AWE INSPIRING

There are only a few moments in my life that have taken my breath away.  The moment I held my new born daughter in my arms, my first real kiss, standing at the top of a run preparing to board down freshly fallen powder snow and when my daughter does something that truly astounds me.  These moments that are not easily forgotten, they are etched in my memory forever.  I experienced another of these breath taking moments in Yogyakarta, it took me totally by surprise and I was unprepared for the impact of it. 

The alarm woke us at 3am (Princess Pants was less than impressed), and we prepared ourselves for the arrival of our driver, our destination Borobudur Temple.  Borobudur is a huge mandala and is the world’s biggest Buddhist monument.  It was built sometime between 778 – 856AD but was abandoned within less than a century.  Not long after it was abandoned, the huge volcano that shadows Borobudur erupted and covered it in volcanic ash, hiding it for centuries.  It was rediscovered in 1908 but not fully excavated or restored until 1975.

Okay enough with the history lesson, you get the idea – this place has been through its share of adventure – abandoned, buried, excavated and restored.  Friends had told me this place was amazing and not to be missed, so I knew it was going to be a good trip.  We drove for an hour through villages as they slowly came to life. Rice paddies and traditional markets were beginning to stir as our driver weaved through the early morning traffic and ox carts. 

Tickets were brought and sarongs were wrapped around our waists by the temple custodians.  We followed the path through a beautiful garden and there in front of us was this incredible mandala.  There was fog around us and even though there were other tourists if felt quite eerie, everyone was remarkably quiet, I think we were all struck by the beauty of the site.  We climbed level after level of crudely cut stone stairs and finally stood at the top of the 31.5 metre temple.  We turned and stared out over this amazing island of Java.  The temple and path fell away and below us a misty fog shrouded the palm trees that lined the path and Gunung Merapi (volcano) stood proudly in front of us.  The sun crept up the path and hit the temple, I was in awe.  I know it sounds cliché but I am lost for words at how to describe the moment.  Princess Pants wrapped me in a hug and we both stood appreciating the spectacle we were seeing. 

I know I wasn’t the only one who felt in awe, the other tourists around us were all glued to where they stood taking in the moment.  I don’t know if it was this place steeped in so much history, the calm meditative aura of the Buddhists or the fact that Princess Pants and I were experiencing something amazing together but I was blown away.  We stood there for a while appreciating the beauty and mystique of this place, before we resorted back to being tourists. 

We posed for photos amongst the 432 stone Buddha and 72 stupas, walked around each terrace as we wound our way down the 10 levels and oohed and arghhed over the reliefs carved into the

rocks.  When we made it to the bottom we stood back and once again appreciated the incredible achievement of the men who built this place.  Our feeling of peace and tranquillity was not long lived and was quickly shattered as we made our way down the exit path.  We were swarmed by men selling all manner of trinkets and souvenirs.  When I say swarmed I mean it, they circled us and moved in thrusting postcards, statues and all manner of things at us.  At the pleading of Princess Pants we parted with way too much rupiah and left with postcards, batik painted cards, books and a stone temple.  I am sure the totes were laughing at my terrible bartering skills, as I handed over their asking price rather than battle

with them for a discount.  Perhaps it was the calmness that I felt from that moment at the temple or the fact that I was hungry for breakfast but I didn’t care and wished them a good day of sales before heading back to find our driver.  I will never forget that moment on top of Borobudur and am glad that Princess Pants got to experience it also.  The crazy instabilities of this world and the busy chaos of Yogyakarta were left far from our minds as we glimpsed a truly magical moment.

ADVENTURE TO YOGYAKARTA

Sometimes getting out of the jungle is essential.  Apart from encounters with the wild life things are pretty much usually the same day in and day out here.  When hubby announced he must go to Jakarta for work I decided to take Princess Pants on an adventure.  We arrived in Yogyakarta which is often spelled and said in different ways such as Jogjakarta, Yogya, or Jogja for short.  

