WWII monument on Peleliu. Photo: Simon Sellars.

Originally published in Dynasty, China Airlines’ inflight magazine, August 2009.

Deep in the North Pacific ocean, 800km east of the Philippines and over 3000km south of Tokyo, lies the Republic of Palau. You may know it from the Survivor TV show, which filmed two series here, making full use of the archipelago’s beaches, lagoons, reefs and rock islands to put its contestants through survivalist hell. But secretly, you know those people had a great time, because Palau is possibly Micronesia’s most attractive destination – local myth even suggests it’s the ‘beginning of everything’. Certainly, it’s one of the world’s most spectacular diving and snorkelling spots, with coral reefs, war wrecks, hidden caves and tunnels, blue holes and numerous vertical drop-offs to explore. There’s also a wonderful array of marine life: coral, fish, rare sea critters, giant clams and a phantasmagorical lake populated by millions of softly pulsating, stingless jellyfish.

Palau also has the region’s richest plant and animal life: exotic birds and crocodiles in the mangrove swamps, striking flora in backyards. Plus the local people are friendly, and they love a good acronym. You’ll see these coded missives everywhere on signs, billboards and posters, like ‘W.A.V.E. – Welcome All Visitors Enthusiastically’ or ‘Know Your A.B.C. for Life! Abstinence. Be Faithful. Condomize’. You might find yourself playing this game, too. P.A.L.A.U., for example – could it be ‘Palau’s Archipelago: Lovely And Unique’, for the Republic is very diverse. It includes the capital Koror, a polyglot place with unusual culinary delights, like, er, fruit-bat pie. Southwest, the magical Rock Islands consist of a series of mushroom-shaped limestone islands dramatically undercut by erosion. Babeldaob, the second-largest island in Micronesia, derives its power from incredible waterfalls, traditional architecture and strange, alluring monoliths. Peleliu, once host to one of WWII’s worst conflicts, is now quiet and tranquil, while tiny Angaur, the coral atolls of Kayangel and Ngeruangel and the outlying South-West Islands (some 595km southwest from Koror) offer more remote pleasures.

Assuming that, like most visitors, you’ll only have limited time to island hop, Kayangel, Ngeruangel and the South-West Islands will be well out of reach. But there’s no excuse for not visiting the rest. Begin your stay in the capital, Koror State, which comprises Koror, Malakal and Arakabesang islands, all connected by causeways and forming Palau’s economic centre and cultural hub, home to two-thirds of the population. Here, histories mingle and cultures are borrowed, with many people coming from outlying villages to look for work, joining a steady stream of workers from the Philippines and elsewhere. Downtown Koror is a heady and vibrant place (with unbelievable traffic in peak period), but it’s not the definitive Palau experience … unless you’re after food. Indeed, Koror might well have Micronesia’s best cuisine. Mangrove crabs and shellfish are common menu items, as is the aforementioned fruit-bat pie, which tastes like chicken.

While Koror is not especially picturesque, the Rock Islands certainly are: many of the photos associated with Palau are taken here. The locals know these knobs of limestones, covered with jungle growth and rounded by the wind, as Chalbacheb. There are over 200 of them, a beautiful sight, spread out over a 32km expanse of water. Their bases have been stripped away by erosion, nibbling fish and tiny, scraping chitons, resulting in their surreal, trademark mushroom shapes. The islands are teeming with bird life and the waters around them are home to abundant varieties of marine creatures. Remarkably, there’s also four times as many coral species than in the Caribbean. Another outstanding feature is the 80 marine salt lakes, in varying colours due to algae infestation, each hosting a unique ecosystem. Jellyfish Lake is the best known, and snorkelling here should be number one on your list of priorities. The lake is filled with millions of transparent jellyfish, but don’t worry – they’ve lost their sting. Floating among these flimsy, pink creatures – which expand and contract like so many pulsating brains – is like exploring the atmosphere of an alien world: inspiring, uncanny and spiritual all at once. Don’t touch the jellyfish – they are really fragile – and don’t eat them. Certain tourists have been known to steal them away in bags to use in meals, but remember, these creatures have no natural predators, which is why they’re stingless, so don’t encourage them to develop their weaponry all over again. Other Rock Islands worth visiting include Carp and Neco, calm places with white-sand beaches that are perfect for snorkelling. The Milky Way cove is also popular – it’s actually white, limestone-sand emulsion, supposed to be great for the skin. For experienced divers, the Blue Corner is unmissable, with its bedazzling array of fish and abundant hard and soft corals. Novices should try the German Channel and Turtle Cove. The Ngemelis Wall, also known as the Big Drop-off, is reckoned to be the greatest wall dive in the world, dropping 300m from knee-deep water. There are also intriguing WWII wrecks dotted around the islands, including a half-submerged Japanese Zero fighter. The islands are uninhabited, meaning no hotels, but the camping is atmospheric and tremendous.

