So Many Ponies . . .

When we go to the market, we walk. Period, full stop. Or, if it’s really far away, we might splurge on a bemo. (I know, such extravagance). But today, we really went all out. First, we took a taxi. Then we arrived at the market to see pony carts parked outside. I promptly squealed. This, of course, made all the locals chuckle. We finished our shopping, as I urged my parents to hurry up. I wanted a pony ride, damn it. They seemed to be slowing down on purpose, chatting with the tobacco seller, smelling the mangoes, and basically ignoring me. Such kind people. Anyway, after they finished inspecting every single piece of fruit the market had to offer, I rushed them to the pony parking lot. They had been to the market yesterday, and taken a pony cart home, so they were more blasé about the ponies. But I wasn’t. I could never be blasé about ponies. NEVER.

When I finally succeeded in towing them to the ponies, they recognized their pony man from yesterday. Apparently he was very gentle with his pony, so we picked him. The pony, a tiny, shiny, fat brown animal, pulled a ratty, broken down chariot with two wheels. There were nicer carts but we liked this determined, sturdy little pony and the small, kind old man who drove the cart. The pony’s hooves were being reshod, probably with my parents fare from yesterday, so we waited as the pony was tended to by the local farrier. While this was going on, we had to watch as a complete jerk of another pony man, chucked manure and fruit at our driver’s head and tried to convince us to switch carts. We declined.

Finally, the pony was ready. We climbed into the wobbly contraptions, which falls back as you climb in, and squished up to the front, to balance our weight over the wheels and make it easier for the pony. As we trotted out of the yard, the other driver ran up and rubbed manure into our driver’s hair. We all shouted at the other driver and the pony picked up his pace. When we arrived at the small marina owned by a British expat and his Indonesian wife, the pony was slowing down. We hopped out, fed the pony a carrot, and waved it down the road. Best. Transport. Ever.

Shopping; Indonesia Style

Shopping in Indonesia is an endless scavenger hunt of squeezing between small stalls, laden with vegetables, and prowling the aisles of gleaming grocery stores, filled with processed products crammed into plastic wrappers. You learn to ask people not where the store is, but where you can buy a specific type of food. You begin to notice people with shopping bags, and note the direction they came from. It’s so different from shopping in Australia, or America, or Canada. There, you find the grocery store, and with it, everything you need. Here, you have to work for it. First you find the market. That can sometimes take all day, and as markets are busiest in the mornings, when you get there in the afternoon, there’s likely nothing left. So you go the next day, and haggle with cheerful women in bright headscarves that laugh at your attempt to bargain. You return home with colourful fruits and vegetables, pleased with your purchases. But wait! Fruits and vegetables, while, delicious and healthy, do not exactly a dinner make. So you go to the grocery store and find flour and canned goods and perfume and socks. You hunt through the shop, looking for the refrigerated meat in cold, misty cabinets. Consulting the cashier doesn’t help either. She will shrug helplessly and smile hopefully, putting her hands up sadly.

This is the story of our day long quest for chicken. An epic tale that will take you, the reader, from one end of Lauban Bajo to the other, while following, me, the author, and my trusty, yet simple companions. We started in a bemo, the small decorated, bejewelled mini vans that have been outfitted with long benches and pressed into service as taxi/buses/transport things. My trusty, yet simple companions and I could not sit upright in the bemo, which proudly declares that it loves Jesus and Elvis Presley. We requested to be taken to the market. We were taken to a sloping hill with a few stalls, where the market appeared to be almost finished. My trusty, yet simple companions and I leapt heroically from the bemo and dashed to buy the few green offerings. Now, unfortunately, we were stuck on a hill a ways from town while the cruel sun beat down upon us. “Why did you bring us here?” I chastised my trusty, yet simple companions. They had no answers. We hiked for a while until we found a bemo whose clearly flamboyant personality was smothered and repressed under a coat of silver paint. I sympathized.

