Bligh Blah

Hi All,

I haven't forgotten about you. My internet connections at the hotels in Fiji have been ridiculously expensive and slow. I also haven't had a lot to say lately either. My trip up to Raki Raki to dive the world renowned Bligh Strait fell flat. The weather and currents were too rough to dive. We ended up only able to dive close to the resort in sheltered waters. While the diving was nice, the dive shop wasn't all that professional and, for the price, I preferred not to do repeat dives at dive sites. So, instead of doing the planned 12 dives, I only did four.

Well, let's hope Tonga is better. I am writing you from there now. I plan to go diving and on a whale watching boat trip.

If you want to see pictures of my husband and my diving trips within Indonesia, they are now posted on Facebook. I am tagged in his photo albums so, if we are friends, you can have a look.

Pictures next time...

Rice Paddy

I am really feeling a sense of accomplishment today. I got up early and hit the road on my rented scooter in search of some scenic countryside. It worked out perfectly. And, most importantly, the scooter and I both made it back unscathed. I can see why people like motorcycles - the feel of the wind hitting you and the exhilaration of having little between you and the outside world zooming by you. For those very same reasons, my motor scooter ride mildly scared the crap out of me. I had to consciously coach myself to relax, to unclinch my jaw, and to soften my white knuckle grip on the handle bars. Someone said to do something everyday that scares you.

Here are some pictures of what I saw...including a picture of my trusty little steed.

I am now back in Kuta (Legian), Bali. I finally found what draws everyone here - the beach. I walked along it and watched all of the teenagers trying to surf get chucked off their boards. I just love the sound of waves rolling in. And then I head to Gloria Jean's coffee. I will miss Indonesia, but I have had my fill of their unfiltered coffee. One regular latte, please.

My plan is to enjoy the sound of the waves once more with a morning walk along the beach and probably get in another latte. Judging by the bars and dance clubs that crowd the streets here, I expect that I will have the beach pretty much to myself.

Motoring

This morning was my last yoga class before leaving Ubud tomorrow. I took a Hatha yoga class from a tiny Indian fireball of a woman. Wow! I know I am going to feel that one tomorrow.

On Sunday, I leave Indonesia to head to Fiji (by way of Singapore and Auckland, NZ thanks to my round the world ticket with Singapore Airlines and Air New Zealand). I will have been here just under two months. As I was preparing my Lonely Planet Indonesia guide, I actually had pangs of sadness about getting rid of it. I bought the book in Thailand in March and it has been with me ever since. But I did sell it. The thing weighs about two pounds! I need to lighten my luggage all I can.

Have you seen the trailer for the "Eat, Pray, Love" movie coming out in theaters soon? I saw it a few days ago and there is a scene of Julia/Elizabeth riding her bicycle across a Ubud countryside of rice fields. I decided to go in search of my own rice field experience. I didn't get very far. Yesterday, I looked into renting a mountain bike. Renting a bike would be about $2.50 for a day. I nearly rented one, but talked myself out of it when I did a mental inventory of all of the hilly streets I had climbed here in Ubud in the past weeks.

At the end of my yoga class this morning, the sky opened up and it started pouring. When I realized how relieved I actually was to postpone my bike ride across the countryside, that solved it. No bicycling. I spent the late morning walking the now familiar streets of Ubud weaving my way around and through the tourist packed sidewalks. A pack of Aussies zoomed past me on motor scooters and I thought, "That looks like fun."

I had had the same thoughts in Thailand and rented my first motor scooter on the island of Koh Yao Noi. It was a great way to see the island at my own pace, but I wouldn't recommend a partially paved road to anyone as their first scooter experience. The roads here in Ubud are all paved...well, the roads I would be taking are all paved. The thought flashed through my mind that this would probably be my last chance to rent a scooter on my trip and, before I really knew what was happening, I was hoping on a motor scooter as the owner's wife told me repeatedly, "You drive VERY carefully."

My husband and I were going to rent a motor scooter for one day in Bali, but one look at the unending traffic on the one lane roads and my husband changed his mind. I really don't know what possessed me. Well, that isn't true. It was only $4 to rent the scooter for 24 hours. What a bargain!

And then the sky opened up again. Thirty minutes into my ride and several miles away from my hotel the rain started pouring down in sheets. Thank goodness the rental included a rain poncho. I stopped on the side of the road and waited out the heavier rain under the over hanging roof of an 'art gallery'. I put it is quotes because art galleries here look like someone crammed as many painted canvases as possible into mini mart the size of a one car garage and left them for years. I didn't feel so stupid stopped on the side of the road when a Balinese teenager on a scooter joined me. Just as it crossed my mind to leave the scooter and come back for it tomorrow, the rain subsided.

I made it slowly and safely back to the hotel and the scooter has been sitting out front ever since. My plan is to go out for an early ride tomorrow morning in place of my normal yoga class. Then it is off to Legian, another area of Kuta, Bali for one night before I fly out on Sunday.

What would you do?

Written on July 9, 2010

We have arrived to Kri, a remote island in Papua, Indonesia where relatively little has been touched of the place save for two resorts (Kri Eco Resort and Sorido Bay Resort) that have been carefully constructed incorporating traditional building methods, local materials, and the nicest amenities any Western hotel and diving resort could offer. It took my husband and I three days to get here, taking a combination of four flights and a boat trip, but it was all worth it. The moment our boat neared the Sorido Bay Resort’s 600 foot wooden pier, it all seemed worth it.

The diving is as great as everyone raves about it. And, to top it off, we basically have the place to ourselves. A French couple and their two year old son were the only other guests when we arrived and they left a few days ago. Lying on our backs last night on the dock looking up at the starry sky enveloping the world around us, we said to ourselves, “We are SO lucky!” And we are…everything was far exceeding our expectations.

We have all heard stories about how developing countries can be mired in corruption. Perhaps we have heard a story about a distance friend or colleague that was ripped off by a taxi driver or store owner. Or we hear what seem like mythical creations about how bribing government officials is a necessary cost of business. The extra amount tourists pay for things seems like a small price to pay and may even seem like a balancing of some theoretical scale that has long been out of balance. The bribing, well, if it really does happen, we’d all just like to pretend it is none of our business.

So when, for the past two days, small government boats have been arriving at the Sorido Bay Resort, I did not really concern myself with the goings on. For the past two days, police and local government have been coming to the island requesting the resort give them gasoline for free. The first day, the manager refused. The second day, he agreed to sell them half the amount requested, but refused to give gasoline away. So then, last night, the inspectors arrived. They stayed for probably twenty minutes and demanded to see all of the resort’s various permits and certifications. It was a kind of punishment dealt out by the officials.

