Adventure in the Fjords of Norway

This week's guest blogger is Jelena Farkić, who last wrote for Aerohaveno about her home city of Novi Sad, Serbia. She recently attended the 2014 International Adventure Conference in Sogndal, Norway. She reports here on the event, and the attractions of that nation's frozen reaches...

Norway’s longest fjord, the Sognefjord, extends to the foot of the Jotunheimen and Jostedalsbreen National Parks.

It’s both a dramatic and hospitable place. The Sognefjord has several distinctive arms winding their way between steep mountains to end in small, picturesque towns.

At the end of November, the town of Sogndal attracted adventure seekers of different backgrounds, from all over the world. What brought them together was a conference with the theme "Adventure in empty lands".

This was an appropriate title, as in late autumn this region enjoys a cold-dry microclimate, with reliable snow cover for several months. Light snowfalls are not unusual from the beginning of November, and the days are at their darkest until the snow makes the landscape a blank white canvas.

Because of its geography, residents and visitors enjoy activities such as sea kayaking, running, mountain biking, fishing, rock climbing and paragliding, in addition to a range of winter sports.

It’s this variety, along with the high number of students in the town, that makes Sogndal an outdoor pursuits centre. At any hour of the day, people are cycling, running, kayaking, or heading up a 30m indoor climbing wall.

Alternative therapies are also popular in the region. Early-rising conference delegates were treated to a ‘mountain yoga’ session, reached along a candlelit path, watching the sun come up over Sogndal and the fjord.

Other conference-related events included glacier exploration, an ice-cave picnic, back-country skiing, sea kayaking, and cooking.

When taken on tour to Jostedalen, the largest glacier in mainland Europe, many of us were surprised how accessible the glacier arms were; and that it could be as warm near the ice as it had been down by the fjord.

During the summer months, some visitors brave a quick swim in the glacial lake at the foot of Nigardsbreen. However, in winter the most popular activities here are ice caving, picnicking, or climbing the bright blue ice.

The conference food was surprisingly memorable, featuring dishes made from local ingredients: including halibut from the fjord, and wild lamb from the land.

In addition to a dark chocolate cake with a coulis made of local berries, a mousse made from the sea-buckthorn plant gave us a taste of an ingredient dating back to the Viking age.

With the Norwegian friluftsliv (roughly translated as “open-air living”) coming to an end, participants were keen to gather again for the next conference in Sheffield, UK, in 2015.

(NB Elements of this post were adapted from Dr Peter Varley’s conference report, by kind permission)

By Kayak Through Borneo

This week's blog post is about one of my most memorable experiences in Asia. 

It's also the introduction to a competition in celebration of my Twitter feed passing 1000 followers. 

The prize is a copy of Lonely Planet's brand new 11th edition of its popular Vietnam guidebook. Read on, then learn how to enter below..

Enter Borneo

It’s a Monday, and I’m experiencing an unconventional afternoon at work. I’m at the front of a two-person kayak courtesy of Tourism Malaysia, paddling and sometimes drifting down the Sarawak Kiri River in Borneo, on my first-ever kayaking foray.

The humidity is relatively low, it’s a hot sunny day, and I’m moving past lush green banks that show no sign of human habitation. If only I could get my balance right, I’d be in paradise.

My Borneo interlude had started on dry land the previous day, when I’d touched down at Kuching, the capital of Sarawak. Sarawak is one of two Malaysian states on the world’s third largest island, and is the least crowded with tourists.

Already today our small group has visited wild orangutans in the forest south of Kuching; now we’re experiencing the aquatic aspect of Borneo’s natural attractions.

Village life

Before taking to the water, we’re shown through a kampung, a traditional village. Here we’re met by Jackson Chan and Ivy Chin of Borneo Trek & Kayak Adventure, a husband and wife team who regularly conduct kayaking trips downriver. As we’re led through the laneways and courtyards that separate the low-rise dwellings, our hosts point out the crops being grown by the locals.

In the sunshine, peppercorns are slowly drying on a mat, and there are trees scattered through the township bearing tropical fruit.

Some, like the soursop, are unknown to me; others, like the cocoa pod, give a new perspective to a familiar item - in this case, chocolate. Outside one building we’re introduced to a palm civet, a cat-sized mammal that vaguely resembles a possum. It’s completely tame, and to our amusement runs up and down members of our group and perches on hats.

Kayak time

But it’s time for the moment I’ve been dreading: getting out on the river. I’m a complete novice on the water, being the kind of traveller who usually hangs around cities investigating art galleries and bars, so there’s tension in the air as we walk down to the sandy shore below the village.

