up the back

This post has been steeping in the mystifying pot of the internet for a week, where I have been unable to access it. After many long frustrating hours it has finally loaded and I am pleased to send it on its way with images from an early morning walk; the old architecture and the new, locals doing their thing, and a couple of four legged friends. 

The season is changing - as southern Australia heads into spring our winds shift onshore and the humidity heralds the beginning of the build up. After 45 days straight with waves Aquaman has been spending a bit more time at the desk this week, where he is dedicated to learning Revit  (computer aided design) and moving out of the dark ages of a pencil and drawing board. No more crinkled drafting paper on humid days or scratching off pen lines with a scalpel. 

tropical showers

It finally rained, short and sweet, but enough to wake me with its joyous sound.  The last rain was 78 days ago on the 11th May, so the dry season is certainly living up to its name.  The ground water was replenished with abundant rain through January, February and March, and our well is still providing us with fresh water for the garden and shower. 

Our outdoor shower is walled with a 6 foot dry stone fence, but I was concerned that the nearby coconut trees may provide a viewing platform for sneaky boys, and I didn't want to give the neighbours an eye full whenever I walked up the back steps into the pod.  So we put the rampant vine to work, and in two months it has created a privacy screen and secret garden.  It is a beautiful space by day or night.  Morning sunshine or a sky full of stars.

black & white walk

Late in the afternoon, when the sun loses its sting and the shadows are longer, we love to stroll through the back tracks of the village, veering off in new directions, coming out in unexpected back yards.  Oh, so this is where this track goes.  After ten years, I am still discovering new pockets behind the village, and building new connections in the map of my mind. 

 

Traditional huts are being replaced by the brick and tin hot-boxes of "development", however the dirt floor kitchen in the back yard is resolute. All of the cooking is done on an open fire with crude clay hobs, so if the whole kitchen goes up in smoke it doesn't threaten the house. They like to keep the animals close at hand to clean up the scraps, and utilise the flat gravestones as preparation areas. No stainless steel bench tops or glass splash backs here, just a bucket or two, and a rickety wooden bench.

extreme gardening

Enough about brave men on big waves. Back to the hardcore activity of extreme gardening. It is dry, hot and dusty. Temperature is hovering around 34 degrees C in the shade and as the wet season approaches the humidity will increase to suffocating levels. I have all but given up on the garden for two main reaons :

1. Being that there is no food around this time of year, every seed I plant is taken by either a hermit crab, ant or rodent. Snails are one thing, hungry hermit crabs are another. Out of a whole packet of marigolds, one seedling survived. My next plan of attack is to raise some seedlings in covered punnets to transplant when the rain begins.


2. At the end of the dry season our well goes a bit salty. It is still within the levels for safe drinking, however the plants are sensitive. The well is tidal effected, and without rain to replenish the ground water supply, the salt infilitrates the fresh water.

My vision of a lush Bali style garden is impractical. The reality is we live on the beach – a harsh environment of sand, salt, wind. Tropical exotics that love humidity and volcanic soil are not happy here, as much as I may coax them along. I need to think zen, scree and coastal salt tolerant heath species for next season.

solar water treatment

Our drinking water comes from the well, treated with a solar disinfection process (SODIS) as developed by the Swiss Federal Institute of Aquatic Science and Technology and Sandec Department of Water and Sanitation in Developing Countries. SODIS is recommended by the World Health Organisation and is promoted throughout the developing world as a simple, low-cost technology with great potential to improve the health of those without access to safe drinking water. The SODIS process is a simple technology that uses solar radiation to destroy pathogenic microorganisms which cause water borne diseases. Sunlight treats the contaminated water through two synergetic mechanisms: radiation in the spectrum of UV-A (wavelength 320-400nm) and increased water temperature. If the water temperatures raises above 50°C, the disinfection process is three times faster.

Transparent 1.5L plastic (PET) bottles are filled with well water and exposed to full sunlight for six hours (minimum), on a sheet of corrugated iron. Ah, but what about the nasty chemicals from the plastic I hear you cry…? Sunlight transforms plastic material into photoproducts. Laboratory and field tests however revealed that these photoproducts are generated at the outer surface of the bottles. No migration of these photoproducts from the PET bottles into the water was observed with the applied analytical methods.

