back in the days of puddles

The last heavy rain of the west season was on Sunday 13th April. There are two reasons that I remember this: one is that I am a weather geek and love to study synoptic charts, satellite patterns and record climate data, the other is that this particular rain was a tropical deluge unmatched throughout the wet season. It was Sunday morning, the power was on for church, and I thought I’d clean the desk in my studio, plug in my laptop, ring out some background tunes, write a few words and do a yoga session.  The rain started while I was in the shower and was so heavy I sheltered in the bedroom for 15 minutes. I couldn’t hear that the music had stopped and wasn’t to know what was happening behind the studio door.  

I returned to the desk to see my beloved Macbook Pro lying in a puddle – lid open, plugged in, screen black. Cue short repetitive expletives. I ripped out the power cord, picked it up and a waterfall poured out of the disk drive. The tin roof had leaked directly above the desk and flooded the studio. Poor Banjo, he wasn’t ready to die, he was still so young and vibrant. Despite three days in front of the fan, I was not able to resurrect his spirit, and when I plugged him in, smoke emerged from the depths. Not a heartening sight. 

I returned to Australia from Bali on a bargain $73 Air Asia flight, surprised mum and dad, and organized a replacement laptop in 48 hours. It is here I would like to give a plug for SGIO insurance who were outstanding in their service, understanding and support.  A week later I was back in Indonesia, and it is from Banjo Mark II Macbook Pro Retina that I write you this post.  

Meanwhile our internet is unreliable and choked, and my enthusiasm for blogging wanes with the moon. I read of the supportive, communicative blog community out there in the connected world, moving in vibrating circles of creative juice, gathering for Instameets, collaborations and Kinfolk dinners. I’m in the back end of Indonesia in a surf camp populated by 60 year old blokes who don’t even know what a blog is, with an internet slower than a smoke signal. Networking here means getting together with the neighbours to discuss the swell forecast, decipher village politics, play scrabble and eat banana muffins. I have nothing to sell, I’m not offering to take away anyone’s suffering, help them parent better, advise on shares, weight loss or how to be more popular, richer or more productive. If you are feeling the bite of winter and nursing a cold, perhaps seeing the waters of a tropical lagoon may even make you feel worse. What I have to offer are stories, authentic experiences, considered images; moments from a life of cultivating simplicity, awareness and love, with barefeet, a tan and gardener's hands. To all of you reading, thank you, I hope this is enough.

it's the time, and it's slow

String out your hammock, wax up your quiver, the season is well underway. We have been back on our island home for almost three months, arriving in mid March after two months of summer in Western Australia and one month travelling in Sri Lanka (you may have seen the photos on my other blog). Nothing happens fast on island time; our days are a gentle wash of tides, watching the breath, watching the mind, watching the waves.

It is officially winter in the southern hemisphere, and while the temperature barely dips below 26 degrees, the signs of the changing season are evident. The occasional black cloud dissipates without a drop and the green tinge of the wet season has already withered to brown. Trade winds blow with persistence, and the cold fronts pushing through WA are bringing us consistent swell. It’s been a solid start to the surf year, and Aquaman has notched his share of barrels on the bedhead. 

If the exasperating internet service will allow, I will begin to fill in the past and keep up with the present.  I am actively posting photos on Instagram @sallymaymills, and my Facebook page , but blogging is difficult given a connection that gets slower every year. 

beach reverie

While the pace of western life accelerates in a flurry of infernal busyness, and the time stress tightens like a corset as Christmas draws near, I tend to get slower as the torrid wet season approaches. After eight months on rubber time it can be hard to muster up enough motivation to move anywhere - under stimulation being a converse problem to overload. Each day begins as a blank page, challenging me to be mindful and quiet, while the inner being never shuts up. It can be confronting when the distractions of the typical modern life are stripped away and you realise the commotion is in the mind as it fights with reality. 

See what pondering your navel does? In between times there is always the wind, surf and tides to consider.

burger queen

If you follow my instagram feed @sallymaymills you will have seen a version of these photos already. For those of you who don't 'gram it, and I know there are many, I didn't want you to miss out on my last camp oven beach bake. Bread is a real rarity for us; six foot swell is more commonplace. There are no bakeries around the corner turning out warm baguettes or organic sourdough, and the Indonesian excuse for sliced bread, only available from the shop one hour away, is like sweet white cardboard. A total waste of resources. 

