Tales from a 35 litre backpack

Photos: My Scholarship entry - A 'place' I have visited

biancajanderson — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 16:15:00 GMT

I realised my passion for photography while traveling when I was moved to capture life movement, document stories and inspire others with how I came to view the world and capture it through my viewfinder. I’ve observed for many hours; watching light interacting with the environment, noticing barely visible social interactions and absorbing knowledge from our most valuable institution - life. For me photography is a powerful medium; to give voices to those who otherwise wouldn’t be heard, to challenge social stereotypes and to give an outlet to my strong creative expression. The opportunity to travel and photograph in Oman with Jason Edwards presents unimaginable exposure to a web decipherable knowledge, endless possibilities for learning about culture and social responsibility of the modern photographer and a unique glimpse into another world. I crave knowledge, seek advice from mentors and self-reflect often as a means of growth. As an aspiring humanitarian engineer and enthusiastic traveler I’d hope to combine my photographic skills to share the stories of people I will come to encounter, the change I will contribute to and use my powers and privileges for something greater.

Photos: Gunung Rinjani

biancajanderson — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 04:10:00 GMT

Three days up and down the most spectacular volcano in Lombok, Indonesia

Photos: My Photo scholarship 2011 entry

biancajanderson — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 04:50:00 GMT

While traveling in North Vietnam my camera and I spent some time following small, unknown trails into the mountains in search of minority villages around Bac Ha. I was delighted to discover the ladies and children of the Flower Hmong working the farmlands, selling their produce at local markets and tailoring embroidery on stunning traditional dress. It surprised me to see the women ‘taking care of business,’ so-to-speak, and learn of their importance within the community. I’ve tried to share with you what I encountered; the radiant beauty of the women and their strong sense of community, while showcasing their equally stunning traditional dress. I live to travel and I love to take photos. I believe that the two, travel and photography, go hand-in-hand. By being a contentious and responsible traveler I am able to adapt to delve to the heart of the people and places I visit. I look at life from an alternative perspective and often through a lens; I love clambering to the tops of things, crouching in anticipation of a shot in the shadows, observing peculiar beauties, attempts at communication through crazy charades and, if all else fails, sharing a laugh, a smile and a moment with a stranger. Beyond bridging technical skills, the opportunity to learn about Jason’s own photographic concepts and travel philosophies would help to connect my own metaphorical-travel-photography-dots following a year’s travel experience and crash course in cultural adaption in South East Asia. I desire to evoke emotions in people through photographs; those I experience when I am inspired to discover new places from a glance at an intriguing photograph of an unfamiliar destination. Travel photography, for me, reveals an ever expanding web of learning opportunities and stories to be shared.

My Travel Writing Scholarship 2011 entry - Journey in an Unknown Culture

biancajanderson — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 15:50:56 GMT

I am in Sabah. The Malaysian state of Borneo and the scene before me yields a peculiar air. The city in the peak of the afternoon is quiet. Restaurants are closed. People seem wary and on edge and can be seen silently napping in the stall side chairs and hammocks.

It occurred to me I had arrived during the religious month of Ramadan where Islamic devouts abstain from food, drink, sex and cigarettes between the hours of sunrise and sunset. Things already move quite slowly in this corner of the globe and it seemed as though the world had eerily come to a standstill.

It was difficult to judge the mood of the people, especially the ladies, their heads and faces veiled with the hijab. In much of the Western world the thought of an Islamic culture breeds nervousness. In the past images of serious white clothed Arab men with checked scarves nestling on their heads and women in full length black would flash across my mind. Although I was fairly well covered I still felt the piercing stare of wandering eyes. I was as intriguing to them as they were to me. But as I wandered through the streets I felt no need to fear the unfamiliarity of the unknown culture I was witnessing for the first time.

As the sun fell lower in the sky the streets too k on a new atmosphere. The golden afternoon light bathed the city in colour as roadside stalls were hastily constructed touting a myriad of sticky sweets, colourful jelly drinks and other tasty treats patiently awaiting my discovery. The mood was transformed into one of jubilation as children rushing home from school and parents passing by from work picked up snacks to savor for later.

I foolishly assumed - and you could be forgiven for thinking the same - that Ramadan is not about food. In fact, Ramadan is all about food. As the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon every day the family gathers inside to celebrate breaking the fast with a modest feast of fruit, rice and meats. Younger members of the family laugh and poke each other playfully as they offer each other stories from their day past while – in keeping with good Malay hospitality - the wise, but plump grandmother makes sure that no-one has an empty plate.