The manager explained to us at dinner that the government uses boats to patrol the islands. Each official is given an allowance to be spent to buy gasoline. They either pocket the money or they sell the gasoline and then pocket the proceeds. They then go to the resorts and demand gasoline to use in their boats. And as Sorido Bay Resort is one of three resorts in the area (and since Sorido and one of the other resorts are owned by the same person), the expense can really add up. That and it is considered stealing in most countries. We were laughing about it last night with the manager and getting mildly upset about the corruption here in Indonesia, but only in the mild sort of way one does when distantly removed from the consequences.

Two smallish boats were unloading as we returned from our first dive this morning. The larger boat was painted black with “Police” (in Indonesian) written on the side so, as I watched the boat get unloaded, I expected to see the gasoline drums back again for filling. Luggage was being unloaded instead. Several people in very unofficial looking clothes were climbing up the ladder to the dock. Fleetingly I thought that this may have been a special escort for the National Geographic crew that was expected next week, but those thoughts were quickly dashed.

The government officials had decided that they would like to come and stay for a visit…for free, of course. There are eight guests and probably ten ‘crew’. The leader of the group seemingly a middle level officer (later we are told he is from Sorong, from where we hope to take a flight back to Bali) is here with his wife, mother, aunt and four best friends. Of course they take the best bungalows available…complete with sitting room and are normally reserved for EUR 300 per night or about three times the average monthly income in Indonesia. All of the guests and boat crew smile at us with big open and welcoming faces and talk jovially amongst themselves. When they say, "Hello", it is all I can do to glare at them, curtly shake my head from side to side, and hold my tongue as I say to myself, "Shame on you! Shame on all of you!"

It is a well practiced game and act that I refuse to play along with yet I am all too aware that in some strange way they hold the ultimate power in this situation. The crew sprawl out on the covered dock of the resort, sitting or even lying down and refuse to move for us as we try to get or wetsuits on and prepare for our next dive. They stare at us talking and laughing amongst themselves. I am wearing a modest two piece tankini swimsuit, but fight the urge to cover myself up further with a sarong as the men (I think) openly eye me up and down. They can take their hypocrisy elsewhere, I tell myself.

The black police boat is still parked at the front of the resort's dock leaving only space around the side of the dock in the much shallower water for our dive boat. As a result, the boat crew are forced to carry our tanks and equipment farther. The boat is now also nowhere near a ladder so we all have to jump down onto the boat's wet deck. I let out a loud frustrated sigh and now angrily meet the amused gazes of the crew members and pointedly ask them to move their boat. They act like they don't hear me even though they continue to look me up and down. The group's leader is a tall, thin, light skinned Indonesian man dressed in a golf shirt and khaki shorts probably in his late thirties. He is standing at the edge of the dock watching us all in interest with a broad inviting smile. I approach him then conscious to not match his smile with one of my own, but also conscious to keep an even tone although I want to call him any number of horrible names. "Your boat is in the way of ours. It makes it very difficult to load our dive equipment. Can you please tell one of your men to move your boat?"

I can only imagine that none of the resort's boat crew will say anything about the inconvenience. They have seen this all before and know it is best to take the path of least resistance, but I don't care. This is my way of protesting. The officer's face drops and he quickly yells at his crew in Indonesian to move the boat. He turns to me and ask if we are hear for diving. I say shortly, "Yes. We are here only to dive," and then I quickly cut off the conversation by going to get on our dive boat.

The dive, as always, is great. As we approach the dock, we can see that the police boat has been moved to away from the dock to a nearby mooring (a kind of parking place) - a small victory. Before that, though, we pass another dive boat. I assume it is from the neighboring sister resort, but soon realize that this is a boat load of snorkelers, very bad snorkelers. They are all kicking and struggling to stay afloat despite each lying on a huge orange life jacket. We can hear them talking, laughing, and squealing. With all that noise and movement, all fish will be long gone. Apparently after my brief conversation with the official, they all decided they must go see the fish themselves. As none of them are certified to dive or can swim, they were taken just out past the dock to snorkel....for free. It is a great dive site in its own right, but I can only imagine what the Indonesian delegation thought of us stupid westerners for flying all this way to see just a few fish and coral.

Stay tuned for Part II....

I'm back...

Today it is back to yoga. I took the afternoon Chi Chung yoga class. I had never heard of it and won’t pretend to understand it any better after a one hour and forty five minute class, but I was told that it is a kind of cross between Tai Chi and Hatha Yoga. The instructor, a thin athletically built American guy probably in his late thirties, told us that he likes Chi Chung because it includes a focus on releasing any bad tension that might build up during yoga poses. I think he gave me his Sanskrit name when I asked because I couldn’t even begin to pronounce it nor can I remotely remember it now. I should have taken that as a cue to just how yogi this yoga class would be.

For starters, he took off his shirt. He was in pretty good shape so I really didn’t mind and hardly thought twice about it probably because I am getting used to seeing all manner of shirtless men in the various beach and diving destinations I have visited across Indonesia in the past two months. Then began the series of body sways to loosen energy in various parts of the body. Fine. I could use some loosening up. Afterwards came the five minutes of skeleton shaking. We stood with feet hips width apart and bent our legs, closed our eyes, and tried to shake our entire body including limbs and head as someone would shake those skeletons kept on display in Biology classrooms or at doctor’s offices. It felt good, I will admit. And it was not half so bad since everyone else had their eyes closed too. Then it got weird.

We warmed our palms up by vigorously rubbing them together and then started stroking ourselves. First we stroked each arm, then each leg, then our chests. Hold it! My eyes snapped open and I watched as the instructor almost passionately rubbed his own pecks in a circular motion. He said, “Women should rub their breasts everyday. It is very important.” I couldn’t force myself to look at the other classmates for it was all I could do not to laugh. So, to go along with it, I circularly rubbed just below my collarbones. That was as far as I could go. I suddenly had the very real suspicion that I was on an episode of “Punked” or some other candid camera reality program. I went along with the ‘aura rubbing’ that followed (running our hands the lengths of our bodies with our hands an inch above our skin to smooth our auras that lay just above the surface of our skin), but half expected to find a film crew outside of the classroom as we exited. No such luck…or misfortune. Only in Ubud, I guess.

