El Camino

From Sand Point, Alaska, to the FIFA World Cup

/ Andrei Rostislavovich / Deja un comentario

Four years ago, my brother, some friends and I went to the World Cup in Brazil. I then thought it extremely overrated and determined I would never go to a World Cup again. Yet, here I am, in Sand Point, Alaska, helping prepare a sailing yacht to cross over to Kamchatka and partake in the mayhem of the planet’s most important football event.

Internet is already quite unreliable and slow here on Popof Island, even at the local school’s public library, so these may be the only pictures I’ll share before the Mexico-Sweden game at Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow.

Nice as these pictures may be, they barely reflect the beauty of the Alaskan tundra.

The S/Y ‘Whakaari’, guarded by two bald eagles.

Saturday night at ‘The Jam’. Extremely talented local band playing, among others, awesome covers of Alice in Chains.

Sand Dollar Beach

Top 6 things to do between Phuket and Sand Point, Alaska

/ Andrei Rostislavovich / 1 comentario

On the morning of thursday March 29th, while chilling in my hammock and enjoying the view over Koh Phi Phi and Koh Maithon, I received a formal invitation to visit Kamchatka -that territory only familiar to those who play Risk.

The following day, the first awesome thing I did was to visit the Consulate of the Russian Federation in Bangkok. When asked for plane tickets to support the visa application, I answered I would go by boat. As for hotel reservations, I explained I would sleep on the said boat. The russkis were not impressed, and so suggested I take a seat while they discussed my case. I spent the next hour and a half observing how people lost their nerves, grasping onto my optimism. Very insightful.

The second fun-filled activity involves shopping for and packing all kinds of random stuff, including a gas mask, plenty of long underwear, ski pants and a willy-warmer.

Third, get drunk on the free flow of micheladas and margaritas at El Mexicano, while enjoying some sublime chilaquiles and cochinita pibil.

Fourth and a definite must: walk along the Great Wall of China!

Fifth, visit to the Benaroya Hall in Seattle, home to Pearl Jam’s most beautiful concert, in a state only possible in Washington.

And sixth, briefly walk outside Anchorage Airport for a glimpse of the weather and topography that will accompany the S/Y ‘Whakaari’ and her crew accross the Bering Strait.

Cruising through Thailand on a 100cc Honda Wave

/ Andrei Rostislavovich / 2 comentarios

When I arrived in Phuket I bought an old, not too pretty, but well-maintained 100cc Honda Wave. In the two years I’ve had it, it has never given problems and only occasionally asks for an oil change. It doesn’t have a working speedometer, stopped counting its milage years ago, goes up to 60km/hr and has a handy grocery basked mounted on the front.

Having quit my job as a sailing instructor and with plenty of time to go through the ridiculous process of a visa run, I decided to make the most of this hassle and drive from Cape Panwa to Ranong on this faithful moped.

The journey starts with a tiresome hike through Phuket’s traffic jams and road works and doesn’t really get interesting until Khao Lak -an unimpressive beach resort town, judged by Mexican and Thai standards.

I spent the night there, at a cheap and cosy guesthouse called Les Fleurs, got semi-drunk at the Monkey Bar, where the talented band was playing oldies but goodies, and left the following morning without wondering whether the town deserved another night.

After Khao Lak, a pristine road starts winding through palm oil and rubber plantations, fishing villages, national parks and tsunami-wrecked beaches; a truly enjoyable ride, even on a moped.

It took 4 hours to get to Ranong and, hoping to avoid unpleasant complications with Thai immigration, I decided this time to try to do my visa run via the Andaman Club; a casino, spa and golf resort located on an island belonging to Myanmar. I made it to the pier at 3.15pm, boarded a ferry at 3.30, arrived in Myanmar at 3.50, stamped in, stamped out, and was back in Thailand at 4.20pm, 10 minutes before the very friendly Thai immigration lady closed her counter. The ferry ride cost me 950 baht. Versus the pain of having to procure a crispy 10 USD note for the Myanmar officers to let you spend 5 minutes on their territory, the cost of the long tail to get you over there and the likelyhood that upon your return Thai immigration will find an issue with your visa, your work permit or your looks, the run via the Andaman Club proved well worth it.

Having settled that, I drove towards Ranong’s city centre, had an amazing pizza at Dahla’s (I hadn’t eaten all day, so maybe a bit biased), then crashed at the Ranong Backpackers Hostel, which was pretty decent.

This morning I woke up early and decided to make my way to Surat Thani via the most scenic routes possible.

Googlemaps wanted to send me up to Chumphon and then ride the motorway down to Surat. I decided against it and played around with the app’s satellite imagery until I found a road from Ranong which passed the hot water springs at Hat Som, the Huay Sum Pen Dam and the Ranong Canyon, and then supposedly went all the way to Phato.

