the midnight ferry was the aim. That would get them in around dawn – or at least in the morning, before the sun got so hot you could fry eggs on the Landie's deck plate. Husni would pilot the vehicle from beginning to end. Neither of the others had a licence for a car, and with this old girl requiring a certain touch, he would be, for the duration of the trip, the skipper, shackled behind the wheel. The responsibility rested easily on his shoulders, most notably because he was the oldest but also because during his time in Australia he had driven a Landcruiser on a daily basis. This to him was just more of the same. Riding shotgun for most of the trip was Dean, the youngest of the bunch who’d resettled to Bali to get greater exposure for his surfing career. For him this trip to Lombok wasn’t about the distance as much as it was the company he would keep. Deni had flown in from West Java for the Deus 9ft & Single comp. and for him to chase waves with his buddies to a place he’d never been was too good an opportunity to pass up. The ferry ended up taking seven hours, the last two sitting so close to the coast they could throw stones at it. They sat there waiting in a queue for the ferry in front to get loaded up with trucks, cars, bikes and people and when they rolled off the boat they were well and truly over it and headed up the hill through the odd crunch of gears to find some surf. First place they came upon was Mawi, a beautiful, vaguely populated bay on the southside of Lombok. Hills stand like pillars at wither end and it’s awash on the one side with aqua blue waters and on the other with fields of half grown green grains. There’s a white stripe of delineation, the sands of the beach being the in between. This was a spot with a known left hander and a lot lessknown right. Well these three were all naturals and to a man, they liked going left as much as they liked eating sandwiches for lunch, which when you take in where they are from, isn’t very much nor very often. The right was working when they arrived and after parking and safely securing their gear they dived in to the waters and out straight into the

small waves on offer. The clean, clear sea served to dislocate the travel dirt and washed off the past night and morning’s trek. Steep cliffs on two sides held the wind at bay until a little later in the day when they could enjoy the separation and solace this far-flung spot provided. Hunger pushed them out of the water and back to the car. They packed efficiently and headed off to find a local lean-to and a delicious meal of rice, meat and vegetables. Their repartee was immediately apparent. And they spoke with a fluidity and candour only true friends acquire. Teasing and mockery were there but malice wasn’t. They talked about everything and everyone they knew in common. They talked between waves, between the bouncing over bumps on the dusty track and between mouthfuls of food. They filled in the gaps that had appeared in their friendships when one moved away or stayed. Thus, they began to set up a sedate routine. Drive, park, surf, drive, eat, drive, sleep, drive, park, surf, drive, eat, drive, sleep . . . and so on. Talk was a constant. Where many others would have fallen silent this triad chose to speak, laugh and play all the way. They trawled the south coast from Serangan through to Grupuk. The days blurred until they were gone and time told them to point the car north and head for the ferry home. The ‘63 Landie performed amazingly. Shouldn’t sound so surprised but for a vehicle whose age is only slightly younger than the combined age of the three occupants it was great to see there wasn’t a hiccup from it the entire trip. Of course, it was slow, noisy, underpowered, with an uncomfortable driving position, minimal or no creature comforts, and no land speed records were broken before, during or after their jaunt. It should be said that it was the car that set the tempo for the entire journey. With its open sides, brakes and clutch that can both be very, very heavy (a real pain, literally, getting on and off ferries and in traffic jams) and a totally inadequate sized motor, it took them out into the wild untamed places. The three boys were transported back to a simpler period, allowing them to unconsciously drop the pretences of the intervening years, leaving them able to catch up on missed times and hear about the others opportunities. They vowed to not leave it so long before the next trip.

overland to walk on water.

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menjangan

D.Hump heads north-west to Menjangan. Words: Tony Stanton.

doe, a deer. right: glamp to the max.

