Between the Rivers, East of the Clouds: A Short Visit to Hà Nội

To me, Hanoi resembles the pressurized, heated, perpetually moving environment of the human circulatory system. Its convoluted streets are packed to their narrow edges with such an insistent volume of motorbikes and other vehicles that its ability to function more or less uninterruptedly appears miraculous. As the regional metropole and a bustling center of commerce for most of the last millennium (periods of American military destruction excepted), Hanoi, especially its Old Quarter, is an intensely complex place resembling a respiratory system in which even the smallest unit – the red blood cell – is represented analogously: walnut faced old women watch over bootleg football jerseys wedged into the tiniest of spaces between buildings. Everything is interconnected.

I’m reaching a bit with the vascular metaphor, but if you have a chance to visit you’ll understand. The bronchial system of avenues, streets, alleys, and side-alleys conveys a nearly literal flood of delivery vehicles carrying the oxygen of a commercial district: building supplies, beer, vegetables, livestock, people, documents, consumer electronics, and on and on. Those same vehicles (or vessels) remove the byproducts of Southeast Asian urban metabolism: hung-over Australians, Bia Hanoi empties, organic waste, assorted rubbish.

We arrived in January and as tempting as it is to believe that Hanoi is a brutally hot, oppressively humid tropical party zone, winter is undeniably damp and cold once the sun goes down. Hanoi also has an uncommonly early bedtime, when considered beside its sister capital cities in Southeast Asia. Nearly everything shuts down pretty early – between 10pm and midnight – a result of both cultural and governmental influences, so if you plan on raging until the sun crawls up and over the eastern horizon you should probably save it for Ho Chi Minh or Phnom Penh.

Frenetic daily life and the anonymity afforded by such lend Hanoi a romanticism that is hard to escape. Yeah, sure, plenty of other major cities are hive-like centers of commerce with long histories but in northern Vietnam this has been operating almost seamlessly for well over 1,000 years. Northern Vietnam has long been a thorn in the Chinese underbelly, an intractable region that has, throughout the centuries, forced the Middle Kingdom into tributary state arrangements, wars of conquest, wars of maintenance, and wars of retribution, not to mention complex border negotiations.

Hanoi is a part of a proud culture that fell under the colonial heel (as the variety of French colonial houses and the ubiquity of baguettes throughout the city prove), fought its way out against the most advanced, well funded military on earth (America!) and has emerged again as an important center of manufacturing and trade. It is fun, vibrant, a mix of old and new (each street is named after the craft guilds that used to occupy it), and an undeniably alluring place.

30 Hours (Give or Take) in Nikko, Japan

 

Looking west across Lake Chuzenji. Kegon waterfall is behind and to the left about half a kilometer.

Translating literally as ‘sunlight’ or ‘sunshine’ Nikko, Japan greeted us with a slushy downpour, the alternating mix of drizzle and wet, heavy snow giving up its wintry pretenses and converting entirely to a sodden, pitilessly chilly rain after about 10 minutes. We’d been in Tokyo two hours earlier, where we hopped onto the Tobu Nikko line and headed up to this small city in the mountains about a hundred and forty kilometers north of the capital. It was a pretty ride, through the surrealistically enormous urban expanse of Tokyo and its environs before breaking free and winding through increasingly mountainous terrain towards Nikko, which is tucked into the bends and curves of a small river valley in Tochigi Prefecture.

Our first order of business was hostel location, our place of choice being the Nikkorisou Backpackers, a cozy, exceedingly quiet place located literally across the street from the bus stop and about a 2.5 minute stroll from the entrance to Nikko’s legendary Toshogu shrine complex. After dropping off the bags we made a break through the rain for Hippari Dako, a local noodle and yakitori (a Japanese chicken skewer) eatery that has been elevated to a kind of institution by Lonely Planet and numerous other travel authorities for the years and years of foreign currency and business cards scrawled with messages and left by visitors tacked to the walls. It was good, it was cheap, and warm food hit the spot after wandering around in the cold and the damp.

Shinkyo Bridge, linking Nikko with the shrine complex.

