World Travel Guide Online

In the search for more unusual, out-of this-world travelling experiences, travellers are being lured to the ends of the earth to find the most eccentric, wacky and exciting activities, sights and venues. So if you’re fond of a tipple or two, you might want to try one of these bars. Their locations and gimmicks are sometimes enough to pique your interest, but add alcohol to the mix and you’re in for quite a fun time. Here are 13 of the world’s most strange, exciting and different watering holes that will leave you thirsty for more.

1. Clinic – Singapore

Many people don’t like visiting hospitals so this bar might be a little questionable in taste for some. Clinic is a hospital themed bar located within the shopping and entertainment district, Clarke Quay.

It’s not surprising that the architect of the bar was wacky artist Damien Hirst, famous for such works as the cow in formaldehyde. The pill shaped rooms are all interlinked and are designed to give a drug ‘trip’ effect. Guests can drink from test tubes and IV bags, sit in wheelchairs instead of sitting on bar stools, lie on hospital beds with white curtains, and boogie on the capsule-shaped dance floor in the nightclub, Morphine.

The restaurant is designed like an operating room where guests can dine sitting in gold wheelchairs and eating from kidney shaped steel trays. Yum, I just hope the food doesn’t taste like hospital food…

2. Absolut Icebar – Sweden

The very first bar to be made entirely of ice can be found in the small town of Jukkasjarvi in Sweden. Although novelty ice bars seem to be popping up everywhere these days, even in the baking hot Niger desert, the Absolut Icebar, within the Ice Hotel, is the original ice bar.

Guests don thermal capes and huddle together in freezing cold conditions surrounded by carefully-crafted ice sculptures. The Absolut vodka cocktails are served in ice glasses, just make sure you don’t get your lips stuck to them!

The ice is sourced from the Torne River in the village of Jukkasjarvi and the frosty bar is only open during the winter from December to April.

3. Red Sea Star Underwater Restaurant, Bar and Observatory – Israel

The world’s first underwater bar, the Red Sea Star, is submerged six meters below the Red Sea in Eilat. Each table has Plexiglass windows – two either side and one above – so that diners can admire the fish, coral, and other sea life from their dinner table. The décor is even marine-inspired with jellyfish stools, urchin cushions, and anemone lighting fixtures.

Before the Red Sea Star was built in 1998, the area on which it stands was a damaged seabed, but four years before it opened the Red Sea Star team started growing a coral nursery surrounding the reef to save and preserve what used to be an active and colourful coral reef.

4. Bojangles – Australia

In the town of Alice Springs in the red centre of Australia, backpackers and travellers on their way to visit Uluru will almost certainly end up at this curious bar.

Walk through the closely guarded saloon doors and you’ll be amazed at what you see – boots hanging from the ceilings, snakes in tanks, and a coffin with a suit of armour inside which says ‘How Much To Touch Ned’s Nuts?’ Pull out some peanuts and throw the shells on the floor, because at Bo’s anything goes.

Sounds like a quirky bar already, but wait – it gets better. If you go to the bathroom you might get a little surprise, for when you come to wash your hands, each tap turns on the water in a different sink!

5. DM Bar – Estonia

If you’re a huge fan and you just can’t get enough of Depeche Mode, this bar in the capital city of Estonia, Tallinn, is entirely devoted to the band.

It doesn’t seem the most obvious choice of band to dedicate a bar to, but the synth-poppers from Basildon in the UK are extremely popular anywhere east of Berlin. The bar’s walls are filled with Depeche Mode memorabilia and guess what’s on the playlist for the night? You guessed it, Depeche Mode songs.

Members of the band Martin Gore and Andy Fletcher have actually partied the night away in the bar which is sure to be one of the strangest hat tips to the band.

6. Hobbit House – Philippines

Hobbit House in the Philippines is based on the J.R.R. Tolkien trilogy, “Lord of The Rings,” and all the staff in the bar are friendly and charming dwarfs. The dark, smoke-filled bar offers around 100 different kinds of beer and is a great live music venue.

Opened 35 years ago, The Hobbit House has been around in Manila so long, it is a famous institution. The Iowa-born owner, Jim Turner, is an ex-Peace Corps volunteer who has rescued these dwarfs from the slums and streets of Manila and given them an honest place to work. He has given them new cultural identities and they are no longer shunned or avoided; they are respectable business people.

The bartenders are merry characters and entertainers who are up for a laugh and will happily pose with tourists for photos. The Hobbit House features possibly the world’s smallest Elvis impersonator, hobbit jugglers, comics, dancers, flame-eaters, and singers.

7. Baobab Bar – South Africa

Drinking a beer inside a tree? You wouldn’t think anyone would even fit, but you will inside this 6,000 year old Baobab tree.

The hollow 72-foot high tree offers a cool interior to step into from the heat outside and now has a bar, dart board and benches.

It was created in a Baobab tree in Sunland Farm in Limpopo to keep the thirsty locals happy and now thousands of tourists travel from miles around to have a pint in this interesting establishment.

The trunk has a 155-foot circumference and is wide enough to fit 40 people inside it. It even has its own cellar with natural ventilation to keep the beer cool!

The pub is owned by the van Heerdens, who decided to open a pub when they discovered a natural hollow in the tree in the 1980s. While clearing out the hollow centre of the tree trunk, the van Heerdens found historical evidence of Bushmen who may have once lived in the tree.

8. Das Klo Bar – Germany

One of the most bizarre drinking experiences ever, Klo Bar in Berlin is reputed to attract more tourists than Charlottenburg Castle and the Museum Island. Klo 1 and 2 no longer exist, but Klo 3, which started life on Christmas Day 1971, still does. Part flea market, part zoo, and part theme park, Das Klo (German for “the toilet”) is meant to evoke the inside of a toilet, but it ends up giving visitors the feel of stepping onto an Indiana Jones movie set.

Prepare to be shocked – expect red wine in blood transfusion packs, electric shocks from tables, rotating bar stools, a hammer that comes down unexpectedly, and a bird spider, boa constrictor and iguana. It’s an attack on the senses – upon entering Klo you’ll be sprinkled by water, spooked by skeletons and a gust of air might blow ladies’ skirts up. Lightning flashes across the rooms and there is a false ceiling of paper mâché rocks that fall in a giant avalanche every 10 minutes. A kilted figure in the ladies loo is booby-trapped so that whenever a lady lifts the kilt to see if he is going commando, a siren goes off in the bar.

Seating is a choice of coffins or toilet seats, the beer is served in new urine specimen bottles, and the food is sausages with sauerkraut fetchingly presented in huge enamel potties. Supposedly most of the owner’s ideas came to him sitting on the loo.

9. Skeleton Bar – Switzerland

This odd museum-bar was designed by Swiss man Hans Rudi Giger who worked as a designer on the Oscar-winning Alien movies. Giger designed the title character, the human-eating Alien monster, and won an Oscar for best special effects in 1980.

The bar in Gruyere, Switzerland, will remind you of the alien – or perhaps sitting inside a monster’s stomach, with its spinal chord-like skeleton decoration.

The creepy, horror movie-inspired bar is decorated with skeleton bones throughout, from the walls and chairs to the flower vases.

10. Floyd’s Pelican Bar – Jamaica

Floyds has to be the coolest bar in the Caribbean. Looking out from the shore at the dot on the horizon, your first reaction might be “is that really a bar?”

Perched on stilts on a sandbar, Floyds is made completely of driftwood and palm leaves. Bring a sharp object and you can carve your name in the floor. It looks like it might fall over, but it’s surprisingly sturdy.

Floyds sits about a mile off the south coast of Jamaica in Parottee Bay and local fisherman will take you out there. There’s nothing like a cold beer in the middle of the ocean, doing a bit of snorkelling and enjoying a fresh lobster meal prepared by Floyd himself. You might spot some pelicans and a few sting rays too.

11. Alux Restaurant & Lounge – Mexico

Alux, in Playa Del Carmen, is one of only two restaurants in the world inside a cavern.

The whole Yucatan peninsula in Mexico is riddled with an interconnected system of caverns and subterranean rivers and after years of planning and restoration, Alux restaurant and lounge was opened for the public to enjoy this natural environment with a drink in hand.

The Flintstones-like cavern has numerous chambers where you can lounge, drink, dine, and dance amongst the stalagmites and stalactites, which are lit up in shades of violet, blue and pink. Small, magical beings called ‘Aluxes’ are said to occupy these caverns, so look out for one as you dance the night away! It’s a drinking spot you mustn’t miss if you’re staying in Playa Del Carmen.

12. William Thornton Floating Bar & Restaurant – British Virgin Islands

The William Thornton is a steel 100-foot schooner with a restaurant and bar on board, moored at The Bight off Norman Island.

The Willy T, as it is affectionately known, began life in the 80s as a wooden Baltic vessel. But after the boat sprung a leak and sank at its anchorage, the owners, Annie and Mick Gardner, replaced it with the larger steel boat everyone knows today.

The William Thornton who the floating bar is named after was born in the British Virgin Islands and is the man behind the design of the United States Capitol building.

13. The Rock Bar – Bali

Perched 14 meters above the Indian Ocean, this open-top bar is literally served straight up on the rocks.

