Joining The Party In Phnom Penh

Author: Jarik

We join a throng of hundreds of thousands of feet slowly moving along the river promenade and adjacent streets in Phnom Penh. It is the annual Boat Race Water Festival, the most celebrated public holiday in Cambodia, marking the reversal of the flow of the Tonle Sap river. We are fortunate enough to be in the centre of the action on the final of three nights. The city is alive. Spectators stand shoulder to shoulder lining the banks of the river to get a glimpse of the human powered long boats cutting through the water.

The VIP stand opposite the finish line and across the square from the Royal Palace is elaborately decorated, bathed in light and there are bodyguards everywhere. Every square inch of any horizontal space is occupied by people with a friendly festive disposition. Food and drink sellers and their carts are constantly being urged along by police who are keen to keep the crowd moving. Other curious tourists sit safely on the third and fourth floor terraces peering out over the churning mass. The festival culminates with fireworks and a river parade with massive flotillas decorated with thousands of colourful lights moving from bank to bank down the river, finally stopping in front of the Royal Palace. We relish in the unexpected and unique cultural immersion experience.


To our delightful surprise, Phnom Penh is a culturally rich and tourist friendly city but, it is not overrun by tourists. Although there are clear foreign tourist areas with pubs, hostels and hotels, these are confined to a narrow strip along the river. A short walk deeper into the city will take you through authentic markets, along busy commercial streets and, if you, like us, walk from place to place, residential areas with hundreds of small home businesses. We fall in love with Khmer cuisine – a scrumptious combination of fresh Thai flavours and the full richness of Indian dishes – and the family have enough opportunities to identify their favourite as we sample the local fare everywhere we go.

Ornamental buildings and religious sites on every second corner reflect a proud heritage and make for a visually interesting street experience. We spend a few hours admiring the architecture and artistry of the Royal Palace and by chance wander through a Buddhist enclave filled with decorated temples and golden shrines. Later, a parents-only visit to the S21 Genocide Museum is a sobering reminder of the atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge four decades ago. It is however good to see that the city is moving forward. There is a lot of new construction going on and after the huge festive event that we witnessed, the streets were swept, litter removed and pavements washed the very next morning.

(Media reports cited a number of four million people that attended the boat races in Phnom Penh this year. In 2010 a tragic stampede occurred at the very same promenade that we were, costing the lives of 350 people hence the police presence to control the movement of the crowds.)

– Jarik –


The Water Festival

Author: Eulain

I pulled on dad’s arm, “I want to see the fireworks.” Dad stood up, “Alright, let’s go.” We walked down the crowded streets towards the river. Soon after we arrived the fireworks stopped. A parade of big boats full of little lights came past and then pulled closer to the bank of the river. Dad lifted me up onto his shoulders, high above the crowd.

Everywhere I looked I could see boats full of lights, trees with fairy lights, little stalls with food and desert and loads of people.  Dad and I could barely move! From my perch up high I could see how streams of people were moving slowly.  It was an amazing scene. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

– Eulain –


Saigon And The Mekong

Author: Jarik

Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC or Saigon) is the only place where our bags got heavier – significantly heavier. The city is a shopper’s paradise. We were in the market for sporting goods as both Mariza and Eulain required new trail running shoes (again) and a quick look at the labels confirmed that the shoes that we bought in Europe and South America had their origins in Vietnam. The challenge was clear. We had to find “originals” at a bargain price in a city that is littered with knock-offs. Even our morning runs through the streets and in the large inner-city parks turned into a scouting expedition for sporting equipment stores. The city parks are very well maintained and early in the morning they are filled with hundreds of keen exercisers playing badminton, doing yoga, hopping in groups to the beat of loud music, stretching, shaking, running or walking. In our experience, this placed HCMC on par with Budapest when it came to enthusiasm for public exercise.

Our quest was filled with perils. Firstly, there was the onslaught of hard selling vendors who only relented when you turned your back and walked away, and even then some would persist. Then there was the sheer number of shops and stalls that all seem to sell very similar wares, all at very different prices. To get to the best price you have to complete the haggling process a number of times for any given item. But what finally proved to be our downfall, was the constant barrage of desirable goods at attractive prices that made us lose all sense of reason and objectivity. In the end we loaded our backpacks not only with two pairs of new shoes, but also with eleven new exercise shirts, three shorts and about fifteen meters of dress fabric!