Luckily these are two-person kayaks, and I’ll have the able Ivy behind me as captain of the vessel, to guide us safely over the (admittedly tiny) set of rapids we’ll encounter en route. I’m still concerned about capsizing, but between wobbly moments, as I get the hang of paddling and we cut through the slow-moving water, I’m able to reflect on our surrounds.

They’re very beautiful. Each bank of the river is densely vegetated, and the skyline is punctuated by impressive mountains, the most prominent of which looks like a giant green bell. As the paddling required isn’t that vigorous, there’s time to take the odd shot from my waterproof camera. I’m surprised by just how much water flows in and out of a kayak, and realise why we were advised to not wear shoes.

On the river

Chatting with Ivy, I discover she has grown-up children and is in her fifties, though she looks much younger. Clearly, kayaking every day is good for one’s health. She’s possessed of a great deal of calmness, obviously a good trait to have with a nervous passenger at the front of your boat.

Nearing the end of our hour-long journey, we round a gentle curve and see a large white sandbank with a shade tent set up on it. Beneath it, people are bustling around a table. They’re residents of the next village, putting together a freshly-prepared lunch which is available as an extra on the tour.

At one end they’re laying out barbecued fish wrapped in aluminium foil, next to an extravagant selection of tropical fruit. The soursop, whose bumpy green exterior we’d sighted in the first village, turns out to have a chewy white, sweet interior. More impressive, however, is the dragonfruit, whose soft tasty innards are a lurid violet shade.

Lunch and relief

We lunch while sitting on rocky outcrops located conveniently just above the sand, as if placed there for the purpose.

Gazing out over the water and the greenery above the rocks on the opposite bank, I reflect for a moment on the alternating adrenaline surges and relaxing moments of the day. I didn’t capsize, despite my worse fears, and have to admit that the view from the river’s surface was soothingly attractive.

And most of all, I reflect, it’s not often you spend a Monday afternoon on the water. Or realise that the most important element of the work/life balance is staying afloat.

Competition!

OK, now it's your turn. Tell me about your most memorable travel experience in Asia and you'll be in the running to win a copy of the newly-published Lonely Planet: Vietnam, edition 11 (valued at $39.99 and kindly donated by Lonely Planet). Your entry can be any word length, and by submitting you give me permission to display it on my website indefinitely.

To enter, email me at tim@iwriter.com.au by 29 February 2012, with the story of your most memorable Asian experience. I look forward to hearing from you!

Dandenong Ranges: The Hills are Alive!

I'm standing in a clearing about three-quarters the way up a steep slope in the Dandenong Ranges National Park east of Melbourne, and I've just startled a wallaby.

As I was crunching my way along a ridge, trying to see a way around the fallen trees that were blocking the marked track, the brown furry creature bounced rapidly away from my position, heading downhill.

About 50 metres behind me is Narrelle, taking a break after realising she's wearing quite the wrong shoes for a track this steep and leaf-strewn.

There's just a tinge of Macbeth about our situation - in that returning downhill is as tedious as to go o'er - so we really need to find a way up the last bit of the slope to the roadway we know is nearby. But at least we saw some crimson rosellas on the way up. Very pretty.

I'm over-dramatising, of course - we're not really in any trouble. We know the road and a golf course is just up there on top of the ridge, we could still reverse our steps back down the hill to the RJ Hamer Forest Arboretum, and it's the middle of the day so there's little chance of the sun setting before we get out.

I probably even have mobile phone reception. And it is very beautiful in this expanse of native forest, surrounded by gum trees, mountain ash trees and tree ferns.

And this always happens to me when I visit the Dandenong Ranges. Keen to bushwalk, I consult a simple map that includes tracks but not topographical info, and inevitably find out that part of the walk is much harder than expected. But I've always come back alive.

On this occasion I go back to fetch Narrelle, and we walk along to a point where the undergrowth is minimal. Then we start up the remaining slope - and are immediately surprised to see a woman in a pink shirt strolling along what must be an intersecting track above.

Fairly soon we're walking along the edge of the golf course, back to the sealed road. I can tell we're in civilisation, because there's a man in a cap trying to rescue his golf ball from the long grass on the fenceline between wilderness and manicured greens.

Walking along the road back to the town of Olinda, we're slightly startled by the contrast. A few minutes before we were picking our way up a poorly marked track on a slope in the middle of nature; now we're walking past cars and modern signage, and soon stepping into the golf course's cafe for a rehydrating drink.