“When I first heard the word ‘glamping’ ,” Deus Ex Machina chief and famed photographer Dustin Humphrey told us, “it sounded a little pretentious.” So, always up for a challenge and in typical Yak fashion, we decided to send him on a little expedition – of the glamorous camping kind. His destination was Menjangan Dynasty Resort, Beach Camp and Dive Centre, all the way up in the north-west of the island, close to the point where Bali meets Java. It’s billed as ‘the ultimate glamping resort’, and we were curious to know how he’d get on. The first of its kind in Bali, the resort is designed to blend with the environment and provides a host of natural encounters through activities that include snorkeling, diving, trekking, mountain biking, kayaking, bird-watching and horse-riding. It sits on 16 hectares of land on a quiet peninsula beside a white sand beach and has been created to cater to outdoor adventure enthusiasts with an appetite for indulgence. It goes all out to fulfill this glamp dream. “When we arrived,” said Dustin, “we were greeted by a safari-suited GM, not something you see every day in Bali. Surprisingly enough the outfit complimented the environment and didn’t look out of place at all. Dede was a gracious host and the vibes started off great right away.” The resort’s position in a bay protects it from the sea, and offers a spellbinding vista that extends across the gentle waters of Banyuwedang Bay to the lowland forests of the West Bali National Park, taking in a mangrove-entwined coastline and the tiny uninhabited island of Menjangan, the craggy north-facing folds and ridges of the Tiga Saudara Mountains, and East Java’s volcano alley. “We were given a tour of the resort by golf cart,” said Dustin, who’s been around the planet as a photographer for the world’s biggest surf magazines. “We quickly realized that this was not a pretentious place at all, but rather a very well thought out destination. We arrived at our room, which on further inspection was a beautifully designed tent made of thick canvas, accented by furniture that suited the aesthetics.” The safari-style tented rooms and villas, combined with a series of magnificent communal spaces crafted in bamboo and ‘alang-alang’ thatch, present a refreshing alternative in architectural style and five-star flair. “For our first experience, we made our way down to the Putih Pasar beach club, where we grabbed some paddle boards and proceeded to paddle around the Banyuwedang Bay. Once we reached the middle of the bay, we had a

perfect view of the Baluran Volcano, which was awesome,” said Dustin. The glamping resort’s signature Pasir Putih Beach Club and Bar offers all-day dining, as well as the opportunity for romantic dinners in the setting of your choice. “In the evening, we had drinks at the resort restaurant overlooking the bay with a lush mountain view in the distance and colorful sunset clouds hanging above,” said Dustin. And then of course he had to check out the activities on offer. “We woke up bright and early the next morning and got on a beautiful local boat. Our first stop was Menjangan Island for some scuba diving and lunch on the island.” “Our dive guide, named Bram, was enthusiastic and an excellent guide, and on our second stop at Taman National Bali Park we saw a black tip reef shark and a sea turtle. “ Menjangan is possibly north Bali’s best kept secret, and if you haven’t visited, you should. It sits about five miles off the coast in the Bali Barat Nature Reserve, and it possesses some incredible natural riches. Menjangan in Indonesian means ‘deer’, and the name was given to the island for that very reason: locals observed herds of wild deer swimming to the island every spring over a distance of around 1.2 miles, and to this day it is home to a population of quite magnificent specimens. “The biggest highlight of our trip was when we were climbing onto the boat after the second dive and we saw two deer, a doe and a buck, walking down the cliff edge of the national park. Then they proceeded to go for a dip in the ocean. Beautiful.” Luckily he caught the moment on camera, which is mostly the reason why we sent him. His images on these pages show the majesty of an area thankfully protected from the vagaries of overpopulation, pollution and progress. “Back at the resort, the spa was calling our name,” said Dustin. “I’ve had many massages at many resorts,” he said, “but this would rank among the top. In open air tents, overlooking the bay, it was a perfect setting: luxurious yet simple at the same time. A great balance. Afternoon tea at the infinity pool, was the perfect ending to a great experience, I can’t recommend it highly enough.” Glamping conversion project completed. www.mdr.pphotels.com

4 & 6 September 2019

ROMY BLACK 14 September 2019

GLOW 21 & 22 September 2019

ALFREDO 28 September 2019

MIMPI ft. KID FIESTA 23 & 26 October 2019

DAVE MAYER 6 & 10 November 2019

HUSKY 9 November 2019

NATALIA PARIS

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surf & turf

harrison roach pens his escape to seas unknown with a ‘70s landrover, a quiver of boards and a pair of bikes. photos: woody gooch.

Zye Norris and I were sitting in a Bluebird cab, wearing sweat stained t-shirts and inebriated expressions. It was 3am and the two of us had just witnessed a bule lose his two front teeth in a Balinese brawl. As with most drunken altercations, the guy on the receiving end hadn’t done much to deserve it. He was served his knuckle sandwich simply because his clothing was too ‘hip’. It didn’t take a genius to realise we would have been next if we hadn’t gotten out of there. Zye and I had been planning an escape from Bali in the two weeks leading up to that moment. We’d brought the surf/road trip concept, in all its sentimental glory, to Indonesia. The journey would start in Lakey Peak, where we’d surf ourselves stupid in perfect, uncrowded waves before island hopping the whole way to Lagundri Bay. For guys like us, Lagundri Bay on Nias Island is Mecca: The perfect place for us to end our long journey of self-indulgence. An ultimate automobile had been waiting in our villa’s driveway for such a time of flight. The weathered ‘70s Land Rover was pimped out with a tray to carry two motorbikes and a roof rack to stack a bevy of beautiful boards.

