Monday, March 22, 2010

Dive into the Galapagos

Ever since I took a course on Evolution in 1993, I dreamed of going to the Galapagos Islands. When I decided to go travel in South America in 2008, the Galapagos became my one and only MUST SEE site. I had no idea what I was getting into when I signed up for this 8-day cruise onboard a power catamaran. In fact, I did not even know what a catamaran was. When I arrive at Puerto Ayora and saw the boat named “Queen of Galapagos” I realized the travel agent was not lying when he sold me the luxury-class cruise. Adrift the turquoise blue sea, each day the 16 passengers woke up to the view of a different volcanic island black with lava rocks covered with brilliantly colored sally light foot crabs, or fine white sand littered with marine iguanas, and the windows were like the HDTV section in Best Buy, all featuring the “frigate bird air show”. In the mornings we had a leisurely hike, and in the afternoon we snorkeled for as long as we could stay in the cold water. Snacks and cold drinks awaited onboard before we jumped into a hot shower. After watching sunset, a 5-course meal would be elegantly presented and served by a friendly staff. Until that day, I could not truly say I had treated myself right.
Only 1000 kilometers (600 miles) west of Ecuador in the Pacific Ocean, the Galapagos feels like a different planet. The first afternoon we went to the highland of Santa Cruz Island to see the giant tortoises. We all know turtles are slow in general, but it takes extra long for these giants to do anything: one hour to walk 300 meters (1000 feet); 30 years to mature (still faster than men); and 250 years to die. However, when they did decide to move, their stubby elephant-like feet carried that boulder-sized shell like a soldier on steroid racing a tank down the tank trail. Over locally grown organic coffee, our nature guide told us many interesting but sad facts about the 14 subspecies of giant tortoises, three of which were already extinct due to human exploitation. Ironically, when Charles Darwin came to the Galapagos in 1835 on the HMS Beagle, sailors loaded up hundreds of giant tortoises as supply of fresh meat on their voyage, as many pirates or whaling ships that visited the islands had done for centuries.

Also known as Las Islas Encantadas, these enchanted islands are famous for the abundance, diversity, and tameness of their wildlife. Among all the iconic animals, the Galapagos sea lions are definitely the most interactive and captivating of all. Properly labeled “the welcoming committee of the Galapagos”, the bulbous-headed bulls busily declared territory of their harems by calling “Oha! Oha! Oha!", while the cows lazily nursed their pups on the lava field, creating a relaxing ambience for this paradise. The youngsters chased each other or played with driftwood or a seashell, much like kids who were stuck at home and desperately looking for something to mess with. I was taking pictures of the sea lions, not knowing a pup had come to investigate my sandals. Snorkeling with young sea lions usually involved shrimp kicks and staring contests. When I dove down, the playful young sea lions would follow and spin with me underwater. Then one of them swam away in a big circle, gained speed, charged straight at me, stopped right in front of my face, and looked me dead in the eye as if saying, “You are the ugliest sea lion I have ever seen.”

Another charismatic character on the Galapagos that no one should miss is the blue-footed bobbies. Their clown-like over-sized bright blue webbed-feet make a good focal point on any photograph, but it is their slow and clumsy movements that burn a permanent mental image in everyone who has observed these seriously dutiful parents and yet hopelessly comical seabirds. Sitting patiently on their nests right next to the designated trails, they ignored the stream of tourists’ feet that must have seemed hilarious to them. To them it was business as usual, whether it was sitting quietly on their eggs, feeding their fuzzy cotton-candy-looking chicks, or performing their mating dance. In this ritual that qualified to appear on the “World’s Funniest Animal Video” show, the male bird, with all his strength, erected his tail feathers, made a series of short whistles that sounded like a 3-year-old child playing a cracked plastic flute. After that he passionately raised one of his sexually-suggestive turquoise blue webbed-feet, held it in the air for a second to contemplate on his next move; then he slowly put it back down, and repeated several times with alternate feet. The grand finale was pointing his beak, wings, and tail to the sky in a most phallic display, asking for her approval. Which female booby could reject such charming love?

