Residents of Java are well accustomed to the presence of volcanoes in their lives.  Take a dawn climb to any one of the island’s 40 or so peaks, and a glance to either the east or the west of you will normally reveal a scene worthy of the set of Jurassic Park as you will see a line of prehistoric chimney tops trailing off into the distance above the early morning mist.

From the infamously destructive Krakatoa off the far western coast, to the mystical peaks of Merapi and Lawu at the centre of the island’s indigenous magical traditions and on to the tourist’s favourite photo opportunity of  Mount Bromo in the east, this chain of volcanoes forms part of the western section of the Pacific region’s so-called Ring of Fire , a destructive circle of tumultuous geologic activity forming the extreme borderlands of this immense tectonic plate and incorporating such world famous peaks as Japan’s Mount Fuji and Mount St. Helens in  the USA.

So, after almost 2 years of travelling around the world for Human Planet,  it is atop the heights of the far east of Java that my journey has finally come to an end amidst the fantastical moonscape of Mount Ijen.

Ijen’s topography is breathtaking, a landscape that has arisen from the effects of incredibly powerful forces, the presence of which you can feel lurking ominously within the terrain beneath your feet as you descend into the smoking crater towards its turquoise acidic lake.

Spending time among the phenomenal panoramas of Mount Ijen on this trip has reminded me once and for all that deep down, I am a mountain person, an opinion shared by every one of our 5-strong team on this shoot who admitted that their hearts also lie in the loftier regions of our incredible planet.  That’s not to say that Ijen by any means offers a high altitude experience.  Every day, a plethora of tourists come here in all shapes and sizes, dropped off at the end of the tarmac road ahead of the 2 hour trek up the side of the mountain, each conquering the steep walk with differing degrees of success.  Upon arrival at the rim, the number who choose to continue on into the crater is somewhat diminished, with just a handful each day making the full journey 500ft down to the lake, something that I would urge anyone visiting this place do so for no other reason than to gain some kind of genuine empathy with the incredibly tough men, both young and old, who make a living here mining sulphur.

If you happen to be a sulphur miner working here, your day probably starts at about 4.30am when you have to grab your baskets and jog up to the volcano rim (possibly stopping for a quick cigarette on your way as you pass colleagues on their way down from the night shift) then down into the crater where the sulphur is to be found bubbling out of the ground.  Far fewer men work the night shifts, so there are rich pickings to be had at first light when the sulphur deposits have had a few hours to build up untapped.

Upon arrival at the sulphur pits, the game of cat and mouse with the choking, poisonous clouds will begin as you try to prise chunks of sulphur from the pits with iron bars whilst avoiding inhaling the toxic smoke bellowing from the ground beside you.  Unfortunately, you probably won’t have any proper breathing apparatus, just a wet rag over your mouth and since there’s no sulphur without smoke, you will have to rely on unpredictable changes in wind direction to time your digging forays.

No matter how hard you try, however, you will inevitably end up regularly inhaling harsh sulphurous smoke into your lungs and the sulphur dust deposits left on your eye lashes will make your eye balls feel as if they’re on fire every time you blink.

After about 45 minutes chipping away at the sulphur you will retreat  from the pits in order to consolidate all your sulphur pieces and arrange them in baskets so that they will balance on your shoulders successfully.  If you are an old man, you will probably be intending to lift about 75kg, but if you are fortunate enough to be a strapping young fellow, your performance-related pay slip will certainly reflect this fact since you may be able to carry as much as 100kg per load.

As you walk away from the smoking pits with the incredible weight on your shoulders, you will no doubt glance up towards the crater rim, some 525 feet above you, and you may well choose to temporarily block that image from your mind at this point, choosing instead to concentrate on the next step in front of you…

…as you begin the climb.

After nearly an hour of pacing upwards… a chance for some respite and cleaner air.  Atop the crater, the pathway levels out and you begin a much more up-beat rally towards the side of the volcano, and the beginning of the 2 km path through the woods down the side of the mountain.

The view down into the forest below is lovely, but you will rarely take your eyes off the path in front of you.  You still have 2 km of walking left before you reach the processing factory below.

At the end of the forest path, the way flattens out and this is the sign that tells you that you’ve reached your destination.  But don’t get too excited just yet.  That was only your first run today.

Now go back and do it all over again.

.  .  .

So what kind of pay packet should you expect for this kind of work?

Well,  the going rate for a kilo of sulphur mined from the volcano is 600 rupiah.   After watching these men for a few days I can see that the average load is 80kg per run, so that’s Rp 48 000 per load (about $5).

Just to put that into perspective a little.  A large mocha at a popular American chain of coffee shops in the nearby city of Surabaya is Rp 47 500.

