I was very nervous about spending a 7 day on a boat in the Galapagos. I mean, couple of tortoises, few shacks and iguana or two.. what more is there (apart from sea-level air you can breathe)? I packed travel backgammon, bought water proof playing cards, downloaded some books and movies to stave off the boredom and set off. The first impressions we got from the Galapagos totally lived up to my expectations. Arriving in Baltra, the ex-military base that serves the archipelago, we were herded along the runway to a open sided shack (aka terminal), which has a superfluous “re-” in the “please excuse the inconvenience whilst re-building” sign. Hot, tired after the flight from Quito, we queued to pay $100 (not really sure why), queued for cursory hand baggage check, and then queued to collect baggage.

We then drove on a dilapidated bus to the harbour. Things sort of looked up for a minute, with some huge sleek, elegant white, luxury yachts bobbing gently - but our guide pointed past these delights to a small blue converted fishing vessel (our boat the Samba) which paled into insignificance next to the magnificence of the other opulent liners. To be honest my heart sank a bit more, but boy, how wrong can you be - luck was really on our side for this one.

The Boat - The Samba
The negative first impressions of our boat were dismissed the moment we set (bare) food on it. It was charming. OK; it was a bit on the small side but it was cozy, with every nook and cranny crammed with essential supplies from table cloths and napkins to snorkeling gear and reference books. The main boudoir had a huge polished wooden table and two dispensers that provided a constant supply of tea and coffee. The decks had many comfy seating areas with easy access to the bridge and 2 smaller zodiac boats for ferrying us to and from shore were stowed neatly on the sides. It was lovely. And more was to come, the food served there was excellent, 3 meals a day and snacks were magiced from the small kitchen.

The People – Guests, Crew and Guide, my Guide
But what really made the cruise special, were the people – it would have been cramped on the boat with 14 guests, 6 crew and our guide, but a misfit Swiss couple were quickly jettisoned after the wife, who spent all her time either puking or lying down looking ghastly, found out she was pregnant and they left the cruise. The remaining 12 guests (5 Brits, 2 Swiss, 1 US, 1 Australian, 1 German and 2 locals) bonded dazzlingly with each other, our brilliant guide, Silvia (Swiss who became affectionately known as “guide, my guide”), and the crew. The days were literally fun-filled and informative. Silvia was a fountain of knowledge not only on everything animal, vegetable and minerals on the Islands, but also on weather conditions. “This next stretch will be calm sailing”, she confidently predicted, as the boat rolled and Jennifer spun off her chain in to the conveniently located drinks fridge. Luckily, the fridge was undamaged, Jennifer was OK too.

The Itinerary
The daily itinerary looked something like this:
07:00 - Breakfast bell and like Pavlovian dogs we swarmed in to the lounge
08:00 - First activity - normally hike or walk on an island
10:00 - Back on the boat for a glass of juice and a snack
10:30 - Second activity - normally snorkeling
11:30 - Back on the boat to shower
12:00 - Bell rings for lunch
13:00 - Rest period avoiding the mid-day heat
15:00 - Third activity - hike or boat trip
17:00 - Back on the boat for a glass of juice and a snack
Chat and laugh, watch the sun set
19:00 - Bell rings for Din-dins
20:00 - Briefing for next day
20:15 - Laugh, chat, drink, laugh, star gaze, laugh, dance until bed time
Occasionally there was a special event, such as cocktails on the bridge when crossing the equator at sunset, an improvised disco on the bow or an early morning start to see a turtle orgy – but Silvia kept us on track and on time.

The Islands – More and Bigger than Expected
The islands are clustered around the equator about 970 km west of Ecuador, cover an area of about 8,000 square kms and are home to about 23,000 – expanded by about 3,500 tourists per week. Of the 15 main islands, some are millions of years only, some are still being formed. As a result each island has a really unique look and feel, the older ones having been fully colonized by unique fauna and flora, the newer ones almost barren, with new growth fighting to survive. But regardless of age, sea lions bask and lounge on all beaches.
This topographical difference of the islands really hit home on Santa Cruz, the first of the 6 we visited – it looked like something out of a science fiction movie – a vista of red moss with candelabra cacti spread in front of us, dotted by wildlife. Compare that with the stark contrast of the much younger Isla Santa Maria – where the results of relatively recent lava eruptions have cooled and the resultant flow patterns can be clearly seen. Brittle, black pumice, heavy with iron either clanked underfoot or cracked as small plants try to establish themselves and the occasional iguana scampered over the rock. Other wildlife, such as the flamingos have made themselves at home however, their beautiful pinkness contrasting strongly against the black of the rock.

The Wildlife – Afraid of Nothing
As there no predators on the islands, the wildlife there have no fight or flight response. They simply sit there looking at you curiously as you approach and some have adapted unique traits. The cormorants for example have become flightless due to the abundance of food and totally unnecessary need to fly away from anything. Other animals that we encountered in real close up, whilst wondering down the paths included land iguanas (known as Christmas iguanas due to their red/green colouring), sea iguanas (both swimming and drying out on land), sea lions, turtles, tortoises, brilliant orange sally-lightfoot crabs, and a plethora of indigenous birds including penguins, blue-footed boobies, albatrosses, hawks, doves, gulls (including the unique nocturnal gulls), frigate birds, lava herons and beautiful flamingos.
The bird’s behavior has adapted to humans. We anchored one night, light spilling off the deck attracting fish to the brightness. A pelican arrived, landed and paddled around the boat in the shadows occasionally lashing out to get a fish. Each lap took 2.8 minutes and we gave up counting after a while.
We spent one day at the Charles Darwin Institute, which is trying to repopulate the native tortoises, before visiting them in the wild. Originally there were an estimated 200,000 tortoises and 15 sub-species but most of them were eaten – for a while, the Galapagos were treated like a “float-through” McDonalds, boats would arrive, collect a few tortoises “to go” for the rest of the journey - now there are an estimated 15,000 and 11 sub-species left, one of which has a single survivor – lonesome George. He has a lovely pen and 2 harlots to keep him company, but he seems to be immune to their seductive charms. I suggested tortoise porn, which has actually been tried, but it looks like George will be the last of his line – a story that is threatening much of the Galapagos as the commercial tourism and global warming encroaches on the wildlife.

