Eight Bites of Heaven

Not far from where I live, in snack bar-infested Takeo, sits Japan's closest equivalent to America's once ubiquitous greasy spoon diner: Gyoza Kaikan. You'll smell it before you see it, a result of vapors that can only come from the incessant boiling of pork broth. Though it's repugnant, that aroma signals the presence of delicious ramen. As the name suggests,this particular ramen shop, with its fading 1970s decor and beaten-looking staff, serves up more than just ramen. In fact, it's specialty is actually something called gyoza, pork dumplings that originated in China but have long been popular in Japan. Price and quality vary, but the Takeo shop seems to dominant both categories. Eight bites of heaven, which are much plumper than their contemporaries, cost a mere 350 yen, or about $3.05.

A plate of seven gyoza...the eighth was acting up and had to be made an example of.

For anyone who gets lost while traveling in Japan, ending up in Saga-ken's Takeo-cho, Gyoza Kaikan is located near the snack bar complex along the yet to be completed bullet train line. If you get to that area but still can't find it, follow the incongruous scent of boiling ramen 'til you hit the jack pot.

Oita Trip

Myself, Seb, and four members of my adult English club, aptly named "MEET" (Meet and Enjoy English Together.....classic), went on a brief excursion to nearby Oita-ken last month. Oita, along with neighboring Kumamoto, is home to Kuju-Aso National Park. It's not a national park in the western sense as it's hardly protected; there are towns, ranches, and farms within the "protected" area. Still, it's quite scenic and is has some of the best hot springs in Japan, which in turn would put it in the running for best hot springs world wide. We also indulged in a mid-day chicken bbq, some ground golf (I suck!), a visit to a natural spring, and an old-school soba shop that allowed us to make our own wasabi.

They say (and I've yet to learn who "they" are) that a picture is worth a thousand words. Why fight conventional wisdom by verbose narration? Without further adeu, here are some shots of our wonderful time.

Grass Sledding, hokey, but fun.

Hiking on the trail to Kuju-san, the tallest mountain in Kyushu Proper

Horse meat butcher shop: This is a local delicassie, and I've got to say, I think it's delicious. The horse meat, called "basashi" (a compound of "ba" for horse plus "sashimi", as in sushi served without rice) is served raw and eaten with ginger and soy sauce. I'd liken it to cold pastrami, though not as spicy.

Group Shot: Front bench - Hiromi and Seb

Rear bench - Harasaki-san, Mabro, Kawachan, and Me (not sure why I look so stern...)

Randimonium Japan

Tori Gates, Yutoku Shrine

This thing flew right out of Metamorphisis and

into our BBQ. Terrifying. The bug, not Peter.

Capsule Hotel, Osaka

Escaped mental patients, Miyazaki.

Japan's ubiquitous electronic toilet

Cherry Blossom

Ant's Best Friend

Stuffed wild boar, a little worse for wear

Jolly in Bali

Spring Break ’06 led me to the island paradise of Bali. I’d heard how crowded and touristy Bali was, how I’d hate it, but the rainy season and previous terrorist attacks proved those predictions false. Along with Seb, a half-French Englishman living in Karatsu, Japan, I started my trip in Ubud. We stayed at a dirt cheap family-run guesthouse, sharing a basic room with a number of insects and a mouse. At approximately 3.50 USD per person per night (including breakfast), we had no reason to complain.

Ubud is Bali’s cultural capitol, and for an island whose every corner is oozing with tradition and spirituality, that means a lot. Ubud is full of art galleries and museums, is surrounded by temples, and is host to nightly dances celebrating ancient Hindu texts with a Balinese tilt. We took in three of these dances while in Ubud, one for each night there. The Legong dance is graceful and sad, the story of maiden taken captive by an arrogant king who refuses to release her and is later killed in battle.

In the Barong dance the good Barong, a strange half-lion, half-dog animal, goes to battle with the evil Rangda, a sort of witch.

The final dance we saw was the epic Ramayana Ballet. Though the newest of the Balinese dances, it too is based on ancient text. Like the Legong, this dance tells the story of kidnapping of a maiden and the effort of her family, friends, and several guardian gods to steal her back. It was a bit too complex for my taste with lots of scene changes and characters coming in and out. Very beautiful nonetheless.

