Love Island Travel

In this sick and twisted world, there is an elite group of the most sick and twisted country. Adding a new layer of twistedness the tragedy of the existence of these countries, there Hockers of gawkers: those who turn a profit on bringing curious tourists shamelessly beside these tragedies. And then there are the tourists themselves, those who are willing to pay for the experience of going to the edge and watching in horror from afar, and yes, I am one of those people. I could not resist the gravity of such an opportunity. Go to the precipice of one of the biggest despotic horrors of our time

The DeMiliterized Zone (DMZ) is a large squiggle two kilometers, generally along the "38th parallel" that divides North South Korea. It was established under the armistice agreement in 1953. To date, the two sides are technically still at war. Within the DMZ is a very small section called Joint Security Area (JSA). This is a common area managed by the North and the South, the United States and the United Nations, where all parties are present, brush shoulders with each other, share and provide security for a neutral meeting space. Despite all the "security" people were murdered in the JSA. He is the 1976 site "Axe Murder Incident".

Strangely, the DMZ has become a good, old tourist attraction for both sides of the border. This has made the defection of a Soviet citizen as possible in 1984.

the visit began by boarding a yellow bus with a bunch of other people looking for the experience of looking through the border, catch a glimpse of the horror and get the T shirt. good company mainly American, college-students, men and women, and random people, like me, are drawn to the edge of tragedy. many companies organize tourist trips to the DMZ / JSA, but the -ci is managed by the United Service Organizations Inc., a nonprofit organization that provides programs, services and performances for US troops and their families, so there was a very American, red -white-n-blue apple-pie flavor right from the get-go.

Seoul, it is a little over an hour away. Our first stop: "The Third Tunnel". After the mandatory mini-museum dioramas and model displays, we all donned our helmets and descended into the tunnel. Dug by the North Koreans then discovered by the South and closed-off. If the North's attempt to use a tunnel like this to invade, the tunnel could be flooded

"Exit through the Gift Shop." Before returning to the bus, the crowds were helplessly drawn into the first of many souvenir shops we met. the makeup and wearing fur coats, well fed ladies picked by their choice of flavored junk food while thousands of people die of hunger on the other side of the border . the startling reality is almost impossible to stomach. and who am I to judge? I am in the midst of it

Next stop :. An observation deck with telescopes operating with parts;.. our first real glimpse of North Korea the atmosphere was reckless, careless and festive stunned tourists gasped at the distant mountains covered with snow to the north he was, the other Korea, the winter fog foggy. distant. South Korean soldiers pretended not to know English. Everyone wanted to have their picture taken with them and the context of real life tragedy. . We could see "Propaganda Village" with its flag pole on the other side of super-high

Then, things got serious: what we all expected. The people were silent. We entered the camp Bonifas. It was the door of the JSA, where we, wide-eyed wanderers wacked-out, would be to share the same air with real North Koreans live. We were shown into a large theater and signed legal waivers then watched a short film in the history of the JSA, which was not without good ol 'God Bless America and stoked fears of a massive invasion by the North . After the film of our orientation was conducted by an American soldier who was polite and professional, except for his tendency to make insulting remarks about North Korean soldiers. This was the first of the few times we have been instructed to make no move against North Koreans and remain calm in the JSA.

We then boarded a bus for the Army of the United States to take in the JSA. Such incredible amount of time and resources provided by US taxpayers through the US army: why the US government out of its way to facilitate tourism twisted in a war zone? Puzzling to say the least. It is a huge responsibility on the one hand and, with a huge price tag.

After again strict instructions not to try to contact anyone across the border, we left the bus, walked through the "Peace House" and deposited in pairs on stairs overlooking a series of blue buildings on separating North South border. We were able to look over the top of these buildings to a similar set of stairs to a similar building on the other side. At the top of the stairs was a North Korean officer standing alone attention and looking back at us. We were allowed to take pictures of anything in front of us, the UN buildings and DPRK, but we were forbidden to turn around and take pictures of the South Korean side.

