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#38 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! David Attenborough gave the naghol ritual widespread exposure in the 1950s after recording it with a BBC film crew.

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get in the know! The word bungee is said to be New Zealand slang for an elastic strap.

Grainy footage of a spectacular ritual recalled from childhood

takes Steve Davey to Vanuatu’s Pentecost Island.

vanuatu

text: steve davey

images: steve davey

ISSUE #13 get lost! #39

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#40 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! The opening sequence of the film GoldenEye featured James Bond bungee-jumping off the edge of a dam.

vanuatu

THE DOMESTIC CHECK-IN AT PORT VILAairport is in some degree of chaos. I amstanding amongst chickens and outboard

engines and a lot of people, all vying to get ontothe next plane. Near hallucinating from lack ofsleep (caused by flying here from London viaSydney with the briefest of stopovers) I stumbleout to the plane that is to take me to the island of Male Kula. The plane is a small and somewhatbattered looking twin prop. I try to read thewarning sign next to the cockpit door: “MAN WE I SPOLEM SAM SAMTING LONG PLEN BAMBAE I PASLONG KOT”. Written in the local pidgin languageBislama, I have no idea what it means but climb aboard.

We fly through the sunrise and over islands sorugged and forested that if we were to crash wewould probably have to eat each other to survive.

Forty-five minutes later we bump a landing on amuddy grass strip on the island of Malakula. I tripdown the stairs before the plane whirls and leaves.

From Malakula I travel to Ambae, the inspirationfor Bali Hai in Michener’s novel Tales of the SouthPacific, and then to the island of Pentecost. I havewanted to come to Pentecost ever since I saw agrainy black and white film of the naghol, or landdiving, on television as a child. The precursor ofmodern bungee jumping, it is a rite of passage forthe local men and is supposed to guarantee a goodyam harvest. It entails some poor unfortunatethrowing himself from a high tower secured only by a couple of vines.

The naghol can only be carried out in the rainyseason when the vines are sufficiently supple.The jump was once attempted out of season in 1974, during a visit from the Queen of England

and her husband, Prince Philip. On one jump thevines snapped and the jumper was killed. Historyhasn’t recorded the prince’s response but it mayhave been the only time the old bugger smiled onthe entire trip.

I haggle a lift to a guesthouse. My room is madefrom woven bamboo matting and has no electricityand no mosquito nets. The interior walls don’t reachthe roof and there is no glass in the windows. Theyare closed only by badly fitting shutters. I amalready sporting a number of huge mosquito bites that are beginning to get infected.

I walk through the village to inspect the nagholtower. It is under construction on a steep hillside,giving the impression of being even higher than it actually is. The earth of the hillside is dug up tocushion the landing. I sit for a few hours watchingthe preparations before walking back to the

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get in the know! The intoxicating drink brewed from the kava root remains popular on Pentecost Island. ISSUE #13 get lost! #41

The sound of the platform breaking is hauntingand the boy hits the ground with a thump.

’’

’’

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#44 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! Simon Bolivar, known as “the George Washington of South America”, liberated Venezuela from Spanish rule.

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intheHOOFPRINTSof

CONQUISTADORSMark Eveleigh undertakes a breathtaking crossing of the Venezuelan Andes on horseback.

text: mark eveleigh

images: mark eveleigh

get in the know! El Dorado was a mythical city presided over by a South American chief who was said to cover himself with gold dust. ISSUE #13 get lost! #45

venezuela

WE SPURRED OUR HORSES ONWARDS IN ANeffort to get to shelter before nightfall.Palm-fringed beaches lay only 160

kilometres to the north but the Caribbean tradewinds had chilled dramatically as they reached thesteep Andean slopes. It was easy to appreciatethe feelings of fear and respect that thismountain landscape, with its eerie swirling mists,evoked in the first Venezuelans. The high sierraswere seen as the domains of evil demons and thephrase “pasar el páramo” – to cross the highlands– is still synonymous in local slang with death.

