I was met at Prague airport by my companion, Alice, and her wonderful Boxer, Aisha, who is really my best friend in the world. I'd had a couple of hours at Helsinki airport to have a shower, and having slept quite well on the long flight I had sufficient energy to suggest we went direclty to Kolkovna, which is another one of my favourite restaurants in Prague. There I thoroughly enjoyed th traditional Czech dish of roast duck, dumplings, sauerkraut and red cabbage.
Restaurants in Prague are very welcoming of dogs, in fact arguably they serve pets better than humans. Almost immediately a waiter will bring a bowl of water for your animal. If you are lucky, they may then bring you some liquid refreshment as well. I was pleased to enjoy a much-welcomed half litre of Pilsner-Urquell, which really is the most wonderful lager on the planet. Aisha was very happy to eat the bones from my duck. So there was happiness both above and below the restaurant table.
Now it's time to rest my weary head on my own pillow. It's been a long time since I slept in my own bed. Home sweet home.
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Friday, 15 October 2010
Across the equator twice in a day
My hopes of taking my client's corporate jet directly from Pekanbaru to Singapore were dashed as a consequence of a schedule change. This meant, instead of a 45 minute hop accross the Malaccan Straight in time to catch my lunchtime flight from Singapore, I now had to first take a 90-minute flight to Jakarta to catch a commerical flight to pretty much anywhere else outside of Indonesia.
What was going to be an easy travel day turned into what seemed like an endless number of flights. Travelling from Pekanbaru to Jakarta meant crossing the equator once, and then I took a flight up to Bangkok which required me to traverse the dividing line between north and south yet again. It was from Bangkok that I will shortyly connect with my longhaul flight to Helsinki, and then on to Prague, where I will arrive tomorrow morning.
All in a day's work for your road warrior of a grandfather.
Grandpa Jonathan
Bangkok, Thailand
What was going to be an easy travel day turned into what seemed like an endless number of flights. Travelling from Pekanbaru to Jakarta meant crossing the equator once, and then I took a flight up to Bangkok which required me to traverse the dividing line between north and south yet again. It was from Bangkok that I will shortyly connect with my longhaul flight to Helsinki, and then on to Prague, where I will arrive tomorrow morning.
All in a day's work for your road warrior of a grandfather.
Grandpa Jonathan
Bangkok, Thailand
Thursday, 14 October 2010
Resurrection
On that wonderful day when you, my darling Yael, emerged from your mother's womb, 33 men entered the bowels of the earth to begin their shift in a copper mine below the desolate Atacoma desert in Northern Chile. And while we were all excitingly celebrating your joyous arrival, the earth groaned above their heads as the shaft connecting them with the outside world collapsed, trapping them below 7,000 meters of solid rock.
The San Jose gold and copper mine, beneath a desert mountain near the remote town of Copiapo was to become the location for the longest underground human imprisonment in history.
It wasn't for 17 days until one of of the probes drilled through the rock in what was thought to be a vain search for life, harvested a handwritten note attached to to its base, that the rescuers became aware that all 33 of these miners were actually alive. An incredible plan was then hatched to rescue these men from what would otherwise become their tomb. This involved drilling three vertical tunnels, only a fraction wider than a man's shoulders, down which a specially built steel capsule would be sunk. One by one, the men would be released from their incarceration in this rocket-like saviour named Phoenix.
The race was on to see which one of the three shafts would be completed first, and would have sufficient integrity to facilitate the safe and unencumbered passage for Phoenix. It has been predicted that the ambitious plan would take until Christmas, which meant sustaining these imprisoned miners, both physically and psychological, for as much as five months. A shaft no wider than a grapefruit was bored to provide these men with their sole contact with the outside world. Food, medicine, lighting and letters from their loved ones where pushed down this lifeline, as was communications equipment including phones and cameras.