It’s a perfect place to sit and watch the sunset, sip cocktails and admire the view of the perfect Bali waves splashing against the rocks below. What makes it even more novel is the outdoor elevator which takes you down the cliff to the bar. Beware though, it only holds four so you might end up taking the stairs!

Live musicians play on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays so you can sit back and enjoy some tunes with a view. Located within the Ayana Resort & Spa in Jimbaran Bay, The Rock Bar will certainly leave a lasting impression and is Bali’s most chic sunset and after-dark destination.

After a quick shower, we followed the path from our bungalow through a private back gate that opens up to the lotus ponds of the acclaimed Café Lotus next door for our reservations for dinner and a gamelan performance. The Café Lotus has to be one of the most remarkable restaurants on the island, not only for its delightful menu of traditional and Western fare, but also for its unrivaled ambience and views. The restaurant has two dining areas: the main area up front with standard chairs and tables and an elongated raised platform with low tables on bamboo mats and cushions that run along one of the lotus ponds.

I ordered the Bebek Betutu described on the menu as a half duckling basted with fragrant herbs wrapped in banana leaves and cooked underground for 12 hours. It was fragrant indeed and oh so tender; a result of its rather unique cooking method. Rina chose the Be Pasih Goa Lawah, fish fillet marinated in turmeric, lemongrass, tamarind, garlic, shallots, chili, kaffir lime leaves and garlic.

The facade of the stunning Saraswati temple is used as a backdrop and open stage for the regular performances held almost nightly. Diners have the option of watching across the ponds while they dine, or having an early pre-show dinner, then transferring to the seats set up in front of the stage for a close-up view. We chose the latter. I'm so glad we did. It would have been a shame to miss out on the choreographed movement of eyeballs, fingertips, heads and toes.

After polishing off a shared dessert of plantains in palm sugar and toasted coconut, we made our way to our seats. It was a spellbinding show on a spectacular night marred only by nasty flesh-eating mosquitoes. While hopelessly trying to swat them away, I watched the stories unfold before me in music and dance.

For 50,000 rupiah (less than $6.00), we were treated to seven acts by the Chandra Wirabhuana Gamelan Orchestra. The first part was an overture performed solely by the gamelan that was divided into two groups on either side of the stage. The piece was called Cerukcuk Wana; the delicate percussion sounds mimic those of the melodious Cerukcuk bird song.

The basic gamelan orchestra is made up of a series of xylophone-like instruments known as gangsa and brass gongs. Both are struck with a mallet to produce deep resounding notes. Typically used in a gamelan are bamboo flutes, cymbals and double-sided drums or kendang that are beaten with the palm of the hand or fingers.

For the second act, the first of many female dancers came out from behind the shadows. She played Chandra Wangi, a pure teenage girl formed in the image of the Goddess of the Moon who brings peace and harmony to all. Her costume and headpiece were adorned with gilded ornaments. She moved with precision to the tempo of the music, jerking her head this way and that; her eyes darting left and right were full of expression, no words necessary. Her hands gestured meaningfully. She was mesmerizing; I almost forgot to take photos.

In Bali, dancing is not only done for one's own pleasure or for entertainment; it is also a means to commune with the gods. The different dances are categorized into secular or sacred, with the latter reserved for mystical rites. What we witnessed on this night were secular dances such as the mask dance and the tari satya brasta; a battle scene based on an excerpt from the Mahabharata .

Rina and I agreed that most impressive was the third act, the kebyar terompong, whose star performer stunned us as he executed the dance with impeccably choreographed eye-hand-neck movements, while he played the terompong. On his face was the unmistakable range of expressions from curious shyness to pain to sadness and coy flirtation. This was human coordination at its best!

We continued to watch as more stories unfolded. By the time the show came to an end an hour later, we were lulled into a completely restful state. I could see the faint light in our bedroom from where we sat; I wanted nothing more at that moment than to be tucked in and cruising through dreamland.

Bali. When mentioned, people conjure up images of killer waves, busy
night clubs and overcrowded beaches running rampant with young
suntanned partiers. But look beyond the surface and you will witness a
land rich with tradition, superstition and a people whose dedication to
their beliefs has helped the island to maintain their centuries old
customs. Enduring the onslaught of tourists who invade their beaches
each year, the Balinese continue to live their lives of deep rooted
religion, important family values and respect for the spirits of the
dead.

Devout Hindus , the Balinese put out offerings each morning
resembling works of art. Fruit and flowers beautifully arranged in palm
leaves displayed in front of their shops with rich incense burning to
bring good luck and to appease the spirits. Great care is taken to
preserve their tradition and young and old alike continue to practice
these beliefs. Everyday you will see a ceremony occur. Whether it be a
wedding a birthday or an elaborate cremation, the Balinese enjoy a life
full of festivities.

Just a short ride out of the main tourist destination of Kuta beach
is the peaceful town of Ubud. This picturesque village situated in
Bali’s interior, among lush rice terraces is a place where time stands
still.

Farmers tend their paddy fields by hand as their flocks of painted
ducks waddle on their land. When walking through a peaceful path, you
may be stopped by a local boy who will climb a tree to offer you a
fresh coconut.

Skillful artists sell their masterpieces to the casual buyer or to
the serious collector and handmade treasures of masks and statues can
be bought in the many family run shops. Or you can find a real bargain
at the colourful market in the centre of town, selling sarongs and
t-shirts to crafts and paintings.

It is famous for its traditional dance performed each night in one
of many ornate temples.. Masked performers dressed in colourful
costumes telling stories of their history and folklore in the outdoor
theatres under the canopy sky. Great dedication is given to the study
of this difficult craft and a highly skilled Balinese Dancer is revered
throughout the land.

Quiet cafes line the road leading to the Monkey Forest Sanctuary, a
protected portion of jungle containing long tail macaques. Unlike other
sanctuary’s I have visited in south East Asia, this one does not
encourage the monkeys to fend for themselves. Vendors sell bananas and
peanuts for profit so that visiting tourists can feed these feisty creatures. They come to expect their treats
regularly causing fights among the monkeys and tourists alike.

Enjoy a luxurious massage at one of the many spas. For the
reasonable price of $12 you will enjoy one and a half hours of pure
heaven. Skilled masseurs work out your travel weary muscles with
ancient old techniques, finishing with an herbal body scrub and hot
floral bath. Pure decadence.

Choosing a meal at one of the many eateries can be a difficult task.
With food ranging from traditional Indonesian babi guling (suckling pig
roasted on a spit and must be ordered a day in advance.) to Italian
pasta and pizza or roasted duck. It is a playground for the taste buds
and eating in the candle lit setting while Balinese music plays softly
in the background gives a feeling of tranquility. You relax while
drinking a Bintang beer and think that you may never leave this
tropical paradise.

Ubud is well travelled on many peoples routes in Bali, but its laid
back atmosphere dedicated tradition and a thriving artist community
give it the facade of being the "real" Bali. Many will say that the
real Bali no longer exists, that it has been taken over by tourism and
western influence. But I see it thriving in the everyday lives of the
local people and the real Bali exists in their hearts.

Above sea level it’s an idyllic landscape worthy of a magazine cover: The sun shining above a small ridge of palm tree, breezy, thatch-roofed bungalows lining the shore, bright Acehnese fishing boats curved like horns plying their trade on the turquoise sea, coral reefs tracing patterns of current in the shallows.

Or it would be idyllic, except that beneath the surface parts of the reef near Pulau Weh, a small island on the westernmost tip of Indonesia, are still struggling to recover in the wake of the 2004 tsunami. In some places where the reef should be, only bare patches remain. Dead coral, bleached white like bones, lies strewn across the sandy bottom.

When the tsunami hit on the morning of December 26 it killed an estimated 168,000 people on Aceh’s shores. It also swept through the 350-metre channel between Weh and Rubiah islands, rolling boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles into a pile in the middle of the bay at Iboih Beach. While the mountainous terrain prevented the massive swell from cresting, still it scoured Rubiah’s spectacular coral gardens clear of sea life, leaving it in ruins.

“It’s like a desert down there,” says Andy Coconut, a diver and coral restoration volunteer at the newly reconstructed Rubiah Tirta Divers at Iboih Beach. Behind him lies the twisted wreckage of the last dive shop, ripped off its foundations and crushed by the tsunami like a tin can.

“Imagine. No animal wants to live in a desert. What can it do without food and shelter? Then imagine you plant trees to make a new forest. So the animals can come back again to live.”

Despite the close proximity of the destruction, most of Pulau Weh was unscathed and the island remains one of southeast Asia’s premier diving locations. All week a steady stream of snorkelers and scuba enthusiasts from around the world have come to float like astronauts over banks of coral resembling the surface of another planet, or explore deep and inviting caverns where fish navigate in a riot of underwater traffic that would rival downtown Jakarta. On any given day one might find manta rays, black tipped sharks, moray eels, hawksbill turtles, and massive schools of tuna and barracuda.

Today it’s Monday, and quiet. Tourists have donned their backpacks to explore other parts of Indonesia and NGO workers have left their favourite weekend playground to resume the work of rebuilding Banda Aceh, the city hardest hit by the tsunami. On a sultry day like this, it would be easy for the divers of Rubiah Tirta to lie around in their hammocks and while away the afternoon. Instead they get ready to plant more coral in the sea garden.

