So Long, and Thanks for All the Injustice

So, apparently the world’s ending today. Maybe it’ll all end up looking like this? On the upside, it’ll make things a lot simpler for landscape photographers, because you won’t end up with people barging into your frame, or unwanted vehicles, or anthropometric clutter, or people telling you to stop standing in their field.

Also, the skiing will be killer without all those lift-lines. Especially for those of us smart enough to preposition ourselves with seal-skins and randonée bindings.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t. NASA‘s certainly pretty adamant that it will be a very ordinary Winter Solstice for most of us. In fact, Dr Karl Kruszelnicki presents my personal favourite quote on the whole conversation about theories the world will end today:

On the 21st of December, inconveniently only two shopping days before Christmas the Mayan calendar will click over. But to say the world will end is like saying today’s date is the 29th and therefore your cut lunch will turn into a shoe. That’s how rational and logical it is.

However, for some of us, it will be the end of the world. In a very personal sense, for some of us, our world will end: We will die today. In fact, around 70 million people die each year, which means 190-odd thousand people are going to die today. It is a part of the world we live in. Most of these deaths are natural, just a part of growing older and moving on. For friends and family members, this is often a time of grief, although can also be a time of celebration for a life well lived, under gracious circumstances.

For many people, though, their world will end too quickly. Far sooner than it ought. Their deaths are preventable, in as far as contemporary science and medicine are concerned, but due to a range of injustices- many of them economic, some of them social, others political- they will not have access to the services and technology that might have saved their lives. For example, today:

Roughly 13,000 of us around the world will die because we don’t have access to clean drinking water or sanitation facilities. We will get diseases, most involving diarrhoea and vomiting, dehydrate and die.

Around 1,800 of us will die of malaria, just a small portion of those who will die from a long list of preventable diseases. Around 3,800 children under five will die from vaccine-preventable diseases alone today, and 4,900 people will die of AIDS.

As many as 98,000 people in the world today- as much as half the daily total- will die from causes related to hunger and malnutrition- including that deadly interplay of malnutrition, unclean water and disease.

You get the picture. And that’s just today. Tomorrow, the same thing will happen, the same number, roughly, will die. And the day after that. And the day after that, too.

We have the resources to stop these deaths. And we’re doing it. In terms of disease control especially. With the right regime of drugs, nutrition support and care, HIV/AIDS is no longer the death sentence it used to be. Child mortality in Africa has recently been noted to have fallen significantly, as this widely-acknowledged piece in the Economist from May this year points out:

16 of the 20 African countries which have had detailed surveys of living conditions since 2005 reported falls in their child-mortality rates (this rate is the number of deaths of children under five per 1,000 live births). Twelve had falls of over 4.4% a year, which is the rate of decline that is needed to meet the millennium development goal (MDG) of cutting by two-thirds the child-mortality rate between 1990 and 2015 (see chart). Three countries—Senegal, Rwanda and Kenya—have seen falls of more than 8% a year, almost twice the MDG rate and enough to halve child mortality in about a decade.

Access to clean water is improving in many parts of the world (though in other parts of the world it is falling as water sources become increasingly polluted or used for agricultural production), and emergency interventions by the World Food Program, NGOs and Governments keep millions of people alive each year. We know that world has enough food resources to feed everybody- in fact, we’re producing 17% more food per person today than we were 30 years ago, and that’s despite a 70% population increase (or a good hefty 3 billion-or-so people)- a total of over 2,700 kcal per person per day, enough to sustain the world at the recommended level for adult males in the USA (2,700 kcal, versus females at 2,200 kcal), and well above the recognized average minimum requirement of 1,800 kcal.

We have the resources. The problem is distribution. Which in turn is an issue, as Amartya Sen, the Nobel-prize winning economist pointed out long ago now, of entitlements. In short, power, and will.

There have been many victories in the journey towards solving some of these problems. We still have a long way to go. The situation remains unacceptable. And we’re facing an uphill struggle in many areas. The increasing extremes and erratic nature of global climate patterns are having a direct and tangible impact on marginal communities around the world, and will exacerbate both hunger and water issues, especially in sub-Saharan Africa and large swathes of Asia. As industrialization and technology become increasingly available in poorer, populous parts of the world, demand for unsustainable lifestyles is increasing, resulting in dissatisfaction and the risk of extremism and violence. Industrialization and the intensification of agriculture is reducing the supply of clean water available to maintain healthy people even as water facilities are rolled out to higher and higher portions of the world’s population.

In short, this isn’t a problem with a fixed horizon. This is a constantly moving equation, one that requires continual recalibration.

We won’t fix it today. We won’t fix it tomorrow. But we need to try.

As you head into the Christmas period, I don’t expect us to save the world. But I do ask that we consider the question of what we can contribute to make the planet immediately around us a little better. Is what we’re purchasing really necessary? Has it come from a place of injustice, like the technology used in cell phones contributing to conflict in the DRC, or will its disposal simply add more non-biodegradable poison to the planet? Is there something I can do to help people far away who are not able to meet their basic needs, whose world could well end in the near future despite the human race having the potential to stop it? Or is there somebody closer to home who I could support? Only each of us as individuals can answer these questions. But I’d like to think that this season, this Silly Season of over the top purchases and wild conspiracies about the end of the world, is far better represented by asking these questions honestly of ourselves, and then acting.

Shalom, Salaam, Peace (for those of you without a Babel Fish). Merry Christmas, and see you on the other side of the Apocalypse.

Photo: Burning rubbish tip outside Bahir Dar, Amhara Region, Ethiopia

Taita Taveta

A handful of shots from a village in south-eastern Kenya. May 2012.

NGO-funded water kiosk. Villagers travel by foot and bicycle for many miles to purchase water from the tapstand managed by this kiosk. The system was installed via a combination of NGO, government and community-raised funding. Several years ago, the management of the project was handed entirely over to the community, and it continues to operate as planned, with revenue from the sale of water going back into maintaining and even expanding the existing water distribution network. It was an encouraging success to see at work, and a moment of sustainable development to be proud of.

