Surfers are constantly on the hunt for the “big one” – that epic wave they’ll be able to tell their grand kids about. But for New Zealand surfer Chris Nel, that epic wave turned into a nightmare. Nel was out surfing with five friends in the Samoan Islands last week when a catastrophic 8.3 magnitude earthquake struck, sending a towering tsunami of water rumbling his way.
Before they even realized it, the ocean around them was rushing back out to sea, sucking Chris and his friends along with it. Chris describes the scary feeling of doom as he was pulled towards the giant mass of water, powerless to do anything but ride out the waves. For the next 45 minutes, Nel and his friends struggled to stay afloat in the pounding tsunami surge, worried they would be smashed into the beach or jungle. Finally, the friends caught a lucky break, scrambling to safety back on land in between surges. However, the surf camp where he was staying was completely destroyed. Chris returned to New Zealand wearing nothing but a pair of jeans found in the jungle.
For all the tragedy that came from last week’searthquakes and tsunamis, it’s heartening to hear of some good news. Despite the increasing availability of tsunami warning systems in the Pacific Ocean, it’s not likely Nel or his friends would have even had time to get out of the water, even if they learned of the wave in advance. Like any outdoor sport, surfing is not without its occasional risk – sometimes you just happen to get lucky.
Tucked into the news this morning, in the midst of seemingly endless Michael Jackson news and the confirmation hearings of Judge Sonia Sotomayor, was a quick story about cranes falling over in India. The cranes were being used to clean up the debris caused from a flyover that had collapsed.
It wasn’t that a flyover had fallen, or that cranes had tipped over that had caught my attention as much as the words “in India.” If you’ve ever looked on a map, you know just how big India is. As a person who lived there for two years and managed to see quite a bit, even according to Indians, I can vouch for the diversity and expansiveness. As much as I saw, I only saw a fraction of what India has to offer.
When the bridge collapsed in Minneapolis on August 1, 2007, the news didn’t say that a bridge collapsed in the United States. The specific location was noted. I would bet that when the news about that bridge was announced in India, The word “Minneapolis” was part of the footage.
It can’t be that the name of the city would take up that much extra time? Or that people in the United States wouldn’t be interested in the particular name of the city in India. It’s one I would hope they’d recognize if they heard it. One would hope. It’s the capital.
New Delhi. That’s where the tipped over cranes are—along with the collapsed flyover and the six people who died because of the first mishap. With the cranes collapse, four people were injured. Here’s the article about the accident in the Times of India.
Perhaps the reason why Americans, like Kellie Pickler, for example, do so poorly in geography quizzes is that opportunities to educate us get lost in the shuffle of other news. Michael Jackson, from what I’ve heard, took loads of Xanex. And in case you didn’t know, Neverland is in California, and Michael isn’t buried there–supposedly.
I hold a strong belief that any bad situation can be turned into a good one. The thing about this belief is that it’s only true if you believe it. It’s easy to think this when everything’s going swimmingly, but when plans get derailed and blow up in your face, it gets put to the test. Case in point, here’s a situation I found myself in recently:
I got mugged and was robbed of my passport
The embassy promised to get me my passport before my 14 day transatlantic cruise left
They didn’t get it to me in time, so the boat left without me.
Imagine that. I’m stuck in Santo Domingo and my ride to England is sailing away without me, putting a serious body of water in between me and my British plans.
Step one: deep breath. Step two: examine options. There’s the boring option of flying straight into Saint Maarten two days later. It’s the ship’s only stop before the five day transatlantic push, and a call to the cruise line confirms that I can meet them there and get on the ship. Almost as bad as being boring, it’s expensive. Five hundred thirty seven dollars for a one way ticket.
I could book it and make it on the ship, but that’s not turning a bad situation good; it’s just turning a bad situation into a solved situation. I check a map of the Caribbean and notice that there are a few islands near Saint Maarten. Kitts, Nevis, and Anguilla. I’d never even heard of Anguilla before, but a quick check online offers a $325 fare from Santo Domingo.
That’s the kind of situation I like. Two hundred twelve dollars cheaper than my only other option means that if I can spend less than that and turn it into an adventure, I’ve come out ahead. The ferry between the two islands seems to cost only twenty dollars, which is all the US currency I have in my pocket. That’s enough confirmation for me; I book the ticket to Anguilla, which should give me a full 19 hours from landing to boat departure to make my way to the cruise ship.
The layover in Puerto Rico gives me a plane window view of what the country is like. Not a real visit by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m happy to have a face to put to the name, so to speak. Two hours later I’m on another plane headed to Anguilla.
If you don’t believe that friendly and helpful customs agents exist, take a trip to Anguilla. Instead of grilling me when I told her I had no idea where I was sleeping, the customs agent went into an office, made some calls, and wrote down the name of a guesthouse on a piece of paper for me. The best price I’d found online was a hefty $100 a night. Hers was $45.
Right outside the airport I was once again confronted with Anguillan charm and hospitality. The security guards casually engaged me in conversation, asking where I was from and where I was going. When I told them I didn’t know where I was sleeping they offered the airport benches and said they’d watch my stuff for me.