From up ahead, I could hear the shouts of themuleteers as they drove the cargo animals over the ridge. The remainder of our motley mule-trainstraggled down the winding trail. Far below, I couldjust make out the red jacket of Paul Coudenys,riding a ‘rearguard action’ against the risingafternoon mist. As the owner of the strangely, if memorably, named Hippo Trek, Paul has ridden in 50 countries. Yet this was to be his first Andean

crossing. At around 4,400 metres, we wereprobably the highest horsemen in the world at

that moment and we were almost certainlythe first foreign riders to follow

this route since the Spanishconquistadors blazed this

trail in their quest for themythical El Dorado.

We did however havethe benefit of five

hundred years ofhindsight, and to

give ourselves


venezuela

#46 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! Venezuela has won Miss Universe four times and has had the most semi-final entrants after the USA.

dismount to lead our horses across a chain ofswaying suspension bridges.

I had ridden in much faster and tougher conditionsin other countries but soon realised that, despitethe lack of galloping space, horseback was the idealway to experience these mountain trails. Comparedwith stumbling wearily over slimy trails under theweight of a loaded backpack with eyes fixed on theroot-strewn track, horseback jungle trekking canseem like an almost sinful pleasure. Even along thecloud-forest trails of Venezuela, I was able to seemore jungle life than I could ever remember seeingon foot. “There are no handles to a horse”, the authorof an early riding handbook advised his readers,“but the 1910 model has a string to each side of itsface for turning its head when there is anything you want it to see”. I let the horse take care of the walking and kept my eyes occupied with thequicksilver flight of hummingbirds and orchidsthat I never would have noticed on foot. As anadded bonus, I had a mobile stepladder fromwhich to pick wild guava.

We spent a whole morning on a steep, slipperyclimb through the cloud forest but, at mid-afternoon on day five, rode out into a region ofwide grassy meadows where the horses brokeinto a cheerful canter. We suddenly realised that we had left the treeline and were on the highpáramo. Spiky-headed frailejón plants and lichen-covered rocks replaced the dripping lianas andmoss-shrouded trees of the tropical forest. Wewere now more likely to see a wheeling condor than a flock of bickering parrots. The countless

time to acclimatise to the altitude we were making the ride in reverse, uphill direct. Where theconquistadors had the only horses on the entirecontinent, our ‘pioneer column’ was able to hire teamsof more than twenty fresh mounts and cargoanimals for every new section of the trail so that therewould be no need to force lowland horses into activityat dangerously high altitudes. I quickly discoveredthat it felt safer on these steep mountain trails, oftenlined with sheer drops, to be leaning forward over thehorse’s neck rather than lying back over the swayingrump. We also had the guarantee of a warm bed – orat least a sleeping bag on the verandah of a ranchito– and a nightcap (of even warmer Venezuelan rum)at the end of each day’s ride.

Horseriding is a great ‘leveller’. There is muchless class difference apparent between a rider

and an arriero (muleteer) than there is between a trekker and his porters. The isolated villages that we were passing through survive onlybecause of the mule-trains that ferry produce and goods along the mountain trails. The animalsare crucial to survival here and, despite the factthat we were ‘rich tourists,’ the mountain peoplewere able to relate to us because of our mutualreliance on the animals.

We already seemed an entire world away fromthe ‘Eden’ that we had ridden through earlier in theweek. We had left the swampy cattle-country of LosLlanos and within three days had climbed into thevirgin rainforest that shrouds the branch of theAndes known as Sierra Nevada. The Canagua River,rushing to join the mighty Orinoco, began to tumblewith increasing ferocity and we often had to


get in the know! English progressive rock group Procol Harum, best known for ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’, also had a hit with a song named ‘Conquistador’. ISSUE #13 get lost! #47