Babeldaob (or Babelthaup), joined to Koror by bridge, is huge – around three-quarters the size of Guam – but it’s sparsely populated, as most young people head to Koror for work. Ancient stone footpaths connect the villages, most of the roads are dirt (you’ll need to hire a 4WD), with no traffic lights, and the resorts of Koror may as well be a galaxy away. It’s like travelling back in time to Palau as it was in days gone by. Babeldaob is a mysterious place: at Ngarchelong in the north, there are enigmatic monoliths whose origin and purpose is unknown (save for various god theories). Found in an open field, these rows of four-foot-high basalt markers are known as Badrulchau. Babeldaob’s east coast has beautiful stretches of sandy beach, while the west coast’s shoreline is littered with mangroves and two very lovely waterfalls. The Ngatpang waterfall provides the easiest access, while Ngardmau is Micronesia’s tallest. A dip in the pools at the base of either is essential.

Peleliu, accessible by state boat from Koror, imparts a peaceful, easy feeling. There’s not much to do here, and often it will seem like you’re the only person around. Walking and exploring the jungle and war relics is an awesome, often humbling experience. In 1944 Peleliu was torn apart by one of WWII’s bloodiest battles: the island is just 13 sq km, but 15,000 men were killed here in two months and the forests and jungle were completely destroyed. Today, the greenery has regenerated, making for an eerie sensation should you chance upon a rusted pillbox or burnt-out tank hidden away. Even then, the experience is leavened by the whistles and songs of tropical birds thriving in the regenerated vines and leafy foliage, a cornucopia that has mostly healed the hideous battle scars of old. For divers, the Peleliu Wall is another fine wall dive, beginning in 3m of water but dropping an incredible 300m. White Beach, Bloody Beach and Honeymoon Beach are great for snorkelling. Finally, if time permits, visit serene Angaur, 11 kilometres southwest of Peleliu, where there’s also good diving.

Here are some advance details.

Later, I wrote Haystack reviews for my home town of Melbourne and for Palau, Yap and Guam. You can find them scattered in among here somewhere.

Here’s a sample review of mine:

THE PATHWAYS HOTEL, YAP
The Pathways Hotel is a special little place – a warm, welcoming and beautiful eco-resort. The hotel is a collection of free-standing cottages perched up in Colonia’s jungle-covered hills, balancing modern comforts with traditional Yapese aesthetics.

Each thatched cottage, built with native materials, features pleasant sitting verandas, many with a clear view of Chamorro Bay. The cottages are surrounded by lush greenery and are connected by elevated pathways that allow you to command all you survey; they also feature screened windows and have a pervading rustic appeal. The resort was knocked around by Supertyphoon Sudal in 2004 but has proved to be remarkably resilient, something for which we can all be thankful. The cottages have been restored to their former glory and only the traditional Yapese meeting house remains to be resurrected. Otherwise, all is shipshape for your travelling pleasure. There’s a wonderful courtyard restaurant and bar, as atmospheric as you might expect and full of bonhomie and wellbeing.

I followed the Micronations book with Micronesia: in late 2005 I travelled around the North Pacific for Lonely Planet. I visited Guam, Saipan, Rota, Tinian, Kosrae, Pohnpei, Yap and Palau and updated and rewrote their respective chapters for the South Pacific and Micronesia guidebook (56,000 words in total). I also wrote a Micronesia blog while I was on the road.