As she turned to offer me fruit the family seconded her invitation; beckoning for me to join them at the low, round table. Accepting a curiously pink, hairy rambutan I couldn’t help but beam with delight. Terimah kasih banya, thank-you very much! And although I could see only the grandmothers’ eyes through the slit in the daintily bedazzled cloth adorning her head I no longer had difficulty in reading them. Behind the hijab she squinted as her cheeks pushed toward her kind eyes in a smile.

Rinjani. Your ass is grass.

biancajanderson — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 21:00:00 GMT

Towering above the Bali sea at 3726 meters Rinjani is one monsterous volcano. The concluding statement in a guidebook states, ‘Finally, understand that people die every year on the mountain; it shouldn’t be approached lightly.’ A reason why I deliberated for so long on Gili Air about the weather conditions. After negotiating a very nice price with a trek operator and deciding that, surely, the weather would hold up I headed straight from the Gilis up the mountain.

Day 1: From sea level to POS III

I arrived in Senaru to commence the hike much later than the others in my group who started hiking at aroud 9am, it was now midday. I was a little worried as to what the weather would do but of course the people organising the hike wont tell you that it’s a bad day when they can make money from you. Ideally, I would have loved to hire my own gear and a guide to do it on my own. But without having at least one other person to split the costs it, financially, didn’t make much sense to do it this way.

So I was man 4 in the group who, by now, should have already been having lunch at POS II. The first two hours of the hike were lovely. Climbing up tree branches to get a foothold along the muddy path. Then, as it did most days at around 2pm to 3pm it started to rain. And I don’t mean just a bit of a light shower; it rained. Waiting for half an hour it looked as though there would be no relenting, it had set in for the remainder of the afternoon. Out came and on went the ponchos (an absolutely must for traveling in the monsoon). I was also keen to bring out my secret weapon; the Fivefingers. Without sounding too much like a sales rep, these are amazing shoes which look like wetsuit booties and have individual toe pockets. Essentially it’s like walking barefoot.

Now the muddy path was like a river. Water was cascading down the mountain like a waterfall. Now with my gecko feet I was able to trudge around in the water confidently without worrying about getting my shoes wet or stepping on something where I might roll my ankle. I was invincible and moving with the agility of a gazelle. All the while the rain made its way down through the jungle canopy above. The sound of the water on the leaves was hypnotic.

Continuing like this for another 3 hours or so I arrived at POS III (2300m) where the remainder of my group had arrived only an hour earlier. The porters and guides were busily erecting tents and preparing food all the while it still raining. Everybody was shivering and soaking wet but my spirits were high none-the-less. People commented on my insane-looking shoes while I pranced lightfootedly about the camp.

Day 2: POS III to Base Camp

We were up early to make the 2 hour climb to the crater rim in time for sunrise. I’ve done a lot of hiking up volcanos in the pitch black for the sunrise and it’s quite a difficult thing. Headtorches are a must to find the rough and not-so-well-defined paths. The sky was starting to lighten, I still hadn’t arrived at the creater rim and I wasn’t entirely sure if I was following any track. Not seeing anyone around me I decided my best option was continue ‘up.’ As the sun peaked it’s head over the horizon the morning dew glistened on the grass. The morning fog lifting slightly to reveal the rolling hills and sea below.

Arriving at the creater rim (2600m) alone I was breathtaken at the landscape below. Inside the caldera was a second volcano peak surrounded by an impressive blue lake finally overlooked by the summit of Rinjani. I could never have imagined that the scene waiting for me would be so spectacular. Looking down the shear cliff into the lake I couldn’t see a clear path for descent into the caldera. I needed to find my group and guide. Continuing precariously along the rim I could see in the distance the red and yellow tents at Pelawangan I where I should have arrived. Before starting the descent into the caldera lake I took a few more moments to stare in awe at the beauty of my surroundings.

The two hour descent into the caldera was steep but relatively easy. There were lots of strong foot- and hand-holds and were no match for my Fivefingers. Now at ground level the lake seemed so much bigger and the late morning light increased the vividness of its colour. Before finally resting for lunch on the lake edge we hiked nearby to some hot springs.

The spring water bubbled straight from the ground and you could smell the sulphur in the air. They were much too hot for swimming but just perfect for reviving our feet after a long morning of walking. It felt a bit surreal really; sitting in hot sprigs, in the middle of a volcano in the middle of Indonesia. I don’t think I could have even imagined this a week ago.

