Vagabond Tales: Snorkeling with irukandji, one of the deadliest animals on Earth

by Kyle Ellison on

“This guy over here has been tagged three times mate.”

The dive instructor on our Whitsunday Islands cruise peels off his neoprene gloves and shows us a slight scar located just above the knuckle of his right thumb.

“Luckily every time they got me it was in the hand or the foot”, he claims. “If they’d gotten me on the bloody torso I’d be a gonner.”

As someone who has worked on charter boats for a number of years, I know that telling tall tales to tourists just comes with the job. True story or not, I know that the threat is real nonetheless. A dreamy island chain set at the southern tip of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, the Whitsunday Islands from November through April are home to one of the world’s deadliest creatures: the irukandji jellyfish.

Similar to a box jellyfish, the tiny irukandji measure only 2.5 centimeters across and have tentacles that pack more venom than the combined amount of 100 cobras. Although actual irukandji fatalities are rare, one Australian teen actually reported he wishes he were dead during a recent irukandji attack.

For this very reason many towns and resorts on the Queensland coast have massive salt water swimming lagoons or fresh pools which serve as refreshing watering holes (and nighttime love hideouts for inebriated backpackers) during the annual irukandji season.

Yet, for some reason, I decided it was still a good idea to go snorkeling. In the ocean. In the Whitsunday Islands. In the peak of irukandji season.

A bit sketchy? Yes. But is it really that dangerous? Not really. Although the safest way to keep from being stung by a massively poisonous jellyfish is to abstain from the ocean completely, for those still harboring fantasies of gliding above a giant purple clam or catching a rare sighting of a giant Napoleon wrasse, the easiest thing thing to do is to simply don a stinger suit.

Wait. A stinger suit? What’s a stinger suit?Basically, a stinger suit is your worst fashion nightmare on land, and your best possible protection when you’re in the Northern Australia waters. A one piece lycra unitard that’s as sexy as it is form-fitting, a stinger suit essentially covers you from head to toe and prevents any rogue irukandji tentacles from brushing alongside and sending you on an impromptu helicopter ride.

That being said, the only thing more disconcerting than catching a glimpse of yourself in a stinger suit is catching an actual glimpse of an irukandji itself.

As I dove off of the crowded catamaran, snorkel gear in hand, the water was slightly cool for mid-April. After a sun drenched boat ride out to the reef from nearby Airlie Beach, I finally was immersed in the calming silence of the sea. Free diving beneath a grotto of human legs to a more tranquil world of vibrant corals and mutant looking parrotfish, the only sounds were the gentle crackling of reef fish feeding on coral heads and the occasional drone of a distant boat motor shuttling tourists from the beach to the reef and eventually the bar.

For the first time in a while, I finally was alone.

Noticing one of his boat passengers languishing gently in a sand channel between the reef, one of the instructors from the boat dove the four meters down to the sea floor to pay a casual visit to my hidden aquatic chamber.

Not more than two seconds after reaching the bottom, however, his eyes excitedly bulged and appeared to double in size as seen through the fog of his mask. Slowly, he raised a focused finger at something apparently located behind me.

For anyone who hasn’t spent much time underwater, regardless of how comfortable you are in the ocean, you never, ever, want to see someone with wide eyes pointing directly behind you. Music starts playing, drums start thumping, and you can almost feel the teeth sinking into the nape of your neck.

Fully expecting to see a toothy visitor, I instead saw…well…nothing. There was nothing there at all. The instructor was actually just pointing at the open blue.

Then, just as my lungs were starting to yearn for another shot of oxygen, the slightest flicker of motion and a narrowing of his pointing drew my attention to a miniscule speck drifting lazily in the sea.

According to our instructor–who would late re-confirm with me back on board–the drifting life form in front of us was none other than the feared and fabled irukandji, the 100 cobra knockout, and the most remarkably passive predator I had ever seen in my life.

For as surreal an experience as floating amidst the reefs of Australia already is, it’s amplified tenfold by staring directly into the face of a creature the size of your fingernail that could actually kill you right there. Like a mesmerizing orb, for some unknown reason you simply want to reach out and touch it, but the stinger suit says no.

“Captain, you said there was a bar on board right?”

I’d just looked death in it’s microscopic Australian eye, and somehow escaped unscathed. It was time for a drink, a pause, a moment of reflection, and a toast to a gentle reminder that even the smallest of creatures on the planet can still make a world of difference.

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Stinger suit photo: Flickr; eyeintim

Vagabond Tales: Swimming with elephants in Thailand

by Kyle Ellison on

Anyone who has visited Thailand will recognize the word Chang.

The national beer of Thailand, the over sized green bottles are found everywhere from the markets of Chiang Mai to the bars of Bangkok’s Khao San Road. In the Thai language, however, Chang does not mean beer. It means elephant. Hence the ornately drawn white elephant placed prominently on the bottle.