At these wages and under such harsh working conditions, one would suspect that there would be a high turnover of workers at Ijen sulphur mine but, incredibly, these guys actually think themselves quite lucky to be working here on piece rates that are well over twice the money they would be earning if they chose to serve the world’s caffeine-consuming populace by working on a nearby coffee plantation, which is the other main option for an income if you’re a local in this part of East Java.

My hat comes well and truly off to these guys.

Respect.

.   .   .

Interested in more stories from Indonesia?  Try HERE

TASEARCHINDONESIA

Thanks to Iceland’s recent explosion in exports of Volcanic ash, I had to cancel my last Human Planet trip back to Mali, and since our filming schedule is now slowly beginning to wind up, I thought I’d plough through the picture archive and dig up some snaps of my favourite camping locations from the last year and a half’s travel.

So, here we go with my top 5 favourite lesser-known camping spots.

No. 5    Zanskar River, Jammu and Kashmir, India

A quiet spot by the river

During our foray up the Zanskar river a few months ago, my tent remained redundant for all but one of the nights spent out on the ice.   Before this point, the penultimate night of the trip, I had been staying in caves and mountain houses during my time in Zanskar.  This particular camping spot is well-known by the local Ladakhis who, lacking their own tents, still tend to sleep in one of the handful of caves that flank it on either side.  However, we arrived here late in the afternoon to discover that all the caves were already full, and being the large team that we were by that point, we opted for setting up our tents at this fantastic spot beside the frozen river.  One day’s walk from here is the beginning of the road back to Leh, so everyone was in great spirits and the weather was really mild… only -12°C at night which was actually quite warm compared to the temperatures further up the river.

Popping next door to borrow a cup of sugar

.  .  .

No.4  Niger’s Sahara Desert, near Lake Chad

A bed under the stars

On our trip to Niger last year, we set up a small camp in the middle of a gathering of a thousand or so Wodaabe nomads.  They had all travelled there to attend a week-long Gerewol during which most of them slept very sporadically, in between lengthy bouts of dancing and singing.  Our camp was very simple.  One tent for kit, a small dome tent for each of the crew and a few mats and cushions on the floor for dining.  Since the weather is always fine at that time of the year, some of us slept outside under the stars as all of the Wodaabe did, which is the reason why this camp has remained so memorable.

Sunrise at our camp

.  .  .

No.3 Dogon Country, Mali

Wot no camp?!

Our camp in Dogon Country was magnificent in as much as we got to wake up to this view every morning.  Dwarfed by the huge escarpment dotted with ancient dwellings above us, we were nestled in the trees just to the right of view in the picture above.  Unfortunately I don’t have a photo of our camp in Dogon country I’m afraid.  I do have a good reason though.  Before I’d had the inclination to document its serene setting, an incredible storm blew in and completely destroyed it.  By chance however, I had a time lapse camera set up and running as the storm blew in.  You can see what happened  here…

(Excuse the rather abrupt ending – I had to make a run for it!)

What you can see here is a 1000 ft wall of sand engulfing us.  The storm began out in the desert, the winds stirring up the sand and driving an ever enlarging dust cloud towards us.   It came in with such speed and force that the camera only managed to capture 28 frames before becoming completely engulfed by the sand cloud.  Inside the cloud it went completely dark for about 2 minutes before the huge deluge of torrential rain arrived.

The next morning, a crocodile was proudly swimming at the spot on which our camp formerly lay, by then 3 feet under water.

.  .  .

No.2  Simien Mountains, Ethiopia

Off the beaten track

In Ethiopia’s Simien mountains we were filming farmers who grow their crops on the incredible steep slopes you can see surrounding our camp above.  If working on a sheer cliff wasn’t enough, they also had to fend off the many packs of  devious resident Gelada Baboons, hell-bent on stealing their barley before they managed to harvest it.   It was a beautiful camp, even if we did need to keep one eye out for our mischievous neighbours.

Nice spot, shame about the grumpy neighbours

.  .  .

No.1 Gobi Desert, Mongolia

The lengths some people will go to avoid a visit from the Jehovah's witnesses

When it comes to all round amazing camping spots, Mongolia has got it topped for me.  However, if I were to pick one, it would have to be this little gem from our recent trip to the Gobi Desert which resides at number one on my list of favourite campsites.   For our crew, the way in and out of this incredible location was via the valley you can see far off in the distance in the top right of the picture beyond the sand dunes, beneath the snow-capped peaks.  The problem with a topography like this of course, is that it is very hard to travel as the crow flies.  In fact, to arrive at this point, we actually had to drive about 2 hours to the left hand side along the dunes where there was a small thoroughfare navigable with a vehicle.   The dunes are continuously shifting and the way through wasn’t always in the same place, something that we discovered first hand when trying to rescue our cameraman Terry during a violent storm one day.