The Snorkeling
Originally we wanted to do some diving, but the sites are few and snorkeling is just as, if not more so, rewarding. The Samba had a good supply of gear; we donned wet suits and took one of the zodiacs out to an approved site. The first sojourn gave a taste of things to come – as we entered the water, 2 sea lion pups came to investigate and swam with and around us with considerably more dexterity than we could muster.
Tropical fish with resplendent colours glistened in the shallow, clear waters. Shoals of yellow-tailed surgeon fish, always encompassing one black king angel fish, drifted past. These were interspersed with occasional sharks, penguins, manta rays and huge turtles. We followed these for ages watching the elegant, efficient propulsion in the blue water.
We also swam off the side of the boat.. but there were dangers, I got a nasty jelly-fish sting, which was alleviated by urinating on it – not much fun, but it was a good excuse for being late for diner – “I am so sorry I am late, but I was peeing on my wrist”.

The Summary
People say a Galapagos holiday is holiday of a lifetime, a thought to which I certainly subscribe. It will be interesting to see how the archipelago is managed over the next few years, environmentalists dream vs. money making tourist destination is a recipe for change. I only hope it is not a change for the worse.

The Sacred Valley – Inca heartland
Leaving the airport, we staggered up the 4 steps in to the bus, flopped in the seat for a tour of the Sacred Valley, so called by the Incas due to its unique weather (it has one of the many micro-climates in Peru), geological and agricultural qualities – it also has seams of precious metals running through it. We sampled some delicious corn that is still grown there as we trekked (and puffed) through our first point of call, a market in Chinchero. It was full of llama-themed objects, but sadly no llama underwear - at this stage, over 40 hours since departure, I would have gladly slipped on a pair if they had had any. The highlight of the tour was at end of the valley, in Ollantaytambo, which served as the last pocket of Inca resistance against the Spanish – the highlight for me was not the Inca ruins, but the availability of undies in my size (which shrunk after the first wash). The ruins were spectacular, with tiers of crop growing terraces, amazing masonry and a predisposition for placing things inconveniently up very steep valley walls (why put the grain store next to where you live, surely it would be better on the other side of a valley!?). We spent the night at a hotel which was described itself as “Hotel Sauce, ruins view”, which we were glad to discover looked over the ruins as opposed to being an eyesore spoiling it.

On to Machu Picchu
From Ollantaytambo we were off to our first real highlight - Machu Picchu. There are several options for getting there, hiking, a yucky local flea-ridden train or the luxury Vistadrome Pullman, with great views and a snack. We opted for the easy option and arrived in comfort at the town of Aguas Calientes (now cut off by mud slides) and transferred to a bus up 15 hair-pin bends to the entrance of this amazing Inca town. It was built around 1430 but was abandoned around the time of the Spanish conquest 100 years later. It was rediscovered by in 1911 by Hiram Bingham, an American historian and is absolutely stunning.
We were all breath taken by the site (both literally and figuratively) we just gazed in awe at the ruins, perched on a peak, surrounded by the terraces descending down to the massive bend of the Urubamba River. Taking stacks of pictures an immediate reflex, but nothing on film can capture the majesty of the site. Despite this being the low, rainy season, the sun shone down on us as we were guided through the complex, with its palaces, observatories, farms, houses and fortifications.
We returned to Aguas Calientes that night, hungry and happy. We chose to eat something special and went for guinea pig - we picked Fluffy out of the pen and enjoyed this delicacy of the region (although not much meat and tastes like smoked chicken). We slept well for the first time and the next morning meandered back up to the site, hiked some of the trail and then simply sat, ogling the view for a few hours. The clouds and light constantly played on the ruins, and we watched in peace as rampant llamas (the local lawn mowers) ploughed past knocking other tourists over the edge of the terraces.

Back to Cusco and Catholic Propaganda
We dragged ourselves away, to return to Cusco. Here we saw how the Catholic Church used the “embrace and extend” strategy to ingratiate themselves with the Incas after obliterating their culture (resentment about this is still deep-seated). The Spanish basically moved in, demolishing any Inca temple and building a church on top. However, to make Catholicism more palatable, they incorporated elements of the Inca beliefs. For example, a large fresco of the last supper depicts Jesus and disciples enjoying one of Fluffy’s ancestors and many altars were covered in mirrors as homage to the Inca sun god – things you do not see anywhere else.

Lake Titicaca (Peru and Bolivian Side)
From Cusco we visited Lake Titicaca (at 3,800 meters above sea level, the highest navigable lake in the world and the largest in South America) both on the Peruvian and Bolivian sides. We started in Puno (Peru), in a nice hotel, where the international furniture scraping on parquet floor championships going on all night on the floor above us. The lake was astounding, people speak of the deep blue of the water, but until you see it, it is difficult to comprehend. The standard tour incorporates the primitive, man-made floating islands, where the inhabitants proudly showed off their newly acquired solar cell, light and TV.
From Puno, we drove to the other side of the lake (and Bolivia), as all boat crossings have been banned due to drug smuggling, and fought our way through the border crossing, with ridiculous amounts of red tape. We drove to the (original) town of Copacabana and on to Sun Island.” Sun” is a bit of a misnomer, I would expect heat and light from such a place, but it was cloudy and the “eco-lodge” we stayed at, forwent any such ecologically unfriendly devices such as heating. It was freezing, but the clear night gave some breathtaking views of the night sky and the milky way, not normally seen in the northern hemisphere. It was raining the following morning and going down to the harbor via the “Inca steps”, I slipped and got a HUGE bruise on my cheek (not face), which glowed for the rest of the holiday.

Bolivia and La Paz, Highest Capital and Ecuador, and Quito, 2nd Highest
From there it was a 3 hour drive (with a ferry) to La Paz, capital of Bolivia. Driving in, the view of the city, nestled in a natural bowl, was breathtaking (figuratively this time). Our hotel was dead in the center - it was supposed to be a 5-star hotel, but 5-star Bolivian style is about 3 in Europe. The first thing that got me was the sign in the bathroom that any stain on a towel would mean you had to cough up for a new one. As I showered, I admired my pre-stained towel and wondered if I would have to pay.
The next day a walking tour of La Paz was in order – a gasping experience as the streets are very steep in every direction. The guide books say the witches market is impressive, so we wheezed our way up the street to this area, but was a real disappointment. However, we then stumbled on the most amazing “real” market I have ever seen in my life. This is where the real Bolivians do their shopping, it went on for about 2 miles and every side street had a theme; fruit row, pasta market, toys road, fish avenue, bicycle mews - interestingly all the financial transactions were handled by women – not a man to be seen, except as customers.
The last point of call in this stretch was a flight away – Quito in Ecuador, the 2nd highest capital in South America. The 3 hour flight put us in a country that was a highlight, friendly, non-pushy people, with breath taking views of the volcanoes surrounding the city. The city is also close to the equator and we visited the line standing in the northern and southern hemisphere and watching the sleight of hand as the guides demonstrated how the water vortex in a sink rotated different ways on each side of the line.