A bicycle leans against a mud-brick building in the village centre.

A fruit and vegetable stall in the village centre.

Handwashing, and other Epiphanies

The things of your daily existence inure you to the meaning behind them, becoming mundane and unremarkable, until they have little value beyond the objective. I think this is true for all of us, and why for many of us, we crave things like change, travel, newness- a job, a holiday, a relationship- to stay enthralled by life.

From an outside perspective, we often perceive something to be more attractive than it might feel from within. I suspect there are probably people who feel that about my life as an aid worker (although possibly not if they follow this blog for long…). I get to travel, I get to see interesting things the world over. But even for me, the things I experience, after a time, grow commonplace. So commonplace that I often fail to really see what they’re about.

Sometimes, though, you reconnect with something you’ve interacted with many times before and it strikes you in a new way. This happened to me a couple of days ago on a field visit in southern Kenya.

I’m no stranger to field visits. I’ve been variously taking part in them or hosting them for the better part of a decade. There’s a general formula to them, and while they can be stimulating and a real improvement over sitting at my laptop screen, sometimes they can be downright tedious. Courtesy visits, social obligations and awkward conversations where you try to avoid coming across as patronizing, all the while wondering whether these community groups actually want you showing up at all, and whether you’re doing anything useful in the first place.

So too you see the same old stuff. Ask the same old questions. Field the same old queries.

School buildings. Farmers’ associations. Community empowerment groups. Water management committees. Boreholes.

Not to say that some of these aren’t worthwhile interventions, that they don’t produce really positive results for communities, or to forget that they’re employed time and again because, in the right circumstances, they actually work.

Not to say also that you don’t sometimes come across something innovative and inspiring that makes you think again about the cynicism that often plagues this career after some time.

But when I was told that as part of a field trip we were visiting a school to see where we’d installed a water tank, some latrines and a couple of handwashing stations, I have to say my heart didn’t tumble in somersaults of glee. We’re going to get to drive 45 minutes along dirt trails (actually I don’t mind the driving bit, there’s stuff to look at) just to see a couple of concrete structures and some kids washing their hands. Awesome.

I’ve seen this stuff before. Ten bucks says I’ll see it again before very long.

And sure enough, we get to the school. A primary school in the middle of the bush, five hundred kids and change, milling about between classes, staring at the weird white guy and his entourage dismounting from the four-by-four to go look at a big concrete water tank.

It’s a big concrete water tank. And it’s got our logo on it.

Yup, there goes the white guy and his entourage. Looking at the water tank. Now crossing the school ground. Now going to check out the toilets.

Yeah. I don’t feel at all creepy. Checking out kids’ latrine blocks. They’ve got our logo on them too.

And look, they’re pretty nice latrine blocks. Well constructed. Our logo again. Much nicer than the old latrines. And clean inside. Doesn’t mean they don’t stink. They do stink. Pit latrines tend to stink, any way you build ‘em. And five hundred kids using a dozen dry-drop latrines, well, just be glad I can only use words to share my experience.

Outside the toilet blocks, the little portable handwashing stations. A blue plastic tub on a metal frame with a tap at the bottom. Not too different to something you’d take camping. Only the handwashing station has no water in it. It fits sixty litres, but right now it’s empty. On the ground, a damp patch where the sand has soaked up the runoff. Butterflies are flitting above the mud, sipping at the moisture like shimmering strips of windblown tin foil.

Not much use, handwashing stations with no water in them.

Not to worry, the teacher said, that was normal. It was lunch time, middle of the day. They usually run out of water by lunch time. And sure enough, along came a couple of the older girls with a jerry can filled up from the water-tank, to fill the hand-washing station back up again.

And I guess that’s when it all started to click for me.

You see, I know all this stuff. I write it in proposals, I see it reflected in purchase requisition forms, I approve the tender bids or I read about it in reports. Of course, hand washing stops disease from spreading. Sure, schools are nicer to go to when there’re decent latrines to use.

But no, really, stop and think about it for a moment. Five hundred kids, in a semi-arid, water-scarce landscape, spending eight hours of their day crammed together on this one property. That’s a lot of toilet breaks. That’s a lot of poo. That’s a lot of germs.

Maybe it’s because I’ve got a seven-year-old at primary school now. I found myself imagining her in that location. How would I feel if these were her facilities? Okay, I guess. They’re not the nicest, but they serve the purpose. They’re safe, they’re kept clean (by the kids themselves, no less), they work. Not as comfortable as the sit-down flush commodes we’re used to in Australia, for sure. It’d take some getting used to. But okay.

But how would I feel if she didn’t have these facilities? How would I feel if I was sending her off to school for the day, knowing that she had to use a dirty, stinking drop latrine or, worse, had to scurry off into the bush to go to the toilet? How would I feel if she couldn’t wash her hands when she’d finished going to the toilet- especially in a part of the world where toilet paper may not be used? And knowing that she was in that environment with five hundred other kids, all doing the same thing, none of them able to wash their hands, heading off to eat their lunch, sharing all those germs?

I’m not a germ freak. I’m not the kind of guy who has to use antiseptic wipes every time I shake someone’s hand. In fact I’m a big believer in letting kids get exposed to germs from the get-go. Build a good immune system. Don’t polish every surface in the house with disinfectant just so your child doesn’t get a sniffle, or you’re going to be buying hypoallergenic pets for the next twenty years. I believe one of the reasons I have a pretty rock-solid constitution when I travel is because my parents didn’t freak out if I put dirt in my mouth.

But we’re talking real germs here. Cholera. Escherichia Coli. Acute Watery Diarrhoea. Typhoid.

Stuff that kills kids. By the hundreds of thousands. Stuff that, in a water scarce environment, is even harder to treat and to avoid.

How would I feel sending my child into that environment?

And I figured it out. I mean, not just connected the dots in an analytical fashion. I mean, the work we’re doing here actually hit me, emotionally, in a way that meant something.

This is important.

We’re making a difference.

