Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 470

Breaking Bad: Triumphs and Tragedies

As the 10 days of awe begin, I wonder about good and evil and what is the moral thing to do. As Breaking Bad comes to an end, I wonder “How Can We Empower All People to Fuel Their Passions and Choose Reality Over Drugs?”

Triumphs and Tragedies recounts the life story of Karl B. McMillen. The opening, written by Mr. McMillen, was the most moving to me. As he said,

I can only hope that the triumphs and tragedies I have experienced will inspire, guide, and even frighten those who have, or may encounter, any connection to drugs, alcoholism, addiction, or enabling. I survived the tragic deaths and lives of my sons and wife.

His honesty about his own addiction and seventeen years of sobriety as well as the drama in his family is stirring and depressing. He is now using his wealth to assist others so they do not lose family members to years of drug abuse and time in prison.

At times, the third person narrator telling the life story of Mr. McMillen felt a bit distant and overly-filled with early details. The stage was being set for McMillen’s many successes and golden touch in business, but it created an all-the-more tragic backdrop to the fall from grace of his two surfing-champion sons who went “from positions of popularity, potential, and affluence down into the dead end of prison and pity.”

McMillen is sharing his story to reach out to others in a way he could not grasp his sons to pull them out of harm from insidious drug use. As the narrator tells us: “Problem-solving in business doesn’t always translate into problem-solving on the most intimate of personal levels.” While McMillen “understood what people require in the way of marketed consumables and what they need to be productive as employees and partners,” his sons growing up on The Strand Hermosa Beach “succumbed not only to normal adolescent life experiments and peer pressure, but to a high tide of social change never seen before in modern Western culture.”

Mark and Chris were good-looking wealthy tan surfers in California and started not only using, but also selling drugs. When their funds got cut off, they stole the television from their own home! McMillen wondered about his responsibility in his sons’ fall: “Did the boys do drugs because we drank, or are we drinking because they do drugs?” Their lives became: “Endless Summer meets yet another episode of The Amazing Race — and Celebrity Rehab — long before the tide of reality TV shows came rolling in.” They wondered, “how did two young men with world-class athletic talents, surfer-god bodies and appearance, intelligence, morals, and loving, well-to-do parents drift into the lair” of drugs? Maybe that is the wrong question.

One son, Chris, recounts feeling unworthy and while it seems he had the easy rich life with so much to take advantage of, he followed his older brother into the den of iniquity. Why would he choose the path of drugs, dealing, stealing and jail? How can we empower all people to fuel their passions and choose reality over drugs?

Friends and family convince McMillen to stop drinking and smoking as his addictions are hurting his business. He learns in AA that “The reason most people drink is because they’re restless, irritable, and discontent.” This is after his oldest son dies, his second son is in prison and his wife has cancer.

At one point, Chris writes about his father, Karl:

Fathers always forgive their children and want what is best for them. A father is someone you respect, like an old oak tree — solid, firm, strong, and unwavering throughout the storm of life. The father is someone you can always depend on. It is a constant; always there.

After years of addiction, jail, broken bones and cancer, he and his father are able to find love and forgiveness together.

“Do you use the triumphs to make life better for others as well as yourself? Do you look at tragedies as lessons, taking what is learned and, once again, making life better for others?” McMillen and his family struggled through many hard times and have chosen to create the Thelma McMillen Center to help others.

At times in American society, it seems that drug use and prison time are blamed on poverty. This story clearly states that drug abuse can happen in any family, rich or poor, and to those of any color and background. In this tragic tale, money can buy you better treatment in jail or rehab, but until someone chooses to change their life, those around them may suffer for a long time.

Families all around the world want the best for their children. No one wants to see a loved one suffer from drugs, addiction or a lifestyle of pain and jail time. Hopefully, McMillen’s honesty in sharing his troubles will inspire others to rise to their full potential and to take advantage of each day to the fullest.

More about the book and Ken McMillen: Tragedies and Triumphs

About the Author of this Review which first appeared on the Huffington Post: Lisa Niver Rajna is a teacher, traveler and co-author of Traveling in Sin. She is a social media ninja on sabbatical in Asia with her husband. Follow their journey at We Said Go Travel.

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Australia: Heading West – Elusive Taipans

Part 5: Heading West – Elusive Taipans

The wind whipped across the plains, covering camp with yellowed dust. We quickly made breakfast, packed and soon set out over the flat ground. The earth was deeply cracked and extremely dry. In the cracks and below where we trod rested the Inland Taipan, perfectly adapted to life in the most extreme conditions. A large part of their diet is the Long-haired Rat, a formidable prey item with immense incisors that also inhabits the same cracks. Taipan numbers fluctuate with the rat numbers, more rats means more snakes.