I would like to say the 45 minute flight from Jakarta was enjoyable but alas it wasn’t.  Somehow as we approached the airport we hit the wake of a training air force jet.  Hitting the wake of another plane creates a rather loud bang and causes a sudden jolt of the plane.  Princess Pants and an elderly woman next to me (along with many others) freaked out. 

As much as I felt panicked I managed to calm both of them down as we did appear to still be flying normally.  The pilot came on and announced the cause (jet wake) and that the air force jets were using the air space and that we needed to go in to a holding pattern.  After an hour of flying in a holding pattern two questions were in my head – “how the hell were we so close to another plane that we crossed its wake and who was in the wrong place – us or the training pilots?  I half expected to see a jet cruise past the wing of our plane.   I had no answers to those questions and when we landed I breathed a sigh of relief.  We had made it safely to Yogyakarta.

Yogyakarta is located in the middle of Java Island, still in Indonesia but a different island to where we call home.  To say I loved it the moment we landed would be a lie, it has the same hot, humid air that feels suffocating when mixed with the dust and fumes of the city.  Walking into the Novotel and feeling the air con was fantastic, sipping a cocktail by the pool was even better.  At the pleading of Princess Pants we left the comforts of the pool and went exploring for the evening.  The sights and sounds of Yogyakarta overwhelmed us as we stepped outside the hotel doors.  We grabbed a taxi and did what I always do when travelling alone, find some interesting little place to eat and watch the world go by. 

As we roamed the city, I had somehow forgotten that I had nine year old Princess Pants with me. Princess Pants grabbed my hand and informed me she didn’t feel so safe wandering the darkened streets.  After a brief conversation she explained that she was worried that if something happened to us, daddy wouldn’t be there to save us.  Hmmmm – I pulled on my super mummy face and promised her I would kick anyone’s arse that gave us trouble.  She laughed, probably like you are but my bravado seemed to do the trick.  This conversation did make me realise that I was no longer a 20 year old back packer able to travel to dodgy cafes and wander dark streets as the desire took me.  I was now a responsible mummy and needed to ensure that Princess Pants felt safe. 

I ditched the dodgy cafe and we headed to a very clean and respectable restaurant, I could see Princess Pants felt a lot happier.  After an amazing sate ayam and Corona (Sprite for Princess Pants) we headed back to the hotel to prepare for our early morning adventure to Borobudur Temple, getting up at 3am was not going to be fun.

THE BEST NEIGHBOURS

I would like to introduce you to a few of my close neighbours here in Sangatta.  They keep to themselves and are never intrusive.  They are some of the best neighbours I’ve ever had (apart from the Mendi Drive crew).  They don’t join me for vodka’s in the afternoon but that’s okay, I am happy to sit on my veranda and watch them go about their business.  The mum’s are pretty protective and make a noise similar to blowing a raspberry when they are cranky with our presence.  We have watched them build nests (which they sleep in for only one night), destroy Jackfruit with one bite, and care for their babies in much the same way any parent would. 

 

Princess Pants and I had a particularly close encounter with these neighbours one afternoon.  This specific afternoon we had watched the mother and baby feed in the Jackfruit tree at the end of the drive, as she sat atop the tree munching her way through some fruit I decided it was time to head inside. Princess Pants and I began to head down the drive and at that same moment the mum decided to climb down from her tree.  As we stood about a metre a way from each other I felt panic rise in me, she was all muscle and I’m imagining pretty fast when she wanted to be.  She was a big mamma and was only a bit shorter than me when she stood up.  I pushed Princess Pants behind me (to protect her I guess) and when I looked up I was surprised to see the mamma orang-utan doing the same thing to her baby.  There was a moment of eye contact before we both backed away, me down the drive and her back to the jungle.  I guess no matter what the species a mum will protect her baby if she senses danger. 

 

We are very lucky to be able to experience the awesomeness of having orang-utans so close to us.  We look forward to hearing the cracking of branches which signals the afternoon arrival of our neighbours and enjoy watching them as they watch us.  These experiences are priceless and won’t soon be forgotten by Princess Pants or I, life in Sangatta has its perks.