After the tsunami, Rubiah Tirta owner Dodent Mahyiddin, known locally as Pak Dodent, surveyed the damage on the eastern side of Rubiah and was perplexed by the government’s slow response to help. “They lacked a blueprint for restoring the coral beds and the livelihoods of the people,” he says, adding that the fishermen were devastated by the destruction of boats and fish stocks. Since the tsunami approximately forty per cent of fishermen who once worked the sea now fish inland lakes and rivers.

Pak Dodent decided to undertake the coral restoration project himself and transplant coral from healthy reefs to restore the damaged areas. Using the research he had already conducted in more than 30 years of diving and reef restoration, Pak Dodent set to work in 2006 with his own money and the help of his two sons, Ismayudi and Isfanudding, to start the coral restoration project.

Together the divers don their gear and climb onto the 16-metre wooden dive boat moored in tranquil Iobih. Equipped with small saws and a blue plastic laundry basket, they motor out to the end of Rubiah where the coral is still intact. Then they jump in and descend to the bottom, where they gently saw small pieces of coral off the tips of the branches and put them in the basket. First green flowering Acropora elsey. Then shorter pieces tipped in cornflower blue, like mountain flowers. Acropora puertoglarae. The arched branches of brown Acropora formosa look for all the world like deer antlers.

The divers take care to harvest from different areas so the coral can easily regenerate. As they work, parrotfish glide by, going about their business. They look absurdly like real parrots, with orange beaks and scaly plumage bearing a multitude of colours. They flap their dorsal fins, the perfect miniature version of parrot’s wings. Nearby, a lion fish crowned with a showy array of white and brown, its feathery fins resembling the headdress of a tribal chief, gracefully scales the side of a cavernous dropoff.

Back on deck, the corals clink in the basket, fragile as china. In the sunlight they look less exotic, their colours subdued to a muddy brown in the glaring light of day. The effect doesn’t last long. In less than 10 minutes the boat is at the other end of Rubiah, thanks to the driver’s expert operation of the tiller by swinging it across the deck with his feet.

The corals resume their luminous colours as they make the descent to their new home. In the bare expanse of white sand, the desert begins to bloom anew. Square beds containing rows of overturned cement pots – about 500 square metres to date in July 2009, molded from plastic buckets – have transformed the desert into a coral nursery.

Yudi and Andy point out some sections that are coming along nicely, sprouting cornflower blue, pale mauve, baby pink, fresh spring green. A few are struggling, a little stunted. They may have to be removed for other pieces to be replanted, but the odds for success are high. Pak Dodent said that 90 per cent of the baby coral is healthy and growing.

The coral gardeners get to work on a new section of the bed, scrubbing the posts embedded in each pot with small metal brushes to clear them of newly established oysters and debris. A diver holds out the plastic loops one by one like a surgeon’s assistant. The other diver pulls a piece of coral from the basket and secures it to the metal post with the loop. It’s a tidy operation that will yield about one metre of fresh plantings per dive.

Already the growth looks promising, a reminder that life can survive and regenerate in the wake of destruction. Gobies have already colonized the older plantings of Acropora elsey, nibbling at them and resting beneath them for shelter. Tiny fish fry alight among the branches like sparrows. Vagabond butterfly fish hover and feed, brilliant in their yellow and black stripes of tiger-like intensity. Nudibranches loll, slug-like, on the sand.

Nature is resilient when given a chance. The coral gardeners of Pulau Weh are giving it the chance it deserves, restoring the sea beds from the ravages of the tsunami and working to protect it from the dangers of overfishing, pollution and climate change. To continue the project and garner donations, Pak Dodent and his team founded the Aceh Coral Conservation and the Coral Oasis Foundation. They also work with the US-based international organization Reef Check, which monitors the health of reefs in the world’s oceans.

As the dive boat approaches shore, another replanting mission accomplished, small groups of German and Australian tourists relax on the beach, soaking up the afternoon sun. Some paddle at a leisurely pace, day-glo flippers and snorkels poking through the surface of the sea as they explore patches of spiky sea urchins, Finding Nemo clownfish and purple surgeonfish chasing each other in circles.

Pak Dodent says he wants to get the coral reef at Iboih back to its previous peak of health in the early 1970s He admits it is an ongoing responsibility to care for and monitor the health of the reefs, but that tourism, wisely managed, can be a boost because it creates environmental awareness and support for conservation. “It is never finished,” he says, adding, “The coral must always be here for the people of the world, and to provide oxygen for the fish. And the fishermen can have fish again too.”

Getting there

From Medan, opt for an air conditioned nonstop overnight bus (9 to 10 hours) from one of several ticket sellers on Jalan Gajah Mada (about Rp 200,000). Lion Air, Sriwijaya Air and Adam Air also fly to Banda Aceh from Medan (less than an hour, from Rp 240,000 and up).

Pulau Weh can be reached by fast boat and ferry from Ulee Lheu Harbour, about 20 minutes from Banda Aceh’s city center. The fast boat takes 45-60 minutes and departs at 9 am and 4 pm (Rp 60,000 – Rp 80,000). The slow ferry takes 2.5 hours and departs at 1-2 pm daily. On Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday it departs at 11 am and 4 pm (Rp 15,000). On the afternoon crossing, watch for dolphins.

On arrival in Pulau Weh, local transport is available to Gapang and Iboih beaches – it takes about one hour (minibus about Rp 50,000, charter bus Rp 100,000).

Places to stay

Erick’s: 0652-331118/0815 3382 8419
Yulia’s Bungalow and Restaurant: 0813 6255 3561
Iboih has much more accommodation available. On arrival, walk down the path of bungalows nestled in the trees to find a place to stay.

Information: www.sumatraecotourism.com / www.pulauwehsabang.com
Book a diving holiday: www.rubiahdivers.com
Conservation: www.coral.org

Pufferfish photo by Andy Moss, all others by Wendy Bone.

About the author: Wendy Bone is a Canadian writer and adventurer currently living in North Sumatra, Indonesia. When not enjoying the country’s spectacular beaches, she is hanging out with orangutans and riding elephants in the jungle. For more on her adventures, visit www.wendyboneabroad.com

In the hot spots of Indonesia
I went out to get a cup of java, in Java, and ended up on an infernal coffee odyssey through the Indonesian archipelago.

Stretching out like a Komodo Dragon some 6,400 kilometers across the Ring of Fire, from the coffee plantations and wild orangutans of Sumatra to the primary rainforests and decorative penis gourds of Irian Jaya, Indonesia is the ideal launching pad to crash land into some of the most dramatic sights in Southeast Asia. They include the ancient ruins of Buddhist Borobudur and Hindu Prambanan in Islamic Java, the multicolored volcanic lakes of Keli Mutu in Christian Flores, and the famed three-meter-long monitor lizards of Komodo that swallow entire goats whole: the prototypes, perhaps, of the Chinese dragons of legend.

Indonesia encompasses over 13,000 islands with 336 ethnic groups and a borderless rainbow babel of different languages, cultures and traditions. In addition to coffee-colored Hindus, Christians and Buddhists, this most densely populated café on earth (180 million) holds more Muslims than all the Middle East. Linking the islands is the lingua franca of Bahasa and an underlying songline of history: ancient animist religions are uniting threads that cross oceans, adding new meaning to the word “multicultural".

Here some Muslims drink beer and arak in addition to java; some worship Buddha, Vishnu, Krishna, and Jesus in addition to Allah; while others leave offerings to good and evil pagan spirits (tourists included). In fact, clutched in the talons of the mythical Garuda, the national airline and state crest, is the motto “Unity in Diversity".

I departed from the Calcutta-like chaos of the capital Jakarta, a fascinating hellhole of over 9 million people, to explore the potent brews and heady smokes of Java, the volcano capital of the world. In the old Dutch section of Batavia (Kota), amidst modern skyscrapers stuck like clean syringes into a diseased dreamscape of old colonial monuments and nightmarish overcrowded kampungs, I entered the 19th-century Café Batavia on Fatahillah Square, the most atmospheric coffeehouse in Java, to keep from going troppo in the equatorial heat.

Unlike Amsterdam’s coffeehouses, which hardly ever sell coffee, the recently renovated Café Batavia offers no exotic hashish menus, nor even spicy Indonesian food, though it features colonial elegance and raffish 1930s atmosphere. Here you can quaff down the three main varieties of Indonesian coffee, in order of strength: Sumatra coffee, Bali coffee and Java coffee – an indication of island style not bean origin.

Indo coffee, like Turkish coffee, is mixed straight into the water. All wait for the psychic sludge to settle to avoid sporting roguish pencil-thin Errol Flynn mustaches of coffee grinds.
How “java” became synonymous with coffee is frothed with mystery, though not a difficult one to filter out. During almost 350 years of Dutch rule, Indonesia was the world’s largest coffee producer and the proverbial bottomless cup for the Dutch East India Company. Without Indonesia, the Netherlands would have gone Dutch and remained a small European country below sea level, noted only for its tulips.