Something so simple: a little blue watertight container with a tap at the bottom. A few simple messages. Wash your hands. And kids can come to school without the threat of becoming infected. Parents can know that their childrens’ practical, physical needs of the most basic kind, are being met.

Health. Dignity. Simple stuff like that.

If I had to, I could send my child here and not be frightened for them.

It’s funny how you forget this stuff. Take it for granted. I guess I’m so used to seeing it in project designs, walking around villages and seeing these activities in place, they’re almost invisible now. So normal.

We take for granted the ability to turn on a tap and get clean water out of it. That doesn’t make it any less a blessing. So too I take for granted that we do things like put water tanks and latrine blocks in schools. Shrug it off.

Yawn. It’s just what we do.

Walking back down to the Land Cruisers, I was still the weird white guy with an entourage, checking out the kids as they queued up at the little blue wash stations to rinse their hands before lunch. But it made sense in a different kind of way. I was actually glad I came. Glad I came to see a concrete water tank with our logo on it, and a little blue bucket on a stand, and a bunch of kids staring at me wondering what I was doing in their school. I’ve seen it dozens of times before. But this time it actually meant something. Refreshing. Like a nice cool glass of water.

I wonder what else we’re doing every day that we’re not seeing, that’s hiding something precious.

The Play of Mists

Another collection of photos from a recent ballooning trip over Victoria’s gorgeous wine-growing Yarra Valley one early spring morning.

Perhaps the most gorgeous aspect of the trip was the mist at dawn, and how it interplayed with the landscape as the sun rose, transforming the landscape and changing the mood as it changed.

From the ground, the pattern of the mist is harder to discern, but from 3,000 feet, it’s beautiful to watch it steaming off waterways in the cool morning air, spreading like a threadbare cotton blanket over the ground, or catching long shadows from the sun low on the horizon.

As we first took off, we passed over a small flooded waterway. The sun was still below the horizon, and we were low enough that the mist still wrapped us. I took a first shot of the mist running off the water (below), and as we skimmed along its surface, snapped the image at the top of this post of reeds reflected in the still surface. Still low, I shot a third image of  a tree at the water’s edge (beneath), again enjoying the utter stillness of the water’s surface as the balloon breezed over.

As we gained height, the waterways gleamed silver against a dark green backdrop, while mist clumped over low, damp areas.

As the sun first began to rise, it sent low shafts of light across the valley, catching treetops and lighting the topside of the mist while depressions remained in shadow. These next three images show the interplay of light and shadow, of mist, tree and water. You can see the mist boiling off the top of the rivers and ponds, much warmer than the cold air sitting atop them, like steam off a cauldron.

As the sun rose further, the mist began to burn off, swirling in those pockets of sheltered vale where the air was still and the sun’s reach weaker. The patterns left in the air look like currents in a slothfully meandering stream.

In this shot, you can see the local airfield as the mist slowly burns away.

Sometimes, as in the below image, the relationship between warm water and cool air was obvious, reminiscent of boiling lakes in Rotorua or Yellowstone, circles and puffs among the striations of ploughed fields.

Poplars slice upwards through the fug and sunlight streaks between the boughs, casting long shadows across the top of the mist.

As we come back down and the sunlight grows stronger, it seeps through to illuminate the ground, where strong colours struggle through the bleaching mist. Here, rows of vines and orchard trees greet our descending balloon, and a few minutes later we’re through the mist and back on terra firma, watching the last tendrils of fog burn off to a blue sky.

Synaesthesia: The Sound of Water

I love the notion of synaesthesia. In its most simple definition, it’s the notion that something we experience through one of our five senses (smell, sight, sound, taste or touch) can trigger an experience in one of the other senses. Neurologically, it is a rare condition in which neural pathways have somehow become confused, and the sense receptors taking in one set of data interpret it as a different set of values altogether. So that somebody listening to a musical concerto might experience the musical notes as flavours on the tongue. Somebody smelling a bouquet of flowers may instead sense the aroma as flashes of colour. It’s a marvellous, mystical notion (for those of us who don’t suffer from it) and really piques my imagination. (And for readers of paperback fiction, Dean Koontz’s “Intensity” features a particularly creepy villain who experiences synaesthesia).

As a photographer, it’s my aim in taking and sharing a photograph that my viewer takes away an experience from looking at the image that goes beyond the simple arrangement of coloured pixels. At the very simplest, I want to convey some kind of emotion. That might be awe, at the beauty of creation. It might be shock, or something that forces the viewer out of their comfort zone and forces them to confront a new reality. It might be a sense of longing or excitement, a wanderlust as per the title of this blog, or the recollection of a fond old memory.

I started taking photographs- much in the same vein with which I started this blog- because I wanted the people close to me, who I couldn’t take with me on my travels, to experience a little of what I was experiencing. I wanted, through my photographs, to take people to the places and let them feel, on some level, as though they accompanied me. It’s both a gift I hope to give to those close to me, and the fulfillment of a selfish need- not to feel alone when I journey.

My ultimate desire is for somebody to be able to look at a photograph and, on some level of subconciousness, to be able to project themselves through the frame until they have a sensory experience as though they were standing there beside me as I captured the image. Deep, sensory, emotive, real. A synaesthesia of sorts.

Not every photograph conveys that, of course. And the fashion in which an experience might be conveyed will differ with the subject, the style, and the quality of the image. Some photos might pack a more emotive punch, while others might trigger familiar memories, and others still might be more sensory.

This collection of shots I’ve taken over the last few months are all of water, and I’ve found that for me, they’ve tickled the edge of this spectrum. I explore them with my eyes, and I start to hear the water passing through the image.

For a change, I won’t flood this page with words, but will let you assign your own vocabulary to whatever the sets communicate to you.

The first collection is a series I shot at Huka Falls, in New Zealand’s North Island near Taupo. The second is from the area around a small waterfall on the edge of Otway National Park in southern Victoria, just off the Great Ocean Road.

One of the things I like in the second set is the juxtaposition between noise and silence, movement and stillness.