WHERE THE HELL IS KATRINA K

Where the hell is that?  That is the most common response I get when I tell people where I live.  So I thought I would use this post to shed some light on where it is that I currently call home.  Well Borneo is apparently the third largest non-continental island in the world.  Just in case you are wondering Greenland and New Guinea are the other two.  Borneo is in Southeast Asia and is divided in to three countries.  There is Brunei, East Malaysia and then Kalimantan which is the Indonesian part.  We are in the Indonesian part of Borneo Island in Kalimantan Timur.

 

 We live half way up the coast of Kalimantan Timur, which makes us reasonably remote.  It takes us four planes and two days to make it back to Sangatta from Townsville, Australia, so it is a bit of an epic journey.  Once we have passed through Townsville, Brisbane and Singapore airports we land in the city of Balikpapan.  If we are lucky we then board the Airbourne (better known as the death pencil).  If we are unlucky we get bumped off the Airbourne (it happens a lot) and we must load ourselves into a car and make the drive from Balikpapan to Sangatta.  I searched the internet for a while (in between Facebook scans) and I couldn’t find a map that had Sangatta labelled on it anywhere.  So I will do my best to explain where it is.   If you look for the word Timur on the map above, under the T is about where we live.  The car ride from Balikpapan to Sangatta can take anywhere between 6 – 8 hours depending on the road (or mud track), the weather, and truck collisions.  The only way I can explain the trip in the car is horrendous, I tend to crank up my ipod, close my eyes, say a prayer and hope for the best as we race our way towards Sangatta.  There is not too much around where we are as you can see from the blank green space on the map, which is why we have so many amazing orang-utans in our backyard.  So now you know where to find us please feel free to come visit anytime, there is a spare bed and I will be sure to protect you from rogue tokeks and squirrels.

JUST ANOTHER GOODBYE

Saying yet another goodbye

We said goodbye to another wonderful friend last night, over shots of Jack Daniels and it got me thinking.  The advantages of being an expat are numerous, but, like all lifestyles, there are drawbacks. A major drawback is the transient nature of many of the relationships we form. People are always coming and going from our lives. It's like, as soon as you get close to someone or build a bond, they are off on the next adventure in their expat life. To be honest I have been to more farewell parties here than any other kind of social event. Now, anyone that knows me knows I’m a sook and don’t do well at goodbyes.  That proves a challenge living here as not only is saying goodbye a constant fact of life, but also because the bonds here are formed at an accelerated pace so you're so much closer to the people you've known for only several months than you would be in the “real world”.

The first time one of the most amazing woman I had met here left it was terrible.  I was beyond emotional, I cried and sobbed as I stood in the shower (the only place for privacy with Princess Pants roaming the house) and thought I would never be able to stand another friend leaving. I vowed to myself that I'd only form relationships with people who were around for six months or longer. I soon realised that issuing such limitations would prevent me from encounters with truly remarkable people.  It was also a fairly ridiculous vow as expats never know when they are going to be uprooted and sent somewhere else on the whim of their company.


So how was I going to handle the leaving of so many incredible people from mylife?  Well I changed, or I should say, something within me changed. Somewhere along the way, my subconscious accepted that these situations would occur and I stopped seeing someone’s departure as a loss but looked upon it with a new perspective.  It may sound like I have become numb or cold, but I haven’t.   Of course, am sad when I lose a friend to the USA, Europe, another part of Asia, or Australia, but I no longer feel depressed about it. I'm almost completely unaffected. I spend time with my friend while they're still here, I attend their going away party, and when they leave I simply have to move on.

This lifestyle is actually an amazing test of bonds, whether they are real or just formed out of the convenience of being an expat. In the "real world" maintaining close relationships is much more difficult, and if my expat relationships can withstand that, I know that they were based on something more than just being thrown into this crazy lifestyle together. In friendships I have a habit of caring too much, of trying too hard, of getting too attached and all of these factors can result in my being disappointed and hurt. Taking on this new outlook has opened my eyes and been beneficial for me in how I approach my relationships with people, both abroad and in Sangata.