The term “java” was probably a slang corruption brought back by English pirates, like that of brandy for brandewijn (burnt wine).
Getting from the urban epicenter to the outer limits by public transport, be it by overcrowded bus, bemo, or becak, is not so much a magical mystery tour as a year of living dangerously. But at least there is one place left in the world where you can light up, anywhere!

Eventually I got to Banjar, said goodbye to the family that had been assigned seats on my lap, downed a cuppa at the station, and discovered that maybe eight hours later, there just might be an onward connection. Stuck in a remote backwater like this, a Western orang bulan (moon person) always excites a crowd of staring locals. Where once upon a time children would have fled from a bearded Belanda (Hollander), screaming “Papa Beard” – a mythical bogey man with five o’clock shadow that Indonesian parents use to frighten their kids – now they are more likely to shout out, “Hello Mister! Hello Mister” regardless of one’s gender.

In Pangandaran, a sleepy south Javanese coastal fishing village, the entrance is guarded not by Cerberus, but by a becak mafia charging a whopping wad of rupiahs to pedal you down the asphalt Lethe leading to the peninsular Pangandaran Nature Reserve. Here the Lonely Planet Café has a superb beachfront location, where friendly Muslim fishermen and their families pull in their nets, while in the distance the Call to Prayer wafts from yellow-domed mosques that shine like fried eggs in the sun.

At dusk you can see the moon rising and the sun setting at the same time through a smoky cloud of fruit bats. The Lonely Planet serves standard java and Indo grub like nasi goreng (fried rice), mie goreng (fried noddles), ayam sate (chicken sate), and gado gado (salad with peanut sauce). Locals come here though, to down fresh seafood. It’s also a good place to practice your Bahasa (originally a Malay trading language), one of the easiest tongues in the world to tame – no past or future tenses, only the laid-back present. The plural is expressed by repetition, i.e., kopi kopi equals two or more cups. Saya mau satu kopi? (I me one coffee?).

Pangandaran is also far enough away from Indonesia’s most notorious offshore volcano to almost feel safe. The last time Krakatau blew its top was in 1883, with the force of several hydrogen bombs, stirring up tidal waves that killed more than 35,000, and hurling debris into the sky which caused vivid sunsets seen around the world.
In Yogyakarta, the cultural capital of Java, I brought my addiction past the Sultan’s kraton, the colorful bird market, and the manic Malioboro street vendors hawking batik shirts and sarongs, wooden and leather Wayang Kulik puppets, and demonic-looking White Monkey masks, until I finally unearthed the Café Sosro.

Pulling back a curtain of Gudang Garam clove cigarette smoke, I looked around at the eclectic assortment of heavy wooden tables, chairs and the hip East-West clientele daytripping to the haunting, hypnotic strains of gamelon music. That’s good java. I even had a second cup. Looking up I noticed I was late.
Yogya (pronounced “jogja”) is close to one of the largest concentrations of Hindu/Buddhist monuments in the world, including the ancient ruins of Dieng Plateau, Prambanan and Borobudur, which ranks up there with Cambodia’s Angkor Wat and Burma’s Pagan.

On full-moon nights at Prambanan’s open-air theater, you can see the Ramayana Ballet. In the amphitheater under the stars with the floodlit Shiva temple as backdrop, the moonlit stage is filled with over 200 hundred elaborately masked and costumed dancers acting out Hindu legends. They create a spectacle of clashing monkey armies, stilted giants, crouching midgets, and lithe acrobats sinuously swaying like snakes, defying geometry by contorting their limbs and bending back their fingers in impossible angles – all to the rhythm of the royal Javanese-style gamelon orchestra of gong players, drum thwackers, and whining nasal divas. This could be the highlight of any trip to Indonesia. Saya jalan jalan ku bulan (I walk walk to the moon).

On the way to Bali I made one last Java stop at Gunung Bromo, Indonesia’s most spectacular active volcano, within hopping distance of the Java Sea. Intrepid travelers, their heads humming with caffeine, trek three kilometers across the moonlit moonscape, following a firefly trail of flashlights to the volcano. At the summit the crowd witnesses the spectacle of the fat yellow sun peeking over the rim of an alien planet, before its puckered crater lips take a prurient sip of Bromo-seltzer brew. Mountain Bromo High.
Goodbye Java. Bali Hai.

Many Indonesians take their vacations in Bali just to ogle all the sun-worshipping tourists. Still Bali doesn’t evoke the Isle of the Gods so much as the Isle of Australian Surfies at Kuta Beach, the Mad Max Spring Break City From Hell. Get your T-shirts here at Kuta’s Hard Rock Café! Leaving this Ozzie Outback of hawkers and tourists, hookers and addicts, all partying at the all-night discos, pick-up joints and thunder domes, I finally ventured into the lush interior of paradise lost with its terraced rice paddies, palm trees, and smoking volcanoes.

Like the Balinese, I wanted to look towards the mountains and away from the sea, which is believed, for obvious reasons, to be the source of evil spirits – most of them on package tours. At first though, it was quite unnerving to be traveling towards these magic mountains on a luxury bus crammed with German-speaking tourists, passing temples and walls emblazoned with swastikas, until I remembered that these ancient mystic Hindu symbols were stolen by the Nazis, perverted for their own deadly uses.

Arriving in low-key Lovina, famous for its two-dollar full-body massages on black sand beaches, I settled down at the Café Malibu for espressos and brownies, and waited to see if there would be any odd effects while listening to a homegrown band blasting Nirvana covers. The days of magic mushroom omelettes and psychedelic sunsets are over in Bali, now that it’s Indonesia’s number-one tourist attraction. The brownie was just a brownie. I decided instead to follow the Lombok Lizard Man – a grinning two-headed totem pole that bears an uncanny resemblance to a schizo Bart Simpson doll.

On the slowboat to Lombok, leaving from the idyllic white sand harbor of Padangbai, Bali, I met a victim of the government’s enforced transmigrasi program, wherein overcrowded Java is relieved by pressuring citizens to flee to farflung outer islands. This unwilling expatriate of the world’s largest mass migration wanted to practice his English:
“I Muslim,” he said, pointing to his fez-like black felt kopieh, “but Lombok has many Hindu, Catholic too, and also Wektu Telu.”
What what? I thought.

“Wektu Telu. They say they Muslim, but they infidel. Dangerous you go their villages with no guide. I make good guide, very cheaps. They eat all that comes from Allah. They eat porks. They eat EVERYTHING.”

This made me reluctant to drop in on a remote village tea party as an uninvited dinner guest. Instead I shipwrecked myself on Lombok’s Gilli Islands with an arak hangover and the sky displayed like a kaleidoscope of cheap batik sarongs for sale on the beach. The three coral-fringed paradises of Gilli Air, Gilli Meno and Gilli Trawangan offered Lord Jim wannabees much more than great snorkeling, white sandy beaches, and picturesque rides in horse-drawn dokars. A long-time budget backpackers hangout, this was supposedly the place to do shrooms. Without any hallucinogenic prompts though, anybody can see, like, these strange blue lights (phosphorescent plankton) that mimic overhead stars washing ashore under moonshadow anyway. Nothing to do here but sing along with local long-haired guitar-strumming Gilligans gazing into the eyes of solo women travelers, singing old Cat Stevens songs.

Occasionally the rumble of Lombok’s lava-spewing Gunung Rinjani breaks the silence like an overboiling pot in an Olympian diner.
The closest thing to a good cup of gilli is to be had at the isolated Good Heart Café (Gilli Meno), ideal for watching bleeding ulcerated sunsets and slipping into a dream – until friendly insect-eating geckos sound the alarm in the rafters. All water is pumped in by boat, so every cup of joe tastes vaguely of Drano; caffeine buzzers will quickly crash here. Better to cruise back south to Lombok proper with the retro migration of unladen European swallows and smiley-faced flower punks to a place called Kuta (nothing like Kuta, Bali), which features Indonesia’s most incredible beach (Tanjung Aan) and an attractive-looking café called The Cockatoo.

Here I traded in my mild Gilli Belly for the much more severe Lombok Landslide. After that it was high time to get my insides straightened out and hop back like a hot-footed fakir to Bali for that much needed coffee break.

In Ubud, the cultural center and food capital of Bali, I went to see a cremation. Following the colorful and noisy procession down the street, the corpse held up in an elaborate wooden bier, we soon arrived at the ceremonial site. A crush of rubbernecking tourists strutted around like fighting cocks with autofocus eyes. Balinese mourners laughed and joked and cheered, and posed for videocams. As with any other spectator sport, enterprising locals sold peanuts and cold drinks as the stiff was laid out on the funeral pyre and torched up, bursting into flames.

The Balinese believe the deceased move on to a new and improved reincarnated future, depending on their behavior in this life. In Hindu Bali, death is a party.
I desperately needed a coffee to drive away the bitter aftertaste of ghosts, and at the Café Lotus near the Monkey Forest Sanctuary (chock full o’ monkeys), I finally achieved coffee nirvana: the ultimate cup of java. Inside I heard more American accents than were to be found perhaps in all Indonesia. It was almost like a Manhattan coffeehouse, but with a view of an idyllic lotus pond and a Balinese temple. I ordered a cappuccino, and my stomach – not used to such potent brew – threatened to erupt like Ugung Batung, the holiest active volcano in Bali (fittingly dubbed the Navel of the World).