Fish Soup (It’s Been a While)

I’ve not really been underwater since leaving PNG, which was where I really developed a love for diving.  I also learned to be comfortable (mostly) in the water.  I’ve always been a good swimmer, but what lurks beneath the water, out of sight, has always scared me a little.  Not until I saw my first shark (a cute little black-tip) did I realise that the wildlife under the waves is overwhelmingly beautiful, and something to be cherished, not feared.

In Fiji I managed a couple of dives, and a good deal of snorkelling on one of the most spectacular beachside reefs I’ve ever had the joy of splashing across.  I re-acquainted myself with some old fishy friends (you’ve already seen my latest Anemonefish post- bless their stripey orange socks), as well as meet some new ones.

A little sampler below.

First off the mark is an old favourite.  This colour-strewn fellow is known, for painfully apparent reasons, as the Picasso Triggerfish.  He looks rather as if a box of crayons has vomited on him (similar things could be said about the work of his namesake, if you ask me).  As my old diving buddy Jan continuously points out, Triggerfish are notoriously territorial, and it’s well worth keep an eye on what they’re up to when you’re in their territory.  However the Picasso is not generally among the most aggressive species (at least in my experience).  They are, however, incredibly flighty, and I was very chuffed to be able to get this shot before he shimmied off among the coral branches.  I am always delighted to find one of these flitting around the reef, as they are visually stunning to look at.  One I’ve seen for years, but never fails to delight.

A bit of trivia, for those not in the know: The Picasso Triggerfish, and its similarly patterned cousin the Reef Triggerfish, together share the honour of being the State Fish of Hawaii.  In the native Hawaiian tongue, they share the polysyllabic but oh-so-delightful-to-recite name of Humuhumunukunukuapua’a (“triggerfish with the snout of a pig”).

This ethereal beauty is a species of Reef Squid (I have no idea which one).  I’ve seen squidlets around on dives before, but I’ve never seen this species, nor anything quite like its enchanting behaviour.  Nearly translucent in the water, they drift with an almost tangible silence, the fins that surround their body undulating to propel them forwards.  Or backwards.  I’m not actually sure which end is which.

We came across them as they approached us in a curious line, almost like a flight of aircraft on a recce.  Again quick to flit off, eventually they came back for another curious gaze, and hovered in the water just below us.  On the third or forth occasion that they delighted us with a swim-past I managed to get a series of shots which I was very pleased with.  You can clearly see the delicate markings on the larger shot, while processing the other image for white balance and colour temperature revealed a pink-red hue that was quite unexpected but utterly wonderful.  One of the stranger wayfarers we stumbled upon on the reef, but certainly one of the more wonderful.

Next up, another tried and true favourite.  Known to Nemo fans as Scar, and regretfully voiced by Willem Dafoe, the Moorish Idol is commonplace to many tropical reefs- but is by no means common in appearance.  (For clarification, I have nothing against Dafoe- in fact, very much enjoy his on-screen presence; but his gravelly voice is far too sinister to represent such a gorgeous fish).  While the fish itself is seen often, many people don’t know its name, and assume it is a type of Bannerfish, or an Angelfish (justifiable because of its spectacular appearance, not because it bears any resemblance to the various species of Angelfish, which are markedly different).  The yellow-black-and-white patterns also resemble some species of Batfish, though on the latter- which is larger- the colours are far more muted.

This photo isn’t about to win any awards, but like many other fish on the reef, the Idol doesn’t stay idle for long.

This is a Three-Stripe Damselfish (Dascyllus Aruanus).  I don’t have much to say about it, except that they’re very pretty.

The Three-Stripe has a little cousin, the Reticulated Dascyllus.  These much tinier fish are often seen congregating around coral plates and outcrops, and have a terribly delicate appearance- very lovely to watch.

And this one is a Royal Angelfish.  REALLY pretty.  I like these ones. 

These next two shots are of another favourite, the Blue-Green Chromis.  Here they’re flitting among the branches of a coral thicket.  They’re beautiful fish- they swim in shimmering shoals near the surface of the water, darting down as one unit with a gleam of shining flanks that looks positively metallic (hence the name).  Out of direct sunlight, the strong colour of their scales really shows up.  They’re a delight to snorkel amongst, always hovering just beyond the tips of your fingers as you drift past.

Another commoner- so common I don’t even know its name- is this stripey fellow.  I leave you with this one, and a cheeky little face-off from our regular guest here, the spunky Anemonefish.

Blue Lagoon Beach Resort: The Real Slice of Paradise

The last time I wrote about Paradise, I was being more than a little ironic. PNG was far from my idea of a good time- however pretty the pictures look. The post was hard, I struggled with the culture and the professional isolation, and for all the good diving and some of the good folks I spent time out there with, it was still a relief to move on to a different stage in my personal and professional life.

I went to Fiji in July. It was my fourth trip to the little island nation. I went once for a family holiday in 2001, followed by a couple of work trips in 2008 and earlier this year, and this latest trip was a combination work-play. The first two weeks were to be spent helping manage an interagency disaster simulation for NGO staff in the Pacific across half a dozen agencies, as well as Fijian government representatives. The third week I was to be joined by my [now] fiancee for a bit of relaxation on a small island.

I’ve always figured Fiji for a nice enough place, without being really special. It’s a bit synonymous with package holidays and honeymoons, a sort of upmarket Bali with fancy hotels belying a fragile national economy. We booked into a resort hotel based on input from TripAdvisor, and despite the glowing reviews I was a little dubious. The idea of packaged meals and a resort-style trip (something I’m not at all familiar with) left me a little uneasy.

Besides, I’ve been to a lot of places. Over 50 countries worldwide. A whole bunch of beautiful beaches and coastal holiday areas- Cairns, Noosa and Sydney in Australia, dozens of places in New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands, Thailand, Sri Lanka, Haiti, Hawaii, Tahiti and Mombasa- to name an incomplete list. I’ve snorkelled or dived in most of those places, swum and relaxed or sunbathed (to some extent) in all.

So when I say that the Blue Lagoon Resort in Nacula is as close to beach paradise as I’ve come across, I know what I’m talking about.

Overview

Where to start? I’m a bit overwhelmed really.