Then came the climax, one thing I really wanted to do: we went down the stairs and in the United Nations conference building. The building straddles the border. I was the first member of my group of tourists walking. There were three South Korean soldiers inside, standing, watch "Rock Ready", a Tae-Kwon-Do modified position used by South Korean soldiers serving in the JSA. Next, our US Army officer informed us that those of us on the left were technically in North Korea. The tour group was allowed to walk around, take pictures, look through the windows, and fortunately I was able to resist the spirit of North Korean control and brainwashing. Finally, we all filed back on the bus.

From there we went to a lookout where we could clearly see "Propaganda Village" and were "surrounded on three sides by North Korea." As the bus we passed the monument on the site in 1976 "Axe Murder Incident" and the famous

the last frame of the tour was boring in comparison "Bridge of No Return". A station Train linking North with the South. But the museum dedicated to the history of the JSA was fascinating. It details all the weird and sometimes horrific events that took place within the JSA. We rushed to the door , back on the bus and on our way back to Seoul. the visit was over. There was no dramatic confrontation, no breakthrough in diplomatic relations, no communication and even of human interaction with Korea North. But now, tourists could go home to their well-stocked refrigerators and warm beds. They were sufficiently amused and excited, like a sad trip in a zoo.

On the second Sunday of May, I received a message from my best friend from childhood in Manado, Gracia "GP". "GC, what do you June 1-8? Come island hopping in Selayar & Takabonerate"

I say yes. Southeast Sulawesi and Selayar Takabonerate who are part-is a destination that I'm dying to check my bucket list. So I flew in 10 days earlier to explore the continent. My other friends and Dian Rio-siblings, I attended middle school with Papua generously welcomed me into their home in Makassar.

Rio has covered all its islands shaped K-repeatedly. He said: "I do not think we spent a lot when we were children" it has always been rebellious adventurer and I am the outback version of the prissy princess Yet 13 years later, our passion.. to travel led to an improbable meeting. We put our faith in the other as he offered me a 1400 km piggyback-ride on the bike.

costs of the aircraft, Rio and I started Bantimurung in Maros. the national park is famous for a butterfly park and a pleasant hike up the block waterfall. the river still flows the green waters that become white as downstream cascades in serene waterholes. We hopped the butterfly museum, but papilions delicate, sometimes in pairs, were spotted throughout our walk.

suddenly it rained. We took shelter and wrapped our electronics in plastic. "Kemarau never comes," I joked about the end showers in May Alas, my fantasy tea and hot instant noodles did not come true, so we moved on horseback under the cloudburst in Leang-Leang, a karst cave with prehistoric paintings on the walls.

It was dusk prayertime past but Rio negotiated with the doorman to let us. it was probably a good thing that the park was closed and it was dark, because otherwise the steep climb would have scared me. With faith in my flashlight and instructions of Rio, I managed to photograph the famous painting babyroussa leaping with handprints "chase" after.

The ride home was quaint, with a myriad of twinkling stars on the silhouettes of karst hills and rice paddies.

The next day we drove 220 kilometers to the north along the west coast to Enrekang, with a stopover in Parepare. We meant to catch the sunrise at Gunung Nona, but I dozed. This morning we had a breakfast nasu CEMBA (beef rib soup) to Bambapuang station and took pictures of erotic mountain that resembles the female genitalia. Legend has it that the ancestors of Toraja boatmen disembarked and settled here in the last 25 generations.

After a fruitless search of Japanese bunkers Enrekang and war caves, we headed directly to Tana Toraja. In Londa, I felt instantly like entering another world that we are face to face with a stone tomb decorated with thousands of figures of dead people. From afar, a strange church choir repeated, harmoniously blending modern Christianity and ancient ancestral rites.

We were in the garage of a mechanic near Makale, then visited a live tree in Kambira in which more than 100 babies died were put to rest. Body in a fetal position, would be inserted into holes in the trunk and covered with straw. The trunk then pushes on the holes and absorbs body. The tree bleeds white sap, which is supposed to replace the breast milk and feed the baby with the energy to make it to heaven.

Our next stop was Palopo, where I wanted to check the remains of Luwu Kingdom, but the palace was under construction. Instead, Rio decided to make a detour of 220 kilometers eastbound in Sorowako, a remote mining town on the shores of Lake Matano virgin. It was the most picturesque drive of our journey, colored with blue mountains, green forests and rivers, the red earth, warm sun and fresh air throughout.