It came as no surprise why their venom had to be so potent, if they lost a meal or became injured in acquiring it death could be near. They needed to subdue their prey quickly and painlessly. Taipans are very shy and rarely encountered and even though they possess the most toxic venom of any land snake, there are no reported human fatalities.

We walked for close to two hours, searching the ground all around us. The wind began to pick up more and more and although it was extremely sunny, the breeze cooled everything down. There would be no Taipans. We turned, quite begrudgingly, and headed back to the ute.

The road back to Windorah felt exceptionally long, the straight highway endlessly swept to the horizon. Huge Wedge-tailed Eagles slowly and reluctantly flew from their easy meals of Red and Gray Kangaroos, Wallaroos and Emus, casualties of enormous road-trains, semi-trucks hauling up to four trailers, that stopped for nothing.

Windorah, with a population of less than 200, was a town that if you blinked, you would miss it. The caravan park was full of gray-haired vagabonds, retirees taking to the roads in oversized mobile homes. They stretched their traveler’s wings, even though there wasn’t much else that would stretch. I smiled as an old man shuffled ahead of me to the bathroom, I hoped I would be as adventurous in my golden years.

We washed up and went to one of the only restaurants in town, the Western Star Hotel. The hotel site dated back to 1878, but now it is home thirsty townsfolk and passing travelers. Faded bumper stickers from all around the continent clung tenaciously to every available surface. There were only four beers on tap, plenty of spirits on the shelf and a few disinterested bartenders with Irish accents. MTV played on the small TV above the bar.

The oversized hamburger and hefty portion of fries I ordered sat splendidly in my stomach after a week of living from cans and bread. Two cold beers, a game of darts and a game of pool later, Lockie and I thought we should try our luck on the sand dunes just out of town.

The sun had been down for an hour, but the dunes were still warm. The sand was a brilliant shade, just between red and orange and dotted with spinifex. Various species of dragons and geckos inhabited the tussocks of grass emerging at different times to find little insects. We startled four cows grazing on the dune and they ran away in a kerfuffle.

As we turned a small gecko shot out from one spinifex bush and rushed to another. It floated over the sand, leaving a tiny set of tracks in its wake. Lockie grabbed it just in time. It was tiny with big bug eyes, a V on the back of its neck, spindly legs, a big smile and fat tail. The little lizard was a Smooth Knob-tailed Gecko and lives deep in the spiny spinifex on the dunes.

We took a few photos then let the gecko go back to its night-time excursions and headed back to our camp in Windorah. We drifted to sleep as the cows in the nearby paddock bellowed.

The next morning proved too windy as well. We loaded our gear back into the ute and headed back to the Sunshine Coast. It was strange returning to the coast after all our adventures. We set out in search of two incredible reptiles and returned with one marked off our list. We experienced the harsh realities of the arid interior and gained a greater understanding of those animals and people that call it home. I couldn’t wait to return.

About the Author: I’m Hunter McBryde and I am a zookeeper with a passion for reptiles. I currently live on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, Australia, but I’m originally from Pennsylvania. I love the freedom of getting lost in nature and the excitement of a roadtrip. Special thanks to Lockie Gilding for organizing the trip and many of the photos!

Click here to read more from Hunter including the rest of this series.

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Myanmar: Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival (video)

WATCH: 38 Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival in Nyuang Shwe, near Inle Lake, Myanmar (Burma)

All week the people have been preparing for the Golden Buddhas to arrive for the Phaung Daw Oo Pagoda Festival in Nyuang Shwe. On October 21, they finished building everything. From 5am on October 22, there was music. At 8am, people were buying flowers and making offerings. We could see it all from our hotel, the Golden Empress. The power was turned off in the city so there would be no accidents with the Buddha Carriage—but the ferris wheel was less fun without electricity. We saw people climbing down.

We participated in adding rice popcorn and flowers. I talked with Kyaw Khaing, Manager of Golden Empress Hotel and Memein, Claire and Bruno’s guide to learn more about this festival.

This movie is from our 28 days in Myanmar (Burma) from September 28, 2012 to October 26, 2012 and our year TRIP in South East Asia, see all the videos from our trip.  October 22, 2012

Our memoir, Traveling in Sin, is available at Amazon; it is a HOT NEW RELEASE!