 My trusty, yet simple companions asked to be taken to the fish market. The fish market! There was a mutiny going on here, and none but I could see it. Fish market indeed. We arrived at the fish market (I can feel my fingers shrink from the words as I labour to write them) and my trusty, yet simple companions bought plantains. An oppressive smell strangled my nose. If a grocery store smelt like this market did, it would get no customers. It smelt like a place where rats hung out. And in fact, they did. My trusty, yet simple companions led us to this hell hole. From now on, they are no longer trusty, just simple. My simple companions led me to the back of the market where they bought mangoes and bananas. Their trusty status has been resumed. However, there was no chicken or beef. Just dried fish which my trusty, yet simple companions turned up their trusty, yet simple noses at.

Our first and only chicken that we found in the market

 We then travelled to the grocery store, and searched half-heartedly for chicken or beef. But then, one of my trusty, yet simple companions found a hidden freezer, shunted to the side in shame. Inside, were large round shapes cloaked in black plastic. They were the size and shape of human heads. I declined to look inside, instead, inquiring of the cashier, what the suspicious shaped black lumps were. “Beef” she whispered in a horrified, revolted tone. We bought one lump of beef. We then continued on our hunt for the elusive chicken. First, we stopped in a European bakery where I got a fruity iced tea and a slice of the best lemon poppy-seed cake EVER, and my trusty, yet simple companions indulged in a ginger coffee. One of my trusty, yet simple companions had the bright idea to ask where we could buy chicken. The cook gestured towards a young girl who had just brought us our food. The girl drew a hand across her throat and made a gagging noise, and then clucked and flapped her arms. My trusty, yet simple companions hastily requested two dead chickens, and promised to be back at four. And there ends the heroic quest of a brave girl and her trusty, yet simple companions.

P.S.

Today they lied to me and told me it was Friday when it was in fact Saturday. Evil !@#$%^&*()(*&^%$#@@@@@#$%^&*&&^%$%^&$#$%^&*^%$#$@#. I swore to my father that one day, I would smother him in his sleep. Make a note of that

The Critters of Komodo

Hello, to my mostly faithful readers! I hope you’re all doing well so that you can continue to read my blog. If you all died, no one would read it, and then I’d be sad. Any-ways, we’ve been poking around the Komodo National park, that’s made up of about four or five big islands and lots and lots of little ones. And on these islands, there are critters of various shapes and sizes. When we pulled into our anchorage yesterday, Timor deer dotted the rocks like the chocolate chips in freshly baked cookies. 

There was big deer and little deer, brown deer and tan deer, and BABY DEER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! As you no doubt have assumed from the excess of exclamation marks, this fact excited me. AND THE BABY DEER WERE SWIMMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

 CUTENESS IN A SMALL FURRY BUNDLE. There were also wild boars. And wild BABY PIGS. This morning, I watched gleefully as a large mama pig led her two little pigs down the mountainside to the beach. She then encouraged them into the water for their morning bath, which sent my mum and me into squealing fits of joy and caused my dad to shake his head sadly at our delight. 

Of course, Komodo isn’t all small baby animals that cause you to practically wet your pants over their utter adorableness. If you talk about Komodo, you have to talk about the dragons. On Rinca, one of the islands in the park, we visited these- lizard/dragon/voldemort/Darth Vader/ things. When they get mad at each other, they swell up and sound like Darth Vader. And I swear to god, they’re secretly claiming that they’re the dark lord. They also bear a strong resemblance to Voldemort. When we arrived at the dock on Rinca, a guide leapt up to take us to the office to pay for our park pass, person pass, boat pass, hiking fee and guide fee. His name was Paul, he was shorter than me, and he looked extremely nervous. He carried a long forked stick, which he used to warn off the dragons. When we asked whether the dragons had come to recognise the stick, he snorted. “It’s not magic” he told us. “If it’s not determined to eat you, it works fine. But if they’re hungry, run, and climb a tree”. He glanced down at our sports sandals doubtfully. I then noticed that all the guides were wearing trainers. “I’ll leave you my stick” he offered, heading off to the office. When we got close, he told us that the office had been raided three times by dragons, and the in charge guy had been bitten twice. “I think the dragons know he’s corrupt” he mused thoughtfully. Once we had paid, he took us on a winding path through the ranger’s houses. My mum squeaked. I turned to look at her, and she was doing a little excited dance, and pointing under the house, where about eight large dragons rested. “That one’s smiling!” she giggled. I looked at the one in question. Its mouth was open and it was propped up on its front legs. Then, there was the Darth Vader noise. Paul gripped his stick. “Oh, shit” he muttered, as a dragon slowly heaved himself to his feet.

