An ode to the little bat

We were walking down into a cave, near Khao Yai park.  The air clung to my skin, and breathing became less pleasant. This was a cave used by Buddhist monks for meditation. I expected that this would make it feel better, calmer, more spiritual. But the shrines had disappointing, tacky Buddhas, plastic flowers and badly-painted Hindu gods, glowing blue in fluorescent light. I couldn’t imagine spending time meditating here, for one minute. 

 

We walked further into the cave, and I heard a shhhhushhhy, fluttery sound.  I concentrated on this, and gasped when I realised there were dozens of bats, flying every which way through the cave, sometimes centimetres from my nose.  “Don’t worry,” said Tommy, our guide. “They never, never run into you because of their sonar.”  I decided I had no choice but to take Tommy at his word.

 

 

 

Tommy shone his flashlight up on the roof of the cave, and there were countless bats, their wings drawn up around their bodies. Some were sheltering little baby bats, their eyes shining in the light. Tucked against their mother, who was herself tucked into a crevasse, these tiny creatures were shivering slightly, protected by the translucent casing of their mother’s wings.

 

I was reminded of the time a small brown bat was trapped in our cottage. I screamed in the dark as I felt it swoop across my face, waking my dad in the room downstairs. With the lights on, the little bat clung to the bedcovers. I was still terrified. My dad caught it in a pail. We looked down at it, examining its light furry body, its delicate little wings. It was chirping and shivering.  I realised then it was probably scared. We let it out into the night air, and it flapped away.

 

I didn’t get used to being in the cave, but I felt calmer.

 

 

 

After about 30 minutes of exploring the cave, seeing and sensing many more bats, we climbed out, and into the truck. Tommy drove us to the hills. These rose above endless cornfields, now lit golden in the late afternoon sun.

 

We drove up a red dirt road and stopped. Tommy said that we were below a series of caves, which were full of millions of bats. Their guano was extremely valuable, at about 1 dollar a kilogram. The competition to have the rights to collect the guano, which is used as fertiliser, was stiff. Tommy assured us we wouldn’t want to go into these caves because of their smell.  We were content to look up at them, and take in the beauty of the landscape. 

 

“The show is beginning,” said Tommy, as he gestured to the sky.

 

And in the air was a thick, black ribbon, streaming out of the cave. Hundreds of thousands of Frilly-Lipped bats were making their regular evening  sortie out of the caves, and towards the shadowy hills of  Khao Yai park. The stream sailed into the distance, the bats perfectly aligned as they dove down, and up, and down into a corkscrew spiral. 

 

Tommy explained that they flew in formation this way to scare away birds, which were waiting to pluck them out of the sky.  This snaking line of bats would continue for a full hour. He said they would stay out and eat insects for four or five hours, and then return individually to the caves.

 

This sight was truly wondrous. Here are some photographs and videos below. You can hear the flapping wings. 

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

 

There are many things on your face…

Before getting to the things on your face, I wanted to congratulate my wonderful sister-in-law, Fiona, for her show opening this week! Her exceptional work is featured in St Kilda, Melbourne, at the Linden Gallery.  We wish we could be there to see it, but based on the sneak previews we saw via email, I have no doubt that this is yet another fantastic installation. If you’re in the area, go!

 

Now, in a land far far away…

 

We drove past a massive pile of dung. “Very big, very freshing!” said Mr A., our intrepid trekking guide. “Elephant!”

 

The Asian elephants are amongst the best things to see in Khao Yai National Park, and are just one of dozens of animals, birds and insects you can spot. The park is a 2100 square kilometre marvel, just two hours by bus from Bangkok. I’m writing this on the bus ride back to the city. Julia is listening to one of her favourite new Linny mixes “Alexa the Bee Girl.”   We were both amazed by the park, and the incredible diversity of life on our planet.

 

The park visitor centre reminded me of those I’ve seen in Canada’s national parks – rustic wooden buildings containing panels written about the flora and fauna.  Much of the information was very clear, but I wasn’t sure what to make of this sign.

 

 

The park itself was the first national park in Thailand, established in 1961. The topography includes deep valleys, thick with bamboo, and hills rising to 1200 metres, blanketed with knotted green forest canopy. There are streams and rivers pitching down steep lush waterfalls, and open grasslands, with grasses so high a machete would not be out of place. 

 

We swayed in the back of a safari-style truck, while Mr A perched on the open tailgate, watching constantly for wildlife. “This is my office,” he gestured across the park. At his urgent call, the truck would jar to a  halt, and he would deftly pop off, and prop up his Nikon  Monocular “Quick! Fast, come! Hornbill!”

 

Impossible to see with our untrained eyes, the massive bird was perfectly clear through the monocular. The Great Hornbill’s wingspan is up to two metres. The male has blood red eyes with ink-black pupils. The female has a red ring around her eyeball. They mate for life.

 

 

 

This bird suddenly hopped up and took off, the heavy branch springing like an elastic band under its weight.

