SE Asia

Transcription

SE Asia

Adrenaline
SE Asia
Sports & Lifestyle
5 - Star Sports
sailing, golf, fishing,
elephant polo
Health
spa, meditation,
yoga, massage
Crazy Sports Other People Do:
tower jumping • Thai boxing • base jumping • bungee jumping
Adventure Sports:
kayaking • trekking • rafting • climbing • dragon-boating
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www.adrenalineSEasia.com
Adrenaline
SE Asia
Sports & Lifestyle
Published by:
Andaman Sky Co., Ltd, 245/5 Moo 2, Ao Nang, Krabi 81000, Thailand
Managing Editor Simon Ramsden
Editor-at-large David Wilson
Singaporean Sub-editor Michael Franco
Marketing Director Chutipa Chuayjuan
Bangkok Sales Representative Thitiyakorn Buasri
Phuket Sales Representative Sinard Panthawangkoon
Singapore Sales Representative Keith Teh Gim Leng
Hong Kong Sales Representative Adam Chute
Administration Manager Tipmonta Khawtong
Graphics Design Paul Stevens
For all editorial enquiries write to [email protected]
For all sales enquiries write to [email protected]
Editor's Note
The publisher, Andaman Sky Co., Ltd, promises to give 51% of the profits from this magazine to the Thai branch
of the Christian Childrens' Fund Foundation. Thailand is a country that is world-famous for making people
happy. This particular magazine editor (Simon Ramsden) absolutely loves Thailand and the Thai people. On two
occasions in my life I have come to Thailand at a low ebb and on both occasions the land of smiles taught me how
to smile again. I appeal to all readers who have also been reminded how to smile to support our efforts to repay the
astoundingly warm and loving Siamese peoples' never-ending Buddhist and Islamic hospitality by sponsoring a Thai
child (see page186).
Adrenaline Magazine is produced and published by Andaman Sky Co., Ltd. and is protected by copyright.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any form - printed, electronic, photocopy or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher.
4
5
.57
P
Contents by Destination
p.16
p.
40
SE Asia
180
Golf – Signature Holes
Spas – Signature Treatments187
57
Meditation
199
Restaurant Listings
China
124
Hong Kong – Feng Shui Rocks
22
Hong Kong – Typhoon Sailing
66
Macau – Tower Jumping
16
Shianghai – Base Jumping
Indonesia
40
Bali – Surfing the Generation Gap
126
Sumatra – White Water Rafting
p.180
p.187
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Malaysia
Borneo – Focus76
78
Borneo – Heart of the Wild
84
Borneo – Sutera Harbour Golf
80
Borneo – Beating Mt Kinabalu
Borneo – Via Ferrata92
Borneo – Mandara Spa88
36
Kuala Lumpur - Hot Rocks Massage
73
Langkawi – Night-time Jungle Trek
132
Perhentian Islands – Scuba Diving
p.36
Philippines
Borocay – Extreme Sailing62
p.73
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p.110
p.138 Singapore
138
Dragon Boat Racing
142
Wakeboarding
Thailand
104
Ao Nang – Rest Days
106
Ao Nang – Elephant Trek
Ao Nang – Hot Springs107
Ao Nang – Temple Trek108
118
Ao Nang – Family-friendly Fishing
Ao Nang – Monster Fishing110
Ayudhaya – Songkran Festival53
Chiang Mai – Bungee Jumping48
44
Hua Hin – Elephant Polo
p.44
10 www.adrenalineSEasia.com
p.142
170
Kanchanbari – Tiger Temple
www.adrenalineSEasia.com 11
.101
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Thailand
Khao Lak – Funny Fishing32
p59
Koh Lanta – Yoga101
146
Koh Phi Phi – How Not to Climb
Koh Samui – Snake Handler98
150
Koh Yao Noi – Focus
152
Koh Yao Noi – Andaman Sea Safari
Pattaya – Thai Boxing28
Phang Nga – Kayaking158
174
Phuket – Big Game Fishing
Railay – Extreme Climbing59
Trang – Bird’s Nest Collectors162
Vietnam
p.152
166
Halong Bay – Kayaking
p.174
p.28
Base Jumping
Shanghai
Extreme: B.A.S.E Jumping Shanghai
Base jumping is not an extreme sport. It
should be categorized, instead, as a 'very
extreme sport.' Or maybe as a 'commonly
lethal sport.' Unlike skydiving and bungee
jumping, it is not uncommon for people to be
killed. This is because the thrill of these other
sports is actually very well controlled whereas
with base jumping it is not.
“
A gust of wind can and
does slam base jumpers
into the side of the
mountain or building.
”
The ‘base’ in base jumping is an acronym that
stands for B-Buildings, A-Aerials, S-Spans,
E-Earthen Objects. Base jumpers climb to
the top of one of these structures and hurl
themselves off the top, hoping that they have
enough time for their parachute to deploy and
arrest their descent before they hit the ground
and that they do not smash into the structure
on the way down.
It might surprise you to learn that jumping
from a cliff or a very tall building is way more
dangerous than skydiving, as the distance
to the ground is small in comparison, but it
is this close proximity to the ground and of
course the structure itself that are the sources
of the danger. A gust of wind can and does
slam base jumpers into the side of the mountain
or building. If the chute does not work the base
jumper doesn't get a second chance with a
backup chute.
Base jumping is a fairly recent sport. It started
illegally when some people decided to jump
from buildings in highly populated cities, not
just for the thrill of it but also for the attention
they could draw. Often there was a police
officer waiting to arrest them if they were still
alive after landing. These people took it upon
themselves to donate these surprises to the city
of their choosing and the fine was to them like
paying a skydiving fee.
From these first beginnings, people began
finding sites where they could jump from
cliffs in areas that would not draw the same
attention as the illegal activity occurring in the
city did. These natural structures are not found
just anywhere. This and the extreme danger
are factors which limit the number of people
participating in this which is, together with solo
climbing, the most extreme of extreme sports.
This might be a good thing because the fewer
the people doing it the fewer the people who will
splatter themselves on the ground below.
Most people’s desire for an adrenaline rush is
satisfied by sports such as sky-diving, rockclimbing etc, but for some people it is not. This
editor has spent hours trying to work out what it
is that causes some people to need more danger
to get their adrenaline fix. One theory is that it
is a bit like hard drugs, where the unfortunate
junkie graduates to the lethal substances as he
can’t get his kicks from the softer ones. This
however equates base jumpers with heroin
addicts, which is hardly reasonable or flattering.
On balance, it seems to me that the solo
climbers and base jumpers are so full of life that
they cannot believe that their own demise is a
distinct possibility. If any reader has another
explanation, maybe they would be so kind as to
share it with us, by emailing me on siramsden@
adrenalineseasia.com.
So, although base jumping might sound like
fun, most people can get sufficient thrills
from skydiving, bungee jumping etc. For base
jumpers this isn't the same because they are
not taking enough risk, but for most people it's
the thrill they want and not the risk. Readers
are advised to leave this very extreme sport to
those who are enjoying life to the maximum but
really don't feel a need to extend their life for all
that much longer.
Extreme: B.A.S.E Jumping Shanghai
Tim Emmett – Base Jumper
N
“
ot another one” said Tim into his mobile,
“that’s five so far this year. How did he die?”
Tim is a professional rock climber and base
jumper. In order to attract sponsorship and
patronage, he must always push the limits
of what is safe and sensible – on second
thoughts, please cancel the word ‘sensible’,
because what Tim does for a living can in no
way be classified as sensible. No life insurance
company in the world would touch Tim. I
just hope he at least makes it till middle age,
because as well as being an adrenaline junkie
par excellence Tim is also a very nice guy. This
is because he’s a very happy man. His appeal
is enhanced by the fact that he always seems
so deliriously jolly.
He’s so nice that those of us who are not as
happy as he is can maybe forgive him for
being so. No doubt he’s so happy because
he’s always having such a huge amount of
fun, living completely in the moment and not
worrying about unimportant things like living
past thirty. Maybe fatherhood would make
him be more careful with his life, it certainly
made me much more conscious of my own
mortality. His perfect build, good looks and
fit physique lead one to expect a deep macho
voice, so it’s a bit of a surprise when you first
hear Tim open his mouth, as an incongruous
contralto emerges. Most odd, like the Gods
had played a joke on him when handing out
the testosterone – “How about this, Zeus”
suggested Dionysus, “we’ll make this one
as masculine as they come, but give him a
squeaky voice, then watch people snigger
when they meet him.” Sorry Tim, I just
couldn’t resist that one.
I first met Tim in 2005, on a small ledge
halfway up the sea-cliffs of Pembrokeshire in
Wales. He immediately asked me if I’d like
to go deep water soloing with him and his
mates. They were about to traverse around
the cliff until they were over deep water, then
solo climb up, using the depth of the water
below as a safety net for when they fell off.
I had heard a bit about this sport and really
fancied a go, but I’d also heard that for safety
you should really do it at high tide, whereas
at the time the tide was receding. I pointed
this out to Tim, who shrugged and said that
he reckoned that we ought to “have at it.”
It didn’t take me very long at all to decline,
citing a prior appointment which both of us
knew really amounted to a lack of bottle.
I came away with the impression that Tim
had (in an extremely friendly fashion) invited
me along to do something that was really
rather dangerous. The next time I saw him
was when I paid for him to visit Koh Lao Liang
in Thailand when, after I had bandaged him
up after a climbing accident, he invited me
to do something which seemed to me equally
certifiable - deep-diving at night. I explained
that, whilst I’d love to, I was only qualified
to 'open water' certification level by PADI, so
hadn’t been trained to go so deep or to dive at
night. Tim’s response was that neither had he,
but he reckoned we ought to “have at it.”
The next thing I heard about Tim was that he
had climbed to the top of the climbing wall on
Tonsai, Thailand and had been preparing to
base jump off (please see the previous pages
for an explanation of what base jumping is).
Our friend Trevor Massiah was at the base of
the cliff, updating him via mobile phone about
the wind strength. It was really important that
the wind didn’t blow too strongly onto the
cliff face, as otherwise Tim might be smashed
against the rocks and would then surely
be killed. An English base jumper had died
attempting the same jump the previous year
– he had fallen while solo-climbing the ascent
prior to his jump.
The wind refused to die and Tim was in a
quandary. He could either jump or he could
solo-descend the face, which is even more
dangerous than solo-ascending it, especially
as it was by now getting dark. He really only
had two choices – either jump or wait till
morning to descend. But bottling out just isn’t
on Tim’s agenda.
Trevor, however, kept on telling Tim that
the wind was too strong. The subsequent
conversation went something like this:
Trevor: “It’s still too strong.”
Tim: “You sure?”
Trevor: “Yes”
Tim: “Has it slackened at all?”
Trevor: ”Yes, but only a tiny bit, it’s still not
safe”
Tim: ”Did you say the wind had died?”
Trevor: “NO, I DIDN’T”
But it was too late. With a cry of “have
at iiiiitttttt” Tim launched himself into the
growing gloom. Mercifully he landed safe and
sound on the beach the right interval later
(very soon, but not strawberry-jam soon).
Back to the first line of this article. Tim and
I were at the time sitting in a pub in Bristol,
England, nursing a pint of Pedigree each. He
explained that five of his friends had died in
extreme sports accidents over the previous
year. One had died while deep-water soloing.
Deep-water soloing can be, literally, safer
than golf if you want it to be. You climb out
of a kayak directly up a rock face and then
fall or jump into water that you know is deep
enough, with the kayak waiting to pick you
up. But some people don’t want it to be really
safe – Tim’s friend had drowned, in front of
his wife. Another friend had decided that
‘normal’ base jumping wasn’t thrilling
enough. He had ascended a very
high rock face and jumped off.
Most base jumpers, after
jumping, will do everything
humanly possible to get as
far from the rock face as
quickly as possible, as it
represents such a hazard
to their safety. But when
the thrill of doing this grows
stale, some die-hards decide
to don a suit with webbing
between the arms and torso
and to use this to stay as close
as possible to a very large
rock-face while plummeting
earthwards. The idea is to
almost hit all the ledges on the way down, but
not quite. Tim’s friend had been hugging the
face during his descent and had misjudged the
size of a ledge hurtling up towards him. He
died instantly but then, upsettingly for Tim,
landed at Tim’s feet.
Editor’s note – I apologise for the fact that the
images that accompany this article were not
taken on Tonsai beach, Thailand, they were
taken in Shianghai and Kuala Lumpur, two of
the few cities in the world which welcome base
jumpers. The reader can maybe appreciate
that obtaining base jumping images is somewhat difficult
Typhoon Sailing: Hong Kong
Hong Kong - Typhoon Sailing
Article by Simon Ramsden
Image by courtesy of
Bavaria Yachts
www.bavaria-yachts.com
W
ith a terrific crack like a pistol-shot
the starboard bow mainstay parted.
The mainmast shuddered in the most
alarming fashion.
“Not good”, I thought, “not good at
all.” I don’t know very much about
nautical matters, but even I know
that a mainmast really ought to
have at least 4 stays attached in 4
different directions if it is to stay in
the preferred position, ie vertical.
a wave that had swung the mast over from
port to starboard and then back to port
again so quickly that, as the mainmast had
passed the vertical, the stress on the stay
had become too much and it had snapped.
“Most unimpressive engineering,” I thought,
“you’d think they would have built the thing to
withstand a bit of a blow.” I doubted if it would
have happened to the Beneteau or Bavaria
boats I’m most familiar with.
A couple of days earlier, after a bit of
pampering at Hong Kong’s art-galleryimpersonating Langham Place Hotel,
we had weighed anchor and set sail
into the central reaches of the South
China Sea. A force-9 typhoon had
unexpectedly changed direction and
blown in from the southeast, keeling
the yacht over to the bow by about 30
degrees.
“Morgan” I half-heard the skipper shout
through the howling wind, “MOVE.” Morgan,
who had been working on the port side, hadn’t
needed the skipper’s warning, as he too had
heard the stay part and was frantically moving
forward in order to vacate the port side as
rapidly as possible as, if the mast went, this
was the direction in which it would fall. All
eyes turned to the starboard stern mainmast
stay. Would it hold?
Huge seas were running head-on from
the southwest, with the occasional
rogue wave slamming in from the
southeast and keeling the boat over to
an extreme degree. Each time, the yacht
took a frighteningly long time to right itself,
groaning, complaining and creaking like the
geriatric that it wasn’t. Each time I wondered
how steel, timber and fibreglass could possibly
survive such an onslaught. It had been such
It would not. The entire cleat was ripped from
the boat and shot skywards, this time with a
report more like a car-crash than a gunshot
and sending an accompanying hail of splinter
arrows like wooden shrapnel up into the
rigging.
“Hmm”, I thought, “even worse, but at least I
wasn’t up there getting skewered, as always
seemed to happen to at least one of Horatio
Hornblower’s crew in CS Forester’s brilliant
nautical novels.
The mainmast lost no time in following the
starboard bow stay as with an almighty
bang it parted a metre from the deck and
crashed to port. The sails and rigging tangled
with the bow gunwale rail posts, fixing the
stricken mast to the port side and immediately
increasing the yaw to what seemed like about
70 degrees but which I am assured cannot
have been more than 50.
I may be a nautical no-brainer, but I am
British and have always been fascinated by the
stoicism and sometimes heroism in our tiny
island’s remarkable nautical history. Unless CS
Forester’s novels were pure fiction then the
mainmast now posed a significant threat to
the vessel and to the lives of all aboard her.
Well, I’m used to fear, in fact in my younger
days I habitually courted it by falling off
rock-faces hundreds of feet above the
ground, but the fear I used to experience
while climbing was different, as then I could
always do something about the source of
the fear, whereas now I felt as helpless and
about as much use as a baby in a bullring.
With nothing to contribute and so nothing to
occupy my mind, my brain idly wondered if
an intellectually-committed but spirituallybackward Buddhist like myself could summon
up enough equanimity and non-attachment
to meet my possible impending demise with
dignity. I rapidly came to the conclusion that
no, I could not, if the worst came to the worst
I’d feel no shame at all in screaming like a
baby.
This typhoon thing wasn’t at all what I had
thought I was letting myself in for - I had
been assured that it was going to miss us. My
last sailing trip to Asia had been much more
my style. We had chartered an 8-berth yacht
with crew from a Phuket outfit by the name
of Faraway Yachting and then sailed up to
the Myanmar (Burmese) archipelago. I had
arrived in Phuket a week earlier and taken a
sailing course in the nearby waters, having
chosen to learn there due to the absence of
extreme weather and as I had heard about
the breathtaking scenery in nearby Phang Nga
Bay. The week’s sailing lessons at Pro-Yacht,
combined with lots of island hopping, had
proved to be thoroughly enjoyable. Afterwards
I had boarded the boat to Myanmar, which
is also blessed with relatively calm waters.
That last trip had been much more my thing.
We had spent six days sailing from Phuket to
the Myanmar archipelago and back, cruising
through waters bereft of people but full of
picture-postcard islands and fish that were
obligingly stupid enough to let me catch them
(I’m not much of angler or a sailor, although I
enjoy both immensely).
Out of mobile phone range of anywhere, after
three days I finally stopped thinking about
work and totally relaxed, for the first time in
years. The skipper Wolfgang was (and I hope
still is) an unusual fellow, in being one of the
gentlest men I have ever got to know, plus
also one who was able to inspire complete
confidence in us. Rather an uncommon
combination of personality characteristics to
come across in a man.
“
The entire cleat
was ripped from
the boat and shot
skywards.
”
“Well”, I thought, “I’m as safe as possible
under the circumstances”, as when the storm
had hit I had secured myself to one of the
starboard gunwale rail posts with a length of
rope and karabiner, as a backup to the safety
line attached to the gunwale rail.
The other men seemed to know what to do, as
Morgan and the chef Joe moved to each end of
the stricken mast and prepared to manhandle
it over the side. At this point I briefly thought
“maybe I should help out here.” Well, call me
an idle coward if you will, but the other two
guys seemed to have everything under control
and I felt relatively safe, attached with steel
and rope to the gunwale, so I left them to it.
Morgan cut the stern bow stay. I was watching
Joe, port bow mainstay in hand and searching
frantically for something, when it dawned on
me that he was looking for a knife but didn’t
have one, whereas I, most unfortunately, as it
seemed to me, did.
“Simon”, I half-heard Joe shout to me above
the gale while miming cutting and beckoning
motions, “get yourself down here.”
“You can’t be serious”, I thought, “I do have
a knife, but how am I going to get it to you?”
I considered throwing it to him, but then
realised it would be impossible to catch.
“Oh, you idiot” I thought, “every good sailor’s
supposed to carry a knife in a storm, aren’t
they?” It seemed to me that it was particularly
annoying that Joe didn’t have a knife on him,
as he’s a chef. I admit that I was being a trifle
unreasonable when I fleetingly thought “if
you’re that desperate then maybe you should
learn a lesson by catching this blade in your
chest.” Maybe a tad unrealistic too – me not
being one of those Hollywood b-movie stars
like Chuck Norris and Steven Segal who can
supposedly lob a knife into a villain’s chest at
6 yards from a wildly thrashing yacht deck,
with the other hand around a fit but feeble
babe and using a single foot to fight off three
other bad guys.
I abandoned this plan because men with
knives in their chests can’t cut stays and
because that stay clearly needed cutting, very
soon, in order to ensure the safety of the fifth
most precious person on the planet, me.
Did Joe really expect me to clamber along the
wildly-swaying and now seemingly-horizontal
gunwale, all the way to the bow and then
back down the port side? It seemed a most
improbable thing to expect anyone to do, let
alone a land-lubber like me. I realised that
yes, he really did expect me to do exactly
that.
Image by courtesy of Beneteau Yachts
www.beneteau.com.
“No chance, mate”, I thought, “I’m far too
young and good-looking to die, I haven’t had
children yet, I’ve only seen Kylie Minogue live
in concert eight times and besides, my mum
would miss me.”
“Well, she’s the only female in the world who
would”, I thought, somewhat depressingly, as
I unclipped my karabiner, swung up on top
of the gunwale and started scrambling to the
bow.
“I’m still attached to the yacht by a metal
wire, so I’m still safe, so WHY DON’T I FEEL
SAFE?” I thought, my brain addled by the rage
of the howling gale.
Ten minutes later we had cut the stays
and manhandled the mainmast overboard.
Released from its deadweight, the boat keeled
rapidly back to starboard, before the storm
abruptly arrested this movement seconds
later. The sudden stop flung me skywards,
after which I landed on the deck so painfully
that I could scarcely sit for a week afterwards.
It could have been considerably worse though,
as nobody had noticed the naked terror that
had gripped me throughout the ordeal and
as I had managed to account for myself
reasonably well, if totally involuntarily. Also,
my aches and pains gave me the perfect
excuse to jump ship and check into Manila’s
superlatively appointed Ascott Makati hotel in
order to recuperate in comfort – I had pictured
in advance the small hillock I would create on
the coffee table of the stacked empty plates of
delicacies ordered up from room service. I also
enjoy stacking up empty margarita glasses, as
it’s rather risky, because they are liable to all
fall over if you put one too many on top.
The bruises on my back-side reminded me
of the ones I acquired while being caned for
smoking at school, a story which I’d like to
digress to and away from nautical matters, if
I may. Those readers who are more interested
in the sea should turn to page 62.
I was at school in England in the days
when corporal punishment was regarded as
character-building – ie about two millennia
ago – and had been caught smoking John
Player’s Number 6 in the bus stop loos, then
subsequently dragged with my friend Kim
before the headmaster. I bent over first and
received 3 whacks on the backside from
our headmaster, who had batted second for
Warwickshire and so was physically as well
as temperamentally well-suited to the task
in hand – that of inflicting maximum damage
to teenage rumps. After my beating I hopped
out of the room and waited outside the door
while Kim received his. After the expected
three whacks I heard the headmaster shout
“you stupid boy”, then the sound of three even
louder whacks impacting on the
unfortunate Kim’s backside. A
few moments later Kim emerged,
biting his lip in an only partially
successful attempt not to cry.
See next Issue
For
Hong Kong
Horse Racing
“So why the extra three strokes,
Kim?” I asked. It transpired that
the cretinous Kim, while bending
over to receive his punishment,
had managed to accidentally drop
his Player's Number 6 onto the
carpet. He had hastily attempted
to cover them with his foot but
they had subsequently been
discovered by the ex-cricketer,
who had then got very angry and
practised boundary strikes on
Kim’s bum.
Well, I know that corporal
punishment is very un-PC these
days, but I’ve got to say that the
punishment did me no harm at all,
except that Kim’s complete idiocy
in earning himself six bottom-weals totally
upstaged my paltry three, thus depriving me
of the customary wallow in glory that was a
boy’s right after being caned. On this occasion,
due to Kim’s far greater foolishness and much
to my chagrin, nobody was interested in my
story at all. I hope this admittedly pointless
digression from my sailing story has more luck
on these pages.
Editor’s note: it is hoped that the reader will
excuse the editor for being unable to obtain
any extreme sailing images. If you have any
such images or an extreme sailing story to
share, please get in touch
Bavaria Yachts
www.bavaria-yachts.com
Muay Thailand
Thailand is a country of opposites and
Muay
Thailand
By Tommy Caldwell
extremes. One of the many contradictions is
that, whilst most of the country are pacifistic
Buddhists, the national sport is boxing.
I sit at the end of my bed examining my
swollen shins, which are battered and bruised
from hours of kicking concrete bags and
from impacts against the hard bones of Thai
fighters. My battered body feels like a badge
of honour, a trophy I take home with me day
after day. This is the life of a Muay Thai (Thai
boxing) fighter, and this is the path I have
chosen.
While most of the rest of this beautiful,
happy and gloriously contradictory country’s
tourists drink, dance, party and indulge, I’m
in bed getting much-needed rest for the day
to come. While they’re on the beach tanning
and snoozing, I’m on the beach running and
sweating. While they’re in the clubs flirting
and dancing, I’m in the gym sparring and
training. To some this may sound like a waste
of a trip, but the experiences I’ve gained as a
Thai boxer have forever changed me and thus
my life.
“
My fist breaks as it
makes a loud thud into
the side of his head.
”
Today is a very special day for me, a day like
no other in my trip thus far. Today I will be
participating in my first professional bout. I’ve
been awake for a few minutes and that’s all it
takes for extreme sickness and nervousness to
set in. Even though my fight isn’t for several
hours, I can barely even swallow my breakfast
because I’m so full of fear. I spend my day
trying to relax and attempting to visualize the
ways in which I will win this fight, but my head
and stomach swell with a thousand butterflies
instead.
I spend most of the day with my trainer going
over my Wai Kru, which is the ceremonial
dance preformed before the bout by all Thai
Muay Thailand
Muay Thailand
fighters. It pays respect to your trainer and
the sport and is believed to protect you from
harm. Lots of Thais believe that they can pick
the winner of a bout based on their prowess
and grace during the sacred dance. My trainer
watches intently to make sure there isn’t the
slightest flaw in my dance - the dance that
he himself used in all 250 of his professional
fights and has now passed down to me. I feel
a great responsibility to get my Wai Kru right
and thankfully perform it flawlessly before my
upcoming bout.
Later I show up at the stadium, masking the
dread I feel at knowing that I will soon be
meeting my fate. Traditional Thai music fills
my ears, barely drowning out the screams
of hundreds of boxing fans. Some are locals
and others tourists, but all are looking for
the same thing – blood, in whatever form it
may come. I enter the stadium and the bouts
have already started. I’m fighting in the main
event, so I have some time to kill, but it won’t
be spent watching the fights and losing focus.
Tonight I will be perfect, I will impress, I will
dazzle and most importantly I will win the
respect of the Thais.
My trainer takes me by the arm and sits me
down to tape my hands. He talks to me about
my upcoming bout, but he’s drowned out
by the screams and chants of the crowd
as the pace of the current fight picks up.
I will be entering the ring in less then a
few minutes and the crowd is already
going crazy for more kicks, cuts and
concussions. I feel a sense of pride
and honour as my robe is slipped onto
my shoulders by my world champion
trainer. As the gloves are strapped to
my wrists I feel as if they’ve brought
with them a sense of power and
invincibility.
My name is called to the ring and I’m
so focused on my own thoughts of
destruction and terror that I don’t
even hear my own announcement.
The curtain opens and I stare
into the eerie glow of the
stadium lights. The crowd all
stand and turn to see the
warrior who will be their next
victim. At this moment I am
totally at peace and at one
with myself - I am ready. I
hear nothing as I slowly pace
towards the ring. It’s as if
I have suddenly gone deaf
and can only hear the sounds
of my own thoughts telling me how I will
win this fight. My opponent has already
started his Wai Kru as I enter the ring. I
pace the ropes as I begin mine, thinking
of all the great fighters before me who
have danced with so much meaning and
spirit. I owe it to them to do the same.
My opponent, the local favourite, finishes
quickly, but I take my time, making sure
that the Kru is performed exactly as
my trainer taught me. I dance as if I
created the Wai Kru, I make it my own. By the
time I have finished, I can tell that the Thais
have felt and appreciated my respect and my
dedication to their country and to their sport.
After a few quick words of encouragement
from my trainer, I make my way to the middle
of the ring to meet my opponent. As the
referee gives us his instructions, we hold our
gloves together as if we are one. We both
know, without a word said, that we both carry
the utmost respect for each other. We return
to our corners, get a quick drink of water,
then turn to face one another in anticipation
of the bells ringing. The nervousness is gone,
the anticipation is gone, the sickness in my
stomach is gone. I’m here to do a job and to
fulfill a destiny. This is my time. The crowd begins to roar as the bell rings and
we close with one another. We exchange swift
and powerful low kicks.
to his temple. My fist breaks as it makes a
loud thud into the side of his head. I look into
his disorientated eyes, which are desperately
trying to grasp and hold onto a single image. I
know it’s over - his legs turn to rubber and he
drops.
The crowd goes crazy and I’m overwhelmed
with a sense of pride and joy as my trainer
jumps into the ring screaming “YOU WIN,
YOU WIN.” I on the other hand keep the
celebrations in my head. I don’t gloat, I
don’t scream and I don’t jump around the
ring rubbing in the disappointment of my
opponent. I bow to the four sides of the ring,
I hug my fallen foe, I bow to the opposing
trainers and exit the ring quietly. A true
warrior should never gloat, never cheer
and always shows respect for his opponent,
because a true warrior always expects to win
“
The smacks
of our shins
send sickening
waves of sound
throughout the
stadium.
”
Grins creep upon both of
our faces. I take it slow
and don’t get too hasty. I
take time to try and figure
out any weaknesses in
my opponent. I land low
kick after low kick, while
managing to dodge all of his
attacks. I can almost smell
his frustration. I wait for a
mistake. I’m as cold as ice
in the ring and have made it
my home very early in the
fight.
The Thai moves in and
we clinch one another,
exchanging knees to the ribs
as the crowd hollers “OWAY”
with every crushing blow.
The referee separates us and
the Thai fighter makes the
mistake I have been waiting
for. One mistake is enough. I
allow his attack and sacrifice
my organs in exchange for
a clean and solid right hook
Funny Fishing
How not to
Fish
Article By Rod Bender
Images by courtesy of
Wahoo Fishing, www.wahoo.ws
Funny Fishing: How Not To Fish
Funny Fishing: How Not To Fish
Jason fought a battle of epic proportions with
the marlin. It seemed that at any moment
his shoulders would pop out of their sockets.
After two hours he finally beat his pelagic
prize-fighter. Maybe it’s impossible to read a
fish's feelings in its face, but to me its huge
eyes seemed full of defeat, exhaustion and
resignation to its fate. But it was not to be.
Just before the fish reached the boat the line
parted. The fish slouched and wallowed with
exhaustion in the water, while Jason was sent
skidding backwards into the scuppers, too
surprised, at first, to curse. Surprisingly, he
finished cursing after only a few moments
and then just sat there for a moment
contemplating what had happened. Ignoring
our commiserations he jumped to his feet with
a cry of "no way, José", leapt onto the rail
and then jumped clean over the side, clearly
aiming to finish the fish with his bare hands.
