Leg Two

I write from Reggae Mansion in Kuala Lumpur (capital of Malaysia), our swag downtown hostel for the next three nights. We are taking a brief Internet break so this will be a short post, but I thought I'd quickly post our travel schedule for the second leg of our journey: DG -> Singapore -> Kuala Lumpur -> Bali

Friday, October 28, 3:15am (DG time): Fly military C17 Diego Garcia - Paya Lebar Air Force Base, Singapore, arriving 10:15am Singapore time
Saturday, October 29, 8:45am (Sing. time): Board train Singapore - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, arriving 3:00pm KL time (same as Sing.)
Tuesday, November 1, 11:00pm: Board overnight sleeper train KL - Singapore, arriving Sing. next day at 6:45am
Wednesday, November 2, 4:20pm: AirAsia flight Singapore - Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia, arriving around 7pm I think

We are about to head out into KL to check out a few quick sites and grab some local chow. Then our hostel is having a Halloween fajesta tonight, so we'll check that out. New currency is Malaysian Ringgits. We will see what the next three days here bring us... nothing planned for now save a list of some interesting places to check out (e.g. Petronas Towers, Batu Caves, orchid gardens) and a courtyard full of people to meet. Let the games begin.

Hostel beds in 16-bed dorm.. Adam bottom right, me bottom left, James in the penthouse

View from rooftop bar

-Gavin

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

Yes, I did steal that quote. And no, we did not eat any fish. Yes, there is seafood on Diego Garcia, but no, it is not locally caught (so we’re told).

Where to begin...

fun in the sun after being bumped a day (10/3)

I think that we’ve bragged enough about our enchanted coconut forests, the magical lagoons, daily doses of windsurfing, haunted plantations, the boss crabs with their swag, and the chatty Kathy birds, who apparently don’t go to sleep. So I’ll curb mention of ray chasing by paddleboard, shark scouting from the island depths of Turtle Cove, and feral sterile donkey riding (if you have to ask, you can’t afford it).

Well, it went very, very fast, and in the best ways possible. We’ve basked in the joys of being disconnected from society (mostly – at least no cell phones ringing). Knowing what we were getting ourselves into, we embraced rolling out of bed, fixing a quick cup, and getting out and comfortable with nothing but the milky way lighting the road (and a Jupiter here and there to help out). The shift work was great, and we all took on the duty of DYNAMO balloon launcher like it was our own little experiment. We experienced a good deluge, Seattle-style spray with nothing but grey, and the ever-sought-after blue with as much blue coming from above as from below our feet. And though we usually had the water beneath us, we were ALWAYS thinking about our thesis work, we promise.

hanging out with the Fodies

Many a balloon was launched and many a Pam was sprayed. I think a little explanation is called for here. So, if you go high enough, even down here at hot and humid 7°S, you get to the freezing point – usually around 4 or 5 km up. What happens there (pretend you’re a weather balloon): provided there are rain droplets (AKA cloud), you get iced up, iced up some more, until you become heavy enough that the buoyancy of the helium can’t keep you afloat and you begin to sink back down. But wait, it’s warm down here, so yes, the ice melts off, and finally you can begin to ascend again. We’ve watched at the computer as balloons bobbed around this “freezing level” (clever, isn’t it?) some 5 times before it either harvests the courage to break on through and continue on up or succumbs to the stresses of the cold world above and bursts.

I told you this place was enchanted!

Now, back to the Pam. It was rumored before we departed the department that Pam spray – yep, the cooking oil – could be used for its hate-of-water-ness (hydrophybia) to prevent icing on balloons. Diego Garcia clerk: “No Pam here, Bill of New Zealand.” Bill of New Zealand: “No Pam?! Ouy, let’s try some olive oil. Cheers!” So extra virgin olive oil it was. Starting from early failed attempts of boringly applying with a paper towel (me), all the way to getting down and dirty with the bare hands to “assure that it was completely lathered up like a greased pig” (Gavin), to “I’m just going to try letting the balloon go without the instrument pack this time.” (Won’t name names here, I don’t want to get Gavin in trouble.) We tried it all. We called it Field Olive Oil Deployment (FOOD), and boy, what a delicious campaign it was. Let’s get some professors out here next time for these fun activities!

Carlos earning his Balloon Launch Merit Badge

Well, the newbies are in, and the torch has been passed. All of yesterday was spent watching the new folks rig up the balloons themselves, from start to finish, with us being there only to provide tips. They’re already rolling on their own, and taking care of business. Today was our day of relaxation, which included some racquet ball, ping pong, a special celebratory din-din at the local fine dining spot, and a final goodbye to our good friend Carlos, or Charlos, or Charlie, who many of you will fortunately get to meet in the near future.

a couple of sunrise shots on our way out

Happy to say that I’m writing you from my comfy seat in the skeletal, infamous, surreal USAF C-17, as Gavin and Adam sleep the soundest of soundly to the hum of the engines (find videographic evidence below). It’s 4:45 a.m., our time, so I guess that means I have to start calling tomorrow today.

Now for our highly anticipated backpacking leg of the journey. We’re off to find this restaurant we hear of at the end of the universe. With that I leave you to the soothing sounds of the C-17 and some sleeping beauties.

- Jame’s R, the band (coming to an island near you)

P.S. The bit about the sterile feral donkey riding was just a tease, but we hear it's a riot.

