Archive through April 09, 2003
TV ClubHouse: Archive: Matthew Von Ertfelda (ARCHIVE):
Archive through April 09, 2003
Pamy | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 08:59 am     I have many gay male friends, always have. Laying in my lap having me rub their head wouldn't be that unusual. I have thought Matt was gay all along, no biggie, doesn't change how I feel about him. |
Hummingbird | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 09:38 am     Okay, now that we are speculating about who is gay, what about Vern? |
Alaginger | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 12:36 pm     Matt's thinking cap: Week 8: Okay, next person booted is "On the Jury", so I made it this far. Need to help oust Dave, or if he wins immunity, Alex......so I'll throw the IC so I don't look like a threat and vote with Deena's team. Week 9: Okay, now I'll run over here with Christy, Butch, Alex and me against Deena's 4, but to make sure against a tie vote.....I'll win IC this week. Week 10: Okay....stick with this side since we are now 4 to 3. Week 11: Going good.....now 4 to 2 (Bye Bye Heidi) Week 12: Oh, Oh.....Jenna won immunity.... grab Jenna for our side and oust Alex. Week13: Win immunity.....grab Jenna and get her to help me oust Christy, because if Christy gets to F2 everybody will give her the money. Week14: Just make sure Butch doesn't win, because neither me or Jenna will take him to F2...he is too well-liked! Now it's up to the jury!!! |
Squaredsc | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 01:00 pm     hummingbird, vern? really? |
Hummingbird | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 02:19 pm     No, no, I'm not saying that he is -- just wondering. I have no inside scoop on anything. I would never have thought so myself but I have seen other people on other threads bring it up. I don't care either way. He is my second favorite designer after Laurie and sexual preference wouldn't change that. |
Squaredsc | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 02:35 pm     whew, ok, not that it really matters to me, he is also a favorite designer of mine. as long as you don't say laurence. |
Grooch | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 04:11 pm     There is an article in this week's National Enquirer about Matthew. They interviewed his mother and she said that he speaks 5 different languages and his last girlfriend was Swedish so he went and learned to speak Swedish. So even though it is the NE, I will believe he is straight. Not that it matters a whit. |
Lexie | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 04:24 pm     Just a note...if you read the whole thread at sucks then you will see that BOYFRIEND was a typo See: Below __________________________________________ SORRY....it is GIRLFRIEND. I typed it wrong _____________________________________________ |
Car54 | Saturday, March 29, 2003 - 04:43 pm     Lexie.. LOL...that was my point, you are the first one to see it!!!! |
Lobster | Saturday, April 05, 2003 - 02:03 pm     I haven't read all the spoilers, so I don't know who they are saying wins, but, the way they keep showing Matt literally sweating through Tribal Councils is leading me to believe he's the winner. Which means he isn't. LOL |
Catfat | Saturday, April 05, 2003 - 09:21 pm     I have been watching Matthew closely through the last several weeks. I don't think he is "creepy" at all. He is tall and gaunt and obviously too thin, but I don't get bad vibes from him at all. I think the bit with sharpening the machetes is his way of just sitting quietly by himself, doing a job that needs to be done. He is not flamboyant and mouthy like some of the others. Didn't he say something about the others using the machetes to chop trees and then they were no good for cutting food? Maybe he is just the type of person who needs privacy and solitude, doesn't get any where he is, so he sort of zones out to do some thinking or meditating. I am liking him more and more, but still like Alex better. |
Crazydog | Monday, April 07, 2003 - 06:44 pm     I find Matthew the creepiest Survivor ever. Even creepier than Michael Skilpin from Survivor Australia, who was getting psycho about catching fish and pigs to give him more power in the group, before his untimely fall into the fire. And gay or not, it doesn't really matter. But if he's not gay he has to be one of the most effeminite straight men around. There's nothing wrong with sharpening the machetes to keep them sharp. But the way he does it with that really psychotic look - ultra creepy. Why is he still here? I suppose he's the easy boot that everyone knows they can just get rid of. But that strategy can have its downfall. |
Crazydog | Monday, April 07, 2003 - 06:51 pm     Also, the way he was using the machete to "MacGyver" his shoes into sandals? Possibly legitimate. But the way it was accompanied by his low, slow matter-of-fact voice? CREEPY. Reminded me of a serial killer explaining directions on how to cook someone's liver. |