It is a clean, green and simple technique for water treatment that sure beats boiling.

sowing the seeds of love

I had envisaged the garden as a verdant display of leafy greens by July, however I am only now getting around to sowing the seeds. Things move slower on island time. We don’t want to invest garden space and precious well water from into produce that is available at the markets, so have devoted the garden to “exotic” species including kale, silverbeet, marigold, coriander, cucumber, cos lettuce, rocket, buckwheat, dandelion, hibiscus, parsley, and basil. Grow babies, grow.

special morning price

Tuesday is market day. We arrive early and are the first buleh’s (foreigners) on site, which doesn’t gain us any advantage as the pelting rain is holding up proceedings. Martha from the hotel arrives, and ignoring the downpour, pounces on the only pile of lemons, buying all but four small, wrinkly ones. We have to shop smarter, getting to the highly prized items early and leaving the leafy greens until last. Being the beginning of the dry season, variety is limited and the prices are relatively high. Bok choi that is selling for 1000rps, will be three-for-1000rps in July.

Our haul for the morning is :
100 bananas (yes, 100)
10 papaya
2 bulbs garlic
1 bunch spring onions
27 carrots
1 root ginger
2 cups peanuts
4 cups sesame seeds
4 pathetic lemons
5 bunches amaranth greens
4 bunches bok choi
5 bunches pak choi
1 cabbage
3 piles tomato
1 bag local sea salt
3 cucumbers
15 small eggplant
8 slices tempeh


The cooler weather is great for working in the yard, and I make a start on the new design. Aeanella (a tough dune creeper) has sprung up over the wet season,and I set about hacking it with the crow bar. With the first whack, I have either discovered a fresh spring in the garden or hit the water pipe coming from the well. I call out to Tom, who yells a colourful response. Woops! Until the pipe is dry and repaired, there is no tank refill, and the threat of hauling from the well returns.

running water

The village electrician makes a house call and fixes our pump with a flick of the wrist. The sound of water running into the tank is sweet music to my ears. Cover up the well and pack away the bucket - there will be a shower tonight.

the green room

Tom has begun his surfing programme. Eat, sleep, surf. Surf, eat, sleep. I have begun the "pioneer wife" programme, but gave up on the clothes washing as it was too hot in the sun beside the well. As soon as the “pool” is open (high tide in the lagoon), I will be in there, floating away in the tepid water. Tom got barrelled in his first surf, and he is happy to report that all is well in the green room. His life makes perfect sense now it is thoroughly and constantly saturated with saltwater.

‘tis the season

The tattered hotel menu offers mushroom omelette, ham omelette, cheese omelette or plain omelette. Served with a slice of white cardboard toast to soak up the glistening oil slick. Pass. We try for a papaya juice, and from the depths of the kitchen they produce an insipid, watery beverage.

The ferry leaves 45 minutes behind schedule, which in reality is the schedule, as it never leaves on the ticketed time. I savour our last apple, a tiny green variety from Java, and think about the next seven months without that satisfying crunch. A “B-grade” movie plays, and we witness more deaths and torture than is pleasant for the subconscious to absorb.

The island capital is dusty and ugly. A narrow main street, one padang restaurant, a small marketplace, and stores selling random items from bolts to woks. Only one shop in town sells icecream - Cornettos that have been melted and refrozen umpteen times. This used to be our reward for making the arduous ride to town to use the internet or buy building supplies, but for now, we aren’t even tempted. We buy a mattress for our guest room, pvc pipe, and fresh produce, as we missed our local village market yesterday. A limited range of vegies struggle in the midday heat, and we pick through the best of the carrots, greens and eggplant to begin our season living remote and raw.

Our arrival home coincides with the first day of easterly tradewinds. The wet season has been lingering and the island is still green. The eroded interior is lush and productive with the annual rice crop, and vast stretches of open ground are blanketed with grass, tended by the resident goats. The lushness has also invaded our yard. It is now my turn to laugh at my vain attempts last season to remove every blade of dry grass. What was a canoe sprouting lettuce and surrounded by painfully manicured sand, is now a mound of thriving weeds. The grass is my friend. Embrace the grass.

The sense of relief in finally arriving is overshadowed by the unpleasant job of cleaning and unpacking. At the end of last season Tom packed all of the furniture, bikes, boards, tools and clothes into our new bedroom and locked down the shutters against the wet season onslaught. We have to get to the bottom of the pile to find our bed and the promise of somewhere clean to sleep.

Our “guardsman”, “personal assistant” and friend, Benja, is waiting to meet us, and he sets to work removing the tarps and unveiling our house once again to the world. A vacuum cleaner and high pressure hose would come in handy, but instead I haul water from the well, and with bucket and rag start at the top and work down. Four hours later we have washed, wiped and swept away five months of dust, and invite ourselves over to our neighbouring expats for a cuppa.

The knickers I left behind have grown mould, and every metallic surface is brown with rust. Only marine grade stainless steel can withstand the salty onshore winds over the wet. Our beloved water pump is seized, and the tank is empty, so no shower tonight. Back to the old style mandi with a bucket.