The best night's sleep I've ever had

For a more detailed look inside this Mongolian Human Planet camp click HERE

To see a video tour around a Human Planet camp on the Arctic sea ice click HERE

No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man

It’s a funny old world we live in.  Today I’m sitting writing this in a hotel room at São Paulo airport, our flight home cancelled indefinitely because a volcano has erupted in Iceland, almost 10,000 km away.   Yesterday, on our boat in the Amazon, if you’d have asked me to make a bet on the possibility of this particular reality transpiring, you’d probably be smiling your way to the bank right now with a fist full of very easy money.

It’s always a strange transition, traveling back to the urban environment from isolation in nature.  The Amazon river is a formidable force of nature that consumes you with its magnitude and majesty, much like the awe-inspiring images of Iceland’s bellowing clouds of ash that I’ve seen here on CNN in the last few hours.  I can’t help being reminded that whilst we continue living the somewhat strange contemporary lifestyles that many of us now do, it’s so easy to forget that we are still very much an intricate part of Mother Nature, even whilst we are sitting drinking a cappuccino in some faceless airport departure lounge.   She can reach out to us at any time and completely redirect the course of our lives in a moment, something that the people with whom we’ve spent the last two weeks filming know only too well.

We have been living with a small community of 4 families who live on a small sand bar on the Rio Negro, about 2 days’ boat ride up river from Manaus.  Our story here has been centred around the trials and tribulations of this isolated community who live within the ebb and flow of the largest fresh water mass on the planet.   The seasons of the Amazon basin result in great changes in the volume of water surging down its arterial waterways.   At this time of the year the people of the Rio Negro are preparing for the coming of the high waters and for our new friends here, this means the yearly ritual of saying a temporary farewell to the terra firma of their island existence as they retreat to their stilted houses for the 2-or-so months when the river surge completely floods the forests around their village, forcing them to adapt to a waterborne existence.

The forest is beginning to disappear

What none of us really understood very well before we came here, is that this small group of people have built up a beautifully inspiring relationship with some of the other non-human residents of the Rio Negro, and it is this story which has completely consumed me on this trip and the one that I have chosen to recount here.

On the day that we arrived we were greeted by our new hosts and promptly taken to see the water cages in which these people are nurturing thousands of young river turtles to be released back into the wild.  It is a community run project attempting to swell the numbers of wild turtles in the Rio Negro which form an important source of food for the local inhabitants.  By rescuing the buried eggs from well-known spawning beaches around the area and then allowing them to hatch within the safety of their own village, these people are safe guarding the young turtles from a short, hard-boiled life destined to appear on the dinner plates of local villagers.

Whilst we were standing waist deep in the Rio’s black waters observing the baby turtles, a dark shadow brushed past my leg and to my amazement, promptly swam up to one of our hosts and nudged her dangling hand with its long beak.  ”Botos”, she mumbled as she grabbed its protruding nose with both hands, bursting into laughter as they momentarily play-fought in the water.

My first underwater glimpse of a wild dolphin in the Negro's murky black waters

Botos are the Amazon’s resident river dolphins.  At many spots along this part of the Rio Negro they are a common feature of people’s day-to-day lives due to their incredibly friendly nature.  According to Wikipedia, ‘The brain of the river dolphin is 40% larger than a human brain‘.  Now, whilst I can’t back up that fact with any of my own scientific evidence, I must admit that after a week of intimate interaction with these fabulous creatures in their natural habitat,  I have to say that there is definitely something other-worldly about an experience within their wonderful auras.   I feel very much more connected with the natural world right now.

The other day as I was resting on my bed in our boat, a small brown nondescript moth flew into my cabin and landed on the wall beside my head.  Mesmerized, as I lay there staring at it, I realized that for the first time in absolutely ages, possibly even since I was a young boy in my family garden, I was looking at it with a genuine sense of awe and fascination.  Such a seemingly mundane and insignificant creature had become an incredible manifestation of the beauty of nature with a huge beaming personality to boot!  I am sure that it has been my interaction with these terrific river dolphins over the last week that has prized open that childlike side of me again.

.  .  .

A close encounter with a wild animal is always a humbling experience.  Dolphins, however, appear to be one of those rare organisms on our planet that genuinely appear to want to reach out to our species. There’s a reason why dolphins have captured such a special place in hearts of many of the world’s cultures and that’s something that I hope will continue for many millenia into our shared futures.

If you ever want to feel like a kid again, go out into the world and see if you can meet a dolphin.  You won’t be disappointed.

