A Travellerspoint blog

Descending into Indonesia's Blue Fire

Deep in the volcano's spiny caldera, blue flames flared like primordial ether at creation's dawn.

Stars shimmered overhead, teasing the night's inky blackness, only to be obscured as clouds of sulfurous gas poured from fissures in the crater floor.

Hours earlier at a guesthouse set amidst coffee fields and rubber trees, Joanie's alarm started screeching at 11:40pm. We'd gone to sleep a few hours before to rest up for the drive and hike to the peak, then into the cauldron of Kawah (Mount) Ijen, an 8,660-foot volcano on Java, Indonesia's eastern slope.

It was a spur of the moment decision instigated by the temptation of more volcano trekking and blue lava (actually blue fire, but fantasy overpowered reality).

The night before we hiked to the peak of Mt. Bromo, an inactive volcano on a massive volcanic plateau (stay tuned for pix an overhead satellite map). Before heading to the guesthouse on Bromo’s rim where we’d nap before the summit push, we stopped at the tour office and saw pictures of Mount Ijen’s blue flames.

We had to see this. After a bout of bartering that included throwing a stack of cash (880,000 Rupiah – just under $100) on the desk saying, “Here's the cash. Do you want it? I really want you to have it” and watching the salesman squirm as he decided it was enough, we added the second volcano trek to our itinerary.

For the blue fire, the plan was to leave at midnight and begin the hour and a half drive through windy roads canopied in lush jungle. The guide did not appear until 12:30 am and was limping, from twisting his ankle in the dark. (In the previous 2 days, both Joanie and I and the Dutch couple trekking with us had a total 8 hours of sleep and would have enjoyed any extra shut-eye).

We loaded into the van and drove to the volcano, an advertised hour and a half journey that takes only 45 minutes. After arrival, we finalized our packing (jacket and rain shell for the cold and possible rain, snacks for the hike, water, headlamp and a monopod (a one legged camera stand) that I’ve occasionally used as a cane (my ankle is much better but I am still cautious) and headed up the trail.

The path begins wide as a Hummer and flat but quickly charges upward to a 45-degree slope. We hike in the darkness broken by our bouncing flashlight beams, panting from the guide’s breakneck pace and thinning air as the altitude grows.

We continue climbing up, above the tree line into the night’s expansive claustrophobia. The acrid smell of sulfur sours the air and the crater looms. Far below, billowing clouds of sulfur churn skyward, shifting direction as the winds swirl. In the distance, a faint blue glow radiates and small red and white lights dance near the glow, lights of the fiery torches and flashlights of the miners harvesting raw sulfur.

It’s nearly 3:00 am and the guide says 20 miners are working the late shift. It’s a weekend for the miners and the main crew (around 400 people) are off.

We tie bandannas over our faces to protect from the sulfurous fumes and climb over the edge, into the crater’s barren lunar landscape. Rudimentary steps cut into the chalky white rock vanish and reappear at random. When there are no steps, we slide down scree and hop from rock to rock, struggling to keep our balance and ignore the sulfur’s stink. As we descend, miners trod up the path carrying baskets full of raw yellow sulfur precariously balanced on their shoulders. An average load weighs between 175-220 pounds, for which they take home around $13.50.

The blue fire, fueled by alight liquid sulfur, grows brighter but the winds pickup and spit the fuming clouds throughout the crater, erasing everything except for its milky haze. At the bottom of the crater, a miner toils in the noxious cloud, prying sulfur from the earth with a six-foot crowbar.

A bit further, we arrive to the shore of the sulfurous lake that fills the crater; it’s hot acidic water steaming and morbidly opaque in the darkness.


More photos here.

I am in hell or some lost time when the molten earth struggled to accrete. It’s dark, stinking, my eyes are burning and despite wanting to take more photos, our group’s survival instinct seems to have taken over and we begin to ascend back to the crater rim.

Ten seconds later the winds violently shift, trapping Eric (one of the Dutch hikers), Joanie and myself in a malicious cloud of sulfur gas. I crouch down, my eyes shuttered, holding my breath but unable to avoid breathing the fiery air. I gasp, try to look around and see nothing but deadly blankness. Joanie is a few feet away.