But this was not the main highlight of Ecuador, which was to come…

Disney Nature - Route 1
Our first sojourn started 250 miles south of San Francisco at Hearst Castle testament to what can be accomplished by the seriously, seriously wealthy. Built and owned by the newspaper magnet William Randolph Hearst, it was his honey pot to attract the famous and beautiful in the 1930s and 40s. The visitors list reads like a Who’s Who of the Hollywood A-list at the time, Chaplin, Weissmuller, Fairbanks, Joan Crawford, the list is endless.

The 165 room mansion is sumptuously decorated and has two of the most fabulous swimming pools I have ever seen, the Neptune pool was used in the movie Troy it is so close to an authentic roman baths and the indoor pool was described by Clark Gable as one of the most romantic places on earth. The 2 hour tour did it scant justice, but gave a taste for more.

From there Disney nature kicked in as we trolled down the famous Route 1 through San Simeon through Big Sur, the 17-mile drive to Monterey. This stretch of coastline must be one of the most beautiful I have ever seen, each twisty turn bringing in new sweeping vistas that seemed to try to out-do each other.  Big Sur and the 17-mile drive though an enclave for the moderately wealthy were also good in the own rights, but could not hold a candle to the splendour of Route 1.

We spent the night in Monterey and set off the next morning to see its one big attraction the Monterey Aquarium. I did not think you could spend a whole day in an aquarium, but I was proved wrong, with each exhibit topping the next. Three highlights for were:
•    The 10m (33 foot) tank for viewing California coastal marine life. In this tank, the aquarium was the first in the world to grow live California Giant Kelp with a specially designed wave machine
•    The 1.3 million gallon tank in the features one of the world’s largest single-paned windows where the “large fish” roam, feeding time was a frenzy as literally schools of fish battled it out
•    Finally, the sea otters were just fun. Were arrived at opening times where these playful creatures took their ice coated foot and knocked it against the outside wall to crack it.

All in all, Disney nature at its finest.

Smokey Nature - Route 876b
The second trip was to the Yosemite National Park, and encompassed bitey nature but thankfully Disney nature towards the end, otherwise it would have been a disappointing trip.

The first thing you notice about Yosemite was how inconveniently it is located. I mean, this is America, I am sure they could have put it next to a big town, built a monorail or at least paved a major highway, but no, it has to be in the middle of nowhere necessitating hours of driving. The route is made longer if all the semi-convenient entrances to the park are out of service due to huge fires blazing across the landscape. Land of convenience? I say no.

We arrived, eventually, though the south gate, furthest from fires and went on a little trek to visit some impressive, gigantic sequoia trees. We parked next to a fat guy enjoying nature, fast asleep in his car with all the windows shut, a neck pillow, a McDonalds bag next to him, and the motor running to keep the air conditioning running. We left him and trekked up the 2 mile path to see these awesome trees (largest trees in the world, some over 1,000 years old) and enjoy their vibrant colours and even walk through one hollowed out trunks. The protection of these trees outstanding natural beauty was one of the original reasons Yosemite became a State park. We returned over an hour later, and left the guy sleeping, engine still running – doing his part for mother nature.

The other area of outstanding natural beauty that John Muir sought to protect when he suggested creating the 3,081 km² park was the Yosemite valley, the most visited part of the park - an incredible gorge caved out of the surrounding mountains by a massive glacier. As we drove towards it, we stopped at the view points to see the “incredible sights”, which for us consisted mostly of forest fire smoke accompanied by swarms of bugs – very disappointing.

The second disappointment was the hotel. I had decided to push the boat out on this trip, and had splashed out big-time for 2 nights at the “Yosemite Lodge at the Falls” at the base of the highest waterfall in North America, the 739m high Yosemite Falls. However, due to the water shortage and fires, the waterfall was off and we were staying at the “Yosemite Lodge at the dried-out-crevice”.

The theme of no water continued in to the next day. We hired bikes to transverse the valley and admire the smoke banks drifting through. Fed up of a uniform mistiness, we stopped off at the sign “Mirror Lake” and hiked for a while. After trekking for what seemed too long, we met up with a ranger who pointed us back the way we came, and told us that the lake was dry due to lack of water. It should be renamed “Mirror Meadow” he quipped. How we did laughed. NOT.

So the day drew to an end, and probably the most exciting thing we had seen was incredible inventiveness to produce the ultimate bear-proof rubbish bin.

But the next morning the wind had changed direction and what a difference a day makes. Bright sunshine greeted us as we got up early for a hike – and this time I was going to see working waterfalls come hell or high-water (pun intended). The guidebook classifies the hike up the to the Vernal and Nevada falls as a 5-6 hour “demanding” hike with an elevation change of 570m (1,900 ft). Demanding it may have been, but the truly extravagant scenery, seen clearly for the first time, distracted us from aching calves and throbbing thighs. The falls too were pretty magnificent, even with reduced water flow. We didn’t fancy continuing up another 800m to the top of the half dome, so after a great photo opportunity we started the long hike down.

So after a bit of a ropey start, the trip had ended Disney well. We saw no bears, got fleeced at the hotel and the park restaurants, but the final day made it all worthwhile. Yosemite is definitely worth visiting, but probably in spring when there is more water. And less smoke.

This house was the home to 4’11” tall Sarah Winchester, wife of the millionaire gun magnate William Winchester, from 1884 until her death  at 84 in 1922. During this time she spent the equivalent of $70 million, constructing the house 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, because a medium told her that the spirits of the people who had been killed by Winchester guns would murder her should she stop.

The house is remarkable in its total utter lack of any plan, during daily consultations in the “séance room”, spirits would help her map out the plans for the following day’s construction – and boy does it show.  There are 160 rooms, 40 bedrooms, 47 fireplaces, 10,000 window panes, 6 kitchens, 40 staircases, 13 toilets, 1 shower and 3 baths for the 3 people who lived in it (excluding servants) most of it without rhyme or reason.

The place is filled with architectural anomalies - stairways that go nowhere, cupboards that are impractically 1 inch deep, doors that open on to solid walls and windows that look out directly to the next room. On top of these, her favourite number 13 plays a big role and is conspicuous in the house; 13 coat hooks in the cupboard, 13 lights in the designed-for-12 chandelier, 13 stones inlaid in the priceless Tiffany windows and every Friday the 13th a large bell on the property is rung 13 times at 13:00.

The theory postulated is she was trying to confuse the sprits, but after the visit, my theory is that woman was just plain nuts and the spirit architects were con-men from the local builder’s intent on selling her more wood. Architectural nightmare, but worth a visit.