However, discovery proved that after the Canyon, the road turns into a treacherous dirt and rocky path.

I could feel my Wave was not enjoying the bumpy ride and feared losing its suspension, popping a tire, drowning the engine in a stream or simply breaking down in the middle of the jungle.

I had to pass six creeks, some deeper, wider and trickier than others, got my jeans wet up to my knees and could see no end to this. Still, I held on to my faith in the little Honda and refused to turn back.

The path cut through desolate, thick palm and rubber plantations, with shabby cabins appearing once in while, housing the extremely poor labourers of these trades.

After torturing my bike and my ass for about 15kms, I came accross a sign that pointed to a waterfall (นัำตก) and decided it was time for a break. I took the detour, which again seemed to go on forever an ever on a shitty road, but after ten minutes found the Tapkon Waterfall completely deserted, unspoiled and beautiful.

Following a refreshing swim, I gathered my courage and resumed the ride, hoping it wouldn’t be long before I found some decent tarmac. Deliverance came some 7kms later, at the town of Pattana Suksa, where this dirt road from hell joins the 4006 road to Patho and from there continues towards the 41 motorway which connects Surat Thani and Chumphon.

Eager to finally get a glimpse of the Gulf of Thailand, I crossed straight over the motorway and headed to Laem Beach, from where I followed the coastal roads, passing through more plantations, fish farms and crappy roads, until I made it to bustling Surat Thani.

Having made it to my destination, I can now say I have no regrets. I won’t deny, however, that there were moments along the way when I felt nervous and stupid (…not the first time I think I’m smarter than Googlemaps). I certainly recommend this dirt path, but advise against doing it on your own, as there are no gas stations nor gas bottles, very few mechanics and no 7/11s along the way.

Cocos (Keeling) to Rodrigues

/ Andrei Rostislavovich / 4 comentarios

With another sailing adventure on the horizon (from Sand Point, Alaska to Petropavlovsk Kamchatka), I again find myself full of unfinished material I’ve been meaning to publish on this blog, such as video, photos and stories from my Indian Ocean crossing. As a first step in this effort, here is some footage taken from Cocos (Keeling) to Rodrigues, a journey of 12 days and 2,007 nautical miles; roughly 3,700 km.

Early morning, fishing lines out:

One of many stunning Indian Ocean sunsets.

Sometimes you are forced to watch the sunset with the engine on…

Rodrigues

Coming into Port Mathurin

The anchorage

Refuelling with the utmost efficiency

A little degustation before properly stocking up.

Rodrigues is a beautiful part of Mauritius, populated by genuinely hospitable people, which I strongly recommend to anyone wishing to escape to a paradise in middle of nowhere.

Yoga Barn, Lulu Lemon, Namaste

/ Virginie Martin-Onraët / 6 comentarios

Sitting at the communal table of the Yoga Barn’s Garden Kafe, I order a ginger, lemon and honey hot pot as I take a look at my surroundings. The Yoga Barn is a beautiful space. Rustic but chic and as green as it gets. With high-end yoga facilities, perfect lighting, high ceilings and comfortable areas to chill and relax between classes, the barn offers a wide and open space set amidst terraced rice paddies and nestled in the bustling mountain village of lovely Ubud in Bali. As I keep looking around, I am stunned by the people – fucking beautiful people: perfect bodies everywhere wearing the most fashionable Lulu Lemon yogi outfits, perfectly tanned and simply gorgeous… Many tattoos all over the place: infinity signs, lotus flowers, Oms, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti… Lots of blondies with dreadlocks… and, the crystal healing necklace seems to be the barn’s uniform. I need to get one.

People from all over the world, true, but the diversity is somehow inhibited by the ruling class of the barn: top 1% without a doubt (they do offer “community free classes”… I don’t mean to overlook this initiative with my comment).

The Kafe Menu explains The Yoga Barn was one of the first veggie cafes in Ubud including “some non-veggie options for those who believe they need them”. Aouch!

As I am one of “those people”, I decide to order a chicken breast with potatoes. They offer only free-range chicken; happy chickens! So, as tables are shared, we all sit close to one another and it’s inevitable not to glance over my neighbors’ orders: kombucha, raw bowls, tofu in its different presentations, tempeh… I see no other happy chickens, uh-oh…

After a couple of minutes, the smiley waitress arrives with my order and says out loud, “one chicken breast with potatoes, pleaaaase!” … My neighbors look at her… and I say: “here” (a small, small here), my neighbors look at me. I feel as if my dealer has just delivered my cocaine order which I am receiving in front of many kinder garden kids… I look back at my beautiful neighbors and smile. It was a happy chicken!