Well, first off, an overview. A brand-new resort, Blue Lagoon pitches itself as a mid-range option to independent travelers that suits budgets of better-off backpackers and flashpackers and young families. It’s quite boutiquey- probably around sixty guests at any one time- and it’s a ways out there too- some four and a half hours’ boat ride from Nadi, and at the top end of the Yasawa group of Islands off Vitu Levu’s west coast.

Nacula is a decent-sized island about 10km long and maybe 2-3 wide at its widest. The resort is situated on a beach shared with one other low-key resort on the west side of the island, giving it stunning views at dusk as the sun sets over the Pacific.

And the beach is the one you’d create if you had a drawing board and 10 million years of geological time at your disposal.

It’s an arc of white sand sloping from a green verge into a turquoise lagoon of calm warm sea. The lagoon itself slides away on a shallow gradient where a natural channel has formed through the coral reef, while small waves lick quietly at the shoreline.

More on the reef presently.

I’d heard nice things about the resort, but had a feeling that, based on the slightly backpacker-ish pitch of some of the material I’d read (they have a backpackers dorm as an accomodation option) I was concerned that maybe the rooms would be a little pokey. I’d settled myself with the thought that even if the rooms were a bit small and/or run-down, the main attraction was being out and about on the beach, so I steeled myself for the worst.

Unnecessary.

The Place

The rooms are delightful. We booked a Delux Garden View room, set back a row from the beach among lush and flowery growth, riddled by sandy footpaths. Stepping inside, the bure was large and spacious, with a high open ceiling, fan, wooden slat-blinds that allowed free-flow of air, and an open-air bathroom with magnificent shower. It was clean, new, well-built, and smacked of simple quality.  It was light. It was airy. And sitting on the foot of the bed, you could look straight out of the front door and (despite not being an sea-view room) see the irridescent aqua of the lagoon itself.

Really, once you hit location and accomodation, you don’t need too much more than that to go right to have a good time. None the less, there was more.

I’m not a fan of Pacific cuisine (sorry to any of my island readers out there). A year in Melanesia didn’t overwhelm me with vibrant culinary experiences, so I was a little suspect at having to package all our meals in with the accomodation, and face the prospect of not getting to choose off a menu. But again, this was completely unnecessary.

The food is great. A wide variety of styles- curries, fish, western, asian and Pacific- is on offer, with meals varying each night of the week, and a limited a-la-blackboard menu option at lunch time as well. The dishes themselves were nearly universally tasty, and the variety and volume left nothing to be desired. You do need to plan ahead a little, as meal-times are set and there aren’t stacks of between-meal options, but we had a little heap of biscuits with us that we never made it through, testament to being well fed. Communal eating didn’t really appeal at first (dinner takes place at shared tables- gasp!), but the barefoot vibe of the place (and the travellers frequenting it) facilitates a really chilled-out opportunity to get to know people.

The Experience

Never a package-holiday traveller, I wasn’t particularly interested in the daily activities that the hotel lays on, but in fact they had some fantastic little trips available, of which we partook several. Snorkelling trips to explore other nearby reefs, sunset and drinks on the sandbar (we missed this one, sigh), a hike up to the island’s highest peak (beautiful views), and a handful of cultural visits as well were all on the menu. A must-do trip is to the Nacula Caves, which involves a series of swim-throughs of saltwater limestone caves at the top end of the island- not for the claustrophobic, but otherwise a unique and fantastic morning which everybody enjoyed.

An aspect of the resort which we really appreciated was the attitude of the management. Run by Australasian expats, the management are accessible, friendly and helpful, and mingle easily with the guests. The local Fijian staff are warm, welcoming and hospitable, as well as being very professional. It’s the sort of place where you get to know the staff by name- and they you.

More to the point, the resort prides itself on its links to the local communities on the island- something that we found especially important in terms of our own values in this area. As well as trips which incorporate, employ and interact with villagers, the resort runs a scholarship fund for students on the island to which cover costs of fees, uniforms and school supplies, as well as contribute to the maintainence of the school facilities. Guests are invited to contribute to the fund, and the resort will match dollar-for-dollar whatever is donated. There is a sense of respect and interaction between the resort and the village, which I hope the management will be able to maintain as the resort ages.

I would be wrong not to return to the lovely reef. Quite aside from the access to a number of dive-sites in the area via the on-site dive-shop (do the shark dive), the snorkelling is, well, unlike any other beach snorkelling I’ve done. While I’ve seen a handful of reefs that are more vibrantly coloured close in to shore (but only a handful), the diversity and volume of fish-life was a delight, and never this accessible, anywhere. If I reel off a bunch from memory, there were Triggerfish, Moorish Idols, Parrotfish, Chromis, Anthias, Unicornfish, Sweetlips, Jackfish, Dascyllus, and a host of other reef favourites. The more special visitors included a shoal of Reef Squid, Stingrays, a huge Octopus and a metre-long Barracuda- all within 10 metres of the beach itself! The reef is accessible at high- and low-tide (and in fact the reef life differs at the two extremes, worth checking out), and more to the point it’s a joy to swim along; the channel provides a shallow sandy-floored passage that drops to a couple of metres in depth for a long way out into the lagoon and which is very comfortable to swim along, and the reef raises a wall along the southern edge of that passage where most of the action is. It’s a safe, enjoyable way to investigate the sea life, and we did it every day, and loved it.  For sheer accessibility to a really exciting reef, this can’t be emphasised strongly enough.

As I referenced in an earlier post, I proposed out at Blue Lagoon (and would have been hard-pressed to chose a better location for it). Before heading out, I dropped Kylie (one of the managers) a note letting her know my intentions and asking if there was anything a little special I could arrange with the hotel’s help. She was most supportive and immediately gave me a list of options, including a lobster dinner for two on the beach (away from the horde), and the option of having a picnic on a secluded private island nearby- both of which I seized upon and both of which were thoroughly enjoyed.

Some Balance, Please?