Full, we wandered off to the shrine complex, past the Shinkyo bridge – a picturesque feudal remnant that connects the town to the shrines, and up towards a forest of ancient Japanese cedars that are staggering in size and age. Conventional wisdom predicts that it is easy to burn oneself out on shrines and temples in Japan, which is true, there are thousands upon thousands of them – many beautiful, of historical and cultural importance, and lauded in travel literature – but, Nikko is particularly beautiful due to the lavishly constructed mausoleums of the Tokugawa Shoguns and the world famous cedar forest which was planted over 400 years ago by a feudal lord serving the first Tokugawa Shogun. The complexities of Japanese political history aside, the cedars in Nikko are awe inspiring, enormous pieces of the living past and the shady, peaceful hush that hangs over the entire complex is due largely to their sweeping needle covered boughs. Also be sure to check out the ‘Sacred Stable’ with its carving of the three wise monkeys – ‘hear no, see no, speak no evil’.

A cedar lined road in Nikko.

After walking around the various shrines and struggling to maintain footing on slush and ice encrusted sidewalks, we headed back into town and grabbed a cup of coffee, some cheesecake, and hunkered down to wait out the last hour before check in. By this time the rain had been reduced to light, infrequent drizzles so our walk back to Nikkorisou Backpacker’s was at least semi-dry. We got checked in, stowed our things, then relaxed for a while. Nikkorisou is an adorable place, quaint, unique, with a traditional wood stove and Japanese living room, and the bunks were, like, the absolute perfect level of snug and warmth. We made a break for dinner around 6 or 7, getting into downtown right as the sky decided to let go again. So, forced by weather and desperation (there was almost nothing open), we ducked into a non-descript local joint run by a most excellent gentleman named Akira Asai who plied us with beers, spicy shrimp, noodles and polite questions about our lives and travels. A brisk walk back to the hostel through the rain and that it was it for our first 12 hours in town.

Kegon Waterfall pouring down just below Lake Chuzenji

Day two brought sun and blue skies and we headed up into the surrounding mountains towards Nikko National Park to check out famous waterfalls, hopefully spot some wandering Japanese Macaques, and generally just enjoy snow and trees and gorgeous winter scenery. We stopped first at Kegon Waterfall, a 100 meter tall cataract at the outlet of Lake Chuzenji. It was much colder at higher altitudes, and my hoodie/rain jacket combo was a bit light for the fierce winds careening eastward over the lake, but out into the weather we went. Kegon is accessed by an elevator tunneled straight through the rock connected to an underground bunker style visitors’ area that in turn leads out to an observation deck built right into the walls of the gorge. We huddled for a bit, snapped some pictures, then made a quick café stop for coffee and pastry before catching a bus further up into Nikko National Park on Route 120.

More views of the mountainous Nikko National Park

Our next stop was Yudaki falls, right below Lake Yunoko. From the falls we trekked maybe half a kilometer up a trail covered in about two and half feet of snow. Not the easiest climb, but not the longest either, and twenty odd minutes later we were at the lakeshore on a wooden bridge watching an early morning snow shower drop enormous flakes lazily across the water and mountains. Watched for a few minutes, headed back down the hill, and saw a wandering troupe of Japanese Macaques, or Snow Monkeys. Making their way along a hillside far from the road, the animals weren’t exactly close, but still cool, and curious to see a creature so often associated with jungles and tropical environments wandering around in a snow covered mountain forest.

Hugging a 400-500 year old cedar.

After the monkeys we caught another bus back into town and checked out, returning to Tokyo around two or three in the afternoon. With only one night and less than 36 hours to explore, was Nikko worth the trip? I’d say absolutely. Nikko is actually probably perfect for one or two day trips, especially on an All Nikko Pass which provides unlimited access to buses and trains over a four day time period. Far from the frenetic pace of urban Japan and with no real night life to speak of the town is not the most exciting place to be after 7pm, but it is set in an absolutely gorgeous area filled with hiking and other outdoor opportunities. Nikko also perfectly illustrates one of the most impressive things about Japan: the near-perfect combination of ultra-modern mega-city living, small town life, and untouched natural beauty; all three seem to be in Zen like proportion, a harmony that is obvious after a day trip to Nikko.

Full gallery below:

Wooden prayer blocks in the Toshogu shrine complex.

More views of the mountainous Nikko National Park

The end of the day, looking back towards Nikko proper across Lake Chuzenji

Lake Yunoko on a snowy afternoon

Yunaki Falls

A snowy field on the way to Lake Yunoko and Yudaki Falls

Looking west across Lake Chuzenji. Kegon waterfall is behind and to the left about half a kilometer.

Kegon Waterfall pouring down just below Lake Chuzenji

Nikko National Park

Mountains in Nikko National Park above Lake Chuzenji

A cedar lined road in Nikko.

See no, hear no, speak no evil!

Snowmice!

Giant cedars in Toshogu Shrine Complex, Nikko, Japan.