Traveling in Sin is a HOT NEW Release on Amazon! from Lisa Niver Rajna
Traveling in Sin is a true tale of TRANSFORMATION thought LOVE and TRAVEL! After meeting online (on two different sites), George and Lisa travel internationally, give up their jobs, condo, ice cream and toilet paper in search of adventure and love. Along the way, Lisa sheds over 60 pounds and the couple gets engaged underwater in Thailand. There are tears, twists and true love!
Recent Press: 

By Amy Sommer on Westside Today
By Dani Stone on Diets in Review

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Sighisoara, Romania – Go Back in Time

Sighisoara, Romania –
Go Back in Time for a Romantic Anniversary

My first trip to Sighisoara was also my first ever independent trip, back in 2000, when I was a freshman. I have always been fascinated by Medieval castles or citadels and I was hooked from the moment I saw the citadel from the train, approaching this tiny Romanian city.

Sighisoara, located in Transylvania, Romania, is home to the citadel of Sighisoara (12th century), a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Better known for the Medieval Festival taking place here every year in July, Sighisoara is also linked to Vlad Dracul (or Vlad the Impaler; yes, I refuse to call him Dracula, because that’s just not accurate).

Actually, Sighisoara is one of the few places which can certainly be linked to the cruel Wallachia’s ruler. His father has lived in the city right about the time when Vlad was born. Another place which is undoubtedly linked to him is Poienari Castle, high in the mountains between Transylvania and Wallachia.

Landmarks and why it’s so romantic

Ever since seeing a wedding photo shoot in a very well-known women’s magazine, I wanted to do something romantic in Sighisoara. Getting married there was impossible – one of the grooms has to have  residency in the city you get married in – and I wasn’t that crazy to ask a photographer to join us there for wedding photos.

However, I was pretty sure I wanted to get there for an anniversary. And I did : my first wedding anniversary! It was special and we were lucky to have the city to ourselves.

How come? Well, the main attraction in the city is the Clock Tower. Which houses a museum and also has a viewing platform. During the opening hours , the Clock Tower and the square in front of it get very crowded with tourists. Not so outside of opening hours. Unluckily – or luckily? – we arrived in Sighisoara on a Saturday past 5:30 pm and although it was late May (2013) the tower was already closed and the tourists already made their way to the cafes (which accounts for this lovely photo).

Therefore, hand in hand, we explored the citadel without a plan or a map. We just walked. I was there before three times and really, it’s hard to get lost anyway. Someway you’ll find the Clock Tower again and walk towards it.

One of my favorite places , however, is on the highest point in the city. Just take the Scholars’ Staircase all the way up to the Church on the Hill and watch the view!

How to get to

Sighisoara is located on the main railway connecting Central-Western Europe (Vienna, Budapest) to Eastern Europe (Bucharest). And yes, the international trains do stop here.

The closest airport to Sighisoara is Targu Mures Airport, currently served by quite a lot of flights (including WizzAir). An alternative airport is Sibiu Airport.

Personally, I suggest flying into Budapest and then take the train to Sighisoara.

Best time to visit

Unless you want to spend too much money on accommodation and tackle the crowds, then it’s best to avoid the Festival (last weekend of July, every year). However , the citadel is charming during the festival and there are a lot of events going on.

The winters can be harsh but the city is just beautiful (I saw some photos and I was hooked).

So far I’ve been to Sighisoara only during early or mid-Summer but I’d certainly fancy a trip in spring. Still, weekends tend to be busiest year-round (yes, on Valentine’s , too).

Please, wear very comfortable walking shoes. The entire are is paved with cobble stone , which can get slippery when raining and can be very hard on the feet.

(c) all photos by Krisztina P and cannot be used without permission

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Australia: Heading West- Birdsville and Taipan Plains

Part 4: Heading West- Birdsville and Taipan Plains

The escarpments slowly faded in the rearview mirror the further west we traveled. Spinifex grasses began to stretch into the horizon, following the flat flow of land. It seemed as though the air outside of the ute had become drier, brighter. The earth was tanned and cracked with no trees from highway to horizon. We turned left onto the Birdsville Track and began the 280 kilometer trek deeper into the outback.

Most of the road was sharp gravel, except for short stretches of asphalt that also served as emergency airstrips. The ride was jarring, a constant hum of tire over stone served as our music down the highway as we chased the setting sun over sand dunes and around escarpments. There was not a single town we passed and only occasionally another vehicle, it was truly remote.

The sun became too intense by around 5:30 PM so we pulled off to watch it set. We climbed a sand dune, blood-red in the evening light and watched as the sky turned intensely orange and yellow, slowly mellowing to pink and lavender. After a short time we were enveloped in a velvety blackness with bright white stars quickly filling the inky abyss above.

We continued our journey to Birdsville, dodging roos the whole way. After a few hours we could see lights on the horizon, the only lights aside from our headlights and the sparkle of stars. The streets of Birdsville were fairly deserted but the pub was well-lit and full of people. We found a campground, set up camp and enjoyed the first shower we had in days. I felt like a new man, still high from the day’s find as I crawled into my warm swag and drifted off into a deep sleep.