Words of moderation? Well, a couple probably. First up, once you’re on the island, you can get away without paying much more, but the temptation will always be to do things and have drinks, and these will add up. You don’t use cash out there, everything gets recorded in a book and you pay up at the end, so if you’re not keeping track you could be in for a bit of a surprise- nothing (except some of the activities) is particularly cheap- although it’s not extortionate by resort standards either. That said, having food taken out of the equation is a pretty good thing, and we managed just fine with our bill.

My biggest fear for Blue Lagoon is that as word gets out, the place will get a little overrun. The reviews on Trip Advisor are pretty rave, and with good reason- this is a very special place right now, and somewhere that we will never ever forget (not just because we got engaged out here). It’s been open less than a year. I’d love to think that the management will be able to maintain the relaxed vibe several years into operating with high demand and through-flow, but it’s not impossible to imagine it getting a bit worn-out, so I’d recommend getting in sooner rather than later.

And, well, the cocktail list could probably be improved on. But really, when you’re four and a half hours from the mainland and everything has to come by boat, you can understand why these things might be a little lacking, if that’s your thing.

All up, this was probably my best single hotel/resort experience, mixing a lovely blend of quality, relaxation, activities and experience, all at a very reasonable price. My hat goes off to the team running the place as they’ve created a really special location with a perfect unpretencious vibe. Great for travellers, flashpackers and families with a reasonable budget, this goes right to the top of my list of ‘places you should visit in the Pacific’.

Verdict

Accomodation- 5/5 Light, fresh, new and spacious. The open-air shower has to be experienced to be understood. A range of really pleasant options from budget through laid-back comfort, this isn’t the Denerau Hilton, but why would you want it to be? Ask for Garden Villa 11 and get sea views thrown in for free.

Food- 4/5 Great taste, decent lunch options and a good range of evening meals, despite not having any control over the dinner menu. This would be a total win if there were more between-meal snack options and a wider range of drinks at the bar, but really, I’m just looking for things to quibble about because there’s really not much else to add balance.

Location- 6/5 Amazing reef, gorgeous beach, sunsets and tropical vibe- this has to be one of the best-located resorts in the Pacific. What can I say to the Blue Lagoon’s detractors? Would you like the hotel moved a little to the left?

Activities- 5/5 Relaxation is key here, and relaxation and swimming are free, but the creative options for daily activities mean that for those unable to entertain themselves still have an option to keep busy. Do the cave trip. Not for adrenaline junkies- but hey, this is Fiji. If buzz is what you’re after, Queenstown is to the south. And there’s always the shark dive.

Vibe- 5/5 Just brilliant. Beanbags in front of the open-front bar, barefoot dresscode, bonfires on the beach, and a general emphasis on chill-out throughout. And small enough to keep it personal. Really, really lovely.

Management- 5/5 Friendly, accessible, helpful, flexible and professional. What more would you ask for?

Ethics- 4/5 It’s refreshing to see a resort pay more than just lip-service to supporting local communities. It’s hard to know what impact a throughflow of western travellers will have on the island’s economy and environment, but the fact that they invest in local education is a great thing, and the friendly disposition of both local staff and local villagers we interacted with suggested that the attitude is more than just a marketing ploy for the time being.

Value- 5/5 Value is an entirely subjective term. I appreciate every dollar we spent at Blue Lagoon and don’t have any regrets, as we came away with a set of beautiful memories and a great time. It’s not the cheapest option out there, but my word do you get what you pay for in terms of location and vibe.

Blue Lagoon also gets an extra 5 points from me for that little extra something for laying on a really special time for us as we got engaged. Just fantastic.

Thanks guys for an amazing stay.

Details

You can check the Blue Lagoon website here for tarrifs.

Room rates start from FJD 40 per night for a dorm bed, through lodge rooms at FJD 140, and villas ranging from FJD 209 through to the delux ocean-front villa at FJD 449. Food packages are included at FJD 70 per person per day, and return transfers to the mainland, FJD 276. (FJD 1 = AUD 0.57; FJD 1 = USD 0.51)

All up, it means a mid-range stay option for two adults for a week comes in at around FJD 2,000, so if you couple that with a good flight deal from Australia, it can be quite accessible- though is by no means at the bottom end of the price scale. Worth every penny, in my opinion, but everyone values different things.

Of course for a different extreme in the travel stakes, check out a couple of my tales from West Africa. Now there’s a cheap way to have a travel adventure…

Wat-er Mess (or, Why Society is Once Again Seriously Screwed)

I’ve always been a bit of an environmentalist. From a very early age I’ve had a thing for the rain-forests, and later, a desire to be environmentally concious and relevant. I guess going through grade school in the 1980s meant that I imprinted a whole lot of those social awareness messages- especially growing up in Geneva and surrounded by the UN and other international organizations. At university I studied environmental issues in depth at both undergraduate and postgraduate degree levels- right down to examining journal articles analysing ice-core samples, pollen records and isotopes found in the shells of prehistoric crustaceans. So when ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ was released to much global chatter ten years later, I didn’t learn anything I hadn’t already concluded from the research I’d dissected years earlier.

That said, being convinced of the need for humans to be environmentally courteous, it’s still a challenge to know how to do this. Trade-offs abound. Hidden costs are everywhere. I recycle. In the past I have tried to exist without much use of a car (though living in the sprawling suburbs of a city with a rotten public transportation network- Melbourne- this has proved extremely impractical now). But I’m also aware that for my job I travel vast distances by airplane, and this probably puts me into the more pollutant-contributing members of our species- a fact I try to justify through what I do, but the fact remains.

Water is a huge issue. It ranks as the second most essential ingredient for human life to continue, after oxygen. It is an extremely limited commodity which is being depleted globally, and the worldwide distribution of which is being negatively impacted by changing climate patterns. It has long been predicted that future conflicts will be driven by the struggle for control over clean water resources.

The state of Victoria, where I live, has been struggling with drought for over a decade now. In this interactive graph provided by Melbourne Water, you can see how water levels in dams and catchments have fallen from the period 1997-99 (top 3 lines) to the period since 2007 (bottom 3 lines). We are in city-wide water restrictions at Stage 3, which restrict activities such as watering gardens, using hosepipes, washing cars and filling pools (watering gardens, for example, can only be done twice a week on designated days, using a watering can; cars cannot be washed, except for spot-washing of windows and mirrors where visibility is being affected, using a bucket and sponge).