I’m only including excerpts from my introductory and special-subject material, rather than the accommodation and restaurant reviews or transport information I wrote.

Selected material by Simon Sellars from South Pacific and Micronesia , Lonely Planet Publications, September 2006.

GUAM (intro)
As Micronesia’s most populous island, Guam is about as ‘cosmopolitan’ as it gets, so it cops a lot of attitude from Pacific snobs who reckon it lacks ‘real island culture’. Sure, American accents are everywhere (it’s an unincorporated US territory and many Guamanian homes fly the US flag) and the Chamorro language isn’t really spoken anymore. And if you never stray from Tumon Bay – the island’s glitzy duty-free shopping and accommodation hub – then undeniably you’ll be over(or under)whelmed.

But the island is currently in the throes of retooling itself. The tourism authorities talk of how ‘Product Guam’ (there’s that American influence) needs a complete overhaul from its current status as a Pacific theme park for Japanese tourists. There may come a day soon when Chamorro culture (long-subsumed by various invasions and occupations) is promoted above all else, with an increased focus on local food and the fascinating stories underlying many of the villages.

You can do your bit by escaping Tumon, exposing yourself to the best of Guam, and then spreading the word. The island, although Micronesia’s largest, is small enough to explore in a day or two. The south is a must-see, with its rural kaleidoscope of sleepy, historical villages, stunning waterfalls and pristine beaches. The north is mainly taken up by the US military’s Andersen Base, but even so it still contains Ritidian Point, a simply sublime stretch of coast featuring swaying palms, azure water, and golden sands.

Along the way, chat to the proud locals who are working hard to restore their culture and you’ll unearth a genuine community with a warm and welcoming attitude towards outsiders.

Box Text: How Not to Build A Local Film Industry

Guam has had a few brushes with the film world, but for all the wrong reasons.

No Man Is An Island (1962), although filmed in the Philippines, tells the true story of George Tweed, a US Navy radioman who hid in a cave on Guam during the Japanese occupation, assisted by the local Chamorro people. The film plays fast and loose with the facts and is generally considered to be a pretty hackneyed and useless affair.

In the 1980s, sometime actor (and fulltime loudmouth) Courtney Love put Guam in the headlines, making a big noise about having to work on the island as a stripper to support herself after she didn’t get the part of Nancy in Sid and Nancy (1986). ‘Courtney – spare us’, an entire island state cried.

Then in 1998 the island was all set to host its first Hollywood production, Guam on the Moon, a comedy about a wealthy industrialist who planned to put Guam on the map by privately funding trips to the moon. Ominously, the production fell through and the project has been in development hell ever since.

2001 saw the release of Arachnid, a low-budget schlocker about a man who arrives at a clinic on Guam covered in bizarre bite marks. When investigators travel to the island he came from, their plane crashes and they become stranded in a forest festooned with killer spiders from outer space. The film sank without trace.

It gets worse. In 2005, Max Havoc: Curse of the Dragon was released, partly funded by a $1 million loan from Guam’s government in the hopes that the film would kick-start a new wave of tourism and possibly a local film industry. Many ‘chocolate-box’ scenes are shot on the island, but the film – about a traumatised, retired martial artist who finds the strength to fight again – is beyond stink and has been panned by anyone unfortunate enough to have seen it. More disturbingly, there are allegations that the entire production was a scam, with latest reports suggesting that the producer has defaulted on the loan.

NORTHERN MARIANAS ISLANDS: Saipan, Rota, Tinian (intro)

The Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands is currently undergoing massive change as its fiscally challenged capital Saipan painfully comes to terms with the loss of its lucrative Japanese tour market. But travel trends come and go; the charm of the islands endures. It’s therefore your mission, should you accept it, to seek out the best of the CNMI.

At first glance, Saipan can seem like a package-tour nightmare, a place where Chamorro culture has devolved, tour buses constantly patrol the sights and solitude seems hard to come by. But catch the island at the right time and at the right angle (in the right place) and you’ll be rewarded with some poignant experiences: flame trees in bloom; melancholy historical sights; turquoise waters and white sands; fine diving and snorkelling.