. . .

There is such a thing as a free meal when your brain is 40 percent bigger than the cook's

Filed under: Travel ]]> http://timothyallen.blogs.bbcearth.com/2010/04/16/black-river-secrets/feed/ 1 Timothy Allen Pic: Copyright Timothy Allen. IT IS FORBIDDEN TO REPRODUCE THIS IMAGE IN ANY MEDIA WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. BBC Human Planet Pic: Copyright Timothy Allen. IT IS FORBIDDEN TO REPRODUCE THIS IMAGE IN ANY MEDIA WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. BBC Human Planet Pic: Copyright Timothy Allen. IT IS FORBIDDEN TO REPRODUCE THIS IMAGE IN ANY MEDIA WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. BBC Human Planet Pic: Copyright Timothy Allen. IT IS FORBIDDEN TO REPRODUCE THIS IMAGE IN ANY MEDIA WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. BBC Human Planet Pic: Copyright Timothy Allen. IT IS FORBIDDEN TO REPRODUCE THIS IMAGE IN ANY MEDIA WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION. BBC Human Planet http://timothyallen.blogs.bbcearth.com/2010/03/22/the-urban-jungle/ http://timothyallen.blogs.bbcearth.com/2010/03/22/the-urban-jungle/#comments Mon, 22 Mar 2010 14:03:38 +0000 Timothy http://timothyallen.blogs.bbcearth.com/?p=3400 ]]> India

The concrete jungle is where I roam

After the last few weeks of misadventures in Ladakh, I finally said my farewells to our Mountains team a couple of days ago, leaving them nursing their blisters and brittle noses in our Delhi apartment.  Forty kilograms of luggage lighter, I decided to backpack it alone to my next destination of Jaipur, but not before paying a quick visit to a familiar Delhi haunt of mine, Pahar Ganj.

When you’re booked on a 5am train out of New Delhi Central, there’s no better place to lay your head than in a 250 rupee a night room in PG’s main bazaar.  A short walk from the train station, I’ll be the first to admit that Pahar Ganj will not be to everyone’s taste, but if like me you love a bit of timeless Indian chaos, then you should fit right in.

There are three things that you can always count on during a visit to Pahar Ganj.  Namely, an all-you-can-eat 40 rupee thali at Sonu Chat House.   Your very own personal 1 minute acrobatic hoop dance from a tiny bendy Indian boy with a painted face if you dine on the street outside Madan cafe.  And an unnerving fleeting glance from that French guy with the full facial tattoos who never smiles and always seems to be in the main bazaar whenever I am passing through.

On rarer occasions you may be privy, as I was a few years ago, to a full on bovine battle between two bulls jousting down the main street, sending market stalls flying and knocking sari clad women from their rickshaws.  Rarer still, you might even watch in horror as a spaghetti mesh of overhead power lines overheats and then explodes, sending high voltage electrical fire balls flying around the street, narrowly missing passing school children, as I also did once.  On a lighter note, if you happen to be passing through during India’s wedding season then you will be unable to miss the fantastic nightly matrimonial processions of proud grooms atop their white stallions flanked by surely some of the loudest brass bands in the world.

. . .

“Through the jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh"

Notwithstanding my return to Delhi’s familiar city culture, my real reason for descending from the Himalayas has been to come to Rajasthan’s famous pink (ish) city, Jaipur.  It’s a mission emanating from our Urban team, who have been filming the mischievous lives of this city’s resident monkey populations.

Over the years, Jaipur’s monkeys have got quite a bad reputation in certain areas of this metropolis and having now spent three days running with one troop, I can certainly understand why.  I have to admit though that I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for them, especially since I was a really mischievous kid once myself, always getting into trouble for doing the wrong things…  never maliciously mind you, just by my nature.  Saying that however, it is easy to understand why your average hard working Jaipurian can get a bit miffed by neighbours that, as far as I can see spend their days, eating, stealing, sleeping and having sex.

Joining Jaipur's Mile High Club

Let’s not forget that India is a nation of tolerant souls.  The monkeys can also thank their lucky stars that the Hindus amongst Jaipur’s populace consider them a manifestation of the deity Hanuman which will afford them a plentiful turning of conciliatory blind eyes for a long time to come.

You love me really. You know you do.

Learning is a treasure that will follow its owner everywhere

Every now and then, as a photographer I shoot a story that really touches me deeply.  You can never tell which one it’s going to be and often you only realize it when you are looking back through your pictures in hindsight.  Sitting here in the warmth of my hotel room, I have to admit that the last week I have spent in Zanskar has been one such assignment, one that I will carry with me for ever.