Plantation

As we discussed in a previous post, Diego Garcia's original inhabitants were here until the late 1960's. From the mid-1800's up until then, they (with a French initiative) ran a peaceful and successful coconut industry on the island, exporting as many as four million coconuts per year. Yesterday, with the permission of the British Representative on the island, we were lent the key to the gates of the dirt road that leads to the abandoned remains of what used to be a thriving plantation community of 1,100 Chagosians.

The paved road ends about 19 miles outside of town, and from there it's another three gates and 11 miles of bumpy trails. We went in one of our field project's pickup trucks, and were also accompanied by our friend Carlos, the one who works as a linguist here, who was able to show us what he knew about the plantation. If the atoll were a clock, the plantation would be at about three. We traveled counter-clockwise from the eleven o'clock position to get there. We were hoping to make it all 37 miles to the other tip of the island too, but the trail became impassable about 4 miles from the end.

The road

On the way there we passed the feral donkeys and massive coconut crabs, and at times the atoll was so narrow that you could easily see both the lagoon on your left and the ocean on your right.

 

Entering the plantation

The plantation was utterly mystifying. Almost all that remains is concrete, and all is silent and overgrown. It was made especially haunting by the fact that we were the only ones there; I've toured other ruins before, but they were overrun with tourists just as eager as me to try to understand a forgotten culture. The jungle and whispering breeze breathed in on us as we walked through building after mossy building, many now entirely canopied.

Capra drying house

Anonymous jungle residence

Another

Plantation manager's house

Inside

Coconut/palm processing facility of some kind

"Gaol"

Plane crash from WWII

The old pier and loading dock

It would be hard to describe the sort of sobering fascination this experience gave us. I could've spent hours strolling through the lost columns and walls, imagining an era. It's possible to camp out there as well, although we were regrettably short on time left on the island. It would be a truly incredible experience I think, to lay among the palms and pillars and look up at a piercing deck of stars and the soupy stripe of the Milky Way, completely unadulterated by light pollution.

Also during our time on this side of the island we checked out the military's R&R site, which utilized another old plantation cabana-type building farther north as shelter and had a pavilion, barbecue pit, and (submerged) volleyball court for groups to take time off from the other side of the island to enjoy. We also stopped at Turtle Cove before reaching all the gates, which is an area at the southern terminus of the island where the ebb and flow of tides in the lagoon leads to veritable rivers of seawater moving inland and back, much like the Bay of Fundy. From the little wooden platform there we saw sea turtles, crabs, and all kinds of fish. Adam had put his sandals behind the truck when we parked, and then when we returned thirty minutes later the incoming high tide had washed them "upriver".

Platform at Turtle Cove

Our faithful steed newly encompassed by water when we returned, Carlos laughing, and Adam somewhere behind the cameraman searching for his flip-flops

Carlos told us that all over the island the effects of the rising sea-level are being noticed. There are no more deep expanses of beach to use, just thin strips along each side. The volleyball court at the R&R site was partially underwater. The dirt trail we were on near the plantation was practically below sea level at some points, kept from complete flooding only by narrow banks of dense growth. And Turtle Cove continues to ebb farther and farther inland, around palm trees, old signs, the road.

Volleyball posts at the R&R site

The island will suffer one of two fates. Either the sea level will continue to rise at such a pace that eventually it will be too much to combat, and the island will succumb to the new climate man has created... or, the sea level will remain manageable, the American military will choose not to renew its contract on the island, and it will likely become commercialized. After having really gotten to know the island and its history, especially after yesterday's experience at the plantation, I think that either would be a truly sad fate.

For now, we will sit, watch, and absorb the island's beauty in the here and now. Departure in two days. We may never return, but if and when we do, Diego Garcia will not be the same.

- Gavin

Launch Lapse

Time lapse of one of our balloon launches: http://youtu.be/RBUc0V7v8f4

Patrons

I watched tonight's sunset from the "Short Pier" just west of our barracks on the Indian Ocean. It was particularly stunning due to its inclusion of nearly every type of cloud. Even gravity waves. And Jupiter right before the cut. YouTube link: http://youtu.be/Pb6s-vKwFKw (pardon the switch to the low-light setting at the very end)

We continue to check out new places on the island, including Mene Gene's Burgers, the cannons, the 300-seat pavilion where they show a different movie every night at 2000 (and 2200 on weekends), and the Officer's Club for brunch. There are usually exactly zero people at each of these places (we have yet to see a single other person at MGB, only ever seen one other guy watching the movie, etc.). It's even rare to see someone else at the pool, or at the marina wanting to sail, snorkel, or windsurf. This leads to a strange aura of maintained abandonment about the village part of the island. Perhaps sort of like an overzealous and under-frequented Great Plains roadside attraction. We posit that the Navy (specifically the MWR Office as Adam discussed in the previous post) keeps these places open and staffed regardless of patronage. Intriguing...

And now for your biweekly installment of semi-relevant photos:

The pool (and oddly enough, one of the highest points on the island - they built up the land instead of digging it out to diving board regulation depth)

Public transportation for the contractors

The Navy's "Ship Store", the large general store with better business ethics than Walmart

British Police HQ

A typical Golden-Corral-style meal at the Mess Hall

-Gavin