At some stage, you will need respite, though, and that’s waiting just south of Saipan in the form of Tinian. This is a somniferous island, tiny in size but claiming a mighty chapter in world history: American B-29s flew from here to drop the atomic bomb on Japan. Tinian, for the most part, has escaped major development (although it does have an ostentatious casino) and its natural charms remain intact, like lovely beaches and rewarding hikes.

But the real jewel in the CNMI chain is beautiful Rota. Actually, Rota is the Diamond Tiara of the Marianas, the crowning glory, an island punctuated by a hilly interior, small farms, good spring water, enough deer to maintain a hunting season and fiery orange sunsets that light the evening skies. And a more friendly place you’d be hard pressed to find; by the time you’ve finished with Rota, your arm will be sore from waving and your heart will be sore from having to leave.

FEDERATED STATES OF MICRONESIA: Kosrae, Pohnpei, Chuuk and Yap (intro)

Often referred to as ‘Micronesia’, people assume that the Federated States of Micronesia (or FSM) is simply another island agglomeration, like the CNMI perhaps, with a shared cultural identity. Yet the ‘FSM’ tag is an arbitrary construct, lumping together the four unique states of Kosrae, Pohnpei, Chuuk and Yap; about the only element they share is a history of oppression and occupation under various colonial powers.

In actuality, the four states have distinctive cultures, traditions and identities, as colourful and as diverse as the multitudes of coral formations that live in their fringing reefs. Chuuk is renowned for its wreck diving, an underwater WWII ‘museum’ rightly hailed among the world’s ultimate aquatic experiences; Yap is the most traditional state, proudly resisting the onslaught of Western mores with true island spirit; Kosrae is a Pacific paradise, possibly the FSM’s most beautiful island; while Pohnpei is home to deeply mysterious, ancient ruins and a plethora of lush landforms.

Travellers looking to experience a variety of lifestyles are in luck. Kosrae is home to a race of true believers; it’s a state where everything shuts down on Sunday, with full focus given to vibrant all-singing, all dancing church ceremonies (with a relaxed island twist, naturally). Yap’s people retain their ancient culture, their skills, their architecture, their customs, their religions, their gigantic stone money…it’s an eternally fascinating place. Pohnpei retains its system of chiefs and clan titles, a distant style of governance that still exerts significant social and political influence. Then there’s misunderstood Chuuk; although the island is just starting to come to terms with international tourism, the uncompromising nature of the Chuukese still holds firm.

If you can’t find something to expand your worldview in the FSM, check your pulse.

Box text: Four Cups of Sakau and a Pack of Feral Dogs

As a travel writer, my job is to research local culture. So in Pohnpei I did what Pohnpeians do – I got bent; I drank sakau.
Sakau is made from Piper methysticum, the roots of a pepper shrub; it’s like kava from Fiji or Vanuatu, only much stronger. In ancient times, the drinking of sakau had religious significance and it was usually only consumed when the high chief was present.

At Kolonia’s Jungle Bar, a real mellow, open-air bar I ordered sakau and was given what looked like a mud milkshake.
I took in the scene. By the pool table, old and young men sat quietly, watching a game in progress. There was no real conversation; everyone was calm and still. Every five minutes or so a young guy would appear and offer each man the sakau bowl in turn. I loved the communal aspect of this ritual, but felt wistful that I wouldn’t be able to join in.

After a short while, the young lady who’d served me came over.

‘Your first time with sakau? I’ll show you. It’s simple; just close your eyes when you drink…’

I did and I discovered that sakau has a clammy consistency from the hibiscus, not as gritty as mud, but close. But it wasn’t too unpleasant.

We chatted for a while; I finished my cup and ordered another. Sakau is a real creeper; my tongue and lips went numb and I began to feel benevolence and wellbeing. All the stresses of my trip melted away as I sat there listening to the trippy reggae on the sound system. My new friend told me the band was Black Shadow, from Chuuk. No drums, just loping bass runs and fuzzed-out guitar, with a mournful, high-voiced man singing over the top. We agreed it was perfect for sakau.