I’d achieved the ultimate high in the former coffee capital of the universe. In what Indonesians sometimes call the Land Under the Rainbow, I shot up like a rocket through the caffeine roof of the world, my tongue frothing with exploding stars, and I tried to set the night on fire.

So you are a world traveler, you’ve visited four or five continents, you’ve even run out of fingers and toes to add up all of the countries you’ve seen … now what do you do? You branch out.

Forget Paris, London or Rome, these five world destinations are some of the best kept secrets among the locals, but we’re not hording them another minute.

The word is out!

Yogyakarta, Indonesia

If you are looking for a place where Sultan palaces and Buddhist temples are met by miles of rice fields and majestic mountains – and aren’t we all? – then head to Yogyakarta. Yogyakarta, (pronounced JOGH-jah), is one of the oldest towns in Indonesia and is located on the island of Java.

This village has maintained its glory and most of the ancient Buddhist and Hindu temples, palaces and monuments are in tip top shape. The exotic Kraton Ngayogyakarto is an 18th Century Sultan Palace that houses a museum and a lavish pavilion the current Sultan still calls home. The ornate carvings at the ancient Hindu temples of Prambanan are only 10 miles from the center of Yogyakarta, while the Buddhist Borobudur – the largest 9th Century Buddhist temple – is around 25 miles from the city.

Travelers can get to Yogyakarta by plane, train or automobile, but be prepared to pay the exit tax if you fly domestically from Yogyakarta. Weighing in at a whopping 25,000 Rupiah, or 2.00 bucks, that exit tax just might be a vacation destination deal breaker.

Bimini Islands, Bahamas

You have heard of Nassau, you know of Freeport, but have you ever been to mystifying Bimini in the Bahamas Out Islands? Popular with American bootleggers in the days of prohibition, the two islands that constitute the group – North Bimini and South Bimini – were popular outposts for rum runners.

Located just 50 miles from Florida’s coast, Bimini attracts wild Atlantic spotted dolphins and is the prime place for scuba diving or snorkeling over the mysterious Bimini Road that many believe was built by Atlantis’ own engineers. If that’s not enough mystery for you, grab some friends and kayak out to the true-to-life Fountain of Youth, where natural spring waters produce age-defying quantities of lithium and sulfur … or so they say.

Roatan Island, Honduras

If you head southwest across the Caribbean, you’ll run into another relatively unknown tourist destination – Roatan Island. Just 30 miles off of the mainland of Honduras, Roatan boasts 33 miles of turquoise blue waters and is about as far from a luxurious island vacation as you can get. Water activities are the catch of the day, where you can get scuba certified, swim with dolphins or head out for a day of deep-sea fishing.

Tourists migrate to the island’s West End, where they find some of Honduras’ best restaurants, dive operators and gift shops. There is a sandy road that passes through the West End, but travelers are encouraged to park the car and walk the ½ mile, rather than crawl along the street at a snail’s pace.

Getting to Roatan is as easy as a day spent sunning on their beaches. Continental, Delta and Spirit Airlines all have weekly flights, or you can fly to the mainland and connect from there.

Stranja, Bulgaria

Botanists abound at the Stranja National Park in southeast Bulgaria where rare plants, archaic flora and rich forests show visitors a glimpse into pre-ice age Europe. As recently as 20 years ago the area was restricted by the Turkish border zone further preserving the exotic land and culture of its native people.

Stranja is known throughout Bulgaria for the fire dancers who give new meaning to the expression “burning up the dance floor” when they dance in their bare feet atop fiery flames. Instead of fire dancing or flower-picking – which would no doubt be frowned upon by the Bulgarian government – visitors can explore the charming Stranjan villages, ride camels in the village of Sinemorets, take a boat ride along the Veleka River or catch some rays along the beaches of the Black Sea.

Catanzaro, Italy

The toe of Italy’s boot is jam-packed with 450 miles of coastline, charming mountain villages and a hodge-podge of Byzantine, Roman and Arabic cultures. The region is called Calabria – the capitol city is Catanzaro. For years northern Italians have spent their summers in and around Catanzaro, whose historical center overlooks the Ionian Sea.

Looking for a little ancient architecture? Head over to the ruins at Roccelletta, visit Neolithic burial mounds in Girifalco, or tour Badolato, the quaint medieval village located 25 miles outside of the city. If beach-bumming is more your thing, Catanzaro boasts some of Italy’s most stunning beaches … so take your pick. On crisp, sunny days the locals head into the nearby Sila Mountains, where Alpine villages make you feel like you should be yodeling in Switzerland, rather than vacationing in southern Italy.

She quickly dispelled that thought with her jolly greeting and warm smile. Then we were off to the Ubud market to purchase the ingredients for our cooking class. It was cold; I hugged my shawl tighter around me while I looked around and noticed many other women walking in the same direction, alone or in small groups of two or three. All were heading to the market, no doubt. I couldn't believe the market would be teeming with customers at this hour. It seemed as though the entire female population of Ubud were present – and then some.

I gingerly tiptoed over and around a maze of crates and mats piled high, with the radiant contrasting colors of red chilis, fiddlehead ferns, squash and shallots. All the vendors seemed to know Cok Sri. Her keen eye (and nose!) for freshness was evident as she surveyed and sniffed and then honed in for what she deemed to be just right. After procuring the vegetables we needed, she led us down the steps to the wet market for chicken and fish. While Cok Sri and Rina discussed our protein requirements, I scanned my surroundings for photo opportunities.

Something caught my eye
Over by the cookies and breads, a lady was assembling what looked like multi-colored sticky cakes on a brown sheet of paper, which she drizzled with a brown syrup and then sprinkled with coconut. Afterwards she folded the paper closed and handed it to her customer before repeating the whole process. Cok Sri and Rina found me here, realizing only then that I had strayed from them. Cok Sri must have seen the drool gushing (I still hadn't had any breakfast and I was starving by then!) down to my flip-flops because she bought one each for us to have for breakfast later.

With us tailing her, she continued into an alley for dried shrimp paste and peanut sauce before declaring we were done. It was only when we were back on the street did I notice we were joined by a woman carrying our purchases in a basket balanced on her head. Cok Sri dropped us at the bungalows and asked us to meet her back in her place down the road at nine o'clock. This gave us a little over an hour for a leisurely breakfast that included the bubur jajanan, a medley of glutinous rice cakes in assorted colors, shapes and textures drizzled with palm sugar syrup and shredded coconut that was acutely reminiscent of home. Kakanins, native snacks, that came to mind were cuchinta, puto and bilo-bilo. Yum!

We arrived at Cok Sri's promptly at 9:00 a.m. She lived in a traditional Balinese family complex that she shared with a slew of brothers and sisters. She called out to us from her kitchen near the rear of the complex. It was a simple galley kitchen across from another open-air kitchen area where all the ingredients were laid out. Like model pupils, Rina and I took our positions on mismatched mono bloc stools; excited and ready for our private Balinese cuisine education.

The first task was to prepare the Bali sambal: a fiery condiment of shallots, garlic, chilis and dried shrimp paste, trasi. Sambals are either raw or cooked, though in these islands it is preferred raw; untamed by cooking. It is served with everything. In this region, a meal without sambal is unthinkable. Cok Sri laid a large granite mortar on the counter in which she threw the ingredients, except the shrimp paste. She proceeded to grind everything in quick masterful strokes of the wrist.

I liked how this mortar and pestle worked. The flat pestle with the slightly bent ergonomic handle made it easy to grind ingredients into a paste rather than pounding it. (I bought myself one). The large side of the shallow, almost flat mortar, accommodates large quantities to be ground together. It is preferable to massage the ingredients, coaxing the flavors out by hand, rather than pulverizing them with a food processor; a method used for all the dishes we learned today, except for the raw corn which was mashed in a blender.

Cok Sri fired up the stove and grabbed a pan from under the sink. She mashed the block of dried shrimp paste into it until the heat and her actions broke it down into a thick grey paste. Almost instantly, the air was filled with its pungent fishy aroma. Into it went the mashed ingredients for a quick saute, then gentle simmer. The smell it gave off was heady and almost provocative. The fumes tickled my nostrils and stirred my tummy.

Watching Cok Sri in her element was fascinating. We observed her coax the flavors from the exotic spices, expertly wrap the fish with banana leaves, effortlessly negotiate the stove top that had four pans sizzling or steaming at once, and deftly chop ingredients with quick fluid motions of her wrist. All the while she answered my questions patiently, even spelling out some names as I took down notes. She also regaled us with tales of her family without missing a beat. She had the kitchen prowess that comes only from decades of experience. She did have an assistant who helped her grate the coconut for the long beans, but she did everything else herself – no sweat. She was the picture of efficiency, constantly cleaning and packing away as she worked.

Two hours later, we were ready to chow. We helped her bring out the plates to where tables had been set for us; at one of then pavilions by the courtyard. At our insistence, Cok Sri joined us for lunch and together we feasted on her masterpiece – truly works of art. I felt almost compelled to give her a standing ovation by the end of the meal. Instead, I hugged and thanked her for the wonderful meal and insightful glimpse into her culture.