On the basis that you're allowed to eat whatever you want after vigorous exercise, we'll soon be purchasing a couple of meat pies for lunch for Olinda's excellent (and much-touristed) Pie in the Sky pie shop.

Which is part of what I like about the Dandenong Ranges National Park. Rather than being an area of total wilderness, it's actually a long, attenuated nature zone wrapped around an core of small towns and B&B accommodation.

Which means you can go for a vigorous walk through dense native forest, then arrive at a place well-supplied with tea and scones. Try doing that in the Wolfe Creek Crater National Park...

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Tourism Victoria.

Borneo: Visions and Reality

When I was a kid, I collected stamps for a while. I'd inherited a collection from my mother, and there were stamps in there that went back to the 1930s.

Among them were stamps from a place called Sarawak. I had no idea where in the world it was, but by crikey it sounded exotic.

Sarawak was still around when I was growing up in the 1970s, but by then it had stopped issuing its own stamps. In the 1960s, Sarawak became part of Malaysia. And Sarawak, I later found out, is in the north of Borneo.

And Borneo is where I'm writing this. Even better, I'm in Sarawak; so that stamp collection has come full circle.

There's something alluring about the word 'Borneo' - a suggestion of dense jungles, headhunters, curious animals and hidden mysteries (Kong! Kong!). It's made me ponder how some locations (Easter Island is another) pick up this allure. And about what happens when you finally set foot on the exotic land you've dreamed of.

Common sense would suggest disappointment would follow. After all, what place, no matter how wonderful, can compete with your imagination? No matter how exotic, even the most far-flung locale will have reality TV shows and Coca-Cola, won't it?

Well, yes it will. And in my experience, the reality of a place is often very different from what you idly imagined it to be. However, it's not a case of smashed illusions; more that the illusions fade into nothing and are replaced by a new, vibrant picture of what the place is really like.

With Borneo, I only had an imprecise impression of jungles within a mysterious interior (and yes, some vague thoughts of King Kong - wasn't it set there?).

But yesterday, I saw orangutans swinging through the forest above my head; saw peppercorns drying in the sun at a local village; went kayaking for the first time in my life down the Sarawak Kiri River through mountainous green landscape; and met an amusingly over-the top cat statue dressed up for Chinese New Year in the state capital Kuching (which means 'cat' in Malay).

There was even a traffic jam on the way out of the city - you don't find those in visions of the exotic. But I didn't care. Borneo the hypothetical had been replaced by Borneo the real, and it was infinitely more interesting.

In letting go of your preconceived vision of a place through travelling there, you lose its perfection - but you gain a complex, vibrant reality in its place. I call that a bargain.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Tourism Malaysia and Malaysia Airlines.

The Unicycle Diaries 1: All Roads Lead...

Nothing is more fascinating than rediscovering forgotten experiences via an old travel journal. This inaugural wander down memory lane (part of an irregular series) is written by fantasy novelist Narrelle M Harris.

I face a particular challenge when travelling – for me, directions are something that happen to other people.

The main reason I am not still wandering around lost and dazed on the moors of England after my first overseas trip is that Tim was there to make sure I found the hotel again.

To be fair, I can mostly read a map. Provided it’s turned around so that it’s facing the same way as I am. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I have other skills useful on the travelling trail.

For example, having only English at my disposal, I have mimed my way across Europe, South America and the Middle East.

I may have spread bemusement and hilarity wherever I go, but I’ve also managed to purchase the required candles, bubble wrap and other sundry items along the way. So that’s +2 points for International Relations and Non-Verbal Communication.

My capacity to be geography-challenged is not all bad, though. Occasionally I get to have unexpected adventures as a result of not knowing where I am or where I’m going.

Rome, for example.

On our 2001 trip to Italy, I took the map and bravely flung myself out on the streets of the Italian capital on a solo mission to find a clock shop I had spotted a few days earlier.

The clocks, you see, were brilliant. Simple flat ceramic faces, glazed using a Japanese method called raku and bearing inscriptions in Latin. They became my had-to-have memento and I was determined to never leave Rome until I had bought one.

Consulting my travel diary of the time, I find two pages of handwritten notes, all about how lost I got. Note how carefully I have retraced my steps afterwards, using my otherwise useless map:

“I came to the Piazza Cardelli… then the Piazza Nicosia… then the river. Quick look at the map. Head west-ish down to via di Monte Brianzo (maybe) and get confused and down a different street… wander past several butchers, an art gallery, scaffolding, local apartments. Not a tourist in sight and I’m clearly in a residential area.

“Map check and then to the via della Stelletta, but too far… there’s the river again, but a different bit this time. Down a different road and round the via dell’Orso… getting kind of dizzy by now… and out I pop at the top of the Piazza Navona!”

