Travel emergencies

There is a happy subspecies of homo sapiens that has never experienced travel sickness. I am talking Travel Sickness, not just occasional dizziness or nausea; sickness that knocks you out and stays for weeks, that comes unexpectedly and unpredictably, that is humiliating and excruciatingly painful. If you are now wondering: "What is she talking about?", you belong to that happy subspecies.

When I was a child, nobody took it seriously; it was rather a norm that children were travelsick. However, my mother had it too, and so it was harder to dismiss. Then somebody brought a magical remedy from abroad, and for some years we both travelled without problems. But as I said, unexpectedly and unpredictably; nothing to do with turbulence and independent of what I have eaten, of whether I have slept well, of whether I take medication or not, of whether the travel takes half an hour or thirty hours. I can get sick on planes, trains, buses, boats and merry-go-rounds. The latter I have eventually learned to avoid, but for the rest the alternative is never to leave home, and it is a professional handicap, if not otherwise.  

At one point I went through a thorough examination by Sweden's (and world's) leading expert on MdDS, which spells out as mal de debarquement syndrome. They rolled and swayed and centrifuged me, pumped hot and cold water into my ears, gave me injections to cause motion sickness and measure it, and concluded that there was nothing wrong with me. That was extremely helpful.


About eight years ago I had to cancel all commitments involving travel. I missed conferences, guest lectures and many other interesting events. Some of these I had to cancel at short notice, jeopardizing my reputation. I thought I would never be able to travel again. Fortunately, it's a bit like childbirth: if you remember the horror, you'd never do it again. So I started to travel again, with varying results and thus high risk-taking. My calculation shows that one of ten trips is a catastrophe. Take it or leave it. And the flight from Manaus happened to be that one of ten.

Staffan has seen me in my worst shape several times, but each time he is reluctant to believe me - which I fully understand as his survival strategy. So when I told him, direct after landing in Sao Paulo, that nothing could make me board another plane, his reaction was: "But the cat can die!" I was too feeble to reply: "So you'd rather I should die?" But I was strong enough to act - thinking back, I admire myself. As I was leaving the plane, crawling more than walking, I told the radiantly smiling flight attendant that I needed a doctor. She obvioulsy wasn't prepared for such an outrageous request, but told me there was medical help available in the terminal. The bus from the plane to the terminal took ages, but as soon as we were inside I attacked the first uniformed man I saw. Presumably, Portuguese for doctor is doctor, since he understood that much, conjured a wheelchair and raced through the terminal, with Staffan in tow. Imagine, first time ever I had a ride in a wheelchair and I couldn't even enhoy it.

In the Emergency room, nobody spoke any English. My general message was: "I cannot travel" (our flight was leaving in two hours), but it didn't quite come across. However, the male nurse did the reasonable things you do with someone coming to Emergency: took my temperature, pulse and blood pressure. After that, all those present, including the airline representative, talked to each other in great agitation, and the message they managed to get across to Staffan and me was: "You cannot travel". At least we were in agreement on one point. They didn't care about my travel sickness, but they were seriously concerned about my blood pressure. Somehow, I think there was a connection.

They put me on a drip, all the time talking cheerfully in Portuguese. The airline representative explained in broken English that our luggage would be taken off the flight, that she would book us for the next day (did I think I would be able to travel then?), and that as soon as I had rested, they would transport us to a hotel with meal vouchers and free intercontinental phone calls. I wish I could enjoy the hospitality. Staffan said the food was good, and they didn't even charge him for whisky.

Twenty-four hours later I still felt rotten, but since I couldn't stay in Brazil for the rest of my life (although it was tempting), I boarded the plane, took a double doze of sleeping pills and woke up an hour before landing at Heathrow at 3pm local time. The long travel by underground and train to Cambridge was child's play.

Moral? Obviously, I should never travel again. Unfortunately, I happen to live on a island, so wherever I want to go I need to take a plane, a boat or a superspeed train. So I guess I am stuck. Friends and relatives will have to come here to visit. I WILL NEVER TRAVEL AGAIN. (Let's see how long it lasts).