Talk is impossible. We can only choke and have been trapped for what seems like a deathly amount of time. Instinct screams, overpowering the thoughts of death tearing through my brain. Seconds, minutes, I have no idea. The cloud breaks. I pull Joanie up and cough out “Let’s Go!”

We see in the distance a light and run toward it as fast as we can. The cloud still hovers but thinner. Our eyes, throats and lungs sizzle and an unspoken singularity directs us to ascend as fast as possible from this murderous place. We climb until the guide takes a wrong turn and we’re stuck at a dead end. A miner nearby sees us stranded and corrects our path. In the dark, we quickly ascend to just below the crater rim.

At the rim, clouds of sulfur continue to billow by, less toxic than in the crater but still saturated with poison. Joanie is gasping, sick from inhaling the sulfuric brew. All of us are coughing, our eyes still tearing.

But we’re alive and survived what may or may not be hell on earth.

It’s either late night or early morning, the coldest, darkest time. Icy winds whip around the crater.

The sky lightens, stars disappear and temperature rises. The crater reveals itself: it’s sides mangled and scarred as if some mythical predator clawed its way from the blue fire, clouds of sulfur churn, yellow sulfur deposits stain its walls. The sulfurous lake no longer looks like death’s ocean, but a tropical turquoise oasis.

The day has finally begun: wispy pink clouds fill the brightening sky and the blue flame’s primordial glow fades into the new dawn.

Be sure to click on the aerial view and zoom out.


Posted by bucketbath 07:48 Archived in Indonesia Tagged indonesia volcano death fire near lava mine ijen toil sulfur Comments (4)

Hostel Lock down

Catching up on videos from China

Micah and I are on hostel lock down in Yogya, Indonesia as we work our way through a travel bug. It's either from food, heat stroke or a combination of both. We rode 20 miles on rented bikes in 90 degree heat to the Prambanan ruins yesterday. The last 24hrs have been spent breaking fevers, sleeping and listening to the mosque call to prayer from a speaker outside our window. On the bright side, I've had lots of time to work on video edits. We're long past China, but here are a few little gems from the first few weeks of our trip.

Tomorrow, we're hopping on a bus to a volcano trek that starts at 3am to Gunung Bromo and then continuing onto Bali. Wish a quick a speedy recovery!


I break down over laundry after a sink washing in Beijing. (Laundry is commonly a stressful situation for me-even with a washer and dryer.)

I came across my "Prince Chow Mein" at the Longman Caves in China. A girl's gotta kiss a lotta frogs...

Watch as we make our way through ancient, Pingyoa, China

Micah receives and official Chinese name from a monk in Pingyoa.

Posted by bucketbath 00:56 Archived in China Comments (6)

The Sweaty Traveler (Joanie)

Staying in shape on the go

The traveling lifestyle has been an adjustment from my physically demanding NYC schedule of dance rehearsals, teaching ballet, Pilates and fitness classes. It amazes me that new blisters are continuously popping up on my beat up, calloused, dancer feet. While 10 hrs of daily walking is great exercise, I haven't yet been able to achieve that glorious, sweaty, post workout high.

I sneak in some pretzel yoga moves whenever and wherever I can. Micah busts out his daily pushups before showering and bends his 6'3'' tower over to touch his toes in the most public displays possible. I prefer to take a more subtle approach and engage my abs and lats (in true Pilates teacher style) while carrying my 30L pack. We're doing everything we can to stay active while on the road.

We got into the athletic spirit while visiting the 2008 Olympic Stadium in Beijing and had the 10 mile hike of our lives at the Great Wall. I've compiled it all into 2 collections of Rocky like footage for your enjoyment.

Bucket Bath Olympics

Great Wall China

Posted by bucketbath 09:26 Archived in China Tagged of china olympics great beijing wall exercise Comments (6)

Coming to a theater near you

Be afraid China. Very Afraid.


Micah and I are both relieved to be out of China. Traveling (and eating) for the last month has been extremely difficult. As soon as we stepped onto the city streets of Hong Kong we felt the difference. There are fines for hawking, smoking and jay walking, the air is cleaner, and the locals don't stare at westerners, just the main land Chinese tourists do, and it feels like civilization again!

While Micah has been writing and taking pictures up a storm these last few weeks, I've been working on some creativity of my own. Unfortunately, the Great Fire Wall wouldn't allow any video posts.

We don't go anywhere without our handy Flip Cam in tow. These two masterpieces are from Beijing and more are coming!