Hugging a 400-500 year old cedar.

Shinkyo Bridge, linking Nikko with the shrine complex.

 

Picture of the Week: Longpan Park, Kenting, Taiwan

Typhoon Fitow kicks up an angry surf along Taiwan’s southern coast as seen from Longpan park, near Kenting. Longpan, lying between Jiae Road and the emptiness of the western Pacific, is a gorgeous coral limestone tableland, with expansive views, windswept grasslands, and rambling cliffs that transition into pastureland at their base. Winds were extremely powerful on the day we stopped, strong enough to make stinging missiles out of sand and grit, strong enough to knock over people and parked scooters, which only added to the expansive feel of the place. ‘Tropical Ireland’ is perhaps an accurate metaphorical take on Longpan, with its low shrubs, vast fields of grass, and grazing animals dotting the countryside.

Borneo Chapter Three: An Untouched Piece of Art

Semporna is a hot, dirty, rat infested town perched on Malaysian Borneo’s far eastern coast, not far from the Indonesian-Malaysian border. The town is home to an extraordinarily pungent fish market – even by fish market standards, a small army of the most shabbily put-together ladyboys in all of Southeast Asia, and a rundown yellow mosque whose bells toll a heartless, languorous tribute to oppressive heat and dust. There is no quaint water front; there are no cozy hotels; the roads are strewn with plastic trash.

Getting to Semporna isn’t exactly wonderful either – an hour and a half ride from Tawau airport through the peaks and troughs of a featureless palm tree ocean. To feed mainland Asia’s new and voracious middle classes (and to make sure that hypertensive, convenience-obsessed westerners maintain an uninterrupted supply of artificially cheap processed food) Malaysia’s political elite, in often blatant self-enrichment projects, have embarked on a kind of ecological scorched earth campaign clearing massive swathes through some of the planet’s most biodiverse rainforests and converting the broken leftovers into mile after mile of palm oil plantation. Transit to and from Semporna in unremarkable, the town itself is un-enthralling by almost any conventional signifier of traveler fancy, and shore-side comforts are scarce at best.

Looking across the lagoon at Bohedulang Island, Tun Sakaran Marine Park. A dock leading to the Giant Clam and Marine Invertebrate Hatchery can be seen in the background.

And yet Semporna is rapidly becoming one of the most sought after destinations in Borneo. This can be attributed directly to the fact that the islands and barrier reef systems located short boat rides from the crowded central wharf are nothing short of littoral, intertidal, maritime, underwater fantasy lands. Called an, “untouched piece of art,” by no less than Jacques Yves Cousteau himself, the diving in and around Semporna is legendary – known for sheer walls, thriving coral, and one of the most biodiverse marine habitats in the world. Steep sided volcanic islands, most within sight of mainland, are enveloped by water ranging – on a scale of blues –  from cobalt to hues so light and clear they resemble rarefied electric clouds more than saltwater.

Resulting from volcanic activity, steep coral faces are found throughout Semporna and contribute to the incredible diving. An abrupt drop is given away by the stark differences in water color.

World class diving and snorkeling sites are strewn in liberal, almost careless fashion across the Celebes Sea around Semporna. At Tun Sakaran Marine Park, comprised of Sibuan, Mantabuan, Selakan and five other volcanic remnants, and at the incomparable aquatic paradise of Sipadan divers and snorkelers will encounter species that have largely or entirely disappeared from other popular regional destinations. One of the most fascinating attractions at Tun Sakaran is its Giant Clam and Marine Invertebrate Hatchery. Some of these humble bivalves can weigh in at over 400 pounds (once released into the wild) and at over 4 feet in length a person could literally sleep inside an empty shell.

A family of Bajau Laut, or Sea Gypsies, gather around their boat. Many of these people spend almost their whole lives on boats or in small huts built over coral atolls, from which they make a living.

Adding to the Melville-ian atmosphere of littoral Semporna are the Bajau Laut, also called Sea Gypsies, who live in small stilt villages built directly over coral atolls. As their livelihoods come almost exclusively from the sea, most of the Bajau Laut spend their entire lives on or in the water, only coming ashore to sell fish or bury their dead. Like almost every other environment on earth, this liquid empyrean faces severe ecological pressures, primarily from overfishing (and the continued, highly destructive use of dynamite by local fishermen), pollution, and wear and tear from the explosion of tourist interest in the area.