As we returned to the south, we canceled a visit to Tempe lake due to flooding in Sengkang and instead shopped for handwoven silk in the house of a local. We continued to Soppeng where we visited Villa Yuliana, a 105 Dutch house-Bugis which is now a museum. It overlooks the Masjid Raya and is surrounded by trees that are home sleeping bats herds. After visiting the infamous Bone Royal Palace in neighboring Watampone, we stayed overnight at the port near the fishmarket in Sinjai and visited Gojeng hills to see the megaliths and Kepulauan Sembilan.

Rio and I parted in Bira, southeastern port famous for the fierce seafarers and manufacturing Phinisi ships. I boarded the ferry to Selayar to meet GP and a bunch of interesting travelers.

Selayar is surprisingly rich in history, which deserves its own story. Benteng, the charming center 100 km long island is a village of fishermen sweet rustic kissed by a gentle sea breeze and sunshine. The people are passionate about the sea and among the friendliest people I know.

Takabonerate, the third largest coral atoll in the world, is a boat ride of four hours southeast of Selayar. We stayed in a cottage in Tinabo, a tiny island resort with serene white sand beach right outside our door. There is limited electricity and no cellular network, but may be done for a lot of quality time for us travelers.

Many have found it hard to believe that GP and I had been friends for 20 years and stayed in touch despite the distance. Similarly, we admired the stories of others: a trio committing to travel to Indonesia for a year, an independent architect in search of distant inspirations, a travel consultant looking for new destinations, a jovial diving blogger who wants to photograph dugongs and a couple in love. We come from different parts of Indonesia.

We are sad to learn that over 50% of Takabonerate lively coral reefs are damaged by bombs and potassium. That said, paradisiacal landscapes sites and beautiful fact sunsets it is worth seeing.

My favorite memory was stargazing the pristine night sky in Tinabo-photographing the Milky Way, to experiment with the "light painting", and share the moment with one of my best friends and a couple of new ones.

Back on the mainland, I bummed around the beaches of Bira with new friends. the owner of the harbor view villa we shared is a seasoned Boatmaker full of stories of the sea.

on my way back to Makassar in a shared car, Rio "kidnapped" me Takalar. He took me to Puntondo a secluded eco-village, walk in the mangrove covered beaches and meeting friendly people, who for purpose of making their village a model conservation project.

My trip to South Sulawesi makes me feel that I'm a very happy woman. I live in a beautiful country whose stories go to an eternity before my life and will remain long after I'm gone. And I get to share with old and new friends, whose kindness and generosity, I will always cherish. But now it is time to conclude my vacation and get back to work!

In Confessions of culture of a third child , I said that I have a complicated relationship with the question: "Where are you?" The truth is that I have several homelands in Indonesia [1945029?]

My maternal grandparents are the southernmost of the inhabited islands of Indonesia. Rote in Nusa Tenggara Timur, southwest of Timor Mother, who was born and raised in Java, never been keen on the passage of his heritage, but he ran towards me anyway. the first version of Indonesia, I learned was actually Kupang Malay, and the first Halloween costume that I wore for four years was a Rotinese selimut .

Growing up in the country, I struggled with the question "who am I as an Indonesian?" media campaigns Mainstream which encourage cultures to base Bali-mainly Java and provided that a fraction of the response to an ethnic minority like me, but I also grew up a true appreciation for them.

Then I realized that the rest of the answer is my own family tree and homelands of my ancestors. So I started looking NTT and became fascinated by Flores, Sumba, Timor, Adonara, and of course, Rote.

It took me so long to go because NTT feels so far away and expensive to achieve. So I wanted to explore "all" and made great projects that were finances and schedule to get "right". It never happened.

He finally made a sudden announcement that my office was closed for the Eid week, and a call to Djitron Pah, saying he got affordable tickets to go home. " Karmana KB, Orang NTT March pulang son tau ", he teased. " What's up with that, you (ancestors r) are NTT but you come home ".