Other dishes we made
Ikan Pepes- Tuna wrapped in banana leaves. The chunks of tuna were coated in a paste of turmeric, galangal, shallots, garlic, lemongrass, ginger and chili. Then they were wrapped in banana leaves with a daun salam (local bay leaf) leaf tucked in. (The daun salam tree is a member of the cassia family; its leaves impart a mild spciy/woody flavor). The wrapped fish is then steamed and afterwards grilled in a pan.

Perkedel jagung – Indonesian corn fritters. This was our favorite! They are made with shallots, nutmeg, chili and garlic; deep fried to perfection. We were eating them hot off the fryer, like popcorn.

Ayam Goreng – Spicy fried chicken. This is her children's favorite, Cok Sri tells us, and I can understand why. The chicken is fried with garlic, chili, onions and tomatoes, glazed with kecap manis. Kecap (pronounced keh-chap) is derived from the Cantonese word for sauce koe-chiap form, which the word ketchup came from). Manis is sweet soy sauce infused with palm sugar which gives its syrupy consistency. Kecap asin, on the other hand, is the regular soy sauce we are familiar with.

Long beans in coconut milk – I don't know what this is called in the local dialect, but it was delicious. I've always enjoyed local cuisine cooked with gata or coconut milk. This one was redolent with the sambal Cok Sri prepared – galangal, shallots and garlic.

Gado-gado – what would a Balinese or Indonesian cooking class be without this vegetable dish. Gado-gado loosely translates as "potpourri", and that it is – a potpourri of vegetables tossed with peanut sauce and topped with shrimp crackers. In it Cok Sri added pre-packed tahu, tofu and tempeh; a staple in these islands. Tempeh is made by fermenting half-cooked and dried soybeans with a starter yeast. It has the texture of nougat and the same nutty taste as tofu.

Cok Sri conducts cooking classes for small groups of two to four persons. If you're staying at the Puri Saraswati and are interested in attending one of her classes, the receptionist will be happy to arrange it for you. Cost is $20.00 per person, inclusive of all ingredients and a sumptuous lunch which you've learned to prepare. Now that's money well spent!

Stephen Bramucci: Endless Wanderer

Steve Bramucci is the creator of BootsnAll’s “How I Travel” series. After hitchhiking around the country as a 19 year-old, he spent the next decade teaching and traveling the world including a thirteen month round-the-world trip that he covered in a monthly column for COAST magazine. When he’s not on the road he lives in Laguna Beach, CA where he has a writer-in-residence grant.

His travel writing has recently won awards from Trazzler, INTravel Magazine, and the Orange County Press Club. His pieces for BootsnAll can be found at http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/tags/steve-bramucci. He can also be found on Twitter at http://twitter.com/stevebram.

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My travel style is defined by one thing: no itineraries.

I like to leave without even the seedlings of a plan. My tactic is to follow my nose, ask questions and talk to locals and tourists alike. It’s a scary theory, because it means opening up to the possibility of missing something big. But that’s always going to happen anyway. Whenever I find myself at a waterfall or beach that’s totally off the grid it suddenly becomes much easier to forget about what I might be missing.

I just saw a German movie that captures the improvisational vagabond spirit perfectly.

It’s called “Im Juli” and I’d recommend it to anyone who’s ever owned a backpack.

I’ve traveled around the world and I’m still the worst packer I know.

My backpack functions more like one of those party-favor grab bags than a complete set of supplies and gear. The only thing I’m sure to put in there is a tent, board shorts and a copy of Huck Finn. Besides that it’s a mystery. A few years ago I was taking a week-long trek through Australia’s outback and failed to bring extra socks. But I did somehow manage to carry a three volume Sherlock Holmes anthology.

As you can see, I pack novels not guidebooks.

I might give them a quick read at home before I travel though – information is always good, I just don’t want to be tethered to a guidebook (or an actual guide for that matter).

I don’t have a list of where I want to go next – but I definitely have spots that I’m fired up about.

Sometimes it’s countries, other times it’s just regions. Right now Nicaragua, Iran, and Norway have all captured my imagination. I also really want to get back to the Amazon Basin for an extended stretch of time. I camped along the banks of the Rio Anzu in Ecuador last spring and fell in love with it.

I trust local recommendations more than I trust the State Department’s warning list.

I was in the cities of Ramallah and Nablus in the West Bank the week before they were stormed by Israeli troops (2007) and was welcomed with nothing but warmth and hospitality. I found that the Palestinians didn’t connect me with my government’s policies any more than they wanted to be associated with a small number of extremists.

I’m a street food connoisseur and it’s never given me any digestive trouble.

If you don’t want to get sick, stay out of the tourist traps and eat on the street. The food is cooked hot and it sells quickly (meaning the vendors have to constantly buy fresh ingredients). My favorites are the curry fish balls in Hong Kong, the Zebu skewers served throughout Madagascar, and the carne asada tacos in Tijuana (believe it).

I ate a Chinese Century Egg in October.

That thing had a direct line to my gag reflex. It smelled like sulfur and the gummy texture seemed to absorb every bit of moisture in my mouth. I’ve eaten deep-fried wolf spiders (Cambodia), turtle intestine (Australia), termites (Uganda), river rat (Vietnam), and Blood Sausage (Italy) – and I’d try them all again with a smile on my face. But the Century Egg? I’m out. I’m done.

I like to get my hair cut wherever I go.

This has resulted in some awful haircuts. But I have met some fascinating people because of it. I also always try to take care of some municipal business, like going to the post office to mail something. I go to church when I’m abroad, too (even though I don’t go at home), especially in Fiji and South Africa where the four-part harmonies will give you chills. I really like meeting people outside of the tourist network.

My travel advice is simple: go directly to Madagascar.

Not only am I a huge fan of this ecologically and ethnically diverse mini-continent, but the country needs travelers to return after another stretch of political turmoil. Of all the places I’ve visited and loved, it tops my “go back” list.

Whitehaven Beach on Whitsunday Island (AUS) is the best beach I’ve ever set foot on.

The sand is so fine that it squeaks under your feet and sea turtles swim right along the shoreline. All off my pictures from Whitehaven look like someone has pulled off some sort of incredible Photoshop trickery.

I like to figure out the best mode of transport for getting around each place that I visit.

In Thailand, the bus system was too comfortable and efficient not to use. In Cambodia, I loved going by bicycle. I rowed a traditional Vietnamese X’ampan down the Mekong Delta. But the best application of this concept was buying a beat-up Nissan Patrol in East Africa. It constantly broke down and I had to change 26 tires, but it allowed me the chance to be my own safari guide and pick up locals in need of a lift. One of my all-time favorite travel memories is picking up a Masai tribesman and taking him to his village to share a pineapple with his family. You just don’t get organic experiences like that from tour operators.

Animal watching is a big part of the travel experience for me.

Some of my best trips have been to places like Indonesia, Galapagos, East Africa, and Madagascar. A week spent tracking Komodo Dragons on the island of Rinca was one of the best of my life. But living that close to an animal that can kill you and also smells blood from two miles away keeps you on edge.

If you want to connect with locals you have to slow down.

Find a day just to wander, have a conversation without glancing at your watch, get lost then ask for directions. The chance to make new friends is the number one selling point for traveling without an itinerary. The planet is filled with fascinating people who want to show off their corner of the world but you have to make time to actually talk with them.

If you’re on the bus, sit in the middle.

In the back you get the bathroom fumes, in the front you get people hopping on and off – but in the middle you get people with great stories just looking for someone who’ll listen.

I would love to have taken a trip with Mark Twain.

I really think he understood the beauty and the inescapable humor of life on the road.

When I’m on the road I listen to a lot of Ben Harper’s music.

I remember being at Uluru in central Australia and offering to drive a couple of Aboriginal men back to their community. I played a Ben Harper song for them, this anthem of unrest called “Better Way,” and within seconds they were both slapping their thighs and cheering out while the song rattled the speakers. They had a truly visceral reaction to the song – it spoke to something in them.

My favorite adventures are misadventures.

I was almost carried away by a flash flood on that Amazon trip and my boat sank twice in Vietnam… But those things make me appreciate the free and easy times even more.

There are still incredible places left out there that very few people know about.

We all just have to dig, ask questions and be intrepid. Once we find them, we’d be wise to take care of them. It’s those place in particular that make me want to live a sustainable lifestyle.

I used to think I traveled to learn about different cultures or broaden my perspective.

And those are certainly nice ancillary benefits to travel. But I’ve realized that the real reason that I travel is for the brief glimpses of beauty. Whether it’s playing soccer with kids on the beach in Mozambique or spotting my first Orca in New Zealand, my travels have provided me with these perfect moments that will hang in my memory forever. No price tag can be assigned to them, no photo can capture them – but those moments are waiting out there and every time I travel I seem to stumble into a few. That’s why I keep doing it. That’s why I’m in love with it.

Prior to the tsunami, a long standing, low level conflict existed within Aceh. Aji, a young Indonesian Red Cross volunteer at the time, recalls how he used to evacuate at least one corpse every day, victims of the fighting. After 29 years of conflict, that meant a lot of bodies. Instability raged across turbulent Aceh.