The final leg of the day was the steep 2 to 3 hour climb to Pelawangan II (2900m), the base camp for Rinjani summit attempts. A lot like the first day, the climb to base camp was relentless. As always the afternoon rain had set in and I was sweating inside my poncho. I prefer to hike alone in these situations, getting into my own thoughts and own rhythm. I enjoy the challenge.

Finally arriving at base camp and looking back over my shoulder I could see where we had come from earlier that morning. Up to the opposite side of the rim, down into the caldera, around the lake and back up the rim on the side I was now. All the while the scenery breathtaking.

In the evenings the only way to escape the cold was to snuggle into your sleeping bag in your tent. After a full day of walking it was nice for an early night anyway. I was sharing my tent with a Dutch guy. As it turns out he snores… like a motherfucker!

Day 3: Summit and Back

Of course our summit attempt began with intention to arrive at sunrise, leaving at 2.30am. Again it was dark and a headtorch was mandatory. Most people had flaked out on the summit hike, feeling they were too unfit, or opting to stay in bed. Our guide told the Dutch guy he wouldn’t make it so I stole out of the tent quietly in the morning. The first hour or so of a hike I always find the most difficult. This is where you find your rhythm and overcome your physical tiredness.

The hike was tough. Hiking in the pitch black along a small, gravely and exposed path you had to check constantly, left and right, to make sure you didn’t stray too far to the edge. On one side you fell to the caldera below, on the other you fell down the steep mountain. One wrong step had taken the life of a French guy a couple of months before. The path was incredibly steep and gravel. Every time you took two step up, you fell one step back. I really had to make a conscious effort to drive the toe of my shoe into the ground so I wouldn’t lose so much ground. Step-by-step, I told myself. Somewhere near the top (maybe an hour or more of walking) and feeling like this climb would never end I passed by a group of English lads taking a breather. I told them to go ahead of me, they were faster, but they insisted I go first, ‘If we don’t go together we’ll never make it.’

So for the final hour I had 4 hilarious English guys following me pepping each other up yelling, ‘Come on we can do it!’ All the while singing a soundtrack to the climb. At one stage it was a touching rendition of United States of Eurasia and a rather energetic performance of Bat out of Hell. By this stage everyone was fighting the mental demon who was telling us we couldn’t get there and battling physical exhaustion. We were doing whatever we could to keep ourselves distracted.

As sky was lightening we could see the peak we’d climbed for so long to see. We were all now hiking together, spirits lifting as the summit was within reach. Placing one foot in front of the other I realised I was no longer climbing up, I was on level ground. I was at the summit. We all erupted into adrenilan fuelled hysteria. Shouting, hugging and throwing hi-fives all about the place. I’ve never felt such a rush just from walking. The view from the top was spectacular. You could see all the way over Lombok and to the sea. I knew the path we’d hiked was narrow but now in the early morning light I could see why people have died on summit attempts. Certainly not for people easily afraid of heights. In fact, in the darkness one guy turned back after half an hour because he could continue no longer.

Tiny ant-like specks of people trailed up the crater rim while the morning light broke over the summit. Clouds whisked over the top of the mountain creating a sort of ‘cloud rainbow.’ After hanging about until it was much too cold to do so.. my fingers could no longer master the camera to take any shots.. it was time to blow this scene. Two hours and 40 minutes up, an hour and a half down. Make no mistake, that volcano was one steep mo’ fo’. Half walking, half skiing, half running down the now well lit mountain I fell into a fit of laughter when I was passed by my guide; a 5 foot, 50 something-year-old Indonesian man, wearing sneakers much too big for him, tights and a beanie, carrying a frozen black monkey that we found on the summit, running down the mountain before slipping and falling flat on his bum. Picking himself up he was laughing just as much as me. An absolutely tremendous mental memory.

Back at base camp we stuck it to all the people too lazy to get up at 3am and shared our photos with those of who weren’t able to make the summit over pancakes and coffee. No need to linger though.. we still had a good 6 hours of hiking to make it back to the nearest town. Not much further on I realised that I had serious issues with walking ‘down’ things.. my knee pinching in pain ever step. There wasn’t much to do but lather that shit up in ye old trusty tiger balm and pop some anti-inflams. Expecting nothing less, the scenery was again spectacular; mist rolling across farm fields to the sound of tinkling cow bells.

Cruising back through the open fields myself I could only smile; reflecting on the days and months passed. Life is sweet and I just annhialated an active volcano in Indonesia!