Shooting Things

So one afternoon, sitting at my desk, I got an email-invite for “achieving work-life balance by shooting things”, which naturally piqued my interest. So I replied in the affirmative and entered it in to my calendar. On the allotted day we drove about 40 miles south of Mountain View and met-up with Steve, your archetypical huntsman, with busy beard and weathered face. He said little, smiled and handed us some big guns and some bullety-type things. With that we mounted on our golf cart and trolled off to the first station, impatient to use them.  At each of the 18 stations you are confronted with a challenge, and #4 was the one for beginners.

Under Steve’s expert eye we learned much in a short period of time, how to hold, aim, fire, safety procedures and terminology. All that was left was to do was shout “pull” and try to remember everything we had just been told. Needless to say it was difficult to put all in to practice and after a disastrous first 6 shots, missing every one of the seemly supersonic bright orange discs (supposedly representative of a bird), we sheepishly moved on the next station.

This was even more taxing - shouting “pull” resulted in a grey, round target being ejected to roll across the floor, representing a rabbit. This time I was using my other eye and did manage to bag a couple, thanks also to Steve’s instructions.  From there things got better, using my supposedly weaker eye and moving carefully, my hit rate went up considerably, resulting in a 80% hit rate at the last station.

It was a great day and the humongous bruises that bloomed colourfully in my upper chest the next day were well worth the effort.

Entering the Wilderness

Being in America, it gives you the excellent opportunity to travel around and meet up with some good old pals, who you have not seen for far too long. The first of such trips was to visit Stacey, living high in the mountains near Phoenix, Arizona in a place called Show Low (almost 2,000 meters in  elevation). The place was named after an incident where two rival ranchers bet the ownership of the town on the turn of the lowest card. One rancher showed the lowest card when he cut, took ownership of the town and renamed the main street posthumously after his card, “the Deuce of Clubs”.

Stacey, and the rest of her family, have a pendent for finding weird and wonderful abodes and this was no exception.  Just trying to Show Low was an adventure. The plane from San Francisco to Phoenix was pretty small, the plane from Phoenix to Show Low was tiny – 11 passengers with an open view in to the cockpit, the pilot, and beyond. There was no stewardess, so the woman sitting behind me (Diane) opened up a big box of home-made cookies and started handing them round in lieu and subsequently hooked up with her neighbour on the plane to get a lift home.

Arriving in Show Low it reminded me of an Australian cattle ranch – miles of barren nothingness, except for about 30 plane-spotting elk hanging around at the end of the runway looking, unsuccessfully, for something to do. And how much there is to do in Show Low, there is bank, a shop and a drive in restaurant where the waitress come out in roller-skates and bring the food to your car door and errr, that’s about it.

Starting to doubt the appeal of such a place, it became clearer as we reached Stacey’s home – aka “The Cabin”. This is a bit of an understatement, a stunning log house set in beautiful grounds, crystal clean air and pure nature all round (nice Disney-type nature, not the annoying bitey-bug-type) – it was epitomized by the humming bird that whirred up to my balcony door to check out what was going on and the skunk that waddled past us after leaving a charming restaurant that night (for clarity, we had left the restaurant, not the skunk)  – I was, rather ungraciously I thought, forbidden from petting it.

The followed a couple of days rest and relaxation, visiting the sites around Show Low. Well, once again, the nearest “site” is about a 2 hours drive – the Barringer Crater. Formed about 50,000 years ago, it is about 1,200 m (4,000 ft) in diameter, some 170 m deep (570 ft) and was formed when a 50 m wide iron chunk hit the ground at about 12 km/sec (29,000 mph) and vaporized instantly.

Up until 1906, it was thought the crater was caused by volcanic activity. Then, in 1906, Daniel Barringer appeared on the scene and proposed the crater was caused by a meteorite. This theory was met with scepticism and he sought to bolster his position by locating the meteorite, which he presumed was buried deep under the crater. Unsurprisingly, he did not find it and eventually Barringer’s money and life ran out, but his family still own the land and there are some big holes at the bottom of the crater that act as a testament to his work.

It was very windy at the crater and from there we battled the air currents to the next site – the Petrified Forest, 2 hours down the road. The Petrified Forest National Park houses the world’s largest collection of turned-to-stone Triassic conifers. The trees were buried in silt and over a period of about many years turn to stone. Elements in the silt such manganese, iron and copper penetrated the wood and gives it a variety of (earth tone) colours. These elements also coloured the rock strata to give the park its other name “the painted desert” – bit of an exaggeration if you ask me, but boat loads of tourists can’t be wrong.

Sadly, my time in Show Low was too short, but the gods conspiring to keep me there. My flight to Phoenix was badly delayed which meant sitting, hungry, in the shack that is Show Low airport. Luckily(?),  my connecting flight to San Francisco was cancelled, resulting in my having to spend  a night with another 199 pissed-off passengers in Phoenix at a hotel 20 minutes from the airport. This needed some quick thinking – the shuttle to the hotel could seat 12, and with 90 people waiting on it, in 32°c heat, 8 of us bypassed the wait, hired a stretch limo (at $7 a head) and got to the hotel first, bagging the best rooms and booking the optimal slots for the morning shuttle.

A great adventure which I will repeat before my return to the Fatherland.

For me, the biggest benefit of such competition is that everyone offers free samples to tempt your purchase – so, in theory, you could stuff yourself silly for free. In practice, this just what I did, and free food was not just restricted to fruit market - next door there were a number of food stalls also offering samples. This snack market really reflected the cultural hodgepodge of San Francisco, some highlights included:

• Mexican tamale (corn meal with sweet or savoury filling)
• El Salvadorian pupusa (hand-made corn biscuit-like flat bread, covered in yummies)
• Hummus and
• Chilean alphajores (delicious caramel biscuits made, as it was described to me, from angel sighs and unicorn giggles). They were so addictive I think they are rather made from giggles of cocaine dealers.

After stuffing ourselves, we rolled contentedly out of the market back up the hill to the car. From there it was down to the water’s edge to the scene of 4th July Pier 39 freeze. But this time a kind colleague had invited for a sail around the bay in his 34 footer. And what an adventure it was.

Sailing the Bay
After the sail and the jib (the small sail at the front) were unfurled, the small diesel engine (used for tight manoeuvres) took us out from the dock in to main bay. From there we headed over the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. As it was a bit foggy in that direction, we tacked off in a southerly direction and sailed down to the Bay Bridge. It was just spectacular, and at times for a novice a bit scary as the hull heeled (ie tilted) seeming perpendicular to the water necessitating us throwing ourselves to the other side of the boat to balance it.

After sailing around for all too short 2 hours, we headed back to the dock, rolling up the jib and taking down the main sail, and readied ourselves to cruise back in under diesel power. However, 2 minutes after starting the diesel engine there was an ugly sound as it started overheating due to a blocked water intake. We were floundering, and after trying to hail a passing boat our brave captain made the rather bold decision that we would sail in to the dock. So we unfurled the sails again and prepared for this really rather tricky operation. Honestly, it involved real split second timing with everyone pulling their weight, but under his competent guidance we managed it, much to the relief of all involved.

