OH, THE PLACES WE’VE BEEN
Some of our favorite words and pictures from the pages of DestinAsian over the past 20 years.
FROM THE FAR REACHES OF THE HIMALAYAS TO THE JAPANESE HINTERLAND AND THE JUNGLES OF PAPUA, DESTINASIAN HAS TAKEN ITS READERS TO MANY EXTRAORDINARY PLACES SINCE IT WAS FIRST LAUNCHED 20 YEARS AGO. HERE, WE’VE PUT TOGETHER SOME OF OUR FAVORITE WORDS AND IMAGES FROM PAST ISSUES AS A TIMELY REMINDER NOT ONLY OF WHERE WE’VE BEEN, BUT OF ALL THAT AWAITS US WHEN IT’S TIME TO TRAVEL AGAIN.
BALI, INDONESIA
“There are certain places that we keep, in our hearts or imaginations, as shrines of a kind, or inner talismans; protective deities, you could say, that watch over some of our better and more private hopes. Bali is close to the center of any such inner topography, a place that has long been a byword for all we would not expect to find in the real world. I remember, from the first of my several trips there, feeling as if I’d walked into a canvas (by Gauguin, perhaps): the bare-shouldered old ladies in their sumptuous silks walking to the temple in the early light; the boys with gorgeous smiles, white flowers tucked behind their ears; the angel-eyed infants taken to be such vessels of purity that they were not even allowed to touch the ground. There were 30,000 temples, I heard on that first trip, on an island barely one-sixth the size of Taiwan; every house had a shrine and most people were dancers or artists or sorcerers. All simplifications, of course, or even distortions, and yet those are the contours of the Bali that we create or carry within.”
Pico Iyer in “Forever Paradise,” February/March 2003
IF THERE WERE A THAI WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM FOR NATURAL LANDSCAPES AND UNAFFECTED LOCALS, IT WOULD BE SET ON THE SHORES OF TRANG.” Christopher R. Cox in “Natural Selection,” December 2009
THE LANDSCAPES OF NORTHERN ETHIOPIA ARE THE FANTASIES OF A TURNER PAINTING: BLURRED PEAKS, HANGING VALLEYS, WHITE ROBED PILGRIMS LIKE DISTANT ANGELS GATHERED AROUND CHURCHES IN WOODED GROVES.” Aidan Hartley in “A World Apart,” August/September 2016
MOUNT BANAHAW, PHILIPPINES
“The meandering path through the village of Kinabuhayan is vaguely reminiscent of Jerusalem’s Via Dolorosa — and strongly so when a man dressed as Jesus walks past me carrying a two-and-a-half-meter cross on his shoulder. Like other pilgrims, he is heading for the shady gorge below, where ponds and rivulets are believed to have Lourdes-like healing properties. Dozens of people are already bathing there — some splashing each other playfully, others taking gulps of air before completely submerging themselves. Everyone leaves with plastic bottles full of holy water. ‘It’s great for making tea, too,’ my guide says with a wink.”
Andrew Marshall in “Magic Mountain,” February/March 2007
COFFEE HERE IS NOT JUST A BREW. IT IS A LIFE ENHANCING ELIXIR, AS MUCH A PART OF THE SOUTH INDIAN PSYCHE AS KANJIVARAM SILK SARIS, CARNATIC MUSIC, AND COCONUT LACED CURRIES.” Shoba Narayan in “Karnataka’s Mountain Magic,” August/September 2009
BÜYÜKADA, TURKEY
“Büyükada smells of sea and jasmine, grilled meat and fish, cats and horses. The only sounds you hear on the island are the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, the clinking of their harnesses, the querulous cries of the seagulls, the strangulated screams of cats either fighting or mating (the two are often indistinguishable), and the foghorn call of ferries arriving and departing from dawn until midnight. At night, phaetons stand by to take diners home from the seafood restaurants along the waterfront. The horses wait in a large square behind the main drag and next to the entrance to the lovely Monastery of St. George. They stand patiently, occasionally shifting their hooves, their harnesses jingling and creaking, their owners talking softly to soothe them. The only light comes from candles twinkling in the carriages’ lanterns. The first time I saw the square at night, I thought it was the most romantic sight I had ever seen.”