For those that don’t know, the Balinese are Hindu in the world’s largest Islamic country. At one time Hinduism was a potent force throughout the Indonesian archipelago, but most islands became Islamic from the fifteenth century onward. As Islam spread and the Hindu kingdoms collapsed, many of the intelligentsia and Brahmana (priests) fled to Bali, taking a rich Hindu tradition with them. Bali experienced a sort of renaissance, its traditional animism fusing with this influx, creating a unique and vibrant brand of Hinduism that thrives to this day. Like traditional Hinduism, the Balinese believe in the trinity of gods Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu, but they also believe that various spirits are ever present and prolific. Abundant shrines and daily offerings (shown below) to appease these entities are a constant reminder of this.

Honestly, you can’t escape from Balinese religion even if you want to: it is everywhere. Each village typically has three temples, one for the village founders, one for the dead, and one for the spirits that protect the villagers. These temples are usually only open on the full moon or bi-annually, both of which are occasions for celebration and ceremony. In addition, each family’s home has its own temple, always in the corner of the walled compound closest to Gunung Agung, Bali’s highest and most revered mountain. The family temple holds such significance that it is used to identify oneself in place of a surname. That’s right, the Balinese don’t have actual surnames; they go by “temple”. On a side note, Balinese first names are given by birth order: Wayan (first child), Made (second), Nyoman (third), and Ketut (fourth). The cycle repeats itself for the fifth child onward. Personalized names do exist, but are used only amongst friends.


But back to Balinese Hinduism and particularly temples. We saw a slew of temples during our three days in Ubud, and had to wear a sarong (think skirt) to all. As with the cathedrals of Europe, once you’ve seen a few their attraction starts to wane. However, unlike many cathedrals, the temples of Bali tend to be a bit more varied. Goa Gajah dates to the 11th century. It contains a T-shaped cave with a demon’s mouth acting as a doorway. An earthquake in 1917 destroyed one shrine, tossing it in a nearby river where it lies to this day.

Tampaksiring’s Tirta Empul is one of Bali’s most important temples. Its spring feeds a crystal clear pool teeming with fish which in turn supplies bathing water to those seeking cures for a variety of ailments.

The town of Bangli is home to Pura Kehen, a large temple perched on a terraced hillside. The design is said to be a miniature version of Pura Besakih, Bali’s grandest and most important temple on the slopes of Gunung Agung.

Now these were all spectacular temples, but my favorite was the temple complex known as the Monkey Forest. It’s not a clever name; there are monkeys. 128 macaques to be exact. They have the run of the place, charged with guarding the ground’s three separate temples and numerous shrines. I’m not sure if they were actually doing this, but they were extremely aggressive towards anyone who had food. I didn’t make this mistake. I just laughed at others who did. This alpha male swiped two bananas off a screaming Russian woman.

Below: Me and an ancient monkey. He's not holding a banana in case you didn't notice.

Aside from temples, there are a few historical sites more of archaeological significance. The serene but rarely visited Yeh Pulu is near Goa Gajah. It consists of fourteen stone panels displaying scenes of a hunt, a royal court, and certain deities. Two little girls were our guides.

We also spent some time in and around Ubud taking in Bali’s famous rice terraces. Living in Japan’s countryside, I’m no stranger to rice fields. Bali’s however, lacked the cement culverts, metal piping, and pumps that dot Japan’s farms. In other words, the land looked unmolested, yet orderly and thriving. One tour we were on explained the particulars of managing the terraces. Water flow is regulated by a local chapter of farmers. Anyone who wants to farm must become a member. Typically, the farmers living at the bottom of the hillside will be in charge of managing the water, the logic being that they are unlikely to mismanage it as doing so would harm those receiving the water last the most, i.e. themselves. Also, most large fields are owned by wealthier families who contract labor to plant, maintain and harvest the rice. These workers are paid not in cash but in the very rice they harvest; another incentive to do a good job.

Leaving Ubud, we went south to the island of Nusa Lembongan. The plan was for me to snorkel, Seb to dive, and the both of us to relax on the beach, playing cards, throwing the Frisbee, that sort of thing. It didn’t happen, though through no fault of our own. First, Thursday was Nyepia, the day of rest. An annual event, Nyepia ushers in the New Year according to the traditional Balinese calendar. In the weeks leading up to it, townspeople make elaborate sculptures of demons, bring them to the town square dressed in their ceremonial garments, make speeches followed by offerings to the gods, and then burn their sculptures. It is thought that this purifies the land for the upcoming New Year, though as most of the sculptures are now made of polystyrene and other synthetic materials, it’s likely not working.