 

A little further up the road was a tiny snake, warming its cold blood on the pavement. Mr A nudged it gently with a small stick. The snake spiked to attention, head up like a cobra. There are cobras and giant pythons in the park but we only saw the one snake that day. Other critters include massive scorpions – we saw a dead one on the road, about 6 inches long. My favourite was the “rolly polly”, a short fat centipede-type creature, which rolls up into a little ball to resemble a brown stone the second it senses danger.

 

Fluttering between bushes were wispy spider webs. This spider is the Golden Weaver. The little red guy is her husband.

 

 

 

We parked and were told to put on our “leech socks”. These fit over your own socks and pants, and tie at the top just below your knee. We then set off into the forest for a 2 hour trek.

 

Every few minutes, Mr A would stop, and scan the forest tops with his binoculars. When he spotted something, up went  the monocular. He would quickly focus, and tell us to have a look. There were giant black squirrels – about a metre long, which danced through the branches.  And many birds of every colour– too skittery to photograph.

 

 

 

The forest itself was alive everywhere. Vines swirling around trees like snakes, butterflies sailing past your nose, caterpillars hanging, millipedes gliding. There were plate-sized “Elephant Ear” leaves curled and rotting. And fig trees, some more than three hundred years old, their roots divided and separated to look like many trees when there was just one.

 

 We stood for a long while under these trees, Mr A. was certain that we were on the verge of spotting something.  “Look, gibbons!”  We didn’t see them as much as felt them – their deft swinging from the treetops audible over the hum of the cicadas. Leaves and branches dislodged by their travels falling through the canopy, gently dropping through  the foliage.

 

White-Handed Gibbons live throughout the park. They each have a territory of about 1 square kilometre , and travel in families of five or six.  They are completely arboreal, which means they never come down to the ground. In the mornings, you can apparently here their song – a mournful call. Mr. A. can perfectly mimic many bird and animal sounds. While we were waiting to spot the gibbons, I heard what I was sure were the animals themselves. Then I noticed Mr A.  holding up his cellphone – playing recordings of the gibbons he had captured on earlier visits.

 

A few more minutes of walking. And again Mr A. stopped, and pointed. This time, we could see without the monocular. Two gibbons were perched on a branch in clear view. One was carefully picking through the others’ fur. A few minutes of this and they would change position, reversing the roles of groomer and groomee.

 

A third gibbon came along, swung onto their branch, and off again with equal grace. The other two kept working on each other. As this was going on, Julia noticed a big leech on my back. She bent to pick it off. We were learning from the gibbons.

 

We loved the day in the park.  We also saw pig-tailed macaques. These, like squirrels and chipmunks at home  are quite tame, and wait at the  roadside for tourists to feed them. We swam at the same waterfall where Leonardi DiCaprio (or his body double) jumped off in The Beach.

 

And just when we thought we had seen it all and were digesting a late lunch, Mr A. drove back to the rest stop. “Come, fast fast fast!!”, he yelled. “Elephant, elephant, elephant!”

 

We jumped in the truck, and the driver took off, taking the turns and hills at speed. The truck halted at a bend in the road, beside a spot where the trees and foliage had been completely trampled.

 

And there he was, right in front of us. A male elephant, about 700 kilos, raising his trunk to pick at leaves. He was majestic and beautiful, white tusks jutting into the air. He ambled a little deeper into the forest, and with each step was harder to see. But we listened to his footsteps, and his insistent leaf gathering for several minutes. 

 

As the sounds faded, Mr A bid him adieu. “Thank you elephant, thank you.”

something’s gone terribly wrong

When we boarded the plane for Koh Samui, a guy in the front row had a t-shirt we both noticed. It was the classic human evolution drawing you would have seen many times, with the first drawing of an ape, walking with hunched shoulders, knuckles dragging on the ground, the next neandrathal man, with stooped shoulders, followed by homo erectus, who had a slightly better posture. And finally homo sapien, shoulders back, neck long, walking tall. The last image was different – the artists view of our current state of evolution. It was a guy hunched over in front of the computer, shoulders collapsed, an uncanny resemblance to the ape in the first image.

The tagline was “something’s gone terribly wrong.”

We were on the way to a yoga retreat on Koh Samui. Yoga Thailand - run by a fellow who is a certified teacher in “mysore style” Ashtanga yoga. I am late on the yoga train – I could count the number of times I’ve done sun salutes on two hands. Julia is much more experienced, and I have always appreciated her approach to the practice as one dedicated to strengthening the inner spirit, along with your muscles.

I did know that my neck and shoulders were feeling far too much like the guy on the t-shirt. Pain and tightness driving. Pain and tightness sitting at the computer. Neck too tight to look over my own shoulder comfortably. My body was this way so long, it felt normal.

I am guessing that given the way we slave in front of the screen these days, many many of us experience this kind of tightness and pain. Something indeed has gone terribly wrong.