I looked on curiously as a stocky chap with
beetroot-red skin boarded, unbidden, our
boat Reel Blue (www.wahoo.ws). Jason
explained that my customer Pete had asked
him along. Pete squirmed and then shrugged
apologetically behind Jason's back, miming
the word "sorry.” "Thanks a million" I mouthed
at Pete as Jason turned towards me, forcing
myself to say "welcome aboard.”
Several hours westwards from Khao Lak
and, for Jason, a sonorous snooze later, we
reached the Continental Drop-off fishing
grounds. By this time the heavy lures were
slowly trailing the boat, buoyed up by surface
balloons. I asked Jason "maybe you'd like to
have the first go?" Jason politely declined,
so demonstrating that for all Englishmen, of
whatever ilk, it is as impossible to queuebarge as it is to decline a cup of tea in the
morning (particularly while still lying in a
warm bed).
We had explained to Jason that the correct
technique, when the fish took the bait and the
balloon started to move of its own accord, was
to wait for a short while before striking. This
he could never quite get the hang of and so,
by the middle of the afternoon, the average
tally of the party was three fish per angler,
whilst for Jason it was a big zero, none, nil,
an amusingly round figure of nothing. A fish
is reputed to hold a baitfish in its mouth for
a while before swallowing it - whether this
is instinct or because the fish has enough
brains to know that a human may be trying
to skewer it, is debatable. Either way it was
extremely difficult for us to resist pointing out
to Jason that his tally, together with the fair
few hits he had had, proved that so far that
day he had been outsmarted by at least four
fish.
“
It seemed that at any
moment his shoulders would
pop out of their sockets.
”
Well, it’s no surprise that with such stalwart
spirits as Jason's on our side we tend to win
our wars. But generally when the British go
to battle they tend to take weapons with
them. Unfortunately in this instance Jason
had forgotten to take so much as a boat-hook
with him. It’s actually probably just as well
that Jason forgot the boat-hook, however,
as he thus had two hands to swim with and
therefore didn't drown. The marlin, with a
languorous sweep of its tail, glided away as
we helped Jason back on board. All in all a
good day out was had by all, including the
fish, who had been a punk in a previous and
badly-behaved lifetime (thus his rebirth as a
fish) and had fancied getting his nose pierced
with a colourful lure. Our day was thoroughly
enhanced by having someone along who didn't
realise when we were poking merciless fun at
him - and he acquired a story which no doubt
he'll tell his grandchildren. Thus, whilst Jason's
marlin battle didn't end in the desired score of
“Jason 1 - Marlin 0", it did at least end in an
honourable draw.
If you suspect that this fishing tale is too
far-fetched to be feasible then you are partly
right, as it is a fusion of several jackass angler
stories. It was only possible to splice together
the several different tales by using a single
jackass. Jason had to fight off stiff competition
to win the role, not least from myself.
Adrenaline strongly encourages catch-andrelease. If you chuck him back, who knows
how many more fish-on-paunch pictures he
will star in over the coming years and how
many inane victory grins he will inspire. Well,
if we don't all start catching and releasing
soon we'll all be reduced to fishing for
minnows - which personally I'd feel a bit
ridiculous doing with my 14ft rod and tackle.
So please don't make me look even more of a
fool on the high seas than I already manage
to do by myself, take your victory pic and then
chuck him back where he can be enjoyed by
others after you
Jason bore his lack of fishing fortune so well
that it was easy to forgive him a clumsy cast
that almost impaled my left buttock cheek. I
did, however, think it was rather unnecessary
of him, when I jumped aside to avoid the
flying hook, to yell out that I ought to move
sharpish as my back-side was a bigger target
than a blue whale, never mind a blue marlin.
Also hard to accept was that, whenever any of
the party had a strike, Jason would invariably
cast in the direction of the strike, ignoring our
pleas of the impossibility of catching a marlin
in such a fashion and on one occasion fouling
a fellow angler's line.
His luck, however, finally improved when the
message about not striking too soon finally
penetrated his brain. In response to our cries
of "wait, "wait", "wait" - he actually waited. He
was then rewarded with a battle royal against
a really impressive beast of the deep. Jason
was immediately in his element. The veins
bulged blue on his brawny biceps, further
expanding the bust of the buxom blonde
tattooed there. "Hmmm, cunning tattoo
design", I thought to myself.
Hot Stone Massage
Deep Heat: Kuala Lumpur Relaxation
A fter falling through too many point-to-point
fences when I was younger, I had to give
up horse-riding because of sciatica and take
up golf instead. I’m not sure whether it has
anything to do with golf, I think maybe it’s
the geological age I’ve spent pecking at office
computers, but I now suffer from a different
kind of back-pain, not the shooting, nervy
kind, more the seized-up sort, particularly
behind my shoulder-blades. I’ve tried chirothis and acu-that, but nobody in the UK has
been able to do me any lasting good (and if
that sentence makes it sound as though I’ve
tried them all, well that’s pretty much how it
feels).
Today my husband and I played a leisurely
and sunny round of golf before returning to
our hotel, the Maya, where we relax in the
super-comfy-sofa-paved Martini bar that my
grandson describes as “well chilled-out.”
The Maya appears determined to corner
the boutique, Bohemian end of the five-star
market. Oh to move in.
My husband and I felt so virtuous in having
forgone the use of a buggy that we felt
justified in rewarding ourselves with some
additional calories in the hotel’s restaurant,
which has an unusually good menu for the
health-conscious. My husband really wanted a
special dispensation from his necessarily strict
dietary regime in order to try the sticky toffee
pudding, of which he is particularly fond and
of which he used to consume fair quantities.
He kept looking at me with pleading-puppy
eyes, whilst extolling the virtues of his
favourite dessert and bemoaning the fact
that his diet doesn’t allow it more than once
a week. Honestly, you should have seen him,
how could I not give in, especially after I
had won at golf? After teasing him for a bit I
decided to abandon my diet police job for once
and let him order his favourite dessert. Then I
helped him to keep to his diet by eating half of
the pudding, which was divine.
Kuala Lumpur
sets out its stall through its name: 'Anggun',
the Malay for 'elegance.' Starting out in the
shower, I gingerly pointed the head of the
hose at my feet and, twisting a lever, got a
bit of a shock by accidentally triggering a
thunderously hair-parting blast from the fixed
showerhead above.
The pummelling was a nice change compared
with the feeble lukewarm dribble delivered
by other hotel showers. My subsequent 10minute steam bath was pleasant but made
me puff, maybe unsurprisingly as I am a
retirement refugee from a country where the
prevalent vapour is freezing fog.
“
Atiqah said that a
deep tissue massage
would do more good.
”
A little while later, my masseuse Atiqah heated
up some stones in a rice cooker and then
strategically applied them to my back. No, this
was not some bizarre form of torture worthy
of the Aztecs but 'hot stone massage.'
According to my later 'research' (ie googling),
the heat from the stones works wonders,
unwinding muscles, boosting blood flow to the
zones under attention and releasing toxins,
while the client experiences a sensation of
calm.
If a stone, which should be made of riversmoothed, iron-rich, heat-retaining basalt,
burns a bit, relax. “Fortunately, the human
body has an excellent temperature gauge
and a client in most cases will and should
immediately respond in a negative way to an
We enjoyed a lazy dip in the pool and
then I read my book while my husband
and son played games in the pool with my
grandchildren. When the children went off for
their nap and my husband fell asleep on his
lounger I decided to escape from the snoring
(I feel 8 hours a day of that is quite sufficient)
by checking out the hotel spa to see if it had
anything that could help my back.
My pampering session unfolded at the spa that
By Eileen Richardson
excessively hot stone, which tells the therapist
to remove the stone,” my Google guide says.
your shoulders in some sort of wrestling/yoga
crossover.
Aside from an initial wince-triggering sting,
my hot stone session was torment-free.
Nonetheless, I did not feel all that wowed.
Atiqah kept rubbing my muscles, which had
more knots than my stomach before a public
speaking bout, and smeared almond oil into
the skin. During the process, something
strange happened. No, my chakras did not
start to hum. Nor was I overcome by a wave
of euphoria.
Atiqah said that a deep tissue massage
would do more good. Thankfully the stones,
which are sleek, black and about the size
of a cell phone battery, merely represented
components of the warm-up routine, which
then gave way to hard thumb action,
triggering waves of shooting, soothing pain.
As her thumbs traced arcs and touched
nerves, I was glad that Atiqah could not
see my face distort – the slightly comical
contortions, which I could see reflected in the
highly polished floorboards, were reserved for
my viewing only. I suppressed the urge to say
“ouch”, since the agony must be beneficial.
Also, I have suffered more under the hands
of certain UK practitioners who, after yanking
your fingers from their sockets, kneel on your
spine and attempt to drag your feet up over
Instead, a conversation between Atiqah and
me kicked in. Amazing. Until now, when
beached on a lounger, I have rarely mustered
more than a grunt.
Dialogue is hard because, for a start, you are
usually facing the floor and do not know the
therapist's first language. For another, it is
hard to sustain a stream of words unbroken by
“oohs” and “aahs” of pain or relief.
According to Atiqah, Malaysians fail to take
care of their bodies at all, which is why
so many keel over at 50. I can believe it.
Whenever I walk into a KL café and ask for a
low-fat version of something, I get an even
more bewildered look than when I tell a
shopkeeper I need no plastic bag. The hassle
is almost enough to make you go with the
flow, forget your figure and drain a plastic vat
of the local blue-coral yogurt bubble tea.
At Anggun, the tea served is that byword for
energy, ginger freshly made from the root,
rather than in a sachet, and dispensed in a
cup the size of a shot glass. With its peppery
aftertaste still on my lips, I hopped in the lift.
Atiqah’s parting advice was to drink lots of
water to release trapped toxins. I already
knew I should do this, in fact it must be the
only piece of advice that all the health and diet
experts agree on.
It is so annoying and confusing that they
disagree on absolutely everything else. Diet is
the third subject I know of, along with politics
and religion, where there is a complete lack
of consensus. I can understand why people
might not be able to agree on religion due
to the tricky issue of the afterlife, as nobody
expressing an opinion is currently dead, so
knows for sure the answer. With politics, I
can see that people will never agree, as the
haves and the have-not-as-muchs will always
have different ideas on wealth division. But
diet? Surely our scientists could figure out
the definitive answers to what is good for
us and what is not? Maybe the best minds
in the scientific community find this subject
uninteresting.
Postscript. My back pain has finally been fixed.
We stayed at the Maya for four more days and
I went back every day for a massage. Each
time Atiqah found the knots in my back and
applied herself vigorously and painfully to
them. After five sessions they were virtually
gone. What took me ages to figure out was
why. Atiqah is a very good masseuse, but I’d
had lots of good massages before, which had
not cured the problem. I think the reason
she was able to fix my back was that I had
five sessions on five consecutive days. My
muscle knots weren’t given long enough
between sessions to seize up again, so each
massage session could build on the progress
made in the prior session, rather than starting
from scratch. So my advice to anyone with a
problem with muscular knots is to find a good
masseuse, tell her that you can put up with
pain, then go back four times on the following
four days. It’s surely got to be worth a try,
hasn’t it?
www.hotelmaya.com.my/spa
Surf
Bali
Image by Phil Klein
Surfing: Bali
Dawn Breaks over Bali
By Luke Somerset
I
“
’m sorry, Dad, but I totally disagree,” I
said.
Six hours earlier, the noise of waves crashing
ashore had woken me from a deep sleep.
Mounting excitement propelled me from the
bed when I realised from the volume of sound
that the waves were substantial.
It was still dark, but I knew that I could
catch the dawn from my surfboard if I left
immediately. A while later I was several
hundred metres out to sea, battling my way
further out and, between soakings, watching
the dawn paint the sky from a celestial
palette of pinks, yellows and crimsons. I was
totally alone and knew that this was not safe
or sensible, but I did not care. I felt that my
daring to be there gave me a kind of spiritual
ownership of the place and that this feeling
more than compensated me for my almost
complete lack of other worldly possessions –
the most valuable of which I had with me, my
board.
I usually love my board, but sometimes I
blame it when I fall off and swear at it bigtime. One of the reasons I love my surfboard is that, after I’ve blamed it for my
shortcomings and sworn at it, it never holds
it against me or sulks in any way. I can just
jump on and ride away, as though nothing had
happened.
Surfing: Bali
I am now having lunch with my Dad, who has
flown in from Perth, en route to a business
meeting in Tokyo, to see me and presumably
to try and coax me into his company – or any
company at all, provided it’s not the company
of surfers. He’s not had much luck at this task.
Six months ago, when I was having a blast,
neglecting my university studies in favour of
chasing Perth surf, he tried pleading that I
should pack in surfing as my Mum was worried
sick that I might be eaten by a shark. This
happens to a fair few surfers down-under.
I felt a bit sorry for both my parents when
their plan rather back-fired on them: I agreed
that it wasn’t safe, quit uni and came surfing
here instead. I just hope he hasn’t heard
about the surfer who washed up here drowned
the other month. I think a blow on the head
from his board after a major wipe-out was
probably the cause. I’ll probably not make an
old corpse myself, but I don’t care.
My Dad’s hotel, the Maya Ubud, is quite
a contrast to mine. It looks like a palace
compared to my lodgings, but then so does
everywhere. I look again and realise that I’m
not doing the Maya Ubud justice by including
it with ‘everywhere’; it really is tastefully and
typically Balinese, whereas mine is about as
basic as you can imagine – thin mattress, flysheet, fan, shared cold shower.
My Dad asks me what I think of the Maya
Ubud.
“It’s lovely, Dad, exquisite.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be able to afford to stay
here?”
“Not really, Dad. I think that right now, at this
very moment, I’m enjoying being here more
than you are, because you’re used to staying
in these places, whereas for me to come
here and eat this fab food is a really special
experience.”
source of intrinsic meaning in my life - she’s
called Jenny and she’s from California. In
order to go and be with her in the States, I’ve
realised that I’m going to need to go back
to Oz and get some money together. So I
discussed this with Dad, who was delighted.
I suddenly remembered that Dad gets
offended when I put his values down that
bluntly. I had been talking to him just as
though he were one of my surf buddies. To
try to make amends I quickly added “I really
appreciate your coming all this way to spoil
me, but honestly there’s nothing I need that I
don’t already have. I really enjoy my life here.
Better than that, I love my life here, because
I always live in the present. Everybody
knows that living in the present is the key to
contentment.”
“I wasn’t so different from you when I was
your age” he said.
“Son, if you live in the present you’ll never
achieve anything in life. In order to achieve
things it’s necessary sometimes to dwell on
the past and worry about the future.”
I had to disagree. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I totally
disagree .There’s no intrinsic meaning in
achieving anything anyway, so why should I
bother? I might as well live in the present and
be as content as possible.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this
conversation. My parents are so cool about
my complete rejection of their value system, I
really respect them, not just for their attitude
about this issue, but also for all they’ve done
for me in the past. Actually, there is one
“Not quite so idle, but not far off it” he
continued. “In those days there wasn’t a subculture of idleness, so people who wanted to
laze about had to laze about with lowlifes.
The problem these days is that civilized
young blokes like you can laze about with
other decent young people, so it’s much more
enjoyable.”
“Your mother’s more worried about you than
I am. I reckon that you’ll get bored rigid with
this sooner or later. Besides, you said you
were doing this to reject meaninglessness, but
your life of pleasing yourself has got to be the
most meaningless life imaginable. I stopped
idling around when I set up home with your
mother.
I spent over a decade in jobs that were often
rather dull, but it never really bothered me,
because I knew exactly why I was doing it, I
had all the meaning I could possibly have in
my life, in providing for you and your sisters.
So I’m not too worried, I reckon what you
need is to really fall for some woman, then
start imagining what you could do to make her
as happy as you possibly can.”
King's Cup Elephant Polo
Tournament Thailand
Elephant Polo: Thailand
E
arly versions of the sport (it was invented
by sun-addled British aristocrats in India
100 years ago) used a soccer ball, but the
elephants demonstrated what they thought
of the new game by repeatedly stomping on
the balls. Following complaints from the local
soccer coach, a polo ball was introduced (a
few polo players suggested using the soccer
coach, but nothing came of this).
Rules of the game are essentially the same as
those for horse polo, with a few pachyderm
adaptations. For example, if an overexcited
elephant picks up the ball with its trunk, a free
hit is given; or if an elephant takes a snooze in
front of goal, a penalty is given; or if a player
tumbles from his mount, an ambulance is
given. Falling off is thankfully rather difficult
to do, as players are roped to their mounts,
unlike in the much more dangerous equine
version of the sport.
Another difference from pony polo is that
you won’t find many mahouts in traditional
horse polo. The mahout’s job is to steer the
elephant and ideally prevent stampedes, while
his passenger (usually a frantic foreigner) is
basically a bamboo mallet-wielding navigator.
The fact that driver and navigator rarely
speak the same language greatly adds to the
confusion and thus the spectacle, which is
often hilarious.
Hua Hin’s annual King’s Cup Tournament, the
6th largest event in the Thai tourism calendar,
is a week-long extravaganza that attracts a
dedicated and wonderfully eccentric group
of entrepreneurs, businessmen, hoteliers
and purveyors of luxury goods. All these
enthusiasts assemble in one of the most
beautiful places on the planet to play a game
about which all who take part are passionate
to the extreme. The event is organized by
Anantara Resorts and now attracts corporate
sponsors including such global brands as
American Express, British Airways, Chivas
Regal, Mercedes Benz and Price Waterhouse
Coopers.
To date the tournament has raised over
US$140,000 for the National Elephant
Institute, which provides medical care,
sustenance and welfare to Thailand’s
elephants and training and employment for
the mahouts. It is estimated that Thailand
has around 2,500 domesticated elephants and
1,500 wild elephants, down from an elephant
population of around 100,000 in 1900.
The King’s Cup Elephant Polo Tournament is
part of the World Elephant Polo Association
World Series.
“
If an elephant takes
a snooze in front of goal,
a penalty is given.
”
The World Championships take place
every December in Chitwan National
Park, Nepal. There is no bigger form
of polo than elephant polo and the
annual World Championship in Nepal
is the biggest tournament of them all.
As far as pachyderm prowess goes, the
world’s best is to be found on the polo
field on the jungle fringe at Meghauly
in southern Nepal. Now in its 26th year,
the tournament, which was founded
more than a quarter of a century ago
by Jim Edwards, has become something
of a legend.
Images by courtesy of Anantara Resorts www.anantara.com.
Elephant Polo: Thailand
History of Elephant Polo
By Lucy Monro
E
lephant polo is 26 years young. The sport,
which was dreamt up in a watering hole in
St. Moritz by a Scotsman and a British expat
named Jim Edwards, is a modern version of
the one played in India around the turn of the
century by members of the British aristocracy.
The World Elephant Polo Association (WEPA)
was formed in 1982 at Tiger Tops Jungle
Lodge in the Royal Chitwan National Park in
southwest Nepal.
Jim Edwards can rightfully be hailed as the
‘father of polo’ on the Asian sub-continent. In
1961 Jim set off from Stockholm in a Saab.
He arrived in Kathmandu, Nepal the following
year and made the city his home. He went
on to pioneer eco-tourism and dedicate much
of his life to the development of the sport he
fell in love with in the Himalayan kingdom polo. The World Elephant Polo Championships
that take place every November/December
in Nepal are world-famous in polo circles,
but few people realise that many other highprofile horse polo tournaments also owe
their existence and modern-day success to
Jim. Perhaps the most exotic of these is the
renowned Ghengis Khan Polo Club camp on
the Mongolian Steppe.
Jim’s phenomenal polo exploits began in the
1980s when he began playing horse polo with
Col. Raj Kalaan, who was captain of the Indian
polo team. Jim and Raj had the ponies and
the opportunity, the only thing lacking was
international sponsorship for the game – and
then along came Peter Prentice. Peter is now
a renowned elephant as well as horse polo
player and was captain of the six-times world
champion Chivas Scotland squad. Peter was
quick to embrace Jim’s vision and elephant
polo has since gone from strength to strength.
www.thaielepolo.com
Wora Bura Resort & Spa
In addition to the haute
cuisine and total comfort
you expect from a 5-star
resort, we have one of SE
Asia's most exquisitely
appointed spas, where
serenity meets sensuality
in a blissful fusion of
nature and nurture.
Hua Hin, Thailand
+66 (0) 2953 5660
www.worabura.com
Leap of Faith
Should I jump, or wait to be pushed?
By Martin Richardson
Leap Of Faith: Bungee Thailand
Leap Of Faith: Bungee Thailand
F or years determined aerialists have risked
Although it lasted only seconds, the 60
mph plunge seemed to take forever. I
couldn’t believe I had jumped! I felt totally
disorientated in an unpleasantly weird
way, yet at the same time I was loving the
indescribably sublime sensation of free fall,
whilst feeling near to death at the same time –
it was almost like I was knocking on heaven’s
door – very loudly.
arrest and injury while hurling themselves
off bridges, from hot-air-balloons and even
jumping from helicopters (you would want to
remind the pilot not to descend while doing
that, wouldn’t you?)
Today, with the ever-increasing popularity and
legalization of this extreme sport, the wideeyed and crazed leapers of faith can embrace
the freedom of flying (aka falling) with less
fear of police arrest – the only fear they need
deal with is the obvious one, that of ending up
as a messy puddle on the tarmac resembling
non-vegetarian strawberry jam.
“
Their heads were
dunked into the water at
the bottom of the fall.
While travelling through southeast Asia’s aweinspiring scenery the fascination of bungeejumping finally gripped me when I paid a visit
to 'Bungy Jungle' in Chiang Mai province,
Thailand. Like all bungee jump sites in
Thailand, it is fully insured and has been
accident-free since opening.
Most people won't consider trying bungee
jumping for fear of the chord snapping or
of their eyeballs dislocating, but the truth is
that there is a very low incidence of bungeejumping accidents, when compared to other
extreme sports.
I was about to join the ranks of adrenaline
junkies - those bravehearts or fools who have
overcome the entirely rational and reasonable
fear of falling at the insistence of their thrillseeking fetish. I weighed myself in, strapped
myself up and prepared for a heart-stopping
rush. Upon reaching the top of the crane I
saw a young Scandinavian couple. They were
preparing for a tandem jump, where they
would plummet earthwards bound together.
Through the fog of fear clouding my brain I
realised that I really wouldn’t fancy being tied
together with anybody, least of all my beloved,
while bungee-jumping – it seemed a very bad
idea to take on the further risk of clobbering
her somewhere soft and/or painful with my
elbow - I would be in the dog-house for so
long if I KO’ed her with an inadvertent left
hook.
I didn't pay the couple much attention.
Perhaps they were helping me out with some
encouraging words but, not wanting to wait
for fear of bottling out, I stepped forwards
towards the abyss. All I could hear was the
voice of the safety crew-member standing
next to me saying, "Relax. Breathe deeply.
Look at those beautiful mountains in the
distance... Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Jump!"
Perhaps unsurprisingly his final countdown
didn't work at all for me, as 10 seconds later
we were still standing there, 165ft above a
fresh water lake at Mae Rim Valley. All my
heroic bravado had vanished – I seemed to
have left it at the registry counter of the shop
on the ground where I had paid my money.
”
I started to scream louder and louder in my
head but suppressed this internal racket and
emitted no sound at all to the outside world.
I had already been very embarrassed to
linger there at the edge the moment before
and had thus to be a bit cool through the
whole process of jumping in order to save
face. I opened my eyes and realised in a
moment of epiphany that I was more scared
of embarrassing myself in front of my friends
than I was of the up-rushing terra firma. Ten
minutes later I watched the Scandy couple
plunge earthwards wrapped in each others’
arms and changed my mind about not going
bungee-jumping with my better half – it
seemed like the Swedes enjoyed it anyway,
particularly as they had chosen to have a
slightly longer rope than usual, meaning that
their heads were dunked into the water at the
bottom of the fall.
The attendant at the ticket booth had asked
one of my friends if he wanted to go for this
option and I remember my friend looking at
the attendant as if he needed brain surgery
for asking such a question. I idly wondered
which of the guys would be the first to prove
their superior machismo by now having a
go at the head-dunking version. Then I saw
Tom walking towards the ticket booth with a
somewhat grim but determined look on his
face. “Hmmm” I thought, “I’m closer to the
ticket booth than he is, there’s no way I’m
letting him get there first.”
It’s a great experience, a natural high. It’s also
a high-risk exploit. Unlike most sports bungeejumping allows zero margin for error. In a free
fall, a mistake or an equipment failure would
almost certainly mean a jumper’s demise. But
talk to any bungee enthusiast and he’ll tell
you about the chills and thrills of the most
extremely exciting entertainment in the world
- but he won’t mention the spills (well, if there
had been a spill, he wouldn’t be there to tell
you about it, would he?).
www.junglebungy.com
Looking down at the ant-like figures of the
people below, I realised, "man, it's high up
here. Maybe I should just bail out and write
off the money - it might be a waste of cash,
but at least I’d live.” Then I considered the
merciless mockery I would be subjected to
if I bailed out – I was accompanied by 3
mates, who would be sure to compare me
unfavourably to a girl during every other
remaining waking moment of the trip to
Thailand. It's not that I’ve got anything
against girls, far from it, but I didn’t fancy this
prospect at all.
I’m not sure why I finally jumped. Maybe it
was the fear-of-mockery macho-bravado or
maybe it was stinginess at not wanting to
waste the fee (I’m from Yorkshire). Either
way, the next thing I did, grimacing like a
condemned man, was to close my eyes and
swan-dive head-first over the edge.
Happy New Year, Thai-style
By Jason Volker
Relax, recharge, reawaken.
Tranquillity and tropical
luxury in a traditional Thai
architectural setting.
Chiang Mai, Thailand
www.panviman.com
+66 (0) 2910 8660
Songkran: Thailand
Songkran: Thailand
Between us and the Ayudhaya Historical Park
we need to run a long gauntlet of thousands
of drenched revellers packing bazooka-sized
water-guns, overflowing buckets, homemade
squirters, garden hoses and a surfeit of plump
water balloons. After a quick group huddle,
the consensus is that it's 36 degrees and
we could all use a free shower, so we arm
ourselves from a convenient hardware store
and CHARGE.
This laughter-laden liquid mayhem, a threeday, nationwide water-fight celebrated during
the sizzling summer’s hottest month of April,
is Thailand's biggest and most exuberant
display of `sanook' - that very important
word in the local lexicon that translates as
`fun'. The Songkran Water Festival has been
delighting the jolly folk of Siam for hundreds
of years. Timed to coincide with the new
rice-planting season, this eagerly anticipated
event is especially significant because it also
marks the traditional Thai New Year. Water,
symbolizing cleansing and renewal, thus
becomes immensely useful during this festive
season. Not only does it help keep you cool
under that fierce fireball above, but it can also
supposedly wash away the transgressions of
the outgoing year. The fact that you can throw
it at others, to hilarious effect, is an additional
perk.
Slosh, slosh, squelch, squelch. We at last
scurry into the relative sanctuary of the
Historical Park, and a hasty head count of my
fellow sopping-wet companions confirms we all
made it, and that we all loved it. Of course we
look ridiculous, but everyone looks ridiculous that's part of the great `sanook' of Songkran.
Inside the stunning Mongkhon Bophit Temple,
I learn the festival also has a refined, spiritual
side that perfectly balances its frivolous
exterior. The devout crowd bows before
a giant bronze Buddha, at 56-foot one of
Thailand's largest, praying for a happy New
Year. The pious sprinkle jasmine-scented holy
water over golden icons and pin bank notes to
a bulging `money tree' earmarked to assist in
the upkeep of this 600-year-old shrine.
“
We cherry-pick
targets in the bedraggled
bedlam below
”
We stroll through the nearby ruins of Phra
Si Sanphet Temple, the former palace of the
rulers of the medieval Kingdom of Ayudhaya,
which encompassed all of present-day
Thailand, Cambodia and Laos, and included
pockets of Burma, Vietnam and China. Here
we discover another charming Songkran
tradition. Whistling workers carry river sand
to the monastery to build miniature pagodas
festooned with bright streamers and flower
petals, an ancient custom designed to raise
temple grounds and the spirits of all involved.
Now that we have soaked up the cultural
atmosphere of the Historical Park, we feel
that it is once again time to soak up titanic
quantities of H2O as we make the wacky dash
back to the carpark. But this time we decide to
water-fight smarter. Hitching a ride on a pair
of the amiable, lumbering elephants carrying
visitors around the park, we plant ourselves
at the gates to the Historical Park and cherrypick targets in the bedraggled bedlam below.
We take some squirt-gun fire and catch some
hose-water, but we're too high up to cop
whole buckets of the stuff, so are at a huge
advantage. Those ancient Thai war-lords got it
right when they started riding their elephants
into battle: it feels just great to be up here.
All too soon our ammunition has been
expended and we have to dismount and let
some other revellers have a go. For a while
we are slightly nonplussed as to what we
can think of to rival the previous pachyderm
pandemonium, but then Ek remembers
that his friend O (Thais are big on small
nicknames) owns a pick-up truck and is
probably nearby. So Ek unwraps his phone
from the small plastic bag he had wrapped it
up in. We had earlier each been given one for
this purpose by a considerate bar-tender at
our splendid hotel, the Grand. Ek then rings
O, who after a while turns up in the pick-up,
which we scramble aboard, armed to the teeth
and with a large water butt on board.
We cruise the streets saturating anything that
moves. Heading back to the carnival epicentre,
the Historical Park, we find ourselves part of
a laugh-a-minute, take-no-prisoners waterbattle of sidesplittingly amusing proportions.
Beaming revellers cram the sidewalks and
cheerfully douse the passing motorcade.