There followed a pleasant chat re-living the experience and using vocabulary which I shall probably never use again - stuff like “self tacking jib” and “that halyard is a bit frayed”. I will attempt to insert these phrases in future postcards to see if anyone notices.

Roller-coasters Galore
The following weekend, we stuffed ourselves silly at the market again, and then chose to try to relieve our swelling stomachs on a rollercoaster ride. There are two large theme parks around San Francisco and we chose the Six Flags Discovery Kingdom in Vallejo. It was formerly a Sea World park, so was heavy on the aquatic life, and was subsequently bought by Six Flags chain that added 5 roller-coasters and then went bankrupt. The park is still open though while they recover from Chapter 11.

The park was a peculiar mix of zoo, water creatures and thrill rides.  The queues for the roller-coasters were lengthening, so we headed over the whale show – apparently a highlight. There was enough entertainment trying to find a seat between the human whale families that were already seated even before the show began, and we were pleased to be at the back of the auditorium as the first 10 rows were dramatically doused in whale splash, a theme that repeated itself at the dolphin and sea-lions shows. As a result, wet people were a common sight at Six Flag, but when a photo opportunity with Batman came up, I naturally rushed up. However, he was soaking too. Due to the heavy plastic costume and the 38°c heat he was sweating like crazy and it sort of destroyed the illusion - Batman with a perspiration problem never made it in to the comics. We left soon after that.

Dust Bowl Garlic Festival
Following weekend, looking for something to do, we were recommended to experience a “once in a lifetime” event, a The Gilroy Garlic festival. Feelings in the office were mixed on the subject and ranged from “load of old toss” to “overpriced, hot, dusty hell-hole”. The truth was somewhere in the middle. $12 entrance fee to basically have the opportunity to join 10,000 other people looking for shade and occasionally dashing out to view the tat on sale, peruse the “gourmet” food stands which all had the word “garlic” prominently displayed or listen to some garlic related music.

We tried several interesting dishes, garlic chips (sorry, I mean French fries), garlic bread (original), garlic popcorn, garlic chicken, garlic scampi etc etc. The highlight for me was garlic ice cream, which was a big disappointment - basically vanilla with a few cloves crushed in - interesting taste but nothing spectacular. We left to the parking lot (very large fields) and watched the circling irrigation trucks pouring gallons on the ground in an attempt to stop the hot dust creating a sand storm as cars drove by. It really was a once in a lifetime event – it deserves a single visit.

More excitement is planned for the weekends to come, like searching for a self taking jib, but more about that later…

Moving is not an easy thing to do, apparently after death, divorce and being arrested it is the most stressful thing you can experience – you uproot your entire life and typically forget something, e.g. cancel the milk. However, given the opportunity to move for a six month period is a different topic all together, at least you know when you get back, you will have enough milk.

So, when I was given the opportunity to move to Silicon Valley to work on a project, I jumped at the chance. Sure there are downsides –  the paperwork, leaving friends and family, taking a place one quarter the size of my current abode, for four times the price, but the parking spaces are huge, movies are in English and the shops are open 24×7 – so on balance it was a go.

The first hurdle was the paperwork. Reams and reams of it. The lawyers did most of the work, creating a case file as big as a telephone directory, which I then had to take to the US consulate. The consulate is a fascinating microcosm of the hodgepodge that is America. All walks of life are represented there: the 60 year olds with shiny new 20-something year old Pilipino wives, the dumpy German girls with young, freshly snared GI husbands accompanied by disregarded, screaming kids, the college youths on an academic break and then the odd business man, but my visa was approved on the spot – for a bargain $650 and a 2 hour wait.

So the preparations began.. cleaning my car (first time in 5 years) to return it, disinfecting the apartment to ensure some intelligent life-forms do not evolve while I am a way and deciding what to take. It is amazing how much stuff one collects over the years, after packing 2 suitcases (a normal sized one and my BFS, the larger suitcase) my wardrobe hardly looked as if anything had been taken out (mental note: clean out the crap when I get back).

So I was in a positive frame of mind (all be it with a bit of trepidation), as drove up to the airport to board the 11 hour flight to San Francisco (with a free upgrade!). Arriving, my first task was to pick up the rather “compact” rental car for the next six months - a Toyota, with no remote, but a nice shade of red. Still it made me look forward to the shiny, blue, new car I have just ordered to be picked up on my return in December.

From there it was off the apartment and to unpack. This was a rather distressing time. The jetlag, the size of the apartment, the used car, the loss of the friends and the isolation all contributed to a rather emotionally charged 4th July weekend. Still, I made an effort and got out and about, up to Pier 39 in San Francisco, about 30 miles away, to watch the holiday fireworks.

As it was really hot in Mountain View, I thought nothing of wearing a t-shirt and shorts - but the weather variations in this part of the country are huge. The water-front in San Francisco was literally about 15°c colder and it was freezing. So despite meeting up with a really good old friend, I wimped out due to cold and tiredness and fought through the thousands of people and came home before the fireworks began.

But I managed to get through the weekend, and Monday came as a bit of a relief I could move in to my very own cubicle. Dilbert heaven. But my work colleagues turned out to be really delightful, both personally and professionally and things started to look up.

Postcard from the Edge of a Move

]]> http://kimbell.de/2009/07/move/feed/ 37.4004631 -122.0730057 http://kimbell.de/2008/12/postcard-from-the-edge-of-a-rainforest/ http://kimbell.de/2008/12/postcard-from-the-edge-of-a-rainforest/#comments Tue, 30 Dec 2008 20:51:36 +0000 Gunar http://kimbell.de/wordpress/?p=178 With the cost-reduction “thou shallst take holidays” edict still in effect and having just been in the UK for a lovely wedding, it seemed like a good idea to go somewhere far, far away for the subsequent Christmas weeks - but where? Well, the island of Borneo looked interesting, and being about 5 times the size of the UK and shared by 3 countries (Brunei, Malaysia and Indonesia) it gave some scope for exploring, so I booked a cheap flight which routed me via Moscow.

The alarm went a 4 a.m. and I got to the airport only to find a flight delay of 30 minutes, which worried me, as my connection in Moscow was just an hour, and I was more worried when I was refused entry at the gate. Despite the e-mail confirmation that I would not need a Russian visa (learn, Stacey), it turned out I did. I was delighted as this meant it was now Lufthansa’s problem to get me to Asia on time. The ground staff was a little taken back as it was the first time they had bumped a passenger who was happy about it. But Lufthansa rose to the occasion and I was soon on my way again, this time via Munich. As I approached the gate I was refused entry again and had to go back to the counter, but this time it was good news as I was handed a business class upgraded for the 11 hour flight. Happy Ian.

