Category: Travelblog

The areas around Waitomo and Rotorua are filled with many spectacular sites and I had taken out two days to discover these areas.

Waitomo (wai = water, tomo = hole) is known for its many caves, some of which filled with glowworms attached on the ceilings. When we first entered the caves, we were asked to switch off the light on our safety helmet. It is pitch dark down there; you are not even able to see your own hand waving in front of your eyes. By the time you are done with the tour, your eyes have adapted and you can actually make out shapes and forms. You then realise the human eye is quite magnificent as well!

After a walk through the cave and its tunnels we end at an underground river. An inflatable dinghy is waiting for us and we all take place in the little boat. Again we are asked to switch our headlight off. Blue sparkling dots on the ceiling everywhere, thousands of glowworms! Yet, it is not enough to light up the tunnels. So we were asked to try and ‘see’ the tunnel with the help of our ears. Indeed, the sound of a nearby underground waterfall bounces off against the walls of the caves and it helps us form a three-dimensional picture of the cave/tunnel.

The glowworms are truly a spectacular sight. Twinkling above our heads like the Milky Way while we glide through the tunnels as our guide pulls the boat along with the help of overhead cables. An experience I will not quickly forget!

Rotorua (roto = lake, rua = two, ‘second lake’) and its surroundings is all about geothermal activities: hot springs and lakes, boiling mud pools and geysers. The day of the tour it was really pouring down with rain, with an unprecedented rainfall causing even major floodings in and around Rotorua. We had to skip our visit to the ‘Champagne Lake’ (see picture below) in Waiotapu because of it. Upon arrival we learned that the site was completely flooded and we had no other choice than to turn back to Rotorua. Luckily there was still plenty to see there and despite being completely soaked to the bone, I enjoyed walking from one geothermal spectacle to the other. The rain only added to the already dramatic landscapes…..

 

Today I visited the Waitakere Ranges Regional Park, a natural barrier between Auckland City on the Pacific Ocean, and the west coast on the Tasman Sea. The park measures about 180 km2 and just driving through it, is already a real pleasure. The bendy road is from time to time quite steep, the highest point is about 474 meters, providing you with fabulous views.

When looking at the black iron sand beach from higher up I felt like Ada in the movie The Piano, peering down to her piano abandoned on the misty beach with the wild surf in the background. Sure enough our guide confirmed that the movie was indeed filmed here. The beach is called Karekare, and was right next to the one we ended up walking on. Everything I saw this afternoon reminded me of that movie (<– click on the link to see): the beach with its thunderous surf, the clouds, the rainforest we walked through…. It was the unexpected gift of the day as I absolutely love that movie, and even more its music score.

The rainforests in the park are secondary but nonetheless filled with treasures like the black fern, the silver fern (New Zealand’s national plant), the Pohutukawa (better known as New Zealand’s ‘Christmas Tree’), the Nikau and Kauri. This last tree can live for over 2,000 years and can therefore develop massive trunks.

What surprised me most though was the eerie silence in the rainforest. Hardly any sound of birds! I was told that there has been a severe storm earlier this month, taking down trees, powerlines, roofs and, well, apparently made the birds take off. Hopefully a temporary situation, because the sound of silence, especially when unnatural, can be eardeafening.

Today, 25 April, is ANZAC day – a public holiday in Australia. I had never heard of it, so it was a great opportunity to go out and discover.

ANZAC stands for Australian & New Zealand Army Corps and the holiday was originally about commemorating those who had fought at Gallipoli (Turkey) in 1915-1916. I was told that Australia, at the time a young nation, suffered a lot of casualties, wiping out half a generation. Back then the patriotic sentiments were so high, that white feathers would be given to young fit men who did not volunteer to join the army and special badges were worn by those who tried to get in but were refused for whatever reason.

Over the years ANZAC day has become the day Australians remember and honour all Australians and New Zealanders that have participated in any war or peacekeeping operations Australia has been involved in. There was no ceremony this year in Noosa Heads so I went to Tewantin, about 10 km from Noosa Heads, to watch the parade and see the ceremony.

I was amazed by the huge turn up of the public: young and old were present. Involving the youth is considered extremely important, in line with the slogan “Lest We Forget”. The day is not about “glorifying war” as was said in one of the speeches. It is rather about honoring those who left to fight a war far away from home and lost their lives, and those who did make it back but with broken bodies and/or minds.
The parade was opened by 3 army people on horses, followed by kids from the different schools, scouts and veterans. When passing by the gathered crowd would applaud them. The paraders were carrying flags and medals. Some kids wore medals too; I learned that these were medals of their parents, grandparents or even great-grandparents.

I spoke to several older people and all had relatives that had fought in the Vietnam war, the Korean war or World War II. There were proud stories about “stopping the yellow power from coming down to us”, but also sad stories of  the difficulties veterans faced when they came back home. Being booed at or called a baby-killer.