Zye rules.

surf & turf

Like Wingnut and Pat O’Connell, we were channeling Endless Summer ideas. Indonesia was where we’d find the waves of our dreams. Zye could pretend he was Robert August and I could choose between Mike Hyson and Bruce Brown, depending on my mood. Once we’d packed and bought wax, all that was left to do was inflate our ‘I can accomplish anything’ egos and get the hell out of Bali. Awesome. Awesome until we realised how far we had to go just to get to our starting point. Upon arrival, the waves were pumping … but why so many people? And people we knew! In The Endless Summer, neither Robert, nor Mike were ever dropped in on by someone from their hometown. Sure, Indonesia isn’t new to the surfing world. Most of its quality breaks have been found, ridden and for the sake of entrepreneurial surf capitalism, abused. But what the hell? Someone had even stolen my thongs. It wasn’t until we got over the fact that Lakey Peak would never live up to our film-inspired expectations that we appreciated it for what it was. In gusty offshore winds, dreamy three-meter cylinders spun along the reef. When we left after a week of waves, Zye decided the amount of time we spent in the barrel was worth a hundred pairs of thongs, at least. Our phone’s GPS system stopped working shortly after our departure. All of the travel stories I’d read in the lead up to this had implied that getting lost is a great part of the experience, but after ten hours of driving, the idea of misadventure had lost its charm. Our old Land Rover puttered through the mountains before reaching a gradient that had it beaten. Yep, we were stuck halfway up a hill. It was then that we realised the Land Rover didn’t perform as well as it looked. A few rice farmers crowded around and it was the first time of many that we paid the price for not knowing the local language. The only ‘sentence’ we could muster was “Jalan jalan ferry?” Unfortunately, ferry meant nothing to the farmers and their eagerness to please was wasted on the breeze. Egos now well and truly M.I.A, we retraced our steps, found the correct route and made it to the Lombok ferry a full day later than expected. Back online we found the surfing world was in its psychotic, code red mode. A huge swell was on its way and friends, friends of friends and friends we didn’t even know were all giving their own opinions of where would be best spot. Even with my amateur knowledge, I knew the direction was perfect for Desert Point. And it just so happened Desert Point was only a short drive from the harbour. We were filled with horrid excitement. It wasn’t going to be big. It was going to be huge. The four days of swell that followed were some of the wildest days of our lives. Only a handful of the surfers in town gave it their all and their reef cuts

could have easily been misconstrued for marks left by a tiger’s claw. Desert Point was three hundred metres worth of mind-blowing intensity with no room for escape. Many an alpha male felt a curbing of enthusiasm with his back oozing blood and his board in two pieces. It was thrilling. Afterward we found ourselves excited about the lack of red colour on swell charts. To be fair, both of us had just had our ass handed to us more than we were willing to admit. Some time out of the water would do wonders for our deflated egos. Not to mention the tender reef cuts scattered all over our bodies. Next stop was a tiny town two kilometers above sea level where three active volcanoes sat waiting to erupt. We first heard of Gunung Bromo from a friend who’d said the scene was breathtaking and the surrounding area a dream for camping and motorcycle riding: our kind of heaven. He was not wrong. It makes sense, being over two kilometers above sea level, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t suprised at how cold it was. It felt and looked like we were in Nepal, not Indonesia, and the whole place had a sulfuric, rotten egg stench. When the volcanoes came into view it quickly faded from our minds, if not our nostrils, and we tried unsuccessfully to compose our ‘I’m not shocked by anything’ attitudes. It was breathtaking. The center volcano shot thick plumes of grey smoke into the sky, its crater enormous. For the next week we rode our bikes on one magic piece of terrain after another. Zye and I flew up and down volcanic sand gullies. We used each turn like a berm and each bump like a jump. Our confidence turned to cockiness (the egos having returned) and it was only a matter of time before we had a string of fantastic spills. We took on one mound at full pace, not realising the sheer stupidity of it until both bike’s wheels had left the ground … there was a ditch behind the mound. I slammed into it and onto the dirt but somehow Zye managed to come out unscathed. Curled up in the fetal position with the wind knocked out of me, I looked and wondered how he’d done it. In what became a common occurrence, Zye laughed while I struggled to breathe. When we tired of riding, we trekked to the volcano’s crater. The two of us sat on the edge and stared at its hissing cavern with stunned, muted expressions, before walking back down, feeling insignificant in the scheme of the world. And that’s about where we’re at right now, packing up a tent underneath a volcano in the middle of Java. It’s time to put the old Land Rover back into gear and hit the road. Next stop is Sumatra and then the Mentawaii islands, before moving on to our final destination and Mecca, Lagundri Bay.