I feel I have been away from blogging for so long that I don’t really know where to pick up again. So, I guess I will pick up right before my husband left to return to The Netherlands. He is going to love that I am blogging about this, but I did get his permission first. We spent the one night and two days prior to my husband’s flight home in Sanur, Bali. It is another neighborhood of Kuta, Bali that lies in southern part of the island about twenty minutes from the international airport. To our relief, it is nothing like the neighborhood of Kuta referred to as Kuta. I know it is confusing, but think of Kuta as a kind of city with neighborhoods. One of Kuta’s neighborhoods is called Sanur and one of it’s neighborhoods is just called Kuta.

According to Lonely Planet, Sanur’s nickname is Snore because it draws pensioners (retired folk) and families with kids. That was fine with us. We had both had our fill of loud and slightly trashy Kuta. Decades ago Sanur built a 5km (2.5 mile) cobble stoned walkway along its man made sand beaches. It is open only to pedestrians and, unfortunately, bicyclists. With restaurants and hotels crammed along the walkway and greenery creeping along both sides, it is hardly wide enough for two way pedestrian traffic more less the holiday makers ambling slowly along on bicycles. With the great views of the water front and the ocean breeze, though, it is much better than the busy, narrow main strip of Kuta.

After we found our obligatory Balinese print in a carved wooden frame as our souvenir of the country, we went for lunch and my husband mentioned that it might be fun to get reflexology foot massages. I was completely surprised he’d be interested in the idea and since I was planning to get one myself when I returned to Ubud, I immediately took him up on the idea. My husband, like most men I imagine, is not a spa or massage person, but for some reason he was curious to try getting reflexology, a foot massage that focuses on massaging different parts of the feet in an attempt to also relieve tension in other parts of the body that are said to be interconnected neurally. We each got a one hour foot massage alongside four teenage Australian girls that had come to the salon for the full treatment – foot massages, manicures, and pedicures.

In typical fashion, the petite Balinese woman massaging my husband’s feet and calves was overtly flirtatious. It was so overt to me at least that it was not threatening as much as entertaining. Maybe because of the masseuse’s attention or maybe because of the callouses riddling my husband feet as he professed, he let himself get talked into a pedicure. And since I would be waiting around for him anyone, I also acquiesced and decided to get one too. I have pictures to prove it although I did not take pictures of the mound of dead skin they took off my husband’s feet. The poor woman! She got what she wished for, though, I guess. Despite my egging on, my husband refused to get his nails painted with even clear nail polish. In an uncharacteristically girly move, I decided to go with a shimmery pink polish. I am glad I did. It brings a smile to my face every time I look down at my toes while walking or while in a yoga pose as I remember my husband getting a foot massage and pedicure.

Kuta, Bali

Today has been a nice and relaxing day spent in Kuta, Bali while I hang-out waiting for my husband to arrive just before midnight tonight.

I am staying two nights at Febri's Hotel & Spa on the main strip in Kuta. I keep thinking of it as Febreeze. And the term 'main strip' brings to mind Las Vegas for me and that is not exactly what it is like. It is more like a medium sized Florida vacation town filled with Australians. This town is probably one of the top budget destinations for Australians. With super cheap roundtrip flights and an economy 100% devoted to tourism, it is comparable to Spain for Europeans and Florida for Americans. It has more souvenir and knock-off clothing & accessory stores and stands than can possibly be sustainable, but it is the beginning of high season here so, what do I know? It also has several Starbucks, McDonalds, and even a Coldstone Cremery and Bubba Gump Shrimp restaurant (which I gladly went to).

Yesterday in Ubud, I pampered myself with a seaweed facial. The spa was beautiful and relaxing and empty except for me. It was also an attempt to curb the break out of tiny pimples that has invaded my forehead since arriving in Ubud. I feel like a teenager again. I sweat more than this in Cambodia and Vietnam that is for sure so I can only figure it's source is a combination of my yoga classes, my now two month old straw cap that I wear almost daily, and the cheap hotel soap. The facial and splurging for some Biolage face foam seem to be doing the trick.

I plan to return to the spa in Ubud for a massage when I return for a week starting July 19. I thought the prices seemed reasonable and thought they would be cheaper than I could find in Kuta. Wrong! I found out that I could get an hour and a half massage at Febri's for less than an hour massage in Ubud. So I quickly signed myself up for an hour and a half Lomi Lomi massage this morning at Febri's (USD $20).

As a side note, might I recommend steering clear of partially cooked French toast even if it tastes surprisingly good. I mention this because that is exactly what I did this morning at the hotel's buffet breakfast. I thought I'd be fine, but oh nausea. It made for a rough first part of my Lomi Lomi massage.

Wikipedia defines a Lomi Lomi massage as, "a traditional Hawaiin massage of rubbing, pressing, squeezing, and massaging to work in and out like the claws of a contented cat. Lomilomi is supposed to be more of a holistic healing." I don't know about cat claws, but it was nice. Febri's describes it as a combination of different types of massage including reflexology, shiatsu, Balinese, and Swedish not that that makes it any clearer, though. It wasn't as deep of a massage as I normally like, but that is probably a good thing with the queasiness I was experiencing post- French toast. I did cure the tummy ache, though, and left me feeling very relaxed.

Bali Yoga

I left Ubud, Bali this afternoon to head to Kuta, Bali where I will meet up with my husband on Friday. I have taken nearly twenty yoga classes in as many days. I had this grand idea to get upto taking two yoga classes per day, but that just was not to be. When I began Bikram yoga at home last December, I herniated a disk in my lower back so I am overly concerned of a repeat performance. That and, let's be honest, I am not in that great of shape.

Yoga has been a surprisingly emotional experience for me. That is the main reason I have not written much about my classes. In the beginning, it was all I could do to hold back my tears until I got the short distance back to my hotel room. I won't go into my own reasons for the reaction, but I have started reading up on the psychology behind yoga and it is a pretty normal phenomenon. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one in my class that wanted to cry like a baby. Maybe that is a fortunate thing. Could you imagine a room of twenty women in yoga outfits with tears and snot running up their face while in downward dogs?

Apparently, a whole spectrum of emotions can be unleashed when people begin to reconnect with their bodies and their breath especially when they relax their bodies and begin breathing much deeper than before. It was a new concept to me, but the yoga teachers continually instruct us to breath into different parts of our bodies - our stomachs, pelvises, chests, spine, and even toes. I thought it was kind of a rhetorical request at first. I think they mean to focus your energy and thoughts on these areas. In the case of the stomach and chest, though, I have notice I am now able to fill these areas with air I breath in. I think 'awakening' these areas with breath is what unlocked the emotions for me.