I have always tried to do my bit. Campaigns call for 4-minute showers, and as a guy I don’t find this hard to comply with. I find I can’t take a shower now- anywhere- without mentally keeping a check on how long the water is running for. I see the value in water and I do want to conserve it.

My struggle has been wondering how much difference this sort of choice makes. I have always been sceptical. For example, it’s all very well if I restrict my water usage, or even if all households in Melbourne restrict their usage and cut back, but what sort of a difference do we make when there’s no evident transparency around the amount of water going into, say, agricultural irrigation schemes, or industrial production. In my mind, it was quite possible that 80% of the available water was going into these other things, so unless work was being done to curb water use in other economic activities (which, of course, I could see as being highly unlikely politically due to desires to maintain economic throughflow) then my efforts might very well be the proverbial drop in a bucket.

I did see a statistic at one point that suggested that household water usage accounted for about 50% of state-wide water consumption, against agricultural and industrial production. This made me feel a little better. I could see the value then in making some personal sacrifices. After all, every litre saved is a litre in itself and has value. Having lived and travelled extensively in the third world, having watched people queue for eight hours to fill up their buckets, or women and girls spend hours each day gathering water to survive, I understand how precious each of those litres are. Heck, I’ve done my time washing out of buckets on a couple of litres a day. I get it.

But at the back of my mind has always been the hidden environmental costs that go into every facet of daily life. It crops up in a variety of ways. For example, when you buy a product that’s come from overseas, it’s been transported at an environmental cost. Has it come by plane? By sea? What about the various components that went into it- did they also travel to a point of manufacture? And the packaging? Without a detailed environmental audit of every product (someday I hope to see this on packaging much like we take nutritional information for granted today), it’s impossible to tell.

Good examples of this are organic foods. Touted as better for the planet, in fact this isn’t strictly true. Yes, they reduce the amounts of chemicals we’re pumping back into the soil. But in fact, the earth doesn’t have enough fertile land area to be able to produce enough food using strictly organic techniques to be able to feed our burgeoning population. If we converted all available land to grow organic foods and stopped polluting with chemical fertilizers, pesticides and other agents, tens of millions of people (and more) would rapidly starve to death- because in fact those pesky chemical fertilizers do vastly increase the yield of food per hectare that we can produce.  Trade-offs.

Another example is ethanol fuel. It’s plugged as an environmentally friendly alternative to gasoline, and is mixed in with regular gas as the ‘green’ option on the forecourts. However the processes behind ethanol production involve vast amounts of land area converted to sugar-cane. Demand for ethanol is accelerating the destruction (by fire) of the Amazon rainforest in Brazil and the commercial exploitation of the residual infertile land for sugar-cane farming is devastating the soil quality, resulting ultimately in unsustainable practices, poverty traps for small farmers, and desertification. It is, in the long term, horrible for the environment, and I’ve stopped putting ethanol into my tank as a result (although the whole thing is a trade-off; which environmental cost is higher per litre of fuel- burning down rainforest and desertification, or pumping out higher levels of carbon fumes from my exhaust? It’s not easy to find out).

I was both fascinated and chilled to read a story last week on the BBC website about water use in Britain and how water use in developed countries was creating shortages in the developing world (not the story itself; that’s old news. But the details within it). They had taken just one resource- water- and applied exactly the above thinking to it: What is the hidden cost behind the products we take for granted? They call it “embedded” water usage- namely, how much water goes into producing said item- watering the crops that are the raw material, washing goods ready for commercial availability, involved in chemical processes, etc. There is an awesome interactive graph (yes, I like these things), and it displays per unit, and per kilo of product.

An example. A single sheet of paper takes 10 litres of water resources to produce, while a kilo of paper, around 2,000 litres (think about that the next time you by a ream of paper for your printer at home). For reference a bathtub takes on average 150 litres to completely fill. Melbourne’s household water target per person per day is 155 litres (and water statements here now come with little graphs showing how close your household water usage has been over the past quarter to that target).

Another example. A loaf of bread takes about 440 litres. Per kilo, bread requires about 1,000 litres.

Or take a cup of coffee. To make a single cup of coffee, 140 litres is required. Think about how little actual coffee goes into a mug- just a few dark grains at the bottom of the cup (or jammed into the espresso machine). To make a kilogram of coffee- get this- the report says it takes 21,000 litres. 21,000!!! When you see those lovely-looking 10kg hessian sacks of smooth polished coffee beans sitting by the counter at your local Java-juice dispenser to add a little ambience and authenticity, consider the fact that it took 210,000 litres of precious water just to produce that one sack. In perspective, that’s about what a thoughtful household in a western country might use in a year. It’s also the volume of a moderate sized swimming pool. 10kgs. It’s crazy.

Here’s one more. Jeans. This one freaked me out. To make a single pair of jeans- get this- it takes 10,500 litres. For one pair! This kills me! I never want to buy a pair of jeans ever again! And I like jeans! I have a good buddy who works for Levi’s here in Australia! But I can’t get over this number. It’s mind-blowing stuff.

Society is seriously screwed.

Anyways, that’s my rant for the day. Hopefully not too much doom-and-gloom in there. But at the same time, hopefully something to think about the next time you buy something.

And in all seriousness, I can’t wait for the day that all our commercial products have environmental information printed on them, just like today we can read the nutritional information. If we want to keep not just our bodies but our society and our world healthy, I think this is absolutely critical.

Shalom, Salaam, Peace.

Photos:

1. Fill: A Haitian man fills a water container from an NGO-installed water-point on the island of Gonave, off the coast of Port-au-Prince.

2. Industry: Steam billows from an industrial smokestack in western Melbourne.

3. Stain: Saline water stained brown flows out into the sea in northern New Zealand.

4. Outback: Australia’s outback landscapes support it’s moniker as “The Dry Continent”- the most arid landmass on the planet.