Dreamscapes.

travel bromo carve-up.

: bambooblondeID

: @bambooblondeindo

www.bambooblonde.com

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board games: aaron jamieson

niseko

white lines. photo: hanazono

niseko avalanche. photo: niseko village.

Had social media been around in the 1970s a hashtag

and wake up to a fresh 30cm and a complete reset the

Indonesia’s waves as #japow has been to the revelation

and barrelling all day, every day during peak season

like #indosurf would have been to the discovery of of Japan’s now-legendary powder snow over the past decade.

These days anyone with an interest in snow sports

next day. Essentially its Japan’s version of offshore – albeit washed down with sake and sushi rather than Bintang and nasi goreng.

In a turn of fate that’s almost too good to be true

would find it hard to spend a few minutes scrolling

for Bali residents and particularly surfers, Niseko’s

being bombarded by other-worldly footage of skiers and

opposite side of the year to Indonesia’s peak surfing

through their feeds between November and April without snowboarders floating, bouncing and ploughing through

endless fields of waist to head-deep #japow – with smiles frozen onto their faces illustrating sheer joy as much

peak season between December and March is the exact

season, meaning Bali residents never need to miss an epic swell or a big snowfall.

One long-time Bali resident who now takes

as disbelief that it’s real.

advantage of this is Drifter Surf Shop co-founder and

unique geographical and meteorological setup, the west

winter in Niseko “snow surfing” with the founder and team

Such is the nature of skiing in Japan. Thanks to a

coast of the country is the beneficiary of more snowfall than almost anywhere in the civilised world. “Ocean-

effect snow” is the technical term, whereby snowfall is generated by cold air blowing across a warmer body of water, resulting in clouds bulging with moisture that

entrepreneur, Jake MacKenzie. He spent most of last

riders for Gentemstick – Japow’s answer to Burton. So

recognised as an icon of powder snowboarding is Gentem

that Jake now sells the beautiful handcrafted snowboards from his stores in Seminyak and Uluwatu.

“I’ve skied and snowboarded in Europe since I was a

release as snow when they cool.

kid and spent a few years living in Nevada,” says Jake.

airstream blowing off Siberia and over the Sea of Japan

powder capital of the world, but Japan beats all of them

In Japan’s case it’s a prevailing north-westerly

before hitting the cold north-west coastline and

unloading metres upon metres of fluffy white stuff. This

can happen day after day for weeks at a time. Just this

past winter it snowed on about 80 of 100 days during the peak season in the resort of Niseko, Japan’s premier resort. On most of those days 10-30cm accumulated

“I’ve snowboarded in Utah too, which is said to be the hands down. In terms of a whole cultural experience, Japan is a great place for a ski holiday. The people

are so hospitable and the food is also incredible. It

just happens to be the closest world-class skiing for us too.”

Tales tall and true of Japan’s snow have now been

at village level at the foot of the mountain. Don’t

turbo-charged by social media and these days it’s not

Powderlife.com for photographic evidence.

experience this real-life winter wonderland. Travellers

believe it? Check out the daily snow report archive at This process is nothing new. Japan has always had

lots of snow, but somehow it largely escaped mainstream consciousness. This seems to have been due to a range of factors: firstly, ski equipment wasn’t designed for

deep powder; second, the rest of the world had plenty of snow; and third, Japan was perceived to be an expensive and difficult place to travel to.

As winters became increasingly dry in Europe and

just hardcore skiers and snowboarders that want to from across Asia are learning to ski for the first

time on the soft, forgiving slopes. Others don’t even clip or strap into any ski equipment – they just ride the gondolas to the top, take a few snaps for their

Instagram accounts, and head back down to the bottom to build snowmen and partake in that other wonderful

Japanese tradition – eating delectable Japanese food.