Arriving in Asia, I teamed up with a good friend and our first major point of call was Brunei. The guide books are a bit sketchy about “attractions” in Brunei – we quickly did all the sites in the capital Bandar Seri Begawan; the mosque, boat trip around stilt village and the Royal Regalia Museum, where the coronation display answers the question “what do you give the sultan who has everything” – a huge beer mug (from UK) and a golden miniature oil rig stand out. With nothing else to do, we hired a car to visit two real highlights for me, the billion US$ white elephants that the Brunei finance minster (by chance the Sultans son) built while in office (at a time the $ was worth something).

The first is the Empire Complex, which cost US$1.1 billion - an amazing conglomeration of hotel, country club, cinema and golf course of epic proportions – beautifully maintained it would work in Las Vegas, but is simply too big and opulent for such a small country. The second at the other end of the maintenance scale is the haunting Juradong Playground Park – an amusement park with formerly world class rides. After being built, the principle of free admission for the people meant there was no money coming in to maintain anything and as the rides decayed they were simply closed. Now it is like walking through a bad Scooby-Doo cartoon, with beautiful decorations crumbling to the ground, ghostly roller-coasters and eerie, empty water-ride plunge pools, which I am sure once delighted screaming guests. The silence in the park was deafening.

From there we headed to Malaysia to explore the eastern part of the Island of Borneo, known as Sabah. The flight with Brunei Royal Airlines was interesting, as we taxied out the PA system broadcast a rather long prayer asking Allah to bless the flight, which seemed to work just fine and we arrived safely at the surprisingly modern Kota Kinabalu Airport. The town had a lot to offer, modern shops and a huge food market where fishermen hawk their catch. You simply select the nicest looking fare, sit down, have a drink, and by then your seafood selection has been grilled and served on a plastic plate complete with steamed rice. I gorged myself on monster shrimps – some of the best I have ever eaten.

The next morning we were up early to continue our route to the impressive Mount Kinabalu peak, Kinabalu National Park and the associated botanical garden. Now call me old fashioned, but a botanical garden for me is a big glass constriction (à la Kew Gardens), here it is a simply a sign painted on a gate and you walk further in to the jungle. After seeing some orchids and a really rare blooming raffesia we then traipsed up the canopy walk in 35°c heat, which necessitated a subsequent cooling dip in the adjacent waterfall pool - brilliantly refreshing. From there we drove the 200kms over somewhat paved roads to the Sepilok Mountain Lodge, where we arrived at dusk and were greeted by a lovely welcoming committee of 40,000,000 mosquitoes.

We headed off to visit the Sepilok Orang Utan Rehabilitation center, a not uncontroversial body that collects orphaned and stray orangutans, tags and tattoos them to prepare them for a life back in the jungle. After the usual propaganda video, we watched a feeding – normally about 8 of these rather languid creatures turn up, but naturally on our watch only 3 arrived – my theory was that the rest were recovering from hangovers from a boozy Christmas Eve party the night before.

We moved on to the Kinabatangan River to the Proboscis Lodge, so remote it is only reachable by boat. Luckily, the mosquitoes from Sepilok had phoned ahead to let their brethren know were coming and far bigger welcoming committee was waiting, but we took to the river and did 3 boat expeditions (dusk, night and dawn) as well as a jungle trek. I had for foregone the leech socks for sale at reception, so the trek was interesting as it gave me the chance to come face-to-face (well, face-to-thigh) with a number of tiger leeches, which were luckily spotted and removed before they did any serious sucking. Perched on the end of a leaf, they reacted aggressively to body heat stretching out with an urgent desperation. These harmless, but revolting creatures, don’t frighten me per se, but let’s just say I was wearing 2 pairs of tight underpants that day expressly to prevent and unwarranted sucking in the control zone.

On the boat expeditions, the amount of wildlife our local guides could spot in the dense foliage was incredible and we witnessed a plethora of animal life including pigmy elephants, monkeys, orangutans, snakes, crocodiles, monitor lizards and numerous birds. The highlights had to be watching 2 proboscis monkey families showing off to each other across a river tributary and a kingfisher at night that froze in our light beams and allowed us to come literally within touching distance – the colour kingfisher blue has new meaning for me after that encounter.

We then headed off for our final port of call, Sandakan, stopping off on the way at the Gomantong Cave to witness the locals harvest birds’ nests at insane heights on flimsy ladders, whist breathing the ammoniac stench of bat guano and having their (and our) feet overrun by cockroaches. Sandakan was a jumping-off point for Turtle Island. The point here was obviously to see turtles laying their eggs at night. They can come ashore anytime from 8pm to 5am, so an overnight stay and a lot of patience is called for. There are only 22 rooms (with primitive, shared facilities) on the island, so invariably there are about 50 visitors, who cluster around a frightened animal when she finally makes it on shore and digs a hole. We saw 2 turtles, the first one made it in at about 9:30pm, but she was a nervous first timer (she was not tagged) and only laid 14 eggs, so we waited for the 11:15pm showing, where an old hack turned up and dumped 87 golf-ball sized eggs. Then the hatchling from a previous laying were released and I strategically stood close to the water - the absolute highlight was when the water washed two of them next to me, which necessitated a serious climb over my foot and toes. I suddenly felt very close to these tiny creatures and wish them well on their long journey to become a responsible adult (chances of making it < 5% – about the same as mine, I reflected on the long journey home.)

But how to distribute the rooms? Well, to show how far the company has come, why not use that new-fangled Internet-thingie to run a sweepstake? But actually you need to plan such a Web event and after a first, completely abortive attempt where the Website crashed horribly, a second attempt two weeks later had me again sitting at my PC, hitting the refresh key as the sweep of second hand moved to the top of the hour. This time the site actually came live and I hit the “send” button within the first minute, hoping for a result.

To my astonishment, three days later, an e-mail arrived confirming that I had been allocated two nights in my choice hotel, the sumptuous 5-star Bauer Hotel in Venice. So I wasted no time getting on-line booked “free” flights which weren’t exactly free (they didn’t include the tax, suitcase, fuel surcharge, check in charge and credit card fee), to “Venice Treviso” airport that isn’t exactly near Venice. Still we were set for a luxurious and relatively inexpensive weekend.

I have sort of visited Venice vicariously via James Bond films and the over-the-top Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas. There we went on a fake gondola ride, while it rained from a fake ceiling and subsequently strolled along a fake St. Marks square - now I wanted to do all this for real (except for the rain). I wanted to walk over the real Rialto Bridge and some of the other 408 bridges that connect the 117 islands and 150 canals that make up this unique city.