Later on our walk, I asked if there were many female guides. He laughed and shook his head. “No women!” he said. “I think it is too dangerous for them”. I raised an eyebrow. I was quite a bit bigger than him. When I pointed out that danger doesn’t lessen or grow depending on gender, he shrugged. “I didn’t tell my parents that I work here. They think I work in a restaurant” he told us, changing the subject hastily. After our walk was finished, we went and looked at the dragons again. These ancient animals were huge and mysterious. They were the largest lizards in the world, and on the islands, they had no predators. I was so privileged to have seen them in their natural habitat, and I know it is a memory that I will carry for the rest of my life.   

Making Friends in Maumere

In Maumere, it took two days for us to find the market. The first day, the scooter driver sent us to the right. The man selling bananas sent us left. The schoolgirls sent us to the back of town. The bemo driver took us to the park. By the end of the day, we were sure it was a plot to confuse the foreigners. Eventually, we headed home with our purchases from the supermarket that we had found. The supermarket was a large building with tidily ordered rows of teas and cookies and soap, wrapped, then double wrapped, and then triple wrapped with plastic. The only fresh food was imported apples at $7 a kilo. However, we did manage to find the lone pork chop, buried deep in the freezer and frozen rock solid. We wearily trudged home, tired of the heat and disappointed that we had been unable to find the market. We were unpacking our groceries, when we realized that we had accidently bought long-life chocolate milk. I didn’t even know that that existed!

The next day, we took off at 8am, determined, that this time, the market would not escape. We marched off, filled with new resolve. We weren’t exactly sure how we would find the market, but find it we would. We passed the park, with the large statue of Jesus smiling blindly and benevolently down on the cracked pavement and withered shrubs. Two teenage girls walked laughing, towards us. “Hello mister! How are you?” one asked, and then burst into a new fit of giggles with her friend. It appears that in Indonesia, foreigners of both genders are ‘mister’. We smiled and waved and called, ‘Selemat pagi! Di mana pasar?” (Good morning! Where is the market?) The two girls pointed different ways, had a brief argument, and then smiled, and both pointed the same way. We thanked them and walked away.

After a couple of blocks, the girls appeared again. They started to lead us to the market and it seemed as if they were our self-appointed guides. It turned out that they were in a tourism program, learning English, so that they could go to Bali and work in hotel management. They were fifteen, and living in a boarding house with several other girls while their parents worked in Bali. They got us to the market, and we bought them ice-cream as a thank you. They then marched us back to the boat, practising their English with us all the way. When we got close to the boat, we were joined by another friend of theirs, also in the tourism program. She was seventeen, and her English was quite good. We invited them back to the boat, eager to repay them for being such wonderful guides. After much giggles, they accepted. They loved Charlie and also the artwork on the walls. We exchanged phone-numbers and facebook, and promised to stay in touch. They laughed and grinned and then indicated that they must go. Wishing them luck, we waved as my dad took the back to the wharf. They were so sweet and so kind and I hope that they will succeed in whatever they do.

Village Life

Yesterday we went to a traditional Indonesian village. We were standing by the side of the road, trying to figure out where the bus-stop was, when a car pulled up. Two men stepped out and offered to take us there. Their names were Elfis and Nobbi. We got in the car and headed up through a bumpy, winding road, while Elfis and Nobbi watched music videos by this elderly Christian guy. They seemed to have an endless supply of them. We eventually ended up at the foot of a steep hill, which we trudged up, ending up at a small village of traditional houses with thatched roofs and no walls. We were greeted by the village leader, who dressed in original garb and showed us his spears, machete, and bow and arrows. We were then led to where the women had set up their various necklaces, bracelets and baskets for sale. They were all basically the same thing, and most of them showed signs of being produced in a factory. My mum however, bought four baskets that we didn't actually need, and my dad bought a wooden spoon. It was interesting to see just how isolated they were. They had their own pigs and chickens, and they grew most of their own food. After we had been waved off, we took Elfis and Nobbi out for lunch. For the five of us to have huge lunches, plus drinks, only cost about eight dollars. The food was quite spicy, to me, but I soldiered on, until being informed that this was 'mild' for Indonesia. After being dropped off near the harbour, Elfis asked for money. We had paid for gas and food, and they hadn't said anything about money at first. We had hoped they were just being friendly, and showing their country to foreigners. Despite that, we had had a wonderful day and it was fascinating to learn about the traditional lifestyle. (My dad also bought a machete at from a market on the way home, for chopping up coconuts, and declared that it made him feel 'manly').