While the rescuers began executing their rescue plan, the miners' families built a makeshift community on the surface in this desolate place which they called Camp Hope. As the days and weeks progressed, they were joined by an army of what became many hundreds of journalists, photographers and cameramen, as this unleashed one of the biggest media stories of all time. As your parents marvelled at how rapidly you were developing, and struggled to keep awake during some nights when you refused to sleep, the world watched and hoped for a successful end to this extraordinary subterranean ordeal.
Today, on the 69th day of your life on earth, and on the 69th day of their life below earth, Florencio Avalos, the first of the 33 miners was lifted to the surface. Live television brought seens of pure joy to the world, wives and children saw their loved ones being resurrected. Chile's president, Sebastian Piñera and his wife, Cecilia Morel, were also there to welcome these men back to life. "The mountain is giving birth to 33 men", said Ms Morel. I have never witnessed such genuine happiness, as these men emerged from such hell into the arms of their nearest and dearest. It showed just how valuable is human life, and just how precious is love. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important.
Each and every one of these miners, whose ages spanned from 19 to 63 years old, is cherished, and all 33 of them serve as a reminder of the dangerous jobs that many poor people must endure to make ends meet. Mining is an especially brutal occupation, with hundreds of workers losing their lives below ground every year, and thousands more being injured or contracting lung and other work-related diseases. It has always been seen as an honourable and yet unenviable job.
As a child, I was taken to Leeds, from where my father was brought up, to visit my grandmother Rose and other family. This town in Northern England, was a coal mining centre, and I distinctly remember seeing hunch-backed men with blackened faces, walking home from the mines. My father would always say what a terrible job this was, and that we should never complain about our lives when comparing it to the lot of these poor people.
Mining is all but history is Britain today. Margaret Thatcher pretty much ended coal mining in the early nineteen eighties. But the drama in Chile serves as a reminder that mining continues in many parts of the world. It is my hope that by the time you are old enough to read my blogs, that there will no longer be any need to send men down into the depths of the earth for gold, silver, copper, coal or anything else.
Grandpa Jonathan
Pekanbaru, Indonesia
The San Jose gold and copper mine, beneath a desert mountain near the remote town of Copiapo was to become the location for the longest underground human imprisonment in history.
It wasn't for 17 days until one of of the probes drilled through the rock in what was thought to be a vain search for life, harvested a handwritten note attached to to its base, that the rescuers became aware that all 33 of these miners were actually alive. An incredible plan was then hatched to rescue these men from what would otherwise become their tomb. This involved drilling three vertical tunnels, only a fraction wider than a man's shoulders, down which a specially built steel capsule would be sunk. One by one, the men would be released from their incarceration in this rocket-like saviour named Phoenix.
The race was on to see which one of the three shafts would be completed first, and would have sufficient integrity to facilitate the safe and unencumbered passage for Phoenix. It has been predicted that the ambitious plan would take until Christmas, which meant sustaining these imprisoned miners, both physically and psychological, for as much as five months. A shaft no wider than a grapefruit was bored to provide these men with their sole contact with the outside world. Food, medicine, lighting and letters from their loved ones where pushed down this lifeline, as was communications equipment including phones and cameras.
While the rescuers began executing their rescue plan, the miners' families built a makeshift community on the surface in this desolate place which they called Camp Hope. As the days and weeks progressed, they were joined by an army of what became many hundreds of journalists, photographers and cameramen, as this unleashed one of the biggest media stories of all time. As your parents marvelled at how rapidly you were developing, and struggled to keep awake during some nights when you refused to sleep, the world watched and hoped for a successful end to this extraordinary subterranean ordeal.
Today, on the 69th day of your life on earth, and on the 69th day of their life below earth, Florencio Avalos, the first of the 33 miners was lifted to the surface. Live television brought seens of pure joy to the world, wives and children saw their loved ones being resurrected. Chile's president, Sebastian Piñera and his wife, Cecilia Morel, were also there to welcome these men back to life. "The mountain is giving birth to 33 men", said Ms Morel. I have never witnessed such genuine happiness, as these men emerged from such hell into the arms of their nearest and dearest. It showed just how valuable is human life, and just how precious is love. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important.