Squadrons of mopeds, cars and pick-ups
return water-fire with abandon. Slippery
youths scuttle among the slow-moving
vehicles smudging white powder on anything
within reach - preferably the rosy cheeks of
fetchingly-drenched maidens.
All this skylarking intensifies at traffic lights
where camps of water-warriors await in eager
ambush. As we roll to a halt at a red light
the air is awash with flying water. No one
is safe from this deluge of mirth: even the
traffic policemen fill the sights of especially
mischievous squirt-guns.
Never before have I seen such enthusiastic
splashing, spraying, squirting and smearing never before have I had so much fun.
Happy New Year, Thai style
Meditation: Thailand
Insight Meditation,
the Subconscious
and Reincarnation
By Simon Ramsden
The 20th century philosopher
Bertrand Russell believed that the
best way to solve a thorny problem
was to let the subconscious deal with
it.
When he had a particularly difficult
essay to write, he would write down
the relevant facts, then read them
over and over intently for some
hours.
He would then avoid thinking about
the subject entirely for several weeks,
after which he found that the essay
would usually write itself, as his
subconscious had had a chance to
work on the data and come up with
answers.
S ir Winston Churchill once said that he
believed he was wrong about a quarter of the
time. If someone as illustrious as Sir Winston
Churchill felt that his powers of judgement
were so suspect, how can any of the rest of
us feel confident in relying on our own? In
the modern Western world, since science
took over from religion as the ultimate arbiter
between truth and fantasy, we have become
accustomed to placing complete credence in
the conclusions we come to using our powers
of deduction and to ignore our intuition as
unreliable. However, there is a problem with
this approach, as the conclusions we come to
rely on our assumptions and on our deductive
powers, both of which may be flawed and so
cause us, like Sir Winston, to make mistakes.
Some problems are also just so complex that
it is extremely hard to come to a balanced
judgement based on ration and reasoning.
The subconscious mind, however, does not rely
on logic or upon our conscious assumptions,
so maybe we should try listening to it
sometimes. This is one of the purposes behind
vipassana (insight) meditation, that if we
ignore conscious thoughts and feelings for long
enough then the subconscious has the chance
to be heard and to whisper intuition in our
inner ears.
Ignoring the conscious mind is a far from easy
task, as like a chattering monkey it constantly
throws fears, desires and worries at us.
Annapanasati (mindfulness with breathing)
is an implementation of vipassana, where
the meditator slows the stream of conscious
thoughts and feelings by concentrating as hard
as possible on the sensation of air moving
in and out of the nose. It is not a breathing
exercise where you try to breathe in a better
way (although it will also achieve that), what
it primarily achieves is that after a time (for
some people a fairly long time) you will start
to be able to attach less to the thoughts
and feelings that arise – they become just
thoughts and feelings, not ‘my’ thoughts and
feelings.
When a thought or feeling arises, recognise
that it has arisen and then go back to
examining the breath. The idea is not to push
thoughts away but to allow them to depart of
their own accord, which you achieve by not
giving them the much-magnified power you
usually do by attaching to them as ‘mine’. By
attaching to them less the meditator is able to
wave them goodbye more easily. Eventually
intervals will start to occur between the
thoughts and feelings, which are the spaces
where insight can arise. In at instant you will
just know, with complete certainty, the answer
to a problem you may not even have known
you had.
“
Thai people are very
strong contenders for
being the happiest people
on the planet.
”
Buddhists monks believe that the natural state
of human beings is contentment despite the
tribulations of the vale of sorrow in which we
live. Using vipassana and annapanasati, the
causes for discontentment are observed and
allowed to wither. Personally, I’m tempted
to take these monks’ practices seriously as,
despite what to most people would seem like
extremely boring and ascetic lives, they so
often seem to be so deliriously happy. They
set a shining example of contentment through
non-attachment to impermanent phenomena
- those thoughts, feelings, relationships and
possessions which come and go in life. This
leadership is extremely beneficial to the rest
of the community and justifies the reverence
in which the monks are held and the physical
support which they receive.
It is maybe no coincidence that Thailand
is a mainly Buddhist country and that Thai
people are very strong contenders for being
the happiest people on the planet. The rival
countries for the distinction of being the
happiest places, in this author’s experience,
are the Buddhist Himalayan countries.
Meditation encourages people to let their fears
and worries arise, to face them and then to let
go of them. The Thais’ amazing ability not to
worry is maybe at least in part a consequence
of this.
Many Westerners will already be aware that
they are happiest when forgetting themselves
through concentration, but often assume that
in order to be effective the object of their
concentration must be something exciting
like an adventure sport in a foreign country.
How lucky the Buddhists are, after they have
learned to get the same happiness just from
concentrating on the breath going in and out
of their noses, which are always there, are
always reliable and which also don’t require
exhausting and expensive aircraft flights to
reach.
To delve into the subconscious can for
some people be a difficult path. Suppressed
feelings and repressed events can arise or be
remembered, sometimes extremely painfully.
It is recommended that anyone seeking to
try out meditation enlists the guidance and
support of the people who have been doing it
for a very long time, the Buddhists. It is not
necessary to subscribe to Buddhist ethics and
after-life beliefs to benefit from this religion’s
techniques for increasing contentment and
generating insight.
While on the subject of Buddhist after-life
beliefs, I would like to examine one of the
many cases I’ve come across that show to my
satisfaction that there is at least a case for
suggesting that we are reincarnated. In 1970
a German woman insisted to her hypnotist
that she was an 1880s doctor working in
the gynaecology department of Edinburgh
hospital, the layout of which she drew in
detail. When she later visited this hospital
for the first time and showed the staff her
drawing, she was told that it didn’t match the
actual layout. Persistently, she asked to see
1880’s plans for the hospital. The layout of
these plans matched her drawing.
The above is just one case of many. They don’t
constitute one hundred percent proof, but to
my mind people who refuse to countenance
them are not keeping open minds.
Anybody who is interested in this subject is
recommended to read about Edgar Cayce, a
19th century American healer and psychic.
It is hard to disbelieve the evidence that he
could see peoples’ past lives just by placing his
hands on them.
There is an alternative explanation for these
phenomena. The philosopher Carl Jung
believed that humans have a common shared
consciousness, through which every person
has a link to everything ever experienced
by every other person. A species memory.
So maybe reincarnation doesn’t really
happen, maybe the reincarnation cases are
manifestations of Jung’s species memory.
Thai meditation advice: people wishing to try
meditation and who feel they are up to an
ascetic ten-day retreat are advised to attend
Suan Mok monastery (google “wat suan
mok”). Those looking for a gentler introduction
are advised to contact www.watkowtahm.
org on Koh Phangan or www.jungleyoga.
com, based in Khao Sok National Park. People
looking for a 5-star package might like to
consider Koh Phangan’s Santhiya Resort
(www.santhiya.com), the Anantara Golden
Triangle Hotel (www.anantara.com), where
the yoga and meditation retreats take place in
a 700 year old Buddhist temple, or the Chiva
Som Hotel in Hua Hin (www.chivasom.com),
pioneers in 5-star meditation retreats
Extreme Climbing
Thailand's Thaiwand Wall
By Sam Lightner
R
ailay’s Thaiwand Wall is as beautiful as the face
that launched a thousand ships. Its perfect 200-metre
multihued form rears up out of the Andaman Sea and
from it drip stalactites like the wax from a candle. It’s
obviously a debatable assertion to claim that Railay’s
Thaiwand Wall is the finest crag is southeast Asia, but
I doubt whether there are many climbers who have
experienced it who will mock the assertion. This chunk of
rock is special in lots of different ways.
Firstly, it is hollow; non-climbers can ascend fixed ropes
and ladders all the way through it from behind, starting
from the northern end of the incomparably beautiful
Phra Nang beach and emerging 30 metres above the
equally stunning West Railay beach. The only piece of
equipment needed is a torch.
Secondly, the view from its middle- and upperreaches is simply sublime, the buttressed ramparts
of Tonsai’s Sleeping Indian Wall framing the beach
in an almost impossibly lovely rock amphitheatre.
Thirdly, this place has routes for everybody, from
‘rock-faller-offers’ and intermediate crag-hangers
through to the rock gymnasts many of us so
admire and wish to emulate.
Fourthly, the rock here is just gorgeous, like a
nonexistent volcano had poured multicoloured
lava all down it, while leaving often tiny and
sometimes agonizingly sparse holds along
the way.
This spire’s impressive size and angle kept
climbers at bay for some time.
Nowadays, people hear of it from friends
or see pictures in magazines and can’t
help but be drawn to the wall. The
Thaiwand is best known for its high
routes, but there are also some great
short routes to do along the base of the
wall. The Thaiwand was christened by
Sam Lightner and Greg Collum out of
reverence for the Eigerwand which, like
this spire, absolutely dominates the sky
above a beautiful place.
Images by King Climbers
www.railay.com
“
The most sublime
piece of limestone the world
is ever likely to see.
”
Extreme Climbing: Thailand
Hazards:
1) Thunderstorms
Don’t be high on a high route here during
a thunderstorm unless you fancy a really
electrifying experience.
2) Overhanging Descents
If you venture onto the bigger routes, you
need to know how to descend as well as how
to climb an overhanging wall. Just tossing the
rope and abseiling might leave you dangling in
space, so if you don’t fancy treading fresh air
while spinning like a marionette at the end of
your rope, learn about back-clipping before
you ascend.
Thaiwand Unlocked – With
Unexpected Help
The following extract from Sam Lightner Jnr’s
excellent and highly recommended book
'Thailand – A Climbing Guide' relates how he
and Greg Collum opened the Thaiwand Wall
up for climbing. Some of those readers who
love this, probably the most sublime piece of
Extreme Climbing: Thailand
“Hmmm.”
limestone the world is ever likely to see (OK
that’s hyperbole, but this particular magazine
editor really does love that rock-face), will
maybe echo the editor in saying “thanks very
much” to Sam and Greg for their efforts that
day.
I had a hangover that could have killed a
water buffalo. This was normal. What was not
normal was the place I had chosen to sweat
out the Mekong Whiskey haze. Greg and I had
got up early, still buzzing and spinning, then
spent two hours thrashing through untouched
jungle, clawing over the razor-sharp rocks
of southern Thailand until we reached the
rock-face. We had spent the next eight hours
on the northwest arête. We’d gone back
and forth and up and down in order to avoid
slicing through the rope and being grated like
Parmesan all the way down to the Andaman
Sea. Now we’d crossed over the arête near the
summit and were contemplating an unknown
number of abseils back down to terra firma.
It was 6pm; we had only three ropes, a small
drill, and no safety gear left. In 30 minutes it
would be dark, and in our stupor both of us
had forgotten headlamps.
All things considered, the hangovers were the
Thaiwand Legend
If you look very carefully across from the Thaiwand onto the
most easterly reaches of the rocks behind Tonsai, you can see
a large inaccessible cave about 100 metres off the ground.
There is a brown, boat-shaped object in there that is claimed
to contain the remains of a king and to be filled with gold
treasure. Don’t believe your Thai guide if he tells you that
a storm washed it up there, he’s just trying to find out how
gullible you are.
“Oh, well” I replied, “I’m going for it.” I heard
him laughing, but it wasn’t a reassuring laugh.
The wall quickly disappeared into darkness
and I was twisting in space. After 20 seconds
of descent, I pulled up the end of the rope and
tied a knot in it to prevent me from abseiling
off its end, then dropped it. Twenty seconds
later, I was at my knot.
least of our worries. Greg did the first abseil,
dropping over small bits of orange and white
rock mixed with the dreaded dark gray sharp
stuff, not saying a word as the rope popped
across the daggers. He slipped under a huge
overhang and swung out over the darkening
jungle, then back in, and clung to the wall.
Moments later he began drilling and then
secured a bolt in the rock. I fixed the rope and
headed down. Twenty minutes later I was on
the sharp end, swinging wildly over the dark
jungle at the bottom of the rope. I got in an
anchor and Greg descended. We had already
decided that we would assume that three
full-length ropes would make it to the ground.
Greg, when he came down on the second fixed
line, committed us to reaching the ground or
to spending the rest of our lives on the wall.
“
Bleakness - I see a
bleak future for us.
”
Greg then admitted that he now had doubts
about our reaching the ground. I thought we
would but had to concede that getting close
was not an option. At that time, the only two
climbers capable of mounting a rescue on the
entire continent were the two of us, so if we
ended up not reaching the ground it would
be a long wait. Still, we were committed.
I told Greg again that I thought we would
make it. He agreed that I should go and
see. In pitch black I descended from the
cave, sliding down about 8 metres until I
reached a ledge. Below there was no sign of
the ground, just darkness. Maybe Greg was
right.
“What do you see?” he said calmly. There
was not a hint of wind, so no need to yell.
I hung there for half an hour, trying to come
up with excuses to lay on the blond Italian
who was now waiting for me at Coco’s, only
300 metres away. Nothing would work, I’d just
have to clip my karabiners on a new project …
if I ever got out of this.
I guessed by looking at the nearby trees that
I was perhaps 9 metres above the ground.
In the faint starlight I could see the wall, but
there was just no way to reach it. I’d stopped
swinging far above, and basic Newtonian
physics dictated that I wouldn’t reach it unless
someone came along and gave me a shove.
On a high spire in southern Thailand at 8pm
on a February night in 1992, that wasn’t very
likely to happen.
Then it hit. There hadn’t been a sparrow’s
breath of wind for days, but suddenly I was
pushed by a gust. I swung a bit, then it hit
again. This time I worked the swing like a
kid on a playground swing. Moments later,
I was clinging to the wall, and the wind quit
blowing. I tied off the rope, climbed down and
yelled for Greg. We spent the next three hours
crawling through the trail-less jungle, using
fireflies and an occasional star as the only light
source.
We spent the next two days recovering, then
we began chopping a trail and scaling the
ropes. The Thaiwand had been climbed. Those
ensuing weeks were a lot of fun, but they
might not have been. I’m pretty sure that at
its end, ‘someone’ gave us a little help
“Bleakness - I see a bleak future for us.”
Extreme Sailing
Phuket to the
Philippines
Article by Simon Ramsden
Extreme Sailing: Phuket to The Philippines
“ think we should do something a bit mad
I
with the Bavaria” said Tony to me over a gin
and tonic at the bar of the Banyan Tree hotel
on Phuket. We drink there quite regularly, as it
attracts other sailors, due to having in-house
yachts. “We’ve been cruising round Phang Nga
bay for a month now, on and off, which has
been great, but it’s all so safe here – I need
more of a challenge.”
“You’re not serious are you, boss?” I
complained. “What could possibly be better
than island-hopping round here with our
better halves decorating the yacht? It’s the
best tropical scenery on the planet.”
“I knew you’d say that, but I’ve made my
mind up. I’m going down to the Philippines
during the cyclone season to test the boat
against some real winds. We never get any
serious wind or waves anywhere near Phuket,
only the occasional squall. You remember
that one we anchored behind Railay to shelter
from? It was gone before anybody even
spewed. Boring.”
“Hmmm, how odd, my memory must be
playing tricks with me.” I replied. “I could
almost swear, when you were tucking into the
surf and turf at Rayavadee ashore on Railay,
that you said something along the lines of
“ahhh, what bliss, life doesn’t get much better
than this, does it?”
Tony is used to getting what he wants and
this case was no exception. It took him a
Extreme Sailing: Phuket to The Philippines
while to persuade me that he wasn’t so bored
with life in paradise that he wanted to end it
prematurely. He promised me that we would
stay out of the way of any cyclones and
managed to convince me that the boat was up
to the challenge of riding out a major storm
and that he knew how to handle her (which is
just as well, because I'm no sailor, I’m just his
long-suffering dogs-body - aka PA).
Several months later we headed down to the
Philippines to find some decent storms while
dodging the cyclones. The crew consisted
of Tony, me and Tony’s nephew James, who
claimed extensive nautical knowledge. After
a bit of (in my case way overdue) detox and
rejuvenation at Borocay’s exquisite Tirta Spa
resort, we sailed away under calm and clear
moonlit skies, the implausibly long beach
eventually dwindling to nothingness behind
us as a profoundly peaceful sense of serenity
settled over the boat and its occupants.
Tony told us to both get some rest, so James
and I turned in. Unfortunately for James,
he decided to get undressed first, whereas
I just lay down on a bunk. This meant that,
several hours later when we woke up to
heavy seas and the boat started throwing us
violently round the cabin, he was at a distinct
disadvantage, as he was stark naked and
unable to get dressed. Not that I felt so lucky
at the time: I have never been so sick in my
life. I must have thrown up a good ten times
or so, until there was nothing left inside me
but bile and until it felt like my insides would
permanently part company with me at any
moment.
The Bavaria was being hurled around like a
cork in a dishwasher. Up and down she went
like a supercharged elevator. The glasses that
I’d neglected to stow the night before were
hurled across the galley and they all smashed,
worsening James’s problem, as he was now
barefoot and confined to his cabin by the
broken glass all over the galley floor.
“
Gigantic waves were
hitting us from the
starboard beam, one after
another of the monsters
swamping the cockpit.
”
Tony let himself into the cabin, followed by
a lot of seawater. He looked in a bad way,
drenched and with blood on his hands (from,
he later told me, rope-burn). He went up to
the Japanese GPS, swore, hit it with his fist,
then swore again.
“I think we’re running directly towards an
island chain” he yelled, with a scared look I’d
never seen on his face before, “but I’m not
sure - the GPS is broken. We need to tack
hard to starboard for more sea-room and you
need to help me do it. Come on, out on deck
with you, now” he shouted, disappearing back
up on deck.
I pondered my job spec. Representing him at
meetings, organizing his schedule and helping
him avoid his ex-wife is work that I mostly
enjoy and which is I feel within my abilities.
Going above-decks on a yacht that was
being hurled around in what was obviously a
humongous storm was most definitely not part
of my deal. I do a bit of scuba-diving for my
thrills and feel pretty safe at it, but this was
another thing entirely.
I had just managed to self-justify this
cowardice when a particularly violent wave
smashed into the yacht and heeled her way
over to port, so far that I felt she must surely
capsize. The Bavaria seemed to spend an
aeon deciding whether to sink or swim before
finally clawing her way back out of the water’s
grip and righting herself. After I had stopped
screaming at the top of my voice at the pure
terror of this experience I thanked God for
German engineers, then realised that maybe
Tony needed someone to help him up top.
On balance I realised that I was more likely
to survive the night by dragging my petrified
backside up top, so I opened the salon doors
and emerged into the most dramatic sight I
have ever seen, before or since. The raw fury
of this boiling, savage water made even the
summit of Nepal’s Island Peak, in a storm,
seem tame by comparison. Gigantic waves
were hitting us from the starboard beam, one
after another of the monsters swamping the
cockpit. At each deluge I had to hold on for
dear life (I wasn’t tied on) and hold my breath
until the water subsided. Tony gave me a rope
and told me to pull, which I did, quickly tying
off the rope before each wave hit so that I
could hang on.
After a while, we were running from the storm
towards open sea and I realised that we were
going to survive the experience. The waves,
though they swamped us, didn’t threaten to
capsize us as they had previously. It was then
that a huge wave of, not water, but euphoria
swept over me – what a stunning place to be,
what an experience to have, what a story to
tell. The feeling of having just survived what
had plainly been a touch-and-go situation
added to the high. This lovely feeling went
on until the storm passed over us and the
seas started to calm, but didn’t disappear, it
lingered on for the whole of the rest of the
day.
Several hours later the storm had abated
enough for us to be able to hear moans and
groans emanating from the cabin. Tony and
I looked at each other, both of us realising
that we had completely forgotten about
James down below. I went below to find him
black and blue all over his naked body and
completely covered in vomit. I cleaned him up
a bit, then, after we realised he was basically
OK, Tony and I started reminding him about
his boasts of the previous evening about his
sailing prowess.
I’m not sure what was most painful for him,
his bruised body or his injured pride – he
certainly looked really miserable for the rest
of the day. He didn’t even cheer up when Tony
got on his sat-phone and booked us all a stay
at the swish Maya Ubud Resort on Bali. Maybe
it was only stress-relief endorphins or some
other similar phenomenon, but the more he
moaned, the funnier Tony and I thought him.
Editor’s note: it is hoped that the reader will
excuse the editor for being unable to obtain
any extreme sailing images. If you have any
such images or an extreme sailing story to
share, please get in touch
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Article by Rosie Ramsden
Free Fall: Macau Tower
I had a great experience at Macau's Great
Tower and would like to share it with you.
answer and so didn’t give me time to open my
mouth and say:
When my Dad asked me what I wanted to do
on his day off in Macau, I said I wanted to see
the sights, one of which is the Macao Tower.
I didn't know about the jump, so you can
imagine my surprise when I looked up to see
someone plunging earthwards from the top.
"Wow? Dad! That’s amazing. I want to have
a go" I said, tugging at his shirt, as I realised
what was happening.
“NO, Definitely not, I’ve changed my mind,
don’t bother about a refund, I want to go
down the slow way. I mean, I can’t feel any
wings sprouting out of my shoulders, so I can’t
possibly fly, right, so this is lunacy. I might be
a young British female, but DO I LOOK LIKE A
B***** BIRD ?
“
How many giraffes
do you get jumping
off this thing?
”
"I thought you would," he said as he fished for
his wallet. A little later, as an attendant helped
me into a harness and tightened the straps,
I watched the orange jumpsuits walk around
the outside deck as if they were training for a
moon-walk.
A J Hackett opened the world’s highest
sky jump, a plunge off the 233m outer rim
of the Macau Tower, in 2006. You, too, can
jump off the Macau Tower – if, that is, you
fancy plunging towards tarmac at a hundred
kilometres an hour.
A hybrid of bungee jump and skydiving,
the sky jump is a controlled aerial journey
involving no rebound or hanging upside down,
which ends with a gentle landing at the base
of the tower. The system is regulated by a
cable brake and the fall takes 14 seconds. The
inaugural jump was completed by Mr. Hackett,
from New Zealand, on 17th December
2006. His career as a sky-jump installation
tester began on that day and thankfully can
continue, due to his having got his sums right.
Dare-devils are clad in specially-tailored suits
and connected to three cables, so ensuring
absolute safety. At approximately 10 metres
above the ground, the cable drum switches
down-gear to allow for a soft landing. Unlike a
bungee jump, Sky Jump is a controlled aerial
journey, so you won’t bounce back and you
won’t end up upside down. There is also no
chance of the cable wrapping itself around
your neck, as has happened to at least one
bungee jumper.
He opened the gate and told me to put my
hands on the top bar of the railing as the gate
swung open in front of me. I did, but realised
I really had changed my mind and was not
going to jump - no way, José.
"Look over there, Losie, look at Hong Kong"
the crew member said, pointing at where my
sister had been born. "You’ll be fine. Trust me”
he assured me.
"No. This does not feel right. I do not want to
do this," I said, standing at the edge with the
gate wide open. The crew member attempted
to reassure me, closing the gate and talking
some calm back into me. I didn't hear him the only thought filling my mind, heightened
by the blood throbbing almost audibly in my
temples, was that jumping off the tower was
suicidal. Life suddenly seemed even more
precious than previously, I was far too young
and thought myself much too beautiful to die.
Besides, I’d never had any children, never
been rock-climbing in Krabi, never seen a
sunset from Annapurna base camp, only seen
Boyzone in concert nineteen times.
This felt very different from jumping out of
an aircraft in Australia. That had seemed only
slightly daft, as the aircraft was perfectly
serviceable and I had no particularly pressing
appointments on the ground.
The crew member continued to try to reassure
me “Come on Losie, you don’t want to come
this far and turn back", he said.
A Chinese man got suited up before me and
I watched him enter the crew pit, then be
guided outside to where the jump gate is
located.
A crew member grabbed the 'Big Man' (a
long, thick set of cables wrapped together in
material) and hooked it to a loop on the man's
back.
After the checklist he guided the man to the
gate. He told the jumper that at 50 feet he
would stop his fall to take a photo and asked
that the jumper look back up at him. The
man nodded in agreement, looking as though
he didn’t trust himself to speak for fear of
emitting an un-macho squeak. The attendant
opened the door and led the man to the edge.
He didn’t hesitate and was gone in seconds. I
doubted whether I would be so brave.
I felt adrenaline entering my heart as I took
a deep breath, trying to control the mounting
fear of knowing it was my turn.
I stepped outside.
Out on the deck, the crew member said "Don't
worry, Losie, it's safe," pronouncing my name
in the usual Asian way.
He yelled back the checklist and asked me,
"Are you ready?" But he wasn’t really after an
Night Jungle Trek
Langkawi, Malaysia
Article By David Wilson
W
ith his black beard, mane and glazed,
distant eyes, Irshad Mobarak has an
otherworldly aura. Rarely have I interviewed a
source who comes more highly recommended
than Mobarak. Make that never. Dev
Mahandra, a rival guide on the Malaysian
geopark island of Langkawi, describes the
49-year-old as 'a world-class guide' and the
best in Malaysia.
Before I could give voice to my objections I
heard the sound of cheering and realised that
everyone on the top floor had gathered behind
us and was cheering me on.
suddenly realised how much he loves me, that
he was willing to put up with watching me do
something that must have scared him witless.
"Please don't do that," I said, waving feebly at
them while smiling wanly.
Our driver Andrew greeted me at the exit.
"You crazy lady. Your Dad say you no like be
high, why you jump?" he asked.
More afraid of the embarrassment of turning
back than of the dangers of proceeding, I
turned round, faced the open expanse and
leaned forward.
"Because I wanted to beat the fear" I said.
Today, the spectators on the top floor had
given me the courage to jump by shaming me
into banishing the fear.
The cable stopped after 50 feet for the
attendant to take my photo. "Look at me," he
yelled from above as I hung suspended below.
"I can't," I yelled back, "My head doesn’t turn
that far. It’s impossible, my neck’s not long
enough. Who can do that, anyway? I mean,
how many giraffes do you get jumping off this
thing?"
Andrew asked Dad why he didn't jump too.
"I have no desire to do things like that," he
replied. "I’m old enough not to need to bother
with proving things."
The cable was released and I started a
pleasurable descent, slowing down about 30
feet from the bottom and landing softly on
my feet, right on target. Dad's eyes were
the first things I saw as I hit the landing
pad. He was laughing a somewhat nervous
laugh, presumably relieved it was all over. I
AJ Hackett once chided reporters. "You must
jump before reporting," he said. So, now, after
having completed the same feat, I feel I have
earned the right to ask, "If you are young,
do you have what it takes? If not, is the only
reason that you wouldn’t do it that you feel
you don’t need to bother?"
Asked what makes Mobarak different,
Mahandra says: “What makes Bill Gates
different from other people?” This thoroughly
confuses me. I only hope that Mobarak doesn’t
try my patience as much as Bill’s software
does, as I’m on holiday, so deserve to be
enjoying myself.
His expeditions aren’t bad either (that’s
Mobarak's I’m referring to, not Bill's, though
I’ve also been on a fair few Microsoft blind
alley explorations in my time too). Signed up
for his Rainforest After-dark tour, I roll up at
the Datai Langkawi, a gorgeous five-star hotel
overlooking a lush valley and, with its whiteuniformed staff, to me reminiscent of a James
Bond baddy redoubt.
What is brave? To jump or not to jump. Which
is braver? She who jumps or he who jumps
not?
Image by Jez Tryner
The tour party meets beside the lily pond
lobby in the shadow of the statue of a
white horse. Speaking in the rolling lilt he
inherited from an Irish grandfather, straight
away Mobarak invites us to follow him. The
atmosphere is curiously reverential, almost
like that on a cathedral tour.
To the average hotel guest, the dimly-lit
winding path doubtless looks just like any
other. To Mobarak, it is a vibrant wonderland
awash with playing-hard-to-get tarantulas,
enigmatic wild pigs and herbs blessed with
extraordinary properties of use during what he
refers to as “the time of love and courtship.”
Thanks to his delivery and erudition, the
90-minute tour feels like it is over in half an
hour. The repertoire encompasses everything
from the greater flameback woodpecker to
everything that flies – foxes, snakes, lizards –
you name it. The plants play engaging cameo
roles too. Just look at the rattan: a vinelike palm native to Asia, used for furniture,
especially for caning and wicker because it is
strong and easy to manipulate.
According to Mobarak, rattan has another,
more alarming use – in corporal punishment.
Woe to the unhappy villains who
feel the swish of a rattan
cane. Mobarak
recounts one
punishment
session
where a
stripped
and
spread-eagled armed robber waited cockily,
boasting of his lack of fear of what was to
come.
His tormentor then enacted a 360-degree
swing that made the robber collapse with a
scream and black out. “The skin splits and
goes blue,” Mobarak reveals, adding that the
reporter who covered the story threw up. So
next time you lounge on your trendy beach
bungalow rattan mat, remember that it has a
double purpose. A bit like the pong pong tree.
On one hand, it just stands there looking
gorgeously lush. On the other, the pong pong
oozes menace - it has the power to toxify
anything that moves. Hence its use in rat
poison.
Nothing feeds off it, not even the iron-bellied
macaque or the dusky langur, a herbivore
with a huge appetite. Think twice before
incorporating one of its cooking apple-like
fruits into a pie. Indeed, just breathing in its
proximity seems a hazardous enterprise.
“
Pythons do eat pigs,
dogs, calves and people
”
Ditto pythons. Pythons do not of
course actively fantasise about
hurting us in the manner of
the serpents in all those
Hollywood B-movies.
But pythons, at least
the reticulated strain
native to the island,
do eat pigs, dogs,
calves and people.
“They have no
respect for us,”
Mobarak says.
If one wraps itself
around you, don’t
worry, contrary to
popular myth you
will not die from
strangulation. Hardly
preferably, your gums
and ears will start to
bleed, then your heart will
be crushed so much it will
be unable to pump and you will
expire from a heart attack.
Probably it will not happen to you. Mobarak
can only recall hearing about two attacks. Less
reassuringly, pythons are hard to spot. As
Mobarak puts it, they “lay traps”, yes lay traps.