Zanskar’s mountainous landscape is an unforgiving place in winter.  Temperatures can plummet to minus 40 at night and avalanches are a frequent occurrence.  Add to this the fact that the only road in and out of the area is completely impassable for 6 months of the year and the result is a community of Zanskaris whose hardiness and resilience cannot fail to make an impression on you.  It never ceases to amaze me how people who live in such harsh conditions can be so friendly and accommodating.  One could hazard a guess that over the years their overly active survival genes would tend to make them selfish people but the reality is the complete opposite.  In Zanskar the communities are strong and warm.  A knock on a stranger’s door will always result in food and a bed for the night, such is the way of their mountain culture.

In recent years, Zanskar has become somewhat a mecca for trekkers and outdoor enthusiasts alike.  Those that venture here in winter do so with certain preconceptions, the main one being that it can be a very dangerous place that is not to be taken lightly.  Like our team, with them foreign visitors tend to bring state of the art survival gear, cooks, porters, tents… sometimes a whole battalion of helpers designed to make their experience as comfortable as can be.   What most of them discover when they arrive and start walking is that they share these pathways with local Ladakhis who are just living their day-to-day lives as they have done for hundreds of years.

Our story here has centred around a group of children who are making their journey to boarding school in Leh.  For the winter term, with no vehicle access to their homes there is only one route available to them and that is down the Zanskar river.  With the consistently sub-zero temperatures, at this time of the year the waterway forms a frosty road that the locals call chadar meaning ‘veil’ by reference to its icy covering.

Over-nighting in a cave

Walking the chadar can be a treacherous task that has already claimed the life of one foreigner so far this year.  The ice covering is unpredictable and can change its consistency over night as our team discovered when heavy snow fall caused a series of avalanches that resulted in a temporary dam in the river which, when it finally broke, sent a torrent of water down the valleys, flooding the ice and leaving them stranded at high altitude for 7 days.

For the local Zanskari girls and boys, the walk to school takes several days with nights spent in caves .  Accompanied by one or other of their parents, many are expected to carry their own possessions, often on home-made sledges that double up as backpacks when the ice gets too uneven to pull on.  On such an arduous journey one might expect to hear regular cries of protest but not once did I hear anything of the sort.  Led by the most experienced adult the children were always upbeat and resolute, sharing the burden of their bags, the older ones holding the hands of the younger.

Chaotic crushed ice from the water surge

.  .  .

When we face hardship it is never more apparent than in the eyes of children.  The Zanskari children I have spent the last week with have been a most amazing inspiration to me.  The smiles and laughter.  The instinctive sharing of any food they have.  A concerned eye as you veer towards thinning ice.  These kids are absolutely incredible and there’s no doubt that they inherit their wonderful temperament from their parents.  I don’t have children yet myself, but when I do, if they blossom into anything near to the kind of human beings I have met here in Zanskar then I will die a happy and content man.

Yesterday we finally arrived in Leh after a 2 hour drive from the end of the ice, the jeep packed full of children laughing and singing folks songs at the tops of their voices.  I’ll leave you with a snap that I stole of a sign hanging above the headmaster’s desk in his office at school this morning.  For me it says it all.

Great kids grow up to be great parents

. . .

Interested in more stories from Ladakh?  Try HERE

TASEARCHLADAKH

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest

I have been here in Ladakh for 3 days already but today was the first day I’ve actually managed to get out and do a bit of sight-seeing.  This has been due to the inevitable bout of altitude sickness that has inflicted me these past few days like many people who travel here directly by aeroplane from Delhi, some ten and a half thousand feet beneath us.  In fact, the last time I came here, shortly after I arrived I was ill in bed for almost two weeks, so I’m actually quite pleased with my recovery this time round.

I’m here to hook up with our Rivers team who have been traveling with a Ladakhi family across the mountains in Zanskar, to the south of the provincial capital Leh where I am staying at the moment.  Unfortunately, they have been somewhat held up by bad weather and consequently our rendezvous has been set back by 5 days meaning that I will be waiting here in Leh for another few days before I set off to trek to the meeting point.

I’ve never been to Ladakh in the winter time before, an experiential short falling that I evidently share with much of the travelling community as I can report back that there is hardly a foreign soul to be seen anywhere around here right now.  There are reasons for this of course.  Ladakh’s summer tourist season is a short 3 to 4 month affair, due in the most part to the fact that the only two roads into the area, via Srinagar in the west and Manali in the south, remain closed and impassable for much of the year.  In winter the only way in is by plane so the number of foreign visitors declines drastically, especially of Ladakh’s backpacking community who prefer the cheaper routes in by road.  Couple that with the fact that it’s very cold and that most of Leh’s guesthouses and cafes are closed and you are left with a travellers’ consensus opinion that this part of the Himalayas does not make a particularly enticing tourist destination at this time of the year.