My neighbors change, I finish the (delicious and happy) chicken and two girls sit next to me. I open my book, Dune, and I am ready to immerse myself in it but the conversation distracts me.

  • Are you doing The Dance tonight? – gorgeous girl #1
  • Of course I am, SO excited! – gorgeous girl #2

A stunning guy joins them and asks: “how are you girls?”

  • SO GOOD, what about you?
  • AWESOME! – gorgeous guy responds

I am quite surprised about how good people feel around here, note to self: maybe I should go vegan. Conversation continues:

  • Hey so, we are grabbing a bite, do you want to order something? – GG#2
  • Noooo, I only eat breakfast! Big smile on his face.
  • SO GOOD for you! – GG#1
  • I know, I feel wonderful. I have to get going but I’ll see you tonight riiiight?
  • HELL YEAH! – GG#1&2

They take their hands to their hearts and then to their mouths, they do a little bow and he leaves…

(…)

I take a vinyasa class that day, probably the best vinyasa class I have ever taken, and, when the class ends my neighbor smiles at me and asks me about my tattoo. I tell him about it and he smiles again. Mannnn he is good-looking!

  • Did they use vegan ink? – he asks

WTF. I try to analyze the question. Vegan ink means?
As he sees my startling eyes, he just says:

  • It’s ok if you don´t know, they probably didn’t. I mean if you are not into that…

“Not into that” seems to mean: “if you are more into the let’s-kill-everyone thing”.

After the class I decide to sit in one of the comfy puffs at the lobby and wait for my next class. You can hear everywhere “the dance”, “the dance”, “the dance”. Fuck it, I might as well just do the dance.

The Ecstatic Dance is a free form dance event that recognizes itself by being a “talk free space” and by featuring a live DJ and electronic dance music with little to no direction to how people should dance. The events are drug and alcohol-free and most important, it is a space of non-judgment where people come together to “share a movement experience”.

The barn issues the dance tickets 1.5 hours before the dance starts and people just get all crazy pushing each other to get one of the golden tickets. And yes, I pushed as well.

As I wait for the dance floor to open its doors, I sit in the lobby area having a detox energetic juice before the big event. I would prefer to have a few beers to be ready to loose myself to dance but let’s see what this beetroot drink can do.

People come to the lobby and yogi outfits are gone: beautiful dresses, necklaces, flowers, hippie pants, make up, “OMG, you look amazing!”.

I realize I am still wearing my sports bra and the same sweatshirt I’ve used all week… (…)

An older guy is wearing a “Vegan means Peace” t-shirt and as he walks into the lobby, he gets high-fives from people “al righty!”, “I hear you man!”

  • You vegan? – he asks a girl
  • Of course!
  • How long?
  • 14 months. How about you?
  • 11 years. – smile, hands to the heart, bow, he walks away

As the lobby gets more and more crowded, I put away my book and decide just to watch. The average height is 5.10” and damn, how pretty they all are!

A new conversation starts close-by.

  • Hey, did you invite HER? – cute guy asks a cute girl
  • No way, I didn’t.
  • I mean, she eats caviar, I can’t even…
  • I know, I don’t hang out with people who eat caviar.
  • So wrong!

(…)

  • Hey so, is George coming?
  • Noooo, he is water fasting and he is in his 6th day so he is at that stage where he can’t move.
  • Wow, I SO wanna do that.

(…)

19:20 the dance floor opens… Music starts… people begin to dance, music gets louder and a strong and shared woohoo explodes in the studio… No drugs, no alcohol and people are just dancing like there is no tomorrow. B-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l people.

And so, as the music gets louder, I start to dance… cautiously… a few slow movements, and then a little more, and little more… and…

Fuck it! I close my eyes and I just lose it.

So there I am – quoting Hugh Grant – “dancing with my eyes closed and making a complete fool of myself”, sweating like a pig, jumping, moving and twisting every little part of my tiny 4.11” body and, I feel just AWESOME.

Namaste.

Ubud: ¿shanti shanti o ganas de regurgitar?