The whole event was quite honestly moving, to a point that I even felt tears coming to my eyes. I realised that it is one thing to go to war to defend your country or protect allies against invasion by a clear-cut enemy. It is an entirely different thing when you are sent under the cover of “saving” a foreign nation, when in fact you are the invader for pure economic interests. Being manipulated to risk or even give your life for that is total madness and utterly sad.

Travelling. It is the dream of many. Discover new countries, new cultures, new food and meet new people…. But behind the nice pictures and the cool stories, are also occasional moments of stress caused by annoying little mess ups. These stories are worth telling too as they are simply part of life.

As it so happens, I had several of these moments while travelling from Osaka, Japan to Noosa Heads, Australia.

It started at Osaka airport where my flight got delayed with one hour. I was flying on Scoot, a company I did not know as my ticket said Tiger Airways Singapore. Apparently the former merged with the latter. More importantly, they are both low-cost carriers. Just how low-cost, I would discover in the hours that followed. No lounge to wait, on board seats that are barely reclinable, a ridiculous small lunch (literally 3 bites and it was gone), only 2 complimentary drinks on board and no breakfast. All this I discover 30 minutes before take-off. I will admit that the creole person in me switched to panic mode. With two flights ahead of a total of 13 hours, I knew I needed to act quickly. So in a hurry I bought a bottle of mineral water and a meat sandwich. That’s right, weighing my options of a) disrespecting my vegetarian diet (a concept that’s a bit of a novelty to the Japanese) or b) going hungry, I opted cow-ardly for disrespect.

Because of the delay, the already short lay-over in Singapore, became an even bigger challenge. A short 40 minutes to change aircrafts, so I had to get into the Run-Forrest-Run mode. Have you ever seen me run? No? Exactly.
Quite miraculously I made it though. Can’t say my suitcase did. So there I was at the Gold Coast (Coolangatta) airport: stinky, still hungry and without suitcase. Oh well, I thought, let’s just get going to my hotel and hit the shower. A friend of mine (he will recognise himself) told me it was only a short distance from the airport. One bus, two trains, another bus and total travelling time of 4.5 hours later I did finally arrive. Let’s just say Aussies have a different frame of reference.

Arriving in vibrating Noosa Heads pumped me up immediately. I can read the signs in the streets again, recognise the food on my plate, listen in on conversations (yes, I do that), and rekindle with my old friend: the sea. The uncomfort of not having your stuff, is just….. well, fluff.

 

p.s.: I got to witness the sunrise from the plane – it got to me again.

After two calm days of “just being” in Osaka and taking in the atmosphere, I visited Kyoto today. Another large city, but with a much older feel to it, probably because of the many historical temples and shrines. When I left my hotel this morning, I imagined myself being submerged in spiritual reflection while strolling from one holy place to another.

Well…. not quite.

Surprisingly enough, I was not the only person with the idea of visiting Kyoto. Busloads of tourists were unloaded on the parking lots around the shrines and temples, spreading themselves in multiple streams flowing through the narrow streets. Once you get caught in it, you cannot do anything else but float along. Carefully you scan for little openings for an escape, even as briefly as a minute, to take in the scenery. I write carefully because there is a constant danger of having your eyes poked out by a sunbrella or colliding with the evil of all evils: the selfie-stick.

Despite the interesting history of the different sites (two of which are on UNESCO’s World Cultural Heritage list) and the stories about their construction, most people seem to have come for two things only: selfies and luck (selfish luck?).

I remember standing opposite the temple Kinkaku-Ji (Temple of the Golden Pavilion) whose image is reflected beautifully in the Kyôko-chi (the Mirror Pond). Still, almost everybody had their backs turned to the spectacle and eyes were instead directed upwards as in worship to their own reflection held up high by the selfie-stick. Minutes pass until finally the perfect selfie has been obtained and the temple is left behind without a second look.

The hunger for the perfect selfie is only forgotten (briefly) when in front of the opportunity to buy luck. Truly an astonishing amount of money is spent on lucky charms.

I once read somewhere that superstition is a sign of ignorance. That surrounded by situations we do not fully understand, we lazily look for an easy way out. We gladly chuck responsibility for our decisions out of the window and rather put our fate in lucky charms. Sometimes no money is spent. Instead a ritual is carried out religiously, hoping for some ready-made luck to prevent a problem from occurring.

The thing is though: everybody believes in luck. Highly educated and/or succesful people are known as well to carry a lucky charm on them or do a certain ritual for continuous luck. I admit ending up doing some of the suggested rituals. You never know, right?

But I did not take a selfie while doing it.