On the third cup, just like the guys around the pool table, I fell into silent contemplation. Further conversation seemed unnecessary; I felt like I could read minds.

FW Christian, who researched Nan Madol in the 1890s, wrote that ‘after four cups of sakau, one leg struggles south while the other is marching due north’; I was on my fourth cup when I decided to leave. Like Christian, I was soon to test the duality of man: my body went one way, my mind another.

I got completely lost trying to find my way back to the hotel, following what was supposed to be a simple, 20-minute route. It took me an hour to get home; I ended up in Porakiet Village at 1am, with puzzled locals wondering what the hell I was doing out so late.

I couldn’t explain; I didn’t ask directions because I had this powerful determination to get myself home, to try and solve the dilemma of why I was lost. That single-minded focus was from the sakau, I think, which was great, but the fuzzy logic was also from the sakau, so there was a trade-off.

Then the inevitable pack of feral dogs chased me, before a flash storm almost flattened me to the ground and washed me away. I gave up and asked a kind lady the way home.

Back at the hotel, I looked at a map and saw that I’d walked past the turnoff to my place at least four times, going around in circles. Sakau, it would seem, fries the most basic neurological functions.

When I woke the next morning, it was from the deepest sleep – like I’d been buried alive.

And that’s sakau. Nothing more to say, really.

PALAU (intro)

The Republic of Palau is inimitable. Most tourists who come here like to spend their time underwater, for Palau is among the world’s most spectacular diving and snorkelling destinations. It features coral reefs, blue holes, WWII wrecks, hidden caves and tunnels, and more than 60 vertical drop-offs to play with, plus an astonishing spectrum of coral, fish, rare sea creatures, and some outright miracles of evolution: giant clams that weigh a quarter of a ton, for example; a lake teeming with 21 million softly pulsating, stingless jellyfish.

But you don’t have to get wet to enjoy Palau. On land the republic embraces Micronesia’s richest flora and fauna: exotic birds fly around the islands, crocodiles slip through the mangrove swamps, and orchids sprout profusely in backyards.

The Palauan archipelago is incredibly diverse, encompassing the polyglot state of Koror; the marvellous Rock Islands; Micronesia’s second largest island, Babeldaob (the land that Pacific Standard time forgot); Peleliu, once war ravaged, now just ravishing; tranquil, tiny Angaur; the coral atolls of Kayangel and Ngeruangel; and the remote South-West Islands.

Toss into the mix some of Micronesia’s most sociable (and responsible) people, and it’s no surprise that parts of Palau are known as the ‘beginning of everything’, a template the rest of the world would do well to follow.

About that responsibility: Palauans love a good, socially aware acronym, and you can see them everywhere on signs and billboards, like ‘W.A.V.E. – Welcome All Visitors Enthusiastically’ or ‘S.T.A.R.S. – Start Treating Alcohol Related Symptoms’.

You might find yourself playing this game, too. And perhaps you’ll come to the same conclusion we did, that the name of this country is itself an acronym; namely, ‘Palau’s Archipelago: Lovely And Unique’.

by Simon Sellars

Originally published on Sleepy Brain 19 December 2005.

In late 2005 I travelled around the North Pacific on assignment for Lonely Planet. I visited the islands of Yap, Kosrae, Guam, Pohnpei, Rota, Tinian, Saipan and Palau and had the most marvellous time. The fruits of that research were published in Lonely Planet’s South Pacific & Micronesia guidebook, but I also maintained a blog while away. I’ve reproduced my favourite entry below, detailing my time on Yap.

Yap is the most traditional island in Micronesia. Some men still get around in loincloth; women often walk around topless. And everyone chews betel nut, a centuries-old tradition that is stronger than ever.