Posted by bucketbath 19:04 Archived in Hong Kong Comments (8)

Even the Dead Have an iPad in Hong Kong

Hong Kong's Chung Yeung Festival Honors Their Ancestors


Today is Hong Kong's Chung Yeung festival, the day where ancestor reverence boils over and the country shuts down to show their respect.

Besides being a national holiday with government offices and banks closed, many Hong Kongers visit cemeteries to clean family member's graves and burn paper replicas of objects the dead might want in the afterlife (such as an iPad).

Stores that only sell these replicas - ranging from air conditioners to dentures that price from around $2.00 on up - line the street in the Sheung Wan neighborhood, one of the city's last with terraced turn-of-the-century buildings just starting to trend upward as hip galleries and glassy apartment buildings pop up.

Fingers crossed, these mom and pop shops survive the neighborhood's change. Where else will the dead (and their families) be able to grab a pack of Marlboro's or six pack of Heineken?

Click the following link for more photos: Hong Kong Fuey!


Posted by bucketbath 07:55 Archived in Hong Kong Tagged beer of holiday day festival dead money paper cigarettes chung yeung Comments (1)

The Sorcerers Apprentice

Before diving into the unknown's velvety ocean, I worked for five years as a photo editor at Cosmopolitan and Seventeen magazines where one of my responsibilities was to hire and train the interns.

I worked hard to expose them to the magazine world and provide a laboratory to learn about the business.

I prodded them to ask questions, take initiative and most importantly to instill the professional values I'd gained from my family, friends, and mentors.

Rewind ten years to Toledo, Ohio.

After graduating college, I took off to South America before planning to start law school that fall. Something changed inside me during the trip and I realized I wanted write and take photos.

So I returned to Toledo and was fortunate to land an internship at the Toledo City Paper, at the time, the city's only alternative weekly.

An iron tough, fire breathing (cue Thin Lizzy "We're Not Gonna Take It") Editor-In-Chief with a nationally syndicated column and talent for coaching writers had recently started.

He taught me how to be a writer and drilled into me the cannon of his bible: The Elements of Style.

He gave me the opportunity to write and take photos for the paper and always had time to sit down and walk through his edits.

I watched him work, absorbed his advice and felt humbled after hearing stories of his rough and tumble childhood (for which I'm still waiting to read in the book he promised - how many years ago was that?).

I went to grad school, taught journalism in Armenia, traveled around Central America and finally spread roots in NYC and boogied in the magazine world.

I moved up and forward, as had my mentor, Michael Miller.

He's now Editor-In-Chief and writes his "Lighting the Fuse" column for The Toledo Free Press, the alternatively weekly in Toledo on the verge of dislodging the city's daily from its crumbling pedestal.

He's a wizard of words and I'm humbled and thankful to have been the sorcerer's apprentice.

Check out his column this week - it's about a few people everyone knows pretty well.

Posted by bucketbath 10:43 Archived in China Comments (3)


What's on the menu in Luoyong, China

Adventurous eaters beware - we might have met your match in Luoyong, China.

Heart? Frog? Bugs we weren't quite sure what they were...


Click the following link for more pix.



Posted by bucketbath 03:34 Archived in China Tagged food fish street market snail Comments (6)

The Mayor of Luoyang Winds Up In the Hospital (Micah)

The dangers of being friendly (while running).


Before stepping out for a run this morning, Joanie said to me (as she usually does): be safe.

Fateful words.

It's been too long since my last run. Delayed by a mixture of icy showers and early morning outings, I haven't had the chance to hit the pavement in almost a week.

But today was a perfect day (or so I thought) - blue skies shimmered overhead and a chill crisped the autumn air. Leaving the hostel, I headed west along the main thoroughfare, clothing and eyeglasses shops already open at 8:30am, passing through a pedestrian way buzzing with people and street-food vendors serving dumplings and stewed noodles.

Along the way I’d been smiling and saying "Ni how" (hello) to people I'd passed. Once in a while I’d receive a hello in response, but usually it's a blank stare or look of bemusement. No matter, I’m just trying to be friendly and blend in as much as a 6'3" skinny American running in central China can.

I feel like a cultural ambassador, a roving mayor passing on good will and friendship with every step.

A little further and I was running down a street in an industrial area. Seconds after passing an elderly woman and her daughter sitting outside their ramshackle home my world tumbled.