Using the basic loaf recipe I made pull apart rolls, served with grilled tempeh, eggplant, hummus and salad. Behold the first island vegan burger. Take that evil Maccas, you wouldn't even come close. 

And for my southern friends feeling the chills of winter, a bit of sunshine and sand for you to gaze into and think warm thoughts. 

i've been to bali too

I am home from two weeks of stimulation and interaction in Bali. Most of my time was spent at Mick's Place in Bingin, where I acted as relief manager, dog walker and surf reporter. Yes, I know, tough gig. I had to smile and meet and greet and answer questions; and fend off surly dogs and wanderers that chose to ignore the "guest's only" sign. In between there were new cafes to review and laps of the lagoon to swim. My sister-in-law and two nieces visited for two nights, bringing me treasured family contact and news from home. Sadly, the four kilos of dates from mum and my magazine subscriptions didn't make it into their hand luggage.  Back on island time now, sheltering from the ferocious trade winds and meditating on my fourth day without caffeine. 

I am thrilled to be featured on Carla Coulson's wildly popular blog as part of her "Inspiring Lives" series. You can read the interview here. Thank you Carla for the opportunity to share a little of my life with your readers. 

sunset picnic

It is not often we get visitors, so when someone makes the effort to brave the unreliable transport connections and overnight stopovers in Kupang, we are very excited and grateful.  My cousin Jamie has been threatening to come for years, and finally the planets aligned for him and his girlfriend Rachel to escape their busy Sydney lives and spend a week in our island home.  

After a rough start that included six hours waiting in the Denpasar domestic terminal for a delayed flight that was eventually cancelled, an extra night in Bali and a missed connection to a charter flight we had organised, they made it the slow and steady Indo way. Utter boredom and frustration led Jamie to buy the featured tropical print shirt from the airport. Very becoming. 

In between the surf and eating programme, we went on adventures by foot, motorbike and ute to visit our favourite beaches, bush tracks and palm groves. Throw in a few cold beers and a sunset beach picnic and you have a complete holiday. 

Thank you Jamie and Rach for coming all that way to share our simple life. X

weather & mozzies, all the important stuff

The wet season was late to start last year, and so is lingering on well beyond its usual pattern. The weather we are getting now is what we were expecting in November, when it was still offshore, dry and dusty. Today is delightfully cool, down to 25 degrees this morning with steady rain. A welcome relief from the suffocating heat and humidity between the showers. 

Anyone who says that only meteorologists should write about the weather obviously hasn't lived in a house without walls, where every change in temperature is noted on the skin, every rustling palm frond and rain drop audible. We do not have glass or doors buffering us from the elements, and being aware of wind, tide and moon cycles is a critical aspect of the surfer's path.  Combine this with a look at the 4-day forecast chart and Buoyweather  and we can predict the future.

Aquaman has been out of action for a week with dengue fever. Taking into account incubation time, we suspect he caught it in Bali on the way over, as it is rife there and relatively rare here - we get the pleasure of malaria instead. Once the threat of cerebral malaria was cleared with his second negative test result, he was left to sweat and sleep the fever off, as there is no treatment other than comforting the symptoms. With 48 hours of sleep and three days of light duties, where I feared his hummingbird totem had been hijacked by a sloth, he is back in action and ready to take on the next swell. 

back on island time

Welcome to the barefoot season. We are home in the tropics after four months interlude in WA. The wet season has waned, leaving a tinge of green grass and humid conditions. The trade winds are on cue, grooming the swell in Aquaman's office. We are in residence until Christmas; so get you bikini, boardies and quiver ready for the long dry season.  

