I really enjoyed this interview with book blogger Teena Raffa-Mulligan
http://intheirownwrite.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/meet-nichola-hunter/
Friday 6 December 2013
Thursday 5 December 2013
Another one of my travel articles previously published on Travelroads.
The "tear stain" with the culprit? on top of the world. by Nichola Hunter
At 3pm on Saturday outside the Notre Dame Cathedral, the statue of the virgin reportedly began to cry. The once imposing square, dwarfed these days by a shimmering glass department store, filled up steadily as evening fell. By 10 pm, all the surrounding roads and footpaths were waist-deep in idling motorbikes, and you had to wade through them to get to the statue.
There certainly was a slivery substance gleaming from the right eye of the statue, all the way down the right cheek and stopping underneath the chin. Small bands of people were muttering prayers and hymns with the discreet religious fervor characteristic in communist countries, while scores of others were demonstrating Saigon’s newfound prosperity by taking pictures with their mobile phones. The police had arrived, standing around on the corners and looking uncomfortable. In fact the government still has a very uneasy relationship with religious orders in Vietnam and has been monitoring the event carefully since it began.
Sunday morning saw more people arriving, and all roads blocked off to the square. The cold light of day also revealed the "teardrop” to be the unmistakable colour and texture of bird shit. This did not detract from the enthusiasm of the crowd, which grew to around 1,000 by midday. People were calmouring to touch the statue and waving flowers and singing. As emotions stepped up, the story grew. “She was crying from both eyes yesterday,” one spectator said. An official from the Canadian embassy had reportedly seen the statue begin to cry from the embassy building across from the square – a miracle in itself given the time of day and the distance from the building to the square.
By early afternoon, the vendors had moved in selling dried bananas, balloons and ice cream. “The tear” had turned into “the stain” and people stood around in the rain marveling that the substance changed colour when it got wet. Monday saw the stain, but not the crowds. They were beginning to disappear and instead of wading through motorbikes, it was people waving Mary photographs for sale. The head of the Catholic Church Father Huynh Cong Minh issued a statement that the tears were merely from standing exposed to the elements without being cleaned.
The selling of the Mary photographs was banned within hours, and Tuesday saw one family of poor vendors being dragged off by police. The road reopened to traffic, and wardens, called in to keep the motorbikes away from the believers, were blowing whistles in a kind of mad 12 tone scale. A van with a megaphone circled the area sending a constant shrill message for people to “go home where you will be safe from thieves who will take your mobile phones and wallets.”
The serene, beautiful face of the Madonna with its disappearing “teardrop” looked down through the clouds of exhaust fumes on the noisiest place a miracle has ever taken place.
Religion is one place where the communist government doesn’t know best, although they maintain strict controls over official church appointments and all religious material must be approved by the government before distribution.
Vietnam has eight million Catholics in its population of more than 82 million, the second largest Catholic community in Asia after the Philippines.
The Vatican and Vietnam still have no diplomatic relations.
October 29 2005
Vietnam Crying Out for Religious Freedom?
The "tear stain" with the culprit? on top of the world. by Nichola Hunter
At 3pm on Saturday outside the Notre Dame Cathedral, the statue of the virgin reportedly began to cry. The once imposing square, dwarfed these days by a shimmering glass department store, filled up steadily as evening fell. By 10 pm, all the surrounding roads and footpaths were waist-deep in idling motorbikes, and you had to wade through them to get to the statue.
There certainly was a slivery substance gleaming from the right eye of the statue, all the way down the right cheek and stopping underneath the chin. Small bands of people were muttering prayers and hymns with the discreet religious fervor characteristic in communist countries, while scores of others were demonstrating Saigon’s newfound prosperity by taking pictures with their mobile phones. The police had arrived, standing around on the corners and looking uncomfortable. In fact the government still has a very uneasy relationship with religious orders in Vietnam and has been monitoring the event carefully since it began.
