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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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Sunday 2 November 2008

When the Kilauea volcano expresses itself

I change island to complete the kaleidoscope of discoveries of the Hawaiian archipelago. I get to the largest of them, the island of Hawaii. To avoid the mix-up with the archipelago or state name, it was rechristened without great originality, The Big Island. This emerged land is a mixture of superlatives, geological quirks and visual pleasures. Thinking that on an island hardly larger than Corsica, we can find the most active volcano in the world where its lava pours into the ocean for over 20 years increasing the area with more than 150 hectares and making of Big Island, the youngest land on earth; to that, another volcano, the Mauna Loa, is the tallest mountain in the world if we take into account its base nestled in the abyssal depths ; and to complete the list, on this volcanic outcrop, we can find 11 out of the 13 climatic areas which govern the planet, the largest telescope in the world, turtles that linger on black sand or even a green sand beach we can lay down a towel on...
I meet again my friend Cho and his girlfriend who have rented a Jeep Wrangler for these few days. Without waiting, we dash towards the volcanoes national park to eyewitness the damages caused by the Kilauea volcano, endlessly erupting from the middle of the 80's. The huge caldera where smokes leak from the bowels of the earth stretches a few steps away from the entrance. No sign of vegetation around, everything is charred. It's only in the background that ferns and scrub breakthrough the volcanic crust here and there. We take the road which goes down to the sea. Thousands of shrubs and bushes intertwine in a compact and impenetrable forest. But successive flows reshaped the local geography, such as a gigantic candle whose charcoal grey paraffin would have melted on the scenery. Down the valley, the road fades, the hardened lava covered the tar mac, we get off the car to step on this cracking ground, an end-of-the-world illusion where the Earth won the game against the human being.

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In some places, the lava shaped tunnels it's possible to visit today. The approach blends in the surreal scenery, myriads of shrubby ferns flank the path. That's hardly believable to think that, about a hundred meters away, a desolate and still inapt for life land rises.

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We get to the other side of the park to witness the current flow which merges with the ocean, freeing a thick smoke. But for that, we must skirt the volcano because the coast road was completely ravaged by the magmatic discharge of Kilauea. En route, still-protected areas let us catch a glimpse at the kind of vegetation which decorated the land before the lava buried this ephemeral beauty.

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Before moving to another scenery, our last encounter with the volcanoes park will be a stroll within one of the calderas, the Kilauea Iki trail. An explanatory brochure makes us be aware that under this purportedly solid and stable ground, the heart is still hot and only 50 years ago, this flat and blackish expanse was bubbling in a lava lake. People got off luxury liners to enjoy it. The scientists saw an unheard-of opportunity to study the lava, the speed and way of how it solidified. We stay long minutes in the crater, a hint of supernatural for an extraordinary interlude in my traveler's life.

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Friday 17 October 2008

some fears on the Yasur volcano

From a tip to the other one of the Vanuatu archipelago, I leave the underwater scenery of Espiritu Santo to dive into the smoking steams of the Yasur volcano on the Tanna island. A 20-seat small plane drops us off at the tiny airport of Lenakel. In the arrival hall, a driver of the Jungle Oasis resort (a gathering of wooden huts built for the tourists) holds out a sign with the name of the campground on it. I unload my bag at the back of the pick-up and we head towards the inside of the island. An about-2-hour lift on a road furrowed by continuous rains. The abundant vegetation isolates me from the sight of the surroundings. We go over a hill where the view clears out and we dash down again into the meanders of the forest before the verdure suddenly stops, pushed back by a grayish strange sand made up of minute particles of pumice. The Yasur volcano spreads out its claws and marks its territory outwards the crater. A hoarse rumble soars out of the gray thickness. A shout of an angry nature who shows the beginnings of an encounter with an genuine active volcano which expresses itself by expelling its venom of lava.
One of the singular activities, probably unique in the world, is the opportunity of surfing on the ashes of the volcano. Jungle Oasis owns a worn-out, bad-quality snowboard which will do for the occasion (I will learn later it was possible to rent a better snowboard at the next-door village). The ascent is exhausting with an eye riveted skywards, at each new chuckle of the mountain. Each step sinks deeply in the particles of ash. Practically arrived at the top, I put on the board and face the steep slope. I make up my way onto the volcano. A total freedom punctuated by otherworldly splutters which make me jump at each new expression. A unique experience in a unique scenery.

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However, the main part of the action stimulated by a pathological curiosity drives me to the origin of this telluric cough. From the campground, it's a 45-minute short walk on a 4WD path. I pay the right of going ahead at the end of the village and stride along this rocky-ash-covered soil. The greenery-clad sides accompany my stroll when the track opens out a car park where several 4x4 vehicles are still there. A mailbox (the only one on a volcano!) marks the beginning of the final path dotted with the footprints of number of thrill-seeking adventurers wannabes. The detonations sound clearly when a explosion, louder than the others, propels glowing residues high in the sky. My eyes rise, a natural firework illuminates the firmament. The survival instinct of each guest present on this inhospitable land assesses the size of the lava projectiles. No worries for this time, each chunk of magma heavy falls down in the crater. A muffled and choked sound which leaves us a break before the next explosion. I sit down and wait. The roars are constant and the episodic gushing out of melting rock delight the spectators. With this hint of continuous fear when the reddening mouth spits out its drops of lava, each one lift his eyes towards the highest particles and size up their potential danger as they fall down.
The next day, I climb again the Yasur, the viewpoint of the last day is filled with smoke and I stop on the right side of the crater. The activity seems calm until all the visitors of the evening leave the place. I'm alone. The crimson shine of the volcanic hearth breaks through the black night. A weird feeling takes me up, an awe-inspiring mixture of curiosity and fear. The reason should have wanted me to go down with the last tourists and yet the irresistible urge to remain, to listen to and to marvel at another explosion, to thrill again at the rhythm of the earth vibrations. But, the activity of the volcano increases, the interval between two expressions reduce and the incandescent shells fly higher and higher. My heart palpitations fidget far beyond bearable, I stand up and clear off. The volcanologist Aroun Tazieff will wait to find a successor. However, reminding it again, how exciting it was to be sitting alone at the edge of this crater.

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