Happy New 2009! And … bloody hell!

Why is it that I can never have a holiday without something going wrong with the organising part?! I rocked into London after an hour’s flight from Edinburgh and they hadn’t put my bag on the plane. No problem; it was only one night, and I was going back to the airport the next day anyway. It was actually kinda cool, because it meant I didn’t have to lug my big pack around with me on the tube.

What happened the next day I didn’t expect – I rocked up to Heathrow extra early to get my bag, but I couldn’t find the damn baggage office. Every British Airways staff member I asked couldn’t tell me where to find it, and I wandered around two Terminals for about an hour and a half, getting more and more stressed, before finally finding a BA ‘staff locator’ phone. After ringing about 20 times to speak to someone, they advised me to get on my flight or I’d miss it, worry about the bag in Singapore, and they would try to put it on the same flight.

When I rocked into Singapore feeling totally knackered, the bag was nowhere to be seen, and so I lodged another report of missing luggage and had to be content trying to chase it up from Indonesia. Then, not only did I have no bag, nor was I sure if I would get it at all, but I had to spend an extra day in Singapore.

Before I left Indonesia, Australian Red Cross & the Dept of Immigration hadn’t processed my KITAS visa in time (which allows us multiple entry into Indonesia) so I had to get an exit pass and then apply for the usual visa in Singapore. No problem normally; but I’d already booked and paid for all my flights and was scheduled to arrive back Monday 5th January in Simeulue. I had to spend an extra day in Singapore to process my visa, which meant changing my Singapore – Medan - Simeulue flights by a day. The Singapore – Medan flight was the killer; due to the time of year there were no flights available apart from travelling business class or paying twice as much.

So, in the end, ARC organised for me to do this:
1. Spend the day in Singapore (no problem, wandering around the shops is ok for me!)
2. Catch a ferry to Batam Island (Indonesia)
3. Spend a night in a hotel in Batam
4. Get a flight the next day to Medan (ended up being delayed for 4 hours - boo! I have spent so much time sitting around in airports I’ve lost count)
5. Stay overnight again in Medan, as my flights don’t connect (no problem, I was happy to catch up with Wendy and Agnes, two mates living there)
6. Fly to Simeulue the next day.

So in the end, it cost a lot more money and I arrived in Simeulue two days later than scheduled. What a lot of fucking around. If they’d got off their ass and organised it properly beforehand (they had so much time!), it would have saved all of that, plus a lot of frustration and boredom from me. Blergh.

Adding to my woes when I got back to Simeulue were my phone calls to BMI central baggage HQ; they didn’t know where my bag was. Eventually they located it and after lots of stuffing around with sending it on different airlines, my good buddy ShirShar from Norwegian Red Cross picked it up from Medan’s Polonia airport and brought it to Simeulue. Hooray! So when I get back from the field on Friday, I can finally download and share all my photos (which I’ve been dying to do – my chargers and cables and everything are inside!). Phew! Now just have to tackle a week in the field…

Day 3: let the drunkenness continue!

After deciding we should get up in our reasonably tired and hungover state, Australia discovered that Canada had left the building. We had intentions of going to see the castle today, given that our previous efforts had failed, but thought that first we would try and find out where Canada was. And, easy as you like, our first guess was right: in the closest possible drinking location – the pub downstairs! With America. I never knew the two ever got along so well.

The drinks were already flowing, so we decided we needed to join in the New Years’ Day festivities. Soon we were emptying our pints and the shots began. After the amount we’d drunk the night before it didn’t take long before we were starting to feel it again! By now America were drunk enough that they didn’t want to go back to Birmingham as planned, for their next work day; after calling up the boss they were granted permission to stay another day and drink on with us. Sweet!

And then the stories from New Year’s Eve, in particular Up the Kilt, started flowing. The funniest thing from all the reminiscing was when I pulled out the condom I had scored from Mr Health Worker Tom, and realised that it was a “GI Jonny” Condom – the namesake of our new American buddy, whom I had also pashed the night before. Absolute GOLD for Australia! It even said “To inform and protect” – very appropriate given his profession as a US army officer.