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Visiting the Alors

Today, we are heading to Alor Island, part of the Alor archipelago. We plan to spend six weeks slooooowly heading up to Bali. We have about fifteen or sixteen travel days. When we were sailing up the coast of Australia, we were moving every day. But now, we're going to spend roughly four weeks just lazing about. Scuba diving, snorkelling, swimming, hiking, exploring, talking to locals, going to markets . . . These are all things we just didn't have time for, in Australia. We had a normal life, school, work, circus and friends took up all our time. We had such a wonderful time in Australia, but I'm really excited about this new part of our voyage. The area of the archipelago that we're going to is newly protected by the locals, and is just taking off as a scuba diving spot. There are also several traditional villages that we're hoping to visit. We have about a week in the Alor Islands, which to me sounds like an insane amount of time. It should be fun though, and I'm looking forward to exploring Indonesia.

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First Impressions of Indonesia

First Impressions of Indonesia

Walking the streets of Kupang for the first time was interesting, shocking and wonderful. As me and my tall parents passed the crowds of small Indonesians, loads of the boys or young men whistled and shouted. At first we thought it was because we were the only white people in the mass of people. But we soon realised that they weren’t talking to us. They were talking to my legs and my mum’s cleavage. I was wearing my usual outfit, shorts and a t-shirt. My mum was wearing a long dress that wouldn’t be considered low-cut in Australia, but it was here. Together, we scandalised the town.



Today, I wore a knee length dress with a highish neck-line. My mum wore a similar one. We still got some shouts, but people were talking to us. They were looking at our faces and asking our names. They would touch our hair and smile happily. And it made me feel like dirt. I completely understand the need to be respectful of other people’s cultures and religions, but when people think that the way I dress influences me as a person? That confuses me so much. I dress to be comfortable in the heat. I dress in a way that makes me feel good about myself. However, when I show my legs or shoulders and that makes people view me as if in exposing my body, they somehow own me, that makes me embarrassed and angry. It seems as if in wearing shorts, my body becomes separate from me. I also think, that if they want to stare at me and judge me for my un-modest outfit, that says more about them then it does about me. I wish I could be someone who laughs it off. But I’m not. It hurts when people judge me and shout and whistle. I’m thirteen. I’m still a kid. And I don’t want to have to think first about how others will see me if I wear a particular outfit.

Two Fish

TODAY I CAUGHT TWO FISH!!!!!!!!!! TWO!!!! I KNOW!!!!!!!! Seeing as the last fish I caught was a three inch long sunfish when I was 7, I’m pretty proud. We’re in Alcaro Bay and we’ve stopped for a day. Not because it was windy, not because we had to repair something but because we met a lovely couple who encouraged us to stay. Their names were Ted and Des and when we arrived in the anchorage, they promptly zipped over in their dinghy to tell us about Darwin and give us advice. We joked about running out of food but it turned out they had stocked up for six months and insisted we come for breakfast. I think we might have eaten an entire pig. There were sausages and pork chops and bacon and hash browns, baked beans, toast and eggs. Impressive. 

We went to shore to walk off our breakfast and when we came back all of fifteen minutes later; Ted and Des were fishing and had already caught about fifteen fish. There were a few big fish which they kept and lots of medium ones that they tossed back or flung on shore for the big sea eagles which inhabited the shore. When they tossed fish on shore, an eagle would swoop down immediately and, not stopping, grasp the fish in its talons and fly away to enjoy its treat in privacy. They offered to let me try so I thought what the heck, might as well. 