The following day, Nyepia, is one of complete inactivity. Nothing is open. No one leaves their homes. Tourists everywhere must stay in their hotel rooms. Inactivity. The reason for this is that the Balinese believe that evil spirits descend on the island during Nyepia. The hope is that when the demons find its streets deserted, its fields and temples empty, they’ll assume that Bali is uninhabited and return to the netherworld. So, we too were inactive. Yes, it pretty much sucked, but at least the tradition has some interesting logic behind it.

Demon sculptures of Nyepia with Reggae influence

Did I mention that it poured on Nyepia? Well, it did. And on Friday too. Visibility being nil for diving, we opted to get off the island and head for the pseudo posh resort town of Sanur. Got a nice hotel room there. One with hot water and cable TV, felt we deserved it. But we really just deserved more rain because it rained on Saturday too. We flew out that night.

Overall, Bali was a great vacation, exactly what I needed minus the rain. For anyone heading there, I’d recommend to avoid Kuta and Sanur, head for Ubud or somewhere off the beaten track. And despite the rain, I don’t mean to knock Nusa Lembongan. It supposedly has fine reefs which compared to the rest of Bali are relatively un-dived. And a monkey.

Malaysia Part II: Kinabalu

My apologies for posting these trip reports so long after the fact....better late than never. Because this report is so long, so overly descriptive, I'm including only the choice photos. The rest can be seen at http://www.kodakgallery.com/BrowsePhotos.jsp?&collid=479416176106&page=1&sort_order=0&favorites=true (you may need to log in). Part I of this trip can be seen here: http://strandedontheisledekyushu.blogspot.com/2006/01/malaysia-part-i-kota-kinabalu-etc.html

On Mountain

Our night at Talk lodge gave us the rest we needed to recuperate from the New Year's Eve festivities, not to mention our plans for the next few days. Though Kinabalu is one of the easier mountains in the world to climb, our plans were a bit more ambitious than your average trekker. Most people hike to Laban Rata, a hut village at 3000 meters, stay the night, continue up to Low's Peak early the next morning, and then hike back down to the headquarters the same day. We too would follow this ritual, but instead of turning back after seeing Low's, we would bag another peak, stay the night at West Gurkha hut, bag another peak the next day, again stay at the Gurkha hut, and then return to the park entrance. Three days, two nights, at least three peaks, a whole lot of elevation gain and loss......not bad for my first true mountain.


Day 1 (January 2)

We arose early, had a nice western breakfast (sorry, but the Malaysian food in Sabah just wasn't that good), and headed to the Kinabalu park headquarters to pay the necessary fees and get our required guide. Our "sherpa" Taisung spoke only broken English, much to our dissapointment. We were hoping for someone who could both guide us and inform us about the flora and fauna of the park. He could only do the former but his billy-goat like footing provided endless amusement anyway. The four of us, me, Dan, Kathlyn, and our new buddy Taisung, started up the trail at approximately 9am. Look how psyched we were:

The trail began at approximately 1800 meters in the heart of the rainforest. Lush flora covered nearly everything as the trail wound steadily upward. Every half kilometer there was a simple rest hut. We rested. A lot. Our extra long itenerary meant heavier packs.

A few hours later our verdure surroundings thinned out. The trees became wiry with stringy moss covering them. San Francisco-like fog enveloped the ever upward mountain trail.

At kilometer 6.5 we came upon Laban Rata, a climbers' village situated at 3200 plus meters. This is the launching point for the ever popular sunrise summitting of Kinabalu. To save money, we had reserved the staff hut over a hotel room. No hot showers. Just a thin mattress to get us through the evening.

Day 2

We got up early today. At 2:15 am, my rest could hardly be called sleep. More of a nap really. There was a rat running around the room and some guides were playing the guitar in the next cabin. Of course, only I could hear these things. Kathlyn and especially Dan are blessed with selective deafness.