Each and every one of these miners, whose ages spanned from 19 to 63 years old, is cherished, and all 33 of them serve as a reminder of the dangerous jobs that many poor people must endure to make ends meet. Mining is an especially brutal occupation, with hundreds of workers losing their lives below ground every year, and thousands more being injured or contracting lung and other work-related diseases. It has always been seen as an honourable and yet unenviable job.
As a child, I was taken to Leeds, from where my father was brought up, to visit my grandmother Rose and other family. This town in Northern England, was a coal mining centre, and I distinctly remember seeing hunch-backed men with blackened faces, walking home from the mines. My father would always say what a terrible job this was, and that we should never complain about our lives when comparing it to the lot of these poor people.
Mining is all but history is Britain today. Margaret Thatcher pretty much ended coal mining in the early nineteen eighties. But the drama in Chile serves as a reminder that mining continues in many parts of the world. It is my hope that by the time you are old enough to read my blogs, that there will no longer be any need to send men down into the depths of the earth for gold, silver, copper, coal or anything else.
Grandpa Jonathan
Pekanbaru, Indonesia
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Yael's inaugural flight
After yesterday’s adventures, sitting in a comfortable meeting room made a much welcomed change. The day has been spent first preparing a speech for the pulp and paper company Chief Executive Officer, a man of Sri Lankan origin with whom I have worked for a decade, and then coaching him in advance of his participation in a meeting of a much larger group of NGOs in Pekenbaru tomorrow.
Later in the day we left from the township, which is close to Kerinci, for a 90-minute drive to Pekanbaru where we stayed at the Aryaduta Hotel. We needed to get there for a private meeting with the leadership of one particularly influential NGO called the Forest Peoples Programme.
While I was on the road, you, my darling Yael, were in the air. Your parents were taking you on your first flight, your inaugural overseas journey to London, their birthplace. I can’t wait to hear how you faired on the flight. I will talk to your father tomorrow to find out. I have no doubt that your mother’s parents will appreciate your visit far more than you will. Doubtless you are a tad too young to enjoy the Tower of London.
Grandpa Jonathan
Pekanbaru, Indonesia
Later in the day we left from the township, which is close to Kerinci, for a 90-minute drive to Pekanbaru where we stayed at the Aryaduta Hotel. We needed to get there for a private meeting with the leadership of one particularly influential NGO called the Forest Peoples Programme.
While I was on the road, you, my darling Yael, were in the air. Your parents were taking you on your first flight, your inaugural overseas journey to London, their birthplace. I can’t wait to hear how you faired on the flight. I will talk to your father tomorrow to find out. I have no doubt that your mother’s parents will appreciate your visit far more than you will. Doubtless you are a tad too young to enjoy the Tower of London.
Grandpa Jonathan
Pekanbaru, Indonesia
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
A day full of adventures
My early flight and long journey back to the airport necessitated my awakening prior to sunrise, which I was able to enjoy on the drive to the airport. Palm oil plantations lie on either side of the massive highway, and I could see the trees silhouetted in front of the emerging, orange-coloured sun. Oil palm is one of Malaysia’s biggest exports. In fact, more than 80 percent of this rapidly-growing commodity comes from Indonesia and this country. I’ve been involved with companies developing sustainable palm oil plantations, and have visited plantations in Borneo. So am quite familiar with the sight of these short and fat trees which extend beyond the horizon.
I flew from Kuala Lumpur across the Maluccan Straights directly to Pekanbaru, which is the capital of the Sumatran province of Riau, where I visit regularly. It’s a very short 40-minute hop from one of the most modern cities in Asia to rather backward place that’s growing out of the surround jungle. In fact, Pekanbaru has grown enormously since I first visited 10 years ago.