With a smile still on my face, I didn't see the ping-pong sized stone under my left foot and twisted my ankle with a thwacking pop.

"Crap" (and other expletives) surged through my brain as I caught myself before face planting. I stumbled to a cement ledge to inspect the damage. I couldn't put any weight on my ankle and was miles from the hostel.

Luckily, boy scouts taught me more than how to light a cigarette (BS motto: Be Prepared) and I had the hostel's business card with its location written in Chinese and cash for a cab.

I hobbled for two blocks to the nearest busy street and caught a cab back to the hostel. Once there, I hopped up the stairs (no elevator) and talked to the staff about a seeing a doctor.

I’m lucky that my Dad is a podiatrist (not to mention great father) who agreed to a video consultation (he didn’t actually have a choice as I stuck my foot up to the screen before he could say hello.) He didn't think it was broken but I decided to go to the hospital just in case.

Most likely, no one at the Luoyang People's Hospital spoke any English and one of the hostel staff who wasn’t working at the moment offered to come with to translate.


I've visited hospitals throughout the world and in a way hospitals represent a country’s benchmark of the population’s health. This hospital was similar to others I’ve visited: bleak white walls stained with dirt, cigarette burns on the floor and lacking that antiseptic cleanliness that makes us squirm.

Step 1: An $0.85 registration fee to see the doctor, in my case an orthopedist whose office was on the 2nd floor.

The elevator was located next to the stairs and an attendant who we’d spoken to earlier, suggested taking them as it was faster than waiting for the elevator. Maybe he suffered from short-term memory loss or nearsightedness and couldn’t see me hopping around on one leg.

Step 2: We met with the doctor, a plump woman in a yellowing lab coat who asked a few questions, scribbled a note in illegible Chinese and directed us to the x-ray room back on the 1st floor.

Good to know doctors everywhere have terrible handwriting.

Step 3: We went to the x-ray area and waited in the hallway learning prepayment (100 Yuan – around $18 USD) was required. After paying, a shiny steel door emblazoned with a yellow nuclear symbol slid open and a balding man in his 50s beckoned me in.

The Hospital's X-Ray room.

The Hospital's X-Ray room.

He directed me to a wood gurney and as I sat it slid away and I nearly fell off. Once situated, he placed my foot, focused the x-ray light and stepped into a steel box. The rest of my body was fully exposed to the sterilizing x-rays.

The tech reappeared and adjusted my foot to take a side view. With no warning, he pushed down on my foot ankle so my arch rested against the table and held it there as he adjusted the x-rays focus. Pain screamed through my leg but as soon as it started it was finished and I returned to the hallway to wait for the processed prints.

Up to this point, despite the unpleasantness of the hospital’s atmosphere, I was impressed by the service. Maybe foreigners are treated better or the hospital wanted to show off their (and China’s) high standard of care, but there was almost no waiting. At an American hospital I would have waited hours for the same services.

The hostel employee came with to translate said that children and the elderly receive care at a discounted rate but everyone else pays the regular price - which while still cheap by American standards had gone up (the cost for an x-ray increased nearly 40% since last year).

After a few minutes the x-ray was ready and then we had to wait around 10 minutes to get a reading. As the doctor was asking questions and reading the prints random people sauntered in and out of the examination room to stare.

Getting my X-ray read.

Getting my X-ray read.

I’m happy to say nothing’s broken, just banged up. The doctor advised a week of rest and prescribed a mild pain killer and an herbal spray that Joanie calls “sore sauce ” (because it smells like soy sauce) that reduces swelling and is used by the dancers in the HT Chen company.

Outside the hotel with the translator (aka super nice girl who works at the hostel).

Outside the hotel with the translator (aka super nice girl who works at the hostel).

Me and a nurse.

Me and a nurse.

Joanie thinks this whole episode might be an act of G-d, a message I need to slow down, let her sleep in and give her blisters time to heal.

Whether it's divine intervention or not I’ve learned my lesson: running and smiling are a dangerous combination not to be practiced casually.

Shabbat shalom and rest well, I know I will.