There was not a time when I turned around and not saw a marine iguana on the shore of these islands. These real-life miniature Godzillas in slow-motion put us in the set of “Jurassic Park”. They basked in the sun to raise their body temperature, sprayed a salty snot to remove excess salt from their diet, munched on seaweeds when they found a delicious little patch of green, then take a dip in the water when the sun gets too hot. I swam after a big boy to collect data on its ability to adapt to the marine lifestyle. I came to the conclusion that iguanas arrived on these islands long before humans did for a very logical reason.

It was early summer in the Galapagos and love was in the air. Male marine iguanas put on the brightest red and blue shirt. Male manta rays flipped into the air to broadcast their sperms. Male frigate birds proudly showed off their fire-alarm-red balloons. Blue-footed boobies whistled and danced. Turtle sex was everywhere on land with the giant tortoises and at sea with the Pacific green sea turtles. “Go get a room” became our way of greeting a turtle. In the end, it is the more subtle encounters that inspire the greatest awe: Flamingos leisurely left a cloudy trail behind as they skimmed the shallows of a lagoon for brine shrimps, red-billed tropicbirds gracefully glided over the jagged lava cliff with their long tail feathers trailing behind, or the rarely-spotted Galapagos hawk scouted atop a pinnacle rock with grand dignity. And then there were those endearing moments such as a Hood mocking bird seeking refuge from the scorching Equatorial sun in my shadow, and two baby sea lions kissing to make peace after a hearty play-fight.

What a splash! Dive into the Galapagos and have a fullly submerged experience with me in my Galapagos Album.


Thursday, March 4, 2010

Eva in Monkeyland

Eva is a little girl in Georgia who never allows herself to be bored. One early spring morning she is sitting on the river bank, enjoying the sunshine and playing Sudoku. Suddenly a monkey jumps in front of her and then disappears into the river. She gets into her little kayak and follows the monkey into the narrow tidal creek that has tall marsh grass standing on both sides and feels like going down a rabbit hole. At the end of the creek, the water empties into a broad river as wide as the sea. Across the choppy river with swells twice as high as her little kayak lies an island of lush forest, and beyond that, the big open Atlantic Ocean. She hesitates for a second and when the call of the mysterious wilderness comes from the island, little Eva has no intention to turn back. She digs her paddle deep into the crests of the waves as her kayak cuts through them like a knife slicing a birthday cake. When she finally lands on the beach of the island, she climbs up to the top of the high bluff consisting of tiny pieces of broken oyster shells. Her eyes are met by a golden sea of waving marsh grass, to the end of which, a cozy little tidal pool flanked by a few palm trees. It looks like a perfect tropical paradise; little does Eva know she will soon find herself knee-deep in monkey poop.

Eva, who is always looking for an adventure or otherwise trouble of some sort, is hypnotized by the exotic beauty of the lush forest in front of her. She carries her Sudoku book in a bag and enters the forest. Several times she thinks she sees something glowing in the trees. Before her eyes can focus on anything, everything moves. Gigantic oaks are draped with Spanish moss that filters the sunlight and hangs like the long silver beard of some creepy old man. Although the occasional sounds of chattering leaves spook her, the soothing scents of cedar and pine lure her to walk deeper into the forest. The undergrowth of the woods gets thicker and thicker. Soon she has to negotiate her steps through the entanglement of small twigs and low branches. There is no time or space to look up or around her and she is about to face her greatest fear: getting lost in the jungle, with no internet access or cappuccino machine.

As abruptly as the forest closes in on little Eva, it opens up. Once she is able to stand upright again, she finds herself on the edge of a pond the size of a football field. The sight is bewildering. She has been to Disney Worlds of three different countries but has never seen any place as magical as this. On the bank of the pond, a neat line of palm trees lend their reflections to the mirror-like surface of the jade-colored pond. Behind the palms stands a tall oak tree on which roost a few dozen snow white great egrets. She sits down by the pond and enjoys this heavenly view for a few minutes. Then she takes her Sudoku book out of the bag and tries to solve the puzzle she was working on before she was interrupted by the monkey. Despite the serene surroundings, she feels an inexplicable uneasiness; kind of like the eerie feeling that someone is secretly watching you. Amid the dead silence, the leaves rattle. Eva looks up the trees and she can't believe what she sees! There must be a hundred anxious eyes looking back at her. There are monkeys everywhere, in the trees, on the ground, and across the pond. An opening among the palm trees that fringes the pond catches her eyes. "That is either the way to get into trouble or the way to get out of it." She thinks, and naturally she walks over there along the edge of the pond. Scattered under the bushes are monkey skulls, tortoise shells, and bones of various animals. The scene at the clearing is even more terrifying: a full skeleton of a big bird, perhaps a heron or great egret, wings and neck all folded up like a pretzel. A few steps away, the full skeleton of a small child, as if he has just collapsed and dropped dead. "Wow, this is cool!" She rushes over, only to find a long tail extending from the end of the vertebral column. There are other pieces of carcasses of unidentified victims in the vicinity. "Is this a witchcraft boot camp?" She looks up into the trees and there roost the answer: a flock of vultures contemplating when she may drop dead and become their first Chinese dinner.