That is all I will say about that...especially since I know I really don't know what I am talking about and I can feel your eyes start to glaze over. Here are some pictures from the yoga studio where I have been taking most of my classes. It is just breathtaking and relaxing.

I will try to do a better job of checking in with posts while my husband and I are travelling, but no promises. We head straight away to Papua and diving off of the Raja Amput islands, some of the best diving in the world. Then we head to Labuanbajo, Flores to dive off the Rinca islands. Included in these sets of islands is Komodo Island, home of the infamous Komodo Dragons. With much trepidation, we will tour the islands and try to see some of the dragons in the wild. Has anyone seen the National Geographic special where a few dragons kill a water buffalo with a poisoning bite? They hang out and watch the buffalo die a slow and agonizing death and then eat him. It is haunting me. Apparently, they swim as do alligators. God, I really don't want to see that!

Twin Towers

I just enjoyed one of life's greatest luxuries, catching a movie spontaneously. And, on top of that, catching a great chick flick, "Sex in the City 2". I am sure my husband will be relieved to learn that he will not now need to see it with me. I really enjoyed it, in all it's cheeziness and decadence. And sitting there by myself in a Kuala Lumpur theatre, I was surrounded by women mostly wearing head coverings. I couldn't help, but thinking that here we all were from such very different lives laughing and tearing up together over a very American phenomenon.

I have spent the day surrounded by Americana and the western world. I spent the day inside of the KLCC or the Petronas Towers or, as my taxi driver said, the Twin Towers. That place, for me, is something etched inextricably into Americans' memories, a place we will never see the likes of again. For practical purposes, though, that is what this place is and, in some aspects, represents the same ideals. And, because of the association I make to the fallen NYC World Trade Center, I can't help, but feel a bit shaken up here, a bit on edge. I have wondered more than a few times today if it is safe to be in such an icon of the western world and a gathering place of so many people. I tell myself the thought is nonsense and it quickly floats away, but it has come back a few times.

I am sitting inside the towers now, well, the shopping center part of them at the base anyways, enjoying a chicken pesto sandwich and a latte before I head to the airport to go back to Bali tonight. Today feels like a vacation within a vacation. I went to The Gap and bought another of their sundresses I like so much. I spent the rest of my time just meandering through the mall's many levels soaking in the labels, designer and name brand, and all the baubles, those ridiculously expensive and those relatively not so, but still out of so many's reach. It has been a very nice day, but I will be happy to be back in Ubud and back at yoga class tomorrow.

The taxi driver dropped me off this morning at one of the entrances to the Towers, formally called the Kuala Lumpur Convention Center (KLCC), at the front doors to a branch of the bank I used to work for. Seeing the blue and white sign gave me an almost physical jolt. It almost felt like deja vu, another lifetime coming back to haunt me, simultaneously so long ago, but also so fresh in my mind and emotions. I left that job for many reasons. Today's reaction made me realize that I am still coming to terms with both the incredibly good and bad experiences I had while working there. The memories of which still seem to snap me into a confusion of emotions as if I am suddenly forced against my will onto a roller coaster where the last five years are played before me. I remind myself, though, that this means progress. That jolt I felt means I have been able to gain some distance, both physically and mentally.

Enjoy your weekends, everybody!

Cutting corners in Kuala Lumpur

I am in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia on a visa run to renew my Indonesian visa. Aaah! You just have to accept the inefficiencies. I am trying to look on the bright side. I stocked up on some hard to find books at a huge Borders bookstore here and got some much needed toiletries (like contact lens cleaning fluid). I am also taking in the free wifi everywhere that KL has to offer.

I am sitting in Chinatown right now at an OldTown White Coffee (like a Starbucks). I booked the cheapest hotel I could find and lucked out in that it is in a local neighborhood away from the typical tourist destinations. I am sitting here amongst circles of local men chewing over the day's headaches and gossiping while watching a World Cup match on a big screen t.v. My hotel just covers all the bases...just. Unbeknownst to me it seems to cater to a, how do I put this, vivacious, transient crowd of couples. The walls are so thin that I could hear every word and kiss and...of the Asian couple in the room neighboring mine. They weren't speaking English, but it was clear what was going on. I can only imagine why they were doing what they were doing at 4.30 on a Thursday afternoon, but I try to tell myself they were just lusty tourists and not a local guy and his escort.

I turned on my television to the National Geographic channel just loud enough so I could hear the words of the program and so could my neighbors, thus, making it clear that I could hear them if they could hear my television. I hoped a documentary on shark fin poaching would squelch, umm, quiet them down. No luck. They just went on louder, now with mocking, vulgar language in English. It was like listening to a bad X rated Asian movie that's been dubbed over in English (not that I know from experience, but I can imagine). I changed rooms.

On the ride up from exchanging my room keys at the front desk, I noticed the women at the front desk's narrowed eyes and terse whispering and, following their gaze, stepped onto the elevator where I joined another questionable couple of obviously different ages (the woman a decade younger). Thankfully, the couple got off at the first floor and I continued to the second.

Going Green

Here are some more pictures of Puri Padi hotel...

From Wednesday, June 16

Boredom has been creeping in. Well, that and a growing anxiousness about my southward bound bank balance. A friend, a longtime traveller himself, reminded me to not worry so much about money because, from his experience, it can always be earned back, but that it won't always be possible to take a trip like the one I am on. Thanks for that!

Nevertheless, I had originally planned to take a week of cooking classes here, but when I looked into a few and realized they start at $25 per class, I quickly changed my mind. Besides, The Netherlands probably has the biggest per capita consumption of Indonesian food outside of Indonesia. It has to do with The Netherlands' many centuries of interest in (for trade purposes) and influence over these islands. The rather bland Dutch alternatives probably have something to do with it too. I ate Nasi Goreng and Chicken sate with peanut sauce many times before ever trying Stamppot (a hearty dish of potatoes mashed with spinach or a similar green and topped with a sausage or another kind of meat and sometimes also sauerkraut). I will just buy an Indonesian cooking book when I return home and try recipes from the comfort of my own kitchen.