For those who want to make the trip, spend your time offshore, on an island or in the water, and book Sipadan in advance – it is one of the most sought after dive destinations on planet earth. Check out Scuba Junkies, they’ve been in the area from almost the beginning and devote a not insignificant amount of time and resources to marine rehabilitation and conservation efforts. Wear sunscreen. Semporna is a heat-blasted place, with an unforgiving sun. And prepare for several rounds of tiger beer and comparative storytelling, which will almost certainly be needed after a day or two spent in these fauna rich waters.

Check out the rest of the pictures below.

A family of Bajau Laut, or Sea Gypsies, gather around their boat. Many of these people spend almost their whole lives on boats or in small huts built over the water.

Looking across the lagoon at Bohedulang Island, Tun Sakaran Marine Park.

Resulting from volcanic activity, steep coral faces are found throughout Semporna and contribute to the incredible diving. An abrupt drop off is shown by the stark differentiation in water color.

Borneo Chapter Two: Into Gunung Mulu

We left Kuching for Gunung Mulu National Park in the middle of an afternoon thunderstorm. Our twin-propeller plane took off directly into a snarling black wall of clouds and sideways rain and serious doubts about near-term safety. Luckily, the inclement weather was mostly low lying, a meteorological bluff that gave way to sun and a fluffy white bed of clouds a few thousand feet off the ground. Far less (superficially) dangerous, was our arrival an hour later at Mulu Airport, swooping down over mountainous jungle into a remote town set so deep in the heart of Borneo that one must fly or travel by boat to reach it (logging roads exist, but it is almost impossible to reach Mulu by land).

Gunung Mulu National Park is a 546 square kilometer old-growth jungle preserve set almost in the geographical center of Malaysian Borneo. It is also one of the most spectacular places in Southeast Asia, and probably the world. I don’t toss around descriptive absolutes like ‘most spectacular’ lightly, but Mulu deserves it. Why the effusive praise?

Walking into Deer Cave. Hopefully I (the person walking) lend some sense of scale to the enormity of the place.

CAVES. 286km of cave systems; the largest known cave chamber on earth – Sarawak Chamber at 700m in length, 400 meters in width, and 70m in height; the largest cave passage on earth (or was, apparently the recent discovery of a cave in Vietnam has usurped this title, but I’m not an official, so 1st or 2nd biggest) – the entrance passage to Deer Cave is about 2km deep, 174m high, and a couple hundred meters in width depending on your location; the longest cave in Southeast Asia – Clearwater cave clocking in at 180km of explored passageway; and a variety of other superlatives that I will skip. The caves are almost incomprehensibly enormous. The entrance to Deer Cave hits 300m tall in places. If you wanted, you could sail the entirety of the United States 7^th Fleet into Deer Cave and probably have room for a 9-hole underground golf course.

A trio of lantern bugs cling to a tree. Despite the name, the long ‘lanterns’ do not emit light.

FLORA AND FAUNA. Do you like old growth jungle? Do you like rare, exotic, Burton-esque types of insects and land mammals? Or 170 distinct species of orchids? Does the phrase, ‘10 different species of the carnivorous Pitcher Plant,’ arouse your curiosity and/or toss gasoline onto the always smoldering ember of wanderlust buried right beside your gypsy heart? Well, maybe you’re not a botanist, perhaps it takes giant moths, emerald pit vipers, pygmy squirrels, Rhinoceros Hornbills, hand sized snails, face sized spiders, 276 species of butterflies – including the luminescent Rajah Brooke’s Birdwing, porcupines and deer and scampering lizards to pluck those traveler chords. While exotic, the terrestrial leeches and extremely aggressive ants aren’t as fun. Granted, population densities for mammals are quite low, and many animals are active nocturnally, so sightings are not guaranteed, but that makes any encounter even more special.

One of the bridges on the 480m long Canopy Skywalk, one of the most fascinating attractions in the park.

MANAGERIAL EXCELLENCE. Gunung Mulu National Park is an incredibly well managed, world-class eco-tourism destination and  is consistently voted as one of the best managed parks in all of Malaysia and Southeast Asia. Park staff are courteous, knowledgeable, and professional; activities are diverse and well organized; the food is good; the trails are well maintained; the amenities are nice; the internet can be slow, but hey, you can’t even get to the park by car so if clouds problematize satellite reception facebook status updates will have to wait. Stay at Park HQ if you can. It is a collection of bungalows and cabins nestled right at the edge of the rain forest and it is remarkable. If time is a concern do the Canopy Skywalk, Deer Cave, Clearwater Cave, and the  Night Shift. If time isn’t a concern add some adventure caving, a river boat tour, and lounge around to your heart’s content listening to the gorgeous aural environment.