And if you'd like to check out the sat view of this fated run, Click Me

Posted by bucketbath 06:14 Archived in China Tagged china funny medicine hospital running ankle twist Comments (3)

Mission Accomplished (Joanie)

An organizer learning the ropes

sunny 74 °F

Micah and I have been moving from city to city every few days or so. We're trying to take in as many of China's highlights as possible. I didn't realize how much of a struggle it was going to be to live out of a backpack. The constant unpacking and repacking, rearranging so you have access to important things like umbrellas, snacks and toilet paper on top, keeping track of important documents like passports and train tickets...it's not easy. It's making the organizer in me a little crazy.

Last Monday we were preparing to leave the city of Xi'an for Luoyang via train that afternoon. I took my time and carefully packed my backpack, situating heavy items on the bottom so the weight would sit on my hips, not my shoulders-my last packing mistake. As we were about to check out of our hostel a flood of fear washed over me as I realized I was missing my passport. I took a deep breath and we dove in to tear my bag apart not once, but three times before we finally found it tucked into a discreet location (so it wouldn't get stolen of course). Everything went precariously back into my bag, Micah cracked a joke to get me to loosen up and we set off for the day, my shoulders hurting. Project fail.

The train station in Xi'an was a sardined cesspool of humanity. We pushed and shimmied through 1,000's of people, searching to find the gate for our train...in Chinese. There wasn't a word of English in sight. It took a few games of charades with some confidant looking people in uniforms for us to find out that our train was delayed. Defeated, we set up camp atop our backpacks on the loogie washed floor.

After a few hours of "I spy" and "We're going on a trip to Luoyang and I'm taking..." our 5pm train departure finally showed up on the board to leave at 22:45, which eventually turned into 23:45. Sometime between 22:45 and 23:45, I managed to tuck my train ticket into a safe, discreet location. I'm guessing I did this absentmindedly because Micah and I were trying to avoid creepy, bad breath, leg touching, smiley guy who had been bugging us for hours. Relief came in the form of hearing the unlocking of gates. We quickly mounted our gear and joined the queue of shuffling sardines into the passageway. Then it hit me. The day's 2nd wave of panic flooded over me when I realized that I had done it again. " I just had my ticket! Where is it?" I persuaded Micah to go on, while reassuring both of us that it must be in one of the 20 cargo pockets in my pants. Ok. It must be in one of the 4 pockets in my jacket. Or maybe one of the 65 pockets in my pack?

I'll never forget the look of mouth dropping disbelief on Micah's face from the other side of the steel gate. Ready to burst into tears, I looked at him in total and squeakily exclaimed, "I don't have it". Luckily, the station worker about to lock the gate (as everyone had passed through but me at this point), had some sympathy for our panic stricken faces and allowed me to pass. At our next check point Micah yelled, "Joanie just get on the train" as I stood, struggling with the charades game that demonstrated I bought a ticket and had it an hour ago, but it was lost now. I hurried past the worker and got onto the train. 2 checkpoints down. We didn't have to worry again until leaving the station at the end of our ride.

Of course our adventure couldn't stop there. Our train stopped moving around 2AM. After a fitful, sleeping upright, night's sleep, I awoke at 7am to discover that we were in the same spot we were in 5hrs earlier. As if that wasn't bad enough, creepy, bad breath, smiley guy was sitting on the end of my seat and greeted me with a cheerful "Herro!" I said hi, and faked sleep to try to get rid of him When I peeked my eyes open 1/2 hr later, he had moved across the aisle and was sleeping on someone else's seat.

Around 8, a train employee with an electronic megaphone started shouting commercials for toothbrushes, smokers toothpaste, towels and magazines. Annoyed, Micah grabbed his camera, marched up to her and started taking pictures. The train erupted out in laughter and she turned off her megaphone in a huff and continued on with her toothpaste proselytizing. When Micah returned, creepy, in need of a toothbrush, smiley guy hovered as Micah put on his ipod and tried to take an earphone out to have a listen. Micah flatly refused and so he sat himself down across the aisle and plastered his smiley gaze in my direction.

A young, English basic speaking, Chinese girl showed up and plopped down next to me just as the men across the way were starting up a conversation about Micah and I that involved staring and pointing. She became the interpreter to a round of questions that included, "Where are you from?. Are you married? How hold are you? Do you have kids?" and comments like " His feet are huge. He is a giant. Your eyelashes are long and pretty".

An hour and an interrogation later, the train started moving again, putting us into Luoyang around 11am.

