Archive for August, 2009
Maybe Mola-Mola
Monday, August 31st, 2009
We came to find the mola-mola – a strange creature also known as pelagic sunfish. It’s flat, has an almost perfectly round body-slash-head ending with a mostly useless tail, with one of its fins sticking out straight up, and one straight down. This fish doesn’t swim, it mostly goes with the flow at awkward angles, and always has a surprised look on its face. We’ve seen it once in South Africa from a boat while searching for dolphins, but we chose not to jump into the water in our fleece jackets and hiking boots, so we didn’t get to see it up close.
Nusa Lembongan is the best place to see mola-mola as far as we know, but it’s still a long shot with the average water temperature here being 25 degrees Celsius. Apparently, they prefer cold currents, and though we did pass though some freezing thermoclines on the dive, neither of them brought us the coveted fish. Instead, we found our share of snakes and nudibranches. Anemones and their faithful little white-orange guardians straight out of Finding Nemo. Distant relatives to starfish waved their tentacles at us but we knew better not to come too close. Once again, just like every time I find myself underwater, a feeling of calm and belonging washed over me. Now that I had my first taste of diving in the Indian Ocean, all I could think of is that I wanted more.
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оказия Нью-Йорк – Киев
Saturday, August 29th, 2009
Дорогие Френды!
Срочно нужна оказия Нью-Йорк – Киев до конца сентебря.
Работа над завершением и изданием нашего (с В. Динцом) путеводителя натуралиста по Африке требует нашего скорого присутствия в Москве. В москву едем через Киев. В оказии необходимые документы для завершения книги.
Хэлп!
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Sarit Stanyslava Reizin-Bernstein
Friday, August 28th, 2009
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Ubud
Wednesday, August 26th, 2009
Ubud hummed, buzzed, rang, and quivered with tourists and “Hello Mister! Where you go? Transport?! Show? Maybe buy something?!” The sidewalks and streets are simply not wide enough to hold all the merchants and customers. All needing each other, all annoyed by each other. I’ve learnt to deal with the noise and reminded myself how I love New York and its bustle, and this is not far from it. Nevertheless, when I create my memories of Ubud, I choose to cut and leave certain noises behind. My photos can keep quiet, and I will keep only what’s inside the frame: temples and their petrified guardians with fresh flowers behind their ear – courtesy of the early risers, freshly laid out offerings to the gods to welcome wealth and peace, and the occasional macaque – there is no getting away from them.
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Fire Dance
Tuesday, August 25th, 2009
at the end of a Kecak performance a barefoot man in a plaid sarong and a straw prop, vaguely resembling a horse, went into a trance and dashed through red hot coals from a fire set in the middle of the stage
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Kecak
Monday, August 24th, 2009
“Chak-chak brrr chaka-chaka very nice!” The owner of our guesthouse in Ubud made jazz hands and shook his whole upper body demonstrating the local Balinese music performance, a kind of a cappella performed by a bare-chested all male ensemble. This one was also interlaced with our old friend – Ramayana, for a bit of pazzas and color. “Chak-chak wooo you enjoy! Yes? I get ticket, yes?” –”Yes.”
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A Bit of Africa
Friday, August 21st, 2009
I dream of Africa. It’s one of those things, I thought I had enough of until I was out. Now graceful antelopes don’t bark a warning call into the darkness, night walks don’t sparkle from the trees with ruby eyes, and a new and amazing creature is unlikely to reveal itself as we turn the corner. I miss it, and though Baluran National Park was not exactly Africa, its savanna-like scenery and abundance of wildlife was good enough for me to cock the old rifle and set up camp in a hide.
At dawn, our encampment was invaded by an army of macaques. They were after our food though the little we had was well hidden. The day before, these naughty monkeys chewed my backpack as we snorkeled off the beach, so the men stood guard while I fired even rounds at wild green peacocks and the occasional baby macaque who seemed just too cute to be a cookie thief.
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Bromo
Thursday, August 20th, 2009
Once I’ve seen lava lake of red hot magma bubbling below like an angry tomato soup, once I’ve witnessed an eruption catapulting half molten rocks and ash into the air, once I’ve held my breath in awe at the sheer power of the earth – refusing to let this moment of pure amazement and humility to end – it’s become virtually impossible for me to stay indifferent to volcanoes for the rest of my life.
Bromo was another volcano, but it’s never just another volcano. Every volcano is different and magnificent in its own way. When the planet decides to open up, literally, and allows me to take a peek inside, I mustn’t decline the invitation – it would be almost impolite. I think of the earth as of my elder – it knows better.
Bromo didn’t roar and didn’t boil. At least not that we could see. It smoked quietly and seemingly calmly, surrounding us at times in white vinegary smoke, and then letting a gust of wind scoop it all up and reveal all the nooks and crannies of its crater. If I didn’t know better I’d think its sole purpose was creating clouds. White puffy clouds.
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