The tectonically sleepy, yet very populated island of Bali was shaken on Wednesday morning (22 March 2017) by a magnitude-5.5 earthquake. Located 2 kilometres (km) northeast of Banjar Pasekan in southeastern Bali, the morning quake shook the area. But, because of its 118 km-depth, it did not cause major damage or any casualties.
At just past five o'clock in the morning on 7 December 2016, a damaging earthquake struck Aceh, Indonesia. Damage was most severe in Pidie Jaya and neighbouring Pidie and Biruen Regencies, located east of the provincial capital of Banda Aceh. Extensive building damage tragically led to the loss of more than 100 lives. More than 80,000 people are displaced, unable to return because of destroyed or damaged buildings.
The previous post focused mainly on the 1991 Pinatubo eruption and how it affected humans and history (scientific in this case). Today’s post will cover a historic eruption that changed the course of history on one Indonesian island, and around the world.
Edible vegetable oil, produced from oil palm and soybeans, is a key ingredient in junk food like chips and ice cream. Although these foods have little to no nutritional value, global consumption is on the rise, resulting in an increase in demand for vegetable oil. This has become a serious issue because large areas of land in Southeast Asia and South America have to be cleared to make way for oil palm and soybean crops.
The MIRAGE research team returned from their month-long expedition, almost two months ago on 30 July 2016, with a great deal of data that was collected directly from the seafloor of the Wharton Basin.
The 1883 eruption of Krakatau (also widely known as Krakatoa) volcano in Indonesia has captured the imagination of many people – from the first Malay account of the eruption by Muhammad Saleh (Syair Lampung Karam – published in Singapore) to the 1969 film Krakatoa, East of Java, starring Maximillian Schnell.
It has been almost a month since we left the port of Colombo to make our way to the Wharton Basin, a place so remote that I can count on one hand the number of container ships and fishing boats I saw during our three weeks there.
Last Saturday was barbecue night on the R/V Marion Dufresne, a chance for passengers and crew to mingle, cook their own dinner, and wear flip-flops on the ship’s main work deck, which is normally a safety-shoes-only zone. But rules relax on barbecue night, when everyone stands happily around a pair of open flames, sparks flying in the night as the ship pitches and rolls.
The first thing you need to know about the R/V Marion Dufresne’s engine room is that it is not a room at all. In fact, the engine — or engines, to be more precise — occupy an entire section of the ship, encompassing numerous decks from starboard to port. These decks are noisy and hot places, packed floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with ton upon ton of heavy machinery.