If you have been following us for a while, you'll know that each year the arrival is a shock. Eyes that have grown accustomed to Australian standards over the summer are assaulted by exposed wiring, busted fences, rubbish and decay (in contrast, when returning to Australia everything looks so neat and correct as to seem stale).  Our cleaner had knocked the top off four months of gecko shit, coconut matter and rampant vines blocking the back door, but we still had to spend two full days with rags, mops and secateurs to regain a respectable level of dignity. The pump was seized, leaving us without water for the first 30 hours (and the locals had drained the tank long ago). I couldn't even flush my beloved new toilet.  White ants had a nibble on the bathroom steps, and a light bulb went missing, but otherwise the camp is sound. The house was void of fresh food, and with market day still five days away, we dipped into our precious imported oats and dates for a porridge dinner.  Word of our arrival spread quickly through the village and by next morning bananas and pumpkin had appeared from a friends garden. 

The internet connection is painfully slow this year, and even google home page can take ten minutes to load, if at all. It is infuriating, and many days my attempts at blogging are derailed by dial-up. In between times I have started posting photos on Instagram @sallymaymills (which also appear on my FB page) and send the odd tweet @sallymaymills

The swell is picking up for the first big waves of the season, I still have the lagoon swimming pool to myself, and we have slipped quickly back into a state of voluntary simplicity that we relish. I look forward to sharing words and pictures from our island home.  Thanks for being here.  

goat kindy

walking the goat

what kind of creature are you?

my twin playmates showing me what goats like to eat

my first greens ; six new messages

You might have thought this blog was about surf and fruit. Well, sorry, but it appears that goats are where it's at. Sumba is growing fast and is somewhere between a cute toddler and a horny teenager. He will chew any inanimate object he can reach, with a particular fancy for plastic bags, rope, power cords and books. 

He is now too cool to give his mumma kisses, preferring to indulge his manliness on my leg.  In the hope of convincing him he is, in fact, a goat and not a human, I encourage him to attend goat kindy when the other kids come around.  If he has finished checking his facebook and playing scrabble, he will curiously watch goat behaviour from his lounge room vantage point, joining in the occasional friendly head butt. 

We have reduced his bottle feeds from seven to four each day, hoping he will start eating solids. He nibbles the garden with the effect of a grasshopper and ate his first fruit yesterday. Like a gentle bleeting alarm, he wakes us at 4.45am each morning for his breakfast, treating us to the beauty of a tropical sunrise.  

With only six days until we leave, I am racked with sadness over leaving the little fella behind, but we have found a family nearby willing to watch over him and promise he won't become Christmas lunch.

Thanks to Aquaman for the drawings. 

lontar spa part 2

Sascha, the Lontar spa founder, with Hildi

The day spa experience isn't only for women, as these photos illustrate. After a long session in the surf, the boys are partial to a massage, especially when it can be combined with a cold beer.  The beachfront wing of the Lontar Spa is a more public affair, suitable for manicures, pedicures and seated massage. The open bamboo bale has unhindered views to the wave, the sunset and the bar; all essential elements of the island dream.

We have known Bingin Mick (seated right) for many years, and never seen an alcoholic beverage in his hand.  He was about to leave on a boys only boat trip to Sumatra for his 50th birthday, and felt sure there would be a few beers involved, so prior to this massage he announced that he better go into training. He claims it  did in fact enhance the experience.  

castaways

Looking west from our house we can see three islands, each with different profiles. The closest one is flat, like a green pancake with a white fringe. In the clear morning light the beach is a distinct disc on the ocean, then as the sun moves westward, the glare and heat haze obscure the island to the point where it can disappear. It is a twenty minute speed boat ride from our village, yet is visited infrequently.  Due to the lack of fresh water the island is uninhabited, save for the occasional fishermen who camp out in crude shelters on the leeward side. Sea snakes are the most common guests, coming onto land at night, leaving their undulating patterns in the sand.

The landscape is reminiscent of the Kimberley or Northern Territory, with scrubby pandanas, the occasional stunted coconut palm, and spiky grassland.  Without grazing animals, the under storey supports small succulents and grasses that we don't have at home, where the free range pigs and goats make short work of any green tuft. It is hot, harsh, and dry; the kind of place you imagine being shipwrecked, or the imaginary island of childhood maps, where spot x marks the hidden treasure. We walked across the middle then back around the beach to the boat. I picked up shells and bleached urchin skeletons, while Aquaman found a beautiful slab of driftwood destined to become an occasional table in our living room. 

The island was crown land until a 15 hectare block was bought by a wealthy and influential Indonesian businessman.  Remember these photos - things are about to change.