Fear, the jungle and a randy headhunter can be a devil of a concoction when it comes to trying to sleep.”
“Eleven months ago I had been quietly under-preparing for my trip. The thought of being a headhunter’s sexual playmate had taken up precious little of my time.
Sumba is an island adrift, a castaway from the modern world. Here, priests predict the fate of sick children through the entrails of slaughtered chickens, colossal megaliths house the dead and headhunting is remembered by the living.”
I have had many romanticized visions of my death, often it comes while defending the honour of vestal virgins, whatever the hell they might be. But death by soup is not a heroic way to die and definitely not how I pictured it.
Silence, solitude and sunset. A rare and elusive alchemy. In the wondrous and mystical setting of ancient Bagan, they formed a soothing balm for my soul. The world’s largest collection of stupas and pagodas sprinkled the skyline below and beyond me. Tiny honeycombs and vast temples stood side by side and took their silent and timeless place.