Sunday morning saw more people arriving, and all roads blocked off to the square. The cold light of day also revealed the "teardrop” to be the unmistakable colour and texture of bird shit. This did not detract from the enthusiasm of the crowd, which grew to around 1,000 by midday. People were calmouring to touch the statue and waving flowers and singing. As emotions stepped up, the story grew. “She was crying from both eyes yesterday,” one spectator said. An official from the Canadian embassy had reportedly seen the statue begin to cry from the embassy building across from the square – a miracle in itself given the time of day and the distance from the building to the square.
By early afternoon, the vendors had moved in selling dried bananas, balloons and ice cream. “The tear” had turned into “the stain” and people stood around in the rain marveling that the substance changed colour when it got wet. Monday saw the stain, but not the crowds. They were beginning to disappear and instead of wading through motorbikes, it was people waving Mary photographs for sale. The head of the Catholic Church Father Huynh Cong Minh issued a statement that the tears were merely from standing exposed to the elements without being cleaned.
The selling of the Mary photographs was banned within hours, and Tuesday saw one family of poor vendors being dragged off by police. The road reopened to traffic, and wardens, called in to keep the motorbikes away from the believers, were blowing whistles in a kind of mad 12 tone scale. A van with a megaphone circled the area sending a constant shrill message for people to “go home where you will be safe from thieves who will take your mobile phones and wallets.”
The serene, beautiful face of the Madonna with its disappearing “teardrop” looked down through the clouds of exhaust fumes on the noisiest place a miracle has ever taken place.
Religion is one place where the communist government doesn’t know best, although they maintain strict controls over official church appointments and all religious material must be approved by the government before distribution.
Vietnam has eight million Catholics in its population of more than 82 million, the second largest Catholic community in Asia after the Philippines.
The Vatican and Vietnam still have no diplomatic relations.
October 29 2005
Sunday 24 November 2013
Breakfast in Nirvana
Today I'm leaving Indonesia and Islam and posting an article that I wrote for The Australian some years ago..jpg)
Breakfast in Nirvana: 10 Days in a Thai Monastery
Are you the sort of person who really likes getting bossed around? Do you like
getting up at 4am? How about eating a kind of tasteless vegetarian glue twice a
day? Wooden neck-pillows? Serious lectures from virgins about the evils of
sexual pleasure?
Wat Suan Mok monastery is about 70 years old and famous in Thailand and
internationally for its vipassana (clear sight) meditation retreats. It is
surrounded by rainforest, hot springs and rice fields. Bhikkhu Buddhadhasa, the
founder of Suan Mok, is a respected figure locally and internationally. His
monastery is said to reflect the form of Buddhism practised by the earliest
disciples more than 2,500 years ago. I’m about to step off the train from
Bangkok and take a trip back in time.
Not your standard tourist attraction, the famous retreats are silent (you can’t
speak for ten days) and open to people of all or no religions. The retreats are
run by the monks, with assistance from some volunteers from various western
countries. I am personally not particularly interested in Buddhism. I’ve just
come here because I really need some peace and quiet – but I’m prepared to keep
an open mind and listen…..or am I?
Welcome to Day One
4am Rise on bell
4.30am Listen to a reading
5.30 – 7am Yoga
7-8am Breakfast (you can’t taste it at all)
By 10 am it definitely feels like bedtime. A very old, wise, lovely monk comes
to give us a lecture. He is obviously an important and respected man and has
among his credentials the experience of having lived alone in a cave for nine
years. I think he probably has a lot of useful things to say. Unfortunately
this monk taught himself English and I can’t understand one word he is saying.
By Day 8, I’ll be literally shaking with boredom and frustration when he begins
to speak (he speaks for an hour, twice a day). After the talk there’s
meditation and another talk, and meditation, and another talk and meditation –
and there’s another silent, gloomy meal in there somewhere. Everyone looking
like dejected, red-eyed sheep at the table. The bed is a concrete slab and they
turn the lights out and lock you in at 9.30.
I’m not sure I can do this.
Day 2
The same as Day One.
Day 3
The same as Day Two. Unless this is Day Two. No. I was wearing a different
shirt. I am beginning to understand how a snail feels.
Day 4
… is definitely different. I’ve slept in and someone’s trying to get into my
room.
“Please go outside.”
“I didn’t hear the bell.”