A group of wrinkle-lipped bats sleeping during the day.

By making a list of things designed to capture the superlative nature of Gunung Mulu I may have given the impression that the beauty, scale, and otherworldly character of the park is somehow quantifiable. I don’t actually believe that is the case. Take for example Deer Cave. Its entrance is roughly the size of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. 3 million bats chatter away about 180m above your head. It is a 60 million year old testament to the geological alchemy of acidic water and limestone. None of those numbers really convey the historico-emotional synesthesia of being there. To rephrase without bullshit hyphenated terminology: being inside Deer Cave sets off some kind of innate sense of rapture that always existed and continues to exist in the cracks and recesses of the brain.

And the same goes for the afternoon and evening showers. Laying in a bungalow, with slatted blinds open, and the rain – its rising and falling percussive waves of sound – washing over the room, the bed, everything. The rain in Mulu is felt, and the rain begets a throaty, raucous, insistent insectoid symphony that wrings an unlikely harmony out of chaotic dissonance. It is such a deeply sensory experience; I want to write myself straight out and into a purpled, adjectival wilderness. And I guess that desire for descriptive excess is kind of the point: Mulu is special in a way that few places are – a truly unique, irreplaceable part of our world. I want to avoid valedictory clichés like, ‘go see it for yourself,’ or, ‘make it part of any Southeast Asian intinerary,’ but I have to say those things. So do it, go, you should, absolutely; see the bats, and the caves, and the lantern bugs, and definitely, definitely listen to the rain.

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Hiking Badachu

Badachu Park is a collection of rolling hills, trails, and narrow roads just outside urban Beijing’s northwest corner. It was a gorgeous day, and we spent about 6 hours hiking a fairly large (and often quite steep) loop through the area around old monasteries and temples.

 

Borneo Chapter One: Monkeys, Boat Rides, and a City of Cats

I truly enjoyed telling people about Borneo before the trip, it’s a rare destination and the name alone carried enough cache to make it sound like we’d be off on an Indiana Jones style adventure, or to undertake some anthropologically significant research in a land existing beyond the reach of time.  What with all its connotations of primordial jungle and mangrove swamps and untouched, mist enshrouded mountains I made myself into an intrepid voyager just by mentioning the name.

The reality of course was far different, but no less fun. Most people would be surprised to find that Borneo is more developed than many neighboring tourist destinations. This is due partly to the fact that the British turned coastal Borneo into a kind of exotic, but well appointed getaway, and partly to the fact that despite Japanese occupation during World War II, Malaysian Borneo emerged relatively intact. A mix of oil, industrial, and agricultural wealth has further lent the region an agreeable mix of development and low prices. Malaysian Borneo is divided into two major administrative districts: Sarawak in the east and Sabah to the West. Our trip began in Sarawak, in Kuching, the ‘City of Cats,’ so I’ll begin there.

Aromatic herbs and spices, rice, locally grown produce, and a variety of coloful wares entice shoppers along the Main Bazaar, one of Kuching’s busiest thoroughfares.

From Beijing we flew into Kuching, Borneo’s largest city with 600,000 residents, and the capital city of East Malaysia. Downtown is quite walkable and friendly, with narrow streets, small cafes, and arcaded sidewalks filled with an assortment of colorful spices, dried fish, and locally produced handicrafts. One of the most fascinating things about Kuching is its poly-ethnic character. Malays (a majority of whom are Islamic), Chinese, Indians, native Iban, Dayak, the city is truly a melting pot and appears, to an outsider at least, fairly well integrated. Dragon bedecked temples, strings of red lanterns, and large, boisterous dining halls all testify to a pronounced Chinese diasporic presence. The absence of alcohol and pork from many restaurant menus (and from most local stores, including 711), the numerous local mosques, and prayer bells all attest to the strongly Muslim character of Borneo.

Downtown Kuching is a vibrant place, so how to fill days spent in the city? Eat seafood at Top Spot, have dinner at The Junk (seriously, The Junk is fantastic), stroll along the water front, drink coffee and browse for gifts. Sit and enjoy an afternoon of heavy clouds and everyday minutiae. Borneo Delight Café, located about a block off the waterfront in the heart of downtown is wonderful, extremely cheap, and serves traditional Malaysian food, so I would highly recommend grabbing lunch at the outside tables. With a pronounced lack of booze heavy nightlife typical in so many other tourist destinations, first time visitors to Kuching would be better served just ambling around town during the evenings. Because the city is so pedestrian friendly, just about everything can be accessed from the riverside promenade, itself breezy, well lit, and dotted with small restaurants.