I was met by a young driver called Jeki who works for my client company, the large pulp and paper company, Asia Pacific Resources Limited (APRIL). My goal was to reach an isolated village called Teluk Meranti ahead of a group that I was due to meet up with there. They had left an hour before me, but due the bad quality of roads, which are quite unsuitable for buses, they had to complete their journey by speedboat. It had been estimated that their total journey time would be around five hours, which I could do it in a four-wheel drive jeep with Jeki in just four.
It certainly was a bumpy journey. There had been recent flooding so the mud road towards the conclusion of my journey required extremely skillful driving. But I am happy to report that my faithful driver, who spoke limited English, got me there just minutes before the speedboat arrived. Incredible.
This was a field trip of representatives from various human rights NGOs from around the world, brought together under the auspices of The Forests Dialogue, which is an initiative supported by Yale University. Our purpose was to meet with villagers to understand the complexity of ongoing land disputes caused by a lack of parity between Indonesia’s modern laws and ancient customary rights of indigenous forest people. APRIL has been granted to the right to develop a significant tranche of surrounding land into acacia plantations. The project will bring thousands of jobs to an impoverished area. But some of the villagers are concerned that it subjugates their ‘customary’ rights to the land.
These are lovely people. Genuinely warm and incredibly friendly, with adorable smiles. We participated in two public meeting in a rather basic so-called hostel. Most of the locals were women, who were especially impressed by my size. Some had brought their children and wanted me to hold them in the hope that they would grow to my proportions. I have photos of me with grown women whose heads come up only to the level of my waist.
My journey back to where I was to stay overnight was a real adventure. Having packed off the NGO representative back on their speedboat, one of the forest managers had decide to accompany back by road. However, our drive had not anticipated the incoming tide which resulted in our car being marooned. It would be six hours before the water would recede. Happily, Brad, the forest manager who now lives in Indonesia but originates from the US, was able to call the company helicopter. We proceeded to take a speedboat to a suitably open piece of land where we were met by the helicopter and flown out. Our journey, which would have taken four hours by road, was completed in around 20 minutes.
It was a dramatic end to a very long day. Needless to say, I will surely sleep well tonight at the Unigraha Hotel, close to APRIL’s production facility which is, in point of fact, the single largest pulp and paper mill in the world. It’s located in a township which the company built less than 20 years ago. Quite a place. But time for bed.
Grandpa Jonathan
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and Kerinci, Indonesia
Monday, 11 October 2010
Imagine
I just found out that John Lennon, who was shot dead outside of his Manhattan apartment in 1980, would have celebrated his 70th birthday at the weekend. Lennon was an icon from my youth who had a huge influence on popular culture during my teenage years, first as a member of the Beatles, and then as a rock star in his own right.
He was only 40 years old when so cruelly shot while walking with his wife, Yoko Ono. It is therefore difficult to imagine him as an elderly man. I still see him with his long black hair and round tinted glasses making a peace sign. It therefore comes as quite a shock to realise how time flies. The older I get, the more frequently I experience this sensation.
It was as if it were yesterday that I heard the shocking news of his assassination. Your grandma Veronica and I were on a trip to China. Her father, your great grandfather Alan Kennard, told us about a travel trade mission to Hong Kong, Beijing and Chengde onto which we somehow managed to wangle our way. It included an amazing train journey from Beijing to this isolated city where people had never seen westerners before and gawked at us with fascination. On this journey we shared a compartment with two British travel writers, Roger Bray of the London Evening Standard and Arthur Sandals of the Financial Times. We got to know them well.
Being a journalist, Arthur was a news freak and carried a short wave radio with him, which was the only way to listen to the BBC World Service in those days. He would summarise the news of the day and read his own new bulletins to the group during lunch and dinner. We were sitting on his table, and before he stood up to read to deliver this particular bulletin, he rather tantalisingly told your grandmother and I that he had a big news story, but refused to tell us what it was.