Another Thai word you may be familiar with is the word koh (also spelled ko). Ask anyone who just returned from Thailand about their trip, and they’ll rattle the word off as if they’re trying to remove a hairball.

“Oh the trip was great. We visited Koh Pha Ngan, Koh Lanta, Koh Mak, Koh Phi Phi, Koh Samui” etc.

Koh, as it turns out, is not the Thai word for hairball, but rather, it is the Thai word for island.
Put the two together, Koh and Chang, and what you are left with is Elephant Island, a nod to the fact that when viewed from the sea, the island appears to have the same profile as an elephant lying down. Therefore, it should come as little surprise that the lush and mountainous island of Koh Chang is one of Thailand’s premier locations for riding elephants.

Though there are many places around the world where you can rest on top of a moving pachyderm, what’s unique about Koh Chang is that it’s the first place I’ve seen where you don’t just get to ride on top of an elephant, but you go swimming with it as well.

Wait. Swimming with an elephant? This sounds dangerous. They’re the largest living land mammal on planet Earth, and you want to go jump into a watering hole with them?Though the idea of a four ton animal treading water in the first place is tough to wrap your head around, there are few experiences more surreal than straddling the neck of a leathery, hairy beast, your hands firmly clinging to a rope which is tenuously wrapped around the elephant’s underbelly, and to have the four-legged monstrosity completely disappear into a puddle of deep brown water.

Of course, these elephants are exceptionally well trained, but nevertheless, it all happens so fast. In one moment you are firmly on dry land bouncing along through the dripping green foliage of the jungle, and in the next you find yourself waist deep in a brown lake straddling one of the largest creatures on Earth which has, suddenly, completely disappeared.

This experience is of course coupled with the fact that an elephant is equipped with a fire hose on its face. Capable of drawing up to four gallons of water into its long, serpentine snout, the elephant will then deposit the massive reservoir of elephant boogers where ever he happens to see fit. The most typical place for it to unleash its hose is its own back in an effort to cool itself down. If you happen to be sitting on the elephants back, however…

Luckily I avoided the experience of being drenched with elephant snot, but this was perhaps my biggest fear going into the expedition. Not falling into the water and getting kicked in the face like any normal person might be wary of, but of being briskly trumpeted by a dual-nostrilled cannon at a speed of about 95 knots.

“She must like you” claimed the mahout, an Indian word for a man in charge of driving the domesticated elephants.

“She usually brings most people back with their hair dripping wet.”

Still seated bareback on top of the gray animal, I trembled with excitement at what had just taken place. Potentially unaware that I was even still sitting on top of her, for her part she had moved on to flapping her small ears and chewing on a soaking wet piece of sugar cane.

This may sound crazy, but if you ever travel to Thailand, do yourself a favor and go swimming with an elephant. A package deal of a mechanical bull, a zoo, and a waterpark, it’s an experience you assuredly will never forget.

Read more of the Vagabond Tales here.

Vagabond Tales: Is sandboarding better than snowboarding?

by Kyle Ellison on

Contrary to what you may believe, the ocean in Peru is not very warm. In fact, it’s not warm at all. It’s freezing.

Other than desert outposts in the northern reaches of the country where it’s still possible to surf in boardshorts (Mancora, Vichayito, etc.), the Humboldt current–which swings northward from Antarctica–renders the water in Peru so cold that much of the coast is a seascape of lonely gray populated by neoprene-clad surfers suffering from ice cream headaches (surf slang for intense pain in the temples felt when diving beneath a frigid wave).

For this precise reason there was little part of me which wanted to surf in Peru.

But wait, Peru has some of the best waves in the world. Chicama, Pacasmayo, Cabo Blanco? These places are legendary. What’s wrong with you?

Standing on the rocky shores of Huanchaco, a beachfront suburb of the colonial city of Trujillo, the thought of removing my warm flannel and thrusting my ceviche-laden body into 51° water held remarkably little appeal. That, and the waves simply just weren’t that good. Admittedly, a fair weather surfer I will be.

Having already toured the ruins of Huaca de Sol and Chan Chan, ancient cities of the Moche and Chimu people who began inhabiting this coastline around 400 AD, my wife and I were simply going to have to find adventure elsewhere.

How about sand boarding?

For years I had seen photos of warm-weather renegades riding down sand dunes from Morocco to New Zealand to here on the coast of Peru. Still, I was skeptical. It’s sand. Not snow. Or water. How fun can it possibly be?Hiring out the services of a local guide named Jaime we hopped into a 1980’s era red van that appeared to contain half of the dune already embedded into the interior. For over an hour and a half the three of us bounced our way over dirt roads and past rural farming hamlets in search of a shimmering white dune which, ideally, would be protected from the stiff coastal breeze.