Car54 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 04:49 pm     Matt's articles On the trail of cannibals: 35 days in the jungles of Irian Jaya By Matthew Von Ertfelda, Standard-Times correspondent Journal Entry -- Day 27 -- 7:30 p.m. -- whereabouts unknown It is after nightfall and our canoe's outboard motor has just sputtered to a halt. We are somewhere on the Catalina River in the middle of a broad, empty swath of jungle indicated on our topographical map as "data relief incomplete." Blanketed in darkness, our flashlights do little to illuminate the massive logs jutting out just above the river's surface, any one of which could easily flip our canoe. The piercing whine of cicadas is broken only by the occasional splash of large crocodiles leaping off the shore to investigate us. "Apa ada masalah?" I ask Yonis, our Lani guide. "Is there a problem?" Silence. My thoughts turn to the three Momina tribesmen accompanying us. Owners of the only motorized canoe within miles, they had tried to extort nearly $700 from us several hours earlier. Were they now going to demand more money or simply abandon us? "There's no more gas," Yonis mutters. The Momina did not bother to fill the gas tanks before our departure. Stunned at his response, I crane my neck, training my flashlight on the old Momina chief who is grinning wickedly, revealing his one large yellow tooth. The beam shows through the small hole in his nasal septum, cutting into the shadows behind. We have no radio and are miles away from the nearest village. Suspecting an ambush or some other form of trickery, we stash our passports and valuables in our body wallets and ready our machetes. Drifting down the Catalina River, violent scenes from movies like "Deliverance" and "Apocalypse Now" re-create themselves before my eyes. Shrouded in thick fog, a sandbar appears before me like a hallucination. Littered with massive, gnarled tree trunks, it resembles the skeleton of a dinosaur. Reining in our imaginations, we try to remain vigilant, ignoring the discomforts of our seats of twisted sheet metal and the foul bilge water seeping into our trousers. After all, this is just another example of "expect the unexpected," a theme to which we have become accustomed during our travels in Irian Jaya, one of the earth's last true frontiers. Journal Entry – Pre-expedition --11 a.m. May 5, 1998 -- Wamena New Guinea has for centuries been regarded as a place where tales of Stone Age tribes, fresh water sharks, bird-eating spiders and undiscovered species of flora and fauna are fact, not fiction. Among the nearly 1,000 aboriginal tribes inhabiting the Indonesian island just north of Australia, there are some isolated tribes believed to still practice headhunting and cannibalism. Thoughts of a possible face-to-face encounter with a cannibal consume me as my companion, college friend Brad Frank, and I board a cargo plane in Jayapura bound for Wamena, the main town in the highlands of Irian Jaya and the jumping off point for our expedition. We jackhammer a landing onto a narrow airstrip where we are soon surrounded by a throng of Dani tribesman, many naked except for several rattan hoops wrapped around their waists and koteka or long thin gourds sheathing their penises. Their short, well-muscled physiques, wide brows and pierced noses, some threaded with pig tusks, recall images of neolithic warriors. Their soft voices and gentle smiles seem incongruous with their warlike past. We select a local Lani tribesman named Yonis as our guide and chart a course that will take us 125 miles, from the Baliem Highlands to the village of Haul in the lowlands. There we will visit a reclusive tribe known as the Korowai Batu, one believed to still practice cannibalism. The word Batu means stone in Bahasa Indonesia, in reference to the ability of these tribes to resist missionary efforts to convert them. We are told that contacting such tribes will be extremely dangerous, requiring us to follow in the footsteps of early Dutch explorers and face many of the same perils: treacherous terrain, limited supplies of food and water, widespread malaria, dangerous reptiles, and potentially hostile natives. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Journal Entry – Day 1 -- 7 a.m. – The Highlands We bolt down the gravely trail like men on parole, clambering over stone walls and log fences. Less than an hour into our trek, the 5,000-foot elevation and nearly intolerable heat leave us cloaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Approaching a suspension bridge, we spot a crumbling concrete pylon -- the first of several grave markers. Years ago, a Japanese tourist crashed through the rotten planks of the previous bridge, his body lost forever in the froth of rapids below. The first few hours of trekking take us along a steep mountain trail, a shallow groove etched into the endless string of cloud-fringed mountains that make up the Baliem Valley. The trail conditions vary dramatically; high mountain passes yield to deep ravines, terraced gardens, then dense jungles and rain-swollen rivers. A continuous grid of stone walls wraps around even the sheerest mountain face, the result of centuries of ubi or sweet potato cultivation, the staple food in the highlands. Water-filled hoof prints are everywhere, signs of Irian Jaya's pig-based economy. Highly prized as a status symbol, as well as for the taste of their meat, pigs are still used to pay dowries and resolve disputes. Even today, the wanton killing of a pig is deemed as egregious an act as the murder of a man, and is punished accordingly. We stop to rest in a rare patch of shade along the trail. The porters, clad in clothing so worn it resembles webbing, begin their usual routine of plucking insects from each other's hair. They drink little water and seem to subsist almost entirely on sweet potatoes and cigarettes. They carry our heavy equipment barefoot without complaint. My eyes wander to an old woman herding a group of piglets. I notice that several fingers are missing from her left hand. Yonis explains that they were amputated with an ax to mourn the death of a relative. As she passes, her eyes trained on the ground, the porters erupt in hoots and hollers, sending her stumbling quickly down the trail. Journal Entry -- Day 18 -- 2 p.m. – The Lowlands Three weeks of highland trekking leaves us weak and dispirited. The unforgiving terrain has taken a cruel toll on my companion whose hobbled gait and vacuous stare remind me of a shackled prisoner on death row. We leave our last highland camp and descend into a swamp, the smell of rotting vegetation overwhelming us. Under my watch I notice a thin trickle of blood – leeches! I quickly use my machete to scrape them away, then climb into the canoe that will take us to the village of Sumo, home to the Momina tribe. There we plan to secure a canoe to Senggo and on to Bazman, the jumping off point for our foray into Korowai territory. Coursing swiftly down river, we admire the tall redwoods, sago palms, banana trees and patches of bamboo that seem to burst out of the jungle surrounding us. The village of Sumo is a muddy path bordered by rows of stilted shacks on either side. Mangy dogs, ribs showing through their coats, stalk chickens that cluck noisily. Across from our stoop is a man-sized cage constructed of thick logs and fresh vines. Expecting a tribal enemy or lost tourist, we peek inside to find a baby cassowary. A flightless bird that grows 6 feet tall, they are extremely aggressive. Adult birds are known to disembowel hunters with their powerful talons. We spend hours on a primitive missionary radio trying to contact the village of Senggo and arrange a motorized canoe. After a rest day in Sumo, during which we unwittingly dine with a local leper, we depart for a camp along the Sen River where we will be retrieved. Unfortunately, things do not go as planned. Three days pass and there is no sign of the canoe. Defeated, we return to Sumo where we learn by radio that the canoe never left Senggo. A day later we find ourselves at a new camp along the Baliem River waiting for a Momina chief to return from a nearby village. Life in the river camp is an exercise in frustration. Our campsite is a sliver of sand bordered by a dense thicket of trees on one side and a river of gray unreflecting water on the other. Our shelter consists of a perforated blue tarp for me, and a mosquito-friendly tent for Brad. We spend the days bored to distraction. For amusement, we indulge in desultory hunting expeditions along the water's edge for buaya or crocodiles. Each night at 6 p.m. we slip into our sleeping bags and barricade ourselves under our mosquito nets -- critical preparation for the legions of mosquitoes that attack us each evening. Relentless, implacable and ingenious, they are worthy of military research for their ability to infiltrate our every layer of protection. At dusk, sealed in our respective enclosures, we are witness to a macabre aerial show as the turquoise-tinted sky fills with large kelelaura or bats. Wave upon wave passes overhead like a fleet of silent black phoenix. Roosting nearby, the flapping of their wings sounds like flags whipping violently in the wind. Each morning at 5:30 a.m. we awake to screeching hornbills erupting from the jungle canopy above us. We then count our respective bites and hypothesize over the mathematical probability of encountering a Mefloquin-resistant malarial mosquito (Mefloquin is a strong anti-malarial medicine, taken before, during and after the trip). Despite the