When my plane landed at Yap ‘airport’ (such as it is; the terminal is about as big as my head), I looked for my hotel driver but all I could see was a huge mob of people (mainly children), all laughing, joking and pointing at the silver lump that had just landed (yes, I know my hair is getting greyer by the minute, but I mean the plane). Then a mob of kids encircled me, their tiny hands touching mine and their high-pitched laughter ringing the air. I felt off balance and had a vision of being whisked away by these little demigods, like Richard Dreyfuss was at the end of Close Encounters. Before that could happen, though, my way was blocked by a hefty guy, who opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey, man…”

He paused to spit out something crimson red.

Ptooie!

Was it blood? His teeth were whittled down to black stubs and his lips and tongue were redder than blood.

“Where you going?” he said.

Betel-nut saliva, Yap (photo: Simon Sellars).

I told him the name of my hotel and he found the driver for me, and everyone turned out to be very warm and welcoming. All the same, this bloke’s appearance still threw me, even though I knew he’d been chewing betel nut. Betel nut is actually the seed of the betel palm and what you do is you split it open, sprinkle some dry coral lime onto it, warp it in a pepper leaf and maybe some tobacco, and then chew. It makes your mouth go red (and, for long-term users, rots your teeth) and gives you a vague, relaxed high. (Did I try it? Of course I did; but that’s for later). When European contact was first made with Yap, it was assumed that the Yapese were suffering from some kind of plague, or typhoid, and were constantly throwing up blood. More superstitious types brought out the crucifixes and garlic cloves.

But a more welcoming group of people you’d be hard-pressed to find. Yapese are shy around newcomers but intensely proud of their heritage and fiercely determined to fight the onslaught of Americana that has swept through most of the other islands. They are taking steps to control tourism and they are trying hard to deal with their garbage problem, whether it’s cultural or landfill.

Yap has a wonderful history, brought into sharp relief by Sebastian, a guide at the Trader’s Ridge hotel. To my eternal regret, I only had one full day on the island (due to Continental Airline’s totally inflexible schedule), so I had to make the most of it. Sebastian came highly recommended and that’s because he’s the best; a noble, intelligent man; a warrior; a man of conviction.

I told him I especially wanted to see some ‘stone money’ (known in Yapese as rai). Sebastian drove me to one of the ‘banks’ where he explained that stone money was originally carved from quarries 300 miles away in Palau and brought to Yap by outrigger canoe; some ‘coins’ are 12 feet in diameter and their worth mainly derives from the amount of difficulty in getting them home and the amount of lives lost on the journey. Even now, stone money is sometimes used to purchase land on Yap. The ‘coins’ are not moved around, however (rather like the gold in Fort Knox, which stays put no matter who ‘owns’ it), but are kept in ‘banks’ in the villages.

Sebastian and some Yapese stone money (photo: Simon Sellars).

Driving north, Sebastian filled me in on what happened to his people during the Japanese occupation. It’s a harsh and cruel tale, and I’m sad to report that by the end of World War II, the Yapese indigenous population had been decimated to 2,000 (today, it’s 11,000). The Japanese used to smash stone money as punishment if the Yapese decided not to co-operate (they used the broken pieces to pave roads); if that didn’t work, they killed. I hasten to add that these tales were not relayed to me with rancour, rather in a very matter-of-fact (though melancholy) way – mainly as historical fact. For Sebastian, what’s important is that Yapese culture has survived and that it remains strong in the face of new challenges.

Americanism is the new threat. The FSM is under some sort of Compact agreement with the US, which means they get financial aid in exchange for certain strategic and geographical rights. Yapese can fight in Iraq; Yap can be a target for terrorists; American popular culture can eradicate indigenous tradition. It’s a familiar refrain, and we’ve seen it so many times before, but remarkably Yap is still the real deal…for now.

Bechiyal Cultural Centre’s faluw (photo: Simon Sellars).

Sebastian took me to Bechiyal Cultural Centre to see the faluw, one of Yap’s “men’s houses” where elders gather to tell stories and pass on wisdom to the young fellas; this respect for the elderly blows my tiny little mind, coming as I do from a country where old people are bashed, robbed and killed all the time. The storytelling used to happen every night but now only on weekends, because people work during the week.

We passed a concrete and corrugated-iron faluw on the way back and I remarked that it was as ugly as sin; Sebastian roared with laughter and told me he liked the way I thought.