Later that day, I bought last minute tickets to Kupang. No project. I called the cousin of my mother the night before flying. "I'm sorry to disturb your vacation on such short notice," I apologized. "Do not be, we are pleased that you have so far," said my aunt Ritha.

I had expected a sentimental introspection traveled solo to the birthplace of my grandparents in Rota, drink palm wine on all-nighter tribal dance parties. instead, my uncle said I could not go to Rote. Ferries were canceled due to strong winds and high tides. in addition, relations between our Timorese families and Rote apparently complicated, so I should not travel alone.

"It is a small island, when families have increased over the generations, the land has become scarce and many Rotinese migrated here to Timor, "said my aunt, adding that many Rotinese Timor were not back in their lives. Those who mostly do so to settle land disputes with their parents.

the next day, cousin, niece and nephews took me to visit in Kupang. We took pictures at Tenau port, the monkey caves, the old town, Teluk Kupang outlooking and Pulau Pulau Kera Semau and sunset at Subasuka. He was in a hurry, but fun for the kids and me. The weather was dry, arid ground, and yellow trees as autumn. The streets were vacant and sleepy, reminiscent Outback Australia.

The third day we went to Soe, a small mountain town 113 kilometers northeast of Kupang. With toddlers bite each other on the back, the car was a bit of a circus trick. We spent a village my grandfather grew up, called Oësao. The uncle tried to explain what is there, but the house of Opa was gone. He and my aunt seemed hesitant to meet one who currently installed there.

"No, they are not there, stop pretending with your crazy explanations," snapped my aunt as she tried to calm the crying baby.

Driving past without stopping or taking pictures, I felt let down. But what my aunt said is probably what I do sometimes like an ignorant migrant; idealizing a past that I did not know and get stupidly sentimental on distorted memories.

I learned the bitter truth that even my parents in Timor must not go far from being a stranger in their own homeland. All they had to do is adjust to Kupang, get a modern education, building a career and a family there, and later they are barely generating welcome in a village where their parents grew up. Ironic, considering that NTT is supposed to be one of the most welcoming places in Indonesia.

My disappointment was tempered when we stopped later by the quiet Camplong source, admired the landscapes of the semi-dry river Noelmina, and played with my nephews to Oëhala waterfalls. I spent the night at the Yetty aunt and uncle Min cabin surrounded by lush forests. We stargazed of the mountain that night, and I photographed the sunrise the next morning.

The fourth day, I hopped on a motorcycle with my cousin Daniel visit Boti, last indigenous religious community of Timor. Boti, we stopped by Kolbano white beach isolated rock in the south coast of Timor. We spent three hours conquer peaks and valleys on the steep winding roads of damaged asphalt. But the view was amazing.

The fifth day, I went with Daniel Soe and our cousin Christine. We stopped by sister Christine, John, and his family. generous mother-in-law John had done for us delicious bread, fried plantain and yam. From there we visited the family Pah Oëbelo to learn about Sasando the Rotinese harp palm.

The sixth and last day of my visit came. I followed Christine and her husband, Erwin, the Gua Kristal, a glittery rock cave with a deep blue pool of brackish water where people often go snorkeling.

So I did not at this time Rote and my visit to Timor was as I expected. Instead, I find meaning in my Rotinese identity in the things I expected the least.

I find when I meet parents that I did not know existed, who fondly remember my grandfather and the treasure of his legacy.

I find when they spend their week off, pointing to the adoptive home of my grandparents, and are really happy with my visit.

I find when my young nephews tag along my travels and try to stick with me.

I find when the mother-in-law of my cousin who knows me barely cordially invite me for a meal and pack snacks for my road trip.

I find when I learn of the beautiful places in Timor named after my grandfather. And I DoN my sunglasses hoping that no one notices my eyes gleaming.

My mother always said our family traveling, "Home is where four of us." NTT has perhaps never been this place for my parents, brother and me. But as far as my extended family is concerned, my home is wherever they are. And despite having never met or been in their home town before, I really feel that I am no stranger among them.

