In the land of the Bull

July 2nd, 2009

On our last day together Rick took us to Lake Maninjau for a hike full of leeches and lime green lizards. The man knows all the best spots! Even the forest trails that have small local bars to have a cold beer on the way. We stopped to see if we could find some rafflesia flowers (biggest in the world) in Bukittinggi, but the only two we found were a dead one, and a bud that would take at least 2-3 weeks to open. Bummer.


Traveling with Rick we finally could stop and soak in the local architecture. Minangkabau, the local folks, are so obsessed with bulls that even the roofs of the houses are shaped as bullhorns. According to the old legend, a Javan prince once had a quarrel with a local princess. They were to get married, but she changed her mind, so he sent in the troops. But the smart Minangkabau suggested settling the dispute with a bullfight instead. Javans agreed and sent in a huge mean fighting bull, while Minangkabau sent a tiny little calf with razor sharp knifes strapped to its teensy horns. The story gets a little vague here, but apparently the calf was so hungry it tried to suckle from its male (!) opponent and slashed his belly open. Since then the bulls here are held in high regard as the symbol of Minangkabau cleverness.

West Sumatra Gallery

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Will Teach for Food

July 1st, 2009

We were looking for a cheap guesthouse, but found a job. Well, almost. Being joined by new travel mates always opens up doors to new ways to travel that I’ve never even considered. In Padang, our search for cheap accommodation was coming up with nothing but tired feet and sweat stains, so I entered a school to ask them if they knew something useful. Masha came along. “Maybe we can give them an English lesson in exchange for accommodation,” she suggested. I grabbed the ball and ran with it. Soon everybody in the building knew about the two white girls who wanted to teach English. An English teacher was summoned, but before she got to us we were introduced to the principal and a physics professor. It was just as well – Ewan, the physics professor, spoke better English than the English teacher.


kindergarten children of Padang

The school day was over, and we were ready to exploit our natural gift of yakedy-yak (in three to four languages if needed) the next day, but it turned out that it would be a “teacher enrichment” day, and children wouldn’t have classes. Nevertheless, Ewan took us in. He lived on the outskirts of Padang in a nice house with his wife and parents-in-law. The house was a simple Muslim home with few decorations and a prayer or two on the walls. Ewan’s mother-in-law has decorated the thorny bushes outside the house with empty eggshells, and those, from afar, looked like bulbs of white flowers.

But our fraternizing with the locals didn’t end there.

Expats are often the most useful people in a foreign country. While waiting for the boat from the city of Padang to Siberut Island, we stumbled upon Rick, an ex-Australian, who usually takes people to a gibbon sanctuary and arranges surfing vacations. He told us the time we had allotted for exploring Siberut was insufficient as it takes a lot of time to get around the island on the little boats using rivers as highways and costs a pretty penny. The deeper you go in, the more interesting it is, but the rivers were quite dry and the indigenous tribes in the bush are pretty fed up with tourists. We had enough of that in Africa.

I was not against seeing gibbons, and Rick looked like he needed some post-Soviet drinking buddies who wouldn’t mind discussing politics over vodka - his boat mysteriously gone up in flames a few days ago, a short time after a disagreement with the local government over some touchy environmental issues. We got along great and spent two nights in Rick’s guesthouse while island hopping in the day and drinking Smirnoff and beer in the evenings. This is the first and last time I’m chasing vodka with salted limes.


another unexpected though welcome guest at Rick’s house

Padang Gallery

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Lost in Translation

June 30th, 2009

Bus to Bukitingi. Rest stop. Dinner time.
I came up to the waitress in a poorly lit eatery with plastic flowers on the tables. “Nasi goreng?” The restaurant owner stepped in immediately: “Yes? Please?”
-Do you have fried rice?
-Yes.
-Do you have fried noodles?
-Yes.
-Can I have two plates of fried noodles?
-Yes. Please.
-Terima kasih (thank you very much)
We waited but soon the waitress came back: “Sorry. No orange juice.” Um… I didn’t order that but whatever. “OK, I’ll have a coke.” The waitress brought the coke and we sipped on it waiting for our food. We waited and watched other bus passengers get, eat, and finish their meals. We waited until the bus driver came and told us to get back on the bus. And finally, we waited until next morning to get something to eat.