availability of vaccines, malaria continues to be the leading cause of death in New Guinea -- a fact never far from our minds. We run out of military rations. Chicken with rice, meat loaf with gravy – they are now just fond memories. Several small bananas and sweet potatoes are all we have left. It is three days before the Momina chief finally arrives. When he does, he insists we pay 5 million Indonesian rupiah for the 12-hour trip to Senggo. Nearly seven times what the locals pay, it is pure extortion. The situation begins to appear hopeless. Then Yonis devises a plan. He convinces the chief that the new 20,000 rupiah notes recently issued by the Indonesian government are worth twice that amount. The tribe is illiterate -- an unexpected stroke of luck. But the last laugh is on us -- once in the canoe and heading downriver, we run out of gas. The following morning, after spending the night adrift, we pull alongside another canoe and barter for enough gas to get us to a nearby filling station. We arrive at Senggo around noon, after enduring 25 hours trapped in the canoe. Journal Entry -- Day 30 -- 11 a.m. -- The Hell of the South The Korowai live in tree houses, some nearly 100 feet high, presumably as protection against headhunters, floods and the malarial mosquitoes that infest the lowland swamps. Despite the flat terrain, the hiking here proves even more laborious than the highlands. Heavy rains produce banjir or floods that turn swampy trails into knee-deep nightmares and render rivers nearly impassable. Balancing on moss-covered logs in waterlogged boots is difficult enough, but tightrope walking across trees submerged 4 feet deep in swamp water is almost impossible. I spend my first night in the village of Ayanop where I am treated to ular sago or scarab beetle larvae. In the past, following successful headhunting raids, the grubs were mixed with human brains in a dish which, according to my porter Agus, is more palatable than it sounds. The practice stems from the Korowai belief that eating the body of an enemy, thief or murderer will give them their powers. Later that evening, a withered old man arrives wearing only a headband of white Job's tear seeds and a little lime-colored leaf tied over his penis. I'm told he is from the village of Haul -- a Korowai Batu, a cannibal. He squats next to the fire, his face painted in claw-like streaks of firelight. Shaking and wailing as if conjuring up a spirit from the netherworld, he relates how two days earlier a relative was murdered, pierced through the neck with an arrow by a member of the Dayu tribe. Triggered by a case of marital infidelity, such crimes are common, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of revenge which ensures that there is always at least one tribe at war with another. The following day, as shimmering columns of rain fall from leaden clouds, we start for Haul. As we trudge through a waist-deep sago swamp, thorny tendrils lash my face and creepers snare my boots like tripwires. Birds of Paradise frolic in the ironwood trees high above us. Distracted by their song, I nearly stumble into a saucer-sized spider, its web stretched between two slender trees like a bed sheet. In a clearing surrounded by a labyrinth of felled trees stands the village of Haul. From a solitary tree house, the same wizened old man peers out ominously from the shadows within. Shinnying up the tall, notched pole, I cautiously enter. The eaves of the roof are constructed of rows of tightly folded sago palm fronds and ornamented with turtle shells, pig, bird and snake bones. But no human skulls ... I am disappointed. In contrast to the other tree houses I visited, there is no evidence of outside contact here. All the food the Korowai Batu eat is either raw or roasted -- they have no clay or metal pots with which to boil water. Fires are started with rattan strips and tree branches and bamboo tubes are used for the transport and storage of water. As with the highland tribes, the Korowai hunt with bow and arrow, each arrowhead designed differently depending on the quarry: fish, birds, wild pigs or humans. Each shaft bears an elaborate design demonstrating a profound respect for a hunter's prey that no modern bullet could ever match. Fingering the thorny barbs of an arrow leaning up against the bark wall, I ask the old man how often they use such weapons on each other. He says that a war party made up of the dead man's two sons and cousin departed the day before for Dayu where they will seek revenge for the murder. Risking impropriety, I ask whether he or any of the surrounding tribes still eat their enemies. The old man smiles mischievously. Eating daging orang or human meat is no longer permitted by the Indonesian government, he says, eyeing me predaciously. To lighten the mood, I hastily unveil some photographs from home. The porters gasp