By this stage Jen was in fine form and decided to go out, with Rach in tow, to buy a souvenir that she had spied in a nearby shop. They returned not long afterwards with their new purchases: religious t-shirts, which were very funny at this stage, as well as some ultra-loud, ultra-fluorescent beanies. Jen’s t-shirt read “Don’t panic! I’m Islamic” and Rach’s read “Jesus is coming. Look busy!” These were immediately much revered by the group, and therefore Jen decided that we all needed one. Mine read “Jesus loves you – but I’m his favourite”. My own favourite however was Keith’s, which read “I’ve found Jesus – he was behind the sofa the whole time”. Gold!

After all the shots, other drinks, t-shirts, spilling drinks, karaoke and obligatory air guitar, the staff at the World’s End decided it was time to kick us out (about the 100th time for the week!). So out we went into the cold. By now Rach and I decided we needed to find some more food; on our return we discovered our pals in the nearest pub – the Royal Mile, our favourite haunt from a few nights ago. And then more drunkenness ensued. We managed to meet a few Irish chicks; their very camp friend Martin, who took a real shining to GI Jonny; and a bit later in the piece, three very also-camp Italian guys. One we immediately named Salmon, due the colour of his cashmere sweater. The other two were also great; one being a big hulk of a guy, who was extremely lovely, just like a big teddy bear, whom I subsequently spent the next few hours hugging; the other was a small, skinny guy in tight jeans and a waistcoat, quite cute actually, who seemed quite curt at first but by the end was just as fun and raucous as the others. It was absolutely hilarious.

By this stage the music was turned up, the singing and dancing had spilled over into the entire bar and we ended up dancing on the tables. Even our big gay friend, who, at the recommendation of the barman, found quite a sturdy table to jump up onto. The bar staff at the Royal Mile were absolute champs and put up with all our nonsense for the whole night without kicking us out. Eventually when the pub closed we had no choice but to leave, and all went our separate ways.

Day 4 was our last day in Edinburgh, which finished rather sadly with an extremely hungover brunch, where none of us could really string many sentences together. America had dropped in to say goodbye before departing on the train back down to Birmingham. And so I farewelled Australia and Canada on their drive back to Norwich, and spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out in Edinburgh. I decided to go for a wander around the town; I was so hungover that my postcard to mum and dad fell out of my pocket and I didn’t even notice. I’d spent so long looking for a stamp for it too! After wandering up the castle, and seeing how long the ticket line-up was, I decided I couldn’t cope with waiting in line for half an hour, let alone a castle tour. So for the second time that week, I had been to Edinburgh castle but had not actually gone inside. Nice one Jac.

What I wasn’t too hungover for was wandering around an art gallery. I could try and tell you who the exhibition was by and where it was housed, but that part has also sadly departed from my memory. I do know he was a German artist and I really enjoyed admiring his work…! Upon catching the bus to the airport, it really hit home that The Big Adventure was finally over :( But it had been RAD. And definitely the best New Year’s ever!

All of the drunken evidence is here. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=60781&id=543196685&l=1f6a28c582

Snogmanay, Up The Kilt challenges, ghosts, whisky tours, Americans, Jesus t-shirts and three consecutive days of drunkenness...

...aka New Years’ Eve in Edinburgh!

So, where to begin with THIS adventure. Well, maybe at the very beginning, a very good place to start.

It was awesome to see Rach, my great mate from uni all those years ago, when I stepped off the train in Leeds. We later worked out it had been five years since we’d last seen each other. And that’s way too long (so we’ve vowed to make sure the next meeting is within that time frame). Rach had driven from Norwich in north-west England, where she’s currently studying her Masters in International Development and Conflict. She had brought two other ladies with her – a Miss Audrey and a Miss Katie, two Canadians, one of which who studies with Rach in Norwich, and the other who works for a small NGO in genocide prevention.

