Sunday 7 December – Yesterday I arrived in Manila, the Philippines, a day or two ahead of Typhoon Hagupit (known locally as Ruby). Looking out to sea from UNICEF’s office on the 30th floor of RCBC Plaza, there’s no sign yet of the typhoon. There’s even a narrow band of sunlight on the horizon. But everyone knows that it’s coming.
I was in Papua in March to document the issues facing children in one of the most remote and mountainous regions on Earth. With few roads and no horses, there is only one way for most people to get around – on foot. Children often walk for hours to get to school each day, and we wanted to document that journey.
It was our second day in the highlands of Papua, after arriving and meeting Yumelina the day before (see part one of this blog). We got up at 5am and drove out towards the Baliem valley, which is in the heart of the Cyclops Mountains and had no contact with the outside world until after World War II.
In a ger tent in Ulziit, horse racing capital of Mongolia, 15-year-old former child jockey Budgarav rests on his crutches and adjusts the baseball cap on his head. Four years ago he was thrown from a horse during training and trampled, losing his front teeth and breaking both his legs. “It was very painful when I fell,” he says.
Along with Mongolia, Papua is one of the most remote places I’ve been with UNICEF. It’s a wild land of impenetrable jungles with deep valleys and high mountains disappearing into a perpetual ceiling of mist and cloud. Outside the towns, people still live a traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyle that has remained unchanged for centuries.
I’d previously been to Papua New Guinea, on the east side of the island, but didn’t have much chance to explore. This was mainly because violent is so rampant that you cannot safely walk the streets of Port Moresby, let alone wander off into the hills. I spent most of my time in a fortified office or hotel, or traveling between the two in a sturdy van with ‘UN’ painted on its roof in large blue letters so that it could be easily spotted from the air.
Two years ago, my honeymoon blog stalled in Luang Prabang, Laos. I returned to a busy work schedule, but it’s been at the back of my mind ever since to finish the story.
After leaving Luang Prabang, Joyce and I continued our overground trip by bus instead of boat. Our next stop was Vang Vieng, a beautiful riverside town backed by craggy cliffs that was somewhat spoilt by hordes of teenage backpackers getting drunk or high and ‘tubing’ down the river in tractor tyres. There were bars selling ‘happy meals’ laced with cannabis, and ‘super happy meals’ laced with opium. All this would have been fine on a party island like Ibiza, but felt somewhat inappropriate in rural Laos.
In Sri Lanka, the railroad is not just a track for trains. People build their homes along it, open shops on the sidings, and walk between the rails. This is what I was doing in November – walking along the train tracks to Ella Rock. Together with my friends Rob and Laura, I was on a hike high in the mountains of Sri Lanka’s central plateau. Our guide, Chamal, assured us that the train tracks were the best route. “No need to worry,” he said, noting our concern. “If the train comes we’ll hear it in plenty of time to get out of the way.”
I’ve been to many international conferences in my time and the word ‘fun’ doesn’t immediately spring to mind. But the 11th International Congress on AIDS in Asia and the Pacific (ICAAP), held in Bangkok, really was fun. This was largely because of the enthusiastic participation of young people and HIV activists from around the region.
On Sunday 5 October 2013, nearly 30,000 photographers – myself included – went on over 1,200 photo walks around the world. This is the Scott Kelby Worldwide Photo Walk, and it’s the largest social photography event in the world. After the walk, every photographer is asked to submit one photo for the award. Choosing a single photo was in itself a challenge, and I recruited my Facebook friends to help me decide.
The third and final stage of my Mongolia journey was perhaps the most challenging, with both highs (encountering a caravan of camels) and lows (staying in a horror movie hotel). We were planning to drive south from Tsagaan-Uur to Tarialan soum, but were warned that the ‘road’ had become impassable because of the rains. So we had to take a longer way round.
We passed some amazing sights along the way. We drove through woodland where the ground was sprinkled with brightly coloured spring flowers. When we came out into a meadow, it was so dense with flowers that the grass looked canary yellow instead of green. Later, we saw a large eagle that had just killed a rabbit. It moved along the track away from us, dragging its prey with one taloned foot. It spread its wing to fly but the rabbit was too heavy for it to take off. Given the choice, the bird stayed on the ground and slowly hopped out of view.
Look at a map of Khuvsgul and one feature will jump out at you – Khuvsgul Nuur, or lake. This is a massive 2,760 square kilometre body of water that stretches almost to the border with Siberia. It is the second largest in Asia and one of the oldest lakes in the world, being among just 17 that formed over two million years ago. Mongolians call it ‘ocean mother’ and revere it as the country’s main source of fresh water. It is famous for its clear, drinkable water and blue/green colour.
Beneath the Baobab 