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Lake Toba

June 29th, 2009

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Punky Monkey

June 28th, 2009


Thomas’ leaf monkey

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Forestman

June 25th, 2009

For my birthday I asked for a redhead. The town was full of cute guys with guitars who kept winking at me, but I had my heart set on the forestman – orangutan.

The night before took us exploring abandoned shacks, closed forest trails, and bat caves. I treaded carefully – a month of New York sidewalks left me worried more about how my shoes look than what they are stepping onto. But Bukit Lawang – home to the orangutan sanctuary - was an easy enough transition. It is one of the very few places on Sumatra that do see some bule, white tourists, and even though the main street is a wide river crossed by long narrow hanging bridges, it has enough semi-flat sidewalks not to break your ankles on.


Asian false vampire bats we found in an abandoned building at night

Walking to the sanctuary, we saw our first orangutan. It was on the other side of the river, in low light, but thanks to my new flash and flash extender (which looks monstrously impressive, though adds over half a kilo to my now 450D + 500mm setup) I was able to get him and his pineapple.

North Sumatra Gallery

Speaking of my camera – I almost ended up going to Indonesia without it! Shurik sent it for cleaning and warranty repair (the stabilizer was acting up), but after the report on it came back with the words “Dirty, filthy, coating peeling, full of scratches” the company ordered some parts for it from Japan and seemed to forget about it. A week before our departure I called the company and spent hours on the phone convincing them my life and livelihood depended on this lens, and finally they found the parts they needed and sent it back to me on the day of our flight. Now, in Bukit Lawang, I narrowed in on my subject and was ready to take my first shot since Africa when the whole camera almost jumped out of my hands, vibrating like a sex toy with fresh batteries. I was about to send the lens back with a note suggesting the technician responsible takes a macro of his colon with it, but after another few less than satisfying gyrations - the lens quieted down. It’s been behaving ever since.

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Welcome to Indonesia

June 23rd, 2009

Quilt of green rice field patches below us. The stewardess speaks English, but I cannot understand a word she is saying. The airport bathroom has an adjacent prayer room. My mother made us leave our wedding rings behind – they have Hebrew writing on them. We are in Indonesia. This is as far as you can go before you start going back. Twelve-hour time difference and the worst jetlag I’ve ever felt (I never get jetlagged!)

I’m on my guard in a new country, belonging to a brand-new continent for us, but it looks more and more like there is no reason – people are genuinely nice, curious, and generous. Bikers stop and take pictures with us on their cellphones. Hitchhiking is easy enough even though we are now four. On Sumatra we had a scheduled rendezvous with Maria Oleneva () - the princess of the Russian hitchhiking scene. Having been traveling for the past year, on and off, with - a knight and all but pioneer of independent travel, and hitchhiking in particular, in the former Soviet Union, I wasn’t surprised how well they fit in with us.

The Russian hitchhiking community is, in a way, what I want. If there is anything I miss when traveling, it’s friends. Friends I can call up and meet up with because they live nearby. But how can one have that when one lives in the world? Well, the sense of “nearby” changes for sure – being in the same country should be nearby enough to meet up for a beer. This is what Masha has – she travels, and so do her friends. For them being on the same continent, let alone the same country, is enough reason to cross borders and thousands of kilometers to see each other.

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Fes, Morocco

June 17th, 2009



last day in Morocco and Africa

Fes Gallety

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Dades Gorge, Morocco

June 16th, 2009


Dades Gorge Gallery

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Azrou, Morocco

June 15th, 2009


Azrou Gallery

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