I got to thinking, though, about things I have always wanted to do, but have never made time for. First was yoga and a close second was reading. For as long as I can remember, I have had this fantasy of shutting myself away somewhere quasi remote and reading a pile of books that have for various reasons interest me. I imagined I would be on a porch of some wooden cabin in a semi-remote forest overlooking a lake. A Balinese hotel with a pool, ponds of koi fish, frangipani trees, hostas, and birds of paradise is a close second.

So yesterday I went to a new and used bookstore and bought a few books. The first I read was a non-fiction called the "Longevity Diet". I will save you the vagaries of the book except to say that it emphasizes eating a relatively low calorie diet of lots of fruits and vegetables. It isn't anything revolutionary which is actually reassuring to me. It's health claims were convincing enough for me to give up my new potato chip and large Bintag beer per day habit and to commit myself to adding fruit to my breakfast and vegetables to my dinners and aiming to have a vegetable and fruit centered lunch.

To that end, I decided to go to one of the healers mentioned in "Eat, Pray, Love". If you have read the book, it is Wayan. If you haven't, it is the friend Gilbert makes when she goes in search of an herbal remedy for a bad cut she gets from a bicycling accident. Gilbert ends up going in everyday to Wayan's shop for a vitamin lunch. I imagined Wayan now having a menu of food options. I was wrong. The menu IS the vitamin lunch and it costs just over $6. That is expensive by Ubud standards and I wasn't really all that interested in having turmeric to clean my kidneys, for instance.

I promised I would come back when I was ready for a big lunch and hurried across the street and up the stairs to Bali Buddha, what Lonely Planet calls an Ubud mainstay with a great menu. I ordered a smoothie called Green Boost or something or other. To my surprise, I was completely shocked when a thick liquid green concoction was put in front of me. What else should I expect? I have no idea what made it green. It had apples and maybe banana along with ginseng, spirulina, and there must have been ginger because it had that trademark heat in its aftertaste that just sticks in your throat. Sticking to my vow and not all that hungry, I also got hummus and carrot sticks. I will definitely be going back to Bali Buddha regularly, but to try it's banana chai smoothie, not it's green concoctions.

I was hoping the Green Booster would somehow give me an energy boost and cure my almost constant thirst. It did give me a boost, but actually just made me want to drink more water to kill the ginger burn in my throat. Not even the deepest massage will relieve all of the aches and pains I am feeling from my first week of yoga, though. Sitting in a chair and doing little else besides reading is just what the doctor ordered, I think.

This morning's yoga class was Vinyasa Flow. It was like Bikram yoga without the +100F heat and without any other beginner yogis. At least that is what it seemed to me. Holy yogi! The instructor, unlike in my few classes at home, did all of the poses with us and showed us all of the variations to make the pose more difficult. He would just fluidly fling himself from a plank (push up) forward and up into an elbow stand (propping one's knees on one's bent elbows with only one's hands supporting the body) and then up into a hand stand. I didn't really need to know the variations, but I was one of the few. The class included hand stands, head stands, pigeons, camels, and a whole zoo of other tantric positions.

I was just proud of myself for fighting the overwhelming urge I felt about thirty minutes into the hour and a half class to duck my head and silently run out of the class. The teacher was very nice and helpful and the rest of my classmates were very zen about everything, but that kind of made it worse. I was just focused on remembering to breathe. While on my hands and knees, I remember staring down at my already quivering arms wondering how the hell they were going to hold up my entire body in a hand stand. I think I will go to the beginner's yoga class tomorrow morning...for some easy stretching and to build my confidence again a little.

"Eat, Pray, Love"

From 10 June...

I thought it appropriate to spend my first night in Ubud listening to “Eat, Pray, Love” read by the author Elizabeth Gilbert. Oh, thank you, thank you for this book. It brought me here. It has not brought me to Ubud for the same reasons Gilbert came, but the mention of the town got me on the path to coming here. And, once on the path, I realized that there is yoga here and a buzz that is a little less party than Kuta and a little more zen than the rest of Bali.

So far, despite my first day’s experience here, I really like it. I am really looking forward to going to the Monkey Sanctuary to see the cheeky, wild monkeys. I am slightly terrified about getting back into yoga. I will start tomorrow. I will start tomorrow. I am not going to kid myself about getting across town to the 7am beginner’s yoga which is probably the most appropriate class for me, but I hope to get there for, let’s see, what was the name of it, they have so many. Yes, either Hatha yoga at 8.30 or 10.30 Vinyasa flow. (I ended up at an afternoon beginners' yoga class. I spent the morning moving to a new hotel, but more on that later.)

I can’t wait to be a regular there. The stepping in the door for the first class terrifies me. I will be fine once I get there, I am sure. It is just the first step. To this end, I think I need to stay in a hotel close to yoga. No more excuses, sweetheart. That and the hotel I had arranged for myself for these twenty days has really pissed me off by forgetting my reservation and not having space for me upon my arrival. I have no room for pissed off in Ubud. Granted, the hotel I found is about double the price of my original choice, but $15 extra per day seems a small reason.

I so want to fall in love with Ubud that I have the idea in the back of my head to come back here again after my husband and I part ways at the end of July. Everyone looks at me skeptically when I tell them I plan to stay here for twenty days, though.

From 11 June...

Last night was a restless night. The paper thin walls and windows of the guesthouse meant I heard every door shut, every word of the conversations by family that runs the guesthouse, every rain drop dropping into the plastic bucket outside my room, every motorbike drive by on the busy street, every crow of the roosters, and every hammer of the workers on the neighbor's roof. The dirty bed sheet masquerading as a curtain blocked little of the light coming from the street lamp hung by my window or the sun that rose at about 6am. The ceiling fan above did little more than cut through the stale heat in the air.

The breakfast, served on my private balcony, was delicious (see picture). It was a huge banana pancake drizzled with chocolate sauce, fresh fruit, and a cup of coffee. But, once I was drenched in sweat ten minutes after I had taken a shower, I knew I needed a room with air conditioning. I just can't explain the relief it is to have a respite from the heat in the evening or even in midday when the sun is at it's hottest.

I returned to one of the several hotels I visited yesterday, this one the cheapest option close to my yoga classes. I met with the manager in the end and, using a tip from some British travellers I met in Padangbai, managed to get the price negotiated down from about $30 to $25. It may not sound like much, but when multiplied across 19 days, it adds up. The tip was to reassure the person that you would keep the price secret from other guests. I also forced myself to just sit their quietly with as little of an expression as I could muster. In the past it was always my tendency to either lose my patience with the bargaining process and leave or to soften my face and essentially acquiesce with my body language to the other party's selling price. I still find myself losing my patience oftentimes with smaller purchases until, in a huff, I finally give into the price from the fifth store I have visited to buy a bottle of beer or t-shirt or whatever it is I am after.