Taisung met us at 3:15am, a bit later than most people depart. Guided by ropes and rickety staircases, our way lit only by our headlamps, we set out for the summit. Within thirty minutes the few remaining trees gave way to windswept rock, devoid of all but the hardiest grasses and shrubs. We were essentially climbing up a wide granite slab. Up mountain danced the lights of other hikers, a constant reminder that our route wouldn’t be leveling out anytime soon.

The first rays of light pierced the darkness at around 5:30am. The sunrise met us a half hour later as we finally reached the top of the slab. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be taking in the sunrise from the Low’s peak. It was spectacular nevertheless. Looking out over the clouds, it felt as if we were in an airplane, not standing on solid ground. Various smaller peaks jutted out from the clouds, the ocean and some of the islands we had previously snorkeled visible in the distance. The light also revealed the terrain around us: harsh, cold, dry, yet beautiful.

After a brief rest we continued to Low’s Peak (4095.1m), the biggest boy in the Kinabalu family. Hikers were descending as we approached. One of them conveyed that the view from the summit was obscured by clouds. Our late departure from Laban Rata had blessed us with a better sunrise after all. Dropping our packs at the base of the peak, we clamored up Low’s. We were the only one on it at this point. We owned the mountain, yet another stroke of luck caused by tardiness.

The hike up the slab had definitely been challenging. A full pack, not much sleep, the elevation…but I had made it without incident. It was on Low’s that I felt the effects of altitude sickness, a first for me. Though a bit difficult to describe, I’d have to say it's similar to being drunk, except it wasn’t fun. I became unbalanced, uncoordinated, unmotivated. My body breathed as deeply and fully as possible to no avail. Altitude sickness can happen to anyone regardless of age or how in-shape they are (unless of course they frequent high altitude locations). Soon I got a headache and became extremely fatigued. I wanted to take a nap, but we had come so far and were so close; I struggled onward.

Bagging the highest, albeit, with stairway-like access, possibly the easiest peak in SE Asia, was a reward in itself. The clouds around the summit had mostly cleared, the few remaining whipped around the mountains by powerful air currents. We could see all that we’d seen during the sunrise, plus the tops of the surrounding peaks: St. John’s, Victoria, Donkey Ears, South Peak. Low’s Gulley, with its smooth un-climbable granite walls and narrow water chutes gave a sense of two worlds: one windswept, dry and barren, the other sheltered, humid, and full of lush flora. We lingered on Low’s for the better part of an hour, taking pictures of each other and the surrounding landscape.

Descending to where we had left our bags, we trekked across the western plateau towards St. John’s peak, the second highest mountain in Kinabalu. This was much more off the beaten path, a privilege which required a multi-day/multi-peak pass and our billy goat guide. Traversing the western slope of St. John’s, we scrambled over loose rocks, holding onto any small shrub we thought would lend purchase. After what seemed like an eternity (the result of the altitude sickness no doubt), Taisung began leading us upward. As the route steepened, he went ahead, free solo-climbing the splintered slab in his five dollar shoes that made him look more like a skater boarder than a mountaineer. We watched impressed as he reached the top of the pitch, secured a rope he had brought, and dropped one end down to us. Taking turns, we ascended the rope climbing hand over hand, our feet locked firmly on the rock beneath (any slab climber out there knows the mantra: toe on, heel down, toe on, heel down). It wasn’t very difficult climbing, but I wouldn’t have attempted it without the rope. Once again, props to our guide. After all were safely at the anchor, Taisung repeated his dare devil feat and waited for us to climb up to the anchor. From this point on, we were able to hike and clamber our way up the ridgeline to the summit. Though the view from St. John’s was basically identical to that of Low’s, the peak’s loneliness, the lack of man’s mark, and the added challenging of ascending it, made bagging this peak feel like a much greater achievement on our part.

On our way back down, it started to rain. The persistent afternoon precipitation, rather than the sunrise, is the real guiding factor in Kinabalu hikers’ morning ascents. The otherwise coarse granite quickly became slippery in places. The two pitches that we had rope climbed now needed to be descended. Told by park staff headquarters that no climbing gear was necessary, we hadn’t brought our harnesses or ATC devices (used to belay other climbers and rappel). Half way down the first pitch, I think we all realized what bad advice we’d been given. Again, the slab wasn’t so steep, but the rock was now wet, the rope cold, our hands bitten by the wind. A body rappel was always an option, but this archaic method of wrapping the rope around oneself is hardly comfortable and not nearly as safe as the alternatives. Still, we survived.