The monkey carcass stinks a little too much to be added to her collection, so Eva says her fond goodbye, and sets off to find her way out of this jungle. Technically she is not lost - as long as she does set a fixed route or destination, she is merely taking a walk and enjoying the scenery. From time to time she sits down to do her Sudoku, while the monkeys settle down and resume their natural behaviors. Most are sitting around or walking about, doing their thing. Every once in a while, there will be a little curious monkey who comes near and wants to check out what is in her bag.

We all know monkeys are our close relatives. When you spend some time observing them, you will be surprised how much of our human society is reflected in the monkeys' behaviors. There are monkeys who sit around and scratch their heads. There are monkeys who jump up and down a tree and yell and scream at every little thing. There are monkeys that flip over every single leaf or stone looking for something they don't even know what it is. There is always that one little monkey who can't resist the simple joy of finding new trouble. I am that little monkey.

To view more pictures of this trip, go to my Morgan Island Album.
To view pictures of all my recent travels, go to All My Albums.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Chile - Volcan Villarrica

As you are reading, you might think kayaking is the only thing I do. Let me justify my blog - backpack gone wild - by revisiting some of my good old days living out of the backpack. After Cotopaxi, Iguazu Falls, Machu Picchu, and even the Galapagos, I saw the most amazing landscape on Volcan Villarrica on the Chilean Andes. Under the white snow cover that looks as docile as a rabbit bunny, lies the most active volcano in South America and one of the only four lava lakes in the world. Its spectacular scenery was complimented with the breathtaking sulfur gag. If it was just snow everywhere it would have been boring. But there were icicles in all sorts of crystalline forms growing in the most unimaginable dimensions. The strenuous ascent was rewarded by stunning panoramic views of lakes, ice-capped peaks, blue sky and white clouds that extended all the way to the bulging horizon. This photo was taken 500m below the summit. Imagine seeing this 500m higher and 360 degrees around.

The climb started below the snow line at 1520m and the 1327m ascent took 6 hours to reach the summit at 2847m. The hard plastic boots provided by the alpine guides gave me bruises on my lower legs early on and soon it was painful with every step. I had to slow down considerably and was about 20 minutes behind the others.

When my leg was hurting so much and the climb seemed to have no end, I asked the guide how much longer it would take. 50 minutes, he said. I decided not to check my watch any more and not stopping until I got to the top. After what felt like 2 days, I met the fast climbers coming down. I resisted but finally asked, “How much longer until the summit?” A Dutch girl said without blinking an eye, “Five minutes.” It was like the atropine I needed to jump start my heart. With a new battery, I was marching up the icy slope like the Energizer Bunny. Fifteen minutes later, my guide turned around, shook my hand, and said, “Congratulations, welcome to the summit”. On the way back, I thanked the Dutch girl for lying to me. “If you had told me six minutes instead of five, I would have turned around and come down. I wasn’t going to take that punishment for longer than five minutes!”

Five and a half hours of climbing earned me less than 10 minutes at the summit. Getting too close the active volcano’s smoking crater had proven to be hazardous. A month before my climb a woman fell into the crater, landed on a rock outcrop, survived the fall, but was soon choked to death by the sulfur gas. With wind speed topping 20 miles an hour, the acidic gas was burning my eyes, nose and throat even when I was a few meters upwind from the crater. That was no place for picnic.