The hotel was beautiful when it opened probably ten years ago. I am sure of it. But, like I have seen in so many buildings in SE Asia, Malaysia, and Indonesia, little maintenance and the lack of routine, thorough cleaning has quickly faded the building and its amenities. Eight rooms at the back of the property stand derelict. From them, I get the idea of just how difficult it is to fight off the affects of humidity on even the finest of materials like marble.

But for now, I am overjoyed to move into my cool, spacious air conditioned room. I unpack and easily get settled before changing my clothes and heading out for my first yoga class five minutes' walk away.

I will upload more pictures of the hotel later, but here are a few of the four room bungalows nestled into the lush property and a view of my carved wooden doors that lead out onto my huge balcony. That's not cement you see, either. It is all marble!

The plane, the plane!

One last thing about Layang Layang...the resort arranges the only transport to and from the islands. My husband was looking forward to taking the Russian aircraft carrier that the travel agent had mentioned to us. As an as yet recovering phobic of turbulence, I was just wishing for a plane that could reach the highest altitude and get us their the fastest. We were both surprised.

It is called a twin otter, but to me it was the flying canoe. It is THE smallest plane I have ever been on. As a person that flew weekly to and from London on a Fokker 50, that is saying something. I call it the flying canoe because when one of the other passengers shifted seats to take a picture on the opposite side of the cabin, I expected the shift in weight to cause the wing to drop and us to veer in the direction of the passenger's movement much like a person standing or shifting their weight will cause a canoe to dip abruptly. You can see by one of these pictures, people were moving about the tiny plane excitedly snapping pictures of the tiny cockpit and views of the reefs in the waters below. The plane didn't dip or veer, but I still found myself, in a cold sweat, tensing up with each passenger's movements.

I think the plane had ten seats. A flight attendant was not necessary. There was no galley for his/her cart nor tray table for passengers nor seat. We sat in the front row and so could see the cockpit in its cramped entirety. I tried to comfort myself by watching the pilot and co-pilot. They flipped switches, turned knobs, pulled and pushed on levers and wrote in a log in a practiced, unrushed manner so I reassured myself that things were going as planned.

It is funny to look back on the pictures now because the people on the flight with us ended up being the people we dove with every day. That is how the hotel arranges it. We are assigned a flight and a boat and we pretty much spend our days together, for better or worse. We were really lucky!

Bali Hai

I arrived in Ubud, Bali today. From reading "Lonely Planet" and "Eat, Pray, Love", I have pretty high expectations for Ubud. I should know better by now....

I have been e-mailing back and forth with the Teba House. They didn't get back to me about arranging a pick-up from Kuta, but I decided to just relax about it and figure out my own taxi. I should preface this by letting readers know that I am planning to stay in Ubud for twenty days and, if I like it, may come back in mid-July for another few weeks. So I had confirmed a twenty day reservation with Teba House...only to get there and for them to have no recollection of my reservation. Apparently, the person doing the e-mails does not talk to the person doing the reservations. Of course, the person that I e-mailed wasn't anywhere to be found.

Beginning tomorrow, they will have a standard room available for me so I am staying next door in a neighbour's guesthouse. The problem with the standard is that it only has a fan and I am afraid I am just too much of a princess to go without A/C for sleeping. We'll see. I will give it a try tonight and tomorrow. I spent the rest of the day scoping out other hotels. I found one for $30 per night next to the place I will start yoga, but I am hesitating. It is nearly double the price I had budgeted myself.

Other than that, my first impression is to really like Ubud. The yoga place, Yoga Barn, looks great - intimidating, but great. It runs classes basically all day and on so many different kinds of yoga, it is impossible to get bored. That is what I am here for...to get back to yoga. I have decided that is my main goal for my time in Bali - to get back in-touch with my body. It sounds air fairy, I know, but it is pretty easy to put one's body on the proverbial shelf while travelling. Trying to go for the cheaper options - whether accommodations, food, or transportation - usually isn't that friendly on the back or rest of the body. I am not complaining, don't get me wrong.

Yoga will have to wait until tomorrow, though. I knocked the edge off my disappointment and off my thirst after walking for a few hours with a large bottle of Bali Hai beer. Here is a picture of my plate of Mie Goreng and beer. It was delicious! I am quite the cheap date these days with regards to drinking so one large bottle of beer and I am set for the night pretty much. That means no yoga. Could you imagine drunk yoga?

Layang Layang

I know it has been awhile, but better late than never....

In mid-May, my husband and I spent five nights on the island of Layang Layang off the northwest coast of Malaysian Borneo. As you can see, there were beautiful sunsets. There were also some really nice diving. We were just a little late and so the schools of hammerhead sharks were gravitating lower and thus out of our reach to see well. When the visibility was good, we could see some off in the distance probably twenty meters (60 feet) below us. That was fine with me, to be honest. I have gotten comfortable with seeing most sharks in the water especially those that are smaller than a human, but hammerheads have such a mixed reputation that I am happy to keep my distance. Instead, I really enjoyed the manta ray and turtles.

I would recommend any divers to take a trip to Layang Layang, but to not leave it as late as mid-May. I hear Mid-April is perfect timing. I really only recommend Layang Layang, though, if you can stay on a liveaboard. We stayed at the only accommodations on the island and they just weren't worth what we paid for them. I have been told that it is typically Malaysian to build a resort or any building and to do little to no maintenance. From the beginning, though, they used cheap materials inside the hotel - from the veneer walls to the AstroTurf carpeting - it felt like living on a very cheap boat. The walls were so thin that we could hear the conversations of people in the hallway and adjoining rooms. One friend we made there joked that she could hear all of the phones ring on her floor when the daily wake up call for divers was sent out by the front desk.

The staff also only sporadically cleaned the common areas. I could tell that management was, for instance, requiring staff to keep the tile floor in the dining room of the three times daily buffet clean, but it was obvious by the dark ring around the tile in the swimming pool just above the water line and the layer of tanning oil on the water's surface that management thought the pool would pretty much take care of itself and that the deck furniture would naturally stay clean by leaving it out in the rain.

