raw food rant

Last night our expat neighbours had a conference over Bintangs and nasi goreng special, then sent forth a messenger to inform Tom that they all agree he is too thin and therefore must be unwell.   Yes, he isn't a huge bloke when compared to the "normal" (read overweight) Australian, but since when does fat = healthy?  We don't go around telling them they are fat, should stop eating animal products, give up alcohol and generally clean up their act.   He can out surf any of them, lift heavy things and perform acts of daring and chivalry.  He is never sick, yet his lack of subcutaneous body fat indicates to them that he has "an issue."  My god, when will the insanity of our overfed society end?  The perception of what constitutes a "normal" body size and shape is so skewed in our society - the fattest on earth - that a human in supreme health is questioned and berated. 

I say long live Aquaman; the lean, strong king of my world.

Now all go off and have a green smoothie.

power day projects

Sunday is the day to knock of all the little projects that need a power drill.  We usually have a list, then get carried away using the blender and computer, and the power goes off, leaving the jobs unfinished for another week.  There is always night time, but after dinner and a shower, I never feel like digging out the tools and being handy.

 Today, my studio took another leap forward toward completion, with the erection of a mozzie net over the daybed, and a pegboard for photos, inspiration and my annual planning calendar.

triple housewarming

A triple house warming in our little expat community is cause for big celebration.  The surround sound building has ceased and it is time to survey the completed projects.  Uncle Gerry has two new bedroom pavilions with outdoor bathrooms, Pappa Kel has a double storey bungalow with room to woo a woman, and John Tinggi has relocated two doors down to his new pad with a solar system that could power the entire neighbourhood.  The party is a chance to thank the workers, and get the villagers and expats together to share a meal, dance and a swig a few bottles of Bintang.   

Our morning smoothie is interrupted by the gruesome sound of four goats meeting an early death.  I am sure they thought it hilarious to do the slaughter within ear-shot of the vegans.  The women gather at 8.00am and begin to chop vegies, boil huge woks of rice over the open fire, and wash vats of bloody goat’s meat.  We decide to take our own dinner.

It comes to Gerry’s attention that some prime cuts of goat make their way over the fence to waiting mates, and bottles of beer are recapped and disappear into the darkness.  With both resources paid for at premium prices, and laid on free to everyone, this is disappointing, but overlooked without much fuss.  

The presence of a "ladyboy" from the city causes a major stir; decked out in tight stretch jeans, red stilettos and full stage makeup.  She/he is a brother/sister of a local, and works as an entertainer and masseuse in questionable circumstances.  All focus is on her crotch, and to what degree she is or isn't a woman - for beneath the jeans there isn't much room for a bulge.  For a conservative protestant village, she/he raises many eyebrows and questions. 

lagoon therapy

My lagoon water therapy has begun in earnest, and I am like a yacht under full sail with a broken rudder.  The arms are going, but the right leg lags behind.  I manage a short stand-up paddle session and a waddle up the beach to Colin and Linda’s.  Slowly, slowly.  It is heaven to sleep with a sheet rather than be trapped under the layers of a doona and blanket, trying to keep my beanie, pillows and hot water bottle in order.

I am amazed at how quickly patterns change, when on my first visit to our toilet I reach for the flush button!  I put the first banana skin in the bin rather than tossing it out to the goats, and after only two weeks of a living with a well stocked fridge, I am at a loss to create something out of cabbage, tomato and cucumber.

Tom is thrilled with the three kilos of dates I brought back, and I have to ration the Lindt 75% dark chocolate one square at a time. 

on the hop

Three days on crutches, two days on the hop, then back on the plane for the trip home to warm water, bikinis and my Aquaman.  36 hours from door to door; limping on and off two flights, one ferry, four taxis and one bus. 

An untimely need to pee at the ferry terminal sees me confronted with a squat toilet.  With a knee that can’t bend, this presents quite a problem, and I have to get in touch with my masculine side while keeping my pants off the wet floor, and myself from slipping down the hole.  I’ll let you imagine the rest...