Amazonas adventure Day 4

The initial order was 5.30 for sunrise but the majority negotiated it to 5.45. The morning was cloudy so it didn't make any difference. There was one last big attraction to see: Victoria lily, the legendary plant that I remember from geography lessons in school and that I recently got to know better through Attenborough's Life of Plants. What shall I say? I have run of adjectives. Amazing, remarkable, incredible, awsome...?

There are many amazing, remarkable, incredible features about this plant. It blooms white on the first evening and is male, attracting pollinating insects and trapping them as it closes. Then it changes gender, blooms pink, releases the insects, and they fly away and pollinate other flowers. Or something like that. It's just too overwhelming, too clever.

There were many birds walking on the leaves - I am afraid I haven't managed to capture them.

On return, we had breakfast and packed while the boat navigated toward Manaus that we reached about midday. Hugs, goodbyes, promises to stay in touch, share photos. Back to the hotel, retrieving the stored luggage and taxi to the airport.

The rest is history.

Amazonas adventure Day 3

No early morning activities, but I woke up at seven and went up on deck for a cup of coffee. We started to sail downstream toward Manaus, with the goal of seeing the Meeting of Waters, the black of Rio Negro (although it is actually dark blue) and the white (in fact, yellow) of the Solimoes. Ruben was very emphatic about the Amazon only existing after the two rivers meet. I have seen pictures, but you cannot imagine it from a picture - well, you can try. The waters do not mix for about four kilometres because they have different speed, different temperature and different chemical ingredients. It's truly amazing.

Manaus is a huge city. When I first started thinking about this trip, three years ago, I thought Manaus was a little village where you went by a tiny plane. There must be places like that further up the rivers, but Manaus has a population of 2 million and it isn't precisely a beautiful city, at least not from the river. We saw the famous Opera House and decided that we didn't need to see it again. The long stretch of shore was docks and oil tanks. And many boats. During the first two days we hardly saw any boats and just a couple of houses.

After Meeting of Waters we went upstream on the Solimoes (note that I am using the correct name!) to the place where we anchored for the night and took another canoe trip. I must say that it felt a bit like anticlimax, because we did some more fishing and some more caiman patting, but I may be unfair. The vegetation was completely different, and there were lots of birds – all because the Solimoes (note the name!) is six degrees cooler than the Rio Negro, which is simply too hot for most forms of aquatic life. Apparently, the gender of caimans is dependent on the temperature: in hotter waters they hatch as males and in cooler water as females. Somehow they must meet in between. Quite right, the Rio Negro caimans were boys and the Solimoes caimans were girls, whom we named Margarita and Josefina before Ruben threw them back in the river. By that time Viki became so brave that she held the beasts, and Enrico and Costa did too. I now regret that I didn't. I am not scared of crocodiles, not like snakes.

Fishing was fun too, and some of the fish were catfish that look like something from a horror movie. I didn't get any and mostly sat and watched birds in my binoculars.

Viki had to go back to Manaus in the evening because she had to catch a 1 am flight to Sao Paulo (for some reason, Brazilian airlines have these crazy flight schedules). We were all curious about how she was going to get there – helicopter perhaps? No, she said, James Bond style, by speedboat. We stayed on deck to watch her leave. There were all kinds of boats passing by, in pitch darkness, without lights. At ten sharp, Ruben came up on deck and beckoned to Viki: “Ready? Let's go!” Guess what? The promised speedboat was the canoe. Frankly, I wouldn't feel safe going in a little boat on the big, big river in pitch darkness without lights or life jackets. I am not sure Viki was so happy either, but did she have a choice? According to Ruben, it took no more than forty minutes. But by the time they gor back we were asleep because the next morning we we getting up early to watch the sunrise.

Enrico and Josefina

Amazonas adventure Day 2

We got up at 6, and fortunately there was some coffee waiting, as breakfast was not until 8. Down in the canoe, into the flooded forest, out with fishing rods. I haven't angled in the past twenty years at least so it was very exciting, only there was no fish. Normally, you are supposed to be quiet when you fish, but Ruben showed us how to make huge noise by tapping the water fiercely with your rod. Piranhas was supposedly attracted by the noise thinking that there was a fight going on, so there will be a corpse waiting.