I attended a going away party one night and as the speeches were read and hugs given I realised that the guest of honour is probably someone I'll never see again. Yes, we may stay in touch with the odd Facebook message or comment, but apart from that I don't see the friendship transitioning into the “real world”. It made me realize that if I am so nonchalant about people's departures that I should just stop worrying and thinking about their time here so much. Not spend so much time and energy on caring about stupid things and just concentrate on the experience and person as a whole. If there is a future friendship past Sangata, then it'll be there regardless, and if there's not then why should I even care, I'll never see them again. I know sounds so cold and mean but it’s my reality these days.

As I said yet another farewell and hugged my friend goodbye last night I realised how much I have evolved and that saying goodbye is just another part of the expat experience that I've embraced and will take with me on my subsequent journeys.

 

SQUIRREL SURPRISE

When I decided to move to us to Sangata, I knew that life would be different. Let's be serious, any time someone decides to move ANYWHERE, life is going to be different. When we move, we give up the security of what we know. We give up our routines, our friends, and our comfort zones. These are, of course, replaced by new routines, new friends and building a new life that we will, in time (at least I hope so), feel comfortable with. Leaving our comfort zone pushes us in ways we didn't know we could be pushed and shows us that we are, in fact, capable of things we may previously have claimed we weren't. Squirrel wrangling was certainly not something that was on my list of things to prepare myself for before I left Australia.  Now before I tell you about this morning’s experience I must backtrack a bit.

 

I live next door to Stiffy, an Aussie expat who works for the same company as hubby.  His lovely wife Mrs Bucket brightens our lives with her occasional visits to Sangata.  On her last visit Mrs Bucket had me in tears as she told me the story of finding a squirrel in her veranda room.  After plenty of squeals, swearing and chasing the poor creature around the room the squirrel apparently decided to make a run for it.  It burst through a fly screen and made a daring leap into a nearby tree.  As Mrs Bucket retold this tale, I nearly spat my coffee everywhere as I laughed.  

I have been here for 16 months and have had close encounters with many members of the local wildlife but squirrels and I have so far kept a respectful distance from each other.  I see them as they run along the stair rail in front of my house or leap out of the outdoor bin after feasting on some feral treat, but that is as close as our relationship had got.  I was happy with this state of affairs and had no desire to get up close and personal with this animal.

This morning I regretted laughing at Mrs Bucket and her squirrel encounter.  Hubby was at work, Princess Pants sound asleep and I was enjoying my first sip of coffee.  I heard a scuffling in the veranda room and felt pissed that there was another rat in my house.  We have a rat problem here but I will save that for another post.  So I hear the scuffling noise and decide I am going to catch this little bugger.  I arm myself with a towel (to throw over the rat) and the broom.  I’m not 100 percent sure as to what my plan was but I was going to get this damn rat.  I crept into the veranda and closed the door behind me (so he couldn’t escape).  I used the broom to move a box and there looking up at me was a bloody squirrel.  I’m not sure who was more surprised the squirrel or me.  As cute as squirrels are when you are standing a metre away from one armed with only a towel and a broom they can be pretty scary.  Images of being savaged by this creature flashed through my mind, do squirrels carry the rabies virus, and do they attack if cornered? 

There was a standoff as we sized each other up.  Not sure of my next move but certain I didn’t want to hurt the thing, I backed away slowly making my way to the outside door.  I wasn’t prepared to turn my back on it (I am sure it would have taken the opportunity to

pounce) so I kind of did a backwards shuffle.  In a perfect situation the squirrel would have waited patiently for me to open the door and move away, and then it could have exited with no drama.  Clearly this squirrel was not on the same page as I was.  Did it wait patiently – no, as soon as I started my backwards shuffle it decided to launch up onto the desk and run along the window sill.  I swung the door open and before I had a chance to move the rodent made a run for it.  I will admit I nearly wet my pants as it ran across my bare foot and off in to the jungle.  I’m not sure who was more frightened but it was possibly me.  The squirrel was now safely back in the jungle where it belonged; I finished the rest of my coffee and tried to compose myself.  I spent the next half hour searching for how he may have got in.  I still have no idea where he came in; I just hope he doesn’t attempt it again. 