Now, I’ve always been the bad luck fisherman. When I’m around, nobody catches anything. My mum’s the same. So, naturally I was surprised when 20 seconds after tossing my line in, I caught a fish (Wooo-hoooooo!!). Excitement. After about five more minutes I caught the biggest fish of the day. I named it Doris. Doris was a goodly fish. She was about 6 pounds. After chopping off Doris’s head, my mum spotted a mud crab. A big one. Ted and Des claimed it was tiny but I don’t believe them. Ted grabbed his weighted throwing net thingamajig and after a few tries, caught it. And immediately gave it to us, because apparently, they were sick of crab. So we got three fish and a crab and a wonderful friendship which sounds really soppy and sentimental but I don’t care. So, good day.

Lizard Island

I've been busy. On Saturday, we went on a rough sail and then a long snorkel. On Sunday, we went on a 4.4km hike up 1000ft of elevation. At 8am. Without breakfast. UP TO A CAPTAIN COOK LOOKOUT. As some of you might already know, I have a grudge against Captain Cook. When we were crossing the South Pacific, we sailed where Cook had sailed, anchored where Cook had anchored and walked where Cook had walked. By the end of it, I was officially DONE, with Cook. So it was with great pleasure that I thought (foolishly, mistakenly) that we were ACTUALLY done with Cook. But it was not to be. Sailing up to Darwin, we've been to the town of 1770, where Cook was. We've been to CookTOWN (the name seems self explanatory). And now we're leaving Lizard Island where Cook spotted a path through the Great Barrier Reef

But back to my busy life. On Sunday, we also went scuba diving. On Monday, we walked 6km in the sun with no shade, in soft, black, BURNING HOT sand to the Lizard Island Research Center that offers a place for university students and scientists to study and research the Barrier Reef. Sadly, this March, a Category 5 cyclone ripped through Lizard Island and the surrounding reef. The cyclone spent 11hrs over the small island where it devastated what once was spectacular coral and all the vegetation on the island. It's difficult for the coral to bounce back because it's facing additional pressures such as the Crown of Thorns starfish and bleaching due to the ocean temperatures rising.

It was clear just how much damage the cyclone and us humans had caused to the reef. Instead of the huge bommies made entirely out of various types of coral in a rainbow of colours, which you see in postcards of the Great Barrier Reef, it was seaweed covered rock with the occasional small, bleached piece coral dotting the wall. However it was a bit of a mixed bag, with a barren wall for a few meters and a thriving reef for the next few feet. The good news is that the fish population was looking great, which is wonderful to see because many people fish on the edges of the no-take zones, claiming that the protected areas 'just don't work'.

Anyway, we just left Lizard Island and it's a bit rough so I'm sitting in our desk chair rolled back and forth across the boat and TRYING to get this written. But finally I've succeeded. Yay!!! Bye until next time!!!

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The Daintree

Yesterday we went to the Daintree Rainforest. It's the oldest rainforest in the world.We took a shuttle to the edge of the forest and then set off to explore the huge tropical wonder. As we entered the densely packed trees, the air immediately cooled down and the light was dimmed. Supposedly, the rainforest is home to a number of cassowaries, a huge emu-like bird with a curved horn on the top of their head. They're apparently quite aggressive, even attacking the unwary tourist. Sadly, we didn't see any. We had considered bringing the cat as bait for the cassowary, but decided, seeing as we're quite fond of him, to keep him for the crocodiles instead. We went on a steep hike up a mountain and once we were sufficiently warm, plunged into a freezing mountain river. Said river, was cold, had a swift current and lots of smooth boulders plunked into the middle of the river. Still, it was the perfect way to bring your body temperature down after a lovely hike. The river was called the Mossman River and was part of the part of the Daintree Rainforest in Cairns. ( And you can't pronounce it 'Care-ins', it must be 'Cans' ). So that's my most recent 'adventure'.
 

A suspension bridge over the Mossman River

BIIIIIIIIIGGGGG TREE!!!!!!!

Just cause I can

This tree got a bit confused . . .

SWIMMING!!!!!!!

Abbot Point

Abbot Point

Yesterday we passed Abbot Point. The long pier, that allows ships to collect coal, extends 1.5 miles off shore. Abbot Point is a large coal port that contributes significantly to the huge amount off coal getting shipped out off Australia each year. However, one pier is clearly not enough. Why have only one, when you could have two? Or three? So that’s what they’re doing. They’re going to dredge off Abbot Point so that the water will be deep enough for two more piers. The dredge spoil will be dumped on or near coastal coral reefs or sea grass beds. However they’re not really taking into account the fact that dredge spoil spreads. It doesn’t just sink immediately; it spreads and can smother and kill many marine habitats. Also, areas like the sea grass beds are a large source of food for animals like dugongs and turtles.