The next morning I awoke to the cackles of Crows. Everyone in the campground was already awake, moving about. Laughing families mingled with the smell of bacon and toast on the breeze. Lockie and I began packing up our swags, ready to explore Birdsville for a bit, then head to the Mitchell Grass Downs, better known to us as the Taipan Plains.

As we threw our gear into the bed of the ute, Lockie looked down at the tires. The front passenger side tire had a significant puncture and sat nearly flat. We looked at each other, knowing full well how serious a flat tire would have been on the road, potentially hundreds of kilometers from the nearest town.

Lockie carefully drove to the nearest gas station; we filled up on diesel and supplies, then made our way to the mechanic whose faded sign once proudly stated “We Fix Punctures!” He was a short man with a gaped smile and decent stomach that protruded slightly under his jacket. After a short wait, he popped the tire off and began grinding the rubber.

The garage seemed to be the meeting place for many travelers; I met old men from all over Australia, a short woman with dreadlocks, and two men trying to rent a semi-truck from the owner. I chuckled to myself when I glanced into the trashcan, it was full of XXXX Gold beer bottles; remnants, no doubt, from the end of a long working day. A short time passed before the mechanic finished and reassembled the tire and we were on the road again.

Just on the outskirts of town we pulled into a sacred ceremonial spot that was the stopping point for Thutirla Pula Dreamtime Story. It was the tale of two boys that crossed the desert to bring far-flung tribes of the east beautiful feathers for ceremonial decoration. The boys and the tribe met there, in Wirrarri (Birdsville), to celebrate and share the feathers.

I always felt humbled at sacred places such as Wirrarri, it was as though I could feel the guardians watching as we meandered along the winding path. A flock of six Brolgas ungainly sailed above us, their long legs hanging awkwardly; Zebra Finches, with their sharp tweets, flashed about us, pausing only briefly.

We returned to the ute and rumbled back down the rocky highway. By the time we arrived at the Taipan Plains it was almost dark. We quickly set up camp, built a small fire and cooked supper. A feral cat persistently strolled through camp, desperately trying to find scraps of food. Lockie and I settled in for the night, I left my swag open and gazed at the night’s sky.

Satellites slowly passed overhead. The moon hung only halfway in the sky, but the stars had never been clearer. There was not a cloud in the sky, the Milky Way reached from horizon to horizon and painted the black night almost white. I looked to the open plain on my right; the grasses were silver, ghost-like. Somewhere out there was the world’s most venomous snake and we planned on finding it in the morning.

Click here to read more from Hunter including the rest of this series.

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Fun in the Philippines

Happy September and L’Shana Tova (Happy Jewish New Year!) Do you get our newsletter? This is from our recent news: Fun in the Philippines

Our two weeks of travel in the Philippines have been varied and fantastic! Our visit included sharing the underwater world of Balicasag with giant turtles and a tornado of jack fish as well as swimming with five school bus size Whale Sharks in Oslob, Cebu! We also saw the highlights of international design with Kenneth Cobonpue and the UNESCO sites of the Chocolate Hills and Underground River. I cannot wait to share all the photos and video especially of the fine hotels of Manila like Resorts World and Hotel H20 as well as Be Resort and Marco Polo in Cebu and Hotel Centro and Acacia Tree Garden Hotel in Puerto Princessa. Ricky of Cebu Holiday Tours and Rissa, the author of The Philippines: 100 Travel Tips, have been incredible guides and friends.

WATCH: Puerto Princessa: Hula Hooping Gangnam Style with Iwahig Dancing Inmates 

Lisa  joins the Iwahig Dancing Inmates in Puerto Princessa for Hula Hooping Gangnam Style!

Dancers:

Juris from Cebu

Sandy from Manila

Allan from Manila

Dennis from Laoag

Pallet Jr. from Laguna

Abraham from Aparri

Hula Hooper: Lisa Niver Rajna

Video filmed by: George Rajna

Tour Guide: April from Amika Travel

Special thanks to Rissa and Ricky from Cebu Holiday Tours

August 31, 2013

We swam with five school bus sized whale sharks in Oslob, Cebu! Cannot wait to share more of the photos, but here is one of George and I! We just now in Koror, Palua to swim with the stingless jellyfish! Looking forward to telling you all about it! L’Shana Tova–to a good and sweet New Year!