Coming down required bending the ankle forward and therefore was even more painful and awkward. To my delight, more than half of the way coming down, where the snow was packed, we could sit on our butts to slide down. That not only saved my agonizing legs but made it so thrilling and fun. On the steeper slopes it got really fast. At the beginning I was not good at balancing and rolled a few times and had to use the ice pick to stop the slide. Soon I got a hang of it and sliding down was like a breeze. The slide was better than any ride in Disney, and that's what backpack gone wild is all about!

This is an extract from my travel journal. To see more pictures of my travels in Chile, view my Chile Album.

Monday, January 18, 2010

The Mighty Altamaha

The Nature Conservancy calls Altamaha River one of the last great places. Two weeks ago, lured by its serene beauty, I put down my kayak at Jaycee Landing and paddled up the gushing water. I was fighting the current like a cockroach being flushed down the toilet. Any normal person with a sound mind would have turned around and gone home, but my hard head kept me fighting upstream for an hour. When I finally decided to turn around, it took only 15 minutes to get back. I call it the Mighty Altamaha.
Looking at the map, I realized I had only seen one out of 138 miles of its meandering charm. I wanted to see more of the Mighty Altamaha, but I didn't want to be the cockroach again. So I tried to recruit several kayakers in order to do an A-to-B run and shuttle between the launch site and the end point. It was a good plan until everyone bailed out. Going on a river by myself never bothers me. It is the lack of a ride back to my truck that had me deeply concerned. Luckily Mike volunteered to give me a ride. I wanted to do a 16-mile stretch down the river, starting at Upper Wayne County Landing. From my last cockroach down the toilet experience, I estimated about four hours and asked Mike to pick me up at 5 p.m. at Jaycee Landing.
For a Chinese blond like me, getting to the launch site was a little more challenging than fighting the current. By the time I got my paddle wet, it was already 1:56. The day was as gorgeous as could be, considering the record low cold snap earlier in the week and the incessant rain we had the two days prior. Blue sky, sunshine, calm air, fast water, that was all the Mighty Altamaha offered and that was all I wanted. In the dead of the winter, the bald cypress looked utterly naked. The woodland was flooded and grey shadows casted on the black water. The deserted sand bank seemed striped of life. Messes of dried twigs made the high bluff feel desolate. Scrawny gum balls dangled from the forsaken sweet gum trees, hanging onto life that was already drained. Even the calls of the osprey that occasionally broke the silence sounded exhausted. This is the kind of tranquility that only exists when everything is dead and when time stands still. Below the water surface, the Mighty Altamaha was roaring with all the forces it had drawn from the land.
After 3 hours and 5 minutes of paddling, I landed at 5:01. Without a watch, that time was close enough. Mike was already waiting at Jaycee. One thing came to my mind: When the whole world bails out on me, Mike is there for me.

For more photos of the Mighty Altamaha, please visit my Altamaha album.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Savannah's Chinese ballast stone

Anybody who visits Savannah will visit River Street. Anybody who goes to River Street will walk on the cobble stones. Anybody who knows the history of Savannah will know the story behind these cobble stones: In the 18th and 19th centuries, the golden age of Savannah's cotton export, empty European cargo ships came to Savannah carrying a load of cobble stones for ballast. When they arrived, they unloaded their ballast stones and loaded up with Savannah's cotton. These stones made good pavers and building materials along Savannah's River Street. They have a wide variety of origins: mostly England and Europe, some from Africa and the Caribbean. A friend of mine spotted one cobble stone with Chinese inscriptions.
My attempt to unveil the history of this piece of stone leads to some research on the history of China and Savannah. The format of the words on the stone indicates that it is most likely a broken piece of a tombstone. The inscriptions - by sheer chance, told the exact year when it was carved: 1798. The first two words on the right denote the name of Emperor Jiaqing in Qing, China's last dynasty. His reign lasted 25 years, from 1796 to 1820. The next two words mean "third year". This puts the stone to 1798 in China. The three bigger words on the left are the name of a person. The first two words from the top, Cheung and Lin, are both very common family names. But the second word, Lin, is also widely used in given names. In the Chinese culture, when a woman is married, she adds her husband's family name before her own. So in this case, the name on the stone could be a man's; he would be Mr. Cheung. Or it could be a woman's name; she would be Mrs. Cheung and her maiden name would have been Ms. Lin.
If I was to see this stone a year ago, before my time in China, I would be jumping up and down and think we should FedEx this historic artifact back to China or a museum. But 11 months in China made me realize a sad part of modern Chinese history. Stones like these, usually tombstones or plaques or monuments at temples, were deliberately destroyed during the Cultural Revolution and used as road pavers or foundations everywhere in China. It is disheartening to see them but they are just everywhere and no one cares in China. Even if they do care, the Chinese people do not dare to say or do anything. However, since the Cultural Revolution occurred in 1965-1968, this particular piece of broken tombstone on River Street would not have been a result of it.
It is a mystery how this Chinese stone made its way to Savannah. Instead of solving this mystery, I am cooking up a story full of colorful Chinese traditions, the volatile history of China's last dynasty, Savannah's romantic plantation era stories, and the power struggle before, during, and after the Civil War, all in the backdrop of River Street's glorious days of political and economic hot spot in the Southeast. A novel may be born of this cobble stone.