At 350 or so pounds, Richie (the big guy on the ground) is the undisputed alpha male of the park. He was rescued by a local journalist from illegal captivity – he was being kept in a tiny cage for display.

Kuching is charming, yes, but its real attractions lie outside the city at Bako National Park and Semenggoh Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. Semenggoh sits less than 15 miles outside the city and is one of the premier destinations in the world to see Orangutans. It isn’t a zoo, the animals are not caged and roam the 650 acre park freely. For most of the year they remain elusive, feeding on wild fruit, but, when the fruit season ends the animals descend from the tree tops twice a day and head for one of two feeding stations. We were fortunate enough to see 5 of the 23 residents, all of whom were either rescued from illegal captivity, injury, or were actually born within the park. Unlike a zoo, there is no glass, no wire, and no enclosures of any kind between the visitors and animals; we were all warned to run if approached.

For us, Bako was the most amazing part of the Kuching area. Small, yeah, but it is loaded from its rain soaked ground to its canopied tree tops with rare, often bizarre forms of wildlife that appear to have sprung directly from the canon of jungle stereotypes. From Kuching an hour ride on public bus No. 1 will drop you right at the Bako Market dock, from which visitors to the park must take a boat.

Looking out at the South China Sea, and a second round of approaching storms after we’d made it to the entrance of Bako National Park.

The boat ride out to the park probably deserves an entry to itself, but I’ll try to explain relatively quickly: We boarded a small sampan, maybe 18ft. in length, and headed up the Sungai Tabo River out into the South China Sea past pristine mangrove swamps backed by towering primary jungle forest. What made the ride so interesting were the storms. A great black angry wall of clouds was marching south, chasing rain and swells and white capped waves towards our little vessel. With a face like chiseled stone our pilot pointed the boat straight out into the bay, apparently unconcerned about the rough seas, the rising swells, and the approaching storm. Unconcerned I guess because he was actually racing other taxis towards a narrow channel cut through a minefield of shoals. I am sure this memory falls victim to retrospective embellishment, but at the time it felt like we were riding a gas powered canoe into a line of South Pacific squalls.

A male Proboscis monkey hanging out in the trees near the Bako National Park visitor’s center. Note his distinctively shaped nose, which can be used as a snorkel when swimming.

Anyway, drenched by rain and spray we made it to the entrance of Bako, laughing for the most part about the ride and were greeted almost immediately by one of the park’s more comical inhabitants: the Proboscis Monkey, or, if you’re under 18 and male, and/or enjoy mid-low tier penis jokes, the ‘Chode-Nosed Monkey’. Bako is home to about 275 of these highly endangered animals, in addition to a larger number of Long Tailed Macaques and some Silvered Langurs. The Proboscis monkeys are very distinctive, a reddish blonde with long, powerful tails, males have a huge pendulous nose that continues to grow with age.

Wildlife and natural scenery are plentiful at Bako. Established in 1957, many of animals are far less wary of humans and are more concentrated, meaning that any visit will mean a variety of citings. Beared boars, monkeys, giant monitor lizards, beautiful Asian Pit Vipers, frogs, and tarsiers, tiny deer, a tremendous variety of birds – the list is long. Flora is also a major draw, thick primary jungle covers the whole area, a variety of carnivorous plants abound, and all kinds of strange flowering varieties greet you on walks.

Toss in an extensive network of well maintained trails, stunning cliffs, remote beaches, food, lodging, cheap and easy access, and concentrated natural beauty and Bako is an across the board win. If you are in Kuching, if only for a couple days, Bako should be on your itinerary. It is extremely easy to fit into a day trip.

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Beijing in Panorama

The visibility in Beijing in notoriously awful, a by product of rapid urbanization, an exploding vehicle population, and reliance on coal for personal heating and power generation. So, when opportunities like this present themselves, to see the urban and suburban sprawl of Beijing (and its 20 million or so residents) spread out across the North China Plain, its quite fun. These were taken with the Hiking Around Beijing crew, from the peaks at Badachu Park, an area filled with old monasteries that overlook the Beijing Botanical Gardens.

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Pictures of Things: Beijing Smog

A view from our 26th floor apartment in central Beijing. Readings from the US Embassy reported as ‘beyond-index’ at over 800, a measure of ambient respirable particulates in the air. Visibility was well under a kilometer.