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Going Deep in Queens 2 – Citi Field, Sik Gaek, and Domaine

In the first installment of this two-parter, Chih-Yu and I had begun a day-long mini-odyssey across the borough of Queens via the 7 train, armed with only a credit card and an adolescent sense-of-adventure. To catch you up in-a-hurry, Queens is home to the Mets, and also a vast, mysterious patchwork of neighborhoods, home to people from a multitude of different cultural backgrounds, many – luckily – with amazing food. In the morning, we visited one of Flushing’s premier dim sum banquet halls, and stopped into a small tea shop that’s a branch of a Taiwanese treasure.

Now it’s midday, and we’re headed to Citi Field.

Citi Field

Photo by Takahiro Nagao

 

It’s hard to find anything negative to say about the Mets’ shiny new home. It’s infinitely more classy than the monolithic new Yankees stadium (though try convincing a Yankees fan of that). It looks like a ball-park-of-old, with its regal red brick exterior and sexy archways. Bleachers in the outfield, instead of soccer-stadium-style encirclement, allow a great view out the sides. It sits on a dramatic patch of land as well, with Corona Park and the Arthur Ashe Tennis Center to the south, the ruggedness of a junkyard, with Flushing just beyond, to the East, and LaGuardia and the Bay to the north. All that’s visible from the bleachers. But skin-deep is where the resemblance to old-school ball-parks ends. Get inside, and Citi’s more like a luxury shopping mall that incidentally contains a ball game. Giant escalators carry you effortlessly from the lobby to the upper decks, where you’ll find wide, ergonomic corridors and easy-to-access seats, all with an amazing view. Slip out to one of the promenades and you’ll find microbrews, Shake Shack, Two Boots Pizza, Blue Smoke Barbecue, and, yes, a metric ton of Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog stands, many of them on open-air plazas with sweeping views.

This is not your father’s ball park.

It’s hard to find anything negative to say, but maybe we’re losing the spirit of the game just a bit by making it “too easy” to enjoy. Every creature comfort is satisfied, and the feel of the place is rather corporate. Huge HD screens play the “let’s go” music between at-bats, and a few members of the crows half-heartedly follow along. This is a far cry from the Hanshin Tigers of Osaka, where fans with matching noise-makers pack into the cramped bleachers elbow-to-elbow, cheer together, and nobody leaves until it’s over. It’s more like visiting a museum. But this is the new age of baseball – convenient, gourmet, low-impact.

Luckily the rest of our day takes us deeper. Ten minutes toward Manhattan on the 7 train is Sik Gaek.

Sik Gaek

49-11 Roosevelt Ave

Woodside, NY 11377

A picture is worth a thousand words, and the cartoonish visage of Psy – the Korean rapper whose song still creeps into my head if I’m not careful – shilling for Soju on one of the hundreds of posters on the wall, while heaping plates of barbecued beef and pork sizzle in the foreground, says about all you need to know about Sik Gaek. The windows are boarded up, deliberately, and the entire place is painted black. From outside, it more closely resembles a strip club than a barbecue joint. You enter to a chorus of “hellos” in Korean. (At least that’s what I assume they’re saying.) A crack team of waiters outfitted with secret-service earpieces executes a well-choreographed ballet with ludicrously-sized hot platters of food, dodging clients by just inches as they dart from kitchen to table and back.

The floor, booths, and tables are all polished wood, and thousands of dollar bills adhere to the walls. In the center of every table is a twelve-inch diameter gas grill. The first thing they do when you take your seat is fire up the grill and fry an egg. It does the trick, taking the “edge” off the hunger. Chih-Yu and I sample mostly from the “turf” category (no live octopus on this trip, though it gives us an excuse for a return journey), though a savory, melt-in-your-mouth mackerel manages to sneak its way in. Robust beef short ribs are delicious any way, but best wrapped in lettuce. The pork is grilled with kimchi, and tastes sweet, spicy, and fatty in just the right proportions. Instead of rice, we have a macabre-looking bowl of rice cakes in red pepper sauce. Sik Gaek is exceptional even for a neighborhood known for great Korean food, which, I argue, ranks it among the best restaurants in New York.

Photo by Graham Hills

 

Soju, the most recognizable varietal of Korean hooch, is an integral part of the Sik Gaek experience. After years of watching Korean shows on basic cable (it’s better than CNN), I became obsessed with soju. What is this delicious beverage everyone’s slogging-down by the bottle-full as they nosh barbecue on the side of the road at 3am in the winter? Did it taste sweet and aromatic, like sake, or pungent and stiff, like Japanese shochu (with which soju should never be confused. They should be pretty easy to keep straight, right?) I finally tracked down a bottle of the stuff at an H-Mart, chilled it, and cracked it open to discover it tasted like…watery vodka.