As an icing on the cake, so to speak, the hotel decided the night before our departure to change the three flights they arrange for transportation back to Borneo to one large flight. Fortunately, we took our travel agent's advice and booked our connecting flight the next morning, but most people weren't so lucky. Forunately for us the re-scheduled flight was also a few hours late. Otherwise, from a diving safety point of view, we would have been cutting it really close to the minimum nitrogen detox waiting period required before flying.

The issues were mostly overshadowed by the nice diving and the other divers we met. For the most part, everyone we met was an experienced diver so it made for really relaxing dives. And, above the water, we were fortunate to meet other couples our age to hang out with. The lackluster buffet style meals would have been unbearable otherwise.

One lesson I have taken away from diving in SE Asia is to bring my own equipment. It is a major pain for someone travelling for an extended period of time, but it is really worth it. The equipment maintenance in Malaysia and Indonesia at least is ridiculous and verges on dangerous. I will be heading to Fiji in a few months too, and from what I read from reviews online, it isn't much better there either. So yesterday, I bit the bullet and bought a new suitcase, one more suitable for my dive equipment. My original backpack was huge at 65 liters, but this Quiksilver surfing bag on wheels is enormous at 96 liters. Fortunately, my husband will be able to bring my bcd and regulator with him when he joins me in Indonesia in July so I will then have all of my own gear (sans my fins).

Popping up in Gili

Just wanted to let everyone know I am in the Gili Islands now off Lombok, Indonesia. My apologies for going MIA. I will be heading to Kuta, Bali tomorrow and back to the land of strong wifi connections.

So...stay tuned for blogs about orangutans, manta rays, and my 100th dive!

Taking a little of Phnom Penh with me

Thursday, May 13
Yes, I will be taking a little of Phnom Penh with me. I thought it would be the memory of my last day at the Montessori school receiving a big handmade card from the students and eating local sweets to celebrate.

Instead, I am taking with me a mysterious intestinal bug. It was just a matter of time, I suppose, and the timing was actually not all too bad, but it still scared me. Luckily, I am staying in a guesthouse in my own room with its own en suite bathroom and I do not fly out until Saturday morning. I don't even want to think about how I would have coped in the volunteer house I was staying in previously or how horrible my seemingly endless trips to the toilet would have been for my housemates.

I am still convinced that my 'bug' coincided too close to the beginning of my taking Malarone malaria tablets yesterday, but the doctor I went to see today insists that I caught an intestinal bug somewhere. She also told me to switch to a different malaria pill too, though...hedging her bets, I guess. I was so dehydrated that she offered to put me on a drip, but I am opting to drink a hydration drink. We'll see. I am pretty bad at keeping those down. It is down to my texture issues again so I may end up going back tomorrow for a drip if I don't feel hydrated enough.

For the next few days, I can only eat plain toast or plain white rice. Yum! Looking forward to that. I am glad I had a slice of toast with peanut butter on it before I went to the doctor :)

Today
Thankfully, my medicine kicked in at about 5pm last night. I was able to join my friends for a going away dinner at a French restaurant just down the street from my guesthouse that I have been meaning to try. The food looked great. I was relegated to white rice, but my friends all really enjoyed their food.

I went back this morning to get a baguette on my way to Gloria Jean's for my doctor prescribed black tea. I felt quite Parisian walking down the streets nibbling on my baguette. The tuk tuk drivers shouting, "Tuk Tuk, lady!" snapped me out of that, though.

Fortunately, I have also been able to keep down the hydration powder. I am taking Royal D. I highly recommend it. I usually hate powdered drinks, all things orange flavored, and most Gatorade-like hydration drinks, but I am able to drink this one quite easily. I won't say I enjoy it, but I probably would if it weren't orange flavored.

I fly out tomorrow morning to meet up with my husband and head to Malaysian Borneo...not a moment too soon!

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Ugh! They are playing a new CD this morning at Gloria Jean's coffee. Right now Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" is playing and it is all I can do not to cry. That song gets me every time and it seems even more poignant today. Everything seems more poignant today. I am just on edge a bit emotionally.

I am beginning my last week here in Phnom Penh. It is is fairly clear that I am not cut out to be a primary school teacher so I will not necessarily miss that, but I will miss all of the volunteers that I have met while here and the children. The children are nothing short of beautiful. They are still children with all their ploys and snot and crocodile tears, but they are adorable and filled with the innocence and joy I would expect of children and am so glad to see in a country that has come so far in the past few decades.

We visited the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek) and S-21 (Toul Sleng) this weekend. These two locations symbolize the pure terror wrought out by the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975-1979 when they killed an estimated 1.2-1.7 million of their own people. The Killing Fields were a Chinese cemetery 17km outside of Phnom Penh converted by the Khmer Rouge to a series of over 100 mass graves. S-21 was a school in Phnom Penh converted to a prison during the regime's reign. I won't go into the gruesome details, but will recommend people read the books "Stay Alive my Son" and "S-21" (among many others written on the topic).

Two things will stay with me from these sites. First, at the Killing Fields, I was overwhelmed and appalled by the ways the local people have been encouraged to beg from visitors, thus preying on the visitors' pity and guilt. It has turned what should be a remembrance of their countrymen and what could be a statement about what cannot be allowed to be repeated into a money grabbing tourist trap. Last year, my father and I visited Dachau, Germany, the site of a concentration camp during World War II. It was a gut wrenching day. It is my feeling that, in places like these, the truth is horrific enough. Present the facts, wish peace upon those who suffered, and demand that history not be repeated....all against a backdrop of silence. I am no expert, but that seems the most fitting and chilling memorial to me.

Upon entering the Killing Fields and paying my $2 entrance fee which goes to the Japanese firm that now owns this Cambodian memorial, we left the ticket counter and were asked by a man at the next ticket window if we were interested in a tour. His sales pitch was, "If you don't get a tour, you don't know anything." And then he added that we were only asked to make a donation after the tour. I thought, "Go on then. It is too bloody hot to give it much thought. Besides, why not? We might as well get as much information as we can while we are here." (Side note: Saturday got to a high of 38C and it was probably 34C when we arrived at The Killing Fields at 9am.) Tour guides make me sceptical, but it was donation based so I didn't feel like there was anything to lose.

The man, a survivor of the Khmer Rouge, led us past a half dozen mass grave and gingerly picked up a skull and then an arm bone and waved it around a little before gently tossing it back on the pile of other arm bones while he repeated the same words as posted in English on the sign boards he was standing next to followed by the interjection, "Horrible!" At random, as if on-cue, he then told us his entire family had been killed by the Khmer Rouge and that he was the only survivor. I nearly dry heaved when I heard the arm bone clank against the others in the pile. These were human beings! These were his countrymen! And here he is throwing their bones back into a pile just like the Khmer Rouge dumped them into mass graves. Can't we just give them some respect and a little peace?