at the picture of my mother riding a horse -- they have never seen an animal so large. They ask me if it is good to eat. I hope they're talking about the horse. Later that evening, as I watch through the webbing of my hammock, the old man crouches in front of a biscuit tin we had brought along. Past and present seem to collide as he runs his finger delicately around the smooth chrome metal surface, his face a mixture of fear and wonder. He casts a wary glimpse at me and then creeps quietly back to the hearth. As I slip off to sleep, I wonder what his dreams will bring. Journal Entry – Post Expedition – 11 a.m. -- Civilization After spending significant time and money to extricate myself from Irian Jaya, I eventually arrive in the island paradise of Bali. While I will never know for certain whether cannibals still exist in Irian Jaya, there can be no doubt that I visited a savage Shangri-La and made contact with one of the most primitive tribes left on Earth. And who knows, perhaps if I had been successful in my search, I would not be here today to tell my story. About the author: A world adventurer with SouthCoast roots So how did a fellow from South Dartmouth find himself trekking through the jungles of New Guinea in search of cannibals, you ask? Matthew Von Ertfelda, 29, says he "was always keen on taking the path less traveled." The son of Harry and Kathleen Von Ertfelda, Matthew was born in Hong Kong but grew up in South Dartmouth. His love of adventure took hold as a teen-ager, he says, when he went on two Earthwatch expeditions. The first involved a trip to St. Croix, one of the Virgin Islands, to help a team trying to save the endangered leatherback turtle, the second to the island of Rarotonga in the Cooke Islands in the South Pacific, where he studied ancient Maori settlements. During his senior year at Middlesex School in Concord, Matthew took part in an underwater excavation of a galleon that sank off the Mariana Islands in the Western Pacific. The search for sunken treasure, he notes, was "every kid's dream." These adventures ignited Matthew's interest in travel and foreign cultures. He graduated from Cornell University, where he majored in restaurant development, after studying French cuisine for two years in Paris. "My dad always said that if I could cook, I'd always be able to support myself," he says. After graduating from college in 1994, Matthew headed back to Hong Kong, inspired by his father's recollections of the fabulous food there. He took a job developing restaurant and entertainment concepts, allowing more travel throughout Asia, the Philippines, New Zealand and more. After three years, investors became skittish about the area's economic situation with the return of Hong Kong to Communist China, so Matthew decided to move on. Today, he lives in Taiwan where he is studying Mandarin in hopes of making a career in the international hospitality field. So, why on earth did a young man with a taste for fine food and entertainment decide to go off in search of cannibals in New Guinea? Matthew readily admits to an interest in "recreational activities that involve a certain amount of risk." He counts skydiving, rock climbing and mountaineering among those interests. His adventuresome spirit was further whetted by a risky trek through a stretch of jungle in Panama and Colombia, dangerous in the extreme not only because of the hardship of the environment but also because of the criminal element roaming there. But he "enjoyed living in the jungle immensely and found the challenges posed by the environment (weather, terrain, animals, insects, etc.) really fascinating," he says. "I read some articles about tribes in New Guinea who are believed by some to practice cannibalism and headhunting in places for which there aren't even any maps. The idea of visiting a place where few, if any, foreigners have ever stepped foot was irresistible. The idea of a face-to-face encounter with a possible cannibal was too good to be true. A trip like this would be the adventure of a lifetime." Matthew, hooked onthe idea, began researching Irian Jaya and its people. He learned the native language, Bahasa Indonesia. The first sentence he committed to memory was, "Tolong ambil teman saya duluh," he recalls, which means "please take my friend first." "Luckily," he jokes, "I never had to use this line!" His research turned to the Internet, where he found others who had traveled through Irian Jaya, the western half of the island (the eastern part is the independent state of Papua New Guinea). From those contacts, Matthew and traveling companion Brad Frank, a college pal, eventually found Yonis, a Lani tribesman, who for $2,000 led the month-long expedition into the wilds of Irian Jaya to find the Korowai Batu tribe -- at one time reputed to be cannibals. Not exactly a Caribbean cruise. "These types