Like every acquired taste, soju grew on me. The Russians were onto something with vodka, a perfect counterpoint to spicy food and cold weather. Now imagine a lighter version. Confronted with mountains of roasted meat, it’s hard to imagine saving room for beer, but soju goes down easy. I’ve also invented a rule-of-thumb – the prettier the model advertising it, the less likely it is to be good. (Though practically everybody is advertising Jinro – kind of the Budweiser of Korea.) The female models, pop-stars, and actors tend to hawk the sweet stuff, which contains high fructose corn syrup. I like to keep it simple. Which makes Psy pretty much the perfect spokesman.

Domaine Bar a Vins

50-04 Vernon Blvd

Long Island City, NY 11101

From the frenetic energy of Queens Boulevard in Woodside, beneath the 7 train tracks, we transition to the more staid Long Island City. It wasn’t always this way. When I first moved to the city in 2001, Long Island City was the place locals told you not to get lost, especially with large denominations of cash on you. Twelve years hence, and high rise condos you-can’t-afford are sprouting like mushrooms, and LIC is kind of the bedroom community for the UN and banking district just across the river.

Somehow it’s retained some of the old “punk” flavor, though. The new-construction units mostly just grabbed up the waterfront property at Gantry Plaza, blocking-the-view-of – but not razing – the pre-existing vinyl-sided and brick buildings that are home to the neighborhood’s mainstays. Case-in-point: Domaine Bar a Vins, which despite its name being in French, is about the least pretentious wine bar you can imagine. It’s got tile walls like a speakeasy. Depending on who’s tending bar, you might hear Bob Marley, Johnny Cash, or Billie Holiday blasting from the speakers. There’s not a stick of mahogany to be found, and the clientele gives the place the feel of an off-the-beaten path nabe joint, not a foo-foo tourist destination.

It’s worlds away from Flushing, the Mets, and Sik Gaek, and that makes it the appropriate spot to cap off the night with a couple of glasses of reisling and a small plate of oysters.

Now, of course, the neighborhood is the perfect place to “get lost”, strolling its foggy back-corners and nursing a mean wine buzz. You’ve been around the world in grand style, and you haven’t even left Queens.

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Australia: Heading West – Perentie

Part 3: Heading West – Perentie

After two hours sleep, another hour or so nursing our wounds from being lost for a night in the bush and a couple sandwiches, we were ready to continue our Perentie search in earnest. Dust filtered on the breeze and through the short trees, landing on the red rocks and equally red soil. It was quiet save for the loose rocks clicking together underfoot, and the Whistling Kites which seemed to be reprimanding these two intruders with their sharp calls.  It was hard to imagine anything thriving in such an environment, let alone the fourth largest lizard in the world.

The morning was already stifling, nearly 85 F in the dead of winter. A warm breeze curled its way around the unexplored side of the escarpments, around immense boulders and out to the horizon, rattling the dry spinifex grasses as it did. Lockie and I poured ourselves into every cave and crevice, crawling into spaces barely big enough to fit, all-the-while reading the landscape for signs of the mighty lizard.

I pulled my head from a cave to hear Lockie’s voice ring out, “You might want to come take a look at this!” There was excitement in his voice. I raced down the escarpment’s edge as fast as the unstable ground would allow. As I climbed a nearby mesa, I could see Lockie’s twitching movements. He pointed to a small hole; its entrance was smooth sand. It was extraordinarily unobtrusive and I may have even over looked it had it not been for a small portion of thick yellow tail sticking out of one side.

The Perentie was enormous and hissed intimidatingly as we gingerly poked our heads in the hole for a closer look. After a few moments of gentle coaxing, the massive lizard emerged into the daylight. Lockie carefully picked it up for a closer look, the Perentie dwarfed him. We judged it to be a large female based on the lack of hemipenes. She had creamy spots in horizontal rows across her back and continued down much of her tail. The last third of her exceptionally long tail was cream colored. Three deep scars from an old injury graced the base of the Perentie’s tail. Her neck was exceptionally long and snake-like, her chin was the same creamy-yellow color as the spots on her back and patterned with black reticulations. Her eyes were yellowed and held an intelligent gaze and her long, forked tongue flicked nonchalantly in and out. Robust, powerful limbs ended in huge, sharp black claws.

Lockie and I looked at one another, absolutely enraptured by the dinosaur in his hands. Monitor lizards, or “Goannas” as they’re known in Australia, are a holdover, dating back 60 million years and are found on only three continents: Asia, Africa, and Australia. Australia is home to the highest concentration of monitors in the world containing twenty-seven species. Goannas cover a great dichotomy of sizes from the ten-foot long Komodo Dragon to the nine-inch Short-tailed Pygmy Monitor yet maintain a very similar body type. They inhabit rainforest canopies, harsh deserts, coastal wetlands and everything in between and are one of the most adaptive, successful genus of animals on the planet.

