Work!

Things are happening here in Mumbai along with the very unseasonal rains (people say they have never seen rain in November, and it is forecast to continue into next week!). I spent last weekend in Hyderabad visiting some friends and attending a wedding. I will just say that I am glad that I am not an Indian and will not have to endure my own Indian wedding. Not for me...

I am finishing up my visual journal from my trip with my friend Stephen around the state of Gujarat. There were some great adventures and some exciting photo opportunities.

Today I did some volunteer work for an NGO. My photographs of school children and teachers will be used in a calendar to sell to corporates to raise money for the NGO. It was fun and frustrating working with the children. Should be some good results. I played around with using my ring flash as a defused key light, which worked out very nicely with great prospects for future use. There should be some more work for the calendar in the next couple of weeks.

I am working with a friend who is an actor, doing some headshots and personality photos, as well as working on a stop-action project he is directing.

I have also stepped into the shoes of a graphic designer, working on a logo and design for a clothing company start up that has a focus on helping rescue women from the sex-slave trade in India and train them in skills so they can earn a living. I am excited to be involved in the project and hope to see it come to reality. I hopefully will have more information on that in coming months.

My broken photo equipment should be fully repaired and returned to me within another week, so I can go out and start doing some more portfolio work in nearby high-end hotels. Once I am happy with the work I have I will start presenting to architecture and interior design magazines.

I am excited to be doing work again. Not doing purposeful work for almost 4 and half months was draining on me. I will have photo updates soon! Cheers!

The Climbing Of Mt. Rinjani, Lombok, Indonesia

I have uploaded a new video that tells the story of climbing Mt. Rinjani on the island of Lombok in Indonesia. I am enjoying working with video. I would like to develop it some more.

Climbing Mt. Rinjani, Lombok, Indonesia from D Scott Clark on Vimeo.

Sketches

I have been wanting to draw more. I would like to try and draw something every day, but I fail daily. A few weeks ago I went to a village a few hours north of Mumbai with a friend. I was asked not to take photos so when I ventured out I sat and drew for a while. I was in a quite valley surrounded by small mountains. Children sat quietly around me while I drew, whispering to each other and looking over my shoulder. After I finished this I asked one of the boys if he wanted to draw something (asked is a stretch. I tried to motion to him to take my pen and draw), but he declined so I started drawing a portrait of him. When I tore it out, signed it, and had him sign his name on it, he ran and proudly showed it to his mother. I have to say I was actually proud of the portrait. I do miss drawing.

The edge of India

Right now I am in the city of Bhuj, about 100km from the border of Pakistan. I have been traveling with my friend Stephen for the past few days, which I will update when I get back about all of that. There has been some amazing sights and some frustrating equipment failures. Highlight...riding on the roof of a train from Una to Junaghadh. Awesome.

I have Internet!

This is exciting. Finally I can reach the world without leaving my apartment. It is what I have dreamed of and toiled for two months to attain! Let us hope it lasts.

I think I am going to Ahmedebad tomorrow by train to meet up with my friend Stephen. We might go to the beaches of Diu and then the city of Nasik. I am excited since I have not really gotten to travel around proper India much at all.

Chapter One: The Journey - Bali and Lombok, Indonesia

Here it is, the big update. Enjoy. Let me know what you think.

I spent two weeks in Indonesia. Here is my journal along with selected photos.

I am happy to get these up here, but frustrated doing it from a cyber cafe. Hopefully I will have the internet by the end of the week, fingers crossed.

Sept 16
I shouldn't be here, in Indonesia. It wasn't a "smart thing" to do, especially since I have no source of income. But hey, when invited to Indonesia to trek an active volcano, who can say no?

It took me a month to find and settle into my apartment in Mumbai. Looking back I do not know why it took so long, but now its done, the living room painted and the apartment mostly furnished to my liking (I only need to get a desk for my office and shelves for the kitchen). Just when its time to buckle down and start looking for work, I leave for a two week holiday in Indonesia. Ah well, it's good to get away and refocus.

I wait for my Egypt Air flight with only four other passengers. When they call for boarding we look around thinking, this can't be right? But once we get on board we see faces in most of the seats looking back at us.

Five hours I spend trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, interrupted only by bad American movies and a terrible in-flight meal. The Kuala Lumpur airport's architecture amazes me. It is spectacular, though strangely enough I had a hard time figuring out how toe capture it. I experience the same feeling I get when coming into any airport I am not familiar with: it just takes a bit to get your bearings. On the plane the crew had handed me a health information card, which I filled out, but as I wait in line at immigration it becomes apparent they did not give me an immigration card. I have to get out of line and fill out a card at a table
behind the lines. Two middle eastern guys intently watch me as I do this, and when I finish I ask if they need my pen. No, they need me to fill out their forms; they cannot read or speak English. They are from Iraq and are staying for one month, but do not have the address of where they are staying. Communication is difficult but I enjoy this sort of challenge. I fill out their forms and an elderly Indian man and his wife ask me to help them on their forms. I am able to use some of the Hindi I am learning to speak.