Niseko is to Japan what Bali is to Indonesia – the

the US through the’90s and into the 2000s, and powder-

gateway to the mountains for the outside world and

had come. Much like Bali, it was largely Australian

paradise. There are more than 500 ski resorts in Japan,

specific skis and snowboards evolved, Japan’s time

snowboarders (who were often surfers as well) who first started traveling to Japan en masse between 2000 and 2005, returning with tales of a land where you could

get fresh tracks in waist-deep powder until nightfall,

starting point for those wanting to find their own powder however few of them have much to offer international tourists – other than mountains of snow. There is

generally no après or nightlife to speak of and limited options for dining and play.

niseko

Niseko however, on the wild northern island

of Hokkaido at the foot of a miniature version of

Like the accommodation, the dining scene in Niseko

Mt Fuji, has over the past 50 years attracted an

is second to none of any Japanese ski resort, and

artisans and aspiring chefs from across Japan who

hotspots. It helps that Hokkaido is known as the “food

interesting collection of ski bums, nature lovers, unwittingly laid the foundations of a uniquely organic ski resort village growing out from a single lift built in 1961.

The core of that original village survives today

in the form of Hirafu – Niseko’s version of Seminyak. While it has evolved into a glitzy and glamorous

in itself is becoming one of the country’s culinary

bowl of Japan” for its vast agricultural industry and ready access to seafood from two adjacent oceans. The produce grown out of the fertile volcanic soil tastes as fresh as the water that flows from snow-fed springs all across the country side.

Many of the original old chefs who moved here

international ski resort, still today outdoor

as young men and women are now looking to hand over

“izakaya” restaurants can be found in the network of

Michelin Guide inspectors looking for the next hit,

“onsen” hot spring baths and tiny hole-in-the-wall village streets buried amongst mountains of snow.

Meanwhile multi-million-dollar chalets and uber-luxury condominiums are replacing any ungracefully ageing cottages and pensions and filling in vacant land.

Small-time entrepreneurs and developers out of

Australia got the ball rolling in the mid-2000s before global players increasingly got in on the game –

to aspiring protégés. Niseko is now frequented by

and in turn more and more Michelin-recognised chefs are being drawn to Niseko to open new restaurants. There are now 15 restaurants in the area that have

had stars or recommendations bestowed on them, or are headed by chefs who have Michelin-starred restaurants elsewhere.

Niseko is also home to 25 onsen baths and you will

first Hilton followed by Park Hyatt, Ritz-Carlton and

be within walking distance from one or more anywhere

their entry soon. Rumours are swirling at the moment

underground, onsen water contains various minerals

Marriott, and now signs Aman is also set to announce that US ski resort giant Vail Resorts has acquired a resort called Kiroro, alongside Niseko. That would

put it in the same stable as Vail, Beaver Creek and Whistler Blackcomb and take the region’s acclaim another giant leap forward.

With literally billions of dollars being pumped

into Niseko, those who enjoy luxury accommodation are

spoilt for choice. Developers are in fierce competition with each other to recruit famous architects and build the latest and greatest places to stay, and many

condos now come with private onsen baths inside or on the balconies. Now there are hundreds of chalets and apartments you can book online at Powderlife.com. Chalets and condos with levels of service akin

you stay in the resort areas. Coming from deep

that are said to have therapeutic benefits. There’s no better way to cap off a day in the powder than thawing out and soothing your tired muscles in a steaming

outdoor onsen with snow falling silently all around. While Hirafu is the buzzing heart of Niseko

and home to the widest variety of restaurants and

nightlife, there are actually four resorts on the one mountain, each with its own village at the base. All

offer their own unique ski holiday experience, allowing visitors to choose the resort that suits their

purposes – be that an action-packed week of skiing and sake, or a peaceful retreat in a snowbound forest for the ultimate #japow ski holiday experience.

to the finest luxury ski accommodation in Europe and

If Niseko sounds like the type of place you’d like to

chalet, Hakuchōzan, comes with a team of six staff

and more at Powderlife.com – Niseko’s premier news,

North America have also arrived. One such private

onsite including a chalet manager, chef, butler and

chauffeur and rents for US $14,500 per night. For those without that sort of budget there are also plenty of

older lodges and budget accommodation to choose from,

starting at about $50 a night.

escape to this wet season, you can find out all this information and accommodation booking portal. Our

resort specialists can recommend the right resort for

your travel party and the ideal chalet or apartment to make best use of your budget.

Clockwise from top left: onsen (aaron jamieson; Hirafu at night (nisade); Japanese style at niseko grand hirafu; more power to the powder (aaron jamieson); chalet Cloud 9 (Hokkaido tracks); night moves (aaron jamieson).

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