I had been enthralled with monitors for quite some time but my love multiplied exponentially when I saw my first wild goanna, a large Lace Monitor, in a national park soon after arriving in Australia. The Perentie we had managed to find that day was the apotheosis of a monitor lizard, she was, quite literally, the queen of all she surveyed. There was very little in the Australian outback game enough to tangle with a full-grown Perentie and her demeanor showed us that fact.

She sat on a rock in the midday sun and allowed us to photograph her for some time without the slightest hint of fear or discomfort. My shirt clung to my sweaty skin as a breeze blew across the great expanse of rocky wilderness; flies incessantly buzzed about my face, occasionally landing on my mouth or in my eyes. I occasionally swatted at them, a fairly pointless act, and they would soon regroup into their buzzing hoard. But in that moment I couldn’t have cared less because before me laid an immense lizard, the fruit of many hours of searching.

 

We carefully placed her back into the crack we had found her, thanking her profusely for allowing us to find her and headed back to the ute for the next leg of our journey. We sat in the cab, sucking down water, encompassed in elation and congratulating one another on the find. My hands were still shaking from the rush of adrenaline. The ute rumbled to life and we headed west on the narrow highway.

Click here to read more from Hunter including the rest of this series.

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Brazil: Fishing for Piranhas

Brazil: Fishing for Piranhas

The jungle is alive with the choir of singing bugs.  While floating our way down The Paraguay River on a boat in The Pantanal in southern Brazil, our guide, Pedro informs us that most of the time the choir of cicadas, katydids and crickets is almost deafening to the point that yelling to each other is almost a necessity.  The hotter it gets, the faster and louder they sing.  The stench of the alligators that litter the river as well as the banks is so overwhelming that our guide hands out a menthol creme to rub under our noses to mask the malodour.  It is almost intolerable to keep my shirt on as the sweat and humidity inundate my already soaked torso. I know that if I do take off my shirt, the mosquitos that swarm all around us will eat me alive.  Our boat is sputtering upstream so slowly that it doesn’t even create a breeze to help with the heat and humidity.  Salty sweat from my forehead constantly trickles down into my stinging eyes.  No matter how much I wipe my forehead, there is plenty of sweat to replace it.  My hat I was wearing didn’t even put a dent in how much I was sweating.

After twenty minutes putting downstream, we had finally reached our destination. My wife, me and four or five tourists disembarked from the boat and waited for Pedro on the shore of the river.  When he emerged from the back, fishing poles filled his arms.  After disembarking, he each handed us a bamboo fishing pole.  Unlike a traditional fishing poles that had a casting system, reel and made out of a lightweight material, these poles were nothing but a stocky bamboo stick with a body’s length of fishing line tied to the end.  Instead of a hook at the end of the line, there was a foot of steel wire that was tied to the end.  Attached to the end of the steel line was the hook.  Pedro explained that they had to do this, otherwise the piranhas would simply bite through the line and take off with the beef bait.  After explaining the fishing poles, Pedro gave us a few hints so we could live to tell our story of our fishing trip without any missing body parts.

“First of all, when you catch a fish, do not reach into the water to pick it up!  All you need to do is call me over when you have a piranha on your line and I will come to help you out.”

He continued to explain that this was to prevent us from accidentally sticking our finger in the vicinity of the piranha’s mouth and getting our finger bitten off.

“Second, do not go into the water!  If you have any cuts or lesions on your body, the piranhas will attack you.”

 

Piranhas are attracted to blood and anybody with a cut on their body would be a target for the piranhas to attack.

“Finally, watch out for alligators!”

As we had passed many alligators in the water,  I supposed that it was a possibility that they might watch us from a distance, or try to eat our bait in the water.

With that, he gave us each a half pound or so of beef that we would use for bait.  After I had strolled upstream about twenty feet from everybody else, I baited my hook by tearing off a small slice of beef off the main chunk that was given to me and flung it into the water.  In what seemed like the same amount of time it takes lightening to strike the ground , the bait was annihilated.  The piranhas had devoured my bait in the same fashion a swarm of killer bees would attack a thief stealing their honey.  Absolutely astonished, I froze in place, amazed.  My eyes semi-bugging out, jaw halfway down I thought, “Glad I’m not their enemy!”  I re-baited my hook and tossed it back in the water a few times, all the while amazed at the ferocity of the piranhas.