I ask a security guard once I pass through security if there is somewhere I can wait for my flight that leaves in 12 hours. He points and says, "Fifth Floor." I find a bench facing a large window with padded seats that makes a surprisingly comfortable bed for the night. It is better than paying $50 for a room near the airport.

Sept 17

I wake up to find the window overlooking a lush garden between two sections of the beautiful building. I search out a restroom and freshen up for the day before looking for a place to take pictures of the architecture. Around 8am I start looking for the Air Asia ticket counter. There are Air Asia posters everywhere but no counter. I finally ask. "They are not at this airport. You have to go the OTHER airport." Awesome, glad I checked early.

I find the bus counter and they tell me to pay on the bus. "But do they accept credit cards on the bus?" No. I have to have cash. Great. I need thirty cents in the local currency, Ringitts. I walk back through the terminal to find an ATM, but they won't let me take small amounts. I go to a money changer and exchange 100 rupees ($2) and get 8 ringitts. The bus is 1.5.

The airport is clearly the older airport. No frivolous architecture and design here. I get my ticket and try to find some breakfast before my flight. I wait in line at "Mary Brown" fast food till the man at the counter informs me they don't take credit cards. Fine. I'll go to McDonalds. Surprise! They do not accept credit cards either. Seriously? At an international airport that an international airline uses as a hub you don't take credit cards? You expect everyone to have local currency in tiny amounts? Genius. Luckily the woman I let cut in front of me in line over hears my complaining and offers to buy me breakfast.

On the three-hour flight from K.L. to Denspensar, Bali, Indonesia, I, being of medium height and width, am squished. My knees touch the seat back of the "Leather Seats" proudly proclaimed by the posters of Air Asia. Who cares for leather seats if an averaged sized man cannot fit in them?

Air Asia pays for its cheap airfare by selling EVERYTHING. I cannot even get a sip of water. And of course they only take certain currencies and NOT CREDIT CARDS!?

I take an airport taxi to an area called Kuta - I had read in the Lonely Planet Travel Guide at the K.L. airport bookstore - that supposedly has cheap hostels and hotels. I drive past shopping malls, dance clubs, and shaggy haired "bulai," white folk, carrying surf boards sporting large muscles and beach tans. Not quite what I imagined of Indonesia.

I walk from guesthouse to guesthouse; everyone is full or wanting over $30. Finally, I team up with a couple from Ireland, we decide on a place that is $23 without breakfast. The atmosphere is lovely, with individual cottages lining a beautiful garden and relaxing pool. It is still more than I wanted to pay. I am glad I chose not to pay for breakfast. I did not wake up the next day till 12:46pm.

I get ready to go check out the beach but the Irish guy says they would be ready in a bit and would come get me. I lie in bed and turn on the TV, watching Ninja Challenge, feeling like a loser for watching TV instead of exploring Bali. After impatiently waiting for over and hour and half I go knock on their door - they are nowhere to be found. Thanks for that.

I make the trek to the beach to find beautiful white sands covered by people from every nationality involved in a variety of activities ranging from sun bathing and swimming, usual, to receiving massages and playing football on the edge of the waves. I sit for a bit, observing those around me and telling insistent vendors I do not want bracelets and massages, and watching surfers struggle to stand on their boards in the pounding surf.

Back at the guesthouse I start talking to a varied group from Britain who invite me to go with them to a small club with live music. I meet up with later and we end up dancing the night away till 4am. This is why I do not wake up till 12:46 pm.

Sept 18
I wake up in a panic. I need to be at the airport in 10 minutes! I hurredly get ready and check out. They call a taxi for me but end up waiting for over 10 minutes, so I decide to start walking and find my own cab. A car pulls up behind me in the alley and honks - my cab caught up with me, thankfully.

What do you mean my reservation is canceled? Why was it canceled? You can't get me on this flight? But the next one? Oh, awesome, it's $10 less than I was scheduled to pay before. I am fine with that. And its get me to a Lombok closer to when Kara arrives at 5pm.

