the city of dreams

I'll be honest, Kupang is one of my least favourite destinations, and certainly one I aim to pass through with haste. It is the sandpaper for patience and tolerance that bookends my simple island existence. As if knowing how eager I am to get home to our beach shack and the arms of Aquaman, the universe has conspired to grant me 48 hours in the City of Dreams. 

Awoken at 4am by the ululating call to prayer (a rather inconsiderate notion in this predominantly Christian city), I snatched a few minutes sleep before the alarm at 5am.  I had news that the ferry was cancelled due to rough seas, so I took the chance of standby on the 7am flight. I wasn't alone in this mission, and by 8am, 31 names were on the list, and we had amassed quite the party in the small airline office. Ideas of chartering an oversized canoe, twin prop plane or helicopter were bandied around as we waited for news of a possible second flight (after it was established by all how unfortunate I am to not have children).  Four hours later my heart sank with the news there would be no flight, canoe or magic carpet and I returned to room 303.  The Sasando International Hotel was once a luxurious abode in this city of overpriced, worn and totally shit accommodation (and is still one of the better options). The citizens do not embrace maintenance, and the scene evokes a war weary city, with the only redeeming quality being the nightly food market.

I took the risk of death by chlorination and snot in the hotel pool, and was relieved my bather clad self did not elicit whistles, screams and photos, as happens when I walk alone through town. It was quite pleasant sunning on the broken pavers with a magazine, however I baulked from a second swim after witnessing the amount of deep throat mucus exhumed into the water.

To end on a more positive vibe, the hotel has free wi-fi, expansive ocean views and the staff kindly allow me to sit in the deserted dining room with my papaya and laptop. Should I be overcome with a need to fold in prayer (or despair?) toward Mecca, they have thoughtfully spray painted the directional arrow on the ceiling of my room. 

One more sleep and season 2012 begins. 

Are you ready?

If you are hankering for more photos of this captivating capital, have a look at this post from last year. 

first day of summer

While today marks the official first day of summer for the antipodean continent, here in the tropics, it is remarkably similar to the first day of winter, only a bit hotter and more humid.  For those of you unpacking mittens and stoking fires in the northern hemisphere chill, I send you a big dose of sunshine. 

Thanks to John Tinggi for the photo of us enjoying a morning cuppa on the beach.

you take the high road

There isn't a day go by where I don't immerse myself in the lagoon.  Sometimes, just a cooling dip; at others times a test of my strength against the current.  I follow footpaths through the sea grass, suspended above the narrow highways, and swim the length of the sand patches, as clear and vast as a pool.  Thoughts are few; my mind calm with the rhythmic pull and kick, my eyes watching for the occasional glint of fish.  I cherish the freedom, the opportunity to preserve the splashing child within, the simple joy of moving forward quietly with my own power.  

heir to the throne

Greg is the manager and part owner of the resort, and he married a lovely girl from the mainland, whom he wooed over a season of ferry rides.  Anita was the hostess in the VIP section, and a splendid sight in her smart uniform checking tickets and handing out unidentified food objects.

Their little fella RJ Rogers (Rock to his fans) is seriously adorable.  He loves his pool time, is discovering his facial muscles and has the entire hotel staff and expat community wrapped around his tiny fingers.  He has a sweet life lined up as the first wave of "blended" kids in the village, with one foot in the west and one firmly running bare under the coconuts. 

How's the look on his face here?  This photo is scarily like a family portrait  I repeat, this is not my child. 

private pool time

The hotel is closed for the season, however we have permission to use the pool at our leisure.  Private resort facilities - my kind of exclusivity, at the right price.  The panacea for hot low tide afternoons. Thanks Greg. 

pool time

While Jen is here from Hawaii, the afternoon invariably finds me at the hotel for a cuppa, spot of lounging and a dip in the pool.  Perhaps a game of cards, Rummikub or frisbee, depending on the level of exertion desired.  Jen has a thing for a hot drink with her feet in cold water; I can work with that.