Yet again life in the jungle throws me a challenge in the shape of a wild animal.  I love the wildlife here but would much prefer that they stayed on the outside of my house.  Mrs Bucket I apologise for laughing at you – karma has had its revenge.

NOTHING BROKEN

I’m feeling a little sorry for myself today.   Fishing trips are one of the ways we spend our afternoons here in Sangata.  When hubby suggested a trip out on the boat with a couple of friends I was definitely keen.  We loaded up the boat with the fishing gear and off we headed.  It was pretty rough going out and we hit wave after wave.  By the time we got to the “honey pot” (a fishing spot) I was pretty soaked with sea water and questioning if it was worth staying out at sea.  After 2 hours and not one bite we decided to head in.  We pulled in the rods and turned to shore, we were five minutes into the trip back and wham the boat smacked down on a wave.  I wasn’t quite ready for the impact and found my ribs making contact with the side of the boat.  I sucked in a few deep breaths and composed myself.  Damn, it hurt but I sucked it up and didn’t complain too much.  Once back on dry land I thought I better check out my ribs.  I’m no doctor but I was pretty sure nothing was broken; I was rather impressed by the bruise that had started developing though.  The moral of this story is while on the boat I should keep my arse firmly planted on a seat.

SCOOTERS, SCOOTERS, SCOOTERS

Yesterday I told you about the hair raising bus adventures we have here.  Well buses are not the only troublesome vehicles on the road, indeed they are not even the most hazardous. Anyone that has spent any amount of time in Sangata will tell you, that there are scooters everywhere. 

Scooters have an ability to appear out of nowhere, they cut you off and dart in and out of traffic weaving through spaces that aren't really big enough to accommodate them.  Scooters drive down the wrong side of the road, hardly ever indicate and they are often laden with wives and children, chickens or large pieces of furniture.  These daredevil scooter riders either plod along while the driver has a nice little chat on his mobile phone or go so fast they end up screeching to a halt a hair's breadth away from you. Helmets appear to be a choice rather than a rule and if you named a driving offence there's no doubt most scooter drivers have committed it. The unpredictability of scooters and their riders is made all the worse by the fact that there are literally millions of them. In Indonesia a scooter is a far cheaper option than a car and in the heavily congested towns, a far more sensible option too.

When you queue at traffic lights you see that scooters definitely rule the roads in Sangata. Two-wheeled modes of transport do not queue up like cars, vans and trucks. Oh no, as they can fit through the gaps, they see it as their right to be able to squeeze themselves up to the front of the queue.
There they gather more scooters joining the group by the second, until everywhere you look there are scooters. As soon as the light turns green (and often just before) there is a rev of engines and off they speed, leaving the cars in their wake. There is no point in trying to move off before all the scooters have gone as you'll only end up knocking one over and, as you are a bule that means trouble.
 In fact if you're involved in an accident and the Indonesian driver is at fault, you'll still be in trouble. The feeling is that you're a foreigner in this country and if you weren't in the country the accident wouldn't have happened (that is a whole blog in itself). 

I don’t drive in town, so I never have to try to dodge scooters from every angle. Hubby is not so fortunate and often as we pull into our drive after a trip to market I see him relax his grip on the steering wheel, we have made it back from town unscathed by the demonic scooter riders for another week.  