“You didn’t listen.”
Rolling off the concrete slab to confront the voice of trite authority is an
ugly moment. I am suddenly wildly angry and realize that I’ve been getting
bossed around and having my privacy violated and sleep interrupted for three
days. I’m all hunched up like a baby bird and I’d murder a cup of coffee if I
could get one. It’s pre-dawn in the forest – quiet and black. Stumbling down to
the hall where the others are already sitting on their cushions on the concrete
floor. I can’t find my cushions and I’m convinced that the smug German girl
with the paisley headband has stolen them. This is a morning so unbearable and
ridiculous that I can’t believe I’m not dreaming.
7am – Meditation – The sun is a huge orange disc over the coconut trees.
Something has happened. I’m breathing and listening and watching and I can feel
the golden roundness of every moment rising and falling away. My body is
radiating and the morning is pure and beautiful. I can feel the exchange of
energy between my body and the entire world, it seems. The rest of the retreat
will be like this – one moment frustrated to fever pitch, the next profoundly
calm and radiant. A human yo-yo.
Day 5
A cadaverous looking English monk comes to speak. He speaks English, which is a
great relief, and he’s very witty and entertaining until he starts to talk
about the dangers of sexual desire. (We’ve heard a lot about that already and
as I’m only a week out of a torrid holiday romance, I’m not convinced.) He
suddenly sounds angry. He gets a bit worked up and starts to sputter:
“Sex is for procreation only – otherwise it’s just like mutual masturbation –
and we all know where that leads!!!”
Where does it lead, I wonder. To blindness? Diabetes? A nasty rash?
Then he switches the subject to food and suddenly I’m dreaming about sex and
bacon and egg sandwiches.
Day 6
Reading – yoga – meditation - lecture from the incomprehensible monk -
meditation - not bacon and eggs – lecture from the monk who doesn’t like us to
have sex – red eyed sheep eating glue…
Day 7
Every evening we are asked to send loving kindness to the leader of our
country. In fact sending loving kindness to any of the current political
leaders is the tallest order I’ve had so far. Ok – I’ve promised not to read,
write, talk to anyone, masturbate (alone or with a friend) , kill mosquitoes ,
wear perfume or use toilet paper. But you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
Day 8
Today I actually jump the fence and escape into the forest. After a few minutes
I come across two completely naked men in a hot spring. Their clothes and a
packet of cigarettes are on a stone bench nearby. Could these people be the
spirit elves of the forest? Or a mirage set up by the monastery to tempt me? I
ask for a cigarette in tourist Thai and they answer just like normal, courteous
men would if a mirage in mint-green meditation trousers stepped out from behind
a tree an asked for a cigarette.
“Would you like to join us?”
“Better not.”
Day 9
Things are breaking down a little. Several people have left and there have been
wild rains, thunder, lightning, some small fish throwing themselves out of the
lake by accident and trying to walk back on their fins. There seems to be a
message in there somewhere. Some people have already started talking and I want
them to stop. Tomorrow is really there, although they keep trying to tell us
it’s an illusion.
Day 10
I’ve made it. Today we can go. I’m walking down the lane with this bloke called
Harry from Adelaide, who’s telling me about the current “situation” with his
wife. It’s like exiting from a dream into a world of lost children. This whole
thing has been such an incredible struggle with discomfort, tiredness, boredom,
my own very strong dislike of being bossed around. It’s only when I get back to
Chai Ya that I notice it. The quiet that I seem to have taken with me like an
extra piece of weightless luggage, in place of a whole lot of angry noise left
behind.
Some useful tips for meditators that I picked up on the retreat:
• If you find yourself falling asleep, beat yourself with a stick.
• You can overcome lust by looking at pictures of decaying corpses
• It is important to sit in a way that is both stable and secure, so that when the mind becomes semi-conscious, you do not fall over.
Wednesday 20 November 2013
We interrupt this broadcast....
Today I want to post my review of fellow authonomy author, Kevin Bergeron.I was expecting his novel, In a Cat's Eye to be good, but not quite this good. Below is my review which I posted on good reads and Amazon. All hail Kevin!