Heaving under the much heavier load and eternally grateful that we did not buy the six hammocks we haggled down to just under $1 each, we left HCMC for a week in the Mekong Delta. We spent most of our time in the cities of Can Tho and Chau Doc. One of the highlights of Can Tho was puttering through an early morning floating market in a longboat. Water vessels of all sizes congregate to exchange wares at a particular bend in the river, identifying their produce on offer by hoisting a sample up like a flag on a long pole on the boat. Weaving between the boats and barges of fruit, vegetables, timber and other products, peddlers in little rowboats offer coffee and noodle soup to the dawn merchants and their clientele. We spent the rest of the day exploring little canals lined with stilted homes flanked by rice paddies. The way of life is so vastly different from ours.


In Chau Doc, our hotel was on the main square and only two blocks away from the Mekong River. From our fourth-floor balcony, we had the perfect view of the informal food market that sprung up every evening. Over a basic noodle soup dinner we had a delightful conversation, in very broken English, with the stall owner. We were some of the very few tourists in the city and caused quite a stir and drawing many side remarks. The city mostly functions as a local border stop-over between Vietnam and Cambodia. The next day, our morning run took us right through the centre of the large local market. No touristy souvenirs or sportswear here! We had to side-step and duck a few times to get through the malaise of baskets, buckets and tables covered by low tarpaulins, much to the amusement of everyone. One of the things that we enjoyed about our runs in every city is that it usually took us a little deeper into the neighbourhoods at a time of the day when there was still a lot of household activities going on. Chau Doc was no different and our sweat was rewarded with many colourful sights, a lot of hellos and waves from children and parents getting ready for the day.

Very fittingly, we left Vietnam on the Mekong, heading to Cambodia on board a twenty-five passenger high speed ferry. It is a surprisingly broad river with a lot of activity. A six hour trip took us (and our heavy backpacks) to Phnom Penh and the eighteenth country we arrive in during the past eight months of travel. We have been to Vietnam! (And we have a lot to show for it!)

– Jarik –

The Enchantment of Hoi An

Author: Jarik

Ten thousand colourful lanterns cast little circles of enchantment all through the pedestrian lanes of the historical river side town. Their reflections dance cheerfully on the water where more lanterns float in between the rowboats that carry the couples that set the lanterns adrift to garner themselves good fortune. The aroma of sweet, strong Vietnamese coffee drifting from the dimly lit corner coffee shops intermingles with the smoky flavours from the water side food stalls, while the muffled conversations drifting from the patron filled restaurants carry warmly through the streets. The intoxicating mixture brings cheer to everyone that set their feet to the streets. We have a wonderful time exploring Hoi An, from our arrival at dusk, continuing late into the evening. Our hotel is only two blocks from the historical centre. A little oasis with a pool and tidy rooms.




Early the next morning we run 5km through rice paddies and vegetable gardens to An Bang Beach. The shoreline is dotted with palm frond umbrellas and brightly coloured beach chairs. Ordering a drink and the promise to order lunch, give us the right of use of a set of chairs for the day. The children do not let the opportunity go by to swim and bodyboard and we are equally enthusiastic to sample the cold beer. Across the bay we can see Da Nang, an up and coming tourist destination. It has probably more than twenty new high-rise seafront resorts under construction, representing all the international leisure groups. A new Gold Coast in the making. On An Bang Beach, however, there are no buildings or infrastructure other than the beach shacks, so the beach is blissfully unspoilt – true luxury!


Sun kissed, we stroll back to Ho An later the afternoon, looking forward to continue the evening under the spell of the enchanted place. It does not disappoint, rewarding us with a delightful dinner as we sit under strings of colourful lanterns floating above a terrace, overlooking the light filled river. Fortune has found us. We just smile and drink even deeper.

– Jarik –


Hanoi And The Rice Paddies Of Sapa

Author: Jarik

Two facts have we learnt about Hanoi. The first is that everyday life happens on the sidewalks and the second is that every evening is a celebration.