In a flick of a switch, a refreshing and much needed zephyr started whiffing across the river and was just enough to make me close my eyes to enjoy it for a minute or two.  I put my fishing pole down and sat on the bank.  My sweat drenched shirt seemed to momentarily evaporate off me.  After a few minutes I had drifted off into a nap.

“Whatever you do, do not turn around.”  My wife cautiously but calmly whispered to me from a few yards away, safely behind a tree along the bank.  Of course, the first thing I did was turn around.  My eyes still blurry from sleep, I quickly surveyed my surroundings and not seeing anything, I turned back around and looked at her, confused.  She then pointed about five feet to the left of me, on the bank of the river.  I warily peeked out of the corner of my eye for a few seconds before meticulously turning my head to my left.  A wave of adrenaline flooded my senses as I sharply gasped.  I tried swallowing but my throat had become as dry as the Sahara Desert on a scorching day.  During some point when I was resting, enjoying the breeze to now, an alligator had somehow slithered out of the water undetected and decided it would be good if he just sat next to me.  After pausing for a few seconds to compose my self, I cautiously stood up, all the time staring at the alligator, making sure it wasn’t going to move.  His emotionless reptilian eyes glared unrelentlessly at me as though he could almost taste my flesh.  He appeared to be staring me down with his dagger-filled grin, beaming in anticipation of his next meal.

By now my wife had tip toed over to Pedro, careful not to draw the alligator’s attention to herself.  From the corner of my eye, I caught a peep that Pedro noticed what was going on. He chuckled under his breath, took a quick drag off his cigarette and nonchalantly trotted over.  He half-heartedly assured me that the alligators believe we are too big and won’t attack us.  By the look he was radiating, I could tell he must have seen this a hundred times!

“Just start fishing, they will leave you alone.  Don’t worry about it.  You’re fine!”

Still walking towards me, he started to waiving his right hand in a shooing motion and shouting at the beast.  Within seconds, it was gone.

“See!  Nothing to worry about!”

At that, I picked up my rod and started to fish again. This time, keeping my eye on the horizon.

 

Over the next ten minutes of fishing, that same alligator lifelessly floated back, and decided that it was going to hang out by my side…again.  I thought to myself, “Maybe I’m in his territory and this is his hangout spot. I am intruding on him, or maybe he just wants something to eat!”  I continued fishing, all the while the alligator staring me down with that menacing grin.  After finally landing a piranha, I carefully handled the fish the same way I saw Pedro handling the other fish.  Tediously de-hooking it, I threw the piranha in the direction of the alligator.  To my bemusement, he caught it mid air, took one big bite and swallowed the piranha whole.  He then did something I thought only humans did; he winked at me, almost as if to say thank you for his meal.

The revitalising breeze ceased as I groaned at the thought of my shirt uncomfortably bonding to my skin.  With the breeze coming to a stop, our group decided that we had had enough for the day and embarked the boat.  I waived to my new friend and spent the next twenty minutes in the boat imagining what might have happened if that alligator decided that he wanted me for his next meal.

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Udaipur: Changing the World One Bottle at a Time

Thank you to Charu at the Butterfly Diary for publishing my article about India: “Raft Building on the Banks of the Lake Palace, Udaipur: Changing the World One Bottle at a Time.” I thought sharing this piece on backpackers changing the world was a good fit for Rosh Hashannah, the beginning of the Jewish New Year and High Holy Days.

After meandering in Asia over the last seven months on sabbatical, we began to discern one of the most noticeable consistencies of the region: the piles of plastic one-liter bottles littered across the landscape. The twin problems of absence of access to clean drinking water and lack of recycling or a plan to deal with trash are noticeable in nearly every country in Asia. At home in Los Angeles, the recycling trucks appear with frequency to transport the garbage away. However having been to the largest landfill on the planet, I know that piles of plastic continue to mount in the United States as well.

Innovators are creating biodegradable plastic and clothing made from recycled bottles. Others carry UV filters and metal canteens while traveling to reduce the consumption of plastic. In Udaipur, a veritable G-8 of travelers created community for themselves and the local children while turning trash into movable art and transport.

Isaac, the French-born Israeli fresh from the army, and Assaf, the sabra, have been biking across India. After a dangerous encounter with a truck that required Isaac to nearly rebuild the bike MacGyver style with a few paperclips and some duck tape, they had a few days rest on the roof of their Guest House in Udaipur. Noticing the pile of plastic and ready for the next engineering feat, the duo set out to construct a raft to sail the waters around the Lake Palace.

Their new friends, Katie and Erika from the Northwest of the United States, Kristen, the South African Brit, and Yanira, the Balinese Italian, were ready for the challenge. Their self-proclaimed task was to build a better boat than Team Israel.

Click here to read the full article.

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