I figured I’d walk around a bit to get the lay of the land, but I didn’t make it far. I cut through the parking lot of the airport and made it halfway across the lawn before I realized I was standing on a perfect little campground. Now that I have a luxury lite cot, every reasonable option to sleep in a public place delights me. The star filled sky and warm Caribbean breeze sealed the deal. I set up my cot, put it my headphones, and listened to Mozart as I drifted to sleep. Mozart has the ability to make anything seem luxurious, even sleeping out in a field like a vagabond.
One of these days I’ll learn that, no matter what, I should always bundle up before sleeping outside. By the time I woke up I was wearing my entire outfit of cold weather gear, and I barely remembered half of the occasions where I’d shuffled through my bag and added a new layer. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, and I wanted to pack up my stuff before it got bright enough to draw attention.
I didn’t know exactly how far it was from the airport to the ferry terminal, but with twelve hours to go before the ship left, I felt comfortable walking there. I walk wherever I can–it lets me get a feel for the place I’m visiting that a taxi window doesn’t, it costs nothing, and it’s good exercise.
The walk to the ferry was uneventful and pleasant. Road bikers, joggers, and expat power walkers were out in full force, getting in their activities before it got too hot.
Just over two hours later I was first in line for the first ferry of the day. I cheerfully paid my $15 fare and shuffled to the tax window.
“That’s twenty dollars,” the woman scowled. Everyone I’d met in Anguilla so far was so genuinely friendly that I was astonished, but she was the opposite. My patronization of the business she worked at was a major offense, apparently.
I’m a little (too) insane about avoiding conversion rates, and only had five US dollars left in my pocket.
“I only have five. Is there an ATM near here?”
“In the Valley,” she replied, immediately looking away to signal that we had nothing more to talk about.
The Valley was where the airport was. I left my backpack with a (friendly) restaurant owner nearby and started retracing my steps. I did some mental math to assure myself I was in no danger of missing the boat.
Half a mile in I started thinking. Anguillans were so friendly, maybe I could hitchhike. I’d never hitchhiked before, and this seemed like the perfect place to try it. I stuck my thumb out and the third vehicle to pass, a big truck, stopped and let me in. I told him I was going to the Valley and he dropped me off about two thirds of the way there, before he had to turn off the main road.
Fifteen minutes later, as I passed a bakery, I asked a man if he knew where an ATM was.
“Sure, I’ll bring you there.”
He brought me to one ATM, which didn’t work, then another, and then insisted on bringing me back to the ferry terminal. My desperately sincere assurances that I didn’t mind walking weren’t that convincing, I guess.
From there the rest of the trip was easy. I’d been to Saint Marteen before many years ago, but struggled to recognize anything. My friend Phil’s family had rented a beautiful villa there, and most of my time was spent relaxing and playing Cranium by the pool. The French side felt like a tropical chunk of France, the Dutch side felt like Mexico, and I made it to the ship before my friend there finished breakfast.
It’s tough to say that I’m glad I missed the ship in the first place, but I will say this: I had a fun and memorable little adventure through five countries is thirty hours, and I don’t regret it.
(A quick note: My characterizations of these countries are all based on tiny glimpses of them, so take them with a huge block of salt. Except the friendliness… I’m convinced on that one.)
A Yeti Airlines Twin-Otter plane carrying sixteen passengers and three crew members crashed at a remote airstrip in Nepal yesterday morning, local time. The plane’s wheel became entangled in a security fence as it was landing at the trekking base of Lukla, about 30 miles from Mount Everest. 18 people, including a group of 12 German trekkers, were killed. Only the pilot survived, though he remains in critical condition at an area hospital. Passengers waiting for other planes were first on the scene, but they were ill-equipped to fight the fire that had broken out on impact. By the time it was finally extinguished, everyone in the passenger cabin was beyond help.
The crash was initially blamed on poor visibility. It was quite foggy at the time of the crash, though two similar planes had already landed at the airstrip that morning. The government has promised a full investigation. The team looking into the disaster will be headed by the country’s attorney general. The airport is located at 2500 meters above sea level and many people say it is ill-equipped to handle the heavy traffic it sees during trekking and climbing season.
As we work on trying to save our planet, it is disturbing to realize that we are also preparing for the ultimate global catastrophe.
A “doomsday vault” — which is a bombproof shelter dug into a mountain on a Norwegian island in the Arctic Ocean — has been built to store 2.25 billion seeds of important agricultural crops in the world, so that in the face of a global calamity, the world will be able to restart the growth of food.
The vault has already received an initial shipment of 100 million seeds from 268,000 varieties of wheat, barley, lentils and other crops. The $9-million, highly protected vault will keep the seeds cool as well as safe from potential flooding caused from foreseen ice-cap melting, for the next 200 years. More than 100 countries have supported its construction, although its ownership rights are with Norway.
So, in event of political instability, nuclear warfare, an epidemic, or large-scale natural disasters, we need not worry my friends, we and our children, and their children, will have food to survive.
We frequently hear that the world is in peril for many reasons and global leaders are putting their heads together to save the planet. Building such a vault is a smart and practical move but it also underscores the harsh reality that, no matter what we try to do, the world’s destruction is imminent, sooner or later.