Then, on Boxing Day 2004, an earthquake measuring nine on the Richter scale struck just off the coast of Aceh, violently waking up the sea and sending not one but three monstrous waves up to 20 metres high many kilometres inland. At least 120,000 and maybe as many as 160,000 died in this one province of Indonesia – well over half of the global death toll of the tsunami that affected 13 countries.

As the giant waves as high as six storey buildings decapitated towering palm trees and wiped out everything and everyone in its path, they also wiped out the conflict in Aceh. The enormity of the disaster took over everything. Conversations five years later rarely turn towards the conflict; it is always tsunami, tsunami, tsunami. After decades of conflict, that is saying something.

Within days, mass graves with tens of thousands of unidentified bodies filled up. A few miracle buildings were left standing, including a giant white mosque in Lhoknga, near Banda Aceh. The land was rearranged: where houses and palm trees once stood, there was nothing but water. A 2,600 tonne boat was carried five kilometres inland, where it still sits today. At least 30,000 people died in the capital of Banda Aceh alone. The city and surrounding countryside were completely and utterly destroyed.

Five years later, the astounding and overwhelmingly positive fact is that if you don’t dig under the surface or notice the finer detail it would be hard to tell what happened in Aceh five years ago. Of course there are the subtle reminders, such as headless palm trees, and not so subtle reminders, like the massive boat 5km inland.

However there has been an incredible reconstruction effort that has pumped the city back to life – the few old buildings blending into the multitude of new ones, forming one vibrant and colourful city getting on with life. Streets from even two years ago are unrecognisable: they look so different now, so alive.

The British Red Cross has rebuilt over 2,200 houses and supported over 34,000 people to restore their livelihoods in numerous communities across Aceh. In the rebuilt villages, almost every house new, life is moving on in leaps and bounds.

Take May Suriyati, 27, who has restarted her sewing business with the help of a cash grant from the British Red Cross. Her business has been so successful that she has built an extension on her Turkish Red Crescent house that now forms her tailoring shop, full of cupboards lined with colourful clothes made to order. The signs of recovery are clearly visible in both the personal and public faces of Aceh. May’s story is just one of many stories of recovery featured on the British Red Cross Tsunami anniversary site www.recoveringafuture.org.uk

The tourist industry in the region has also begun to pick up, with visitors returning to the island of Sabang, famous for diving, and luckily relatively unscathed by the tsunami. It is encouraging to see tourists mingling with local people as they travel by ferry between Banda Aceh and the island that lies just off the coastline.

Although the emotional scars from the tsunami still run deep, it is both moving and awe-inspiring to see the incredible results of the tsunami recovery operation in Aceh five years after the disaster.

To find out more about the work of the British Red Cross in the Tsunami affected region and test your own disaster response skills visit http://www.recoveringafuture.org.uk

Bali is paradise on earth. A unique island which is as much modern in its facilities as it is traditional in its art, culture and lifestyle – a heritage feast personified.

On first reaching the airport at Denpasar, we took a cab that brought us to our accommodation in Nusa Dua, a lovely little area that hangs off the southern end of Bali almost like a teardrop. It's where Bali's largest enclave of luxury resorts are carefully laid out surrounded by lush foliage and serene beaches. An ideal holiday experience, Nusa Dua has a number of little souvenir shops and restaurants that offer traditional Balinese dance performances like the legong, amongst other little treasures. The best way to get around in Bali is via hiring a car and a driver. The local drivers are resourceful and friendly, and they often double up as guides. If you have an aesthetic bent of mind, then undoubtedly, the first place for you to hit is Ubud, about an hour north of Denpasar. It's a good way to get a feel of "the real Bali". Driving through the town is like a dream come true, art and craft fill up every surface in sight, all around this little sleepy hamlet. It is home to the most distinct Balinese painting style.

The drive to Ubud is full of its own surprises. With a number of little villages offering various arts of their own, you learn that in Bali, it's always about the journey, rather than the destination. Stop over at Batbalan Village where you will see some rare stone carvings. An interesting thing to watch is the batik processing. There are a number of shops that sell batik ware, with people working at it outside. The next village is Celuk, known for its famous silver and gold jewellery. A little further down is Sukawati where you can pick up some artistic hand-crafted puppets. The road north then passes through Mas. Here you will find numerous shops selling several woodcarving masterpieces.

Other interesting items you will encounter along the way are kites and masks. These make up the must-buy souvenirs from a truly magical island! You might also like to take home some famous Balinese coffee, cocoa and herbal tea packets.

Ubud mostly has shops that sell paintings, but it also has its own share of branded stores that you would find in any big city. You can't help but shop till you drop in this area. And the best part is that you can always bargain! There are some intriguing cultural performances in the evenings that one cannot miss, traditional dance forms performed at the Ubud Palace.

Balinese people are a mix of Malays and Polynesians. It's really something to see a wedding or even funeral ceremony in procession, as it gives an insight into the community life. It is believed that every single person present in the area must participate in these celebrations. The Balinese greatly value the ideal of selam-putih or black-and-white, as every motif resounds with a sense of balance. Even doors have two gates, one good and one evil.

After Ubud, we decided to devote the next day to the famous Mother Temple that stands tall against a stupendous mountain backdrop on the southeastern slopes of Mount Agung. Pura Besakih is fascinating because it is a massive complex of 35 small temples. So, if temples are a must-do on your list of things and you're short on time, definitely choose this one! Plus, climbing the steps is not really a misery, as there are temples at regular intervals that you can stop at and see. Overall, the experience gets along rather smoothly especially if you're with a guide, who keeps telling you what you're looking at. There are different sites devoted to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva; you may even feel cleansed.

To continue our spiritual quest for the day, we spent the evening at Uluwatu. Lying at the southern tip of Bali, Uluwatu has another beautiful temple called the Pura Uluwatu – great to be here in time to watch the sunset, as the view at this time is at its zenith!

A little walk from the sunset point leads you towards an experience that you can barely forget in a lifetime. In a round shaped auditorium, stages a dramatic representation of the Ramayana in the form of a lively dance known as the kecak. Kecak is the most unique Balinese dance form which is not accompanied by any orchestra, but by a choir of 70 men. In this, a person communicates with the deities in a state of trance. Using dancers as a medium, the deities convey their wishes. Needless to say, the costumes are magnificent and the performance is completed in the form of a fire dance. Some of the characters even interact with the audience in a jovial way, making it fun for children to watch. That said, it is an excellent way to learn about one's ancient scriptures and epics in a form that is educational as well as entertaining. It was the most simple and creative art I have ever seen for the great epic to be utilised.

On the way back to Nusa Dua, we decided to stop at the Jimbaran Bay for dinner. The bay itself forms the backdrop to a broad sweeping crescent of a beach. Having dinner on the coastline is romantic and the food traditional Balinese or Indonesian. Good time to be experimental and try out the local flavour. And if you're a seafood person, then it's your day.

We were fortunate the Bali Arts Festival was on at Denpasar, close to Kuta. Every evening was a feast of cultural performances, handicraft exhibitions and other related commercial activities. It's a microcosm of all that Bali is known for, complete with sights, sounds and smells. Stage performances, dance choreographies, musical creations, puppet shows and other revelry are the order of the day.

We spent the entire last day exploring the area around Nusa Dua. There is an interesting market called Bali Collection that houses a huge art market, convenience store, and a range of other branded stores like Sogo. It's a great place to do last minute shopping, and pick up little trinkets for friends and relatives back home. We had dinner at an outdoor restaurant where a local dance troupe performed some of the most impressive dance styles such as salsa, Latin, Indonesian, Balinese and flamingo. By the end, we were all tapping our feet on stage.

My last memory of Bali was getting myself a soothing traditional Balinese foot and back massage at a spa – left me refreshed and recharged for the journey back home.

You may or may not return to this beautiful island again, but you know that Bali will surely remain with you forever. To sign off in true Balinese style – Tremakasih.

I’m not a movie star or even some reality TV twit, but I am famous. And like Brad and Angelina, I too suffer the perils of celebrity. Of course, I should point out that unlike Brad and Angelina, my entourage usually consists of a rowdy group of screaming children and the occasional goat. Though I do own a couple of Gucci bags, they’re the kind with the misspelled labels – one of them is actually called Gucki – and the poorly hidden “Made in China” tags.

I’ve been living in West Sumatra, Indonesia for almost two months now while my husband teaches at a nearby university. Yet the novelty of being one of the few western women around town hasn’t worn off. Just yesterday, I managed to turn the heads of more than twenty students in a nearby Kentucky Fried Chicken getting takeout. One girl almost knocked her younger sister over trying to get a better look at me. My husband, on the other hand, is infinitely less popular due to the small but steady stream of Australian surfers flitting between Padang and the Mentawai Islands. “You’re just not exotic enough,” I sniffed while the young girl at the counter giggled nervously throughout my entire order. He looked so dejected I almost felt sorry for him until a wide-eyed four-year old proceeded to beat him over the head with a balloon. “Children seem to like you, though.”