And so we zoomed off towards The North. That’s actually what it says on the road signs. I figured it was some sort of indescribable region in an upwards direction, so we headed there given that Scotland is north of England (!). After a mammoth drive (merci beaucoup chauffer Rachael) we finally arrived at the now very dark Scottish border for an official picture of our first foray into the country.

Then the challenge was on to find our apartment with all the one way streets. Boo! In the end it wasn’t too hard, and we were delighted to find the apartment located right on the Royal Mile, the main cobblestoned drag through the town, which led directly up to Edinburgh Castle. Perfect! It was on the fourth floor (and the narrow, lighthouse-style stone stairs were a killer) above a great little pub called the World’s End, which soon after we discovered was even better inside with friendly staff and a rad menu. So our night finished after a few wines and an agreement that we shouldn’t get too drunk on our first night, especially with New Year’s coming up and a day of exploring the city to come.

The next day we were out and about exploring Edinburgh. Given how early it gets dark at this time of year, we decided to take on the challenge of reaching Arthur’s Seat, atop a lofty perch overlooking the city. So up we laboured, cameras in hand, stopping extremely often along the way – not only because the light was beautiful and the views of the city were stunning, but because we were already tired! We lost Audrey early on in the piece and after Rach and I decided to make our way to the top we also lost Katie. In the end I was the only one who made it right to the top. But that was ok, it was getting time to cruise back down the mountain and find our fellow comrades.

Some piccies at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=60796&id=543196685&l=5779fd1fb7

We wandered back down the mountain and around the streets of this beautiful city, admiring the ancient architecture and the way the castle imposed itself at the opposite end of the city to Arthur’s Seat, forebodingly observing the goings-on of the city below. When we eventually made our way back to the Royal Mile we found our friends in a state of already advanced inebriation in a pub across the road, and sat down to polish off a bottle of wine with them. After we’d been kicked out of the pub (not Australia’s fault, it was those rowdy Canadians) we went back to the apartment to drop off Canada and proceeded to grab a nice, relaxing quiet dinner for two before joining a ghost tour. Edinburgh is said to have a gruesome history of burning witches, torture, poverty and other dark secrets and we wanted to find out what these were, as well as where the spirits left behind by these practices were lurking. Unfortunately due to the time of year (and the offer of a free drink at the end), the tour was packed and the company had two concurrent tours going, which meant competition for time and space and a long, annoying wait at the tour’s start for everyone to pay.

Eventually the tour began, with a wander through the streets, a quick history lesson and then into some old, dark and damp vaults which were originally designed for the storage of bulk goods such as tobacco. When this idea failed due to the influx of water through the limestone, the vaults became the hiding place of the homeless, who were not legally allowed to exist on Edinburgh’s streets, and white witches, who practiced their religion in secret to avoid being burned at the stake. The cramped conditions led to poor sanitation, high levels of disease and therefore mortality, and it was the ghosts of the poor that were said to inhabit these vaults. We didn’t see any. Nor was the tour scary in any way – even after the claims that it has featured on numerous TV shows as the most able to prove the existence of ghosts, and the lame and futile attempts of one of the guides to jump out and scare us at the end.

After being quite disappointed with the ghost tour and the shady location of our ‘free drink’, we headed out of the bar on the lookout for something a bit more welcoming. We found quite a dearth of appropriate places, so after stepping into and almost immediately out of a quite shady establishment we resigned ourselves to going back to the apartment, even though we were both clearly up for something a bit more fun.

While walking back down the Royal Mile, we passed a little pub of the same name. Fortuitously someone ahead of us just happened to step inside, and the very rad live music filtering out of the place, for just a moment, was enough to get us straight in there. Great minds think alike. After a while I had acquainted myself with a nice Italian boy and Rach had literally grabbed the arm of a New Zealander posing as a Scotsman – asking him ‘where to next?’ under the impression he was a tour guide – and we had our chaperones for the night.