 

 

 

 

 

I have arrived at my second destination of my trip around the world: Osaka in Japan. The country has intrigued me ever since I saw these super weird Japanese game shows on tv. I figured a country with tv shows like that, must be worth a visit.

So far, I have not been disappointed in terms of weirdness. Stepping into my hotel room, I find in front of me a range of neatly lined up slippers and a sign that tells me shoes are forbidden in the room. This was also the case in Yangon so, pre-trained, I automatically take off my shoes and put on a pair of slippers. I walk over to the desk and I find a leaflet with hotel information. The first page covers general information: emergency exit, guest room information and …. hang on, what do I read? Darn, there are two types of slippers. Room slippers and bathing/spa slippers. Looking closer I realised I picked the wrong ones.

After correcting my error I continue reading the leaflet. Pages two and three (!) are covering Bathing Room Rules and Etiquette. That’s an awful lot of rules to remember. I also read that the Bathing Room is opened from 06:00 – 09:00 hrs and from 15:00 – 25:00 hrs. Probably a typo. Or is it? Turns out it is perfectly normal in Japan. It means open till 1 am.

The Japanese really seem to have a thing for cleanliness. The hotel room is absolutely spotless (wearing the right pair of slippers helps). Also, the toilet comes equipped with a sophisticated looking panel where you can set the temperature of the toilet seat and of the water. You might think “why would my number 1 or 2 care about the water temperature whilst being flushed?” but it is not about the flushing water. No, no, no. It is the water that will spray your private parts after the work is done. Spray/soft/bidet, you can even set the water pressure, nozzle position or, in case of a particularly smelly disposal, activate the power deodorizer. Contrary to how that sounds, the air will not suddenly be filled with cherry bottom, sorry – blossom, scent. Instead, the air you just let out, will simply be sucked up and passed through a filter. Yeah, it blew me away too.

Speaking of cherry blossom, to end on a less weird note, it is spring in Osaka and I was hoping to see Japan’s famous national flower in Osaka Castle Park during my visit there this morning. Apparently I arrived one week too late; there were only a few blossoms left. Still gorgeous though.

 

This morning’s sunrise left me wondering all day. What was it that touched me so much? The magic of witnessing a new day being born? Why magic though? There’s one every day after all!

When I walked up that viewpoint it was pretty much still dark. I realised I had just missed the moon set minutes earlier as I could see the very last rim of bright light disappearing behind a hill. The sun would rise on the opposite side, giving the sky a very peculiar light. I sat myself down on the fence and waited. Slowly more and more people gathered up there. Local people with their merchandise to sell, mixed with tourists looking for the perfect spot for the perfect picture. It’s a bit of a frenzy with everyone setting up when suddenly everybody just fell silent almost at the same time.

In the sky filled with layers of the coulours orange, yellow and bluegrey, slowly the contour of the sun had appeared. Only the upper half and oh so vague. But it was enough for everyone to hold his breath for a few seconds. And in these few seconds I felt the anticipation build up in myself paired with a deep sense of wonder. Almost as if I was not sure whether the sun would truly come up or just say “nah, I’m taking the day off”. Nature seemed to be holding its breath as well and for a fraction of a second it felt like time had come to a stand still. And then the sun’s colour intensified into a deep orange colour and slowly she started her rise. Suddenly, almost at the same time again, everybody returned to their task at hand. The frenzy restarted. The spell was broken.

I immediately felt a bit sad for I would have liked to hold on to that moment a bit longer. That moment of anticipation, filled with wonder. That’s where the magic lies!

Too many of us wake up with an alarm clock, transforming us in robot like beings that get up and diligently start working through the program of the day. We expect things to go in a certain way, and if they don’t, we either accept it shrugging it off with a “it’s like that” or we get upset, maybe even angry. But seldom do we stop in our tracks and wonder.

If you recognise yourself in that last bit, may I suggest you try and catch a sunrise? It is not hard; there’s one every day.

 

By the way, tomorrow I’m off to the Land of the Rising Sun, in case you are wondering.

Yesterday I left Yangon to fly to Bagan (former Pagan), an ancient city in central Myanmar. Although the place is known for its thousands of temples and pagodas, the first thing I noticed was the sweet fragrance of flowers. I smelled it the moment I stepped down the little aircraft. The smell was so strong that I automatically started scanning the nearby bushes for Airwick perfume dispensers. But it was not men-made, nature really was in a festive mood!

Today felt like a visit back in time. Old Bagan is known for its Archaelogical Area, where you can visit an impressive amount of Buddhist monuments. The area is prone to earthquakes (now they tell me?!?) and quite a number of monuments have been destroyed over time. Luckily, about 2,200 have survived the test of time of the over 10,000 built at the height of the Pagan Kingdom (between 11th and 13th century).