The standard python procedure is to bury itself
in leaves, rise up, bite hard and then refuse to
let go.
This ghoulish image brings to mind the
behaviour of the tarantula, which, according
to Mobarak, is actually relatively harmless.
Nobody in Asia has ever been killed by one.
The pain is not much worse than a bee sting.
The tarantula’s venom is 'cyotoxic' (toxic to
cells). When it injects venom into its prey,
all the victim’s soft organs liquefy. Making
matters worse for small animals that cannot
stomp the little monster, it does not deliver
just one bite. It bites its prey repeatedly.
Some of the jungle creatures are just plain
weird. Take the blue-faced, golden-eyed
tokay gecko we spotted clinging to a tree. The
odd thing about the gecko is that it breaks
the unwritten rule that lizards should be the
strong, silent type. Quite the reverse, this
gecko almost barks, making a weird, decidedly
doggy noise that sounds incongruously canine
on such a little creature.
As if that were not weird enough, the gecko
cleans its eyes with its tongue in a windscreen
wiper motion and has complicated feet.
Each sports no less than 500,000 microbristles subdivided into up to 150 even
smaller bristles ending in spatula tips that
'connect at molecular level.' The result is a
superglue effect. Theoretically, four scaled-up
such feet could hold the weight of a 120kg
person. Mobarak suspects that, one day, this
application will be exploited by the military.
I wonder how. Please email your suggestions
and we’ll split the patent.
But I digress, as does Mobarak – often. He
is the man that National Geographic recruits
for insight into the mountain in the shadow of
which he lives. What is more, his vocation is
enshrined in the name his parents chose for
him ... guess what it means: 'guidance.'
www.junglewalla.com
Borneo Focus
The Wild Heart of SE Asian Adventure
Image by Jez Tryner
Borneo:
Into the Heart
of the Wild
B orneo is the third largest island in the world,
located east of Singapore. The Borneo jungles
are not only magnificently spectacular, but
are also relatively untouched. When one finds
oneself amongst the many segregated worlds
of lush vegetation that Borneo has to offer, one
can only wonder "how could an exotic land that
offers so many species of wildlife have escaped
mass tourism?"
In the modern age, when tourism has a
tendency to develop and then envelop any place
of beauty, Borneo has so far escaped this fate.
This is an extra benefit that heightens Borneo's
natural and unspoiled charm and which will, we
hope, continue to enhance Borneo's majestic
splendour through the years. So remote is
Borneo that one of its many superlatives, the
world's largest and most overwhelming cave
system, the Mulu, was only discovered by the
West in the latter half of the twentieth century.
Like Timbuktu and Patagonia, Borneo symbolizes
the remote and the exotic. One thinks of
impenetrable jungles, headhunters, leeches,
snakes and giant spiders. And do you know
what? Except for the headhunters, it’s all still
pretty much true. In addition you get worldclass caves, white-water rivers, the highest Via
Ferrata on the planet and the highest mountain
in southeast Asia.
At about the size of Texas, Borneo is the third
largest island in the world. Most of it belongs
to Indonesia, but the northern provinces of
Sarawak and Sabah, former British colonies
which are now part of Malaysia, draw most of
Borneo’s visitors.
The primitive image of Borneo which we held
in the last century is out of date. Malaysian
Borneo is civilised; Kuching and Kota Kinabalu
are modern, bustling little cities, and the island
has a reasonably effective tourist infrastructure.
The blend of old and new in Borneo is nicely
summed up by a sign in the Limbang airport
that sternly prohibits the carrying of blowguns
aboard aircraft.
Because of its great variety of attractions,
Borneo trips tend to be smorgasbord-style
affairs. You may be climbing 13,455-foot Mount
Kinabalu one day (no technical skills required,
but nevertheless a stiff hike) and sleeping in
a longhouse with Iban tribesmen the next.
Although headhunting is now outlawed, you
may meet some folks who remember it — or
may even have practised it in the ‘good’ old
days. Jungle treks and cave explorations in
Mulu National Park, visits to Sepilok orangutan
sanctuary, white-water rafting trips and scuba
diving along the 3,000-foot sea wall just
off Sipadan Island are also popular Borneo
diversions. Whatever you do, it’s virtually certain
you’ll ride in a boat at some point — Borneo is
so mountainous and densely forested that roads
exist only along the coastline. In the interior,
rivers are the only highways.
Practically speaking Borneo is not an easy place
to see on your own. Attractions are widely
scattered and require a variety of transportation.
Many cool spots are reachable only by longboat
or small aircraft, which require advance
planning. On the major rivers such as the Baram
and Rajang, however, there are fast, cheap
express boat services (if you have the bottle to
ride them). These incredibly sleek, speedy and
claustrophobic craft look much like wingless jet
airliners — the drivers even paint on fake cockpit
windows to further the illusion — and have a
terrible safety record. Local tour operators in the
main towns of Kuching and Kota Kinabalu offer
Kinabalu climbs and visits to Iban longhouses.
The downside, of course, is that, almost by
definition, any outing that’s easy to arrange
on the spot is going to be more crowded with
tourists.
“
At about the size of Texas,
Borneo is the third largest
island in the world.
”
And don’t worry about the leeches. The pesky
little critters usually manage to get through
any protective clothing, but you won’t even
notice that they’re sucking your blood because
they first inject you with a local anaesthetic. It
doesn’t hurt a bit, but it can be a bit of a jolt
when you remove your shoes and find bloodsoaked socks. But unless you’re seriously
squeamish or a haemophobe, Borneo leeches
are not that big a deal. Really!
Beating
Mount
Kinabalu
Mount Kinabalu: Malaysia
Mount Kinabalu: Malaysia
Location
T
he Kinabalu Park is famous the world
over for the highest mountain in southeast
Asia - Mt. Kinabalu, a vast, jagged granite
massif rising to 4,101m. (13,455 ft). The
mountain is the focal point of the whole Park,
which covers an area of 754 sq km (291 sq
miles) of Borneo Island in Sabah, Malaysia
and includes vegetation types ranging from
the lush lowland zone through the tropical
oak, rhododendron and conifer forests, to the
alpine meadow plants and stunted bushes of
the summit zone. The Park probably has one
of the richest diversities of flora in the world.
Mount Kinabalu is the highest mountain in
southeast Asia and offers a unique climb from
tropical luxuriance through sub-alpine forests
to the rocky summit plateau.
“
Many people have
been lost on the mountain
in the past, some never
to be seen again.
”
The use of an authorised guide is compulsory,
whilst a porter is an optional luxury.
Many of the trees and flowers are unique or
extremely rare but to the uninitiated novice in
matters botanical, there is no doubt that the
pitcher plant steals the show. Even the most
casual observer cannot fail to notice these
impressive insect-guzzling monsters, with up
to a pint of liquid in their death-by-drowning
chambers, waiting to lure and then drown the
passing fly or mosquito.
The buds appear as small knobs covered in
dark brown bracts on the stem of the vine and
take about nine months to develop to the size
of a cabbage before they open. The flowers
are notorious for their bad smell, which is
most unpleasant but only lasts for three to
four days. Two species have been found on
Kinabalu, the huge Rafflesia keithii, which
really is a giant, growing up to a whopping 94
centimetres (37 inches) across and the smaller
R. pricei, about 30 centimetres (12 inches
across).
Rafflesia – World’s
Biggest Flower
Ropes-required Climbs
Rafflesia is perhaps one of the two groups of
plants that are associated with Kinabalu more
than any other, besides orchids.
Trek Kinabalu
The climb starts from Mount Kinabalu Park
Headquarters, only a couple of hours drive
but already more than 1500m above Kota
Kinabalu on the coast. There is ample
accommodation here, from dormitories to
comfortable two-person cottages. Whilst
the round-trip trek to the summit can be
accomplished in two days, a more comfortable
3-day trek is recommended for biology-lovers
who want to fully enjoy the rich diversity of
flora on the mountain. There are 2 trails up
Mt. Kinabalu. The recently-opened Mesilau
Trail offers more opportunities for viewing flora
and fauna, whilst the Summit Trail is the more
direct route.
highest pinnacle, Lows Peak, is also one
of the easiest. On the way down you can
take a glimpse down the dizzying depths of
1,000 metre-deep, 16 kilometre-long Lows
Gully, which splits the summit plateau into
the western and eastern plateaus. With the
early start the descent to Park Headquarters
is easily done in one day and is normally
accomplished with the satisfied glow of having
climbed one of the world's most spectacular
and interesting mountains.
The summit trail winds up a steep staircase of
gnarled tree-roots to a mossy world of drifting
clouds and orchid-draped trees, where pitcher
plants and rhododendrons abound. Just above
the tree line at 3350m is a comfortable rest
house where most parties spend the night.
Before dawn next morning everybody is
up and climbing by torchlight towards the
summit. A steep rock step is aided by a
fixed rope which continues all the way to the
summit, even where the way becomes quite
flat when it winds across bare granite slabs
in an eerie moonscape of rock twisted and
contorted in weird wind-fashioned ways.
The spectacular Rafflesia, which grows wild
in these forests is, perhaps surprisingly
considering its size, a parasite - it has no stem
or leaves of its own and gets its nourishment
from thread-like filaments which spread down
through the roots and stems of its host forest
vines.
Other peaks on the mountain are Victoria’s
Peak (4,090m.), Donkey’s Ears Peak
(4,054m.), South Peak (3,931.5m.) and
St. John’s Peak (4,090.7m.) on the western
plateau. On the eastern plateau stand
King Edward Peak (4,086m.), Mesilau
Peak (3,801.3m.) and King George Peak
(4,062.6m).
These peaks are only for experienced climbers
as they are challenging climbs requiring ropes,
for which a special permit from the Park
authorities is required
Many people have been lost on the mountain
in the past, some never to be seen again. The
rope and the compulsory guide make this now
extremely unlikely even in the thickest mist.
Nevertheless the early start is a good idea
in order to enjoy the views before the usual
mist descends on the summit, which normally
happens at around 10 am. It is not a good
idea to climb too quickly as the wait for the
magnificent sunrise at the summit is rather
cold.
The arrival of daylight reveals the remarkable
summit plateau of the mountain, a vast
expanse of smooth rock with a weird
assortment of rocky pinnacles rising from it,
almost like the udders of an inverted cow.
In clear weather, you can almost see all of
Sabah spread out below in a magnificent soulexpanding panorama of jungle and forest,
river and rock. Luckily for peak-baggers the
Sutera Golf/Spa
Megaresort
Kota Kinabalu,
Malaysia
By David Wilson
C rack! Splash. Those two sounds are the first
that I hear on arrival at the driving range.
They signal that another golfer has just
hooked a ball into the moat.
Soon I am emulating that feat and feeling
bad about the waste of equipment. Happily,
however, the balls are low-density, which
means they float and can be retrieved.
So, as the two Aussies (both called Andrew)
who run the course might say, “no worries.”
After I have had a blast at the range, Perth
product Andrew Farmers, 23, rounds me up
and chauffeurs me in a buggy to the 27-hole
championship course, which also offers nightgolfing, should that take your fancy.
All palm trees, lakes and undulation, the
course borders the South China Sea and
embodies my idea of what a desert island
should look like. Except that it is part of the
384-acre Sutera Megaresort on the outskirts
of Kota Kinabalu, the capital of the MalaysianBorneo state of Sabah. Farmers describes the
course, which boasts the biggest bunker I
have seen – about the size of a tennis court as “picturesque but lots of trouble.”
Are they not always? I have never understood
why people play golf to relax. In my
experience, the game is about as relaxing as
missing a flight.
Then again, the last time I played was in
England on a vast nettle-infested stretch of
rough flanked by cliffs. Because of the wind
every shot turned into a hook – the trick was
to slice hard and hope.
Teeing up, Farmers executes a graceful shot
that sails lazily for about a kilometre and
then lazily veers left and lands straight on the
green. Five shots later, I am there too.
Behind me, the fairway bears my scars.
Farmers tweaks my technique gently, telling
me to bend from the waist not the knees and
to stand further away from the ball.
Subsequently, one shot I make proves to be a
divot-chiselling lob into the bushes. The next,
a retry, fizzes down the fairway.
“You just have to work out what you did
differently with the first and second shots,”
Farmers says. Quite. I already knew that your
initial alignment can make all the difference
between success and humiliation – what I
hadn’t realised was how hard it is to get it
right.
So too can be “getting into the zone” or
maintaining the so-called “iceberg profile.”
“Golf is very psychological,” Farmers says.
He cites how German maestro Bernhard
Langer suffers from 'the yips', which means
losing your grip and fluffing repeatedly on the
putting green. Langer has been known to take
five putts before hearing the satisfying rattle.
“That’s got to scar you psychologically,” he
says.
He adds that everyone, no matter how
experienced, chokes putts and generally
makes duff shots. “The moment you think
you’ve conquered it, you’re kidding yourself,”
he says.
Few would argue except perhaps Tiger Woods,
whom Farmers describes as “way ahead of
anyone else.” The reason: he is the complete
golfer who can benchpress one-and-a-half
times his own weight and play percentages
successfully: when in a tight spot, instead of
making a desperate hack for the hole, he plays
a safety shot, lobbing back onto the fairway.
I never know whether I am about to belt the
ball so that it blazes down the freeway, or to
hack a slab of grass further than the projectile.
Farmers tells me I have pretty good hand-eye
co-ordination for an occasional golfer. Some
amateurs cannot hit the ball at all, which
means they must spend remedial time on the
range.
I can understand how someone might miss
completely. During the course of our session, I
execute an air shot myself.
That said, as Farmers points out with a grin,
how hard can making contact be? The ball
is not moving. Think of other sports such as
tennis where it does not just wait at your feet.
ball veers crazily, gaining so much momentum
that it rolls from one end of the green to the
other.
The key lesson I learn is not to prod when
trying to escape from a bunker. Thump the ball
hard. That does the trick, preventing those
gut-wrenching moments when the thing rolls
back to where it started from in the sand.
My finest putt comes at the final hole where,
in a case of 'quitter’s luck', I sink a 15-footer.
What a buzz.
Once, from the tee, I manage to land the ball
in front of a fallen coconut, making direct
progress impossible. Another time, after a
violent slice, the ball rockets towards some
other golfers, who are mercifully saved by
a palm tree whose branches it rattles and
ricochets around. Eventually, outdoing either
stroke, I hoist a ball into the South China Sea,
much to Farmers’ amusement.
At least it travelled and lifted.
My putts are mostly
average because I
struggle to read the
degree of slant
and 'break'
successfully,
which means
the
Consistency, Farmers says again and again,
is just a question of repetition. Doubtless, if
I practise like Tiger Woods or Sabah product
VJ Singh, who both put in about 12 hours a
day, in no time my game will be 'birdie, birdie,
birdie.'
My only gripe with golf is its current
'obesogenic' flavour. Thanks to the cart,
which admittedly reduces aggravation, keeps
traffic flowing and is good for business, the
average visitor takes minimal exercise. I feel
only a touch more puffed than I do after, say,
peeling an orange. Being rather larger
than I ought to be and in danger of
going up yet another trouser size, I
mull over how I am to get further
exercise today. I eventually and
maybe somewhat lazily opt
for a lengthy, high-repetitionrate bout of lifting half a
kilo of liquid and glass up
and down, in the lovely and
well-appointed club-house,
after which I feel as fit as a
proverbial fiddle.
www.suteraharbour.com
Mandara Spa at Sutera Resort,
Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia
By Simon Willis
Despite my abysmal performance at golf I
have had a thoroughly enjoyable round with
some good friends and am in an excellent
mood.
Inside the Mandara spa the mood is Moorish
exotic. Think dark wood, black filigree
ironwork and a discreetly tinkling square
fountain. Pipe music plays.
My slender and gracious masseuse, Lina,
leads me up to a balcony where she offers
me not one but four choices of oil. I dither
indecisively between Harmony (strengthening
and rejuvenating mandarin, lavender and
bergamot oils to balance body and mind),
Island Spice (a mix of clove, ginger and
nutmeg to revitalise and brighten the spirits),
Mandara (sandalwood, patchouli, cananga and
ylang-ylang), and Tranquillity (a stress-busting
jetlag tonic mash-up of lavender, vetiver,
ylang-ylang and cananga).
So you do not know what vetiver or cananga
are? Join the club.
Vetiver is a grass with heavy, fibrous roots,
used to distil an oil which has the scent of
moist earth with woody undertones. Cananga
is the tree from which ylang-ylang comes.
I love the smell of ylang-ylang which, in case
you’ve never come
across it, is rich
and deep
with
notes of rubber and custard, and bright
with hints of jasmine and neroli. I choose
the signature Mandara blend because of its
ylang-ylang content rather than its supposed
uplifting, romantic flavour – not much point
in getting romantic when my better third’s
not around. I used to call her my better half,
but then I expanded and she didn’t, so now
'better third' is more accurate. I can’t say I’m
too thrilled that that makes me into her 'worse
two-thirds', but she doesn’t seem to hold my
increased girth against me, bless her.
The subsequent massage is as diverse as
the oil concoction I have chosen: a mix of
Balinese, Swedish and shiatsu styles, with
the Balinese style forming the core of the
experience.
Intended to renew, strengthen and heal
body and mind, it consists of stretching, long
strokes, skin rolling and palm and thumb
pressure techniques. Specifically aiming to
relieve tension, it improves circulation and
promotes euphoria. The euphoria was however
in somewhat short supply when the masseuse
seemed to attempt to touch my forehead
with my toes, but thankfully she immediately
desisted from more extreme forms of massage
when I explained that they weren’t for me,
as my toes have more chance of reaching the
moon than my forehead.
Rigorous and luxurious. I feel smothered in
relaxation from every direction and wallow
in the experience. Applying a meditation
technique I learned years ago, I concentrate
on the sensation of air coming in and out of
my nose. I watch different thoughts and
emotions arise and mentally let each one go,
attempting not to attach myself to them. After
a while intuition has a chance to be heard
and I suddenly realise that I’m not spending
60 hours a week at the office because I’m
securing my family’s future (as I’ve been
telling myself) but because I want to outshine
my peers. This is not a new insight, my
subconscious has been nagging me about this
for a while.
“
Thank God nobody
had a camera, I’d have
to resign immediately
if pictures of this went
round the office.
”
With massage, for me, there’s usually an
episode of embarrassment. Today the facereddening started while I was undressing
and realised that, under my shorts, I was
wearing Speedos: it felt almost worse than
being naked. The embarrassment factor was
then increased considerably when I was asked
to don a pair of skimpy disposable massage
shorts that, whilst very practically affording
unimpeded access to my gluteus maximus, to
my eye resembled nothing so much as lady’s
knickers. Thank God nobody had a camera,
I’d have to resign immediately if pictures of
this went round the office. Then there’s the
even more unnerving thought of trapped wind.
Initially, because of the embarrassment factor,
any spa visit actually serves to make me more
tense and nervous – all the more so because I
am still a bit of a novice.
My wife tried for years to initiate me into spa
therapies before recently succeeding. I had
always thought of the whole thing as slightly
suspect and had insisted that I couldn’t
possibly do something so effete as go to a
spa. Ridiculously and completely immaturely, I
viewed anything that was not actively bad for
my health as slightly unmanly. Every Monday
at the office I would positively boast about all
the toxic trash I had managed to ingest over
the weekend: waffles and syrup, black beer,
cigars, Chunky Monkey ice cream - no wonder
men live less long than women. Thankfully
and thanks to my lovely wife Fon’s necessarily
persistent persuasion I eventually gave up
most of this foolishness.
Of the variety of jobs I’ve had in my career,
running my new company is one of the most
stressful. When I walked into the Mandara spa
an hour ago I couldn’t imagine any oil on the
planet being able to do much to diminish my
rampant hypertension, but the ylang-ylang
appears to have proved me wrong. Afterwards
I left floating on air and feeling as if I could
skim across the waves like a hovercraft or
walk on water like Jesus. I remembered to pay
a visit to what seems to be KK’s only beach,
just a stroll from the entrance. It is all the
more alluring for being tiny and fenced off
with a shark-net and is the ideal spot to shift
down yet another gear - if that’s humanly
possible.
Hooked on Height
Via Ferrata
Mount Kinabalu
Borneo
Article by
David Wilson
Hooked on Height: Via Ferrata
up with being dressed like a dork, as I am.
My climbing costume consists of three shirts
along with a purple balaclava and a pair of
fuzzy mittens donated by a female Aussie
backpacker. I feel preposterous yet confident.
I have already managed to navigate the
UNESCO-listed world heritage site foothills of
Mount Kinabalu itself. No mean feat. You must
trek for four to six hours up a dizzying array
of steps. These steps take all conceivable
forms: shallow steps; cliff-like steps into
the unknown; steps made of roots; steps of
chipped, slimy rock; steps supporting whole
colonies of toads.
Sunrise. The drop is almost spectacular
enough to make me drop my digital camera.
Not that I look down at the black clouds
amassing below me much as I dangle from
Mount Kinabalu, aka the 'Summit of Borneo.'
Why?
Well, for one thing, I have never been one
for oohing and aahing. For another, yes, I’m
scared. Not as scared as I was when rockclimbing on Thailand’s Koh Phi Phi, but enough
to make my voice a bit shaky. I try to counter
this effect by speaking gruffly until I realise
that I sound as squeaky as a teenager on
steroids.
I just try to focus on what we were told at
the briefing: never unclip both karabiners
attaching you to the cable at once. Even if
you unclip both karabiners and then fall off,
however, you will survive unless you have also
sawn through the yellow rope linking you to
your via ferrata guide.
“Via what?” you might ask? Don’t worry.
Hardly anybody has even heard of 'via ferrate',
as they are known in the plural. That includes
Mount Kinabalu visitors from Italy, who should
maybe have a better idea because their First
World War Dolomite forebears devised them
so that they could kill Austrians with greater
ease.
A via ferrata (Italian for 'iron road') is a
mountain path consisting of fixed steel
rungs, rails and cables. Soaring up to 3800
metres, the via ferrata I am entangled with,
which is called Mountain Torq (old English
for 'necklace'), offers fantastic views from
vertiginously dizzy heights. Mountain Torq
is both the world’s highest and Asia’s first
mountain steel staircase.
Opened in December 2007, Mountain Torq
is fair game for anyone aged 10 to 70 who
is moderately fit and equipped with above
average get-up-and-go. You put on a harness
and are hooked onto the cable that lines the
route, then clamber and scramble or just
plonk your behind on every rung, as some
particularly nervous individuals do.
As a result of all the impromptu training I feel
'in the zone' but have made progress hard
by rejecting the 'Walk the Torq' beginner’s
route in favour of the deceptively named 'The
Preamble', which meanders for 1.2 kilometres
through beautiful rhododendrons and the
bone-like branches that snake everywhere
in the mossy humidity. Make it through the
jungle and you arrive at a gleaming succession
of rungs that single-handedly takes you from
3,200 to 3,800 metres above sea level.
question. Some climbers adamantly refuse to,
keeping their eyes rigidly glued upwards. After
a while I start to look down regularly as, in a
funny way, I come to like the fear so induced.
It certainly makes me feel very alive and in
the present. I totally forget about the financial
and relationship problems that have been
nagging at me for weeks.
It’s really perfect, this via ferrata lark. You get
the adrenaline buzz of doing something which
your senses are screaming at you to desist
from, while maintaining perfect safety. Thanks
to your hooks, the farthest you can fall is two
feet. After a while I let go and lean back on
the lanyard, just to see what it feels like – it
turns out it’s a bit like sitting in a comfy sofa. I
enjoy the effortlessness of being supported by
the mountain and sway from side to side a bit
just to heighten the experience. After a while
I realise there’s nothing to be scared of except
fear itself - and maybe the scorn of the purists
who insist on climbing unaided. After reflecting
for a while I decide that such soloists need
their heads examined and that I thus don’t
really care what they think of me.
By the standards of via ferrate, The Preamble
is 'difficult' (the official rating). All the more so
for me because I have chosen to double the
calories by going up, not down.
Before embarking on my 'big wall' climb I was
obliged to fill in the standard 'if you die, tough'
document with a next-of-kin section, which
made me wonder how many climbers come to
grief on Kinabalu. Nobody seems to know – or
at least be willing to tell me.
When I started climbing in the starry dawn
the muted light softened the contours of the
abyss. Now that the sun has risen, I can easily
get a sense of the immensity if I look down.
Whether or not to look down or not is a big
Wilfred Tok, the 39-year-old Singaporean
mountaineer behind Mountain Torq, says that
many people, even the British Commandos
who virtually run up the mountain, experience
the banging headaches associated with
“
You get the adrenaline
buzz of doing something
which your senses are
screaming at you to desist
from, while maintaining
perfect safety
”
Why bother going anywhere near it? Because
a ferrata route enables people who have never
climbed anything wilder than the office stairs
to touch the void, overcome their fear of
heights and experience altitude through the
eyes of a rock climber. Even if you have to put
altitude sickness (much to their shame
when they see 70-year-old Japanese ladies
acclimatising perfectly). Anyone with a history
of strokes should not try the Kinabalu via
ferrata, as the rapid altitude rise is dangerous
for such people.
My curiosity is aroused by a book I find in one
of the mountain huts – 'Nothing Ventured,
Nothing Gained' by the late Everest conqueror
Sir Edmund Hillary. Sir Edmund’s non-fiction
thriller is awash with accounts of redoubtable
men having magnificent accidents. After
one recounted fall, a rescued climber named
McFarlane, who seems to be dying, quips that
he much prefers being carried down a glacier
to walking.
That’s climbing. Even if you have a ruptured
spleen and bloodied skull, the rule is: keep
on smiling and remark, say, on how you're
looking forward to meeting attractive nurses
or doctors in hospital. Every cloud has a silver
lining - even the black one that triggered the
avalanche.
takes three hours to complete, making it
the longest three quarters of a mile I have
experienced since nursery school walkies. I
should have stocked up with chocolate from
the mountain hut’s strange little canteen,
where I had been somewhat surprised to see a
squirrel walk into a cupboard.
I don’t feel fit. I don’t mind wheezing like
a bellows when attempting to talk to my
younger companions, but when I realise that
someone twenty years older than me is fitter,
I get a bit gloomy. I wish I hadn’t spent most
of the last 42 years consuming too much beer
and lamb madras.
Exhausted, I almost stagger from the top
rung onto the slate moonscape at the rock
face’s top, where a climber set to follow in my
footsteps, only downwards, asks how it was.
“Tough,” I say.
On my jaunt, the closest event to an accident
occurs when the rope linking me to my guide
snags on a bonsai tree sprouting from the rock
face. Awkward, but no big deal. I regularly
forget to unclip my karabiners and with a
lurch run up against one of the superglued
bolts that help keep the cable hugging the
mountain.
Fifteen minutes later, from a distance, I can
still see him and his friends marooned on the
plateau. My guide explains that people find the
descent scarier than the ascent. The laser-like
sunshine leaves nothing to the imagination
and many first-timers just freeze. Others,
when confronted with the chasm, cry - men as
well as women. I’m pleased I haven’t blubbed,
it would have been almost as embarrassing as
when I got all teary when the Kylie Minogue
concert tickets I was trying to buy last year
sold out.
Thanks in part to such hitches, my 'assault'
www.mountaintorq.com
See next issue
for Sepilok
Orangutan Sanctuary
Interview with a snake handler
imagination, they looked completely real. I
was frightened and lost my connection with
my past life. When I discussed this incident
with my teacher at the monastery later, he
gently admonished me for looking into my
past life, then explained that the snakes
were a defence mechanism which had been
generated by my subconscious in order to
prevent me from seeing things which I was not
psychologically ready to see.
My teacher also commented that I was
obviously terrified of snakes and that I must
confront and defeat all fears if I were to attain
contentment. So, after leaving the monastery,
I decided to confront my fears and work with
snakes.
What's the scariest thing that has happened to
you on the job?
C obra, alias Nong, 27, is a snake handler on
Koh Samui island in Thailand. He runs snake
shows at bars and hotels on request.
When, how and why did you get into snake
handling?
When I was 18 I spent two months at a
Buddhist monastery.
I made a mistake in my meditation and
deliberately tried to look into my most recent
past life. This is not recommended for novices,
as the point at which you will see into your
past life is usually the ‘death door’ (ie the
moment you left the prior life) which can be
traumatic for those psychologically unready to
face the trauma of seeing themselves die.
When I looked into my prior life, it was as
though I were looking up an umbilical cord. My
consciousness rushed up the inside of the cord
and, at the end, it ‘saw’ a small ship sailing
on water. Well, maybe it’s a coincidence that
I’ve always loved the sea and everything to
do with boats and ships, or maybe I was a
sailor in my past life, which would explain
why I ‘saw’ a ship.
A strange thing happened next.
Two huge, vividly coloured and
totally terrifying snakes appeared
from nowhere and slithered at
lightning speed down the inside
of the umbilical cord in my
consciousness. They were
so clear and vividly threedimensional that they did
not look like figments of my
Two years ago a five-metre python, a really
powerful animal, decided to try and bite my
head off during a private show at the Ban
Laem Sai Resort. I had been distracted by
the opulence of the suite on the patio of
which we were performing, so had not been
concentrating properly. The snake was very
strong. It opened its jaws wide and clamped
them around the top of my skull, to painful
and terrifying effect. My two assistants took
what seemed like ages to drag it off me. They
had to really battle the snake, which was
trying to get my whole head into its mouth.
The three of us rolled around for some time,
with the snake thrashing around and a woman
in the audience screaming.
What's the secret of effective
snake handling?
Discipline: being
very, very
careful.
Very good eyesight is essential too, so you can
detect the snake’s smallest movements.
Is there any snake you would not handle?
I wouldn’t handle a Malaysian snake called
‘ular cincin’ in Malay (gold-ringed cat snake
or mangrove snake), which looks as though
it has two heads, one on each end. It has a
lightning-fast strike and is very bad-tempered.
I have a wife and two young children to
support, so I need to try and stay alive.