“This”, I initially reckoned, “is absurd.”

I could be lounging oceanfront back in Huanchaco sucking down a bucket of cold cervezas and watching tourists head into the surf on caballito de totoras, traditional boats made of thin reeds which many historians believe were potentially the world’s first surf craft.

Instead, I find myself 50km inland driving through scrub brush with a man named Jaime who’s keen on throwing me off of a sand dune on a board akin to a skateboard without wheels.

Absurd.

As I would find out after my first successful run down the dune, however, this is a sport that could grow on me, and it was growing on me fast.

The first notable difference between sandboarding and snowboarding is the exhausting lack of a ski lift. The absence of a lift of course leads to a lot more trekking uphill, which when performed in sand up to your ankles is harder than you might imagine.

This, it would seem, is a massive downside to sandboarding.

On the contrary, it only leads me to offer the first point for why sandboarding may be better than snowboarding:

With sandboarding you get an incredible workout.

Furthermore, when a titanic amount of effort is required to reach the top of a dune it only adds a sense of accomplishment to the ensuing ride down.

Unless, of course, you happen to fall on the ride down. Then the 20 minute walk to the top feels like a waste. While perhaps true, the idea of falling introduces the second reason why sandboarding may be better than snowboarding:

When you fall, it doesn’t hurt.

No ice patches, no bruised butt muscles, no broken vertebrae, just forgiving folds of sand waiting to absorb you and your miserable descent.

True, you may end up getting sand in your shorts, but this raises the third and final reason why sandboarding may be better than snowboarding:

Sandboarding is warmer than snowboarding.

Given the nature of the climates where massive sand dunes thrive, rarely will you need more clothing for sandboarding than your favorite bathing suit. There are no expensive gloves, pants, jackets, goggles, earmuffs, or shivering on top of a mountain. Swap them all out for a pair of boardshorts and call it a day.

Do I feel this reasoning will create any converts? Absolutely not. But I at least feel compelled to make the argument, invite you to try it, and let you make the decision for yourself.

Interested? Check out Sandboard magazine to find a dune location near you.

Read more of the Vagabond Tales here…

Vagabond Tales: “The Governator is better, yes?”

by Kyle Ellison on

Crossing borders can always be a bit of a hectic experience. There are long lines, scam artists, customs officials, new currencies, people offering to expedite your visa process for a fee, screaming children, rogue livestock, and occasionally people with guns. Dirty and dingy, border crossings are never the favorite part of my trip.

Luckily, however, I was once aided through a particularly tense border moment by of all things, an American politician. As any American traveler who spends copious amounts of time out of the country will tell you, divulging the fact that you are an American frequently involves being buffeted by a hailstorm of opinions/questions/debate over American foreign policy, war, clothing, oil, health care, politics, and lately, Justin Bieber.

This is because–and excuse me as I fabricate completely random statistics to argue a point–it’s becoming apparent to me that about 70% of the globe knows more about American politics than 70% of Americans do.

Evidence? I offer three examples:

-A particularly smelly hitch hiker I once picked up in New Zealand was able to tell me how many seats the state of Hawaii has in the House of Representatives (2).

-The Kathmandu shopkeeper from whom I was purchasing a $1.50 plate of dhal bhat discussed with me the geopolitical ramifications of Hillary Clinton’s recent visit to Burma.

-A mate from Sydney writing me to express his concerns about the upcoming vote in Congress to once again raise the debt ceiling.

The list goes on.

Although flashing the blue cover of an American passport will frequently lead to this uninvited political joust, I would like to thank one American politician for effectively waving me across international lines.Prior to Slovakia being an EU member and part of the Eurail network, the border crossing by train from Slovakia to Austria was not exactly warm and rosy. Perhaps it’s because it was the depths of winter and the whole of central Europe seemed to collectively huddle beneath a fog of frozen breath and post-Communist-era gray, but the passport control was cold in every way.

Instead of having all of the passengers depart the frigid rail car, two chiseled specimens of angry looking police officers toting unnecessarily large automatic weapons boarded the train and checked the passports of each passenger row by row. From the truncated grunts in German and the international sound of pleading it was apparent that for some passengers the proceedings were going less than swimmingly.

Finally, with a stone cold glare and a heavy thudding of boots the two officers made their stop in front of my assigned seat. Brandishing our shiny, navy blue passports my college girlfriend and I handed over our international identity and awaited what the vibe of the car was telling us might be a hard-fought entry stamp.

Scrutinizing the details of my girlfriend’s passport, a thick, monotone voice came from within the border patrolling giant.

“You are from California, yes?” he stiffly questioned.

“Ummm…yes, California” was the meek reply she could muster.

Moment of truth. Friend or foe.