We have been at the yoga retreat for four days. We loved the food and wine in Italy, but didn’t really like the soft rings the pasta left around our middles. Here, we eat “clean” food – organic, vegetarian, not too spicy. We get up at 0630 to do breathing and meditation for an hour. And then onto the yoga itself.

It is hot and sweaty here all the time. I don’t really know what I’m doing. My so-called “poses” are miles behind everyone else. But after these four days of trying to stretch a little bit further, sit a little bit taller, and breathe, the tension in my neck and shoulders is almost gone. I am amazed.

In the afternoons, our teacher – a very knowledgeable and practiced guy called Clayton Horton – answers questions we might have, and then leads us through a few postures. We finish up about 615. Today, he looked outside as we were finishing, and said “bring your mats everybody, quick!” We did. “Sit somewhere where you can see the sun setting.”

So we all sat there on the beach, and watched the big red ball. It made me think of a warrior, now peaceful, steadily dropping his shield. As we sat, a small motorized fishing boat chugged across the rippling water. The boat crossed in front of the sun as it grazed the horizon, in splendid silhouette. The sound of its engine faded as the sun set.

And all the while I thought, something is terribly right here.

coffee? no thanks.

Just a quick one so that I remember the lessons we learned today. These are lessons we probably learned before, and forgot… 

* Coffee and juice in the nice hotel corner bar here in Bangkok will run you 20 USD for two people. They were double espressos, but still…

* Lunch – vegetables, noodles, chili chicken, rice and water in the little restaurant across the street from the nice hotel bar is 3 USD. Yes, that’s for two. 

Lesson? Way less espressos on this leg of the journey. We’re not in Italy anymore!

*  Bargaining is fun. Kind of. Actually it’s not really fun. They start you off WAY too high. But way too high isn’t really that much, relative to what you  have. But you’re bargaining, so you have to counter with something really really low.  And then there is the theatre – the seller is so so disappointed. “Give me price that’s good for ME, and for you!” You go higher than the rubber sandals are really worth. The seller is still disappointed. But agrees and is sulky. And you walk away feeling like a cheap bastard. And ripped off too.

Lesson: Bargaining is part of life here. We need to get used to it!

 So far, so good. Looking forward to our yoga retreat! Sending love to friends and family around the world. 

 

Ciao Piemonte!

First of all, I feel somewhat uncomfortable writing this post about the fantastic food and wine in Piemonte, when people in Burma are wondering where their next meal is coming from, and now thousands of people in China have died in an earthquake.

But I also want to write about the wonderful people we met in Piemonte before the memories have faded.  

We went to this region of north-western Italy on the advice of friends, and many of the places we visited were on their recommendation. So Dick, Kristin and Matt, thank you –  your advice truly made our 2.5 days in the region hugely enjoyable. 

First thing to say about Piemonte is that it’s not that pretty. But it’s really not so bad looking either. If you took the rolling hills, vineyards, and fields of barley of Tuscany and scrunched them up into about one tenth the size, you would have the prettiest parts of Piemonte. The hills are lovely, they are just smaller and closer together. The vineyards are beautifully manicured with the vines in perfect rows, but there just aren’t as many of them.  Even the kilometres seem shorter in Piemonte – I swear it took less time to drive five of them there than it did in Tuscany. 

The second thing to say is that the hospitality is truly the warmest I have experienced in Europe. This started at Villa La Favorita, which is a lovely B and B just outside of Alba, and is run by a fantastic woman called Roberta. The place itself is gorgeous – a wonderful old, grand and comfortable house with gorgeous gardens and its own little vineyard. When we arrived Roberta brought us ample brochures, maps, and her own suggestions of the things to see and do. But she knows how to go easy. “Go to the Montforte region and plan to spend the day,” she implored. “Don’t overplan. Just let the day come to you.”  She also poured us hefty glasses of her own wine – a fresh fruity red from the Grignolino grape, native to Piemonte.  

We asked her for recommendations for dinner that night. She suggested Eno Club which is on a main square in Alba. The service was fantastic, the food delicious. Piemonte cuisine is known for being influenced by the French – mainly I think because it includes the use of many creamy sauces. We had a bottle of Barbera D’Alba from Sottimano. It was completely reasonable, and delicious. Dick had recommended this producer, and we deliberately sought out more Sottimano bottles from the village of Neive, close to his vineyards. When we asked for it, the shop keeper was enthusiastic: “Sottimano, Number one!” Andrea Sottimano also seems a real gentleman. I had written very last minute to see if he might have some time to show us his caves the next day. He replied a day later, apologised for not having seen his emails, and encouraged us to drop in next time we were through. This we found was very typically kind behaviour from the wine producers of Piemonte.  

We did visit two caves near Montforte, about 25 minutes from Alba. The first was Conterno Fantino. Here, we were both completely charmed by Fabio Fantino, who is 25. Dressed in a “Barolo boyz” baseball cap, jeans and a sports jersey, we both assumed he was helping at the winery. We didn’t know he had been to Alba’s “wine high school” and that he was carrying on his dad’s winemaking tradition.