won a $1,000 bet by riding 1,300 kilometres fromNew Mexico to Missouri in less than eight days. He killed three horses and two mules in the process.The famous Central Asian explorer, Sven Hedin,took it almost as a matter of course that a singleexpedition cost nearly 300 horses. Today’shorseback travellers and most horse-relatedtourism operators are doing their best to put theanimals first. Even the careless outfits in thedeveloping world are, to some extent, beingforced to cater to the foibles of animal-lovingtourists who complain about mistreated horses.Reputable operators like Hippo Trek are alwayscareful to make the welfare of the animalsparamount. We changed to fresh horses every day. An unexpected advantage of this equestrian‘promiscuity’ was that we had the opportunity tomeet and travel with muleteers and guides fromalmost every village in this part of the SierraNevada. Each of these little bands had an intimateknowledge of the dangers and highlights of theirown section of the ancient trail.

The conquistadors found nothing to keep them in this area and the local population has waned inrecent years. One in three Venezuelans now live inthe capital, and in every village that we rode throughboarded-up houses stood testament to a growingexodus of campesinos toward the slums of Caracas.The town of El Carrizal was an extreme example ofwhat is happening all over Venezuela, once one ofSouth America’s richest countries. Founded 150years ago, El Carrizal quickly grew to a successfulfarming village with rich harvests of bananas,

’’

exploration as for contemplation, but we nowenjoyed short, exciting canters across flat Andeanmeadows. During one such gallop my highlandmare was accompanied by her stallion (a packhorse) and their yearling foal that dashed in front,kicking up his heels like a gangly bronco. I whooped and waved my hat as my privatestampede charged across the meadow.

Many historical horseback explorers looked upontheir mounts as no more than expendable pieces of equipment. One nineteenth-century ‘adventurer’

hummingbirds that had buzzed around us in thesteamy valleys below were replaced by a singlehardy and unique species that hibernates everynight to survive the cold.

After several days cocooned in the forest, thewide-open spaces of the mountains were vaguelyintimidating and we initially spoke in hushedtones. The muleteers knew the narrow trail thatzigzagged endlessly upwards as la carretera (the highway). Our previous steady but slowprogress provided as much opportunity for

The famous Central Asian explorer, Sven Hedin, took italmost as a matter of course that a single expedition costnearly 300 horses.

’’

’’


#56 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! Great white sharks have litters of seven to nine pups.

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get in the know! The number of shark attacks in New Jersey in 1916 inspired the book and the film Jaws. ISSUE #13 get lost! #57

south africa

IT’S COLD, REALLY COLD. THE FREEZING ATLANTICcreeps in around the neck of my wetsuit.However, that isn’t why I am struggling to

breathe. I’m scared. Really, really scared. Adjusting my mask as the salt water spits off

the side of the bobbing boat I ask myself whether,in the scheme off things, this is really necessary.I have lowered myself slowly into a cage thatbarely seems large enough to hold a seal. Thebars of the cage are thinner than I think theyshould be, the gaps between them wide enoughfor my knees to slowly drift through. Beyondthese bars, I am surrounded by a deep, darkgreen sea: home to a pure eating machine.

Three days earlier in Cape Town, full of red wine bravado, I had bragged of my desire to dive

text: justin jamieson

images: loukas hapsis + justin jamieson

Justin Jamieson braves the cold waters off the coast of Hermanus, South Africa, to come face to face with a great white.

with the great whites to any and all that wouldlisten. I thought I sounded like the crusty oldcantankerous sea dog, Quint, from the feature film Jaws. It was only later, as we drove down the coast road towards the picturesque beach townof Hermanus, that I remembered Quint’s fate: he was bitten in half by the title character of the film. This was the moment where I recognised the first sensation of fear.

Hermanus is like an old film set, perched on a cliff overlooking the raging Atlantic and filled with pricey eateries, old seafood dens, rustic pubs and a mixture of luxury, retro andbackpacker accommodation. A couple of hoursfrom Cape Town, it is the beginning of the Garden Route, South Africa’s equivalent of

I am surrounded by adeep, dark green sea: hometo a pure eating machine.’’