One last check point to get through. I confusedly gazed at the ticket taker at the exit gate, flashed a smile, a "Nǐ hǎo", and walked right past him.

Mission accomplished. Adventure complete. Whew. Someone tell me. When does the vacation start?

Posted by bucketbath 07:34 Archived in China Comments (8)

The Greatest Workout Ever (Hiking the Great Wall) (Micah)

Climbing, hiking, sprinting along an ancient wall shrouded in mist.

Clouds of mist blew across the winding stone corridor hanging precariously atop the jagged mountain peaks.

Hidden from view were miles of walls first built in the 5th century B.C.E., extended by subsequent rulers until reaching more than 5,000 miles long- when construction ceased in the 16th century.

China's Great Wall cuts across the country's ancient northern frontier - extending from the Yellow Sea to Inner Mongolia's deserted expanse - a feat of engineering genius that protected Chinese empires from its rival's warriors and marauding Mongols.

Today's hordes ride a cable car (or climb hundreds of steps stretching from the valley floor) to reach the Wall's lofty mountaintop perch. Joanie and I arrived to The Wall's Mutianyu section at around 8:30 am after fighting a posse of hucksters eager to bleed us of cash. It started in the Beijing subway, where where a woman approached us and directed us to the nearby bus terminal to catch the public bus to the Wall.

We found the station but she wouldn't let us go. Joanie and I went to the bathroom (there are public, free bathrooms of negligent cleanliness everywhere in Beijing) to try and shake her, but when we emerged she was standing in the shadows of a nearby pillar waiting for us. She told us the bus number we needed to take but then tried to shuffle us to a minibus (where she would likely take a cut from the driver). Luckily, we found the bus we thought we needed and jumped into the rush of people boarding. The fare was 2 Yuan (around $0.35) but i didn't have any small bills and in a moment of frustration and panic (people were pushing and jostling past me) I dropped a 20 Yuan note for the driver and took my seat (which Joanie had luckily secured a few rows back).

Off we went, haze and fog darkened Beijing's morning streets. The bus stopped along the way to pick up and let off riders. As we neared a stop a rider standing by the door told us we needed to get off - that it was our stop. Call us gullible or too trusting, we descended from the bus and a pack of drivers circled us offering a minibus ride to the Wall (which we could have reached by public transportation had we not been lured off).

After negotiating with the swindler who lured us off the bus for a round trip ride to the wall for around $20 we climbed into his minibus (think Volkswagen Vanagon except more cramped and much less safe). Half hour later we arrived at the wall. The driver came to the ticket window with us and pressured us to buy a cable car and slalom ticket (the slalom descends from the wall back to the village below for an additional $15) which we flatly refused (he was pissed because he wasn't going to get his cut).

I paid the driver for the one way of our trip and agreed on a pickup time: 11:30 am.

So we hiked up - up hundreds of stairs, under a canopy of trees, dripping with the morning mist.

When we reached the wall, our calves were already burning and Joanie's feet sore (a normal occurrence these days as I'm a slave driver and never seem to need to rest - sleep included).

The Mutianyu section were were hiking was built in 1368 and later renovated in 1983. It's not as busy as other sections of the wall and since we arrived so early, we were able to experience the Wall's magnitude in relative solitude - joined only by clouds and an occasional shower.

I'd hoped to run along the Wall's ancient stones, but they were too wet and after realizing it's essentially a giant calf and knee busting staircase I resigned myself to a few stair sprints and short runs.

But I did have my trusty GPS watch though and recorded our hike. Click the link below and be sure to check the Aerial or Hybrid views:

The satellite view of our hike along the wall.


At the ends of both sides of the Mutianyu section was a sign that said do not pass:


But for us, that's only an invitation for adventure so we walked past the barrier and climbed the stairs. The Wall continued for another 1/4 mile or so until falling into disrepair: collapsed guard towers, pathways overgrown with trees and bushes, loose stones and crumbling ramparts. I felt transported to another time, humbled and amazed at the skill and perseverance of the Wall's builders - and waited for an ancient soldier to materialize from the chalky mountain mist.

Click this link for pictures from the Wall (if the pictures haven't posted yet, they will be ASAP - as soon as China's Great Firewall lets them pass.


Posted by bucketbath 17:49 Archived in China Tagged great stairs mist wall asia rampart Comments (6)

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