For more images of Savannah's Historic Downtown, please visit my Savannah album.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Peru

I always hated history. Three months in Peru changed me. I researched on Peruvian native history and cultures while visiting numerous archeological sites all along the coastal desert and the Andes, such as the Valley of the Tomb of the Moche culture (100 AD - 800 AD), Chan Chan Adobe City of the Chimu culture (800 AD - 1492), and the famous Machu Picchu and a series of other not-so-famous Inca sites of the Quecha people. At first I was sympathetic towards the Quechua (more commonly known as the Incas), for the malicious conquer of their empire and the merciless rape of their culture by the Spaniards in 1533. History reveals that the Quechua had viciously destroyed the Chimu, which had smashed the Moche before them with similar brutality. The rise and fall of these ancient warrior cultures were as natural as the flood and ebb of the tides.
My favorite destination in Peru has to be Cuzco. I
spent 16 days there and never had a dull moment. It is the hub to dozens of Inca sites in the Sacred Valley, incluing Machu Picchu, which was a 4-day mountain-biking and hiking excursion. We began with descending almost 3000 m in 5 hours on the mountain bike, followed by two days of hiking on the Inca Trail. On the 4th day we got up at 4 a.m. and climbed 1400 steps to make the prigrimage. But once you got to see it, the magnificence of Machu Picchu was worth every step. With the dramatic mountains and valleys and precipitation in the cloud forests, there are many excellent locations for kayaking and white water rafting. Horseback riding gave my legs a break but did not save my butt. Fortunately, you could get a massage for about US$8. In the mountain villages, for about 30 cents, you could try Chicha, an indigenous beer prepared by collecting fresh maize in the morning, chewing it up and spitting the mush into a pot and letting it brew for a day. By evening, it turns into something that looks like a beer but taste nowhere near it, a flat, stagnant, and murky liquid with a revolting layer of spit-like foam on top. Try it if you are really committed to sampling beers around the world or in need of a serious purge of your system.
My life-long dream of being a beach bum was realized when I stayed in Huanchaco, a surfer's hotspot, for 5 weeks. I surfed in the first 2 weeks. Then the current turned and the water became cold so I found a new hobby, Totora Seahorse. For 2000 years, these kayak-shaped watercrafts, made with a reed called totora, have been used by native fishermen. Huanchaco is one of the only three sites in South America where real fishermen still fish with the Totora Seahorse. Most days I got up early in the morning and ran along the beach, watching the fishermen brave 3-foot swells and breaking waves on their Totora Seahorses. There were buyers waiting on the beach to pick the best catch, while the leftovers were handed out to elderly people or whoever needed it. Even I, the professional beach bum, was offered free fish several times. Getting free fish: $0. Experiencing kindness and good human nature: priceless.
I ran into another kind soul in Colca Canyon, where distance is measured by days' hike and time is observed by the change of the seasons. Fabio, a Quechua man, proudly showed me his estate and all his assets: a small adobe hut, fully equiped with a straw bed, a stove, a guinea pig enclosure, and a few rocks completed the furnishing. A small plot of quinoa field cheerfully greeted us on the other side of the foot path. His sun-burnt face glistened with contentment and his wind-chapped lips spoke liberty. What else does one need to be free and happy?

This is an abstract from my travel journal. Go to my Peru Album to see 300 photos of colorful Peru.