Do you drug or defang the snakes?
No.
What do you feed the snakes?
We feed chicken to the big snakes, and eggs,
rats, crickets and sometimes frogs to the
medium-sized snakes.
Do you have snakes crawling round your
home?
No, I do not have snakes in my house. I like to
leave my work at the ‘office’.
Do they ever escape? If so, what do you do?
When one escapes I catch it by the tail,
then put it back in its cage. We’re
lucky enough to have
Yoga With Mona: Koh Lanta, Thailand
Handling Snakes: Thailand
Yoga
With
Mona
very understanding
neighbours.
If I come across a
snake, what should I
do?
Try not to panic, which
is obviously easier
said than done, but
is very important. If
you scream the snake
will get scared and
will surely strike you.
Move very, very slowly
away.
Koh Lanta, Thailand
By David Wilson
Do spectators freak
out?
When one of my
colleagues is handling
the snakes, I find it
amusing to watch
the audience. The
men are generally
more frightened than the women. I find it
particularly funny when I see some big, beefy
guy hiding behind his wife, with his face white
as a sheet and sweat pouring off him. Of
course, I wouldn’t dream of being so rude as
to show my amusement.
Can you make a reasonable living out of snake
handling?
Yes, it is possible but hard work as snakes
must be looked after, just like any other
animal. Also, because the life span of small
snakes is short (four to five years), you have
to have a constant supply of new animals.
Catching wild snakes is the most dangerous
O nce the world’s worst
part of the job and sometimes frightens me
witless.
What advice would you give to wannabe snake
handlers?
Lots of snake handlers die on the job. In
Thailand we can’t get life insurance. Even
after you survive the most dangerous first few
years in the job, don’t become complacent.
I remember one snake handler of 30 years’
experience who didn’t seek treatment after a
king cobra bit him. After three days he died,
totally unnecessarily. For your own sake as
well as the animals’ well-being, be kind to the
snakes - they are often used in shows day
after day and this can cause
trauma, which can make them
more dangerous.
stress-head, a friend of
mine recently swapped
booze for yoga and
has since blossomed
into a model of karmic
serenity. Well, he’s a bit
less grumpy anyway.
What advice can you give
tourists who wish to avoid
accidental encounters with
snakes?
Just the obvious advice: do
not walk through undergrowth
or grass where you can’t see
where you are putting your feet.
If you follow this advice and
stay at an up-market resort, the
chances of your coming across
a snake are negligible
Hence my curiosity about yoga, especially the
radical kind known as 'power yoga', which
I am investigating while visiting Thailand’s
lovely island of Lanta, where a course with a
good reputation and a fine location is run.
“Inhale and exhale”, Mona says. I
struggle to focus on my breathing
but am besieged by minor
misgivings. One stems from the
knowledge that my mat is right
at the edge of the platform which
means that, when enacting some
contortion or other, I might easily
tumble off. Maybe I could, by so
doing, invent a new yoga position
to keep 'the crow' and 'the sun
salutation' company – how about
the 'Englishman-with-head-buriedin-sand' pose. Instructions – waggle
legs around frantically while in this
position, then exhale strongly to expel sand
from mouth.
The scene: a shaded wooden platform set
close to the ocean. Meet Mona, the power
yoga instructor equipped with an accent
reminiscent of Hilary Clinton, a steely gaze
and a ready smile.
Mona’s students seem a cheery bunch aside
from the inevitable token guru guy wearing
nothing but a ponytail and a pair of lycra
shorts. Watching him stretch his limbs into
improbable configurations, I imagine that at
any moment he will raise both legs over his
head and then wrap them around his elbows
in a triple helix formation. He looks like he’s
made of blue-tac. I reconsider taking part
when I compare my stiff-as-a-board body with
his suppleness, before deciding that there is
no point in being jealous as I wouldn’t want
to swap bodies with him, well, not unless he
got rid of the ponytail first, anyway – God
knows why, but I’m fond of my receding and
greying ex-thatch.
While the guru limbers up, I find a space
on the corner of the deck and savour the
atmosphere, which proves to be 'good-copbad-cop.' On the one hand, there’s Mona’s
soothing voice saying “Sink into yourself,
discover yourself” and the whisper of the
sprinkler anointing a lawn that would do credit
to an Oxford College. Adding to the lulling
effect, in the background, miner birds twitter
and weave hypnotically through palm tree
branches.
On the other hand, the air is so humid that
this could be a session of Bikram: the 99-percent-perspiration-1-per-cent-inspiration style
of yoga conducted in sauna conditions and
popular with fit women and their middle-aged
male admirers.
Power yoga definitely lives up to its name.
Mona works us hard. While the lycra-clad guru
performs with the grace of a tai chi master,
another student doing the crow or something
similar falls off her haunches. The crew-cut
caveman in front of me maintains equilibrium
but is sweating profusely.
Before my shirt becomes drenched like his,
I rip it off and try to find something to look
at other than the fleshy ravine exposed by
the back of his sagging shorts. The massive
welts on his legs suggest that a sea-eaglesized mosquito has mauled him. “Inhale and
exhale”, Mona says, encouraging us to focus
on respiration and
relaxation.
Easier said than
done when you are
upside down in the
crab position. Anyway
I hope that my contortions
will help release the tension that has
been packed into my shoulders by decades
of hunt-and-peck typing. Maybe they will also
calm my mind, which has been somewhat
irritated today by several 'Thai time'
misunderstandings.
When we flip onto our backs to cycle our legs,
I fret that the damp gap between my back
and the mat will generate suction, resulting
in that taboo sound that delights children and
mortifies adults. Sure enough, the sound - a
kind of deafening squelch - occurs, spurring
me to focus determinedly on the horizon
and to shift my stance and do the rest of the
exercise perched on the bones at the back of
my pelvis.
Meanwhile, another thought that floats into
my head (aren’t they supposed to float out?)
is that my mobile, which is in my backpack
and poised to play an entire mp3 song fullblast if someone rings, could erupt at any
moment. Happily, nobody calls.
Instead, in true surreal Thailand style, a
grasshopper sails into the arena, lands on the
mat beside a student and holds its ground,
apparently preparing to stretch the limits of
what it means to be an insect.
“
I’m not sure it’s right
to kill any creature during
yoga but do not feel I can
be blamed for doing so.
”
Repeatedly, we go into the 'cobra', which
involves performing a kind of slow, belly-tothe-ground push-up. After busting about a
hundred cobra moves and taking a shot at a
swathe of others named after a menagerie of
animals, the stress in my muscles builds to
breaking point. Soon, I have sewing machine
legs and trickles of sweat are running down
my temples and staining my mat.
“Don’t forget to relax. Any time you need to
rest, put your knees on the floor,” says Mona,
maintaining the pace, which makes regular
yoga seem like a first-thing-in-the-morning
stretch and yawn.
As the class wears on, the miner birds’ song
intensifies into a din and the heat slackens
off, along with our energy levels. Oh the relief
when Mona invites us to bend forwards and,
for a long, strange moment, to gaze through
our legs at the sea before winding up on our
backs, staring at the ceiling.
While I languish, Mona glides up behind
me, presses my recalcitrant shoulders to
the ground and then deftly gives me a head
and shoulders massage. Lovely except that,
apparently observing my submissive stance,
scores of opportunist mosquitos now seize
the chance to go on the attack. They seem
to have an especial taste for my flesh. I’ve
come to the conclusion that it’s because of
my blood group. I’ve had dozens of debates
with different people about why mosquitos
like some people and not others and the only
explanation that has made sense to me is
the blood group reason. I massacre mozzy
marauders with gusto. I’m not sure it’s right to
kill any creature during yoga but do not feel I
can be blamed for doing so.
Nor does Mona. Dryly, she says: “OK, I think
we’d better wrap up now before the mosquitos
eat us alive.”
We rise to our feet, lighter, fitter and, in the
case of those students who know what they
are doing, calmer too. Om.
Yoga with Mona: Andaman Sunflower on Koh
Lanta (www.andaman-sunflower.com). For
a luxury Lanta hotel which also offers earlymorning yoga, the reader is recommended to
check out www.srilanta.com
Advertorial
Rest days in
Ao Nang
A o Nang is a little Andaman Sea gem,
with crystal clear, turquoise waters, pristine
beaches and all the modern amenities
that Westerners are accustomed to. It’s a
busy place, but it hasn’t lost that laidback,
friendly, small-town feel; it is developed but
still retains its original beauty and charm.
Ao Nang has something to make everyone
smile and offers everything needed for an
excellent tropical beach holiday.
Ao Nang has numerous spas, beauty shops
and massage parlours offering holidaymakers a bit of revitalising pampering. A
Thai full-body massage lasting for an hour
costs around 250 Baht and, though you
sometimes feel that you are being pushed
and pulled in improbable directions, you
will feel rejuvenated afterwards. Maybe
the friendliest massage place in Ao Nang
is Gecko Massage - face the beach from
Seven-Eleven, turn left and walk for
30 metres, then turn left after Azzuria
restaurant.
Ao Nang even has a traditional Finnish
sauna, although you will have to travel a
long way to find an icy lake to plunge into
afterwards! Thai food is abundant in Ao
Nang and is available 24 hours a day. Visit
a traditional Thai restaurant, eat at a local
market or try the many offerings from
one of the street vendors based on every
corner.
The smell and taste of the Thai dishes
is enhanced by a variety of fresh, local
ingredients, just don’t forget to ask for
non-spicy (mai pet) if you have a delicate
palette. For those people who need a break
from Thai food, a whole host of Western
options is available; these include traditional
English food, Indian Food, Scandinavian
food, steaks, pizza and pasta (there are 6
Italian restaurants) and more. 20 minutes’
boat ride from Ao Nang is the world-famous
rock-climbing mecca of Railay/Tonsai, see
page 59 for more information.
Ao Nang’s location puts it within range of all
the mid-Andaman dive sites , go to www.
andamanadventures.com/diving.shtml for
information on dive sites accessible from Ao
Nang
Ao Nang Beach - Image by Jana Richter
Hot Springs: Thailand
Elephant Trekking: Thailand
Elephant
E
Trekking
xperience a beautiful river- and jungle-forest
from the back of an elephant. The elephant
camp is just 15 minutes from Ao Nang, where
the natural environment provides permanent
shade and abundant water for the elephants
throughout the year.
Emerald Pool
&
Hot Springs
Image:
www.PrimeThai.com
Your elephant trek will take you along a river
running through the camp and into the rain
forest at the foot of the fascinating 'karst'
mountains, with the sheer cliffs special to this
area. Often trekkers will see monkeys and
birds living in their natural habitat.
Elephants cost approximately 300 GBP per
month for their food and care and it is ensured
that they are well provided for with water, food
and shade. The elephants are well-trained
and accustomed to being around adults and
children and pose no threat.
This tour includes an hour of elephanttrekking, followed by swimming and relaxation
at the nature river park. It finishes with a
nature trek on foot, an easy walk with plenty
of interest.
J ust less than an hour from Ao Nang are
the hot springs, where you can relax in water
that is more than warm, it’s actually hot between 30-40°C depending on the time of
year.
The hot spring-water cascades down a hillside,
forming a jungle waterfall. Over the millennia
the water has deposited minerals to form a
series of natural bath-tubs - the perfect place
to ease away aches and pains, whether they
be from too much rock gymnastics or from too
many years.
When you get a bit too hot, simply jump into
the river below to cool off.
The hot springs feed into the nearby Emerald
Pool which is an ideal place to swim. The
water in the pool is naturally the same colour
as that in a hotel swimming-pool. A waterslide slips directly into the Emerald Pool, which
is great fun for the young and also for some of
the not-so-young too.
This scenic getaway is more relaxed than you
could imagine, simply kick back and chill –
well sweat, actually
Tiger Cave Temple: Sacred Sites
Tiger Cave Temple: Sacred Sites
Trek To The Tiger Cave Temple
By David Wilson
A t the 300th step I’m panting. It doesn’t
help that some of the steps are so high I have
to raise my knees into the air like a polevaulter.
The high temperature and humidity add to
the fun on my slog to the top of Tiger Cave
Temple (Wat Thumsua) in Krabi, Southern
Thailand’s so-called 'enchanted province'. I
drink lots of water, grip the hand rail and, as
gibbons weave past me, heave myself up the
staircase built into a very steep wooded valley
surrounded by cliffs. I’m beginning to have
doubts about whether I will reach the top,
take some pictures and make it back for my
taxi pickup in 90 minutes.
The Tiger Cave Temple is considered by Krabi’s
Buddhists to be one of the most sacred sites
in the province. Even for those who are not
religiously inclined there are some fascinating
features here well worthy of a visit, which
can include either a moderately strenuous or
a very strenuous hike, depending on which
of two staircases you choose. The view from
the top, combined with the lovely Buddhist
statuary, make the summit of the hill an
unforgettably and serenely beautiful place.
Sunset ascents are becoming increasingly
popular, especially at a full moon, when it is
possible to see the sun setting the islands in
the Andaman Sea on fire in the west, while
a golden moon rises over the Krabi lowlands
in the east. The cave temple is aptly named
because of the rock outgrowth nearby, which
resembles a tiger’s claw.
The distance between the breaks I take
narrows. Drenched in sweat, I’m feeling giddy.
However, the end comes early because there
are just 1,200 steps - not 'more than 2,000'
as Frommer’s travel guide claims. Thanks
be to Buddha - represented in gorgeous and
almost garish splendour by one colossal figure
and a golden team of clones gleaming in the
twilight.
Image:
www.PrimeThai.com
The view is as striking as any I have seen.
Picture mangrove forests offset by rubber and
palm-oil plantations. On the horizon lie the
inner Andaman islands.
For a naturalist, the site is a microcosm
of Krabi’s former natural environment.
“Wonderful Tree”, not far from the main shrine
and adorned in sacred cloth, may well have
the largest root base of any tree remaining in
Thailand. The whole area is full of caves and
limestone rock formations. Archeologists have
found remnants of ancient habitations as old
as from the Stone Age. Stone tools, shards of
pottery and beads and idols of clay have all
been unearthed. All these bear testimony to
the cultural heritage of the area
Tiger Cave Temple is a center for meditation,
its spectacular setting in the Ao Luk Thanu
mountain ranges providing the tranquillity
necessary for meditation. The main vihara
or holy of holies is inside a small shallow
limestone cave, of which both sides are lined
by monastic cells, like caves, called kutis.
The well-lit and well-maintained temple
compound is currently home to some 250
monks and nuns. This little forest reserve was
spared from logging by the monks ordaining
the largest trees and thereby thwarting any
attempts at cutting them down. So as well as
the human monks and nuns there are also a
number of monks going by the name of “Phra
Ton” - “Tree Monk” in Thai
Here, up on this platform in the clouds,
you feel closer to the twin spirits of the
temple’s faith, Vipassana (clear-seeing) and
Anapanasati (mindfulness with breathing).
These are essentially mental health therapies
which are compatible with all religions and
which have reduced the suffering (caused
by excessive attachment to impermanent
phenomena) of millions, maybe as many as
billions, of people.
They are predominant in Theravada Buddhism,
which is mainly practiced in SE Asia and
which maybe contributes to the fact that Thai
people, most of whom adhere to these beliefs,
are amongst the most content in the world.
“
You don’t have to
believe in reincarnation
to benefit.
”
Monster Fishing
Ao Nang
Article by
David Wilson
Monster Fishing: Thai Style
W hen entrepreneur Stuart Gillham needs
to explain the location of his Amper Muang
fishing resort, he says: “near the dirt mound
and the building site.” If that makes you
suspect that the resort itself might be a bit
of a tip, understand that, consciously or
otherwise, Gillham is following the business
adage that says: “underpromise and
overdeliver.”
The 53-year-old’s baby is a dazzling,
impeccably-landscaped, 120-million-Baht, 26acre effort atmospherically enhanced by the
presence of gigantic karsts (limestone crags)
standing sentinel in the background. It results
from drive and devotion in the face of thorny
planning problems and natural challenges,
not least the king cobra that had to be
exterminated after it made a meal of a few of
the 700 fish.
Armed with five mechanical diggers, Gillham’s
team embarked on the project in November
2007 and worked seven days a week, day and
night in shifts. Because of the pressure, more
than once, Gillham and his family considered
just filling the land in and going home.
This is a place where a guy can come alone
and do little else than have mammoth battles
with huge fish. Or he can bring his family
and spend quality time with them in between
the fish fights. We’re catering to just about
everybody with an interest in fishing, really.
Adrenaline: And how do you source the fish?
Gillham: I’ve got an agent. He travels all
round Thailand looking for big fish. Strange
job he has, negotiating the price of mammoth
fish: there’s not exactly a huge market for
them. In fact, I think I may personally have
significantly pushed the price up by stocking
my lake. Maybe we need an options and
futures market, where people can place bets
on the price of a 100kg giant carp in a year’s
time. Well, Thailand already has more bizarre
things - for example the white powder waterfights of the Songkran festival every April (see
page 53).
Adrenaline: What’s the most expensive fish
you stock?
We have a guy coming here who has spent
20 years of his life trying, on-and-off and
unsuccessfully, to catch an arapaima. He
has just been given six months to live, due
to a terminal illness. So he phoned me up
and asked how long he should stay here.
Generally, if you fish here for five days, you’ll
catch an araipama. So we’ve said nine days
and we shall pull out all the stops to catch him
his arapaima. This guy’s not going to get a
return holiday. We have 60 fishing rods here
and, if needs be, we’ll put the lot out.
But now the farm is almost finished. It is
worth seeing, partly because among Gillham’s
giant shoal are 10 species of record-breaking
super-heavy fish. That’s about 60 individual
fish.
Shedding light on these prodigious statistics,
Gillham says that he filled the lake with vast
quantities of natural food before stocking
it. Also, he admits, he just bought in many
readymade giant fish from other farms.
Adrenaline: How rare are arapaima?
Adrenaline spoke to Stuart about the art of
angling, walking on water and a Jaws-like
Amazon monster that inspires obsession.
Adrenaline: What was the inspiration for your
resort?
Gillham: I’d fished around the world and
stayed at fantastic places with awful fishing
and at awful places with fantastic fishing – you
just never knew which you would get.
There are plenty of lakes in Thailand with big
fish in, but they’re mostly ugly square holes
which don’t have good surroundings. Some
have nice accommodation, but the fish are
small.
So we asked, ‘What would everybody want?’
The answer we came up with was big fish, nice
accommodation and pretty gardens.
Gillham: The most expensive and hardest to
find, believe it or not, is the Siamese carp,
which sells for around 1,000 Baht a kilo and is
on the endangered species list now.
Adrenaline: What is your most popular fish?
Gillham: Certainly, the arapaima are the
headline fish that almost everybody comes for.
They’re the fish that guys travel from all over
the world to try and catch.
Gillham: They’re very, very rare in most of the
wild. They were brought to Thailand probably
20 years ago for the aquarium trade. They
grew too big for the aquaria. The Thais took
them out and threw them in ponds. Thailand
just totally suits them. They are becoming
extinct in Brazil but are numerous in Thailand.
They grow from nothing to a metre long in
just a year.
Adrenaline: So what’s the secret of catching
arapaima?
Gillham: Patience. You put a bait in the water
and they’ll look at it for four or five hours and
then decide whether to eat it or swim off.
When you catch one, because it’s so big and
because of its temperament, it takes five guys
to tackle it.
Adrenaline: Arapaima are said to be very
aggressive.
Gillham: That’s right. In the fish farms in
Brazil, over ten kids a year are killed by
arapaima. One of only two fish in the world
which can swim backwards (the other is the
Wells catfish), it launches itself at you like a
battering ram and smashes into you with its
bony, prehistoric head.
Adrenaline: Everything about this fish seems
to be weird. How does it breed?
Gillham: When the arapaima spawn, the
female opens her mouth quickly and inhales
but does not swallow her young. Then she
grows white tubes down her body, and the
tubes are what the fish feed on for the first
month of their life. The females stay close to
the surface, the males swim around to protect
them.
We could see a female under the surface in
October when they spawned. We sent a Thai
boy who works here out in the boat to scoop
the net alongside this female fish and get
some babies.
As the boy came alongside, the big male (150
kilos and 10-feet-long) attacked the boat,
rammed it and turned it upside down.
Adrenaline: What did the boy do?
Gillham: He just ran across the top of the
water. I thought only Jesus could walk on
water, but this kid did it. He was out in
seconds.
Adrenaline: Sounds a bit implausible, Stuart.
Gillham: You weren’t there. There are some
plants growing in the water, which presumably
supported enough of his weight as he ran.
So, I would say bait. Dead sea-fish are really
good - especially when the target fish has
grown up in a fish farm and has got used to
feeding on sea-fish.
TKT
Krabi Tour
Adrenaline: Is there a particular bait that does
it every time?
Gillham: No, but any oily sea fish is good for
the predators. Carp and Mekong catfish like
maize and paste balls more.
Adrenaline: What’s the secret of catching fish
in general?
Adrenaline: Many of your fish, like the
arapaima, are rare. How conservationconscious are you?
Gillham: Patience. A few other things are
important in fishing, like location - if you
watch a lake and you watch it long enough,
you will see that there is a particular fish
which keeps showing itself in a particular
place. So then you realise this fish lives in this
little spot. Then it’s just down to patience.
Gillham: All fish are catch-and-release. We
have got sea-eagles and kites coming in here
every day feeding, as well as giant kingfishers.
The more the resort is becoming established,
the more wildlife is coming here. My workers
are all under strict instructions: no one is
allowed to kill anything.
Adrenaline: Lures or bait?
Adrenaline: Won’t the birds kill your fish?
Gillham: Lures aren’t that effective. Well, they
are in new water when the fish have never
been targeted. Once they have been caught
once on a lure, they are pretty clued-up.
Gillham: My fish are safe. My fish would
probably eat the eagles.
Hotel
Advice and
www.andamanadventures.com/fishing.shtml
Booking
Service
For expert and independent advice on hotels all over Thailand,
check out www.andamanadventures.com
or contact Tipmonta Khawtong (Fon) on +66 (0) 843044080
or email [email protected]
Image by www.PrimeThai.com
HM Bhumibol Adulyadej's Fish Conservation Policy
His Royal Highness the King of Thailand is
great on conservation. His Royal Highness
is simply brilliant. He is now patronising a
programme of restocking the Mekong River
with Mekong catfish.
To date, I think something like 3 million catfish
have been reintroduced to the wild. The Thais
have promised His Royal Highness that they
will stop netting catfish. The respect and
reverence for His Royal Highness is so great
that I think they will stop doing it. So I think
Mekong catfish have a chance of recovery.
The Siamese Carp, the other huge fish in
Thailand, is badly over-fished. I hope that
someone will suggest to His Royal Highness
that he includes them in a future fish
protection project. It’s not too late to save
them, if someone as amazing as His Royal
Highness were behind the project, I’m sure it
would happen.
Moving Giant Fish
S iamese carp don’t travel well. Once they are
in a lake and have settled in, it just doesn’t
suit them to be moved. Perhaps they miss
their fishy friends. Who knows, they live a long
time, so maybe long-lived fish like them can
make friends with other fish. Or maybe they
have an age-based pecking order, which is
upset if they are moved. Or maybe they’re just
like me and prefer to sleep in the same spot
every night if at all possible.
The easiest fish to move is the arapaima.
It is a fish which breathes the air of the
atmosphere, not air dissolved in water as
other fish do. It is the oldest and the biggest-
scaled fish on the planet. Arapaima are known
to go back about 30 million years. They come
from the River Amazon. So, when the Amazon
floods, they go into the jungle hunting for
food.
As the water recedes, they get trapped in
ponds. All the other fish die from lack of
oxygen when the ponds became stagnant, but
Araipama can last six months without food and
live in stagnant, polluted ponds because they
breathe air. They are a pretty unique kind of
fish
Family Fishing: Thailand
Family Fishing
By David Wilson
The twin teens sink into what looks like a
shared coma. Intermittently, the deckhand
prods one or the other awake and points him
towards a line that has caught something –
the something being, fairly often, a fish.
The twins’ father, art director Jules Caldow,
43, chats and drinks Singha beers with me
while his interior-designer wife Sylvia gazes
at the horizon. Welcome to family-friendly
fishing, Andaman-style.
Earlier in the 7am stillness on Ao Nang beach,
less tired than I might have been thanks to
my jetlag-skewed inner clock, I had sat in a
hammock and eagerly awaited the buzz of
a ride on a traditional timber longtail boat.
After puttering up, it took me to the sky-blue
fibreglass launch where we then relaxed and
drank a rousing cup of English Breakfast tea
as a greenish-grey dawn rose over the karst
cathedrals of the jaw-droppingly beautiful
Railay peninsula. “Mmmm, lovely” says Sylvia
as she sips her tea, referring, I think, to her
tea (why is it that just about the only positive
adjective the English ever use to describe tea
is “lovely”?) “My kind of fishing,” Jules says.
“The deck-hands do all the legwork, we sit and
watch.”
“
Anyone got any
dynamite?
”
Tin cans can take 80 to 100 years, whilst
common-as-plankton plastic bags hang
around soiling the planet for between 20 and
1,000 years. That’s a sobering thought as we
plough on under a hazy sky pierced by karsts
(limestone crags) that jut from the ocean with
primordial power and poise. A buzzard loops
lazily around one.
Otherwise, aside from the occasional frigate
bird, the skies are as quiet as the seas until,
after an hour, the reel makes a fizzing sound
that cuts through our chatter. A rod bends
over double.
Inspired, Jules duly begins hauling in the first
fish. “Look, my first bit of booty” he exclaims.
But, unfortunately and embarrassingly for
him, he’d spoken too soon. “Hmmm darling,
it doesn’t look much like booty to me, one
letter too many there, I think it’s a boot, a
Wellington boot” Sylvia laughs, the twins
sniggering in the background.
Soon after, though, Jules gets his first fish.
It is a king mackerel - a slender, streamlined
fish with a tapered head. Well, a tapered head
with a lance through it now, courtesy of the
deckhand.
This mackerel dies almost instantly, a bit of a
quitter, unlike the carbon-copy successor that
strikes the port-side rod long after we have
settled down again. King Mackerel II up puts
That means no shopping for reels and bait. No
catering to bother about and, to be honest,
not all that much hands-on fishing either.
Like a conjuror, the deckhand produces an
array of luminous lures, one green with black
stripes, one with a yellow tummy and a third
looking bizarrely like a plump white crucifix.
With luck, in the eyes of the average fish, both
kinds will look as hot as Shakira in lycra.
Lets hope so. Soon we are trolling, our floats
kicking up manic, miniature fountains.
Before you could say “Blue Marlin“ we have
a bite. Well, not really a bite, as the wadge
of polythene on the end of the line is, as is
customary for wadges of polythene, toothless.
Such catches are par for the course, according
to Jules. The last time he fished the Andaman,
his first catch was a (lamentably empty) bottle
of SangSerm rum.
How long it takes plastic bottles to decompose
nobody yet knows. Even orange peel and
banana skins can take up to two years.
up a bigger struggle than Mel Gibson in the
movie 'Braveheart'. This obliges the novice
deckhand to crouch down and get heavy,
doing all sorts of things to put the fish into
its next life - trying a bit of bashing but being
defeated by the slippery scales, experimenting
with suffocation and finding that gills make
this impossible, before finally triumphing with
a boat-hook.
“
This one looks big, really
big. Oh dear, a log.
”
After this clash, we are in the mood. The fish,
however, have other ideas. Or do they?
Startled by sudden yells, we rise to our feet
and then sink back again as the deckhand
glumly retrieves three ghostly hunks of
plastic. Bit by bit, we seem to be dredging the
Andaman.
Soon, we are no longer even doing that.
A drowsy spell follows, broken only by the
advent of a yellow pleasure cruiser inching
across our bows as gulls carve squiggles in the
haze. We wait.
“Has our luck deserted us? Has word got
around on the fish grapevine that we are
around?” I idly wonder, reaching for a cold
caffeine tonic.
Still nothing happens. The light brightens. The
sugar eats into my tooth enamel.
The next time that a line whirrs, we have
all grown so jaded and cynical that nobody
reacts. We assume that our catch is yet
another decoy.
We are right. What a drag. But at least
nobody, except for the 18-year-olds, who were
out last night, feels sick (I speak as someone
who once had to take a lie-down in the hold of
a boat after 10 minutes on moderately choppy
English water).
Another plus is the sensation of safety.
Nobody loses a thumb to a tuna although,
gut-wrenchingly, the captain steps on a hook,
which he then nonchalantly removes the way
you or I might unfasten a button.
Guiding the boat over the edge of a shelf, the
captain now turns off the engine. “Bottom,”
the deckhand says and hooks up some prawns
aimed at the delightfully-named bottomfeeders.
The lines take an eternity to unravel as we
discuss how, back in the old days, it must
have felt to be becalmed without the chance
to regain momentum by turning a key. “Cabin
fever,” Jules says. Sylvia talks about how
becalmed seafarers ran out of water and were
forced to first eat the maggots that riddled
their bread, then occasionally each other.
Squelching suspicions that the bottom-feeding
foray has failed, Sylvia suddenly exclaims:
“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Got one.” And it’s a beauty
- a goldfish-shaped red snapper with plush,
plumped-up lips. To me, this eye-candy starlet
looks too beautiful to kill.
The deckhand thinks otherwise. “Barbecue,”
he says and tosses the body into a red box
with the others.
In the end, together with the Thai chicken
curry that the deckhand had brought on board
earlier, we just eat the mackerel, which Jules
judges the best fish he has had in his life.
God knows what one of those spotty oddities,
a whale-shark, would taste like - a bit rank,
Image: Railay West
I suspect, gawping at the specimen that
swims past accompanied by a skinny sucker
fish which, Jules says, has a head like a Nike
sneaker sole.