Gladstone is also undergoing a building boom

 Now, for my opinion. I think that the people who are justifying all this as okay, are either seriously misinformed, crazy, or just don’t care. I’ve spent more than half my life at sea, watching hundreds of animals play near our boat. When we first arrived, we didn’t snorkel on any reefs. And then we were in Brisbane for two and a half years and none of us really wanted to swim in the Brisbane River. But now we’ve snorkeled on a few reefs in Australia and I know that the level of sea life we’re seeing isn’t healthy. Because I’ve snorkeled on lots of reefs outside of Australia and while I don’t have data and notes, I think I can tell a little bit about whether reefs are healthy. We have seen no sharks. No large fish. None of the signs of a healthy, well balanced reef. And it makes me want to cry.

We’re seeing a reasonable amount of turtles and whales when at sea and in anchorages, but no signs of life on the reefs. We’re heading more into the Great Barrier Reef area, so I’m hoping that there’s life. The largest coral reef in the world is starting to die. And unless we do something, we’re going to see it end.

Ceilydh: Trapped in the . . . Well, Just Stuck

We arrived in Refuge Bay just over a week ago, planning to spend a few days in the anchorage, deciding where to haul out the boat. We're. Still. Here. We didn't stay because it was pretty or we met nice people. We stayed because the wind is blowing roughly 30 knots and we didn't like the look of the waves. It's funny though, we're refuges from the wind in Refuge Bay. The beaches here are strewn with coral, the forest is dense and inaccessible, and, we are, the only boat here. We went for a quick swim on the reef yesterday, and while it was healthy and beautiful, it was also stinking cold. We're going snorkelling on it again today. Why? Because there's not much else to do. But, I must admit the view from the boat is lovely and it was wonderful to see such a healthy, colourful reef. There's also lots of sea life. There's Yrtle the Turtle, Helvetica the Lobster and Melanie the Soft Shell crabby snaily shell-like-thing. And of course we mustn't forget Daisy, the sleazy, villainous dolphin responsible for all the muggings and robberies in the area. And for those of you that are no doubt wondering, no, being stuck in an isolated, windy anchorage has not made me lose my mind. It's just done something strange to my creative streak.

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Five year crusiversiry

The 23^rd of July was our 5^th crusiversiry. In two more months, I’ll have lived on a boat for half my life (I was born on my parents’ first boat). I’ve grown a bit since we left in the July of 2009 (where did that cute little 7 year old we left with go?) and I’ve met many amazing people. I’ve swum with sea lions in the U.S, I’ve wandered through sun baked desert in Mexico, I’ve foraged for fruit in the Marquesas, I’ve dove in crystal clear water in the Tuamotus and I’ve gone to school in Australia. I’ve done more than I could possibly dream of doing. And the best part? My parents and my cat, Charlie, have been along for every step of the way. Here are some photos of every year on the water.

The year we left and now

The Gulf Islands

Mexico

Marquesas

Christmas baking

Australia Zoo

Starting school

Leaving Brisbane

The Enchanted Butterfly Forest

Trees filled with gently fluttering butterflies, sunlight shining through their gossamer wings . . .  Lovely fantasy, right? Well it turns out that in the town of 1770, they really do have a butterfly forest. The town is home to hundreds of blue tiger butterflies. We were going on a hike up to see where Captain Cook’s ship, the Endeavour, sailed in, in, you guessed it, 1770. As we were walking, we noticed a few bright blue butterflies. We kept walking and burst into a butterfly blizzard. Not exaggerating in the slightest. The trees were hung with butterflies. They looked like strange, exotic fruit. There was a deep gully just off the path and at the bottom, trees that were so thick with butterflies, the trees looked dead, the butterflies disguised as dead leaves. I managed to scramble down the dusty incline with the camera and snapped a few pictures. Ta-da! 

Our first glimpses of the butterflies . . .

                                                 

Butterfly Blizzard!

                                                          

More butterflies . . .

Hundreds of butterflies adorned the trees . . .