THE FIRST MAN I LOVED

I intended to brag about my exciting adventures in Cambodia during this blog but that will have to wait.  I received news yesterday that tore at my heart.  A close friend lost her father, she had no time to prepare for the impact or say goodbye, he simply left her house after a visit and never made it home.   After receiving the news I sat at the dining room table, not sure how to comfort a friend when I was so far away.  A phone call, a text an email, none of these seem enough when you know someone is experiencing so much heart ache . As I dwelt on how best to support my friend my thoughts turned to my own dad. 

I remember been a teenager when I read that the first man a girl falls in love with is her father.  I imagine I was fairly repulsed at the time, how ridiculous and gross that sounded.  Fast forward to today and I know this phrase is true.  My dad is one of the most amazing men I know.  As a little girl I wrestled on the floor with my brother and sister, in fits of laughter as my dad tickled us. I remember a man who could build or fix anything in his shed. He would meet us at the school gates when he could, buying us ice creams on the walk home.  As a little girl he was the strongest man I knew able to wipe away a tear, brush the dust off after a fall, hoist me on his shoulders and make my world better. 

As I grew up my dad’s love for me never faltered even when my teenage ways surely tested his patience.  There are something’s in life that a father never wants his daughter to experience but when my world imploded at 15 my dad was right there.  He held my hand, never leaving my side and was a pillar of strength as I did my best to move on with my life.  I never knew how my dad felt at that time, never asked him, just knew he was there doing his best to help his daughter and as I sit here I don’t think I have ever told my dad how much his strength meant to me. 

I grew up and moved cities, visiting when I could, dad never more than a phone call away.  I

moved countries, travelled the world and dad was still right there when I needed him.  When Princess Pants was born, my father was one of the first people to hold her.  He held the most precious thing in my world so gently.  I have a photo of him with her in his arms she is barely 3 days old the look of love in my dad’s eyes as looks at her in the photo melts my heart.  I am so lucky that Princess Pants has such an amazing relationship with her Poppa, and I know he will love her and support her in the same ways he has always done for me.

As I sit here and reflect I know that phrase is true.  I fell in love with my dad as a young girl, and as I have grown so has my understanding of the first man I loved.  My father is the one person who I felt has never judged me or any of the stupid things I have done, he has always loved me unconditionally and has been someone I could always count on.  He may no longer be able to hoist me on to his shoulders but a hug from dad definitely makes the world seem a better place. 

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.