Of course I wished with all my heart that I would catch something, but I would be happy if someone else did, and actually I was just happy to be there, once again watching the reflections of trees and plants in the blank water. We changed places three times, and suddenly fish began to bite. Manolo, who steers the canoe, got two, and we all took pictures and admired, then Ruben got one, and then Enrico got one. I was all the time feeling gentle nibbles, and the hook came up empty, so I thought perhaps I forgot how to set up bait. And then, suddenly, I had a fish! A real, live little piranha! And then another one. So Enrico and I ended up saving the honour of the guests against the hosts.

Then we went back to the boat to have breakfast, and then another excursion into one of the tributaries and into the thicket where we were suddenly surrounded by monkeys. Small squirrel monkeys, so cute (hate this word, but it's the only adequate one). We had bananas with us, and the monkeys came and took bananas from our hands. And we learned how to talk to monkeys: ”Cheep, chip” apparently means: ”Come, lunch is served”.

Then it was time to learn dolphin language, as we tried to attract the dolphins' attention by beating the water surface with the fish we had caught in the morning. There were at least half a dozen pink dolphins around, and finally they came and feasted on our fish. It is very hard to capture the moment when a dolphin reaches for fish, so I have no good pictures. But it was amazing.

Then we sailed on for a while and anchored by a little village - I expected an ethnographic show with song and dance, and small boys trying to sell souvenirs, but there was fortunately nothing of the kind, they just went about their own business. We saw more dolphins by the shore, but of another kind, grey.

Waiting a bit until the worst heat was over, we started on the next adventure which was a hike in the rainforest. A very easy hike, but it was terribly hot, my shirt was absolutely wet. There were many remarkable things we saw, and some I have managed to get good pictures of, but no picture can do it justice. It was a fantastic feeling just to be there. And of course I know that the trail has been used by hundreds before us, and yet it was easy to imagine that we were really the first ever explorers.

I was hot and tired when we returned, but there was the final excursion of the day, looking for tree boas. I am not particularly fond of snakes, and told Ruben so, but he assured me that we won't get too intimate and that boas were not aggressive. We didn't find any snakes, just a couple of tree frogs, but it was once again that magical feeling of gliding in mid-air when you couldn't tell when real world stopped and reflection began. It was pitch dark, and Ruben had a torch. It was weird. Like a fantasy film, but real.

We were all very tired and went straight to bed.

Amazonas adventure Day 1

After our interrupted sleep, I was sure we'd sleep at least until 10, when they stopped serving breakfast. However, we woke up, fresh and full of energy at seven, as usual. It was much too hot to go to Manaus, opera house or not, so we started by visiting the hotel zoo, which did feature the promised jaguar, but otherwise rather pathetic. I went down to the river, following the sign ”Embarkation”, only to find a little beach. Apparently embarkation was somewhere else. They promised at the reception desk that the company would fetch us at 1pm. The internet connection in the room was ridiculously expensive, so I sat in the lobby, responding to dozens of urgent emails by saying: ”Sorry, I am in the heart of darkness, will get back some time”.

We checked out at 12 and sat further in the bar/lobby, Staffan drinking beer to kill the time, and me getting anxious again that something was wrong. Finally, a quarter past one, somebody did ask for us and introduced himself as Ruben, our English-speaking guide, telling us cheerfully that they never picked up their guests earlier than a quarter past two. This information made us suddenly very hungry, and we ordered a light lunch. Then Ruben came back, and an old man got hold of our suitcase (we had deposited the second one at the hotel), while Ruben introduced us to our fellow passengers: Viki from London, Madeleine and Enrico from Barcelona, Ciara and Constantino from Rome. That's it.

When I booked this trip and looked up options, given that I was very late because of the ever changing dates of my commitment in Rio de Janeiro, I immediately picked up Desafio as my type of trip: small boat for maximum twenty people, personal, no bars, karaoke or swimming pools. But alas, the only cruise available on the dates we could do was one of those huge boats. Well, beggars are no choosers, and I agreed to that: however, the travel agent got back after a few days to tell me that the Iberostar was chartered. There went my dream, but still a few days later, the agent emailed to say that he had an option, which was Desafio, which I wanted in the first place.

