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.

captain's breakfast

Each year when the Sama Sama sails into its channel anchorage, a flutter of excitement rises with the anticipation of our annual breakfast outing. The graceful teak boat is owned by an Austrian couple, and in between charters they slot in a ten day holiday, before the boat heads to the Mentawai for the remainder of the surf season. 

With their Balinese cook they laid on a buffet breakfast that lasted all morning. Two loaves of bread -warm from the oven - fruit platter, toasted muesli, eggs, salami, banana and chocolate cake, a selection of jams and spreads, juice, tea and a bottomless plunger of coffee. Oh how variety can cause one to overeat. Sweet to savoury, back to sweet...another coffee? more bread? 

In between courses we dived off the deck, did laps around the boat, the girls played cards while the boys battled it out in chess. Tom found a spot on the daybed with 360 degree ocean views, and slowly slipped from the position you see above to a more horizontal one. 

Thank you Susannah and Gerfried for generously sharing your supplies and space. Your visit is always a highlight of the year. Until next time, may the wind fill your sails. 

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.  

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. 

tea on the beach

It is 35 in the shade and humidity is pushing my tolerance levels, however as the British Raj demonstrated, that is no reason to pack away the teapot. With the kitchen only metres from the water, I can take all of my paraphernalia to a shady spot and catch the sea breeze. A swim or three in between blog posts and I’ve earned a nap. 

Sumba and I are home alone, with Aquaman doing a quick Singapore run to renew his visa. I have a new appreciation for the daily challenges a single mum must face, and I’ve only got a bleeting goat that misses his dad.  My current challenge is convincing him how delicious fruit and vegetables are, and that he should try chewing them rather than the plate they are on.  There will not be photographic evidence of me on all fours eating carrot stalks.  

birthday adventure

Just the two of us on a borrowed motorbike. Bathers, sunnies, long sleeved shirts. A loaf of camp oven bread, salad and art supplies in the backpack. Over the newly graded road to our favourite south side beach and beyond. Returning home when my butt was numb and the dusk shadows long. Yes, I feel lucky. 

emergency harvest

A significant low pressure system in Western Australia pushed a solid swell northward, inciting  much rapture from the watermen, and stress for the seaweed farmers. Combined with high spring tides, the surges of water over the reef broke many ropes and stakes, threatening the security of the agar agar plots. As soon as the tide dropped, there was a frantic race to remove as much mature seaweed as possible before the high water returned and swept away their cash crop. The rubbery weed is sun dried on crude racks, then bagged up for sale and shipped to Surabaya for processing. From here, the white, odourless powder finds its way into cosmetics, food and petri dishes worldwide.  

Meanwhile, Aquaman was pulling into freight trains on his 7"6 gun with one unfortunate flight over the falls and into the rumbling darkness of the depths.  This was followed in rapid succession by two more set waves on the head. His lungs wanted to breathe, but he gently coaxed them to hold on a little longer. I'm relieved they did.