Lucretia Stewart in “Keeping the Peace,”
June/July 2006
TWO MEN EMERGED FROM THE TREES WITHOUT WARNING. THEY HAD DAINTILY CHISELED BODIES AND CASSOWARY FEATHERS WOVEN INTO THEIR HAIR. SAYING NOTHING, THEY GLIDED PAST US, LIGHTING THEIR WAY WITH A SHEAF OF BURNING GRASS.” Lawrence Osborne in “Papua Untamed,” April/May 2007
NANTUCKET IS UNLIKE ANYWHERE ELSE: PICTURESQUE AND RUGGED, CONGENIAL YET ISOLATED. THE PAST IS SO ACCESSIBLE IT SEEMS POSSIBLE JUST TO REACH OUT AND TOUCH IT.” Mary Hickson in “Out to Sea in New England,” December 2014
MERGUI, MYANMAR
“As I glide in a kayak through a narrow channel in the Mergui Archipelago, I almost overlook the small clearing at the edge of Wa Ale Island’s tangled jungle. I’m scanning the trees for crabeating macaques — the shy, brownish monkeys that haunt this shore in the evenings — when, out of the corner of my eye, I spot the collapsed huts. Realizing that I’ve stumbled across an abandoned sea gypsy camp, I splash ashore to investigate. In two days of kayaking through these remote islands off the southern coast of Myanmar, I’ve glimpsed sea eagles and tree pythons, paddled alongside smoothcoated sea otters and through fluttery clouds of yellow butterflies, and watched sunsets turn the Andaman Sea cotton-candy pink. But I have yet to see any of the nomadic humans who’ve made these islands their home for the past few centuries. ” Rolf Potts in “The Moken Way,” February/March 2003
WANUKAKA’S MOST REVERED HOLY MAN LIVES, APPROPRIATELY, ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN. AND HE LOOKS THE PART TOO. ONE SIDE OF HIS WIZENED FACE IS COVERED IN A SMOKY BIRTHMARK; ELECTRIC BLUE RINGS ENCIRCLE HIS IRISES.” Johnny Langenheim in “A New Season for Sumba” June/July 2013
NIKKO, JAPAN
“At last I came to the soaring glories of the Yomei-mon (Gate of Sunlight), with its wealth of richly decorated lintels, columns, and eaves. Transfixed by its artistic exuberance, I stood off to the side to let other visitors pass. How long I remained there I can’t say. I tried sketching some of the details but gave up and just sat in the courtyard until a kingly Buddhist priest touched my shoulder and offered me a cup of water. I smiled, accepted, and pointed at the gate. He smiled back, nodded in an all-knowing manner, and left me alone with my reveries. Later I was told that another name for this amazing creation is Higurashi-no-mon, or “Twilight Gate,” suggesting that one could gaze at it from dawn until dusk without tiring of its beauty. It’s a very appropriate name.”
David Yeadon in “Glorious Nikko,” February/March 2003
LADAKH, INDIA
“We have the Indian Army to thank for building this road, which first opened in 1973. They also ensure that it is accessible year-round. This is a remarkable achievement in its way, for not only does a sign declare that our route traverses the world’s highest motorable pass (Khardung La, at around 5,600 meters), but in winter, the snow can pile up more than three meters deep, and wind speeds can reach 100 kilometers per hour. Yet the convoys plow through, whatever the weather. And this is the road they all take, as it’s the only overland supply route to the Siachen Glacier, a vast tongue of ice beyond the far end of the Nubra Valley where thousands of Indian soldiers are currently deployed. Although Siachen (meaning, ironically, “the Place of Roses”) has been a flashpoint with Pakistan since 1984, an uneasy truce has held for the last seven years. I can’t imagine a bleaker place to be stuck in a stalemate.”
Sophy Roberts in “The High Road,” April/May 2010
THE TRAIL BECKONED. OPEN AND ROLLING, IT CROSSED THE PLAINS TO THE FOOTHILLS THAT BROKE LIKE WAVES AGAINST THE FLANKS OF MOUNT HERMON, PASSING THROUGH LUSH GREEN VALLEYS THAT PURPLED, THEN FADED INTO VIOLET AS THEY ROSE UP, UP TOWARD THE SKY.” Warren Singh–Bartlett in “Walking Lebanon,” December 2016/January 2017
AFTER 46 YEARS OF DISAPPOINTMENT, THE PEOPLE OF MYANMAR HAVE LEARNED THAT OPTIMISM SHOULDN’T BE INDULGED TOO OFTEN.” Joe Dolce in “On the Road to Mandalay,” August/September 2008
JAVA, INDONESIA
The morning sunshine burns away the fog and the lush green forests of Central Java appear before me. Cicadas roar. Like animated confetti, thousands of swallows swoop and dive above the treetops. In the bright light the volcanoes that surround me appear surprisingly benign. They resemble giant Buddhas — mute, patiently waiting for the universe to unfold. This small corner of the planet is a vortex of antiquity and of power. Were I to travel only a few kilometers to the southwest, I would come to Sangiran village, where millionyear-old fossil remains of “Java men” — Homo erectus — have been excavated; in other words, this landscape before me is one of the cradles of the human race. The mountains overlook Borobudur, the sprawling mandala-shaped stupa that many Buddhists regard as the navel of the cosmos. And they watch over the low hill Bukit Tidar, the “nail” driven into Java’s midpoint that is said to fix the great island to the center of the earth. I imagine the whole of Java spinning round this fanciful hub, the towering volcanoes wheeling. I inhale the scent of the crimson bougainvillea nearby, and feel just a little dizzy.”