With his well-rounded BBC voice, he stood up and delivered the breathtaking news that John Lennon had been fatally shot outside of the Dakota building, just a block away from Central Park West where he lived. We were all absolutely dumbfounded. Arthur truly had what in journalistic parlance is called a ‘scoop’, which is an exclusive story. No one in China had any idea about John Lennon and the Beatles. So, had it been for Arthur’s diligent reporting, we probably wouldn’t have found out until our return to home.
Tragically, Arthur died the following year in a skiing accident. He was a passionate skier, so at least ended his life, albeit far too early, doing what he loved. Whenever I hear John Lennon’s wonderful song, Imagine – which became the anthem in commemoration of his death – I always think fondly of Arthur Sandals.
Tonight I leave for a long trip Sumatra. No doubt, I will be humming the tune of Imagine while on my flight, thinking of John Lennon and Arthur Sandals. May they both rest in peace.
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
He was only 40 years old when so cruelly shot while walking with his wife, Yoko Ono. It is therefore difficult to imagine him as an elderly man. I still see him with his long black hair and round tinted glasses making a peace sign. It therefore comes as quite a shock to realise how time flies. The older I get, the more frequently I experience this sensation.
It was as if it were yesterday that I heard the shocking news of his assassination. Your grandma Veronica and I were on a trip to China. Her father, your great grandfather Alan Kennard, told us about a travel trade mission to Hong Kong, Beijing and Chengde onto which we somehow managed to wangle our way. It included an amazing train journey from Beijing to this isolated city where people had never seen westerners before and gawked at us with fascination. On this journey we shared a compartment with two British travel writers, Roger Bray of the London Evening Standard and Arthur Sandals of the Financial Times. We got to know them well.
Being a journalist, Arthur was a news freak and carried a short wave radio with him, which was the only way to listen to the BBC World Service in those days. He would summarise the news of the day and read his own new bulletins to the group during lunch and dinner. We were sitting on his table, and before he stood up to read to deliver this particular bulletin, he rather tantalisingly told your grandmother and I that he had a big news story, but refused to tell us what it was.
With his well-rounded BBC voice, he stood up and delivered the breathtaking news that John Lennon had been fatally shot outside of the Dakota building, just a block away from Central Park West where he lived. We were all absolutely dumbfounded. Arthur truly had what in journalistic parlance is called a ‘scoop’, which is an exclusive story. No one in China had any idea about John Lennon and the Beatles. So, had it been for Arthur’s diligent reporting, we probably wouldn’t have found out until our return to home.
Tragically, Arthur died the following year in a skiing accident. He was a passionate skier, so at least ended his life, albeit far too early, doing what he loved. Whenever I hear John Lennon’s wonderful song, Imagine – which became the anthem in commemoration of his death – I always think fondly of Arthur Sandals.
Tonight I leave for a long trip Sumatra. No doubt, I will be humming the tune of Imagine while on my flight, thinking of John Lennon and Arthur Sandals. May they both rest in peace.
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
Sunday, 10 October 2010
10/10/10
Today is 10/10/10, an interesting numeric date.
It's another beautiful day here in Prague, with clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine. Although it's only 8 degrees celcuis, but a lovely crisp autumn day.
This evening I will leave for Asia again. This time, I wil first fly to Bangkok and then to Kuala Lumpar, where will stay the night. I have never been to KL before, so I will be sure to make the most of my night in the Malaysian capital.
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
It's another beautiful day here in Prague, with clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine. Although it's only 8 degrees celcuis, but a lovely crisp autumn day.
This evening I will leave for Asia again. This time, I wil first fly to Bangkok and then to Kuala Lumpar, where will stay the night. I have never been to KL before, so I will be sure to make the most of my night in the Malaysian capital.
Grandpa Jonathan
Prague, Czech Republic
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