For this third culture kid, here's what "go home" is all about

In memory of Prof. Dr. Ir Herman Johannes.. -. educator, scientist, inventor, national hero and beloved grandfather

Almost 20 years ago, in 1994, the author of bestseller Terry Pratchett first met Kusasi alpha male in the tropical forests of Tanjung Puting, Borneo. As Terry shared his thoughts with Dr. Birute Galdikas about his encounter with this giant orangutan in the recent documentary, Facing Extinction , she tenderly nodded, "He has done all an impact on you. "

Kusasi in fact, with his persistent gaze and large cheek pads made such an impact that despite rare form of Alzheimer Pratchett, he traveled through the moss and slippery ditches peat to find him. But Kusasi was not to be found, and his proud successor Tom was discovered, relaxing in the sun. Dr. Galdikas explained why there about ten years, "Tom realized Kusasi's arm was broken ... they fought and of course Tom did so much damage to him Kusasi was just lying there when we rescued him. "

reign as king of Kusasi Camp Leakey (the famous research station orangutan) was over he had lived since childhood. both his parents were killed for their meat and was wary of humans. After reaching the camp, he escaped from the care of Dr. Galdikas and remarkably survived himself.

Dr. Galdikas first made camp in Tanjung Puting in 1971 after being selected for research by famed paleontologist Dr. Leakey. The trio of women called "Leakey angels" were Dian Fossey who studied gorillas, Jane Goodall, who studied chimpanzees and Birute Galdikas who settled in the rainforests of Borneo. Over the years, she has worked tirelessly to protect orangutans and has collaborated on projects with influential figures including Morgan Freeman and Julia Roberts, who met Kusasi during the filming of In the Wild 1998.

now aged 60, Dr. Galdikas is full of mystery and I remember the first time I met him in 2011 when I accepted as a communications officer for his NGOs - Orangutan Foundation International (OFI). It was about ten o'clock at night, when two other volunteers and I got a call to visit Dr. Galdikas. With torches, we checked his garden path for snakes in the shadows of the durian trees. Having lived in Borneo for over forty years, Dr. Galdikas was very "Indonesian" in the sense that she had an attitude very "fluid" and relaxed about the time! Waiting in his living room, we talked with her husband Pak Bohap who smoked kretek cigarettes.

Finally Dr. Galdikas has opened two large doors and invited us into his private back room. We went through his desk in a large room filled with Dayak objects she had collected over the years, as well as a photograph of a young Pak Bohap. His home life was breathing and I felt very nervous stroke. But Dr. Galdikas relaxed us with his endless stories and describes his first adventures in the rainforest

but a passion drove him -. Orangutans - and during my tenure with OFI, a health center in Pangkalan Bun held about 330 orphans in need of rehabilitation. As there was a policy of "never turn an animal away 'increasingly victims of deforestation were tributary - put strains on the crowded center. Many were orphans whose mothers were killed, often on plantations. BIF and volunteers raised funds to build 35 more sleeping pregnant for orphans and funds were also raised to purchase forestland - where 32 rehabilitated orangutans were released this year. Unfortunately, some of the greatest men were too strong and dangerous for the liberation of the day in the forest and were placed on a waiting list to be released into the wild. Meanwhile, OFI hopes to raise funds to build larger enclosures and buy more release sites.

In nature, a child will receive constant care of his mother for six years before it can survive independently, so each orphan care center was allocated a surrogate mother who taught orangutan skills to ensure a successful rehabilitation; but not all cases was successful and orphans did not survive the trauma of losing their mother and their forest home. Because of the influx of orphans, I helped veterinarians at the clinic by powering rich slurry nutrients orangutans underweight and I bonded with Berman - a female orangutan who grumpy, once fired a burst from my hand

orangutans charismatic coaxed deeper into the forest and in the Camp Leakey I met Pak Umar smoking a pipe carved by hand. Dayak great storyteller, he explained that one night, while sleeping in the lodge of the guard, he was awakened and dragged out of bed by Kusasi who dropped out and casually strolled away . It was not a fair contest - male orangutans may have the strength of eight men. After this incident, Pak Umar was no doubt - Kusasi was definitely the boss