I like that exclamation mark. How surprised I was to arrive at a place that was both familiar, and nowhere near where I was meant to be. But it continues:

“…head off around the Ai Monestari, heading for the Largo G Toniolo….the Piazza Rondanini… Piazza della Meddelana… is this where I found the beautiful paper shop, or was that earlier at the Piazza di Firenze?

“Forge on. I think I got muddled somewhere around the Chiesa di Santa Maria in Aquino… up the via dei Pastini to emerge at the Tempio di Adriano – Hadrian’s Temple. Which I’ve never seen before.”

At this point, I gave up looking for the clock shop and poked around some souvenir shops in the vicinity, before:

“I began to head back via dei Pastini – AND THERE WAS THE CLOCK SHOP!!! I’d walked right past it. Twice.”

I dived in to buy my clock. Alas, they did not have one inscribed with ‘Tempus Fugit’ but I got ‘Carpe Diem’ right enough, and carried it at the bottom of my suitcase for the rest of the trip.

Proving I can read a map when I actually know where my destination is supposed to be, I met Tim for lunch. My diary records him as being ‘vastly amused by this story’ of my fevered wanderings through Rome.

Eight years later, I still have my clock, and I still have the wonderful memory of bumbling along Roman back streets which are rarely seen by travellers who actually know where they’re going.

Find details of Narrelle's vampire novel The Opposite of Life at her website, along with details of her other books.

Queenstown: Larger Than Life

This week's guest blog is written by journalist and fantasy novelist
Narrelle M Harris.

It’s been said that life never feels more real than when it feels like you’re in a movie. On a recent business trip to Queenstown, New Zealand, it sometimes seemed like I could see how the special effects were done.

Several times a day I heard my fellow conference attendees comment on the mountains. Crisply outlined against a blue, blue sky, the mountains were sharply defined and dramatic. “They look painted on!” people said. “They look like a backdrop. They don’t look real.”

They had certainly looked real enough flying in through heavy turbulence on Saturday, when the more pessimistic (and possibly less experienced) travellers among us were white-knuckle-gripping the seats and praying that we wouldn’t inspect the snowy crags any more closely until we were on foot.

I had my own surreal experience walking back to the hotel after dinner one night. This was the dinner featuring the magnificent golden-sails-in-the-sunset dessert: a chocolate boat filled with ice cream and topped with pirate-ship masts and sails made of toffee. We were all so impressed we took photos.

Queenstown has a lot of hills in it. Actually, it’s easier to say there are very few flat bits in it. This night, walking up the steep hill, I was aware of a curving bank of lights hovering above the town, close enough to be teleporting up cows and hick farmers called Jed for probing.

I glanced up, startled, before realising that it was just the lights of the Skyline observatory. With no other lights on the pitch-dark hill on which it is perched, it just hung there. A UFO with a bar and a luge track that I could reach by cable car tomorrow, if I wanted to see what the aliens were up to. And possibly rescue the cow.

Another not-quite-real thing about Queenstown is its cast of thousands from other nations. The customer service staff in this town are a check-list of the United Nations. At my hotel I met staff from Argentina, Portugal, Italy (Venice – he was particular about naming his hometown) and a contingent of handsome young Dutch men who were studying hospitality and had come out for work experience.

In the town itself I was served decent coffee by a Yorkshireman, sated my need for the Internet at a cafe run by a guy from the Czech Republic and bought groceries from women who sounded like they came from somewhere in Eastern Europe. It was more like a casting call than a plausible local population.

I begin to suspect that Queenstown wasn’t a proper New Zealand town, but rather a sophisticated training camp designed to prepare Kiwis for life in Europe, where they have customs and cultures different from our own.

Even if it is a kind of multicultural movie set, you could do worse than visit Queenstown. If you are not inclined to fling yourself at speeds down snow covered slopes, or straight towards the craggy ground at the end of a big rubber band, there are more genteel pursuits in this lovely little Alpine town.

If you have engineer-geek tendencies, you can go on a cruise around the lake in a century-old steamship and sit on a viewing gantry watching the burly men shovel coal, and the gleaming pistons of the engine pumping up and down. And it’s warm down there, which is good, because it can be bloody cold out on deck.

Queenstown may well be too pretty and possibly even too contrived to be true, with its picturesque mountains and lookouts posing as flying saucers, but if you want an escape from your real, everyday life, this is surely the place to do it.

Find details of Narrelle's vampire novel The Opposite of Life at her website, along with details of her other books.