Roberto had lost his mates a few hours earlier and Pete was up for some more adventures after the pub closed, so the four of us headed out into the cold in search of Grassmarket – a street downtown which was home to more drinking establishments. By the time we got there it was around 2am and the only place we could find was a very Woolshed-like (ugh!) pub-slash-club, but it did the job until it closed an hour later. Just enough time to grab a couple more drinks, talk a bit more shit and have a bit of a dance before heading home. Day one of drinking over.

New Year’s Eve – Up the Kilt!

And so New Year’s Eve arrived. Both Canada and Australia got off to a sluggish start, but Australia soon took the lead after breakfast and set off towards the castle, leaving Canada to eat our dust. But something along the way caught our attention: the Whisky Tasting Centre. Considering we both like a drink of the stuff we headed inside to see what it was all about, and promptly booked ourselves onto a whisky tasting tour. We had a bit of time before it started, and we were freezing, so we nipped into a cosy little pub and grabbed ourselves a goblet of red. Probably not the best way to start off a whisky tour and by the time we were done my head felt considerably lighter, but we made it inside and learned all about the art of perfecting whisky, followed by the tasting of a single malt and a blend. This added to that familiar feeling of light-headedness, and feeling quite happy with ourselves we headed back through the city the scenic way, setting up our night’s dinner at a Japanese restaurant and grabbing ourselves a slab of fudge from the shop up the street. And so we never actually made it to the castle.

After finding on our return that Canada had been sleeping all afternoon, and a bit of a nanna-nap ourselves, we hotted ourselves up for a big night out at Hogmanay – the reason we had made the pilgrimage here in the first place. Hogmanay is Edinburgh’s famous street party that attracts tens of thousands of revellers every year. And in particular it seemed to attract Aussies and Kiwis in hordes – we were quite disappointed to meet more of them, and other tourists, than Scots themselves.

At dinner we formulated our ‘Up the Kilt Challenge’. Being four females, three of us single, it was always going to be a bit of a boy-chasing weekend, and so we decided we needed a challenge to keep us entertained for the night. Up the Kilt basically involved pashing people (keeping in the tradition of Snogmanay!) according to various categories (someone with a name starting with the same letter as yours, from a country on the other side of the world, someone ten years older or younger than you), getting photos of random things (ie with policemen and if possible, whatever lies (hangs?) beneath Scotsmens’ kilts), stealing things (scarves, hats), getting things from people (condoms, phone numbers) and other juvenile nonsense. Gold in the making…

So, lists in hand, we made our way down to Princes St. First off the mark was Australia, with me approaching the first policemen I saw to ask for a photo. First points to me, yah!!! And then of course we proceeded to the bar to buy beers.

Standing on the street corner at the main intersection, we set up our position for the night – and what a great one it was. We had people streaming past us from three different directions, and didn’t have to move the whole night to meet a lot of fun people from all over the world. In fact there were four different stages playing live music and other entertainment, but we didn’t see any of it because we were having too much fun at our little outpost!

Up the Kilt provided a good conversation starter and soon we had some hilarious conversations going on with random passers-by. When it came to the condom question though, many guys were quite offended and got a bit disgruntled when we asked. Weird! I started talking to an English guy called Tom, who happened to be a health worker – perfect! A person in such a responsible line of work was sure to have a condom. And he did, and even better, he was more than happy to part with it! As well as his phone number. Bonus! So I killed two birds with that stone. Thanks Tom.

In the meantime we had managed to meet a bunch of Americans who were based in Birmingham, working for the US Army and supporting the war in Iraq. Now this was a bit unfortunate for them, but they were all champs and became our mates for the rest of the night (and the next day). Jon, Keith, Dan & Jen were quite amused by Up The Kilt and after an explanation to them, Jon happened to comment that he was more than happy to help out with any point scoring. I didn’t need to be asked twice – Jon was hot, so I pashed him and he became my points for 1. having a name starting with J, and 2. being from the other side of the world. Sweet!