Well, I have something to admit to you.  Having now been out and about a little, I must say that this is most definitely a great time of the year to visit Ladakh, and that coming off-season will probably give you the most rewarding experience you could ever have up here.  OK, it’s going to be a little harder than in the summer.  If you turn up unannounced, you’ll probably have to knock on a few doors before you find a cheap guesthouse that will take you in, and don’t bargain for the smell of freshly baked croissants wafting past your window from Leh’s German bakery first thing every morning.  However, what you can expect are beautiful snow dusted landscapes, quiet monasteries and beaming locals who appear genuinely pleased to see you braving the winter temperatures.

Winter in Ladakh. Not a foreign soul to be seen

Being stuck in Leh is no bad thing for me, even if my favourite coffee shop is closed.  Last time I came here I spent 2 months riding a motorcycle through this amazing landscape which is something I would heartily recommend to anyone who really wants to have a good look around this astonishing corner of India.  Back then, I bought an old Royal Enfield Bullet from an American couple in Leh for about 400 dollars and promptly sold it at the end of my trip to a Swiss couple for exactly the same amount of money.  During my 2 month adventure I managed to take a peek at most of Ladakh’s quieter corners including a myriad of local festivals, isolated glacial lakes and even a rare chance to see the Dalai Lama give teachings in the remote Nubra Valley, accessible only by negotiating a somewhat light headed drive over the infamous Khardung La pass, currently the highest motorable ‘road’ in the world at 18 380 ft.

Taking a breather atop Khardung La

Prior to that trip, I had never ridden a motorcycle before, so don’t think that you need to be an experienced rider to travel the Himalayas on a motorbike.  Yes, the first few days in the saddle were scary, but then again it wouldn’t be such a rewarding challenge without a little fear to propel you along.  In fact, I would say that of all the places to start riding a motorcycle in India, Ladakh is probably the safest due to the limited volume of traffic on the roads compared to the rest of the country.  The main things to watch out for are sand and potholes in the road plus the occasional unbarriered extreme drop off you find flanking a few of the roads, all three problems being easily solved by just driving slowly.  It’s important to plan your trips well too, measuring precise distances on maps before you set off since there are only a few petrol stations in Ladakh.  You will need to carry extra fuel with you on your panniers, especially if you plan to explore Zanskar, which had no functioning refuelling station when I was there 3 years ago.

Many people who visit Ladakh by bike travel here from Delhi along the notorious Manali road which has become somewhat of a rite of passage for motorcyclists throughout India.  It’s a tough two or three-day journey including no fewer than four over 16 000 ft passes, countless water crossings, glaciers and some stomach turning sections of high altitude sandy desert.

Oh... did I mention the hairpin bends?

There is no way to describe in words the feelings you experience cruising down a deserted mountain road alone in the saddle flanked by some of the world’s tallest snow-capped peaks, wind in your hair, a huge smile plastered from ear to ear.  For me, riding a motorbike rates as one of the best ways to move through a landscape briskly whilst remaining connected with it and as a photographer it is such a brilliant way to explore a remote environment like Ladakh, giving you the freedom to stop at will and check out every little unmapped road to nowhere you might discover.  One day I pursued such a road that went on for absolutely ages.  Determined to find out where it went, after nearly three hours I was about to turn back when the faint cry of a young lady on a distant ridge caught my attention and lead me to the end of the track, and her fantastically hospitable family farming cashmere goats at a sensational spot in the middle of nowhere.

The farm at the end of the road

I ended up staying there for 2 days, working with the family by day, and sleeping with them on the roof of their house under the stars by night.  It was a truly memorable experience, the likes of which I would never have been gifted were it not for my trusted Enfield.

My adoptive family on the farm

.  .  .

This morning, I found myself sitting around in the hotel twiddling my fingers so I had a little root around in my laptop and to my surprise I found an old iView MediaPro catalogue file from that last trip to Ladakh.  So, as an ode to my previous summer bike tour around these parts, here are a few pictures from that journey.

The view from the roof of Thikse Monastery

A village celebration

Descending from Diskit Monastery

Nuns at Shey Monastery

High fashion in Hundar

The view from some road, somewhere

Monks celebrate the 800 year anniversary of the Drukpa Lineage

The lush summertime Nubra Valley

Monastery dharma

Local public transport

Cashmere goats at the farm

Crowds listening to the Dalai Lama

Beautiful Ladakhi traditional dress with turquoise

The town of Lamayuru tucked away in the mountains

Myself and my friend Ankit Goyal at Pangong Lake. I rode with Ankit for many days in Ladakh including our numerous failed attempts at reaching the Siachen Glacier. Next time mate!