Stunning Writing
What a beautiful, poignant story. Vaguely reminiscent of John Steinbeck but more subtle. The narrative voice is flawless and the blend of humour and sadness expertly handled. The characters in this story are down and outs - thieves, hookers, users, crazy, or just plain mean. The main character, simple-minded Willy, is adrift among them, one step away from returning to jail, with no real purpose or guide and no direction. The murder of a woman at the hotel has him hunting for evidence, in the form of a statue of the Madonna. In this seemingly lost world the statue shines out as a symbol of simple human kindness. This book was hard to put down. Beautifully constructed and, I think, heading for the bestseller list.Monday 18 November 2013
Indonesia and democracy – is it growing stronger?
A friend has recently returned from Jakarta, the setting for
Ramadan Sky. He reports that new grand shopping malls have eclipsed the ones
from just a few years ago and that, surprisingly, he didn’t see any beggars on
the streets. (He did not go to Kuningan, though, and was only there for a few
days. The skyline is still smoggy and it takes hours to go anywhere. The traffic
still crawls along like a drunken millipede and it is hot and muggy as ever.
One very noticeable and encouraging thing is the growing
rise of union strikes which are happening with regularity. October 31st
this year saw a two-day nationwide strike in Indonesia, with unions expressing
their dissatisfaction with the rising cost of living. This year minimum wages
have risen, but inflation is .offsetting the benefits of this. Nevertheless, the
workers are getting a voice. The papers are reporting the strikes. The people
are growing stronger.
Sunday 17 November 2013
Where does the money go?
This morning, at home in Australia, I’m reading the latest
on a disagreement between the Bali wage council and the unions on the minimum
wage for workers in Indonesia. According to the Bali Daily, the Bali Wage Council has set the minimum wage at 1.4
million Rp (about $130 AUD) and is now waiting for approval from the governor.
The Independent workers Federation wants it to be raised to 1.7 to 2.1 million
($160 – 200 AUD).
Something doesn’t sit right--negotiations over $70 per
worker per month going on while these huge planes arrive, from the bellies of
which emerge millions of tourists every year. They will spend more than
$70 per day on having drinks and seafood
served up to them, luxuriating in spas and shopping for fake or real designer
clothes, and locally crafted jewellery. Where does all the tourism money
go? We Aussies with our sunburn, pot
bellies, thongs and Bintang t-shirts are an odd-looking global aristocracy,
haggling over goods in the markets and shops of Kuta. I don’t know what the
answer is, or even the question sometimes, but reading this Bali Daily report this morning as I
think about my upcoming Christmas trip to Bali, my toast isn’t going down as
well as usual. In the great land of the fair go are we becoming anesthetised to
global inequity?
Friday 15 November 2013
Thursday 14 November 2013
Wednesday 13 November 2013
Drink stand in Lombok
From Ramadan Sky:
I have seen women wearing beautiful headscarves in other countries, but here most of them are a cross between a nun’s habit and a baseball cap. They are hideously peaked and righteously functional and I hate them. I hate the frilly do-up-to-the-chin shirts. I hate the complete lack of sensuality that the women here are forced to display.
Hunter, Nichola (2013-09-26). Ramadan Sky (Kindle Locations 721-724). HarperCollins Publishers. Kindle Edition.
Some Muslim women in Indonesia manage to look very stylish in spite of the dress code. This is the most striking outfit that I saw in Indonesia in the two years that I lived there. ..
Sunday 10 November 2013
Saturday 2 November 2013
aangirfan: BLACK MAGIC IN THE WORLD'S LARGEST MOSLEM COUNTRY
aangirfan: BLACK MAGIC IN THE WORLD'S LARGEST MOSLEM COUNTRY: Indonesia Black magic has long existed in the USA and Europe. On 14 January 2012 the Sydney Morning Herald reports on Indonesia's f...
Friday 1 November 2013
Wednesday 30 October 2013
2013
lovely review from eyes2c....
lovely review from eyes2c....
...a unique and fascinating read
Ramadan Sky a novella by Nichola Hunter
A compelling look into one disaffected Australian woman's journey to modern day Jakarta as an ESL teacher.