The tree lined maze of narrow streets in the old quarter of Hanoi is an absolute feast. Toddler sized tables and stools of the roadside eateries spill into the sidewalks, crammed in between parked scooters and street vendor carts. It is easier to walk in the road than to try and weave your way through the barber chairs, plastic buckets, scooter workshops, food baskets, cooking utensils, cooking utensil manufacturers, daybeds and millions of parked scooters. Our hostel is right in the middle of the eclectic ensemble, down a narrow lane. The entrance is next to dozens of buckets of sea creatures and vegetables that are being made ready for the hungry customers of the eatery next door. The pineapples are sweet and we end up having one each, every day, from the friendly lady that sells them from the back of her scooter around the corner from our hostel. We have pho at a couple of places, mostly sitting on the toddler chairs while watching the scooters speed by carrying anything from tables to building materials.


Day gives way to night suddenly in these parts, flinging the doors wide open for everyone to take to the streets for some kind of celebration. Every little eatery has an extra row of tables and stools set out and the cooking fires burn everywhere. We discover that there is a children’s festival of some sort that night and walk mesmerised through crowded streets with lanterns dangling from the trees overhead. Toys and treats of every desire are on offer with a festive drum beat urging parents to forget all boundaries.

The next night we venture to the Hoan Kiem Lake, a landmark of the old city. There are people everywhere, taking photographs, eating ice cream, watching street performers, having coffee or just walking around the lake. The mere mass of people turns the three-lane road into a pedestrian way with vehicles barely inching through the crowd. On our return to Hanoi from trekking in Sapa a few days later (more of that below), we again run into festivities. This time dragon dancers in full costume and again a sea of people.

From Hanoi, we head to Sapa for a three day trek through the colourful mountainside rice fields of northern Vietnam. The overnight sleeper-bus is a new, surprisingly comfortable experience and we arrive early morning, ready for a couple of active days. We start the trek by waiting in a hotel lobby, drinking super sweet and super strong Vietnamese coffee for just over three hours. After that, our friendly guide and homestay host Chi, urges us and six other hikers into a mini-bus taxi and we head into the hills. The first day of hiking is an easy walk following a paved path through the hills interrupted by mad scrambles to pull our ponchos over our heads to shield us from unpredictable bouts of rain. To our disappointment, we have missed the rice harvest by about two weeks, and all the rice paddies that we hoped would be painted in different hues of yellow and gold, are only stubble filled muddy ponds. Life in the countryside is nevertheless interesting and we pass through numerous little homesteads with ducks, geese, pigs, chickens and water buffalo roaming freely. Arriving at Chi’s house, we are all assigned beds. Our family gets to sleep on floor mattresses in the loft, next to the mountain of bags containing our host’s rice harvest for the year.

The magic, however, starts an hour before dinner when Eulain asks Saum, our host’s ten year old daughter, if she can help with dinner preparations. Huge piles of morning glory get washed by the two girls, both sitting on their haunches in front of big buckets in the wet side of the kitchen. In the dry side of the dimly lit kitchen, the other five members of our family join in to help with the picking, peeling, chopping and slicing, passing vegetables to be washed to the two girls. An everyday chore becomes an intimate moment shared between the two families. After the modest feast, we all (kids included) are served a shot of home brewed rice wine. Not for the fainthearted!

The next day brings more rain, but mid-morning we and a friendly young couple from Israel, declare that a bit of water is not to be feared, and we set of for a hike to the waterfall. Both the hike and waterfall are disappointing, but the conversations are beautiful. After a leisurely lunch, Tom and Jenna leave for Hanoi and we return to Chi’s house where we have a languid afternoon. All six of us hope that the next day would be more active, but know that it is very unlikely that this tourist trap would hold any real excitement. At about eleven in the morning of the third day of the supposedly three days of scenic hiking, we get a taxi from the homestay back to the town of Sapa. It is hard to look past the disappointment of the unmet expectations. However, as we share our daily highlights with each other, we realise that finding the treasures in the people around us, even in seemingly insignificant moments, can be as beautiful as a hike in the mountains.

– Jarik –

Recovering in KL

Author: Jarik

Our five days in Kuala Lumpur came and went in a hazy daze of fever and sleep. The whole family, each and every one of us, came down with a bout of aching limbs and a throbbing headache lasting about three days. During this blurred time we also had to change accommodation three times as we did not intend to stay in the city for the full period, but just did not have the energy to move on. This was the only time during our travels thus far that we were all not well.