. . .

Interested in more stories from Ladakh?  Try HERE

TASEARCHLADAKH

I’m back in the sweaty forests of Papua New Guinea again, although this time I’m with the Mountains team.  It’s true.  Strictly speaking we are actually in the jungle, but as it goes, we’re also in the mountains, so for once it looks like rock beats paper on this occasion.

The realization of this particular story began life back in 2007 when Jane Atkins, our researcher for the desert/grasslands programme happened to be flying over this area in a MAF plane on her way back from a shoot for BBC’s South Pacific in the Sepik river basin.  What eagle-eyed Janie spied in the jungle from her window seat prompted an inquisitive investigation that has, 2 years later, led us to happen upon the very same spot.

Now, as far as I can tell, this story has never been documented on film before, so in the interest of suspense and intrigue I’m not going to reveal the details here.  However, I will show you a picture of what Jane, and subsequently our team saw from the air, and maybe you can work it out for yourself…

What could they be?

All around this sparsely inhabited region of dense jungle, the ridges are dotted with unusual gaps in the tree line.  Needless to say, there are always people living close by and I am happy to say that they are very lovely people to work with, albeit a little superstitious in their cultural ways.  Indeed, this part of PNG is famous for its history of cargo cults, a practice that as far as I can see is all but extinct here.

As those anthropologically inclined of you will no doubt know, Cargo cults were the response of many remote tribal communities in the Pacific region to the sudden appearance in the 20th century of technologically superior cultures into their communities.  The cults focused mainly on magical rituals designed to imbue the tribes with the material wealth they saw belonging to the foreign visitors, believing that it was intended as gifts for them by their own particular deities and gods.  Although the cults have vanished, the deities still very much persist.  In fact, they appear to be having a bit of a get-together at our camp as it turns out.  At least that’s what the hushed tones of a few of the shadier locals would have us believe.  Only 10 dollars to keep the gods happy I can report back.

We haven’t paid yet.

Dear god. Please send more Colgate

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Interested in more stories from Papua New Guinea?  Try HERE

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While waiting for the sun to set on a snowy Stonehenge, I received a phone call from Tim,  ’Do you fancy an eight day trip to Dubai to shoot a story on an urban falconer?’  When someone asks you that question as you are sitting in minus 10 degrees cold, there is really only one answer.  So two days later I arrived in Dubai to meet Human Planetʼs Urban team, consisting of Mark Flowers, producer/director, Mark MacEwen, cameraman, the invaluable Andrea Jones, production co-ordinator and Julia Wheeler, the BBCʼs middle east correspondent.

Dubai... Science fact

Hereʼs an interesting fact.   One third of all the worldʼs construction cranes are currently in Dubai.  I imagine itʼs every architectʼs dream to design a building for Dubai.  They come in all shapes and sizes.  Everywhere you look you can see office blocks, skyscrapers, apartments with penthouses that have swimming pools on the 47th floor.   Hotels have motorised gondolas to ferry you from one part of the complex to another. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Verons and Bentleys sit parked outside hotel lobbies.  I felt a bit like Jim Carreyʼs character in the Truman Show.  Is all this real?  Maybe this is the Dubai experience everyone was telling me about?  Stepping inside the 7 star Burj LʼArab hotel was just that…  Fountains filled with glycerine so that the water doesnʼt separate when it arcs everywhere.  Forty seven sushi chefs in the Japanese restaurant alone…  Well believe it or not, even with all this wealth, technology and state of the art know how, Dubai still suffers from pigeon infestation and there is only one way to clear them out properly.

Did someone say pigeon?

This story centred around falconer David Stead, and the schedule of sequences required by the team were too numerous to mention, suffice to say that David probably experienced what it feels like to be George Clooney.   Every format of camera angle was afforded him, from helicopter cineflex to steadicam, crane, car mount and tripod… I just had to shoot the stills.

And so for the next six days we rose with the light and shot David flying his beautiful falcons against the impressive skyscraper backdrop that is Dubai.  Falcons are the fastest birds of prey in the world,  so filming and shooting them mid flight was fraught with difficulties.  Trying to keep focus with a hand held 400mm lens on a bird that drops out of the sky at over 100 mph is pretty full on.  And I had it easy compared to cameraman Mark, who was having to operate his camera on a tripod.  These birds are like thoroughbred horses and can tire very quickly while being directed for the film crew.  If we averaged about 4 minutes air time per bird, a day’s shooting could be over in just a quarter of an hour. Each falcon had a personality that kept us all entertained.