of trips are not for everyone," Matthew concedes. Besides the stamina necessary to succeed on this demanding trek, there was the constant threat of injury and illness. "We carried more medicine in our backpacks than any of the 'jungle hospitals' we encountered along the way," he says. And how do his parents back home in South Dartmouth weather their son's expeditions? No sweat, says dad Harry, an orthopedic surgeon -- most of the time, they don't find out about Matthew's adventures until they are an accomplished fact, he chuckles. But the Von Ertfeldas have raised two independent-minded children (Eric, 30, is their elder child), and they trust their decisions. "He's got very good judgment," Dr. Von Ertfelda says of Matthew. "He's always been adventuresome. ... We don't worry." Besides, as he tells his kids, "The only thing you have in the end, when you get older, is your experiences." And how. -- ANNE L. HUMPHREY, features edit |
Webkitty | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:09 pm     Thanks for bringing that over here Car, I read it at Sucks today and its fascinating! |
Wink | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:10 pm     Wow I swore I would never warm up to this guy but he is absolutely fascinating. Thanks for a great article Car. |
Car54 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:14 pm     He is going to win, I think. Hope Jenna makes some jury people mad. |
Grooch | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:19 pm     <<I spend my first night in the village of Ayanop where I am treated to ular sago or scarab beetle larvae. In the past, following successful headhunting raids, the grubs were mixed with human brains in a dish which, according to my porter Agus, is more palatable than it sounds. The practice stems from the Korowai belief that eating the body of an enemy, thief or murderer will give them their powers. >> Car, this is what I was referring to about brains and maggots. I think scarab beetle larvae is basically the same thing as maggots. |
Car54 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:25 pm     Yeah I saw that after you posted it, that is when I went and read the whole thing. This is not a stupid clueless guy. It makes you want to watch him very carefully. The producers must have gone nuts when he applied for the show with this kind of background. Has he talked about this at all on the show? Jeez..he let Roger and the other guys boss the show and did whatever he was told...hmmmm do I see a little of that John Nash thing happening? |
Moondance | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:37 pm     Like you said before, Car ... he is clueless or just a brilliant player! |
Car54 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 05:56 pm     Yeah...too soon to tell. Jeff said he was clueless and Jeff is seldom wrong. I am gonna be watchin Matt really close tomorrow. |
Webkitty | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 06:30 pm     There is a third option, he goes on an immunity run. The thing with Matt is, like Jeff said, he had all this jungle experience, but didn't know how to play the game of Survivor. I have to trust that Jeff wouldn't throw us off the path that much. I think Matt will get very lucky and win some key immunities. Heck, he could probably go on a run to rival Colby. The guy is big and strong and flexable. Did you see him on that stump? I bet he could have outlasted Deena or Christy if he wanted to. |
Car54 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 07:00 pm     Absolutely. It would be very very smart...he has been a food provider, and has no apparent alliances. He has done ok at prior challenges, but not a standout or threat...save it for the final sprint and go for it. Gosh I hope so. |
Hermione69 | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 07:06 pm     What an amazing individual! Thanks for posting his journal entries, Car. |
Catfat | Wednesday, April 09, 2003 - 09:48 pm     Thank you for posting that, Car. Wow, is Matt a good writer. It is as I suspected (but probably didn't post). Matt is extremely intelligent, a trait I admire more than anything else on the planet. That dark, brooding scowl he wears sort of keeps the other survivors at a distance and gives him breathing space. Why on earth would he care what people like Heidi and Jenna and Rob think of him? He will keep his distance, not try to run things, will try to appear clueless, will keep providing food, will not be perceived as a threat. He is my favourite to win, now. Second favourite now is Alex. I can easily see Matt getting into the movies, playing very dark, dramatic roles. He would be much more likely to be a success than any of the other pretty men who have tried to make it from any Reality shows. D@mn, he's something else! |
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