The weird whale-shark and its equally peculiar
parasite prompt more excitement than any
other creature we see all day. As the afternoon
wears on and patches of blue sky appear,
the deckhand announces that Indonesia lies
just across the horizon. We muse over the
possibility that next time we should fish all the
way to Indonesia, all of us secretly knowing
that, although we’ve all got along famously,
it’s unlikely our paths will ever cross again
– but for good manners’ sake we all pretend
that the email addresses we swap will be used
within a matter of minutes of stepping ashore.
A threat that plays on my mind is that of
pirates. I read somewhere that, when they
board your boat, pirates machine-gun all the
men and rape all the women. Or was it the
other way round?
We weave around a necklace of islands in
the Phi Phi area, catching zilch except a crab
that goes into its iron-man crustacean, clawwaving routine. Gingerly Jules picks it up,
inspects its chalky belly and then hands it to
the captain, who tosses it back into the sea.
Everyone collapses again, only to be roused
by yet another anticlimax. This time we have
snagged another line trailed by a couple of sea
gipsies.
In the wake of this
non-event, normal
nondescript service
is resumed. “That's
fishing,” Sylvia says.
Jules reckons that, in
the calm, our boat’s
signature vibration is
too obvious. The
whale shark’s
trail of
foam
in
our wake may not help either.
“Ring the dinner gong,” Sylvia suggests.
“Anyone got any dynamite?” I quip, but
everybody on board glares at me, almost as if
I had suggested using one of the boys as bait.
When everyone seems to have given up
hope of extracting another morsel before our
journey’s 6.30pm end, it happens. A line starts
to whirr.
Right on cue, rising from his semi-persistent
vegetative state, a twin puts on one of those
odd fish belts with a rod socket and attaches
himself to the relevant rod. Heave.
This one looks big, really big. Oh dear, a log.
Foiled again, we watch explosions of small
fry wondering what, if anything, we are
doing wrong. But we end on a high note
when, quashing suspicions of yet another
false alarm, one twin brings in a mysterious,
medium-sized silver fish.
How convenient. I wonder whether the
deckhand had secretly stashed it in the cabin
earlier, then stuck a hook in its mouth and
stealthily thrown it overboard for the twin to
retrieve.
Villa Alice is located 4 minutes drive from Ao
Nang beach, in a secure and peaceful location
which is close, but not too close, to a minor road.
Completion due 1st May 2008
Whatever the truth, we have all had a big
laugh, a close-up tour of the stunning scenery
and a most recuperative rest. Thanks to the
intermittent reward dimension, this fishing lark
is compelling – addictive even. Just remember
not to go out on the town the night before.
For a two-week family-friendly Thai fishing
holiday, check out:
www.andamanadventures.com/fishing.shtml
THB 8,000,000 on 800 sqm plot
THB 9,500,000 on 1,600 sqm plot
www.krabihouse.com
+ 66 846276779
[email protected]
Swimming pool THB 800,000 extra.
Feng Shui Rocks: Climb Hong Kong
Feng Shui Rocks: Climb Hong Kong
Feng
Shui
Rocks
and it’s no wonder that the Territory’s barren
rock now ranks highly among Asia’s premier
climbing destinations.
So why am I doing it? Other than the
opportunity to get into the outdoors with
a good group of friends and undertake a
physically and mentally challenging sport,
I have a theory. I know that while climbing
I totally forget about everything except the
problem at hand.
This is a common thread among adventure
sports: by intense concentration and
involvement in the present moment you
achieve a release from everyday problems
and worries. I personally prefer the longer
release afforded by climbing to the much
briefer moment which for example sky-divers
gain. I can spend hours in this state of selfforgetfulness through intense concentration.
Maybe the sky-divers’ and base-jumpers’
brains are wired differently from mine.
Climbing the Hong Kong SAR
By Stuart Millis
Images by Ron Yue
W
Perhaps their brains need adrenaline in an
intense, short burst, whilst I prefer my terror
to be a lengthy and drawn-out experience. I
mean, why be scared witless for just a few
moments when I can be petrified for most of
the day?
“ hy am I doing this?” is the thought racing
feverishly through my mind as I look down
at the 15 metres of overhanging rock I’ve
scaled. Lactic acid overcomes my muscles,
fingers uncurl and gravity takes control.
Fortunately, I’m tied into a rope and my
earthward plunge is halted a few metres lower
down, with nothing wounded but my ego for
having failed to reach the top.
When most people think of Hong Kong,
their minds normally conjure up images of
towering skyscrapers, shopping malls, feng
shui and Jackie Chan. Few people outside
Hong appreciate that tucked away behind the
ever-expanding urban sprawl is a vast area of
countryside with massive amounts of potential
for the outdoor enthusiast.
“
By intense concentration
and involvement in the
present moment, release
from everyday problems
and worries is achieved.
”
In recent years, one sport that has gone from
strength to strength in Hong Kong is rockclimbing. Hong Kong’s natural topography of
steep hills jutting out of the South China Sea
has formed a veritable playground for those
who have a predilection for fingertip-dangling
s
r
a
e
F
r
u
o
Y
e
c
a
r
b
m
E
Rafting I
n Suma
tra
By Joanne Lane
A bove the roar of the Asahan river an inner
voice screams to me “I’m not meant to be
here.” Unfortunately the only way out now is
through a torrid set of grade four rapids.
Fear generates adrenaline as our raft plunges
through some of the biggest holes and chutes
I’ve ever seen. As each wave hits I wedge my
leg further under the seat so I don’t fall out. I
try not to knock anyone out with my paddle,
but it’s difficult, as every time I try to connect
with the water, I seem to almost connect with
one of my companions’ skulls instead.
I gradually become aware that my companions
are laughing riotously at the whole experience.
Could they actually be enjoying this?
This river in Sumatra, Indonesia is one
of southeast Asia’s premier white-water
destinations and it seems to be tempting fate
to laugh at its fury. My big, strapping Czech
companions may be fearless, but I am not
and I would rather they didn’t anger any river
Gods lurking beneath the surface. If said
river Gods took umbrage at being laughed at,
they’d probably decide to nibble on my tender
toes rather than the Czechs’ no-doubt knobbly
ones.
But as they say in this part of the world,
“welcome to the jungle”, or in other words,
embrace your fears. So I do.
It’s clear I’m in good hands so I mimic the
moves of the rafter in front - paddle, brace,
shout and yes, even laugh.
We’re rafting the four kilometre section from
the Pahitean Bridge known as the Hula-Huli
Run. It’s considered a gentler course than the
upper section of the Asahan, although it still
has rapids in the three to four grade category.
Embrace Your Fears: Rafting In Sumatra
Embrace Your Fears: Rafting In Sumatra
There are four rafting sections on the Asahan.
The upper section, below the Tangga dam,
has the longest continuous stretch of classfour rapids in Indonesia. Below this, after
Hula-Huli, is a five- to six-grade section
appropriately known as The Nightmare that
has only been run a few times. Then there’s
the Honeymoon Canyon with one class-five
rapid and another easy section.
“
One of them had collided
head-first with a rock
”
The Asahan has been dammed in the two
places where it’s too steep to paddle and these
dams release a regular flow of 90 to 120 cubic
metres / second. It’s a seriously fast, wide and
scary section of river.
The Czechs were one of the teams competing
in the 2007 Asahan White Water international
rafting festival in the tiny village of Tangga.
I’m reporting on the event and am not part of
a team, but they’ve let me join them for this
fun, post-competition run.
It’s an adventure just getting to Tangga,
negotiating Sumatra’s wild roads. It’s certainly
not ideal for getting to what must be Asia’s
best-kept rafting secret. But maybe this is
what makes the river such an adventure – this
is no dodgems-on-water rafting experience,
like many over-touristed rivers in other parts
of the continent. For those who make it here,
part of the joy of taking part is in being in a
place that feels so remote.
Apart from all the splendid white water, the
surrounding scenery is astounding, thanks
to its volcanic genesis in lake Toba, two
hours away. The Asahan is the only river that
drains out of this magnificent 1,144 sq km
lake, which I highly recommended as a soft
kayaking destination and is one of the most
beautiful places I’ve ever visited.
The area around the river is lush and tropical
with canopies of natural rainforest, making it
a perfect trekking destination but one to be
treated with caution and respect – make sure
that you hire a guide, as the Sumatran jungle
is vast and, for the unaware, full of hazards.
A bounty of waterfalls, some as high as 280
metres tall, cascade down to the river on
smooth basalt walls which provide good rock
faces for multi-pitch climbing. Some of the
waterfalls have created open bowls, which are
great for swimming.
The Asahan valley also shelters some
fascinating wildlife including screaming
gibbons, hornbills, flying foxes, monitor
lizards and freshwater crocodiles. It is a truly
spectacular place.
The festival runs for a week, usually in
November, and competitors are billeted in
Tangga village - a sedate place where ducks,
chickens and kids on bicycles are more
common than traffic. The communal living and
the drying shirts, rafts and banners create a
real sports-village atmosphere.
The competition consists of two days training
and three days of racing, including a 3.5km
down-river race, a 500m slalom sprint on
continuous 3-4 class rapids and the dramatic
head-to-head sprint trials.
I had watched, glued to the spectacle in
vicarious horror, as a competitor in the
head-to-head sprint trials came close to
calamity. His raft had been thrown into the air,
depositing the five occupants into the river.
One of them had collided head-first with a
rock and then been swept away, unresponsive,
in the current. Luckily for him one of the
occupants of the other rafts had seen disaster
strike and had reached over the side of his
raft, grabbed the stricken rafter and hauled
him aboard. It seemed to me that he had
been very lucky to be fished out. So please be
warned, this is extreme rafting and so needs
to be treated with extreme caution, it is not
the soft rafting to be found in numerous places
throughout SE Asia.
This year the Czech team swept the field
in every discipline and won the USD 3,000
prize money. The Czech’s were pleased to get
experience on such a wide and fast river, as
European rivers are narrower and have less
volume.
On the final day of the festival there’s fun
rafting on the lower Asahan gorge. The river
here is very scenic as it narrows to less
than five metres, culminating in the pretty
Honeymoon Canyon with its vertical walls,
waterfall and fast, grade five rapid. After the
canyon the river widens and slows to rapids of
grades two, three and four.
For competitors who’ve battled the seriously
scary parts of the Asahan it’s all very easy and
there are more water fights and vine jumping
than serious paddling. Anyone can join the
rafts, as long as there’s enough space and
gear to go around
Picturesque
Perhentian
Head for Malaysia's
Perhentian Islands
for a real treat
By Chris Mitchell
Images by Jez Tryner
O ne of the things that makes a dive really
special is when you see an underwatersomething for the very first time. The
aquatic scenery of the Perhentian Islands
won’t disappoint on that score as there is
a cornucopia of underwater novelties to
marvel at. Within the turquoise waters of
the islands’ fringes dwell an amazing variety
of marine life. Don't be surprised if you
see dolphins and pilot whales in July and
August, which is the peak of the dry season.
It’s also a great time for on-shore sunworshipping.
On my last trip I witnessed the arrival of
a school of humphead parrotfish during
a dive at D Lagoon, one of the simplest
and shallowest coral reef dives off the
Perhentians. More than twenty five turned
up at the end of our dive, like a gang of
Hell’s Angels taking over the reef, stunning
us with their sheer size. Each measuring
at least half a metre in length, the fish
clustered together and repeatedly attacked
the surrounding coral with surprising
violence, chomping and chipping with their
powerful beaks and sending out clouds of
debris.
I'd never seen humpheads in real life before
and couldn’t stop gawking at their size and
at the slightly comical appearance given to
them by their beaks, which seemed fixed
in a perpetually mischievous grin. Similarly
amusing were the broad and bemused grins
of the divers, back on board later. Diving in
the Perhentians is always full of surprises.
More than a
Stopover
A half-hour speedboat ride off the eastern
coast of peninsular Malaysia, the Perhentian
Islands or Pulau Perhentian have, for
centuries, sheltered fishermen from
mainland Kelantan and Terengganu during
storms. Hence their name, which means
'stopover' in the native Malay language.
Made up of the two islands Perhentian Besar
(which means 'big' in Malay) and Perhentian
Kecil ('small') the Perhentians are blessed
with the white sands, lush vegetation and
swaying palm trees of a typical tropical idyll.
The beauty on land is matched by what lies
beneath the water and the Perhentians are
also agreeably easy to get to, as well as
being extremely affordable. The ever-morepopular islands’ natural charm will probably
appeal most to the more adventurous diver,
as the infrastructure is modest. Jungle
tracks link several of the islands’ beaches.
Long Beach on Perhentian Kecil, where I
stayed, is the area's party zone, where
most backpackers hang out. The beaches
on the bigger Perhentian Besar are more
family-orientated and quieter. Whichever
beach you go to, you’ll find a picturesque
mixture of wooden huts which serve as
accommodation, beach side cafes and dive
shops.
There are several dive operators on the
Perhentians, some of whom have been
around for more than a decade. The dive
schedules here reflect the islands’ laidback
lifestyle - the first dive group leaves at
8.30am, the second at 1.30pm. The journey
to and from the dive sites in simple wooden
skiffs takes about 20 minutes. Besides the
usual array of dive courses, night dives in
the area and fun-dive daytrips to nearby
Palau Redang are also available and highly
recommended.
What Lies Beneath
The calm, shallow waters of the Perhentians
make it an ideal place to learn to dive. Few
of the dive sites go beyond a depth of 25
metres and most of the interesting marine
life can be spotted above 18 metres. The
Perhentians are, however, much more than
just a good training ground for beginners.
Snorkellers here also enjoy regular sightings
of turtles and black-tip sharks. There are
about ten dive-sites off the islands’ coasts,
which will keep novice as well as qualified
divers entertained for at least a week.
The islands’ highlights include two wrecks,
the Vietnamese Wreck, which sits upsidedown at a depth of 24m, and the Sugar
Wreck, which lies on its side, at 18m, with
its two loading cranes stretched across the
sandy bottom. The Sugar Wreck’s cranes
provide a home for lionfish and a school of
razorfish, which hover vertically and nose
down over the battered steel struts.
Visibility at the Perhentians varied quite
dramatically from day to day during my
stay. Although on my dives to both
wrecks we only had around 7m visibility,
the abundant marine life hovering
around the sides of the sunken ships
provided plenty to see. Big cobias have
been known to turn up out of the blue,
so it’s worth taking a look away from
the wrecks every now and then.
The Sugar Wreck has large cargo
doors in its now-vertical deck
that can be accessed, while the
Vietnamese wreck’s upside-
down profile offers a large confined space,
between the boat’s deck and the sandy
bottom, for divers to explore. It’s also a haven
for schools of fish, allowing them to sit out
of the current that flows around the wreck.
Big marble rays have also been spotted lying
on the sand, so look out for these beautiful
creatures, but do exercise caution and avoid
their barbed tails. Outside the wreck, baby
barracuda hang in the current, while tiny
yellow boxfish flit around the broken metal.
Besides the two wrecks, Tirumbla Tiga (also
known as T3) and The Pinnacle (also known as
the Temple), are the other two star attractions
of the Perhentians. T3 is made up of three
huge fingers of rock, rising from 20m to the
surface, with a profusion of smaller boulders
strewn around them. This magnificent
formation creates an aquatic labyrinth that
even the local dive-masters joke about getting
lost in, despite having dived the site hundreds
of times. This jumble of rocks and coral makes
for some exciting swim-throughs, as its nooks
and crannies provide ample shelter for many
colourful critters.
The Pinnacle is my personal favourite site.
Its rocky structure sits just off the shore and
allows the current to pass through, providing
both great visibility and opportunities to spot
many different species of fish. I was hoping
we might see the elusive guitarfish, which has
been spotted both here and at the Tulumben
Basi dive site, but alas we had no such luck.
Instead,
we saw
schools of travally, fusiliers and jacks, a long
line of squid propelling themselves in single
file and a massive moray eel curled up among
the Pinnacles rocks.
Venturing Beyond
Divers are not limited to the sites in the
Perhentians’ immediate vicinity. If you have
the time to spare, you should definitely take
a speedboat trip from the Perhentians to
Redang as well, only 40 minutes away. Most
dive shops organise half-day trips with two
dives and lunch included. At the sites around
Redang visibility may be a little better, but the
currents run a lot stronger, too. Our dives at
Batu Tokong and Turumbu Kili needed some
concerted finning at times but were eminently
worth the effort. There are some spectacular
table corals on these sites which run into one
another, creating a mesmerizingly beautiful
organic plateau. The coral is also a big hit
with the turtles that come to feast at the
reef
Dragonboat Racing
Singapore
Dragon Boating in Singapore!
Paddle power!
By Jennifer Ellson
Images by Karen Eng
It’s all about strength, stamina, timing and
teamwork. The sound of beating drums, the
rhythmic heaving of the crew, the adrenaline
rush coursing through the muscles, the primal
roar of the paddlers as the boat surges faster
and further away from the competition – these
are what make dragon-boating the fastestgrowing sport in Singapore. The sport of
dragon-boating looks amazing for spectators
onshore – very long and narrow humanpowered boats rigged with decorative Chinese
dragon-heads and tails, with large drums
aboard, being manoeuvred on water by crews
of up to 20 paddlers, moving in synch. All
hell breaks loose once the drummer shouts
“charge”, as with a sudden burst of energy the
T
he 2,500-year-old sport of dragon-boat
racing is mushrooming in popularity in
Singapore, where the annual River Regatta
is held towards the end of the year along
the banks of the Singapore River, amidst the
sprawling skyscrapers and high-rises. There
are some 6,000 dragon-boat enthusiasts in the
city state, compared to around 400 a decade
ago.
Most corporations in the country have their
own dragon-boat team, comprising all staff
levels from chief executives down to office
juniors. There are expatriate teams and even
a team comprising breast cancer survivors.
Four additional big races are held every year,
in which teams from other countries in the
region participate. Visitors to Singapore
can watch the sport every week, as
up to 500 paddlers turn up every
weekend at the Kallang Water
Sports Centre, in the middle of
the country’s financial district, for
their weekly dragon-boating fix.
‘Girl power’ is also the norm in the
Singapore dragon boat community,
where 30 to 40 percent of paddlers
are female.
Truly Asian
D
ragon-boat racing is believed to have
originated in China more than 2,500 years
ago, along the banks of the Yangtze. Legend
has it that, after a scholar named Yuan
drowned himself in the river to protest against
government corruption, his self-sacrifice
inspired the first dragon-boat festival. The
festival is still celebrated in China and other
countries such as Singapore, normally on
the 5th day of the 5th Chinese lunar month
(varying from late May to June on the modern
Gregorian calendar).
rowers paddle with all their might, ignoring
the protests of muscle and sinew. The sport of
dragon-boating comes as a welcome change
for some paddlers who have already mastered
kayaking or rowing and are tired of going it
alone. Dragon-boat paddlers are guaranteed
fun, hopefully in the sun. Dragon-boating is
popular with the young crowd as, after each
race, the beer normally flows freely. This, or
so it is claimed by some of the more exuberant
paddlers, is essential to replenish lost calories
Wakeboard
Singapore
By Jennifer Ellson
Images by David Ngiam
& Amorvida Muyrong
Wakeboard: Singapore
W akeboarding is the fastest-growing water
sport in Singapore. Today visitors can
watch wakeboarders throwing somersaults
at the Kallang River, amidst the downtown
skyscrapers, or at the Bedok Reservoir, with
lush greenery as the backdrop.
The sport is similar to mono waterskiing,
with people either towed by boats or by an
overhead cable. Jumps are performed by
hitting the wake and launching into the air.
The sport is perfect for the adrenaline junkie
who has already mastered waterskiing. It
attracts a young crowd, ranging from teens to
early 30s.
If budget is a concern, consider cable
wakeboarding, where one can zip across the
water at a cable park instead of behind a boat.
The main advantage is the dramatic reduction
in the cost for participants. It’s also perfect for
tree-huggers such as this editor, due to being
very green.
In Singapore, SKI360 is where the action is.
Participants are not restricted to wakeboarding
and waterskiing – some 2,000 adrenaline
aficionados visit SKI360° per month to
slalom, trick ski, or even kneeboard (almost
impossible unless you are young and
extremely fit). The atmosphere is great and
the DJ pumps more adrenaline into riders
with his cool beats, which sound surprisingly
innocuous, even to middle-aged ears.
The sport has gained so much popularity in
Wakeboard: Singapore
Singapore that the Wakeboard World Cup was
held in the city-state last September.
Wakeboarding is not really all that strenuous,
provided you don’t attempt the aerial
acrobatics, so it's suitable for people of
almost all ages and shapes. In Singapore
it’s synonymous with fun, fun and more fun.
The weather is warm throughout the year, so
wetsuits are unnecessary.
Wakeboard Singapore
By Luke Chin, 14 years old.
I t took me ages to persuade my Dad to
take me wakeboarding. I mean, like, the
food at the Fairmont (our well-posh hotel
in Singapore) is, like, really, like tasty, like.
But its sooooo boring to spend endless hours
in restaurants and my Dad has this really
embarrassing habit of laughing far too loudly
at his own jokes. Thank goodness none of my
friends are here. He seems to think it's enough
to say “Here’s some money for the games
arcade, Luke”, but it isn’t, I can do that back
home in Somerset.
hearing aid, I think his ears are OK, but he
doesn’t listen very well.
On a positive note, I totally recommend
Singapore as a cool place for kids, I mean
young adults. There are all sorts of cool things
to do here and it’s safe, so you don’t have to
drag your parents around with you all the time
I had to throw a minor tantrum about it but
sometimes it’s the only way you can get adults
to listen. It only works when I’m in the right
though, which in this case I feel I was. I felt
a bit guilty about it afterwards as he does so
much for me, but how else is a 14-year old
supposed to get his Dad’s attention away from
Peking duck, Dim Sum etc etc etc?
Two days later I was strapped in, ready to go
and wishing I had not claimed I was positive
I could do it. I’d been skiing with Dad when I
was too young to realise that skiing isn’t cool,
then changed to snowboarding as soon as
possible. I’d also been water-skiing before I
knew that that’s something only old people do,
but I’d never been wakeboarding.
“ ”
My Dad’s ancient,
he’s 35
I managed it OK, my Dad says its because
I’m a natural athlete, whereas he’s a natural
gourmet, whatever that is.
I really, really, really wish my Dad had not
insisted on having a go too. I mean, he’s not
in bad shape I suppose, but he’s ancient,
he’s 35. I tried to plead with him to waterski instead. He quite simply SHOULDN’T go
wakeboarding - its something only young
people should do. He insisted.
Even worse, though, he just didn’t understand
why he shouldn’t wear speedo swimmers when
wakeboarding. It was soooooo embarrassing,
if there had been a convenient hole in the
ground I would have happily dived into it. The
really cute girl I’d spent 30 minutes plucking
up the courage to talk to started giggling when
she saw him, so that was the end of another
budding romance. Maybe I’ll buy my Dad a
How Not To Climb: Climbing Safety Focus
How Not To Climb
Article by Naomi Bowman
All images by Gerhard Schaar
I f a body falls 22 metres under gravity,
reaching a terminal velocity of approximately
6.3 metres per second, what is the result? In
my case it was a fractured hip, large
haematoma and a laceration that needed
stitches. The cause of the accident? My
belayer took her hands off the rope (a belayer
is someone who stands on the ground and
secures the climber by paying the rope in
and out through a small metal rope-braking
device).
Climbing is perfectly safe, it’s just some of the
people who climb who are potentially lethal.
Vacation time, warm weather, cool people
and a relaxed atmosphere all lull visitors into
taking risks they would walk away from at
home. No, this paragraph is not about safe
sex, it’s about climbing risks. In both cases
the level of risk depends directly on your
choice of partner, who in the climbing scene
poses without doubt a greater potential risk to
your health than anything else.
do not suffer from loose rock. We have found
that, whilst the most able climbers tend to be
Swedish, the most likely to enjoy jumping off
are the Aussies, and the Dutch are the ones
who always wear helmets. Again, it’s back to
common sense. If in doubt, wear one.
The first climber that I stopped and asked
to tell me a scary climbing story, while
researching this article, illustrates the dangers
of a poor choice of partner. She was climbing
indoors in Seattle with a self-proclaimed
experienced climber. Once at the top she
asked the belayer “have you got me?” The
belayer replied that she had, despite holding
the rope with both hands above her head.
Quite new to climbing, the climber leant back
and then plummeted to the ground, breaking
bones but surviving thanks to the thickness
of the rope running through the belay device.
She’s nowhere near alone: the majority of
My partner runs Spider-Monkey Rock Climbing
on Phi Phi Island, guiding an average of 80
customers a month. In the last two years the
worst injuries sustained have been scraped
legs and bruised knees. Understandably,
scaling large rock faces has to come with
certain risks. So exactly how safe is rock
climbing? The extreme version of climbing is
free-soloing. This doesn’t involve a rope or any
form of protection, it’s just one climber and
his or her rock. Whether free-soloists share a
death-wish is open to debate. What isn’t open
to debate is that climbers who are averse to
ropes should if they care about their lives stick
to bouldering - traversing the lowest reaches
of rock-faces without a rope - and get their
thrills at a safe proximity to the ground.
Speak to most climbers with more than a few
routes’ experience and they will all tell you a
scary story about falling rocks. A Portuguese
friend was climbing in Europe when the
goats happily skipping around the mountain
dislodged a television-sized rock that landed
inches from the group, none of whom was
wearing a helmet. In most countries climbing
outdoors without a helmet isn’t even an
option but in Thailand, with drunken people
jumping through fire-rings and builders
hammering the same piece of scaffolding
they’re standing on, health and safety do
not have the same priority in the national
consciousness as elsewhere. The vast majority
of climbers do not wear helmets, with some
justification, as most of the routes here are
climbed thousands of times a year and thus
indoor climbing accidents happen through
belay error. I’ve personally seen climbers
skip clipping bolts altogether, risking a drop
to the ground if a hold breaks or something
unforeseen happens. It was my belayer taking
her hands off the rope that caused me to hit
the ground from seventy feet up and just
pure luck that I’m still around today. We once
had to confiscate a bottle of whisky from a
customer, who was groggily swigging on it
while belaying someone!
Human error is a fact of life and even
very experienced climbers make mistakes
occasionally. I heard my name called out at
the cliff earlier this year and looked up to see
a climber friend of fourteen years’ experience
dangling at the end of his rope, thirty metres
off the ground. He’d abseiled off from a multipitch (high) route but had forgotten to clip
the rope to the rock-face as he descended,
so losing contact with the wall and ending up
dangling in thin air. Unfortunately he was in
unnecessary danger as he’d forgotten to tie a
knot in the end of the rope before beginning
his abseil. This would have made it physically
impossible for him to lower off the end of the
rope, which is a common cause of climbing
accidents, usually fatal ones.
“
He was dangling
in thin air.
”
My friend’s dilemma was thankfully relatively
easily resolved with a successful lassoo rescue
and a lot of shouting. He later told me that he
had been so scared, when dangling at the end
of his rope, that the hand that was holding the
rope (and was the only thing between him and
certain death) started to shake involuntarily.
He had had to grab the hand with the other
hand to calm down the spasms.
Another accident I heard about was due to
a rope stretching under tension. The climber
slipped when sixty feet up, twenty feet above
the last rock-face bolt he had attached the
rope to. He was attempting to attach the
rope to the anchor, a metal ring attached to
the rock-face by rope and three bolts. Rope
stretch brought him back to the ground and
then on to the mortuary. It doesn’t seem very
sensible to be 20 feet above your last bolt
unless you fancy a bit of free-soloing practice.
While belaying a climbing partner recently, a
friend of mine was given an urgent and pained
command to ‘take’ (to grab the rope and take
the leader’s weight on it). The leader had
put her hand into a crack and been bitten by
the biggest, hairiest spider she’d ever seen
– which can be a big deal in Thailand. Some
months earlier I’d not noticed a snake eating
a bird next to the anchor of my route, but had
almost stepped on its friend on the descent.
If you want to climb in the jungle, you must
expect wildlife. Monkeys have got to be the
most unfriendly and overrated creatures
around. They have seriously warped value
systems. I mean, if you smile at them they
will likely assume that you’re baring your teeth
preparatory to a fight and will then probably
lob something indescribable at you. Such
missiles can be impossible to dodge when you
are hanging on to a rock-face and they can
really ruin your route.
In my opinion, climbing can and should be
extremely safe, without losing any of the
enjoyment or the adrenaline rush. Whether
you ‘go Dutch’ and wear a helmet, using
your head will take you a long way. After
my 22 metre fall I was back at the cliff nine
weeks after leaving hospital. Although my
rock gymnastic attempts weren’t much to
write home about, I stand by my belief that
with good preparation and common sense,
rock climbing is safe and should be tried by
everyone. After all, it’s as scary and dangerous
as you want to make it sound, once you’re
safely on the ground and telling your nonclimbing friends all about it.
To book a rock-climbing trip to Koh Phi Phi,
check out Naomi’s website:
www.spidermonkeyclimbing.com
Image: Nicola Taatjes, climbing Tyrolian Wall on Tonsai, Thailand - by Gerhard Schaar
Koh Yao Noi: Thailand
Koh Yao Noi: Thailand
The climbing here is perfect for the
more adventurous climber. Crags on
Koh Yao Noi are accessible only by
boat, ensuring that you will climb well
away from any crowds. From Koh Yao
Noi you can climb crags not listed in
any guidebooks, on unknown islands
off the tourism trail.
Koh Yao Noi
Koh Yao Noi has two of the best
climbing crags in Thailand. The
Grateful Wall, on the north side of
Koh Yao Noi, is one of the best walls
for moderate climbing in Thailand.
The setting is almost unrivalled,
eclipsed only by Railay’s Thaiwand
Wall. Ascending from a bamboo
platform perched 5 metres above
the sea, climbers are blessed with
amazing views of the islands scattered
throughout Phang Nga Bay.
Thailand
Image: deep-water slack-lining
By Simon Ramsden
T
are successfully working as a community to
develop tourism in a sustainable manner.