On our last day in the growing and surprisingly modern city, some of us perked up enough to participate in a walking tour of the city. We were delighted that the tour included some of the landmarks that Grandpa Gordon recommended we visit. The highlight was a peek into the Royal Selangor Club, a place we believe was Grandpa’s second home when he was enjoying the high life of the city some fifty years ago. It was just a peek, as the heart of the club is still “gentlemen only” and only the ladies had recovered sufficiently to see the tour through to the end.

Our next stop is Hanoi and to our relief, we received the email confirmation of our visas for Vietnam just in time to board the plane. Adventure awaits.

– Jarik –

Natural Laws Of Horn Engagement For Road Usage In India

Author: Jarik

Based on sound scientific method, that includes a statistically significant number of independent and repeatable observations, I offer the following “natural laws” to describe the seemingly erratic and constant vehicle horn usage on Indian roads.  In successive order:

“beep” [single, short] = Polite notification to fellow road user, whether pedestrian or other, that a vehicle is approaching (independent of direction of approach). This is sometimes reciprocated by the vehicle that is being approached.

“beep beep” [two, short, successive] = Notification to vehicle directly in front of approaching vehicle that the approaching vehicle intends to pass and that the first vehicle is to vacate the space it is occupying. This is given regardless of whether first vehicle physically has any viable options to vacate to. If the first vehicle vacates the desired roadway, no further horn exchange between the vehicles takes place.

“beep beep BEEP” or “beep BEEP beep” [three, one long and accentuated] = Given if first vehicle does not immediately oblige to previous signal. Regardless of any reciprocated signalling (which can be vigorous), the approaching vehicle now surges forward giving rise to a challenge of roadway possession. The ensuing duel can take on a level of aggression that can force oncoming traffic to move to the side of the road or even come to a complete stop (mid road).

“BEEP” [one, long and accentuated] = The final signal in the series. This indicates that the victorious road user has succeeded in pushing past its opponent to claim the road space. It will now continue by cutting-in right in front of the losing vehicle, only to come to a sharp halt to avoid hitting a cow or losing an axle in a pothole.

Surprisingly, the Laws of Horn Engagement carries a form of logic and poetic simplicity.  This, however, is obscured by the fact that any given five metre section of roadway can accommodate between seven and twelve users in any particular direction, all active in different stages of the horn engagement laws. Simultaneous interactions with more than one co-road users are also not the exception.  This gives rise to a chaotic cacophony that sets the uninitiated on the front of their seats, waiting for the inevitable metal crumpling sounds that usually follows such overt and incessant horn usage. After a month in India, one, however, develops the capability to simply sit back and enjoy the symphony.

– Jarik –


Road Trip Through The Himalayan Foothills

Author: Jarik

Leaving the patchwork of rice and wheat fields of the Indian plains behind us, our next couple of days would take us into the foothills of the Himalayas. Our driver, Mr Singh, just laughs when we tell him that our GPS shows that the 230km to Shimla will take about three hours. “Six hours”, he says, “with lunch, more”. We inch our way across a mountain pass that is in the process of being widened into four lanes. From what I can observe, it is a disaster in the making. Large sections of the completed lanes are covered in mountains of debris from fresh landslides and are now completely impassable. The retaining walls, built from hand shaped rock, are all to the same height and without any footing regardless of the steepness or size of the mountain that is behind it. Little streams cut through under these new walls that have no provision for drainage. Heavily laden trucks, busses and cars snake through the construction work while scores of women carry buckets full of cement on their heads to the work areas. Some of the roadside shops and restaurants had their front sections demolished to make way for progress, but the remaining halves are still open for business, accessed by make-shift ladders and walkways placed over ditches and amongst protruding steel and electric cables.

Mr Singh safely delivers us to our accommodation in Shimla, a homestay with a friendly family, but an absolute dump otherwise. We find the silver lining we are now desperately looking for only the next day as we explore the area. Shimla, a historical British “hill station”, is rich in history that helped shaped India’s independence from colonial rule. It is set on the ridgelines of a number of steep hills with colourful multi-level buildings cascading down the forested valley sides. Apart from the historical sites, the main Mall, an open shopping and restaurant street on one of the ridges, is the key attraction. We enjoy wandering around the area at sunset, watching the colour of the buildings change and being part of the pleasant night time atmosphere.