Then, randomly, our Italian friend from the night before, Roberto, happened to walk past with his mates. Next thing I look up and Rach is pashing Roberto! More points to Rach – name starting with same letter, and boy from other side of the world… hehe! In fact Rach and I had a competitive thing going on – Australia vs Australia – as well as with Canada, particularly when it came to attempting to get photos of Scotsmens’ wares.

The worst thing about festivals such as Snogmanay is the toilet line-up. The row of porta-loos stretched all the way to the castle (well that may be a little embellishment of the truth), and the distinction between the line-ups to each one was always blurred… elbows were definitely required! Just in front of us was one of the million Aussies in the place, easily identifiable due to the Australian flag draped over him. I thought he looked like an idiot, so I asked him (rather indignantly I must admit) ‘what are you wearing that flag for?’ He proceeded to get quite pissed off, and said he was proud to be Australian and wanted everyone to know where he was from. Then he told me I was un-Australian for bagging him! The girl in the line in front of me gave me a mouthful as well. Luckily we had reached the front of the queue by then, and escaped a likely tussle with our fellow Australians when Rach shoved me into the porta-loo. Good save!

So then midnight arrived and there were amazing fireworks over Edinburgh castle. By this stage there were plenty of Scots (and pretenders) more than happy to flash us, and then the competitive streak in all of us definitely came out. Someone managed to get some evidence of flashing, but it’s definitely not going on Facebook!

And a little while later, I found out why they call it Snogmanay. Things were winding up and Canada, Australia and America had decided to head back up to town and find somewhere new to party. We were walking up the street just talking crap; I looked up to see a guy walking directly towards us, making a beeline for me; then he was in front of me, and just grabbed me for a pash. Random! My immediate thought was ‘how old is this guy and where is he from?!’ because he looked about 18 – and I thought I might get some points for pashing someone ten years younger than me from the other side of the world :) The latter point, yes, as he was Brazilian – but he was 23, so I lucked out with that one. After solving these two profound mysteries, I decided he was cute and a good kisser, so I pashed him once more before keeping on walking up the hill. The others told me it was like witnessing the embrace of two lost lovers who hadn’t seen each other in years. For me it all happened very fast! Hehe!

And after that brief moment, it was game on! For some reason, my actions were the catalyst for an immediate flurry of point-scoring in the Up the Kilt Challenge. Random pashes were handed out left right and centre. Scots were approached to show us their wares in an attempt to get an elusive photo! On our walk back up the hill towards the tourist strip, I proceeded to grab a hat from a random person’s head and ran off. But almost immediately after legging it up the hill, hearing his surprised shout and then pursuit, I realised it was a futile exercise and stopped in my tracks, sheepishly handing it back to its rightful owner, much to everyone’s amusement. Almost got some points. D’oh!

Eventually we found a nightclub called Espionage and headed inside. The place was huge, and on entry and setting up a spot at the bar, we ran into some Swedes who were busy slurping down their Vodka illusions, and invited us to join in. I think this set the tone for the rest of the night! So much so that at a later point in the night, after moving from our original position, I suddenly realised that we’d left our jackets at the other bar with all my money, phone and other valuables in the pockets, so I ran off to retrieve them all… only to find that I couldn’t find them, and that all four floors of this gigantic place were all exactly the same. I ended up going round and round the floors and staircases and getting more and more worried about my valuables. I finally found the bar and a pile of coats that I thought were ours, and started going through them looking for my wallet, much to the dismay of the people at the bar who thought I was trying to flog their valuables! In the end I finally ran into Rach on one of the floors, and begged her to lead me back to where we were, and where our jackets also were. What a tosser!

After a while we decided we were all hungry and it was time to go home, so we headed out to grab some disgusting – yet strangely satisfying – UK takeaway before heading back. And then the one thing that Jon will never do again, to ask me: “So what are your thoughts on America’s involvement in the war in Iraq?”