Then, with a smile that could bridge the Iron Curtain, the gun-toting guard slapped his companion on the chest and jubilantly exclaimed, “the Governator is better yes!”

What followed can only be described as the laugh performed by the alien characters in “The Simpson’s” who carry on with a guttural belly laugh for so unbelievably long that after the first 40 seconds have passed it becomes hilarious in its discomfort.

At no point while boarding the train to Austria did I expect the fact that the Austrian-born actor turned California Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, would ultimately expedite my passage through the border.

The guffawing agent–obviously pleased with his joke–nonchalantly stamped the passports and flipped them back into our stunned laps. only to unleash a throaty gumbo of syllables on a dreadlocked hippie behind me who, apparently, was not a California resident.

So thank you Arnold for getting me into Austria, and for allowing me to use my passport for more than political banter. Schnitzels on me.

–
Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the Vagabond Tales here…

[Photo: Flickr: Toprankonlinemarketing]

Vagabond Tales: The strange food of Vietnam

by Kyle Ellison on

Apparently, there are no sharks left in Vietnam.

This is not a scientific fact. It’s based solely upon the opinion of my dive instructor in Nha Trang, a trendy resort town in southern Vietnam. While you may initially think this is a good thing, the sad reality is that sharks are one of the most threatened animals in the undersea environment and the vast majority pose no threat to humans whatsoever.

The instructor claimed he hadn’t seen a shark underwater in over 8 years, a fact which led me to speculate as to why. Was the water warmer? Had their food moved further offshore? Had he just not been looking?

The answer, it would turn out, wasn’t as much of a mystery as I was making it out to be.
“Because we eat them all” he nonchalantly mused. “Vietnam, Korea, China, eat all the shark. No more shark.”

While I knew that shark fin soup was a much sought after dish in the Far East, I didn’t think it had reached such dire levels where a trained professional who goes into the water actually looking for them hadn’t encountered one in nearly a decade.His answer did nothing to surprise me, however, as the Vietnamese are renowned for eating absolutely anything; sharks, dogs, birds, snakes, cats, starfish-it’s all just food. Of the Vietnamese, a Cambodian friend of mine once quipped that “the only thing with two legs they don’t eat is a human, and the only thing with four legs they don’t eat is a table.”

I ruminated over this as I examined an oversized glass vase in the dive shop which had been stuffed with dead snakes and black ravens. A curious sight to be sure, the dead animals were soaking in a brackish looking liquid I was informed was rice wine, the final product of which was meant to be an aphrodisiac so potent it aroused women to uncontrollable levels and kept men “strong” all throughout the night. Much of this information was gleaned from an elderly Vietnamese woman communicating solely in hand gestures, a somewhat awkward state of affairs concerning the subject matter.

Regardless, later in the day as I flopped backwards overboard at the outset of my dive, I soon would realize that the Vietnamese don’t just eat anything, but they also will eat anywhere.
As I mentioned in my Vagabond Tales column on roasting marshmallows over Guatemala’s Volcan Pacaya, one of my favorite aspects of global travel is the refreshing lack of liability found in many parts of the globe. This is why it came as no surprise when 15 minutes into the dive we found ourselves inside of a cave 60 feet below the surface, a place where most US based operators would never take beginner divers (though I am a PADI Divemaster, my two mates from New Zealand were only on their second dive ever).

For those of you who have read my blogger profile here on Gadling, you have an idea of what happens next. Navigating his way through the cave with four hesitant divers in tow, a large shellfish suddenly caught the eye of the instructor. Seeing as this is Vietnam and you eat whatever you can find, it obviously meant this was feeding time.

Giving us the signal for “stop and wait”, our instructor hastily grabbed a medium-sized stone from the sand bottom and crushed the mollusk in a Neanderthal-esque display of force. Then, like an orangutan sharing its meal at the zoo, he divvied up the flimsy white meat and offered us all to have a taste, which is how we found ourselves eating raw shellfish, underwater, in a cave, in southern Vietnam.

To answer the question of anyone paying attention, yes, eating underwater is hard, but it’s not impossible. You take a deep breath in, remove your regulator (which is never done outside of the skills test when you first get certified), place the food into your mouth, reinsert the regulator, and attempt to breathe and chew at the same time.

So yes, there are no more sharks in Vietnam, some Vietnamese eat dogs, and if they find a shellfish underwater, there’s a good chance they’ll eat that too.

**Disclaimer: The author does not condone multiple elements of this story, including, but not limited to, tampering with sea life while diving, attempting to eat underwater, removing your regulator under any circumstances, fermenting dead ravens to make sex juice, embarking on a $15 scuba dive in the first place, or discussing politics with a Vietnamese man who’s been drinking, which although it’s not included in this tale, simply serves as a general warning**

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