“Yes, that’s how they’re beginning to be built nowadays. And that’s why my culture will fall apart, because no one is taking the time to do it right”.

Bechiyal used to boast a few more faluw until the supertyphoon in 2004 blew them away. I asked Sebastian about the typhoon and he told me perhaps his most amazing tale. His house is by the water and he said that when the typhoon hit, everyone by the coast evacuated to higher ground. But Sebastian knew that if the waves swept through his house everything he had would be lost. So he stayed behind and pushed against the front door so that the onrushing water couldn’t get in. He held firm continuously from early morning to late afternoon, arms weakening, with water up to his chest, until the typhoon simply went away. He lost his bamboo porch, but his house, belongings and most of his furniture was saved.

“Jesus, you must be strong,” I said.

“No Simon, only as strong as you”.

“I couldn’t do it,” I said.

He laughed. “Simon, it was a great experience! The greatest experience of my life. Sometimes you have to look outside yourself and go beyond your own strength. And now I’m a better person”.

And with that, I couldn’t shake the image of Sebastian standing on the coast, repelling the forces of cultural imperialism with his own bare hands…if Yapese culture survives into the future, this man will have a lot to do with it.

And then we had a chew; I told Sebastian I wanted to try betel nut. He showed me how to prepare it and I chomped away. A bit bitter, but not too bad. But it’s true – it really turns your saliva red, and you generate buckets of the stuff; I was spitting every five minutes. And the effect? My mouth went numb, my angst about culture and politics dissipated, and I felt well and rested as I slipped into island life and saw things anew; I saw that everything was good.

Sebastian – thank you. All the very best for you and your people.

– From Simon.

Beachfront, Bechiyal Cultural Centre, Yap (photo: Simon Sellars).

+ Read the rest of the Micro Blog entries at the Sleepy Brain archives.

When I was working as Special Events Coordinator at RMIT Union Arts, I co-edited the Union Arts newsletter with Fiona Parker. This was one of the interviews I conducted for it.

Originally published in Full Haus, vol. 15 No. 3, Sep-Oct 2000.

‘John Power: An Animated Guy’
Interview by Simon Sellars

The ‘Masters of New Media’ series of presentations, coordinated by John Power and Rhonda Smithies from RMIT’s Centre for Animation and Interactive Media (AIM) features an exceptional calendar: working artists, students and guest speakers from the ‘interactive/animation’ industry, with topics covering everything from research methodology to government policy to the internet’s disseminatory role. While the brief is to provide a forum for AIM Masters candidates to present and critique their research findings, the series is not just aimed at academics or interactive artists ‘Master of New Media’ is a must for anyone interested in new and innovative applications of recent and future technology.

Besides his academic work at AIM, and collaborations with Andrew Garton, John is part of the Chroma team (with Kim Boundes) which VJs regularly at the techno/electro orientated Centriphugal club as well as at more commercial raves and parties.

Power’s role at AIM is busy and varied. In first semester, he tutors 3D animation, digital compositing and digital effects; in second, he advises students on production and technical matters. He also supervises research for Masters candidates which, as he tells me, ‘means I’m there as a sounding board, monitor, mentor, administrator, coach’. John affectionately describes his students as ‘playful, experimental, curious about their chosen role, adventurous … and not at all polite. I appreciate them very much, especially as a community that supports my carrying on’.

Power is an advocate of his art: ‘When they hear “animation” most people, even most animators, hear “cartoons”: a bunch of child like characters interacting over a painted background’.

For Power, such misconceptions stem from a host of economic and social factors, chief among them the manner in which the big American production studios were corralled by WWII’s propaganda machine.

‘By the end of the’40s there were strict levels of censorship and distribution, placing 50s animation into a ghetto of children’s entertainment. Animation had to otherwise subsist on advertising dollars for several decades, assuring superficial content.’