THE PITFALLS OF WHITE PANTS



The bus stop

It seemed like a good idea at the time, wearing my favourite white pants shopping but I have indeed learnt a valuable lesson.  Shopping in Sangata and white linen pants are a terrible combination.  It all started so well, the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky as Princess Pants and I headed up the road to the bus stop.  This is not a regular bus stop, we don’t have buses that come and go all day to cart us around – this bus stop caters for the maids and gardeners of the housing camp.  It’s a free service and is very useful for when we just need to pop into town for something.  The plan was I would meet a friend and her son on the bus and we would spend an afternoon in town, doing a few errands.  Princess Pants and I wandered up to the bus stop late in the afternoon, there was no breeze and we were already pretty hot and sweaty by the time we reached the bus stop.  I love, Princess Pants but she jinxed us when she said “it’s so hot, I wish it would rain and cool down”.  



The door we nearly flew out

The sun was still shining when we boarded the bus and settled in for the 30 minute ride.  My heart rate went through the roof as I looked out the window, noticing that our huge bus was not only on the wrong side of the road but was overtaking a truck. I certainly couldn’t see what was about to come around the bend so am pretty sure neither could the driver.  After many more of these OMG moments we pulled up on the side of the road and disembarked.  The excitement was only just beginning on this adventure as we still had several untuks to catch.  An untuk is minivan, they are yellow and blue, the back doors don’t close and you perch on incredibly thin bench seats.  You wave your hand to flag them down, cram in with as many other passengers who will fit and off you go.  This ride will cost you 50 cents but let me tell you, you’re taking your life in your hands when you board these death machines.



Just an obstacle to our shopping

The footpath

So where was I, we had just hopped off the big bus, crossed the road and were ready to wave down an untuk.  Out of nowhere the sky opened and the rain began to fall.  I’m not talking a delicate sprinkle of rain but huge drops of rain that began to soak us.  It was at this moment as the rain fell and the puddles filled that I realised the error of my ways.  White pants were such a bad idea.  We dashed for cover under a shop awning and hoped that the rain would let up.  Before you ask, no we didn’t have an umbrella and not that it would have helped my poor white pants anyway.  An untuk arrived and we climbed aboard.  I tried not to look at the road rushing by through the rust holes in the floor, or to swear profusely as the driver slammed on his breaks and nearly sent us all sailing out the open door onto the road.  The untuk made its way through town and the rain subsided (much to my relief). The untuk filled up with other shoppers and soon 10 of us were crammed into this tiny minivan (hoping the rusty floor didn’t give out).  Soon enough we got to our destination, and piled out onto the footpath.  Okay to be honest it wasn’t really a footpath it was more a slab of concrete nestled in a muddy road.  We did some shopping and I managed to find a very funky retro kettle (that’s a story for another blog), we were then on our way again.  After 3 more untuk rides we ended up at the last stop on our shopping expedition.  It was getting dark and then it happened, a torrential down pour of epic proportions hit.  Anyone from the tropics knows the kind of rain I mean, sheets of water pouring from the sky.  In the beginning we were lucky enough to be in a shop and protected from this onslaught of nature but unfortunately the time did come and we had to leave.  I walked out of the store and straight into a puddle that covered my entire foot.   I grabbed Princess Pants hand and tried my best to dodge scooters, and the deeper puddles as we crossed the road.  I could feel my thongs (yep, you know me always in sensible footwear) sliding on my feet and hoped that I would not find myself arse up in the mud.  We made it to the middle of the road fairly unscathed.   I prayed that an untuk would arrive soon as I was quite aware that my pants would soon be very see through as the rain continued to soak them.  Then I saw it, blocking our path to the other side of the road was the hugest puddle.   I’m sure a small car or scooter could disappear into it entirely, that is how big it was.  I had no choice the puddle was the only thing standing between me and a dry untuk. I grabbed Princess Pants and dashed through the puddle to the waiting untuck.  Safely inside I glanced down and sure enough there was mud and filthy water everywhere. 

 

I have learnt my lesson and on the off chance that my maid can get those pants clean again I think they will be relegated to the back of my closet never to see another shopping trip in Sangata.