I’d been to Indonesia before; it’s not as though the attention should come as a huge shock. But I'd lived in the sprawling capital of Jakarta where foreigners receive nary a glance, hailing a taxi on the street. On Yogyakarta’s Malioboro Street or Bali’s Kuta Beach, I’d always garner a small crowd, but they were usually eager touts selling batik paintings or bamboo didgeridoos, rather than admirers. Here in the city of Padang, I attract attention simply for my looks, not necessarily good looks, as my husband pointed out. “It’s your translucently pale complexion – kind of like the wall lizards. I’d attributed his comment to sour grapes until an immigration official apologized for one of his officer’s stares. “He tells me you are the whitest person he’s ever seen,” he explained.

Although being famous has its perks, it’s not as fun as I imagined it would be. For one thing, spontaneity takes a back seat when you’re in the public eye. Gone are the days of stumbling out to the local store for a loaf of bread (or in this case, beef satay or a bag of fresh mangos) in a spaghetti-splattered T-shirt and cut offs. I have an audience here, an audience that’s easy to please, but an audience, nonetheless.

Being stared at everywhere I go is not something I’ll ever be able to get used to. Nor is it something I want to get used to; having this much attention is starting to make me – well, weird. My self-consciousness is so acute now, it is bordering on egomanical paranoia. I actually yelled at my husband the other night when he failed to notice the two pieces of rice stuck to the front of my shirt after I’d gone out. He looked at me like I was nuts. “You were just throwing out the garbage.”

He was right – I was going nuts because the true pitfall of fame is fame. It’s not normal, under any circumstances to be that hyper aware of yourself. In fact, I’m so conscious of people watching me that I’ve begun to see myself as everyone else does – in the third person. I went to the market the other day and the whole time I was thinking: there she is, picking up a dried fish head and smelling it, and now watch as she tosses back her head and laughs heartily at her husband’s lame joke. This is not egomania; it is madness.

Celebrity is nothing more than a privileged form of alienation. People smile and even make me feel like I’m something special; I try not to kid myself. I’m famous for being a foreigner – that’s it. The attention was fun at first, now I long to hang out with everyone else, scarfing down nasi goreng and ogling the next new face that rolls into town.

It’s not all bad – Indonesians are the friendliest people I’ve ever met; their graciousness often exceeds their curiosity. But as a writer and socially-inept human being, I’m more comfortable in the role of observer than observee. I’ll certainly miss Indonesia when I finally leave: the people, the chaos and the almost ridiculous beauty of this country – hard not to miss. I’ll be ready to reclaim my anonymity though, as just another nameless face or faceless name when I return to the U.S. in ten months.

That said, the next time I am back in the states, and I’m standing in line at the DMV, shifting uncomfortably behind a guy talking loudly on his cell phone about the merits of his SUV’s “hemi", it will be all I can do not to march up to the clerk and demand in the immortal words of all fallen idols: Do you know who I am?

She quickly dispelled that thought with her jolly greeting and warm smile. Then we were off to the Ubud market to purchase the ingredients for our cooking class. It was cold; I hugged my shawl tighter around me while I looked around and noticed many other women walking in the same direction, alone or in small groups of two or three. All were heading to the market, no doubt. I couldn't believe the market would be teeming with customers at this hour. It seemed as though the entire female population of Ubud were present – and then some.

I gingerly tiptoed over and around a maze of crates and mats piled high, with the radiant contrasting colors of red chilis, fiddlehead ferns, squash and shallots. All the vendors seemed to know Cok Sri. Her keen eye (and nose!) for freshness was evident as she surveyed and sniffed and then honed in for what she deemed to be just right. After procuring the vegetables we needed, she led us down the steps to the wet market for chicken and fish. While Cok Sri and Rina discussed our protein requirements, I scanned my surroundings for photo opportunities.

Something caught my eye
Over by the cookies and breads, a lady was assembling what looked like multi-colored sticky cakes on a brown sheet of paper, which she drizzled with a brown syrup and then sprinkled with coconut. Afterwards she folded the paper closed and handed it to her customer before repeating the whole process. Cok Sri and Rina found me here, realizing only then that I had strayed from them. Cok Sri must have seen the drool gushing (I still hadn't had any breakfast and I was starving by then!) down to my flip-flops because she bought one each for us to have for breakfast later.

With us tailing her, she continued into an alley for dried shrimp paste and peanut sauce before declaring we were done. It was only when we were back on the street did I notice we were joined by a woman carrying our purchases in a basket balanced on her head. Cok Sri dropped us at the bungalows and asked us to meet her back in her place down the road at nine o'clock. This gave us a little over an hour for a leisurely breakfast that included the bubur jajanan, a medley of glutinous rice cakes in assorted colors, shapes and textures drizzled with palm sugar syrup and shredded coconut that was acutely reminiscent of home. Kakanins, native snacks, that came to mind were cuchinta, puto and bilo-bilo. Yum!

We arrived at Cok Sri's promptly at 9:00 a.m. She lived in a traditional Balinese family complex that she shared with a slew of brothers and sisters. She called out to us from her kitchen near the rear of the complex. It was a simple galley kitchen across from another open-air kitchen area where all the ingredients were laid out. Like model pupils, Rina and I took our positions on mismatched mono bloc stools; excited and ready for our private Balinese cuisine education.

The first task was to prepare the Bali sambal: a fiery condiment of shallots, garlic, chilis and dried shrimp paste, trasi. Sambals are either raw or cooked, though in these islands it is preferred raw; untamed by cooking. It is served with everything. In this region, a meal without sambal is unthinkable. Cok Sri laid a large granite mortar on the counter in which she threw the ingredients, except the shrimp paste. She proceeded to grind everything in quick masterful strokes of the wrist.

I liked how this mortar and pestle worked. The flat pestle with the slightly bent ergonomic handle made it easy to grind ingredients into a paste rather than pounding it. (I bought myself one). The large side of the shallow, almost flat mortar, accommodates large quantities to be ground together. It is preferable to massage the ingredients, coaxing the flavors out by hand, rather than pulverizing them with a food processor; a method used for all the dishes we learned today, except for the raw corn which was mashed in a blender.

Cok Sri fired up the stove and grabbed a pan from under the sink. She mashed the block of dried shrimp paste into it until the heat and her actions broke it down into a thick grey paste. Almost instantly, the air was filled with its pungent fishy aroma. Into it went the mashed ingredients for a quick saute, then gentle simmer. The smell it gave off was heady and almost provocative. The fumes tickled my nostrils and stirred my tummy.

Watching Cok Sri in her element was fascinating. We observed her coax the flavors from the exotic spices, expertly wrap the fish with banana leaves, effortlessly negotiate the stove top that had four pans sizzling or steaming at once, and deftly chop ingredients with quick fluid motions of her wrist. All the while she answered my questions patiently, even spelling out some names as I took down notes. She also regaled us with tales of her family without missing a beat. She had the kitchen prowess that comes only from decades of experience. She did have an assistant who helped her grate the coconut for the long beans, but she did everything else herself – no sweat. She was the picture of efficiency, constantly cleaning and packing away as she worked.

Two hours later, we were ready to chow. We helped her bring out the plates to where tables had been set for us; at one of then pavilions by the courtyard. At our insistence, Cok Sri joined us for lunch and together we feasted on her masterpiece – truly works of art. I felt almost compelled to give her a standing ovation by the end of the meal. Instead, I hugged and thanked her for the wonderful meal and insightful glimpse into her culture.

Other dishes we made
Ikan Pepes- Tuna wrapped in banana leaves. The chunks of tuna were coated in a paste of turmeric, galangal, shallots, garlic, lemongrass, ginger and chili. Then they were wrapped in banana leaves with a daun salam (local bay leaf) leaf tucked in. (The daun salam tree is a member of the cassia family; its leaves impart a mild spciy/woody flavor). The wrapped fish is then steamed and afterwards grilled in a pan.

Perkedel jagung – Indonesian corn fritters. This was our favorite! They are made with shallots, nutmeg, chili and garlic; deep fried to perfection. We were eating them hot off the fryer, like popcorn.

Ayam Goreng – Spicy fried chicken. This is her children's favorite, Cok Sri tells us, and I can understand why. The chicken is fried with garlic, chili, onions and tomatoes, glazed with kecap manis. Kecap (pronounced keh-chap) is derived from the Cantonese word for sauce koe-chiap form, which the word ketchup came from). Manis is sweet soy sauce infused with palm sugar which gives its syrupy consistency. Kecap asin, on the other hand, is the regular soy sauce we are familiar with.

Long beans in coconut milk – I don't know what this is called in the local dialect, but it was delicious. I've always enjoyed local cuisine cooked with gata or coconut milk. This one was redolent with the sambal Cok Sri prepared – galangal, shallots and garlic.

Gado-gado – what would a Balinese or Indonesian cooking class be without this vegetable dish. Gado-gado loosely translates as "potpourri", and that it is – a potpourri of vegetables tossed with peanut sauce and topped with shrimp crackers. In it Cok Sri added pre-packed tahu, tofu and tempeh; a staple in these islands. Tempeh is made by fermenting half-cooked and dried soybeans with a starter yeast. It has the texture of nougat and the same nutty taste as tofu.

Cok Sri conducts cooking classes for small groups of two to four persons. If you're staying at the Puri Saraswati and are interested in attending one of her classes, the receptionist will be happy to arrange it for you. Cost is $20.00 per person, inclusive of all ingredients and a sumptuous lunch which you've learned to prepare. Now that's money well spent!