The tour continued with him providing no more information than we could have read from the signs. I was planning to walk away at the end of the tour without a donation until he implored us to 'Pay him now...." followed by, "People usually pay me $1 or $2 each." In a country where most people earn less than $1 per day, it was outrageous for this man to ask for upwards of $12 from the six of us for a 15 minute tour. I showed my protest by giving him only $1 instead of $2. My guilt was still in high gear and I told myself that $1 means nothing to me and so much more to him. I am sure this is what they count on.

The second thing I will take with me is from S-21. I had heard how the prison had been converted in a museum centered mostly around displaying the mugshot pictures the Khmer Rouge had taken of its victims when each entered the prison. I had also been warned about the post mortem photos they had taken that were now also on display. While I did not expect to be emotionally prepared for the sight, I felt sure that I wouldn't experience the element of surprise that so often accompanies me to such tragic places. I was wrong.

The pictures, of the women especially, will haunt me for a long time and possibly forever. There haircuts were what got me. I will never forget an image of a woman standing in front of the camera for her mug shot with what seemed to be not the slightest trace of fear and a layered haircut. Maybe her defiance was masking the fear, but there was no mistaking the layered haircut. It was a style I have seen on so many women worldwide. And then I noticed the same in all of the other women. They looked so contemporary. They could easily have been walking the streets of Phnom Penh today. They could easily have been the girls and women I work with everyday in the Montessori school.

The Khmer women I work with in the Montessori school are some of the friendliest people I have ever met and they seem to genuinely want to improve the lives of the children and, as a result, Cambodia. I wish them all the happiness and success in the world. Their personalities and dreams seem quite similar to most women I know. It is shattering to even imagine them harmed in anyway. And yet, their own people did far worse. That is why those images will stay with me forever. There were so many promises and innocent dreams shattered here. It is the dark legacy that cripples Cambodia.

Now Dave Matthew's Band's song "Lover Lay Down" is playing. Oh, the memories of college rush in. I think immediately of my college's radio program and our DJ friend playing this song as a request going out to my sister from her crush at the time. It seems a million years ago now, but the song brings it right back to the present for me every time. I love how songs can do that.

I miss my husband so much. Volcano ash and the winds over Europe willing, we are meeting this Saturday in Singapore before flying onto a two week diving holiday in Malaysia. I have not seen him in three months. Well, I have seen him via Gmail Chat (God love the inventor of video chat), but I am still beside myself with anticipation at meeting up with him at the Singapore airport. So, one can imagine how upset I was to find out that the Icelandic volcano is erupting again and closing airports in Europe again. The Netherlands has not been affected yet, but I am still nervous. We have travel insurance so it's not the money I am worried about. I am just SO looking forward to my best friend joining me on my journey.

Weekend in Phnom Penh

Last night, I took a tuk tuk to join my teaching friends at the Foreign Correspondents' Club (FCC) for happy hour.

This morning, I walked to Phnom Penh's Central Market. Aaaahhh! There is nothing like the smell (and sight) of fresh chicken and beef in the morning....

My Phnom Penh in pictures

Here are some pictures from Phnom Penh. I think I will always remember my days here against a background of David Gray songs (which could not be more perfect, I think). They play the same cd every morning at the Gloria Jean's Coffee shop where I start each morning. The playlist includes David Gray, U2, and Tom Petty songs from the mid-1990s.

Ants in my pants

That's it! I caved! I moved into a guesthouse, Goldie Boutique Guesthouse. I checked-in yesterday after school let out for the day. I felt better just walking into my room. Yes, I am the first to admit that I am a wimp, but I do feel a little justified.

Here are my rationalizations:

1. "Don't go on your balcony." - The volunteer house was robbed the week before my roommate and I moved in. They broke into our room and stole all of the volunteers' valuables while they were sleeping. The owner has installed horizontal bars across the balcony and vertical bars across the window and added several door locks that open onto the balcony, but we have been warned several times not to go out onto our balcony because it will tip of any would be burglars of where the 'westerners' are staying. This was said after we'd both been out on the balcony, of course. So, I spend at least an hour each night laying awake in bed freaking out over footsteps, convinced someone is breaking into the house.

2. Ants in my pants - The house is infested with what we initially thought were minute spiders, but they are probably fleas or mites. They have bitten me all over my legs and are heading north to my torso and arms despite my best attempts to apply mosquito spray every few hours. On a whim, I checked under the chairs in our setting area and found the source. Each chair in our kitchen and sitting area is covered in webs. My roommate and I sprayed them down with Raid, but it does not seem to have done the trick. So now I prefer to eat my meals standing if I can help it. We sprayed all of the floors and cushions with Raid again a few days ago which seems to help a little. It did not kill the ants that parade across the counter tops and bathroom floor, though. And it does not stop the geckos from running across the counters and walls of the kitchen and creeping me out nearly every time I enter the kitchen area.

3. Three's company, fifteen is a hairball circus - Ten people sharing one shower. Fifteen people sharing two toilets. Ten people (including all of the schools' and headmasters') sharing one washing machine and two clothes lines. There are several students and staff that live at the school as well as a half dozen workers. The students and staff share our shower and washing machine with us. Everyone shares our two toilets with us.

4. The guesthouse without guests - One part of the school, the part directly facing our volunteer housing, is being converted into guesthouses. While I find it endlessly ironic that all volunteer's were subject to a background check, but anyone willing to pay to stay in the school's guesthouse has easy access to children streaming around the school and pool area, the unending construction is was gets to me most. They begin work seven days a week at 7-8 am and stream through our house for no apparent reason. One greeted me as I left the shower in nothing, but a towel. They left shards of glass in the pool area that were identified only after a few kids got pieces wedged in their feet. Half seem to just stand and stare at us from the guesthouse, watching our every move with rapt fascination. It is just creepy. My breaking point was being woken up on Saturday at 7am, without warning, to two men scrapping and hammering on the other side of our bedroom wall.

5. No A/C - We have moved a third fan into our room to help us sleep, the swimming classes all afternoon help immensely and I quite like being known by name at the neighborhood Gloria Jean's Coffee shop. I am almost tearing up just thinking about how great it would feel to walk into a a/c cooled bedroom.