However, I sympathize with Pratchett and the connection he felt with Kusasi, since I often think Berman. Pratchett has never seen Kusasi again and I contacted some of the guards at Tanjung Puting for more. The good news is that they still hear his "long calls" - are deep bellows emitted by males. However, Androw, a ranger patrol said, "Kusasi was not seen at the camp and also to the power of location. In fact, many people assume that Tom enlargens its territory Kusasi is pushed far from the camp. once we did a patrol north of the camp, to post 17, Crocodile Lake and Lake Batang, but there was still no sign of Kusasi. "

However, determination of Kusasi I hope, is a metaphor for the fate of the species facing extinction. The major problem for orangutans is habitat loss caused by the pressures of Sawit , or palm oil plantations. Thank you to the work strenuous ecologists like Dr. Galdikas, small pockets of forest are protected and the fighting spirit of the last orangutans can find refuge. As explained by Dr. Galdikas, "Kusasi joined this caste of wandering nomads men who have lost their dominance and men can walk the forest for years. He will not give up. It will not simply abandon"

Additional Information

Documentary :.
Terry Pratchett Facing extinction
Julia Robert of in wild

Books
Reflections of Eden by Dr. Galdikas

Website:
Orangutan Foundation International: www .orangutan .org

Travelling an Indonesian island that are not in the guide books and hardly mentioned on Wikipedia in search of waves is always an adventure. Earlier this year, a friend and I had a few hot tips from a few trusted friends and the luxury of a week to visit an island off an island, off the island in search of perfect waves to us. It was a full mouth-to-mouth, roll-the-dice kind of trip, but with the swell forecast looking promising that we knew were vague, so that the first piece of the puzzle was in place. The passage of a steaming volcano crater in Sumatra on our small prop plane flying to the island as the sun rose was a sign that we were certainly going in nature.

Upon arrival, the first thing was sort of accommodation and transport. There were many losmen (budget accommodation) and newly built air-conditioned bungalows available, so that part was easy. All kinds of bikes were available for hire, but we expected to find local on the island who had a motorcycle with surfboard racks on it. This is not the professionally finished racks you see in Bali; these were a crude form of rack made by a backyard welder with barely enough space for your feet when a map was made and there was no bungee cord to keep the Board of administration in the rack, or foam to keep the sides of damage. The racks were strictly surfboard on the metal, but after a few strategically placed towels and a small screwdriver adjustment for foot space, and we were moving out, headed to the beach with the pedal to the metal.

be a newly developed island roads were rutted and went even to dirt at a time. Bridges had fragmentary platforms through a bad diversion meant going to the sea. Farm animals roamed freely on the beach road, we spotted a black monkey, countless deer, cows and buffalo, which, though very natural, is to proceed with caution if you hit one by accident. They say more than 0 people die per year by coconuts that fall on the head and on the island there was no question of scarcity that this could be true with the amount of coconut trees strongly fructification that arose everywhere like weeds amid a dense green background. It was the tropical paradise at its rawest, and the air was as fresh as you can imagine.

The coastal road was one-way parallel to the beach and there were signs of waves everywhere. Not every wave looked amazing, but there were clear breaks working with not a soul in the region. When we got to the beach we were looking for, there were already about surfers. News does not travel in this small world and the wave had been found in recent years, but it is obvious that the cat was not totally out of the bag with only about six enjoying overhead to double overhead (6-10ft) waves crashing left and right of a perfect peak in glassy smooth conditions. Everyone had big smiles on their faces, everyone sharing the waves and happy for the turn of another surfer, totally opposed to the ambience of Bali and other Indonesian crowded waves.

The story goes that this wave was formed by the earthquake in 04 that pushed the coral reefs of almost two meters in some areas, the creation of this wave and also the deadly tsunami that swept parts Sumatra, Thailand and more in the process. Legend has it that the villagers on this island were informed by their ancestors when there is a terrible earthquake and the reef is dry and wild animals start going, running for high ground because the big wave arrives. And that's what they did, and although the coast was destroyed, nobody died in the tsunami in 04. Some good has come of it, with this wave being created, where it never existed when the reef was deeper, although tens of thousands of lives lost elsewhere nothing to take lightly.