Patrick Kavanagh in “Under the Volcanoes,”
June/July 2003
PHNOM PENH, CAMBODIA
“In a desolate neighborhood on the Tonle Sap River, a renovated trader’s mansion called the Chinese House hosted a party that captured an undercurrent in the city that has since bloomed into a full-fledged cultural moment. The evening was a celebration of Phnom Penh’s vibrant film industry in the 1960s and the artistic and political atmosphere that nurtured it. Cambodians in their twenties, many of them university students, arrived on motorbikes dressed in the clothing of another generation. The boys wore white tuxedos, black bow ties, and pomadesculpted side parts, channeling legendary rock crooner Sinn Sisamouth, the Cambodian Elvis. The girls, meanwhile, wore colorful miniskirts and elaborately constructed beehives. Soon, a French DJ with angular Nico bangs began spinning LPs by artists such as Ros Sereysothea, whose Janis Joplin–like howls sounded otherworldly through the thick static of the old vinyl. Giddy students flooded the floor and danced for hours. Here were Cambodians experiencing the past with joy — not sadness — in an evening that captured their collective longing for a time when Phnom Penh was ascendant and the envy of much of Southeast Asia.”
Dustin Roasa in “Phnom Penh, Again,” August/September 2011
NEAR TASMANIA’S CRADLE MOUNTAIN, MISTS SWIRL AND PATCHES OF SNOW GLINT LIKE GEMS AGAINST THE DARK STONE. THE EARTH ITSELF SWIRLS IN MARBLE LIKE PATTERNS, ANCIENT GEOLOGIES WOVEN THROUGH THE CLIFFS AND RIVER ROCKS.” Jeff Greenwald in “Devil of a Time,” February/March 2009
PINGDU IS THE CRADLE OF CHINA’S BURGEONING WINE INDUSTRY. IMAGINE NAPA. NOW PICTURE THE OPPOSITE. IT WAS AS IF I’D TUNNELED FROM THE ESTATES OF MONDAVI AND EMERGED IN MOLDOVA.” Mike Meyer in “Vintage China,” April/May 2007
LAZIO, ITALY
“The Italy of postcards is, in fact, not hard to find, but with its steep, winding roads, it can be a challenge to drive through. Still, the bucolic beauty of rural Lazio helped calm our nerves. Tomatoes, cherries, and grapes grow here in abundance; wild asparagus and artichokes sprout from the rich earth. Ruins dot the hillsides. And whenever we stopped to stretch our legs or investigate a roadside stall, the bells of sheep clanged in the distance as the animals stumbled around in search of the grasses and herbs that, someday, would infuse the pecorino cheese that is served on almost every pasta back in Rome.”
Jarrett Wrisley in “On a Road from Rome,” December 2016/January 2017
SOME COUNTRIES LEAVE YOU WITH ONLY FLEETING IMPRESSIONS. SRI LANKA, HOWEVER, WILL HAUNT YOU LONG AFTER YOU’VE LEFT. MORE THAN A DECADE AFTER MY FIRST VISIT, MY RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PLACE REMAIN VIVID.” Jennifer Chen in “Sri Lanka Revisited,” June/July 2012
TAHITI, FRENCH POLYNESIA
“Today the road from Papeete to Pa’ea is hardly rustic countryside. It’s a fourlane highway that runs past the accoutrements of modern Western culture: a shopping mall and gas stations, restaurants and pedestrian overpasses. Not exactly Survivor: Polynesia. But the landscape gradually grows more dramatic beyond the fern-covered caves of the Maraa Grotto, as the roadway narrows and crosses a succession of streams that pour down steeply incised valleys, draining the mountainous interior. Rural Tahiti had a profound effect on Paul Gauguin, who went barefoot, wore a pareu instead of trousers, bathed nude in a local stream (for which he was fined), and took up with a Tahitian girl who was the antithesis of his dour, middle-aged wife, whom the artist had abandoned in Denmark along with their five children. Gauguin also burned through his savings. Then, as now, French Polynesia is an expensive place.”
Christopher R. Cox in “South Specific,” August/September 2007