5. Stage III: Hosepipe bans and garden watering restrictions are hallmarks of Melbourne’s Stage III water restrictions.

6. Gathering Water: Haitian women and children gather at an NGO-installed water point to collect water.

7. Shade: A boy shelters from the burning midday sun in the Sahelian drylands of southern Niger during the 2005 famine.

8. Therapeutic Feeding Centre: An infant waits to be registered at an NGO-run therapeutic feeding centre for severely malnourished children during the 2005 famine in Niger.

9. Stream: Steam blows from industrial smokestacks, western Melbourne.

10. Pouring Water: A Nigerien girl fills clay jars of water from a deep well.  Girls and women in Sahelian Africa spend many hours of each day gathering water for their households- first hauling the heavy liquid up from wells and bores, then transfering it to pots which they then carry back to their homes one by one. 

To see more of my photography please check out my Gallery here.

Winebottle on Wineglass

I came across this wine bottle lying in the sands of Wineglass Bay, Freycinet Peninsula, Tasmania.  The contrast, namesake, and the subject itself were too much to pass up.

Besides, a bottle on a beach always gives rise to imaginings of castaways and messages scrolled up behind cork bungs- very appropriate for the sparse sands of the exquisite Wineglass beach.

The gorgeous palette of blues that arose in the water behind made me want to capture this image, and in this shot I chose to underexpose, then post-process for high blacks, vignetting, and a high-contrast curve.  The effect is a lomo-esque image, with a shallow depth of field focused on the waves, throwing the bottle out of sharpness somewhat.

The bottle itself I found lying at the tide mark.  I stuck it myself into the sand for visual effect.  In such a pristine environment as Wineglass Bay I certainly don’t condone littering (it’s quite possible the bottle washed up onto shore, but judging by the intact label I’d guess it was abandoned there, sadly)- but in this case the refuse proved to make for an interesting photographic subject.  Other than the bottle, the beach was almost unblemished, and absolutely breathtaking.

Frozen in a Moment

I went with friends A and M to the waterpark the other day.  We had a glorious sunny day (with a chilly wind), and M in particular was more excited than I have ever seen a child get- quite literally quivering with excitement at the sight of the coloured slides and water-drenched playgrounds, prancing like a pony on the spot while she waited for the sluggish adults with her to keep up (or not).  She had a great time.

Water makes for an awesome photography subject at almost any time- its textures, the way it changes, the way it plays with the light…  There’s a myriad of different combinations, each of them unique.

In a flash of brilliant foresight I took the WP DC-21 dive case for my Powershot G9 so that I had a splashproof camera.  In the case I don’t get as much control over shutter-speed and aperture, so I set it on Program, had it underexpose the shots slightly by default, and let the camera chose its settings.  In the bright sunlight, the camera compensated by choosing a fast shutter-speed.

I spent a bit of time at the bottom of some of the slides catching M and A as they hit the splash-tray at the bottom.  And splash they did.  Even the process of taking the photos was fun, as spraying water slooshed over the camera lens- and my nasal passages to boot.

With the fast shutter-speed, the camera froze the sprays in beautiful moments of physical expression.  Strings of loosely-associated water-droplets hanging in space, great shimmering sheets of translucent fluid frozen like ice in a moment of time, and the beautiful fluid contours that to the naked eye break apart quicker than we can take them in, but captured by light sensors, remain like some crystaline architecture.

These shots are some of my favourites- made more fun by the bright colours of the playground themselves.  I’m especially fond of this last shot and the way M’s face is (by pure chance) framed by the tube of hurtling water.

Note: Click the photos to see more detail.

How to freeze splashes with the camera:

It really comes down to Fast Shutter Speed.  The faster the shutter speed, the sharper the droplets of water will appear (i.e. the less distance they will be able to move during the time the shutter is open).  Speeds around and beyond 1/1000th of a second will give best results.  Increasing the shutter speed obviously decreases the amount of light getting into the camera (a shutter speed of 1/1000th of a second lets in half the light photons of 1/500th of a second- obviously) so you need to be able to compensate for this.  Shooting on a sunny day will allow faster shutter speeds (but you can’t always control this).  Increasing your aperture (to numbers like f/2.8) will allow more light in so you can balance the faster shutter-speed.  Likewise increasing your ISO (from, say, 100 to 400, which allows the image to expose 4 times quicker) also has the same effect.

Note the downsides.  Shooting on a sunny day can lead to high-contrast photos (bad for portraits, as a rule) and if you shoot into the sun, expect backlighting effects (like the black-and-white, above), lens-flare, overexposure or a loss of colour.  Increasing the aperture reduces the depth-of-field (the amount of the image front-t0-back which is kept in focus)- when shooting close to the subject you’ll find that as little as a few inches of the photo only are sharp, while the rest falls quickly out of focus- great artistic effect if you nail it right (or get lucky- see the last shot).  Increasing ISO adds ‘noise’ or ‘grain’ to a photo (depending on how good the sensor is) so shots may appear of a lower quality.

If you’re not comfortable managing your camera’s settings on fully manual (M) mode, and the automatic (A) mode isn’t giving you the results you want, set the camera to the time-value (Tv) mode, which lets you directly control shutter-speed while automatically compensating the other exposure values to give you the parameters you want.

Note that to get the right moment of splash and the best sprays, you need to get the timing right.  Pre-focusing the camera on the point of impact is your best bet.  Pre-focused, most SLR cameras are instantaneous so it comes down to your reflexes.  If you’ve got a point-and-shoot or compact camera, these have varying delays (even pre-focused) so you’ll need to be familiar with these.  Alternatively you can set the camera to multiple-exposure mode and hold down the fire button.  A good camera can take several frames per second (depending on the motor/drive and the format of the exposure (RAW, hi-rez JPEG, lo-rez JPEG) and can capture several shots of action to give you a good chance of getting the shot.  Most point-and-shoots have slower drives and often have long delays between frames so you could miss the fun.

Of course, you can just point, shoot and hope for the best.  That works too.