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.

MONSTERS OF THE GECKO WORLD

Living in the jungle I expect an abundance of creepy crawly things.  I’m fine with them as long as they keep their distance from me.  They have their space I have mine – or so I thought.  In the last few weeks it seems that my house has become a haven for a variety of free loaders.  One in particular is the huge Tokek gecko.  I have nothing against these giant geckos.  Their natural habitat is however, the rainforest, which I think they have forgotten as for some reason they have decided to evolve and become house Tokek.  They live goodness knows where during the day, building up the energy to taunt and scare I’m sure.  Once night has fallen they leave their hiding places and begin to roam the walls and ceilings of my house in search of prey. I know you are all laughing at me, thinking that after years in Australia I should be used to creepy little geckos, well I’m not.  Before you laugh too hard at my apparent irrational fear of friendly little geckos let me give you some details on these creatures that roam my house come nightfall.

  

These are not your average geckos – they are in fact the second largest gecko species in the world.   A full grown male can be as big as 51cm (hmmmmm who’s laughing now).  They have bluish bodies with red/orange spots on them – yeah real cute huh.  Big creepy gecko eyes with vertical slit pupils freak me out as they watch my every move.  The males are very territorial, and will attack pretty much anything that is in their territory, this is concerning for me as their territory has now expanded to include my house.  Insects and small vertebrates are their dish of choice but given the chance I am sure they would dine on a Kiwi.  I have made some enquiries on the likely hood of these beasts banding together and attacking me and have being told that they are solitary, so it is very unlikely they will ambush me as I wander back from the bathroom in the dark.  They bite though and rumour has it this can be pretty painful.  I knew I should be wary of anything that has sticky pads on its feet and a creepy smiley face. 

 

I am happy for these monsters of the gecko world to live outside my house, where they belong.  Despite their hostile takeover of my house I don’t want to harm them, wouldn’t even think of chasing them with a broom (they could scoot up the broom handle and attack). I can even see the benefits of them keeping other creepy crawlies at bay, but I am still not happy about their settlement in my house.   Having them in my house is something I won’t get used to in a hurry but as with many things here I will just have to grin and bear it.

COMING BACK

It has been a while since I blogged about this amazing life I live in the jungle.  Lots of friends have requested that I blog again as I am very slack at keeping everyone up to date with what is going on in our lives.  So I'm back and I promise to try to post on a regular basis.

So much has happened in the last 12 months (yep that's how long since my last post).  We have travelled a lot, Australia, New Zealand, Italy and a few places in between.  We have settled into home schooling ( hard, but fun), become accustomed to orangutans in the back yard, monkeys on the roof and snakes in the oddest places.  Have we adapted to live in this jungle paradise?  Not too sure I will ever truly adapt (too much of the city girl in me), but we are growing to love it here.

Life here presents me with challenges I never dreamt I would face.  Language barriers and loneliness rare their ugly heads way too often, but I keep on smiling (the only thing you can do when trying to communicate in two different languages).  I have learnt to cook with ingredients I can't even pronounce the name of and work with an oven that was made in 1975 and has a mind of its own.  Princess Pants has made some great friends and I have met some of the most interesting and amazing people.

I will fill in all the details of life in the rest of my blogs, but for now I must go do battle with my oven.