Day One was on top and with the sun pushing pink, orange and yellow in the sky, the only thing missing was a cold Bintang. Yes, these outer islands strict Muslim, beer and all alcohol is seriously illegal, and you can not just cruise down to catch a Circle K and because there is no circle or Ks all mini-marts, nor do any of warung sell alcohol, except for the kind you can not drink. The island has been promoting healthy living.

The second day saw more exploration. Waves to ourselves, waves with anyone, waves in the middle of nowhere; good waves in this too. After basic pancakes and coffee in our air-conditioned bungalow (OK, we're not roughing many) we charge the card and remove. Past the buffalo, before the children waving shout "Bonjour Monsieur" Groundhog Day has never been good; days melted into days and no phone signal meant no contact and no email, and no one feel the urge to go to a local SIM card to communicate more. The only indication that the time was moved our growing sunburn and timing to reception where fortunately we asked what day it was. Finally, it was time to go and we had to say goodbye. The people do not have a surf shop on the island, so we gave what we could; boardshorts, t-shirts, hats, stickers. Surfboards we kept because they were magical, as a local surfer on the island had a good board

When he started, the trip was completed. waves captured, the mission is complete, time to go home. You always say that you come back to a special place you visited and in my experience it is always 50-50. That's why you need to live each moment to the fullest and take lots of pictures because you never know, it might not be the same the next time you visit.

Transjakarta Bus

This year marks the 10th anniversary of the Transjakarta busway means a public transport system plagued by financial scams. Even before the start of the project, the funds allocated for the busway were diverted to buy the labeled material to the Canadian Transportation City. This included laptops falsely price Rp.50 million each and walkie-talkies to Rp.8 million per unit.

Fast forward in the slow lane until 2014 and has changed little. Buses sold for the equivalent of rp.1 billion ($ 86.300) each in China have been purchased for the busway in Jakarta marked price Rp.3 billion. Some of the bus of the Chinese company Ankai broke down within days and were found to contain defective and rusted parts. The officials in the past have said that the buses have a life expectancy of seven years. Outages are not uncommon. There have even been some fires on buses.

The busway network now covers more than 170 km and carries nearly 400,000 passengers each day. With tickets priced at Rp.3,500 (Rp.2,500 and 5:00 to 7:00), the annual ticket sales can be estimated conservatively to Rp.420 billion. The Transjakarta Management Body operated in 2013 with a budget of Rp.1.3 trillion, which Rp.886 billion were provided by the regional budget Jakarta.

The funds allocated for maintenance and cleaning teams do not seem to be put to good use. The busway operates 12 halls, with fleets that vary greatly in quality. Stop Among the worst are the gray rattletraps plying Corridor 6, which crosses Kuningan, connecting Ragunan and Dukuh ATAS 2. Seats are broken, the door hinges and joints are missing, there are holes in some floors, and broken doors "automatic" are bound with wire and plastic.

The ticketing system is supposed to be fully automated so that all users can use electronic tickets. In January 2013, several banks have started selling durable electronic tickets, which are "exploited" to turnstiles and can be completed with credit. A non-governmental organization called the Citizen's Coalition for transport demand management has led the push for electronic ticketing, warning that the manual ticket sales could be prone to manipulation and misuse of the product.

Most of the tickets are still sold and manually printed on paper that is not conducive to the environment. On entering a terminal busway or shelter, commuters queuing to buy tickets measuring 15cm by 7.5cm. A ticket stub is then ripped off and preserved with Tourniquet agent, which typically uses an e-ticket to exploit every suburb by a single turnstile. The great rest of the ticket instantly becomes garbage that buses have no ticket inspectors. The ticket size could be reduced by half or more, if Transjakarta wanted to save money and paper. ATMs could also be introduced.

environmental policies Transjakarta are exposed to Harmoni, one of its busiest terminals. There the bus guards throw their daily food packaging and other plastic waste in an adjacent channel and on the road. Harmoni is the same terminal where the guards were recently accused of assaulting a woman who had fainted on a bus.