Whenever I’ve caught John Vjing, I’ve been intrigued by the sourcing of his images. Are they sampled? If so, is there a particular philosophy behind their usage? Perhaps the aesthetic is similar to US media terrorists, Negativiand remixing invasive, ‘found’ culture…

‘My images are sampled from films, or video I’ve shot myself, or they’ve been generated from scratch in a desktop computer; I don’t really use found footage although I certainly encourage it. The Negativland issue is important, but seems to hinge more on publication and distribution rather than broadcast or diffusion — this distinction is significant when we consider the internet. I generally find that visual artists carry the policeman inside, if I can be so dramatic. I personally encourage visual artists to sample other work whenever possible but I rarely see it done unselfconsciously.’

John’s set up consists of a PC with a card used to accelerate the drawing of 3D objects. This gave him the freedom to filter sound and midi files through 3D Studio MAX, creating real time animation. In addition, he had VCRs and a mini DV camera running through a video mixing deck¬

‘Some of the images were on video tape so you could say they are as linear as sound from a vinyl record, although I occasionally intervene with the speed of play. Filtering effects, 3D animation and video feedback were all generated and mixed live through the deck to the various projectors.’

‘During our recent Live Time performance,’ John continues, ‘I spent most of the time panicking about the midi working, since it was the first time we’d used it live. When I’m mixing live, I’m worried about fairly formal issues like luminosity, colour and contrast and the timing for introducing each element Most of the subtle content issues are hammered out beforehand, although if a random element like feedback or filtering does something that seems to work at the time, I’ll enhance that. Chroma did a gig at the Bondi Pavilion this year where I had a pile of material cued up, but ended up visually dissolving it all into plumes of pure red. green and blue because it worked in the moment.’

For ‘Live Time’, Power and Andrew Garton performed four ten minute pieces ‘worked out for timing beforehand’. In the moment, live, John highlighted particular qualities in the visuals, to suit the acoustic of the room for example, or the brightness of the projector. Garton’s work has a crystalline emotional jolt relayed by the juxtaposition of disparate elements. This was intensified during ‘Live Time’ by a piece that used a sample from an East Timorese catholic mass underscored by sludgy, squelchy percussion from the computer. It’s these elements that often vivify Power’s own creative juices.

‘I use the energy level of the sound sent out from Andrew’s sound card. In the piece that sampled East Timorese mass, the ‘alleluia’ chorus rose and fell in intensity and as it did, floating geometry was generated on the screens. I also generate visuals from controllers in the 3D environment, linked to a midi track that generates many of the musical sounds.’

What does John appreciate about Andrew’s work?

‘It’s convulsive, guttural aspect he often uses human voice to originate a lot of sounds. Andrew is very interested in how electronic networks affect communities for better or worse. Even after more than a decade on the net he can still be a bit awe struck by the displaced relationships that arise between people and I think this emerges in his choices of evocative sounds and samples. The way Andrew uses voice and how he refers to electronic communication has a burlesque qual4. It suggests an aesthetic where “playing up” or using sudden elements to shock or surprise is always an option a powerful strategy in all art.’

As part of Chroma, Power has a weekly residency at Centriphugal, innovative in Melbourne’s club scene for its electro/booty musical policy and support of Garton’s experimental ‘exp’ sessions a few months back. My experience of VJs is that I’ve found they often tend to feel a little under appreciated by club and rave promoters and even the punters themselves. What, then, is Power’s take on the perception of visual artists and animators at clubs and raves?

‘My do it yourself theory is that about 30% of clubbers are truly into the visual aspect, and are not afraid to tell you if they approve of what you’re doing. At the other end, there are about 30% of people who are seriously into the sound if you lined all the walls of a club with diamonds and painted the place with light, they’d be pressed to recall what they’d seen the next day, because they’re very attentive to the music and are very absorbed in it!’

What does Power, the visual artist, get out of working with techno DJs and aesthetics?

‘The techno culture has always struck me as supporting an experimental visual element, with its do-it-yourself clothing and decoration of spaces, as does hip hop culture with spray-painting and tagging. These days, such styles have been co opted by the media, so no doubt the time is ripe for a younger generation to arise with their own intuitive approaches.’

Any predictions as to what new styles might emerge?

‘Maybe a combination of punk, bossa nova and really wide brimmed hats’.