Surrounded by peoples of different values and culture, and weird expats who seem like runaways from their own culture, which they now would have difficulty returning to, Victoria's story is told in colourful prose with a delicate turn of phrase. One can feel the heat rising from the pavements of Jakarta and smell the heavy mix of spices and motorbike fumes.
Underneath the story lurks questions about behaviour in and acceptance of other cultures, about inter-racial relationships and cultural mores.
Told from the viewpoint of the three main characters, Victoria or Vic the older Australian ESL teacher, Fajar a young Indonesian Muslim man from a poor background, and Aryanti his Muslim girlfriend.
Aryanti tells Fajar she can't marry him after he loses his job.
Vic hires Fajar to be her driver. They have an affair that brings it's own hazards and disapprovals. Vic reflects on Fajar entering into her world in simple ways, like going to restaurants despite the disapproval of his fellow Indonesians, who in a glance can sum up his social status, and how stoically Fajar confronts these moments.
Meanwhile Aryanti resorts to magic to win back Fajar.
Fascinating glimpses of the swings between belief in the magic of Aryanti's village heritage and Muslim faith are brought into play. As is the difference between the culture's behaviour according to gender, the way people in a community borrow money from each other, and how a life of poverty is a very real thing for so many. The difference between the lives of the poor and the very wealthy is exposed.
At one stage Vic comments about Fajar, 'It is only youth that can outshine poverty.'
There is a transient quality to the story reflecting the short moment in time that is represented, a suspension in some way of reality for all involved. Yet a moment that will have marked effects on all three lives long after it's passed.
As Fajar comments, 'The beginning of change is a narrow lane way that opens like magic onto a large field of rice.'
A NetGalley ARC
Surrounded by peoples of different values and culture, and weird expats who seem like runaways from their own culture, which they now would have difficulty returning to, Victoria's story is told in colourful prose with a delicate turn of phrase. One can feel the heat rising from the pavements of Jakarta and smell the heavy mix of spices and motorbike fumes.
Underneath the story lurks questions about behaviour in and acceptance of other cultures, about inter-racial relationships and cultural mores.
Told from the viewpoint of the three main characters, Victoria or Vic the older Australian ESL teacher, Fajar a young Indonesian Muslim man from a poor background, and Aryanti his Muslim girlfriend.
Aryanti tells Fajar she can't marry him after he loses his job.
Vic hires Fajar to be her driver. They have an affair that brings it's own hazards and disapprovals. Vic reflects on Fajar entering into her world in simple ways, like going to restaurants despite the disapproval of his fellow Indonesians, who in a glance can sum up his social status, and how stoically Fajar confronts these moments.
Meanwhile Aryanti resorts to magic to win back Fajar.
Fascinating glimpses of the swings between belief in the magic of Aryanti's village heritage and Muslim faith are brought into play. As is the difference between the culture's behaviour according to gender, the way people in a community borrow money from each other, and how a life of poverty is a very real thing for so many. The difference between the lives of the poor and the very wealthy is exposed.
At one stage Vic comments about Fajar, 'It is only youth that can outshine poverty.'
There is a transient quality to the story reflecting the short moment in time that is represented, a suspension in some way of reality for all involved. Yet a moment that will have marked effects on all three lives long after it's passed.
As Fajar comments, 'The beginning of change is a narrow lane way that opens like magic onto a large field of rice.'
A NetGalley ARC
Monday 23 September 2013
Ramadan Sky is available on Amazon from September 26
The small, grimy alleys of Jakarta are home to many children whose parents scratch out a living there.
Seeing these children helped me to create the character of the young boy, Fajar, whose fortunes follow the precarious path of urban poverty.
http://www.amazon.com/Ramadan-Sky-ebook/dp/B00DAK6US8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1379944224&sr=8-1&keywords=nichola+hunter
Seeing these children helped me to create the character of the young boy, Fajar, whose fortunes follow the precarious path of urban poverty.
http://www.amazon.com/Ramadan-Sky-ebook/dp/B00DAK6US8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1379944224&sr=8-1&keywords=nichola+hunter
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