Our feet back on semi-solid ground, it was now time to head to the West Gurkha Hut. Built in 1984 by a company of Gurkhas, West Gurkha Hut is the only lodging above Laban Rata. It’s used mostly by mountaineers and the occasional naturalist, the masses of tourists being ignorant of its existence. Kathlyn was research savvy enough to find this little gem, and I mean little. The hut was nothing more than a small A-frame, its roof about eight feet high. Though described as a room for four, it was a tight squeeze with three of us and our gear. Rain water was collected in a cistern outside. A rat lived under the cistern. A rat at almost 4000 meters…..unbelievable. A massive block of granite, Oyayobi Iwa, towered over our little hut. A rock strewn slab stretched out before it.

Exhausted, we unpacked. Taisung said goodbye; he would hike back down to Laban Rata and return the next morning weather permitting. We made an early dinner, some over salted ramen and canned tuna with crackers, and spent the rest of the day sleeping, reading, playing cards, and telling stories.

Day 3

A steady rain and hydration induced head ache, likely caused by the ramen and aggravated by a lack of oxygen, greeted me this morning. Two hours and a liter of water later, Taisung knocked on the door. We suited up for the morning’s summit, Victoria Peak.

Definitely the most challenging of the mountains we climbed, the steep slabs of Victoria were further compromised by the early morning showers. Again, a harness would have added piece of mind. After climbing several pitches using nothing but a saturated and frigid rope, we came upon a descending British climber and his Malaysian guide. He warned us of an impending traverse that required a rope, adding that his guide only used one after he vehemently insisted. Unlike us, he had brought a harness and some gear. Nervous about this, we hiked on. As we neared the top, Taisung draped our rope over a rock, saying we wouldn’t need it. We argued against this but he assured us it would be fine. And it was. I’m not sure what the Brit was going on about; the traverse was maybe ten feet across and only potentially perilous. We scurried through it without problem.

Victoria’s apex was narrow, rocky, and extremely windy. As with St. John’s large flakes of granite were stacked upon each other. Eyeing the fast moving clouds, we snapped a few victory shots, had a snack, and headed back down the mountain to our hut where Taisung once again took his leave.

Later that day it rained heavily and the plateau we were on turned into a series of fast moving creeks. Water even ran from behind and under the hut, exiting beneath the front door. We waited until about 4 o’clock and then went out hiking on our own. Working our way up and around massive pillar that towered over West Gurkha hut, we came upon the route leading to its top. Called Iyoyobi Iwa, it was by far the most interesting geological formation in the area. Already ahead of us due to his solid route finding skills, Dan was half way to the top when Kathlyn and I caught sight of him. Because of the narrowness of the route, Kathlyn and I waited at the bottom for Dan to return. He summited and then descended, advising us not to proceed. A certain move at the top, particularly on the descent, was scary and difficult even for him, a 5.12 climber (i.e. better than Kathlyn and I). “Hmmm…..free solo climb a wet route…..I've been doing the same the last day and a half, though that was on a slab……I’ll pass anyway.” Sometimes you have to know your limits.

Day 4

Once again arising early, we quickly packed up, swept the hut, and headed up the plateau to the base of Low's Peak where we'd meet Taisung and begin our descent. The sun had yet to rise, so we picked our way across the boulder field by head lamp, breathing as much of the oxygen-deprived air as we could. Just as the sun was rising, we reached Low's and met Taisung.

Though Taisung wanted to descend to Laban Rata and on to park headquarters, we decided it would be worthwhile to bag one more peak. South Peak is perhaps the most photograped summit on Kinabalu. Its gradually sloping ridgeline is set against the post card view of Sabah from nearly 4000 meters up. The peak itself often seems close enough to the clouds for one to be able to step on them. It would be a fitting end to an exciting three days, but it was not to be. Just meters from the top, a wind gust strong enough to knock a bull over, dominated the approach. Would it be worth the risk? Probably not.

We headed down. I hiked ahead, anxious to get to a restaurant that didn't serve a set menu of over-salted ramen and rain water. I have no memory of what I ordered upon arriving there, only that it was some of the best food I'd had in a long while.