/ Andrei Rostislavovich / 2 comentarios

Hmmm… Ubud ¿qué puedo decir sobre Ubud? Seguramente no le dí la oportunidad que debiera, pero no me gustó o, mejor dicho, casi no me gustó. Aprovechamos la visita de una amiga a Bali y que Clarita, la bride to be, se había ido a Ubud a otra sesión de relajación y piñas coladas para hacer la excursión desde Canggu. El camino fue muy bonito y divertido, a ratos por calles pequeñas entre campos y casitas, a otros en avenidas grandes, caóticas, llenas de autos y motos yendo lo más rápido posible. Recogimos a Clarita a un lado del Yoga Barn, que por lo que entendí es como la meca de los yoggis, con clases a todas horas y grupos enormes de estudiantes y bali dreamers. Sentada en la parte trasera de mi moto, Clarita nos guió hacia un restaurante super saludable que tenía una bonita vista hacia la selva y a un templo hinduista. Al bajarse, tuvo la mala suerte de que su chamorro derecho tocara el escape de mi moto, Juanita Chantik, asándose al instante. Complemento su torpeza poniéndose pasta de dientes sobre la herida, haciendo que el choque térmico rompiera la piel, por lo que al cabo de una hora ya estaba secretando pus. Yo me sentía muy mal, pues, además del dolor, me imaginaba lo importante que para ella sería poder presumir sus chamorros el día de su boda. Pero Clarita es fuerte y, luego de mentarme la madre un par de veces y otras a la pobre Juanita, pasamos a ocupar una mesa en aquel restauran.

Yo me pedí un fetuccini de zucchini, que en realidad no era más que zucchini rayado con alguna salsita. Bastante equis, la verdad. Sacha se pidió unos increíbles huevos rancheros que, sorprendentemente, se parecían mucho a los verdaderos. Ya no recuerdo que pidieron Marie y Clarita, sólo sé que envidiaba la elección de Sacha y maldecía la mía. Eso del raw food claramente no es para mí -aunque tal vez un poco de tocino, incluso crudo, hubiera salvado el platillo.

Ubud es un pueblo en la montaña con bonitos templos, buenos restaurantes, un chingo de tiendas de pareos, batik y madres para decorar tu casa bien shanti shanti. Aquí ya no abundan los surfers ni los bikinis, pero abundan los güeros vestidos en trajes típicos balineses, con sorong y sombrerito, paseando por las calles, skypeando en los restaurantes, sentados en el piso (¡al pie de una mesa con sillas!) actualizando su facebook o escribiendo en sus blogs sobre la increíble energía que perciben en Ubud. Los restaurantes enfatizan su fair trade, sus productos orgánicos, la comida raw, libre de gluten, vegana, etc. ¡Bah humbug!

Ubud

Campos de arroz a las afueras de Ubud

Ubud sin duda tuvo sus momentos bonitos, acogedores, pero el turismo yoggi y los fanáticos de Eat, Pray, Love llegaron a desvirtuarlo todo. Se organizan tours en bicicleta para ir a ver los arrozales, tomar fotos preciosas de lxs campesinxs chingándose bajo el sol, con pausas en los varios cafés que hay por todos lados alrededor del pueblo, también con vistas a los arrozales y esclavos, mientras aprovechan del wifi para taggearse con un frapuccino.

El contraste entre las macbooks y la madriza que se acomodan lxs campesinxs a escasos metros de estos me revuelve la pansa. No logro disfrutar de los paisajes y sólo quiero alejarme de ahí, de dejar de contribuir a que el esquema del hombre blanco y su frapuccino frente al balinés y su hoz se siga reproduciendo. Mi humor mejora cuando llegamos al Bosque de los Changos. Aunque no entramos, me divierto en las calles de los alrededores viendo como los changos hostigan a los turistas y vendedores de parafernalia balinesa. Tratan de robarlo todo, sea comida, sea unos lentes, una cámara, etc. No importa. Los balineses cuidan sus changarros armados de resorteras, ramas y escobas y no descansan ni un minuto. Los turistas se confían y van perdiendo cosas, sin saberlo, en el camino. Un señor sale del supermercado con una bolsa de plástico llena de frutas y un chango lo sigue de cerca hasta que alcanza la bolsa, le hace un agujero por debajo, caen todas las frutas, agarra todas las que pueda y se va corriendo, trepando las paredes de una tienda e instalándose en el techo a disfrutar de su tesoro, cuidándose siempre del acecho de otros changos. El señor está furioso. No le causa ni una gracia. Quiere matar al chango. Odia al chango. Odia su existencia. Odia haber salido de su ciudad de gente llena de odio. A mi me da risa y disfruto mucho de la escena, de ver como una persona puede enojarse tanto con un chango.

Debo enfatizar que esto no es más que la expresión de mi propia experiencia en Ubud y que tengo amigos que maman el Yoga Barn, la comida insípida y colocar estatuillas de Ganesh en su jardín. En aras de fomentar la diversidad de opiniones en este blog, de formas de expresarse y abrir este espacio a un mayor número de autores y lectores, la semana que viene Virginie Martin-Onraët, co-capitana del velero «Un Jour» e intrepida escaladora, publicará su visión de Ubud.