Venice’s uniqueness became more apparent a few days before we left, amongst the various e-mails from Ryanair reiterating the ludicrous restrictions on their flights, there was a BBC news alert that had the title “Boats strike as Venice hit by serious flooding” with a lovely video of people wading thigh high through St. Marks Square and huge queues as people waited for water taxis. I rushed out to get buy a pair of wellington boots, but being a cheap-skate-Kimbell I was unwilling to pay the ridiculous prices for a pair of waders - so thinking back to the BBC video I bought a roll of 10 bin bags and set of orange canning jar gaskets to hold them in place to act as temporary overshoes. But I was going come hell or (more appropriately) high water.

After the flight and a bus ride, the city emerged out of the darkness and we took the now non-striking bus-boat the 12 stops to St. Marks square and the simply gorgeous Hotel Bauer, which just oozed elegance from every crevice. We entered, passing occasional tables swathed in ostrich leather and decorated with Murano glass objet d’art to a reception dripping with Carrara marble and smiling staff. The room too lived up to expectations; my only qualm was that the grape-sized crystals on the toilet paper dispenser didn’t quite match the one on the end of the toilet brush.

We had a quick tour of the area (there was no flooding as the water had subsided, but the after effects such as a raised walkways were still to be seen). The hotels location was ideal, facing the Grand Canal, a stone’s throw from St. Marks Square and surrounded by shops such as Prada, Salvatore Ferragamo and Valentino. The city is fascinating and the differences between Venice and a normal city became apparent with every step. There seemed to be an incident somewhere the emergency services were on their way. A blue police boat sped past, followed by a red fire engine boat (basically 4 men and a water canon) - everything in the city has to be done by boat, deliveries, post, rubbish collection etc, but everything seem to run smoothly.

The next morning we were up early to enjoy a hearty breakfast buffet (surprisingly, included in the $19.28 room charge) with a striking view over to the seemingly familiar, bulky form of the Chiesa di Santa Maria. The breakfast too was superb with the most perfect and fluffiest scrambled eggs I have ever eaten. From there it was off the St. Mark’s square for a visit to Gothic fantasy of the Plazzo Ducale, the Doge’s Palace. Dating back to the 9th century it was the political and administrative heart of Venice until 1797 when the French stuck their oar in, in the form of a Napoleonic invasion and stole the best works of art (typical).

From there we went up the Campanila tower (there is a lift) and round the amazing golden frescos of the Basilica di San Marco. The rest of the time was just spent meandering the alley and over the bridges that connect the various parts of the city, such as the slightly grubby Rialto bridge surrounded by a myriad of markets and stalls making for excellent shopping opportunities. Although tempted by some beautiful glass sculptures, the high price (€3,000 and up) turned out to be an inhibitive hurdle.

We visited several acclaimed galleries, the modern art gallery (Ca’ Pasero) was supposed to be a highlight, but paled in to insignificance compared to the smaller, but exquisite, Peggy Guggenheim collection. OK, I may be biased as we stumbled on two of my absolute favourite Magritte paintings were in the collection, namely the Empire of Light (a house at midday and midnight simultaneously) and the Voice of Space (three silver orbs hovering above a landscape). These, along with a couple of spectacular Dalis and an interesting boy on a horse sculpture, meant I literally had to be dragged out. Interestingly Peggy’s garden held a few trees, the first real greenery we had seen anywhere in the city. I imagine roots would just hit sea water or destroy a building’s supporting structure making a garden a huge engineering project and thus only an option for the ultra rich.

It was hard checking out, giving up the brass key to our lovely room, but tempered a bit by the cheapness of it. We took the bus-boat in glorious sunshine back to the Piazzale Roma. It had been a great trip, and an ideal time of the year to visit - according to the receptionist there were only “few” tourists - it must be unbearable in summer with the heat, stench and thousands more tourists. I will take back great memories and stronger calves thanks to the steps on those lovely bridges of Venice.

Arriving in surprisingly good shape at the futuristic Shanghai Pudong airport, I took the sleek maglev (the only commercial one in existence) the 30km to the city center – reaching 430 km/hour on the 12 minute, surprisingly wobbly, journey. From there, I encountered the main issue for any westerner in China, the gargantuan language barrier. I had printed out a map and what I assumed was my hotel’s address, but despite this and a very adroit pointy finger, it was really difficult to get anyone to understand where I wanted to go. We got there, eventually.

After a quick shower and snooze, it was off to the first attraction the Oriental Pearl Tower, the 3rd tallest tower in the world and probably the silliest. Although it was literally a stone’s throw from my hotel, tracking it down wasn’t easy due to the thick fog / smog that hung over the city - and remained for the 4 days I was there. Consequently, the views from the tower were not exactly spectacular. I could vaguely make out some other skyscrapers and the renowned west bank of the Huangpu River, known as the Bund. This was my next port of call, so I returned to ground level and took the ludicrously Disneyfied “tourist tunnel” under the river.

At this point you start to appreciate the architectural charm of Shanghai. Its roots are shrouded in Europeans trying to make a fast buck whilst smoking opium, so the mix of European, Chinese and whacked-out-on-opium building styles makes any stroll a really remarkable experience. I wasn’t exactly looking for any pirated goods on my saunter, but I seemed to be a pirate / beggar magnet. Walking anywhere, innocuous looking people would sidled up and recited an incredible list of what was unofficially on offer - CDs, DVDs, handbags, watches, fragrance, jewelry, belts, massages and “pretty woman.”

After language, food was my next frustration. Either you could see wonderful food but had no idea how to order it, or you ordered something and got something different and vile in return, so the first night I gave up after being offered what look like a plate of dog vomit, and went to McDonalds in frustration. The next night, I changed my plan waited conspicuously for a beggar, like a spider for a fly. It was only a matter of seconds until a young-woman approached me, telling me how hungry she was. “Good”, I said, “so am I”, and dragged her away to the food area - I don’t think she was actually staving, but I got her to order what I (and she) wanted - it was still cheap at the price.

From Shanghai (there was some work there too somewhere), it was off to Beijing, where I feared an even smoggier environment, but the air was crystal clear and my taxi driver found the hotel with only minimal language issues. I checked in, and with a flourish Siegfried and Roy would have been proud of, hoodwinked the inexperienced receptionist to accept my seriously expired Marriott Gold card and upgrade my room. As a result, I got a huge, gorgeously appointed room on the “executive” floor, which smelt pleasantly of new carpet and fresh linens. Perhaps my only qualm would be that one of the petals on the rose in the bathroom was wilting a bit on one corner, but I consoled myself with a stroll in to the lounge and availed myself generously of the free food and drink.