David is the most extraordinary of falconers, a man who cares passionately about his birds and their welfare.  His ability to control them while they are flying has to be seen to be believed.  On our final afternoon of filming, we witnessed Nimr disappearing for almost two and a half hours while she devoured a pigeon squab, only for her to return to David in almost complete darkness, something that had never been done before.  This in itself was a very special moment as eye contact and visibility is paramount between falcon and handler.

We were also lucky enough to ascend the Burj Khalifa, the tallest man made structure (at almost 3000 ft ) in the world.  So if you are squeamish about heights…..look away now.

... and this isn't even the top

The last time I worked with a camera crew was in Baghdad while covering the immediate fallout from the Iraq war.  This assignment was totally different in every sense but both camera crews strived for the same goal… To tell the story.  The rushes looked amazing and I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Urban team for allowing me to poke my lens in, around and under them all as they were filming, and of course to David and his sporting cast of falcons.

Two weeks into 2010 and I am back from my one month break over the holiday season.  As is the tradition for photographers around this time of year, I have put together a small portfolio of previously unseen pictures from 2009… one from each Human Planet shoot last year.

Yesterday I left my home town of Bristol deep in snow.  Today,  I am filing this post from a hot and humid Changi airport in Singapore on a stop over with the mountains team on our way to the highlands of North Eastern Papua New Guinea where we will be shooting for the next 2 weeks.  Right now, I am also pleased to say that we have British photojournalist Kieran Doherty shooting a high rise story for us in UAE’s capital Dubai with the urban team and he’ll be posting a blog in due course.

Happy New Year to you where ever you are in the world and I hope you enjoy this selection of pictures from a year of travel in 2009.

Looking for a fight in Southern Ethiopia

Dangling from ropes in Galicia

Watching the sun set in the Simien Mountains

Dressing up in Niger

Waiting for the Moon to set in Greenland

Nitpicking in the Central African Republic

Braving a sand storm in Mali

Camel herding in the Gobi Desert

Net fishing in Brazil

Plastering in Djenne

Afternoon napping in Dogon Country

Moving house in Mongolia

Casting a net in Laos

Dancing in Papua New Guinea

Trading snakes in Cambodia

Meditating in Angkor

Scavenging in Kenya

Messing around in Indonesia

Reindeer herding in Norway

Island hopping in Sabah

Deep sea diving in the Philippines

Fox hunting in Mongolia

Extreme barbecuing in Venezuela

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To see more pictures from the Human Planet journey so far, click HERE

There's an eagle in me that wants to soar

There are two frequently quoted buzz words in the Human Planet offices… man, and nature.  By man, we are of course colloquially referring to the human race and not just the male denomination of our species.  By nature, folk here tend to be alluding to animals in the first instance, and then to our environment if the zoological aspects are less obvious.  Not surprisingly, in the 21st century, with many of us completely cut off from our natural environment living in towns and cities, genuine cultural stories of humankind’s reciprocally advantageous relationship with mother nature are becoming few and far between.

And so I find myself once again in Mongolia,  a country that over the last year has completely captured my heart for ever.  From sandy desert to lush grasslands and now to the snowy Altai mountains in the far west, I have arrived at a remote Kazakh community that is home to amongst others, Mongolia’s fabled eagle hunters.

Six months ago, a Human Planet film crew journeyed here in order to film a father’s search for a golden eagle for his young son.  This involved climbing down a portion of a 500 ft cliff face to collect the flightless chick from its nest and then the subsequent documentation of the adoption process during which the two species, man and bird, both impressive hunters at the top of their prospective food chains,  became partners in a mutually beneficial relationship.

That boy was called Berik.  That’s him in the photo at the top of the page hunting foxes for the first time with his majestically grown up golden eagle.

Coming here to photograph this narrative, I imagined that it would be the story of a father’s tutorship of his son in the ways of eagle hunting.  What has actually transpired for me is a beautifully intimate tale of a boy’s relationship with what must surely be one of the most magnificent flying creatures on our planet.  We have travelled on horseback through the mountains watching in awe as Berik and his father hunt with their eagles, tracking animal prints in the snow and then launching their deadly co-workers from these monumental high peaks to capture their prey.

Treading carefully in the Altais

Observing a golden eagle at close quarters is a rare delight for a British fellow like myself.  Prior to this trip I had only ever seen these glorious beasts down the barrel of a very long lens in a Scottish wilderness.  Now I find myself unusually blasé as I sit eating breakfast in one of our gers, a bird perched either side of me, one rubbing its beak repeatedly on my shoulder.  Mongolia is a truly fantastic place.  This will be my last trip here for Human Planet, but I will most certainly be back some time.

Berik's friend and his eagle in their ger

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Interested in more stories from Mongolia?  Try HERE

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