And I let loose! I think he was very sorry he asked… but I learned some interesting things about people working in this job: the main one being that they have been completely brainwashed by their government about their duty to protect America’s sovereignty, doing the ‘right thing’ by leading the Iraqi people to democracy (yeah right! I don’t think they tell them about America’s real interests in the country), so much so that they can’t see just how much damage they are doing and how the world views them. But by talking to him I also became more aware of the huge psychological damage that this war has inflicted on America’s soldiers. Something to ponder at 4:30am on the first day of 2009.

Stomp and chomp: a random Mancunian Christmas

Lucy Gash is a champ, and I love her to bits. It was the second time I’d been adopted into someone’s family during this trip, and for Christmas it is even more special to spend time with ‘family’. Lucy lives in Marple, a small town about half an hour south of Manchester, and I was stoked to have been invited to spend Christmas with her and her family. Her house is absolutely gorgeous – it’s half of a lovely renovated old heritage home at #1 Lime Kiln Lane, with big bay windows overlooking the park, and is constructed as three split levels. She bought it from her parents, who live in the other half – which is perfect for nipping next door to attend Christmas dinners! – but still allows for more than enough privacy.

When I arrived, I was introduced to Brian and Mary, Lucy’s parents, who were both champs as well (seems to run in the family!). Brian reminded me so much of my grandpa Mel, it was great, and like my grandpa, he likes a drink and making sure that everyone else around him is enjoying one too. Our Christmas Eve lunch-slash-dinner was also shared with Lucy’s sister Katherine (aka “boobs” – I love sisterly nicknames!) her boyfriend Olly, Lucy’s brother Dan and his girlfriend Jane. By mid-afternoon we were all a bit jolly and had stuffed ourselves with a usually unacceptable amount of roast turkey, vegetables, gravy, chocolate roulade and pear jelly. The pissiness continued into the evening (which begins at about 4pm, it gets dark so early. I couldn’t handle it) when we traipsed down to one of the two local pubs to meet up with Lucy’s new man, Robbo. Speaking of champs, add another one to the list!

Christmas Day involved a lot of food, again! I was a little surprised when Lucy gave me a couple of cute Christmas gifts – which was totally unnecessary considering just having me there for Christmas was present enough. I had bought her a small present though, so that made me feel a bit better! The presents kept flowing when we arrived next door, and were clearly a big part of the Christmas ritual for their family. I always find it interesting to see how different people do it, because for my family, presents aren’t a big deal, especially now that we are all (apparently) grown up. But everyone had clearly put a lot of thought into what they bought each other, which I really value. The Quality Streets chocolates and champagne were also flowing!

After stuffing ourselves for the second Christmas lunch in a row, we went for a wander up the garden path – oops I mean the lane – to visit some friends’ of Lucy and Robbo’s. We spent the night playing Guitar Hero on Playstation, as well as belting out a few tunes on the karaoke channel. It was good juvenile fun for big kids!

Boxing Day we finally got our asses off the couch and headed off to “Stomp & Chomp” 2008. Great name! This is an annual event organised by a local, which is basically an orienteering expedition through the Mancunian countryside, in teams of up to five, based on clues and observations. This year’s route took us along stone walled public access paths across rolling fields, through sloppy, muddy patches, up the hill to a big cross monument, via an obligatory mid-way pub stop-off where I was able to try the local “bitter” brew, along a lake and river, through a golf course, and back to the pub we started at for some much-needed beef hotpot. It was great fun, and definitely a unique way to see the countryside.

It was just as I imagine rural England to look like: green rolling hills criss-crossed by ancient stone walls, small villages with their local pubs dotted here and there, woolly white sheep with fat tails wandering about. And there was something refreshing (although it was bloody freezing!) about traipsing around the place in a big jacket, boots, beanie, scarf and gloves, totally warm on the inside but feeling like your face is going to freeze off.