With limited time in Beijing, I had hired a guide and driver to take me to the main sites. The first port of call was Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, with its 9999.5 rooms and spectacular gardens. I think however much time you spend there, it would be too short – it was fascinating. For example, each night, the emperor selected one of his 72 wives, from numbered stones on a silver platter. The lucky wife was then carried to him, naked, by eunuchs. Interestingly, they had to be carried as their bound feet prohibited walking and they had to be naked so they could not conceal assassination weapons – the eunuch bit speaks for itself. My guide revealed many such tales.

Then it was off to the Temple of Heaven, considered the pinnacle of Ming design. It was built in 1420 as a meeting point of earth and heaven and to help ensure good harvests. The main circular, wooden temple (32 meters in diameter) was strewn with colorful mosaics, but had to be rebuilt after it was struck by lightning in 1889. The lightning strike was apparently caused by sacrilegious caterpillar climbing on the golden ball that crowns the building. The emperor had 32 dignitaries executed for allowing this to happen – and the building now has a lightening conductor.

Visits to other sites such as the Birds Nest ensued, but the final stop was the simply magnificent Great Wall. I was expecting a gentle stroll, but section I visited literally went through the mountains and is really steep. I started climbing with the crowds, but they started to thin out after the second watch-tower or about 400 steps. The climb and descent were really treacherous as all steps were uniformly different sizes. But I made it to the top of the hill, 7 watch-towers and about 2,000 steps. The views were amazing.

I had to drag myself away from Beijing (and more to the point, my hotel room) to do some work in stinky Bangalore. The flight there was via Hong Kong, but an 8 hour stopover allowed me to enjoy a hike on sunny Lamma Island, a lovely meal and a trip round Hong Kong harbor with some delightful friends I had not seen in far too long a time. Less said about electricity strapped India the better, as I showered and shaved in the dark, but my happy thoughts of China kept me going though the days there and gave me sweet dreams on the Lufthansa log-bench all the way home.

I never thought I would experience that scene in real life, but driving through the 4 streets that make up the tiny village, née hamlet, of Prenden 30 km north of Berlin, and being pointed down a half cobbled dirt track in to the woods, that scene suddenly became very authentic in more ways than one. Firstly, I was sitting next to an ex-marine, secondly some people say I am slightly wacky, thirdly we were on our way to a huge (formerly) top secret, massively underground construction with a very clandestine entrance and lastly, (we subsequently found out) the road we were following had been intentionally rebuilt to look like a meandering farm track. However, the illusion dissolved as my colleague and I arrived and circled, trying to find a space in the tiny car park.

The construction we were visiting was Objekt 17/5001 – or as it is better known the Honecker Bunker. Erich Honecker probably wasn’t the dream child you would wish for. A murky past of communism, spying and politics, he rose through the political ranks in Germany and 1971 he became head of the East German “government”. During his regime, the DDR wasn’t exactly winning any awards for “most popular country to live in” from its people or from the West and a nuclear attack was a real possibility.

So what does a cuddly dictator leader do? Right, builds himself a great big nuclear-attack-proof bunker close to his political power base. Thus in 1971 huge barracks were constructed to protect a large “field” and in 1976 the soldiers moved in and started digging - after burrowing solidly for 2 years, they had a pit large enough to build Objekt 17/5001, which “opened” in 1983.

The bunker itself is huge concrete block, 66 meters long, 48 meters wide and 17 meters high. It contains about 300 rooms spread over 3 floors and above it floats a protective umbrella of concrete 3.75 meters thick, designed to absorb the impact of the initial detonation. The main entrance is down a 200m long corridor, angled at various strategic points to prevent attack and reduce the blast shockwave. It had the original 1980s linoleum and it was our first taste of the fixtures and fittings.

There are 3 tours offered round the bunker - the “Standard” tour – 2 hour walk about in safe, lit areas. The “History” tour, 4 hours incorporating a 2 hour lecture and then the standard tour. And the “Tough Guy Tour” – after signing-your-life-away waiver (literally), 4 hours of uncompromising go anywhere you please and do anything you want tour – bring old clothes, gloves, knee pads, flashlight and a spare set of batteries. No prizes for guessing which tour I chose.

So with my fellow 7 other “tough guys” we set off and rounding the corner of the entrance corridor we caught the first sight of the blast doors – a big one to bring in equipment and a smaller personnel entrance. Here we started to see the incredible engineering and thought that went in to the construction. The doors have an amazing closing mechanism and even today are so well balanced, that they closed with a light push. They have aluminum panels at the touch points to the frame, which were designed to melt but not fuse so they could be re-opened to a very different world. Entering the personnel entrance, you had to follow a green stripe (peace time) or a red stripe (war time) which took you through 5 de-contamination rooms, each monitored and carefully controlled.

Once we made it in to the main part of the bunker its scale and the engineering prowess really came in to being. Each main room (e.g. communication center, control rooms, Honecker’s house, Stasi offices) were designed to move independently within the structure. Think of them as metal containers, suspended from the ceiling by huge steel cables kept taught by enormous springs. When the bomb hit, they could wobble in 40cm in any direction, dampening the blast impact. In our tour we climbed scary 10 meter high ladders and could walk around on top of these floating rooms, marveling at their construction and jumping up and down to make them wobble.

Once the doors were closed, the bunker was designed to be totally self sufficient for 14 days, and every critical system in the bunker was planned with a 2 or 3 fold backup, so, for example, if one of the compressed air tanks exploded, the room containing it would be sealed so the oxygen could not escape. Five huge diesel machines were fitted, 3 needed to run the bunker, 1 being repaired, 1 as a backup – with a vast array of diesel tanks feeding them. On our tour, if you wanted to climb around inside a diesel tank (now dry) you could. So naturally, I did.

Engineering prowess was everywhere. The bunker has been badly looted, but in the remnants of the communication room (the looters were mostly after copper cables), the entry points of cables linking this bunker to others were clearly visible. These cables were enclosed a lead pipe and the air pressure in the pipe kept at a constant rate. If the pipe was punctured (by an eavesdropping 3rd party) the pipe pressure would drop and trigger an alarm. Innovations like this littered the bunker.

Our guide was so enthusiastic, we stayed for almost 5 hours, looking at every nook and cranny – from the blast cap to the cellars. Sadly, the bunker is only open for three months, until the end of October 2008, it will then be blasted shut. Permanently. Reasons for these draconian measures are a little vague, it seems it is not an object that the government really wants to promote – it is also not something cheap to maintain. However, it is definitely worth a visit, and you certainly need to spend a lot of time to appreciate it – certainly more than Honecker did. His one-time 15 minute visit did not do it justice, but a five hour tough-guy will start to.