After another six endless hours on the road we reach our next stop, Dharamsala. Our accommodation, a mountainside cottage some distance outside the city, is fantastic. Our host is wonderful and after sharing a beer together, we have laid out a plan for an action packed two days in the area. Five o’clock the next morning we set off to McCleod Ganj, starting our day with a steep 6km uphill hike to Triund in the hope of catching a glimpse of the majestic Himalayan peaks in the distance. Reaching the top, we have parathas that our friendly housekeepers prepared earlier the morning and drink cups of chai as the clouds roll in and out in front of the peaks.


After a hearty Tibetan lunch of steamed momos back down in the town, we continue our cultural education as we visit the Tibetan displacement museum on our way to the temple of the Dalai Lama. The history is touching. McCloud Ganj is filled with cultural and spiritual tourists. The temple people flock to, holds very little for the senses, but the ideas and philosophies are powerful.


The next city we visit is also a centre of spiritual tourism for many. Mr. Singh come into his own in Amritsar, the city of the Golden Temple. Here he takes on the role as our personal city guide. We have a fascinating evening walking along the people filled, white marble promenades and admiring the gold covered structure set in the middle of a large reflective bathing pool. With the help of our expert guide, we get to experience the activities that take place right in the centre of the temple. Thousands of devout worshippers come to pay their respects, some sit down to meditate on the reading.


The next day we drive to the border between India and Pakistan (about 30km outside the city) to witness the Wagah Border flag lowering ceremony. The daily event draws huge crowds and we have to wait three hours in the VIP line to get through the gates. The separate gents and ladies lines for non-foreigners are even longer. The event resembles a large sporting match, complete with spectator filled grandstands, snack vendors and the voice of an MC announcing the order of activities. The difference, however, is that no ball passes from one team to another.  All eyes are focused on the sharply uniformed border guards and their very theatrical marching and kick saluting, opening of the “border gate”, waving of fists and retrieving of the flag. This process takes about 45 minutes and every step is reciprocated by similarly theatrical activities on the Pakistani side of the border. Once the flag is folded and safely in the hands of the most senior presiding officer, the crowd roars into a cheer.

Our six day road trip comes to an end early the next morning when we board the train for Delhi. We can’t help to feel sad, as this is our last train for our time in India. We have experienced so much. Mr. Singh sees us off and takes excellent care of us right to the last minute. He refuses to leave until our train rolls out of the station. Thank you India! We are richer for sharing time with you.

– Jarik –

Jewel In The Desert

Author: Jarik

As our train traversed through kilometre after kilometre of dry scrubland, moving deeper into the north-western corner of India, I started to have second thoughts about our visit to the far-flung city of Jaisalmer. The landscape did not seem to be able to sustain any more than a meagre nomadic existence. Can anything here be worth the twelve and a half hour excursion into the Thar dessert?

Jaisalmer, however, turned out to be a splendid destination, steeped in a thousand years of colourful history, with remnants of wealth and splendour from its time as a prominent hub in the Silk Road. Surprises await the curious everywhere. The bright yellow sandstone fortress towers above the scorched plain with tiers of high, curved buttresses, sentinels and beautifully decorated entry gates. Inside, small winding alleys lead to exquisite structures adorned with the most intricate sandstone sculpting. Historic multi-level private homes or “havellis”, with elaborate balconies and terraces display the past fortunes from the opium trade. Masters of their medium, the skill and patience of stone artists, captured in the detailed symmetrical designs that give shape to the numerous temples in the city, bears testimony to their devotion.



Unlike the fortified cities in Europe, the stone paved roads are not shiny from the footfall of millions of tourists in designer footwear. They are worn smooth by generations of barefoot children and the hooves of cattle and goats that are still lead out of the city every morning.

After the heat of the day, the city explodes into even more life. The streets burst with activity – little general stores, tailors, electrical goods, shoe stands, barbers, blacksmiths, food stalls, furniture – all vying for business. The walls of the city, now gold in the glow of dusk, reflect the activity that it presides over. Jaisalmer was much more than we expected.


Our hotel was located five minutes’ walk outside one of the gates in a newer section of the city. It was a delightful place, just off the main road and surrounded by homes of families where the children enjoyed playing street cricket. Even in this location, and all throughout the newer parts of the city, the buildings boast fantastic sandstone facades following the historical designs. This coherently ties the new to the old. We were also drawn into the excitement of the young entrepreneur who runs the hotel and who is in the process of opening a second. The new hotel will be more elaborate, with a rooftop restaurant and amazing sunset views over the city.