LET'S GET A FEW THINGS STRAIGHT

Was a beautiful morning today, sitting at my desk watching the sunrise, listening to the jungle as it wakes up.  Sipping my coffee a message popped up on my computer screen, as I read the message my pleasant morning began to take a different direction.  The message was from a friend who was expressing their concern for the safety of Princess Pants and me.  I felt very loved and cared for at their concern and know I am blessed to have such wonderful caring people in my life however it took me a while and another coffee before I could respond to the message.  The message was not rude or disrespectful at all but it brought up feelings of mummy guilt that only another mother can understand.  Mummy guilt is terrible, I do not know any mother who would not defend their child with their life and questions every decision they make from how much TV their child is watching to have they chosen the right school.  Mummy guilt is always there, sitting on your shoulder making you think twice about your decisions.  Now my friend had no desire to call into question the decisions I have made for Princess Pants in bringing her here but none the less the mummy guilt monster had been released. 

I am sure you are all now wondering about the content of the message.  I have spoken with my friend and she is happy for me to share the basics of the message.  Parts of the message read “I am so worried for you and Princess Pants, the news said all westerners in the Muslim world are targets for terrorism”, “You need to come home to your friends where it is safe”.  So here goes – this may not be the most politically correct blog, if it offends anyone I’m not prepared to apologise, this is my opinion and you are entitled to like it or not.

The world is crazy.  The world Princess Pants is growing up in is vastly different to the world I grew up in.  Do I worry about the threat of terrorism? Yes but I am sure a lot of you do too.  Yesterday as mainstream media broad cast the new travel warnings to US citizens and their allies, I did take notice.  I listened carefully as they announced their concern for westerners in Muslim countries.  I took note of the embassies that were to be closed, the travel alerts for countries across the globe and I felt sad that the world is such a terrifying place.  Did I question my decision to take Princess Pants to Jakarta (apparently a prime terror target) in a couple of weeks?  Yes, are we still going – hell yeah. 

So here is what I would like to share with you all.  I live in a predominantly Muslim country.  I chose to live here.  I do my utmost to respect the culture and religions of this country.  I cover myself before heading to town and I don’t eat in public during Ramadan (the month of fasting). I do my best to understand this amazing country and all the diverse people who live here.  Do I feel threatened by the Muslim population in this country, in no way at all.  We have many Muslim friends here, they are respectful, wonderful fun people.  Do I feel I am putting Princess Pants in harm’s way by living here – to be honest yes, sometimes (especially when mummy guilt rears its head).  What I do know is that if something happened here and we needed help, my friends (regardless of their religion) would not hesitate to help us.  I appreciate the concern of friends and family but please don’t ever question our well being on the basis of the religion of the country we are in. 

Terrorists have very little respect for the people they target.  Muslims, Christians and Catholics are all at risk when terrorism strikes.  Does living here put us more at risk of being a target – perhaps but only due to the amount of travel we do.  Could we become victims of terrorism in Australia – yes, any country is at risk.  As I type this, my mummy guilt is subsiding.  I know I have not thrown us into a situation that puts us more at risk of terror attacks.  We are in the same position as the rest of the world.   Please continue to care for our well being and safety (those crazy Tokeks are still in the house) and know I love you all for the wonderful messages of love and support you send me.

 

BIRDS NEST JUICE COCKTAIL

I love a good cocktail and I have some very creative friends who can whip up a cocktail master piece at the drop of a hat.  Here is a little cocktail that I think you will all enjoy indeed.  I whipped it up after an afternoon out on the boat. Vodka and Bird’s Nest Juice, yes you read that correctly bird’s nest juice.  The imagination runs wild doesn’t it?   This little treat comes in a can complete with white fungus, I added the vodka and ice and mmmmm tasty.

 

Okay so I couldn’t really bring myself to drink the stuff but I did have a little taste.  My verdict, sugary, nutty, floaty bits, and definitely not going to become a favourite any time soon.  For 95 cents you can try this flavoursome delicacy that is imported from Thailand, but I think I will be giving it a miss from now on. It is back to plain old vodka, lime and soda for this little kiwi bird. 
 