The climbing and kayaking here are as superb
as the views out into Phang Nga Bay are
spectacular. It is a small island that one can
explore in less than an afternoon. The pace
of life is slow here and people smile and wave
as you pass by. The residents of Koh Yao Noi
Koh Yao Noi is as photogenic as its presence in
a National Park suggests. Consisting of pristine
beaches, knotted forest and unspoiled coastline, it offers a great vantage point for relaxing
and absorbing the astoundingly beautiful
scenery in the bay. Hat Pa Sai and Hat Tha
Khao are first-class beaches. There are lots of
dirt trails which can be explored by motorbike
or mountain bike. It is possible and a
thoroughly good idea to take a boat trip to the
neighbouring islands. Koh Bele, a small island
east of Koh Yao Noi, is particularly beautiful. It
has three pristine, white-sand beaches plus a
sizeable tidal lagoon; its caves and coral reefs
are easily accessible.
his island offers the traveller a unique
and wonderful experience. One of the first
things you notice after arriving on Koh Yao
Noi is that all the parked motorbikes have
the keys in the ignition. The people here are
particularly friendly - and by the standards
of the friendliest nation on the planet, that
means very, very friendly indeed. Koh Yao Noi
is an island characterized by traditional Muslim
fishing and farming villages as well as a lowkey tourism infrastructure.
Image by Dan McQuade
The second crag is located on
a private island. Climbers can
sometimes obtain permission to
climb here from the local birds’ nest
collection, on the understanding
that they support the island’s
environmentally-conscious tourism
policy. Located among some of the
most popular islands in the region,
this protected crag offers climbers
who obtain permission to climb there
unforgettably intense, exposed and
sustained climbing.
“
Koh Yao Noi is as
photogenic as its presence in
a National Park suggests.
”
There are also some other crags,
located a short stroll from Paradise
Beach. The private nature of the
climbing experience on Koh Yao Noi
is a great alternative to the crowds
of Railay and Tonsai during the high
season
Image: deep water solo (DWS) by Gerhard Schaar. DWS involves climbing
without a rope and using the sea to cushion the fall
By Jack Kannan
Sunglasses & Sarongs
Phang Nga bay
Andaman Sea Safari
Image courtesy of Koh Yao Island Resort
www.koyao.com
A walk across the street takes us away
from Ao Nang’s bustle, past the food stalls
selling barbecued chicken and papaya salad
and away from the shops selling sunglasses
and sarongs. We clamber onto the longtail
boat that has moored just opposite our resort
and head for a shimmering, turquoise-blue
waterway, en route to one of the Andaman
Sea’s most tranquil destination islands, Koh
Yao Noi. We’re not going to hurry there,
though, as it would be rather silly to rush
across one of the most beautiful bays on the
planet.
If the celestial powers had travel-sense
it would be deemed a sin to come to the
Andaman coast of Thailand and not see the
Hong Islands – an archipelago of towering
limestone karsts jutting vertically out of
the water and looming above us as we
cruise the Phang Nga bay. We soon find
ourselves meandering towards one of the
bay’s many hidden beaches, on Koh Lading
('paradise island' in Thai). This is a small but
picturesquely lovely stretch of white sand
approached across emerald waters, gliding
just a metre above a placid coral reef. We
slowly approach the bleached-white beach
with its giant coconut trees and its lush
jungle backdrop, not wishing to disturb the
tranquillity by using the boat’s engine too
much.
There are a few tourists scattered about,
lounging on the warm sand or snorkelling
with the fish, quietly contemplating and
complementing the peaceful scene we have
encountered. All is tranquillity and serenity
until the moment we spot the bouldering wall,
our eyes lighting up as we size up another of
nature’s playgrounds. It looks like a worthy
challenge for us to measure ourselves against,
its sharp, over-hanging limestone walls and
stalactites creating all sorts of contortionistic
challenges (or 'problems' in climbing jargon).
I am surprised to hear that this bouldering
wall is actually judged to be a relatively
easy one, as it looks really difficult to me.
Bouldering is a rope-free variation of rock-
climbing, where the climber sheds his gear
and keeps only his rubber shoes and chalk-bag
(and his shorts unless he really wants to show
off). When the climber falls off the soft beach
cushions his fall – unless the climber ascends
too high, bouldering is as safe as a walk in a
park. It is also an extreme work-out for the
upper body in which it is easy to damage
tendons and sinews.
My climbing partner Fon manoeuvres left
to right and up and down with yogic bodily
contortions, body held nearly parallel to the
ground. A handful of day-trippers relaxing
on the beach watch, in puzzled but idle
amusement, no doubt wondering why
anybody would bother to exert themselves in
such an extreme fashion in such a relaxing
place. Fon moves with feminine agility
and poise and is made to look even more
graceful by comparison with me, her slightly
superannuated Western male climbing
companion. I seem to be not so much rockclimbing as rock-falling-offing - this thankfully
doesn’t hurt, due to the soft sand cushioning
my frequent falls. After a while Fon is glowing
with perspiration, whilst I have virtually
turned into a human waterfall. Thankfully
the welcomingly cool sea is just a step away.
Wary of the sea urchins nesting on the reef’s
floor we float on life jackets to the other side
of the bay and find ourselves peering through
windows of rocks out onto the myriad islands
rearing sheer out of the shallow but deep blue
of the Andaman Sea.
Back in the boat, our boatman is unsure if the
tide is too low for us to be able to get into the
Hong lagoon. As the long-tail boat’s engine
fades to a stop we creep around the corner
and see the opening to the lagoon, seemingly
guarded by a solitary bird standing in the
water. The boat drifts until it rests in the sand
and there we are, standing in the middle of
an enormous lagoon encompassed by rock
buttresses on all sides, like worshippers
in the nave of a vast karst cathedral. One
massive stalactite is suspended overhead,
dripping with pure mineral water and donating
a sweet afternoon drink and shower. The
Image courtesy of Koh Yao Island Resort
www.koyao.com
Hong archipelago, the first stop on our
island-hopping Andaman Sea safari, is an
archetypical tropical paradise.
We leave the lagoon in search of a clandestine
beach to melt into for a while before travelling
on to Koh Yao Noi. It doesn’t take long to
find a completely deserted bay, where we
collapse and take naps in the shade of the
trees – there are no suitable rocks around for
us to play on. In the shallows a large monitor
lizard takes the plunge and swims past our
boat, its family of three concealed by the rocks
and waiting for it across the bay, revealing
themselves as it approaches.
Arriving on Koh Yao Noi, we receive what is
almost door-to-door service, but would be
better described as beach-front to beachfront service, as the boat comes to a halt on
the beach directly in front of our resort. We
are greeted with sweet welcome drinks as
we absorb the tranquil beauty of the Koh
Yao Island Resort, at the northern end of the
island. Large coconut and palm trees stand
on the bright green grass, shading the luxury
bungalows. Each chalet faces the resort’s
private beach, with its view of the islands
further away outlined in differing shades
of blue. The silhouettes of nearby islands
are superimposed on those of islands in the
middle distance, with both sets of silhouettes
superimposed on the outlines of islands further
away. Each of the three sets of silhouettes is
a different shade of blue, creating the most
beautiful island tableaux this author has
ever seen. It is all that you could ask of a
tropical beach resort. Crisp white linen sheets
adorned with tropical flowers on an oversized
bed, an outdoor shower made private with
natural stone tiles piled high and a separate
living room mostly enclosed by sheer drapes,
shimmering in the moonlight and creating a
scene of such serenity that I stop for a second
to savour the moment.
The resort provides us with motorbikes and
we follow the dirt road to Thakao Seafood
Restaurant for a veritable feast – and for less
than the price of a McDonald’s back home.
Banana flower salad, vegetables fried in oyster
sauce and fresh fish are the prefect end to a
day on the water.
After a leisurely-spent morning sunning
ourselves by the pool and sipping fruit shakes
we are back in the boat with ropes and gear
in tow, eager for an afternoon of climbing and
photography. We stop at the pier to pick up
lunch, fried rice wrapped in banana leaves,
then race to get onto the rock-climbing routes.
“
I seem to be not so
much rock-climbing
as rock-falling-offing.
”
The boatman pulls up to a spindly wooden
ladder leading to a bamboo platform that sits
at the bottom of the rock wall and provides
spectators with a comfortable viewpoint to
watch the action. Soon Fon is on belay and
I am ready to climb. As I rise higher and
higher the panoramic view of all the islands
and lagoons becomes even more immense
and my beloved cousin Diana, bobbing up and
down in the water below, becomes smaller
and smaller. This rock-face has arguably
the second most beautiful view in Thailand,
after Railay’s incomparable Thaiwand Wall.
There is also a fair mixture of grades, so it is
a good destination for the relative novice as
well as for the expert crag-hanger. Complete
beginners are recommended, before coming to
Koh Yao Noi, to spend three days learning to
climb on Railay or, better still, Koh Phi Phi.
After the climbing we pause on the boat
journey back in order to watch a party of
Western residents playing on a deep-water
slack-line. This is a 4-centimetre-wide, 30metre-long band stretched between 2 islands,
which the person attempts to balance on while
walking from one island to the next – and
almost invariably fails to manage, ending up
with a 6 metre drop into the sea and a swim
back to the starting point. What is it about
watching people accidentally falling into water
which makes spectators feel so happy?
The Low Down
Looking for seclusion, endless stretches of
untouched white sand beaches, a get-away
with adventure and the ultimate in relaxation?
Koh Yao Noi is your destination. From exciting
landscapes formed by limestone rocks,
beautiful coral reefs and virgin beaches, Koh
Yao Noi offers all you need for a tropical
adventure or beach retreat
Kayaking: Phang Nga Bay
Kayaking: Phang Nga Bay
Koh Hong Archipelago
I n a land of heart-stopping beauty it takes
a pretty exquisite jewel to stand out from the
rest - Koh Hong is such a jewel. Part of Tharn
Bok Khorani Park, Koh Hong is the largest
island in an archipelago that stretches like
a string of pearls all the way north to Leam
Taeng. What single out Koh Hong as the most
popular celebrity amongst so many stars are
the beach and the lagoon from which it takes
its name.
If there is a beach anywhere in Thailand with
finer talcum-powder sand than Koh Hong it
has yet to reveal itself. Like all of the offshore
islands in Krabi, Koh Hong’s sand is actually
fish excrement. Parrot fish and other fusedteeth coral reef-munchers pulverize the
exoskeletons of coral polyps as they graze like
cows along the reef edge.
The fine, milky-white powder they excrete
eventually works its way by wave action to the
shore and over millions of years forms a beach
with the finest of sands. Walking barefoot
along the two lovely coves on Koh Hong’s
southeastern shore is like walking on Thai silk.
set off inland on 1.5-metre wings for the rich
tropical fruit bounty of Khao Phanom Bencha’s
forests. A nearby island has a Hong. Hong is
the Thai word for 'room' and Koh Hong ('Room
Island') has a hidden one. Rooms are most
commonly formed in karst islands when the
ceiling of a cave chamber erodes to the point
that it collapses. If the former root rubble rises
above the highest tidal level then a walled-in
Garden of Eden will eventually flourish there.
If the sea still inundates the chamber, a saltwater lagoon is formed.
Koh Hong’s 'room' is a little of both. At high
tide it’s a chest-deep giant swimming pool; at
low tide it’s a broad sandy tidal flat covered
in five-pointed sea stars. The entrance to this
chamber within the island is easy to miss if
one is speeding past in a long-tail boat. Please
tread softly on this part of the planet and
leave no trace of your passage behind you, so
that others’ journeys may be as captivating
as your own. A nearby island has a perfectly
protected cove where ancient man (and
contemporary Chao-Lay - Sea Gypsies) have
left fire marks of continuous habitation in
Koh Hong Kayaking
The following world-class kayaking sites are easily accessible from
Phang-Nga:
* Koh Hong Archipelago
* Phang Nga Bay
Get there by paddle power or by
loading the kayaks onto a long-tail.
Read on for more information.
Circumnavigating Koh Hong by sea canoe is
now becoming a popular pastime. In addition
to the outstanding topographical features (the
southeastern beaches, the lagoon and the
sheer walls of limestone on the island) there
are other attractions. Secluded cover leads to
hidden caves and bird's nest collectors sites.
Indian Pied Hornbills are commonly sighted as
are the White-bellied Sea Eagles which nest
on hanging platforms of sticks built atop trees
precariously perched on cliff-faces. Sea turtles
have been seen in these waters and there are
extensive beds of staghorn corals. A small
islet to the east of the beach displays colourful
montages of soft corals where exotic fish hide
and enormous schools of bait fish feed in the
tidal currents.
Perhaps the best thing about Koh Hong’s
immense popularity is the fact that the
other islands that make up this extensive
archipelago remain largely unexplored.
Hundreds of Flying Fox, or Giant Fruit
Bats, roost on one of these isles. Hanging
like elongated fruits from the branches of
trees atop karsts, they stretch and yawn at
sundown, then fill the sky with life as they
the deep soot layer under the cliff overhang.
Elevated bamboo sleeping platforms, used
seasonally by bird's nest collectors, reflect a
habitation style that may date back 40,000
years at this site.
Some islands dazzle passers-by with the most
alluring little beaches and draw them ashore
for a private picnic or a secluded swim. On
others fishermen and bird-nest gatherers live
on elevated pilings or bamboo scaffolding built
precariously on the cliff-faces. A simple smile
and a wave ‘hello’ are sometimes enough to
be invited ashore to share tea in their living
chambers.
Krabi’s northern coast is truly a paradise for
paddlers. From beginners on group tours,
to seasoned explorers in search of new
discoveries, there’s still room to get lost, to
make the first footprint on a beach, to sit out
a thunderstorm under a cliff overhang adorned
in prehistoric paintings. In this land lost in
time, it is best to slow down and adjust your
inner clock to the ancient rhythm of the tides.
Kayak Phang Nga Bay
P hang Nga bay is arguably the best tropical
kayaking site in the world. Get there by
paddle-power or ask your guide to load the
kayaks onto a boat and ferry them around for
you, so you can have more time and energy
for exploring the sites.
Phang Nga has many stunningly beautiful
lagoons, 'hongs' (see below), pristine sandy
beaches, tropical wildlife and coral reefs.
When hungry, simply stop at a fishing village
and dine on a simple but sumptuous feast
of seafood delicacies - fare that would cost
a fortune back home. Why not try your king
prawns and langoustines raw with garlic and
chilli dip, maybe you’ll paddle home quicker
that way? Exploring one of Phang Nga’s
natural niches with a local guide who knows
all the secrets is about as near to kayaking
heaven as most people could ever wish for.
'Hong' in Thai means 'room'. The Phang Nga
bay hongs are tidal lagoons surrounded by
vertical cliffs up to 300 metres high. The only
way in and out is through a tidal 'window'
– and it is only possible at certain times of
certain days. On some days these windows are
open for only 20 minutes, so we advise taking
a guide!
Away from the beaten path and
far from the stresses of everyday
life, discover the Aleenta way.
Relax...Refresh...Renew...
'Window' is the name for a cave that is
invisible at high tide due to being underwater.
At low tide the 'window' cave is dry, exposing
sharp rocks and mud and therefore not
navigable by kayak. Only when the tide is
at a certain level, between high and low, is
it possible to enter the 'window' cave and,
through it, the hong
Phang Nga, Thailand www.aleenta.com +662 508-5333
Bird’s Nest Harvesting: Living on a wire
Bird’s Nest Collectors of
Koh Petra Marine Park
R ock-climbers who wish to climb off the
beaten track are advised to learn a little
about the birds’ nest collectors who control
large numbers of perfect climbing islands
in Phang Nga bay and off the southwestern
Thai coastline. Climbers who climb such crags
without permission will find themselves in
very, very deep trouble. Please be advised not
to under any circumstances do it.
Andaman Sea birds’ nests have been
consumed in China for at least 1,500 years
and their export by the collectors of the
Malay Peninsula and southern Thailand was
well established by the early 18th century.
Nowadays the largest market for them is Hong
Kong, which consumes 100 tonnes of them,
worth THB 1,000,000,000, every year. Black
nests sell for an average of THB 10,000 / kilo,
whilst perfect white nests can fetch as much
as THB 50,000 / kilo.
“
To use bare hands
to pick a nest displeases
and angers the gods
”
The nest of the swiftlet Collocalia Fuciphaga
is highly prized by the Chinese as a powerful
pick-me-up tonic and is typically ingested at
the banquets of the rich in the form of bird’s
nest soup. The nests themselves are tiny
translucent cups about the size of a small
egg. They are made by the male swiftlet from
glutinous threads of its own saliva, which it
weaves into a cup that dries to become thin
and translucent like fine porcelain. Chinese
parents feed bird’s nest soup, cooked with
chicken broth or coconut milk, to their
children in the belief that it will improve their
complexions, promote growth and generally
act as a tonic. Recent research has indeed
shown that the nests, which taste rather like
noodles, contain a water-soluble glycoprotein
that may promote cell division in the immune
system.
of birds’ nests is ensured and the survival
of the species is protected because nests
are collected only when empty. The most
productive island for nests is Koh Petra, from
which over 100 kg of nests are collected 3
times in a good year. Koh Lao Liang supplies
about 30 kg of nests 3 times a year.
After the chicks have flown away the mother
will eat the nest in order to replenish her
energy supply. The collectors, of whom there
are 60 in the Koh Petra Marine Park, must find
the nest before the mother eats it.
Nest collecting is skilled and dangerous work,
high up on the ceilings of the caves which
abound on the Thai coast and its offshore
islands. The intrepid collector shins barefoot
up rickety trellises of bamboo scaffolding,
ropes and bridges, tapping as he goes to make
sure the bamboo is sound. He lights his way
in the black caves with a torch of bark soaked
in resin held between his teeth and uses a
special three-pronged tool called a rada to
harvest the nests.
To use bare hands to pick a nest displeases
and angers the gods. If a collector accidentally
touches a nest he will descend at once,
taking it as a sign from the gods that it would
be dangerous for him to continue climbing
that day. During the collecting season, from
February to May, the collectors work without
food from sunrise until sunset, when the caves
fill with flocks of bats and roosting swiftlets.
Sometimes nest-gatherers have to swim
underwater to reach a submerged cavern or
to squeeze through tiny blowhole passages to
reach a cave’s ceiling. The caves themselves
are often spectacular cathedrals of stalagmites
and stalactites, covered in thick carpets of
The low-down
Image: Western rock-climbers
installing an anchor for a bird's
nest collector's rope, by Gerhard
Schaar. Article by Simon Ramsden.
If a nest is too old it cannot be made into topquality soup, but can be made into secondrate soup. A nest needs to be made from
fresh saliva, with no feathers or dirt. A fresh
nest is white, an old one is black. A bird's
nest is made of nothing but saliva: no twigs,
nothing else. It is made in a similar way to
fibreglass, with the bird laying lots of threads
on top of each other. A sustainable supply
Image by Rob Lisney
Bird’s Nest Harvesting: Living on a wire
guano and seething with hordes of golden
cockroaches.
Big business
Birds’ nest collecting is a lucrative business
and is tightly controlled. The collectors have
an exclusive government concession to collect
nests in the Marine Park. The nest-collection
concession, which is auctioned every 5 years,
costs about THB 100,000,000.
searching for the rock-spike while barely
clinging on to rock that was greasy with dirty
bat guano.
I was securing Trevor by feeding his rope
through a small metal belay (braking) device:
if he fell I would apply the brake. Doing this
would arrest his fall, but only provided that
the inadequately small metal nut wasn’t ripped
loose. This was likely to happen if Trev fell.
I also was inadequately secured, by a metal
The nests are so precious that they
are protected by guards during the
collection season, in order to deter
robbers who might steal them. The
guards also protect the birds from
natural predators such as snakes,
cockroaches and eagles. In spite
of the protection afforded by the
legitimate authorities, guards have
been bribed and nests robbed.
One miscreant, for whom the
consequences of discovery were very
adverse, was detected by his sudden
show of wealth, which he had spent
on gold necklaces and pick-up trucks.
Western rock-climbers including
Trevor Massiah, Steve Findley, Mike
Weitzman and Dan Donovan have
secured anchors inside some of
the caves, so allowing collectors to
shimmy up the ropes in total safety. The Koh
Lao Liang collectors told this editor that the
most useful rope put up for their benefit in
2006 was the rope that Steve and Dan put up
on Lao Liang South. The rope put up by Trev
and Mike was in an impressive and almost
implausibly impossible place, but not terribly
useful, as the birds had deserted the cave.
Mike described, for Adrenaline, the process of
putting up the anchor:
“At one point I saw Trev facing a 20 metre
pendulum swing if he fell. What’s more,
the only thing that would then prevent him
plummeting 30 metres into the sea was an
inadequately small metal nut jammed into
a crack and then attached to the rope with
a karabiner. I was more fearful for the life
of my leader than I had ever been before,
or have been since. I was possibly about to
become an involuntary landing pad for 80kg
of hard-as-limestone Antiguan/Bristolian meat
and gristle. Trev was attempting to throw a
sling around a thin spike of rock out of his
sight, so that he could then secure the rope
to the sling. He was blindly and desperately
Image by Rob Lisney
hook poorly placed in a shallow pocket of rock.
I knew this hook would pop out of the pocket
if I fell. Trev, in his usual understated British
manner said, “I might be in for a bit of a swing
here.” I thought, “If Trev comes off, we’re in
for a mid-air cuddle and then a swim – and
I don’t at all fancy attempting to swim all
tangled up in rope and gear.”
Luckily the blind placement held, so Mike
avoided his swim - and his cuddle.
Unsurprisingly, Thai nest-harvesters like the
safety that Western rock-climbers and their
technology have brought to their jobs. In the
past between 2 and 5 people died collecting
nests every 5 years; most years one of the 60
collectors died. The usual cause was that the
bamboo broke or came out of the hole into
which it had been jammed. Prior to collecting,
birds’ nest climbers pray and brush their hair.
They are forbidden to eat island animals, such
as snake, iguana and birds, because these
animals belong to the island. In addition they
are supposed to remain celibate (that’s the
collectors, not the animals)
Exotic Destinations:
Halong Bay
Vietnam
www.luxurytravelvietnam.com
Halong Bay: Vietnam
Halong Bay: Vietnam
us. The best seafood imaginable - lobster,
prawns, crab, an array of fish, as well as
delicate spring rolls, fragrant soups, stir-fried
meat and vegetables, all exquisitely prepared.
As we ate, we could gaze out at a stunning
panorama of islands that stretched endlessly
in all directions, beckoning us to go further
into the bay, to discover its deep secrets and
ancient mysteries.
“
At mealtimes cries of
delight could be heard
from the boat
A Kayaking Dream Come True
By Maria Coffee
V ietnam is a small country dominated by a
huge coastline. Its narrow, S-shaped slip of
land stretches between the Mekong Delta in
the south and the Red River Delta in the north
and meets the South China Sea in a dramatic
one and a half thousand mile sweep of
beautiful beaches, traditional fishing villages,
impressive headlands and island-filled bays.
Halong Bay is a huge body of calm water
containing thousands of fantastically-shaped
limestone islands. It rivals Thailand’s Phang
Nga bay as SE Asia’s best tropical kayaking
destination.
Sunset over Halong Bay off the northeast
coast of Vietnam creates a scene that defines
the Orient. The silhouetted limestone columns,
which rear out of the sea from the slenderest
of bases, assume such perfection of proportion
and form as to mock all man-made sculpture
as artless imitation. For centuries the harmony
of this seascape has inspired a whole school of
Vietnamese painting.
To drift in a junk beneath the yawning
overhangs and watch the fading light
transform rock peaks and fringing jungle
foliage into giant figurines is, for a few short
moments, to become part of an ageless Asian
picture.
After the good-natured crew of Dragon One
had welcomed us aboard and loaded our
double kayaks onto the cabin roof, we set off,
away from Bai Chay and into another world.
And what a world it turned out to be. My
sense of wonder and awe at the place steadily
increased as we paddled amid towering
islands wreathed in thick, tumbling vegetation,
explored spectacular sea arches, pretty rock
gardens, dramatic caves and golden ribbons
of beaches. The guide’s excellent navigational
skills were essential in such a complex
landscape.
After hours in the kayaks we would return to
the support boat, which had a large, covered
deck with tables and benches where we could
relax and socialize, and to a cook who had
been sent to us from heaven. Lien, as well
as being blessed with beauty and a sweet
disposition, had the gift of being able to whip
up eight course banquets in a tiny galley area,
over two kerosene burners. At mealtimes cries
of delight could be heard from the boat as one
superb dish after another was placed before
”
One day we kayaked into a misty sunrise.
Ahead, through the mist, strange shapes had
begun to materialize. Limestone rocks rose
sheer from the water up to several hundred
feet. They were strangely humped and angled,
patterned with fissures, caves and arches and
improbably covered with trees. As we moved
past them, more and more appeared, in
serried ranks stretching back into the fog, as
if some clever trick with mirrors were creating
the illusion of hundreds of these surreal islets.
But there WERE hundreds of them, creating a
mysterious scene straight from some ancient
Oriental painting and giving credence to the
legends about this enormous bay: that its
islands were formed from jewels spat out by
dragons, and that sea monsters still lurk in its
waters.
Towards the end of our third day of gentle
three-hours-a-day paddling, we came across
a small temple on a sand beach at the base of
a cliff. Colourful paper boats hung from its low
ceiling. On its altar, brass pots bristled with
incense sticks and plates were heaped with
offerings of fruit, cigarettes and money left by
passing fishermen. One by one, our crew of
six added to these offerings, then lit incense
sticks and stood with them between their
palms, bowing towards the altar and praying.
Silently and a little self-consciously, we also
paid our respects to the spirits and dragons
of the sea, leaving our Western offerings
behind - dollar bills, candy bars and cookies.
This scene was to be re-enacted several times
over the coming days, as we discovered more
shrines, tucked away on beaches amid thick
vegetation, all with evidence of having been
recently visited by fishermen.
Fishing families in Halong Bay live aboard
their small, simple boats, which are built from
woven bamboo caulked with tar. Often, the
boats are rafted up together to form floating
'villages'. Paddling between islands, we
frequently came across these villages, where
smoke rose from charcoal burners, radios
played, dogs barked at us from the decks of
boats and older children shouted excitedly
while their younger siblings peered fearfully
around the low straw canopies.
At times, our senses were overloaded by
what Halong Bay offered us. On our fourth
day we paddled into a low tunnel which led
beneath the rock cliff of a towering island.
At the far end of the tunnel was a pinprick
of light. Ducking beneath stalactites and
fending off bulging walls with our paddles,
we manoeuvred towards it. The beams from
our head torches were swallowed up by the
shadowy depths and our nervous laughter
echoed around us. Gradually, the light
expanded, grew in brightness and shimmered
on the water.
Presuming we had paddled right beneath
the island, I expected us to re-emerge into
Halong Bay and see the now familiar vistas.
Instead, we had paddled into the very heart
of this limestone island, which over centuries
had been eaten away by water and wind until
it was perfectly hollow and open to the sky. A
profound silence fell over our group as, kayak
by kayak, we emerged, blinking, from the
dark tunnel into a lagoon enclosed by a circle
of sheer walls. The air was still and hot. The
only sound was the ringing cry of a solitary
bird, hidden somewhere in the dense, hanging
vegetation. We floated in jade-coloured water;
above us, framed by sharp rock, the sky was
pale, the sun masked by clouds. I hardly
dared breath, afraid of breaking the spell cast
by this ethereal garden, this untouched and
perfect place. It would have been easy to stay
there for hours, but the tide was creeping up
and soon the tunnel would be sealed by water.
As we left, I thought of the vastness of this
marvellous bay and how on this and future
trips there was so much more to discover
- shrines, beaches, caves, tunnels, lagoons
inside islands - and who knows what else?
After kayaking back to our boat we sailed
until sunset and, after dropping anchor in a
secluded cove, stretched out on deck to watch
meteors flash across the night sky. Out in
the bay, lights from squid fishermen bobbed
on the horizon like fallen stars. Behind us,
moonlit rock giants towered over the still
waters and silver beaches in timeless repose.
In the dark silence, Halong Bay held onto its
beauty
Playful Cats:
Kanchanaburi
Thailand
By Patricea Chow-Capodieci
Playful Cats: Thailand
W hile planning our holiday in Thailand, my
husband had exclaimed excitedly, “Let’s
go and see the Kanchanaburi tigers. It
will be fun!” I love an adventure and had
enthusiastically agreed that meeting these
majestic beasts would be an unmissable
experience.
Two months later, when I eventually
laid eyes on the biggest of cats, my
excitement was replaced with more
than just nervousness. “This will
really be a story to tell”, I thought, “if
I live to relate it.”
Eight tigers lay motionless on the
ground of the Tiger Canyon, within
the premises of the Watpa
Luangta Ba Yannasampanno
Forest Monastery, commonly
known as Tiger Temple, with the
nearest tiger lying about three
metres away from me. They were
all pointing approximately
outwards from a centrepoint, as if they were
adopting a defensive
formation, ready to
spring up and counter a sudden attack. This
seemed curious to me, as there were no
threats I could imagine anywhere near. I
certainly couldn’t imagine they were scared
of the orange-robed monks, who seemed
to number themselves among the least
threatening people on the planet.
Unlike at conventional zoos where visitors
admire tigers from behind the safety of a moat
surrounding the animals’ enclosure, visitors
to the Tiger Temple can sit next to and even
have pictures taken with the tigers in the
Tiger Canyon. The thrill of being so close to
these beasts was slightly numbed by the fact
that the only restraint on the tigers is a leash
around their necks, attached to a metal chain
and fixed to the ground.