The fact that the only way to reach Jaisalmer is by arduous bus or train journey, makes it delightfully less frequented by foreign tourists. (An airport was scheduled to open in 2011, but has still not been commissioned). We, however, went past a brand new Marriott hotel set within a sprawling green lawn about two kilometres outside the city. Hurry, the designer footwear is fast approaching!

– Jarik –


The Pink City – Jaipur

Author: Jarik

The first impressions of Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, is very good: a modern airport; an orderly taxi rank; a broad, tree lined main avenue; hanging flower baskets on the street lights; vehicles all moving in the right direction; white marble temples; glass clad business towers. That is where it ends. The rest of the Pink City is a great chaotic mosaic of grand palaces, colourful temples, recklessly driven vehicles, shops with wares spilling over into the streets, food carts, rubbish heaps, putrid sewers, monkeys, lazy cows, fresh cow patties, flower decorated shrines, ancient trees and people. This is India as one imagines it.

We were fortunate to arrive in the city on a hot Friday afternoon, just as the city started to come to life for the evening. After checking in at our very basic hotel, we venture to one of the large and lively market streets. Our senses overload. We stare into every little incense filled shop, stocked with everything imaginable. We eat deep fried potato pastries from one of the food carts, much to the amusement of some of the locals. At the flower market, we are decorated with colourful bloom necklaces. The family is a selfie magnet and we stop every few meters for “one photo”. Shop owners start to pull down their shutters by the time we finally meander our way back through the dark alleys. A wondrous evening.

The next morning we learn that we cannot enter the historical Pink City. Jaipur has been placed under army curfew over night. There was a clash between the police and the residents of the neighbourhood we explored the previous evening. A couple of vehicles and the police station were set on fire, gunshots fired and numerous people injured. There are roadblocks everywhere, hampering our plans to visit the historical royal palaces. After spending the morning admiring the architecture of the large Amer (amber) Fort complex that is situated on a hill a few kilometres outside the main city, the boys and I go for a haircut. The cheapest one yet at INR 150 each (A$3) – unfortunately it shows.DSC00802

That evening we discover that the roof-top restaurant above our hotel has the best vegetarian Indian cuisine we have ever had. Truly exceptional. The owner (also head chef) guides us through the menu and we eat there twice more, expanding our palate with new and delicious flavours and textures.

Three days after our arrival, we leave Jaipur at 00:05 by train following another white knuckle tuk-tuk ride to get to the station. Our world has expanded yet again.

– Jarik –


Travel by Numbers 2

Author: Jarik

Our time in south eastern Europe came to an end all too quickly. We spent our last three days in Sofia, Bulgaria. Like all the cities in this region, it has a colourful history that includes periods of independence interspersed with rule of different large empires, all leaving an indelible mark on the culture, cuisine and architecture. Yes, Bulgarian yogurt is really that good, as is the wine. We especially liked the dry rosé. The more adventurous among us also tried horse sausage and donkey meatballs. The plates were empty, so I guess it was good.

At the end of the European leg of our adventure, we have been away from home for 166 days. We have slept in 71 different beds excluding the overnight busses, planes and trains. That is a new place to call home every two or three nights! Our feet have carried us just over 1300km, of which 580km were in Europe. Our morning runs accounted for about 225km and the reminder mainly from hiking in the Slovenian Alps or exploring the cities and villages. We again had to buy new shoes for Kali, Esto and Ruzow in Slovenia – the best Solomon trail running shoes worn through in just over two months.

Km by foot 2Diffirent beds 2

We have thus far made use of some form of public transport 144 times, including four surprisingly comfortable sleeper trains. We have used considerably more trains and trams in Europe compared to South America, where busses carried us between cities.

Transport 2Country compare 2

Although we were initially concerned that our ratio of wine consumption to bus rides was dropping too low in South America, we managed to rectify that with the help of our American friends! We have, however, found that the ratio of bottles of wine consumed to number of beds are more closely correlated. We have also identified our favourite brand of beer in each country we have visited in Europe, but have conveniently not tracked any incriminating statistics in this area.

Wine 2



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