Thankfully they sit me in an exit row; if I had had a regular seat my knees would have been so far into the back of the person in front of me. Merpatti airline impressively gave us box before we got on board containing water, a delicious soft roll, and a slice of cake. We are in flight for maybe fifteen minutes. I am a fan of this service. Now on most five hour flights across the US you barely get a drink and
pretzels. As I am getting comfortable with my extended legroom, I see a face I recognize coming down the isle: Kim Dyke, fellow friend from Uganda who is joining Kara and myself on the trek up Mt. Rinjani. We are both surprised to see each other on the same flight but neither of us make much effort to greet the other more than an expressive "Hi!"

In flight I see Kim struggling to get comfortable with her knees in the seat back in front of her, so I motion for her to join me in the exit row. Before we know are landing. No announcement. No one checking seat belts.

We meet up with Kara then take a taxi to our hotel in Sengiggi. It is a lovely place, spanning both sides of the road. The courtyards have green gardens, fountains, and a seaside pool complete with statues that somehow look like their peeing. The charcoal colored beach meets the sea so abruptly surprising even the waves, and they act like they do not remember how to interact with land, simply exploding into a mass of white frenzy with no majestic crest or curl. Our room is a cozy cottage with mostly bamboo elements and a large bed with tall bedposts, but I get a mattress squeezed between the bed and the wall; Kim and Kara share the grand bed.

Chapter 2: The Climb

Sept 19
In the morning we meet a driver from the Lombok Network Tours who takes us to the starting point of the trek, about 1,000 meters above sea level. The peak lumbers dauntingly above us at 3,726 meters, or 12,224 ft. We start up with little fanfare, walking through fields and forests. Above the forest we reach a seemingly never-ending savannah of swaying chest high red, yellow and green grass rolling in and out of ravines and canyons snaking their way up the mountain. Stationary lone trees give stark contrast to the constantly swaying sea of grass.














Incessantly increasing elevation, we continue to climb. Around every rise and across every canyon and ravine spanned by just as many bridges, the scenery gets impossibly more spectacular. After lunch at the second shelter and a quick rest at the third, at last we embark on the most challenging section of the day. Where most trails scaling steep sections of mountain tend to use switchbacks, the authors of this story decided it better to trudge straight up the steepest points of the ridges leading up the slope. Kara and the guide forge ahead - Kara is extremely fit. She runs four times a week and teaches Pilates. I take a bit longer, taking four or five steps and stopping for air and to let my muscles restore their oxygen levels. I find if I point my feet downhill when I stop it allows my calves to relax. The trail is steep and mostly loose dirt that slides out from under your firmly pressed foot. I feel relieved when I reach sections with tree roots to spring off.

After we passed shelter one we started to lose the sun and entered the clouds. The blowing winds accompanying the clouds I gladly welcome as reprieve from the torturing sun, though the visibility drops to almost nil. I keep shedding layers as I hike, reaching shelter three wearing no shirt under my pack. Despite the cooling mist I am still overheating. Every time we stop, the guide asks me, "Aren't you cold?" No, not at all. I am carrying Kim's daypack that is weighed down with too much photography equipment (most of which I do not use) and each vertical step is a work out, especially as oxygen levels decline.

I pass the guide after a series of intense steeps each followed by a slight leveling. He waits for Kim who is somewhere in the distance, I can no longer see her despite stopping to wait for her several times. There is Kara, a speck on the trail far ahead motoring past porters weighed down with other climbers camping gear and food, strung together with a four foot long, four inch thick bamboo rod impressively balanced on their small shoulders. Where their clients don several hundred dollar name brand hiking boots and trekking poles, these porters climb in simple shower flipflops threatening to break with every step.

I lose sight of Kara as more clouds move in, and I adjust my attention to what lies directly before me. With each step I grow wearier. I feel my legs straining to lift my weight and that of my pack as I force them to continue. Now its fully raining on me, and my bare chest gladly receives the cooling waters as a relief from my constant body heat. I can no longer see above or below me, only the loose dirt path before me. There, I can see it! The rim of the volcano! My destination. I power through till I reach the thin ridgeline, greeted only by a cold wind from the opposite side that forces me to re-cloth. I can see no sign of humanity on any side, nothing but clouds and black rock.

I start off along the ridge in the direction I think the summit to be since I have no idea where the camp is besides "on the rim," which is where I am currently. Still finding no humans, porters or climbers, but seeing signs that they exist - a fire pit, energy bar remains, etc - I continue on despite wanting to wait for personal reassurance. Through the fog I begin to hear chopping of wood and pounding of steaks. I am getting close.

I walk past tents and fires with food simmering in pots and guides and porters I do not recognize. Someone calls my name from inside the last tarped shelter. Kara had taken refuge with someone else's porters. "Where is your guide? Where are your porters?" they ask. They are coming as far as I know. Almost an hour later Kim comes limping in, seeking shelter from the rain under the tarp of someone else's porters. Finally, with yelling it's announced our porters have come. We get the last pick of the ground for camping: right next to the toilet.