So there are just the seven of us. We were taken to the beach on the path I had followed in the morning, and there she was, some hundred metres from the shore, and a little motorboat to take us there. By that time, the river got waves, and I almost got seasick watching them. My dream was quickly turning into a nightmare, and I already saw myself flat seasick in the cabin for the next four days. Staffan on the other hand had some difficulty getting into the canoe and when we eventually came on board swore that he would never set his foot into that boat again, which is a shame, since it is the boat used for excursions.

I sat on the open deck, trying not to think of being sick, while we sailed away and everybody was given a welcome drink. I had expected a long session with safety instructions, but there wasn't any. Ruben started directly with sailor's yarn about all the anacondas he had encountered, and everybody was happy except for me. I was apprehensive.

Of course I have seen dozens of films about the Amazonas, but no picture can do justice to this huge span of water, and we were going right into it. I sat in my deck chair while everybody else went to inspect the cabins, scared even to move. Presently, the waves calmed down, and we entered one of the tributaries and anchored. I ventured into the cabin, too anxious to notice how tiny it was as compared to the picture in the brochure – but I know how such pictures are taken. I decided that I'll worry about it later, because we were now going out in the canoe, and that's what we had come there to do. No safety instructions, just a couple of life jackets thrown casually into the canoe. It was a pity Staffan didn't come, but I fully understand it, because you don't sit particularly comfortably in a canoe. Off we went, entering yet another tributary or flooded forest. Again, I have seen it in films, but no films can convey the sense of being there, with blank surface of water, reflecting the vegetation in quickly fading daylight. We saw a sloth, a couple of herons, but I would have been just as happy with gliding there over the water, listening to cicadas and birds.

Then we got back, were served a sumptuous meal, and off again, in pitch darkness, Ruben with a torch. In the thicket of the forest, first a porcupine – frankly, I didn't know they lived in trees – then a whole family of porcupines. I didn't bring my camera because it is a very simple one and doesn't do good pictures with flash. It was all spooky and incredibly beautiful. Then Ruben caught some caimans with his bare hands and held them for us to pat. The starry sky was amazing. I have seen the Southern Hemisphere skies several times, and it is always a wonder.

By the time we got back it was half past ten. And we were to get up at six next morning to go fishing. So I went down to the cabin and was sound asleep within five minutes. I had forgotten all about being sick.

Amazonas adventure: Day -1

So yesterday my work in Brazil was over, and holiday started. Night flight from Rio to Manaus. We kept the hotel room as long as they would allow us, until 6pm. Suddenly my credit card didn't work (it had worked both before and after). Fortunately Staffan had some US dollars in cash. We took a taxi to the airport, and, well-travelled as I am, I have never been in a worst nightmare. It was as if all 10 million Rio-inhabitants were on the same motorway, each in at least two cars. After an hour of slow crawling, our driver took off on a small road, through villages and slums and whatnot; pity he was not the only one with this clever idea. I must confess that I broke down, not because I was afraid to miss the plane - we were really well ahead - but because I was sure we'd never get out of it alive, with what Staffan calls creative traffic slalom.

After more than two hours we were finally at the airport, and then everything went smoothly. I had four solid hours of sleep, the luggage arrived safely, we were pciked up as promised and taken to our hotel where, half past three in the morning, I feel happily asleep again.

We are going aboard in a couple of hours. There will be no internet access on the boat, so all reports are coming on Sunday at the earliest. If not - we have fallen victims to caimans or piranyas.

Green is good for your soul

I first saw a rainforest in Australia in 1993. It was love at first sight, and I was convinced that I would never live to see anything more sublime. The day after I went to the Great Barrier Reef and had to admit that it had its points as well. Finally, I went to the desert, and a good portion of my heart has remained in deserts ever after.

A desert may seem a complete opposite of a rainforest, but it isn't. Life in a desert is more subtle, hidden, disguised, but it's there nevertheless. A desert in bloom is unforgettable.

And yet there is something very special about the rainforest. As with most things, you must take your time. There are amazing details in a symbiosis of plants. There are forms you have never seen before. It is possible that David Attenborough's The Secret Life of Plants has made me more sensitive. I cannot compete with Attenborough, but here are some attempts to share my fascination.