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Tuesday 9 December 2008

the lava river of the Pacaya volcano


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At first sight, the name of the Pacaya volcano doesn't make us think about something awesome and seems insignificant besides the prestigious Stromboli, Etna, Kilauea or Krakatau. Unfortunately for the latter, the safety laws of the countries prevent the average visitor to get to the bedside of the molten magma. Some people will shout for foolhardiness but with the Pacaya, we can go to the lava up to get the skin burned. The outing starts in a minivan, departure from Antigua up to the entrance of the park. We get off the shuttle for a short trek which goes through a sparse forest and opens out onto a lookout where the dark cone of the mount Agua shatters the horizon line. The grass rarefies and big volcanic grains pile up on the access side of the volcano. Following the example of a sand dune, our feet sink, the ascent gets harder and the balance begins staggering. We step on the still-hot flow of the previous day. Some translucent filaments extend the glistening- and purplish-hued rock. The heat increases up to become unbearable. The lava flows at a few meters away. A magmatic torrent gets out of the volcano and goes dying at its feet. According to the draught, the atrocious heat burns our faces. Natural sauna session before heading back into the more refreshing atmosphere of Antigua.

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A red façade replaced with a yellow section before turning pastel blue. The streets of Antigua revive the thoughts tarnished by the tasteless streets of Guatemala city. The whole historic center of Antigua is on the Unesco World Heritage List. The division into blocks, typical to the cities of the “New World”, don't infringe, but the painters gave the finishing touches to the streets. And the result attracts, encourages to the consumption of covering another block to watch what happens at the next corner. An invigorating urban stroll.

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Monday 3 November 2008

into the stars on the Mauna Kea


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Two 4000-meter-plus peaks, the Mauna Loa and the Mauna Kea, breakthrough the milk-white expanse of clouds which invariably covers the afternoons of Big Island. A road makes its way through the two giants, we travel it for several dozens of kilometers then turn off to the right and rise on the slopes of the Mauna Kea. The vegetation vanishes, a low-growing and crimson grass takes place and wraps the stone-free areas. We close our windows, the cold makes our skin tingle. But the temperatures aren't wintry yet when a layer of snow strews the heights of the volcano.
The purity of the sky attracts worldwide astronomers and a flock of white- or silvery-domed metallic mushrooms thrusts up on the top. These observatories and telescopes use the latest technologies to attempt to fathom out the stars and other luminous and radio-electrical manifestations. We park near the largest telescope in the world. The surrounding ocean of clouds doesn't take long to soak up ochre shades and we remain silent in front of the sun which slowly disappears on the horizon.
When the night is dark enough, halfway up the hill, a group of amateur or professional astronomers give us explanations about the starry vault. Electronically-controlled portable telescopes point at remarkable objects such as galaxies or cosmic clouds. An informal and educational encounter between a group of enthusiasts and a handful of tourist eager for understanding a little bit more of what happens overhead.

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Saturday 16 August 2008

Rice fields, temples and coconut palms


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We leave our gilded life at the seaside to look at a traditional Balinese performance «the Barong's dance ». A show that depicts the struggle between good and evil, Barong against Rangda. A jumble of sequined costumes, mythical monsters and persuasive actors surrounded by ancestral believes ; all of that spellbound by a light music. At the end of the day, we get to the built-on-the-cliff Tanah Lot temple. A sunset we usually see on the postcards of the souvenir shops. The sky wraps up with glowing hues and the temple stands out like shadow puppet. The cameras patter while the night closes the sight. On the way back, a large bat rests beside a souvenir stall when another tourist comes to observe the weird animal. Our eyes meet ; deep, light-coloured eyes that look familiar to me. My attention suddenly and exclusively focuses on this unknown person. Shaven head, American accent, surfer-looking. I get it. My mind becomes clearer. Less than one meter away, only separated by a strange animal and completely relaxed, he's Kelly Slater, the living legend of the modern surfing and 8-time world champion. My friend Jo will go to shake his hand and await confirmation. The surfing world cup took place in Bali, 15 days before, hence his presence. 2 days after starting the surfing, we meet the greatest star of this sport. Unforgettable! The destiny perhaps...

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full of feelings, we head for Ubud, in the center of Bali. We're going to track down the bats in case of the surfing legend appears again.
Beside its paradisiac beaches, Bali is the home of a luxuriant vegetation. The laid back town of Ubud is a good land base to go and meet it. Scattered banana trees stand out in the paddy fields where an ingenious irrigation system keeps each plot of land under a shimmering sheet of water. Coconut palms border the path and give an exotic shade to the scenery.

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In the middle of the village, we visit the monkeys of the eponymous forest. Sometimes playful, sometimes mischievous, sometimes aggressive, they mark out their territory in this forest. As soon as we get in, it's swarming with these small beings as agile standing as on all four. They come to pick up a banana in the hand of a tourist before climbing a tree to shelter the meagre amassed haul.

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The activities and sites to see are numerous around Ubud, we link a set of temples and religious buildings. Abandoned or still heavily pious, all these places are first-hand account of Balinese architecture, style and way of life. A peculiar Indonesian island since on top of being the most touristy, it's the only one predominantly Hindu.
We pass from a temple to another whose tortuous name have been crossing-out in my memory by too much visual, resounding and spiritual information my senses received. The architecture of those buildings will nevertheless remain engraved in our minds and memory cards as a souvenir or a happy route in the middle of Bali.

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Our round of the temples ends upon a mythical mountain, venerated by the Balinese, the mount Batur. Because the religious aura and fervour don't die when the gates of the temples close.

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