It's getting dark and its announced our tents are ready. I quickly fall asleep while waiting for supper. The guide wakes me and hands me a plate of mie goreng, fried ramen noodles, with a spicy sauce and vegetables and a single chicken bone with a few slivers of meat hanging on. With my hunger only slightly diminished I venture out in search of more food. "Plain rice?" the guide asks. He hands me a dish with sliced tomatoes in what looks like water. I pour some on the rice. "It's spicy," he warns. I can take it, I live in India. With a mouthful of rice I begin to agree with him. Yes, it is spicy. As I swallow the burn sets in full force. My eyes water and snot runs uncontrollably down my face. I go back to my tent to sleep. It's only 7:30, but we have to wake up at 3am to summit.

Around ten my bladder wins the fight with my will to stay warm in my sleeping bag. I exit my tent only to be knocked off my feet by the view above me: the most amazing display of heavenly glory I have ever seen. Never before have I seen that many millions of brilliantly shining stars. I quickly pick out Orion and the Little Dipper but recognize almost nothing else, the southern hemisphere's stars being very different from the north's. I wake up Kara and Kim, insistent that they view this spectacle with me.

Sept 20
The guide wakes us at Oh Dark Thirty and informs us the mountain is enshrouded in a blanket of clouds and rain, and the view would be limited to the path in front and behind. We decide to wait till 5 am to see if there has been any change, and to climb about one third of the way to the summit to a point where you can see the active new volcano spitting lava.

Kara, the guide, and myself start off full of energy and tea but soon hit a substance worse than sand or powder snow. The fine black volcanic pebbles move so freely under your foot your upward movement leaves you no further ahead than before you put forth such great effort. With this frustratingly slow progress and immense struggle in pitch blackness, my body decides it did not like the dinner from the night before, and I need to expel it from my body. My stomach churns and I can go no further till this thundering in my depths is satisfied. There amongst the volcanic rock, the sharp mountain grass, and the glow of the morning light I make my mark on Mt. Rinjani, forever leaving a piece of myself. The clouds part and the sun sheepishly reveals himself over the westward ridges of the mountain; a spectacular sight to see indeed, and I am caught with my pants around my ankles fifty meters from my camera. So I sit back and enjoy this moment for what it is. Stunning.

I still cannot decide if my body can continue but tell myself, I came this far, I cannot quit now. I find scrambling up the exposed rocks much easier than sliding in the volcanic pebbles and reach the top with renewed energy. We pass several defeated groups making their way down saying there is nothing to see, only more clouds. When only we three remain God blesses us with spectacular views of the entire rim and dramatic clouds filtering through the ridges, though we never get a clear view of anything inside the rim, a thick cloud remains, but you can hear the power of the volcano roaring far below. A monkey comes to see what we have to offer for tax on trespassing his property. The guide temps him with biscuits as Kara and I snap photos.


Our trusty guide named Hadzi or Haddi or Hamdi... we never could figure out what his actual name was


Kara looking pretty happy calm for having just climbed a moutain


I love the way the clouds interact with the top of the mountain


Click on Image to see larger

Kara acting posing as an adventure sports model

Going down is significantly easier and more fun than going up. I feel like I am cross-country skiing through black snow, quickly sliding down what took me well over an hour to climb.

The porters made delicious banana pancakes in preparation for our return. Kim stayed back, not feeling well, and helped them prepare the delectable delicacies.

We depart, heading quickly down the mountain that took such great effort to climb. I am thankful for the sections of the path now with no tree roots obstructing my way, as I find it easier on my knees to not fight gravity and simply run downhill. Anytime I try to go at a walking pace my knees cry out for mercy but enjoy the thrill of running down the steeps. I run for a while stopping to wait for the others to catch up. We stop for a rest and refuge from the rain at shelter two and a quick lunch at shelter one, and Kara and I speed through the flatter bottoms enjoying philosophical conversations.
This scene kept making me think of Dr. Suess for some reason


Sept 21
We planned to go snorkeling today around the Gilli Islands, but the weather did not cooperate. We stay in Sengiggi instead and try to just relax, recovering from the tenacious climb. We try out the water at the beach by our guesthouse then get massages by the pool in the rain. It helps my sore muscles, but I wish the lady had concentrated more on my thighs. While getting a massage by the pool in the light rain I arrange with a local to take us to Kuta, Lombok in a couple of days. He tells us to book into the hotel next to our guesthouse, since it is over half as expensive. We venture into town and book a boat to take us snorkeling the following day after checking the internet to see if the weather would be nice.