Some ticket vendors are subject to slow to give change. A suburban Rp.5,000 hands on and is immediately given a ticket, while the Rp.1,500 change can take much longer to materialize and is sometimes placed almost out of reach, as if hoping that he will be left behind. Still, it's nothing compared to the huge margins of the cost of the "new" bus. The case was reported by an NGO to the Commission for the eradication of corruption, which is yet to launch an investigation. The city administration confirmed that there were irregularities, but referred the case to the Supreme Audit Agency. Jakarta Deputy Governor Basuki 'Ahok' Purnama suggested Transjakarta should in future purchase bus made by European companies such as Mercedes Benz and Scania.

Corruption aside, one of the main problems facing the busway is that its lanes are often encroached on and stuck by motorists. Police in late 2013 began to apply fines of Rp.500,000 for motorcycles and rp.1 million cars in the corridors of busway. Since then, the current application was random. The police recently launched a website - http://www.tertiblantas.com - where people can upload photos of vehicles transgress busway lanes. Supposedly the drivers will then be summoned and fined

Despite the criticism, the busway is great -. When it works. Managers must just learn to have buses running at frequencies of five minutes, rather than having five buses traveling one immediately after the other, then a gap of 15 minutes before the next bus.

Dial Phone

My dear old granny was a spritely 97 years and 7 months exactly when she decided she had had enough and planned for the long sleep last month. It must have been amazing for her to attend all the amazing advances in technology that have become commonplace during his life. The horseless carriage, the flying machine, radio, telephone, television, jet planes, rockets, space travel and just about every other major progress all became accepted in everyday life, while was alive. She is also the introduction of the fax machine, the mobile phone and the internet, but by then it was already too old to be bothered with such nonsense of a new kind. She believed in the past that writing a letter was much more personal and more valuable than sending an email could ever be, and she was the last person I could reach ONLY by phone or mail .

Some days my children asked me to sit and watch something called The Elders Talk on YouTube. These videos show the elderly being exposed to new technologies while cameras recorded their reactions. I must admit that watching people with gray hair and thick glasses mix their dentures while playing Flappy Bird was hilarious and my kids thought it was funnier to watch me play the stupid game later, while giving them a crash course in ancient curse. I think the grandmother of my grandmother would have entertainment of a similar nature if it had been invited to operate a horseless carriage between high speed sticks.

After The React seniors We watched an episode of children React, a YouTube program in which five to 13 children are exposed to the old technology. In this episode, they were introduced to an old telephone line. The program just put down in front of them and asked them what they thought. Younger had no idea. Some of the older said they had seen them in old movies. None of them knew tones or busy signals. When they learned to "compose" a number there was a lot to chew kiddy language and curse their fingers slipped out of holes. "This will take a long time," one of them. When asked to send a text message with it, most of them he gave a serious test. Even teenagers have tried. When told that there were no text messages at the time, one of them said, "So how you..ohh, it was called" (Google [1945031!] elders React and " children talk ).

the standard is now to avoid talking to people as much as possible. Even older of we prefer to send messages by BB, WhatsApp, Viber, Skype or Facebook and we'll send an email to someone before we consider actually call them. the problem is most phone networks no longer provide not good for this requirement, so often we can not get through and we return to messaging. When messages are delayed, we sometimes get a "yes" in response to a question that we expected a "no" for and confusion reign. Then we get into arguments with people we love because we say things in the hastily typed messages that take the wrong way. How many times have you been asked why you're angry text message when you're not? This is mainly a boy / girl issue, but it happens with friends and colleagues too. Smileys and emoticons were invented to set the tone for our written words and body language change, but they failed.

We kid ourselves that we use text messages because it is easier and faster, but if you think about it for most of us typing the words is more difficult and time to tell them. The truth is, we avoid talking to people and our lives are worse. When we call we have to go through the pesky jokes like "How are you?" Before you get to the point. In the text, we do not need to do it and I think it is damaging relationships and erosion of social skills, especially among young people who have never known any other - even if they do not avoid anything, they are just what we have taught them

make a rule; if. message you type is more than ten words long, call the person Better yet, use only three words. "Can you talk?" I believe it will greatly enhance and simplify your life

It's too late for children, though .. It's like the grandmother of my grandmother trying to tell her that she must send a telegram instead of using the phone. RIP Nan.