’’


#58 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! Dogs kill more people each year than great whites have killed in the last 100 years.

Victoria’s Great Ocean Road. The number of shopfronts adorned with plastic sharks atteststo the fact that diving with the great whites has become a tourist magnet. Wandering the clifftop esplanade we are drawn to a littlecluttered window that promises the ultimateshark experience. The cage and the wet-suitedmannequin draw us inside. It is here that wemeet Kim Maclean, otherwise known as the Shark Lady.

to myself while acknowledging Kim’s point with a suitably disapproving eco-friendly nod.

We meet with Kim the following morning to be driven to the base house at the launch harbourfor a quick briefing on the day’s proceedings. This includes a run down of the ‘do’s & don’ts’. The number one ‘don’t’ is reaching through the bars to touch the sharks. No kidding Kim.

It is mid-February and we are told that not onlyis visibility not great at this time of year (the besttime to dive is May to August) but there is noguarantee that we will see a shark. However,Jacques the skipper smiles and reassures us that not sighting a shark is pretty rare. “In fact,the day before yesterday there was a frenzy of activity and a three-metre shark actually raninto the side of the cage”, he says excitedly.My bravado of the previous day ebbs further away.

We board our boat. I am immediately alarmedwhen I see the cage that is strapped to the rear.Its bars appear very thin. They also look bent in all manner of directions. I ask Jacques whathappened. With an unsettling grin he explainsthat sometimes the sharks think that there is more food in the cage. As sure as I am thatJacques is merely stirring me up I decide thatI don’t like him.

It is Kim’s passion that convinces us to join her dive. A pioneer in the business, Kim has been in the game since 1992 and is a strongadvocate for eco-friendly diving. Judging by theother dive operators’ brochures this is the newmarketing point of difference. In the ‘old days’,Kim tells us, dive operators would lure the greatwhites out of the water and punch them in thesensory organs located under their noses,sending the sharks into a frenzy. Cool, I think

south africa


get in the know! Great white sharks have about 3,000 teeth. ISSUE #13 get lost! #59

With a swell rolling in placidly from the depths,our vessel lolls easily as we venture further fromthe shore. I wonder if the queasiness engulfing me is seasickness or the onset of a shark phobia. I suddenly recall the scene from the beginning of Jaws when the skinny-dipping girl is jerkedrapidly under water by the first bite. I remember the severed leg sinking to the bottom of the ocean after another attack, but mostly I rememberRichard Dreyfuss’ character, Hooper, assembling his cage and Quint asking: “What d’ya have there – a portable shower or a monkey cage?”

Hooper: “Anti-shark cage.” Quint: “Anti-shark cage. You go inside the cage?” [Hooper nods] Quint: “Cage goes in the water, you go in the

water. Shark’s in the water. Our shark.” Quintbreaks into “Farewell to ye...” with a wrylyincredulous smile on his face.

We anchor and the crew mixes up some slop that isthrown over the back of the boat. A huge slab of meatis tied to a thick rope and hurled over the edge before,to my amazement, a small, child-shaped piece ofwood covered in wetsuit is repeatedly thrown ontothe surface of the water. “Looks like a seal”, explainsJacques. “It casts a shadow that attracts them.”Looks like a small child in a wetsuit, Jacques.

Suddenly there is panic. One of the othertourists has spotted one of the beasts. The boat lurches as we all push to the viewing edge.My first thought is similar to that of the leadcharacter played by Roy Schneider in Jaws: “Weneed a bigger boat!” Jacques yells, “Quickly, getin the cage, get in the cage”. I feel like yellingsomething back at him that might get me thrownoff the boat. Instead, I am madly pulling on mywetsuit and bracing myself for the ice-cold water.I cry out as the water slides up to my armpits,pretending that I am reacting to the cold. I am not. Three metres away is the fin of a three-metregreat white moving towards my cage, in front of which Jacques is dangling the slab of meat. I definitely hate Jacques.