What stunned me the most, is the dedication and perseverance of the people who built these works of art all these centuries ago. Kings that were dedicated to spreading Buddhism used mural paintings inside the temples to pass on knowledge in a time where illiteracy rate was very high. The pagodas were as usual impressive, some took several generations to build! (It made me think of Ken Follet’s “Pillars of the Earth”).

But the same dedication can still be found in New Bagan, in the different workshops where all kinds of crafts are showcased.  These lovely bamboo lacquer bowls you see in the shops take months and months of work. With techniques passed on from generation to generation.

I cannot help but think with regret of our fast-paced society, where patience has become such a rarity. And where monetary gain is put before the satisfaction of delivering quality and lasting work.

Damn, I sound old.

Today the feeling of being Lost in Translation primed. I felt just like Bill Murray and I am not even in Japan yet!

This morning I asked the hotel  receptionist to arrange a taxi to bring me to a change office and then on to the Shwedagon Pagoda. Got in the taxi and within 10 minutes the driver pulled up in front of the Pagoda …… with me still not having one kyat (local currency). I started to explain that I needed to change money first, only to stop mid-sentence at the view of his blank expression. “No spea Inglish”. A phrase I would hear many times today.

After several unfruitful attempts I managed to find someone who did speak a bit of English. A friendly lady who sells tickets to access the Pagoda. She seemed to tell me I could change money ‘upstairs’ waving her hand to the right. Upstairs turned out to be a 104 steps long staircase up to the pagoda. By the time I got up there, found the change office and trotted all 104 steps back down, the taxi driver had already given up on me and left. Arrggll. I waited a few minutes to catch my breath and prepare for the climb back up when the same lady walked over to me, shaking her head mumbling “no, no, no”, and turned me slightly more to the right. Aaaaah, an elevator.

The visit made me forget all about the linguistic barrier though. No language is needed when visiting such a holy place. All you can do is admire peacefully, respectfully and quietly. I was expecting huge crowds and long waiting lines but there was nothing of that. There were not even that many tourists which made me somewhat of an attraction too, all dressed up in an improvised long skirt that the ticket lady had lent me.

It took me up to noon to finish my tour around the grounds (6 Ha, barefoot, thank you very much) and the heat had become almost unbearable (close to 40 °C). Time to head out and go enjoy a nice lunch. I did end up having one, but it took an awful lot of mime. On the bright side, by the time I needed a pharmacy for a urinary infection, I had developed a true talent for creative hand gestures. Only a few minutes and I walked out happily with a box of antibiotics.

As if taking a taxi is not already unsettling enough, I noticed a curious thing today: most drivers sit on the right…… and drive on the right! It appears that back in 1970 the government decided that the country should no longer drive on the left but on the right. As a result, in today’s traffic you will find both left and right seated drivers – enough to drive you crazy.

 

p.s. the unpaid taxi driver did get his money at the end of the day

 

I reached my first destination! Yangon in Myanmar.

My knowledge of the country is quite limited and primarily based on the bits and pieces I would hear through the international press. While preparing my journey I had decided to not read up on the country and just leave it that way. Instead, I decided to let the country reveal itself to me and try to get to see it through the eyes of its people. Surely it will be less factual, but all the more interesting when you let emotions colour the lines of its (hi)story.

The first person I met was of course the driver (it is always the driver!) who picked me up at the airport to drop me off at my hotel. The driver’s name is Soe. I asked him whether that was his first name or family name and he replied with a big smile that although he has three names “we don’t do first names and family names – just call me Soe”.

Soe has been doing this job, driving tourists around through the entire country, for about 10 years now. He started telling about the impressive and fast (positive) change his country has gone through ever since “it opened up”. The dozens of cranes I can see from the car window confirms the many construction activities. We quickly get caught in a traffic jam, but contrary to what I thought, it is not a sign of the progress Soe was talking about. Apparently, the roads, and with it the traffic jams, used to be way worse.

My first impression is that the country seems to embrace order and efficiency. It started at the airport. It took me merely 20 minutes from stepping down the plane to stepping out the airport terminal. Without doubt the people’s discipline of immediately forming neat waiting lines contributed to that speed. Traffic lights not only show the colors green and red but along with it the number of seconds it will stay that colour.

Once arrived at the hotel it did again not take me long to step into my room. I was immediately swept off my feet by the view from the window: a huge golden pagoda shining at the horizon. In the brochure on the desk I read it is the Shwedagon Pagoda and by the looks of it worth a visit. Something I might try tomorrow then!

Not that this country seems short of things to visit or discover. A happy coincidence is that I arrived in Myanmar just as the country prepares itself for Thingyan, a New Year’s celebration. It is known by Westerners as the Water Festival because people will splash or pour water at one another as part of  a cleansing ritual to welcome the New Year. It starts Wednesday 13 April and lasts 5 days.

Luckily I brought an umbrella.