As I disabled the flash of my camera and
handed it to one of the volunteers, I caught
sight of a sign on the adjacent tree. It read:
“Safety improvement news - only nine people
eaten this week.” I had hardly had time to
ponder its truth before another volunteer
motioned for me to follow her, signalling me
to be silent. Linking her left arm through my
right, she guided me towards the rear of the
closest tiger. The lone animal looked rather
uncomfortable, as if it had collapsed for a nap
during an afternoon stroll. I mused that I
also would quite like to be well-padded
enough to collapse wherever I fancy,
but that I doubted my husband would
feel that the necessary extra couple of
hundred kilos would suit me. As I crouched
for my picture to be taken, I kept my eyes
fixed firmly on the tiger, heart pumping and
ready for flight, wondering if it could sense my
presence.
Why aren’t you doing the manly thing and
putting yourself between me and any possible
harm?”
He explained “well, sweetheart, you’re
obviously one of the tastiest-looking
specimens on the planet, so even if I were to
place myself between you and the tiger, If it
felt like a bit of homo sapiens for dinner, I’m
sure it would ignore me and eat you.” Maybe
I should have been a bit upset at his obvious
cowardice, but I do like it when he flatters
me, so I just stuck my tongue out a tiny bit in
what I hoped was a tastiest-homo-sapiens-onthe-planet fashion.
“
Safety improvement
news - only nine people
eaten this week
”
was brought here in 1995. Out of compassion
the abbot cared for the injured cub, together
with other wild animals including water
buffalo, goat, hog, boar, red jungle fowl, pea
fowl and deer. Quite how he prevented half of
his animal guests dining on the other half is a
mystery.
The tigers are given dried cat food, cooked
whole chicken and cooked beef, ensuring that
they do not taste blood and thus associate
blood with meat. Maybe this is the only
instance when our French friend Maurice,
a chef, would approve of well-done beef normally he gets a little upset about people
ordering their beef that way. The monks feed,
groom and handle the tigers, so the tigers are
accustomed to human presence and unfamiliar
with violence. Construction of a bigger
enclosure for the tigers is currently underway
at the temple.
I noticed a monk sitting quietly at one side of
the canyon and observing the session. This
was the temple’s abbot, Pra Acharn Phusit
(Chan) Kantitharo, who was present to aid
the volunteers in calming the tigers if they
become irritated by the activity.
The sun begins its slow descent as I leave the
Tiger Temple, still awed by my close encounter
with the tigers and touched by the monks’
compassion for them. I turn to my husband
and firmly state that we will come back to visit
the tigers every year until they are housed in
their new enclosure.
The current adult tigers were brought to
the temple as cubs by villagers. Most of
the animals had been orphaned when their
parents were killed by poachers. The first cub
The temple is located at Saiyok District,
Kanchanaburi Province, 71150, Thailand. It is
open to visitors from 1pm to 5pm daily
Just after I had approached the largest tiger
in the monastery, a volunteer gave it what
appeared to be a chest rub. This caused the
tiger to turn calmly and stretch out on its
back with its paws in the air, before resuming
its previous motionless state with its eyes
shut. I was startled by what had happened,
as I had assumed that the tigers would not
welcome any disturbance. It was a replica
performance of what happens when I scratch
Furball, my cat back home – except that I
don’t get sweaty palms and heart palpitations
from cuddling him. The sweaty palms were
starting to get a bit embarrassing actually.
My husband thought it would be witty to
draw attention to them by commenting
that salt-water isn’t good for
electronic equipment. “Darling”, I
said, “if you’re so brave how come
you’re standing 5 paces behind me?
Images by courtesy of Wahoo Fishing, www.wahoo.ws
Phuket
The Andaman Sea’s premier fishing destination
Thailand’s island of Phuket
occupies a strategicallylocated site from which to
reach all the best fishing
grounds off the northwest coast of Thailand,
plus is a convenient
starting-point for fishing
trips to India’s Andaman
Islands, where gigantic
marlin can still be found.
Big Game Fishing: Thailand
Seasons
Fishing grounds
A s with virtually every game-fishing venue
There are three major fishing areas off
Phuket: Racha Yai, Racha Noi and the
Continental Shelf. In addition the Andaman
Islands are 450 km away and are reachable by
charter or by boarding in Port Blair, India.
there are specific seasons when the pelagic
visitors are more prolific. The most productive
seasons also depend on weather and sea
conditions. Although black marlin may well
be present over Phuket’s continental shelf
for most of the year, there are periods when
targeting them may be prevented due to
adverse sea conditions. Compared with many
established game-fishing venues, Phuket
is fortunate as extreme weather and sea
conditions are uncommon. Very few fishing
days are lost due to heavy seas or tropical
storms.
Racha Yai
The most frequented of Phuket’s fishing
grounds are the waters surrounding the
island of Racha Yai, especially off its northeast
corner. This is a sensational sailfish hot-spot
and can often produce outstanding action.
Wahoo, dorado, barracuda and multitudes of
skipjack, kawa kawa and longtail-tuna are
regularly caught off this island.
Phuket has two major weather patterns.
During the dry season, which generally
lasts from mid-October to mid-May, the
prevailing winds are from the north-east and
on occasions sea conditions may get a little
choppy. During the rainy season of June to
October the prevailing winds are from the
south-west and sometimes result in long
waves and gentle swells. As with anywhere
in the tropics, it can rain at any time, but
prolonged periods of heavy rain occur only
occasionally, even in the rainy season.
The peak season for fishing off Phuket
generally coincides with the peak period for
tourists visiting the island. October, November
and December usually represent the most
productive months for marlin and sailfish
action. During the rainy season, Phuket often
Racha Noi
Racha Noi and the rocky pinnacles to the
south of the island can offer sizzling sport
with black marlin, sailfish, wahoo and several
other desirable game-fish. When the vast
schools of giant trevally embark on their
feeding frenzies, popper-casting can result in
a memorable fishing session. Jigging over the
pinnacles can also produce exciting action with
giant trevallies, rainbow-runners and even the
occasional dogtooth-tuna.
they are rarely caught in trophy size. Big
wahoo often cruise the shelf, as do barracuda
and impressive dorado. The skipjacks are
generally much bigger than their cousins
caught in shallower water. Sailfish do show up
occasionally but seldom in great numbers.
Andaman Islands
The Andaman Islands archipelago, which
belongs to India and is situated in the Bay
of Bengal, is approximately 450km west of
Phuket and is closer to Thailand than it is
to India. The Andaman and Nicobar Islands
group consists of 572 rain-forest-covered
islands, of which only 36 are inhabited.
This area is an exciting new destination
for big-game fishing where the fishing
action, including major battles with massive
specimens of the mighty black marlin, is
outstanding, mainly due to the virtual absence
of commercial fishing vessels
Continental Shelf
enjoys a good run of sailfish. July and August
regularly provide anglers with ‘hot-bites’ from
sailfish, wahoo and dorado.
The drop-off, on Phuket’s continental shelf,
offers anglers their best chance of blackmarlin action relatively near to Phuket.
The drop-off near the Similan Islands is also
one of the haunts of yellowfin-tuna, although
An interview with John Pearce, Wahoo Fishing
Adrenaline: What changes have you noticed
since you started sport-fishing in Phuket?
particular spot is not there anymore they will
move and find another source.
John: Over the past two decades Phuket has
earned the right to be classed as a true biggame fishing destination, offering boats, an
infrastructure and hotels of the standard wellheeled anglers expect. Over the last eighteen
years that I have lived and fished the waters
around Phuket as a fishing-charter captain I
have seen many changes, some for the better,
some for the worse - and also some things
that have not changed at all.
Adrenaline: So, with all that happening, is
Phuket a good fishing destination?
Adrenaline: Has the fishing got worse ?
John: It hasn’t got worse, it's got different
as the fish have changed from always being
at one island to suddenly appearing at one
island or another in greater numbers. My own
personal observation on what is happening
is that we have seen a massive increase in
the number of commercial boats chasing
what I call ‘baitfish’, not only for human
consumption, as in fish sauce, but also for
making animal feeds for chickens. Fish are
creatures of habit and if suddenly the food
that they have been used to getting in a
John: Absolutely, yes it is! Many of our anglers
have had the best battles of their lives,
especially with the large numbers of sailfish
around the Islands of Racha Yai and Racha
Noi, even in the low-tourist season of MaySeptember. Some lucky anglers have even
gone home having had the thrill of catching
one of the decent-sized black marlin that
appear between October and April.
Adrenaline: Why come to Phuket?
John: I have been lucky enough to have
visited some of the great fishing capitals of the
world, so I am confident in giving you these
main reasons why you should put Phuket on
your map of destinations if you are a fishing
enthusiast.
Let’s start with the international airport, which
is very close to most of our two-star to fivestar and above hotels and which is linked to
most countries, either directly or through
Bangkok.
Thai people are the friendliest and smiliest folk
on the planet.
They serve superb, mouth-wateringly delicious
and varied food.
The island is blessed with lovely beaches
and offers excellent and extremely varied
alternative activities for non-angling
companions.
Phuket offers some of the best fishing to
be found in Asia, on good boats which are
reasonably priced and which have friendly
crews, many of whom can speak reasonable
English.
So if you are on holiday and fancy a day or
a week’s fishing, get in touch with one of the
local operators and have yourself a ball.
And I almost forgot: we have award-winning
cold beer as well!
www.wahoo.ws
Signature Golf Holes of
SE Asia
Signature Golf Courses of SE Asia: China
Signature Golf Courses of SE Asia: Malaysia
Sutera Harbour Golf Club
Hole 24, par 4. Waist bunkers guard the right
hand side of the fairway and the sea guards
the left. Once you find the fairway the difficulty
lies with the approach shot to the green, which
undulates severely and is perched precariously
close to the sea.
North Course
Hole 14, par 3 offers sweeping views of the
South China Sea. A tee shot over a seawater
inlet carries the ball to a green positioned on a
rocky peninsula. A modest bail-out area to the
right offers some relief. The severely sloping
green makes par a career score on this hole
for all but the very best of golfers.
Borneo, Malaysia
Hong Kong, China
The Jockey Club Kau Sai Chau
South Course
Hole 16, par 3. The tee-off requires a precision
shot across a picturesque lake to a postage
stamp-sized green. The timid shot is to aim
for the right half of the green, which is deeper
and closer to the bail-out area to the left,
where a chip and putt will save par.
www.kscgolf.com
Datai Bay
Hole 17, par 3. The
spectacular setting features
an elevated tee 140 feet
above a big green, which
is bordered by cliffs and
scrubland to the right and
by the South China Sea to
the left. Anything other than
a perfect tee shot will result
in disaster.
www.mgccmacau.com
to the left and then hope for a chip and putt
for par. Lovely views of the Thai island of Koh
Tarutao.
www.dataigolf.com
Langkawi, Malaysia
Macau, China
Macau Golf & Country Club
Hole 19, par 3. A heroic shot requires a carry
over a cove which, during high tide, will be
filled with unforgiving water. More trouble in
the form of a huge bunker awaits on the way
to the tricky green. Weekend hackers are
advised to aim for the safety of the fairway
Signature Golf Courses of SE Asia: Singapore
Signature Golf Courses of SE Asia: Thailand
Hole 6, par 3. This is a very picturesque hole:
downhill from the tee, the green appears to
be floating on water. This long hole requires
an accurate drive to be on in one. A slice will
mean ending up in the pond. A short drive will
land the ball in the water hazard in front of the
green. A hook will take the ball amongst the
trees.
www.jcc.org.sg
Alpine
Hole 12, par 3. This hole is renowned not only
for the beauty of its beach bunker and green,
but also for being notoriously demanding. Any
pin placement is tough, with the contouring
ensuring a true test of putting skill.
www.alpinegolfclub.com
Greenvalley
Hole 17, par 3. Wise club selection is
essential as the green is perched on
a lake, whilst a large trap guards the
right side of the putting surface. A
birdie is a big achievement here.
Bangkok, Thailand
Singapore
Jurong Country Club
www.greenvalleybangkok.com
Mission Hills, Phuket
Santiburi, Koh Samui
Blue Canyon, Phuket
Golf, spas, hotels, tours,
transfers.
Hole 18, par 5. Tee-off is on the mountain,
with a right hand dog-leg making the hole
invisible. A big hit is then required to send
the ball across the lake.
Halo Leisure provides
multi-course all-inclusive
golf packages all over
Thailand.
Chiang Mai Highlands
Why play just one or two
courses in Thailand when
with Halo Leisure you can
play all the best courses in
the country?
+ 66 76 342750
The sensational mountain scenery is
particularly beautiful soon after sunrise,
when the lakes and fairways are wreathed in
an ethereal and slightly surreal pink mist.
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Highlands
www.chiangmaihighlands.com
www.tropicalgolf-spaholidays.com
Lakes Course
Hole 14, par 3. At tee-off drop one and a
half clubs, or even two from the black tee, to
account for the drop to the green. You may
not feel the crosswinds, so look at the flag
and the surface of the water to determine
wind strength and direction. Mental tip: don’t
get distracted from your routine. Visualise
the perfect ball flight, focus on one key swing
thought and then enjoy one of the most
spectacular shots in SE Asian golf.
Hole 18, par 4. A single tree separates fairway
options. The high left side offers a beautiful
view of the small green slotted between rusttinted canyon walls. From the right side of the
fairway, which allows longer drives, the green
is only partly visible. Over-safe long second
shots find rough slopes, which are difficult to
chip from. There is nowhere to hide on this,
one of SE Asian golf’s most testing holes.
Mission Hills
Hole 4, par 3 is an island green, hard to play
because you have to hit the ball across the sea
and sand, which is even more difficult when
there is a sea-breeze.
Phuket, Thailand
Canyon Course
To get par on hole 12 (par 4) you really need
two long straight drives, then an accurate chip
and putt. Not an easy hole by any standard.
www.missionhillsphuket.com
www.bluecanyonclub.com
Laguna
Hole 17, par 5. Your drive needs to carry a
ravine in front of the tee and then fly further
to carry the peak of a huge rock. If you make
the fairway, breathe a sigh of relief and then
adopt a steady stance for the approach.
The fairway has somewhat complex contours,
making a straight-forward approach to the
two-tiered green impossible.
www.santiburi.com
Hole 9, par 4 is a sharp dog-leg hole. A
well placed tee shot is paramount as the
second shot requires a precise mid-iron
into a small island green. Hole 16, par 3
offers sensationally beautiful views of the
Santiburi
Koh Samui, Thailand
Phuket, Thailand
Blue Canyon Country Club
Andaman sea - pity about the 12 big bunkers
surrounding the green, just waiting to swallow
errant balls.
www.lagunaphuket.com
Spas of SE Asia: China
Langham Place
The guiding principles behind the
proprietary TCM-inspired therapies
used date back to a time when
our ancestors were more finely
attuned to nature than we can ever
be. Using acupressure, energy flows, basic
elemental forces and the influence of heat
and cold, Chuan Spa’s TCM therapists will help
you achieve an optimal balance of your body’s
contrasting elements.
Designed to gently nurture your Jing (life
force), Qi (vital energy) and Shen (mind and
spirit), the Chinese garden-themed ambience
China-Hong kong
The most effective cure for stress
is not to be found on the shelves
of our local pharmacy, but deep
within ourselves. Traditional Chinese
Medicine (TCM) has a unique ability
to harmonize your body and soul
and to enrich your capacity for
personal happiness and fulfillment.
Emphasizing a holistic approach to
spa retreat, TCM therapists strive
to create an optimal balance of the
five Wu Xing elements: fire, water,
earth, air and wood.
will liberate your
reflective Yin side
from its more active
Yang counterpart.
www.chuanspa.com
Spas of SE Asia: Indonesia
Spas of SE Asia: China
Yhi Spa at Meliá Bali Resort
Especially worthy is the ‘La Stone’
treatment, where hot and cold stones
are placed on the body’s energy centers. This treatment is one of the spa
world’s fastest-growing in popularity and one of the most therapeutic
available; it takes 80 minutes to clear
blocked energy centers and to dissipate stress.
The Yhi Spa at Meliá Bali, located
on Nusa Dua beach front, is a
retreat offering peace, tranquility
and rejuvenation of the inner-self
and outer body. The scents of
frangipani and ginger permeate
the atmosphere of the spa where,
upon entering, guests are warmly
greeted by the friendly staff.
Individuals or couples can opt for various kinds of massage, including Thai
and Swedish, Reiki, reflexology, and
Chinese acupressure, plus body scrubs
and wraps, Vichy showers, facials, and
aromatherapy. The most interesting
special that was taking place while
we were there was the ‘Sangria Bath’,
which, as the name suggests, involves
a dip in a Jacuzzi filled with Sangria.
The signature massage is a relaxing combination of several techniques. The fluid and relaxing
strokes of the Swedish technique
and the toning stretches of Thai
massage are combined. Forearms
and thumb pressure are also used
to include Lomi Lomi and acupressure massage.
www.meliabali.com
Shanghai, China
www.mandarinoriental.com
Nusa Dua
Maya Ubud
Javanese Lulur Treatment: originating from
the royal palaces in Java, this traditional
cleansing treatment soothes, softens and exfoliates the skin using turmeric, sandalwood,
herbs and spices. After a Balinese Massage
and Lulur scrub for the skin, a yoghurt rub,
shower and relaxing bath in fresh flower petals completes the treatment. A ginger tea
and herbal jamu tonic is served while you are
relaxing in the bath.
Balinese herb pound: traditional herbal remedies have been used by the Balinese for thousands of years. These traditional medicines
warm the body, relieve tired muscles and alleviate minor rheumatic conditions. Therapeutic herbs assist in the removal of toxins from
the body and refresh the skin. This treatment
begins with a neck and shoulder massage, is
followed by a herbal pound of the entire body
and ends with a scalp massage.
www.nusaduahotel.com
www.mayaubud.com
Bali, Indonesia
Macau, China
Mandarin Oriental
Pudong Shangri-la
Selected as ‘Spa Treatment of the Year’ by
AsiaSpa Awards 2007, Jade Journey begins
with a special Jade Foot Bath and Tea Bath
Ritual, followed by a massage incorporating
traditional Chinese massage techniques.
Focusing on the meridian channels of points
to release blocked chi energy, the traditional
Guasha technique is gently and soothingly applied, using the Jade stone.
www.shangri-la.com
Spas of SE Asia: Malaysia
Spas of SE Asia: Malaysia - Singapore
Chi Spa at Rasa Sayang Resort
Ocean Detox: A seaweed and
clay body treatment designed to
stimulate the lymphatic system,
purge impurities and provide the
skin with a mineral blast. The
skin is ‘prepared’ with an exfoliating body-brushing followed by
the application of a detoxifying
green clay, seaweed and essential oil mask.
Rasa Asmaradana. A wonderfully relaxing
massage inspired by the traditional techniques
of native Malay healers. The treatment begins
with a warmed linen pouch steamed with a
concoction of local herbs, lemongrass and pandan leaves and applied with gentle pressure
to soothe the neck and shoulders. A massage
of long kneading strokes follows, using aromatic nutmeg and sandalwood oil to relax and
invigorate.
www.shangri-la.com
Jari Jari
The distinctive massage technique used in the
Signature Treatment has been passed down
from generation to generation. It involves applying pressure with the thumbs to the various
pressure points in the body, magically unlocking the flow of energy, releasing tension and
relaxing the muscles.
www.jarijari.com.my
Spa Botanica at The Sentosa Resort
Submerge yourself in the bathing rituals of
ancient cultures while journeying into the wonders of the galaxy. The Galaxy Steam Bath,
the first of its kind in SE Asia, comes from a
long tradition of cleansing rituals in the Middle
East. Mud blended with essential oils is applied
to different parts of the body. Relax under the
Singapore
Borneo, Malaysia
Penang, Malaysia
Mandara Spa at Sutera Harbour
stars in quiet reflection as you are soothed by
the gentle application of dry heat. The temperature increases gradually to become a soft
herbal steam bath. Complete your rejuvenation with a warm drizzle shower.
www.spabotanica.com
Spas of SE Asia: Thailand
Surrender to the peace and tranquillity of a
private garden where fragrant flowers sweetly
scent the air. One of the several signature
treatments begins with a deep-pressure dry
massage to soothe weary muscles, after
which a special preparation of local herbs and
flowers is rubbed into the skin. Then enjoy
an aroma massage to moisturise the skin and
induce further relaxation.
www.sukhothai.com
Signature Treatment. The Best of
Avatar Spa. Centering your body,
mind and spirit, true relaxation
begins with a rejuvenating session in the aromatic steam room.
The purest Thai herbs are then
used for a restorative body scrub.
www.dreambkk.com
Anantara Spa
Anantara Four-Hand Massage. Not to be
missed, never to be forgotten. Experience the
relaxation and therapeutic benefit of the ultimate massage, performed by four hands. Two
therapists work together in rhythmic harmony
to deliver this sensation. This massage com-
bines five different massage styles: Japanese
Shiatsu, Thai, Lomi Lomi, Swedish and Balinese. Pure pleasure.
www.anantara.com
Earth and Sea in the Sky spa at Aleenta Hotel
Oriental Spa
Signature Treatment. Starts with a wrap rich
with minerals from the sea and rare Thai herbs
to tone the skin and under-layer cells, followed
by a naturally-calming salt scrub to make
your skin glow, and finally Aleenta’s selection
of 100 %-natural massage oil will be applied
with gentle pressure to pamper your skin as it
restores the natural moisture and balance so
leaving your body light, refreshed, and renewed.
Oriental Signature Massage: the concentrated
blends of essential oils release their soothing properties into the skin during this relaxing massage. The Oriental Spa created their
own technique, combining Thai and European
styles, which eases muscle tension and energizes the body with acupressure movements
and which includes gentle stretching. It is the
perfect treatment for relieving stress.
www.mandarinoriental.com
www.aleenta.com/huahin/spa.html
Devararana Spa At Dusit Thani
Devarana Massage. This unique massage
combines the strong pressures of Thai,
Ayurveda and Shiatsu techniques with
Swedish and aromatherapy influences
for the ultimate soothing and pampering experience. After an aromatic floral
bath, become a “new you” with an antiaging Vitamin Plus Facial.
Hua Hin, Thailand
Bangkok, Thailand
Avatar Spa at Dream Hotel
Golden Triangle, Thailand
Spa Botanica at Sukhothai hotel
www.devaranaspa.com
Koh Lanta, Thailand
Pimalai Resort and Spa
An imposing open-air pavilion standing at the
bottom of a small valley is home to the massage whilst, nearby, the outdoor Jacuzzi with
the adjacent herbal sauna just awaits for you
to take a dip, then refresh and cleanse your
body before your selected treatment.
Royal ‘Koo Rak’ (‘Couples’) Package: A herbal
steam treatment and Jacuzzi is followed by a
body scrub of your choice: ‘Ageless Thai Herb-
al Scrub’, ‘Thai Cooling Scrub’ or ‘Andaman
Sea Salt Scrub’. Then choose your massage
from the following offerings: ‘Royal Siam’,
‘Asian Aroma’, ‘Pimalai Sports’ or ‘Swedish
massage’. Conclude with your choice of facial
(selections available are ‘Rebalancing’, ‘Harmonies Extreme’, ‘Ultimate Aromatic’, ‘Asian
Soother’ or ‘Man’s Facial’).
www.pimalai.com
Signature Treatment: using palm strokes and
thumb pressure, the therapist works on your
body’s key pressure points to free you from
stress and strengthen your inner qi.
the specially formulated Euphoria Oil to further
enhance the experience. After 90 minutes of
uber-pampering, you’ll feel like you’re walking
on air.
This 90-minute signature treatment was created exclusively for the Angsana Spa and uses
www.dusitlaguna.com/spa.html
Indigo Pearl
Island Coconut Scrub: bask in a
natural fountain of youth. Your
therapist bathes you in the richness
of coconut milk with young coconut
flakes. This imbues your skin with
moisture, while the young coconut
flakes gently exfoliate your skin.
Phuket, Thailand
Angsana Spa at Dusit Thani Laguna Resort
Indigo specialize in all-natural
spa treatment ingredients, which
include sea salt crystals, seaweed,
and coconut.
www.indigo-pearl.com
Fine Dining in SE Asia: China
Koh Samui, Thailand
Santiburi
The Santiburi signature massage is
adapted from Swedish massage and
combines specialized deep-tissue
relaxation massage with the use of
therapeutic essential oils.
It soothes aching muscles and can be
used as an element in a programme
of fatty acid dispersal. The Santiburi
gypsum and mud body rub cleanses
and balances the skin and, at the
same time, treats skin disorders,
tightens the pores, brightens the skin
and enhances beauty via the use of
aromatic Thai herbs.
www.santiburi.com
Koh Yao Noi, Thailand
Six Senses At Evason Hideaway
The exquisitely designed Six Senses
Spa village provides a truly relaxing
and revitalizing experience. Skilled
therapists create sensory journeys
for guests with a range of holistic
wellness and pampering treatments
using only natural products. The spa
is nestled into a lush tropical forested
hillside and is styled after a traditional
Asian long-house.
Signature treatment: start with a
herbal foot soak, steam and body
scrub. Rinse and cleanse with healing
water from the experience shower,
then unwind the whole body with a
wrap. Finally, enable tension and the
flow of prana to release with a traditional Thai massage, healing water
treatment and cup of herbal tea.
www.sixsenses.com
Hong Kong, China
Shanghainese cuisine
Faye's Nouvelle Chinois Restaurant
852 2259 9393
Kowloon, China
Chinese cuisine
Zen
852 2845 4555
Sichuan cuisine
Dim Sum cuisine
City Hall, 3rd Floor chilli Fagara
852 2893 3330
852 2521 1303
Cantonese cuisine
East Ocean Seafood Restaurant
5-8938887
Shanghainese cuisine
Wu Kong Shanghai Restaurant
3-667244
Sichuan/Peking cuisine
The Shing Tao Restaurant
3-7243832
Szechuen cuisine
Ziyang Szechuen Restaurant
3-687177
Macau, China
Italian cuisine
Mezzaluna at the Mandarin Oriental
853 567888
Macanese cuisine
Litoral
853 967878
Portuguese cuisine
A Lorcha
Portuguese cuisine Chinese cuisine
853 313193
Fernando's
Long Kei
853 882264
853 589508
Fine Dining in SE Asia: Indonesia - Malaysia
Fine Dining in SE Asia: Philippines - Singapore - Thailand
Manila, Philippines
Jakarta, Indonesia
French cuisine
café de paris
71793470
Filipino Fusion
Chef Laudico's Bistro Filipino Cuisine
632 856-0541
Ancestral Filipino dishes
La Cocina de Tita
Moning
Western/European cuisine
(632) 7342146
Antonio's Dinner
0917-8992866
Italian cuisine
scusa
2510888
International cuisine
Koi
7195707
Indonesian cuisine
kembang goela
5205625
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Indian cuisine
Sagar
03-2141-2532
Thai cuisine
MyThai Jim Thompson
03-2148-6151
Indian cuisine
Nasi Kandar Pelita
03-2161-5532
Classic Western cuisine
Bon Ton
03-2141-3848
Asian Japanese cuisine
Gonbei
03-2782-3801
Local Malaysian cuisine
Seri Melayu
03-245-1833
Contemporary Western
cuisine with a hint of Asia
Mahsuri Dining Room
03-2295-0888
Vietnamese cuisine
CoChine
03-2697-1180
Langkawi, Malaysia
European cuisine
Rhu Fine Dining
4-959-1033
French cuisine
The Dining Room
3-687177
Asian, Thai cuisine
Barn Thai
4-966-6699
French cuisine
The Restaurant
4-959-1088
Telawi Street Bistro
03-2284-3168
Singapore
North American cuisine
The Steakhouse
(65) 6332 1010
Singaporean cuisine
Dallas Restaurant & Bar
(65) 6532 2131
Authentic Min Cuisines
Spring JuChunYuan
(65) 6536 2655
Sichuan cuisine
Silk Road
03-2284-3168
Cantonese cuisine
Crystal Jade Kitchen
(65) 6338 3511
European cuisine
Cavallini's
03-8943-2333
Bangkok, Thailand
Indian cuisine
Passage Thru' India
03-2145-0366
French cuisine
Le Bouchon
02 2349109
Cajun cuisine
Bourbon Street
(66)2-2590328
Chiangmai, Thailand
Asian fusion/
Modern international cuisine European, French cuisine
international cuisine
Le Coq d'Or Restaurant
The Moxie
(053) 282024
The House Restaurant (053) 99 9999
(053) 41 9011
French cuisine
La Gondola
(053) 265192
Chinese cuisine
Chef Chan's Restaurant
(65) 6333 0073
Chinese cuisine
Jia Thong Heng
(053) 820860-2
Indian-Vegertarian cuisine
Whole Earth Restaurant
(053) 282 463
Fine Dining in SE Asia: Thailand
Hua Hin, Thailand
Pan-Asian and Pacific
Rim cuisine
Let's Sea
032-536022
Japanese/French cuisine
Orchids French & Thai Restaurant
032-513670
Italian Cuisine
Mamma Mia
0-3251-2250
Japanese cuisine
Hagi Japanese Restaurant
0-3251-2021-38
Seafood
La Mer Hua Hin
032-536-205
Pattaya, Thailand
European cuisine
Casa Pascal
0-3872-3660
Thai cuisine
Symphony Brasserie
0-3842-0939
Mediterranean cuisine
Art Cafe
0-3836-7652
Thai cuisine
Siam Elephant
0-3842-8678-81
Phuket, Thailand
Rockfish
076-279-732
Italian Cuisine
La Gaetana
0-7625-0523
Thai cuisine
Mangosteen
0-7628-9399
Italian cuisine
Da Maurizio
7634-4079
Thai cuisine
Into Thai
0-7636-1010-7
Koh Samui, Thailand
Italian cuisine
Bellini
0-7741-3831
Betelnut
0-77741-3370
Thai cuisine
Poppies Samui
0-7742-2419
Sibelius
0-7883-0527
Koh Chang, Thailand
Nestling in the
heart of Koh Chang
Marine Park, on
a perfect beach,
Ramayana blends
oriental charm
with exquisite
cuisine and perfect
comfort.
www.ramayana.co.th +(662) 261 - 6364

SE Asia

Transcription

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