’’

In the ‘old days’... dive operators would lurethe great whites out of thewater and punch them inthe sensory organs locatedunder their noses...’’


#96 get lost! ISSUE #13 get in the know! Varanasi is believed to be one of the oldest continually inhabited cities on the earth.

with the ticket inspectorswhen the ticket holders went to get them. When we still didn’tmove from our seats, the ticketinspectors saw our bluff and played theirtrump card: armed security guards withalcohol on their breath. This prompted areconsideration of our strategy. We went to sit on our bags along the aisle near theend of the carriage.

However, my colleague was not one to admitdefeat easily. He and I found the nearest ticketinspector and informed him that we werereporters in the process of researching a storyabout travel within India. We noted that we had ameeting to attend in Varanasi the following day.When asked for proof of our claims, we played ourtrump cards: entry passes for the Mumbai office

of our newspaper employer. The attitude of the ticket inspector changed immediately. Withsomething approaching an apologetic tone, heexcused himself and returned about ten minuteslater to inform us that he was sorry but therewere no spare seats at all on this train.

What he had done however was to call ahead tothe railway station in Tundla, further down the lineand the nearest junction between two differentlines. He had also requested that a train comingfrom a different location but bound for Varanasistop there and wait for our train to arrive in order

to transport two foreign journalists.Upon arriving in Tundla, another

train was onthe next platform

waiting for us. The ticketinspector collected us and

after some goodbyes to our gob-smacked comrades, we were escorted

aboard the other train and shown to our newseats. We settled into our well-earned conveyanceand slept for the majority of the trip to Varanasi.To top it all off, we pulled in to the station three hoursbefore our original train was scheduled to arrive.

So never mind what Kenny Rogers says aboutknowing when to hold ‘em and knowing when tofold ‘em. The moral of the story is simple: play yourcards right and you can go anywhere.

THEOF THE PRESS

P WER

IWAS WORKING IN THEadvertising department of amajor national newspaper in

Mumbai. A Dutch colleague and Ihad arranged to spend a few weeksbackpacking around the north of thecountry and had made it to Agra. Wehad tickets for the overnight train fromAgra to Varanasi. As the train pulled upto the station a little before midnight,something did not seem quite right.

According to the ticket, we had seats in the second-class sleeper carriage S3.Walking alongside the train we counted the carriages: S1, S2, S4, S5... no S3. Uponfurther investigation, we learnt that carriageS3 was faulty and would be out of commissionfor a month. The official line on how we were tonow get to Varanasi was “not my problem, getticket refunded”. As most of the disgruntledwould-be passengers were beginning to form a lynch mob, a few of us decided to throw cautionto the wind and get on the train anyway. It seemeda better option than trying to find somewhere to stay in the wee hours or sleeping in the opentrain station.

Our band of authority-flouting travellersincluded a couple from Melbourne, a Swedish guynamed Thomas and another Dutchman. We foundsome spare seats and began to make ourselvescomfortable for the long trip from the Taj Mahal tothe banks of the Ganges River. We had a sharedsense of accomplishment at ‘sticking it to the man’and a confidence in knowing that we could overcomeany obstacle that travel in India could throw at us.The confidence lasted until the next stop.

It took about half an hour for us to go frombeing comfortable heroes to being people sittingin the wrong seats. The train quickly went from fullto overcrowded. People with tickets bearing our newseat numbers appeared and the bluffing began.Our first ruse was to play the dumb tourist,convinced that these seats were our own. We arguedthe case firstly with the ticket holders and then

text: johannes norton

images: johannes norton

Any poker player worth their salt knows that it takes two things to take the pot: the balls to bluff your opponent and the cards to back it up. Having one will give you a chance and having both will get you where you want to go. This is how I played my hand...

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