 

SOMETHINGS I MISS

Homesickness is something that I am sure all expats get once in a while. Homesickness creeps up at the most unexpected moments and when it does it knocks me for a six and the tears flow.  At these times my husband rolls his eyes and reminds me how much we are gaining from been here .... blah,blah,blah is all I hear.  I’m not infected with the homesick bug right now so I think this is the perfect time to reminisce on the things I miss from the life I left behind.

 

• Listening to music which is far too loud in my car, windows down, singing like a superstar, driving along the highway. 

• Books and the bookshops I love to browse in, Mary Who (oh I miss you) for a great book, then off to Millie J’s for a coffee and read.

• Coffee, really good coffee.

• Lazy Sunday afternoons listening to my friends chatter, sitting on their lawn and talking shit with cold vodka in my hand.

• Mendi Drive nights, afternoons and early mornings.

• The sensation and freedom of walking bare foot on Bushland Beach.

• I miss the freedom of feeling like myself. Here I am full of limitations because of my lack of control over the language, myself and this place.

• The crazy group of woman who shared my life in Australia.

• I miss myself. Here I have no voice. I am learning half a language. In my head there is nothing but half sentences, half ideas. I cannot express myself as I am used to, something that I value with all that I am. It’s as if I’m losing half my identity.

• Strawberries, oh how I miss strawberries.

• My closet – I miss my closet full of dresses, hats, gloves, high heels and bags, beautiful clothes. I miss dressing beautifully.

• My hairdresser – I want a haircut so much.

• My career – yes I do indeed miss working.

I miss a lot, but I am also blessed with the things I experience here.  I have meet people from every corner of the world who have stamped a little of themselves on my life.  I have seen things I never dreamed I ever would and have learnt so much about myself and the world.  I will continue to see and experience wonderful things but sadly nothing can ever erase the feelings of desire for the familiar.

MY RELATIONSHIP WITH GOLF

I have a love hate relationship with golf.  Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it.  I know it is meant to be relaxing and social but really, following a little white ball around a large expanse of jungle sometimes becomes a little frustrating.  Don’t get me wrong, I do understand how lucky I am to have a gorgeous 18 hole golf course that is free for me to use when I please.  It is surrounded by jungle and often monkeys can be found at holes 3 and 7.  We have very capable caddies who can find a ball which has flown off erratically into the jungle.   These caddies drag the golf bags up and down the hills of the course with no apparent effort at all.  I know you are all thinking that it does indeed sound like paradise for a golfer, but that is not the case.  The average temperature here is  30+ degrees with at least 95% humidity.  Add to this the sun beating down and you can imagine how hot and sweaty things can get.  Hitting a ball around a golf course isn’t sounding so appealing is it now.   

Many of you know there are not many expat woman left here (5 to be exact) so on the golf course I am usually surrounded by testosterone filled blokes.  The competitive edge takes them over and there is no longer casual golf but a desire to kick the other golfer’s arses.  My golf is hmmmmm how should I put it – shameful.  Yep, I try my best but that damn little white ball and my clubs tend to try to avoid each other.  On the occasions that my clubs do indeed hit the ball I am pretty damn good and yes there have been occasions when I myself have kicked some golfing arse.  However, the majority of the time I am a hot, sticky mess and would rather be at the pool bar than battling on at hole number 9. 

Having a husband that is a natural athlete and a very good golfer adds to the pressure for me to perform at this insane sport.  Directions are shouted down the green on how to hold my head, bend my knees and straighten my elbows.  I am sure this information would be very helpful if I actually cared.  It’s not that I don’t need the help (I most certainly do) but by this stage of the game I am often too hot to even care where my hands should be placed.  I have never had a hissy fit on the green as I have seen several of the boys do, never thrown a club (tempted but no) and never given up halfway round and gone home.  I will admit that I have indeed thought about wrapping my club around someone’s head, taking a dip in the pond and hijacking a golf buggy to take me back to the pool bar.  Golf and I will never be close friends.  I will however, continue to persevere with the relationship but deep down I know it’s going to end in tears.