On the 27th Lucy had organised to meet some friends for lunch at the pub (where else?) over yonder. “Over yonder” in this case is as it sounds – over the hills and far, far away – well far enough to walk for a couple of hours. Robinson, who I’d met the night before, joined Lucy, Robbo and I on our trek across the countryside. It was a great day for walking and we crossed over our route from Stomp and Chomp via the cross memorial on the top of the hill. Nothing like crunching all the glass-like ice on the surface of the puddles when you’re rugged up and walking around in the cold! I enjoyed meeting all of Lucy’s childhood friends, and they’d all kept in touch even though many of them lived away from Marple and now had families of their own.

Later in the day two of Lucy’s friends Lara & Courtney, who had driven up from London, joined us at the pub. He is a Jamaican that has made his money in the UK as a DJ. The poor buggers recently had to postpone their Christmas holiday back to Jamaica because Courtney had lost his passport, and wasn’t able to replace it in time! But the good thing was it meant they were able to spend some time with us. After heading back from the pub, a bit of chilling out, wine in hand, some traditional Christmas game-playing (in this case Jenga!) and some food at Lucy’s, we headed down to the other Marple pub for more socialising and beer drinking. It was another fun night of just hanging out and talking rubbish which ended in a random visit to the other pub once ours closed, and managing to flog a long blonde wig from one of the Marple locals. I must say Courtney looked particularly ravishing in it – being Jamaican and all!

Check out my pics! http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=64727&id=543196685&l=10e1866171

And then it was one last brekky – Robbo’s famous bubble (of the bubble and squeak fame, but said with a Mancunian accent, hilarious!) topped with a poached egg being the new food of choice – before boarding the train for one last adventure: New Years in Edinburgh.

Bournemouth, old London town, and old mates

Good old London – being an Aussie, you can always find lots of mates to catch up with. First on the list: Lisa and Dave, mates of mine from those long-ago days at uni. They were awesome hosts, welcoming me with Dave’s special bangers and mash when I arrived! It had been a while, and it was great to catch up on their lives in the UK. During my time with them, Lisa gave me a tour of her and Dave’s work (the Royal Science Institute, brilliant), we wandered around Oxford and Regent streets to check out the Christmas lights and elaborate store-fronts (to me it was amazing – after the non-event of Christmas in Indonesia, the biggest Muslim country in the world!), and we went to see a theatre version of Edward Scissorhands. It was great fun. The other reason that the two of them are champs is because they let me use their house in Queen’s Park as a base while they were away for Christmas.

Because most of my friends were working during the day, it gave me a chance to see a bit of London (and its shops) during the day, and catch up with people during the night. I was able to share a few wines in London’s oldest wine cellar near the Thames with James Mac, an old uni buddy of Ange’s; share a few beers with Sally and Schuey at the Regent Hotel down the road; catch up with Fritha, a new friend from the wedding, for a drink on the Thames; randomly find out that Rob M-L was back at home, and share brunch and some Christmas shopping with him in Camden; and of course buy myself a few Christmas pressies. But I couldn’t help myself from converting all the costs to the feeble Aussie dollar! So it was another reason I was thankful that I had a gratis place to stay. And justified all my purchases. :)

And then, the most random thing that’s happened to me in a while: while strolling across Westminster Bridge, James and I ran into a distant relative of mine, Tanya, who was coincidentally on holiday too. We both looked at each other and at first couldn’t put names to faces, we were both so out of context! But after a few seconds we worked it out. It was great to see her – I’d only met her a few times after discovering I had a third cousin I didn’t know about! – and to get out of the cold, the three of us went to the nearest pub for a couple of beers (see a trend emerging here?).

Tanya and I spent the next day on a Thames river cruise up to Greenwich to check out the Meridian, and meandering back to the city afterwards. It was great to have a friend to hang out with, who had just as much free time on her hands as I did! And I would never have gone there if she wasn’t planning on it.

And then onto the next adventure, with a certain Mr Zul.

Zul is one of the biggest legends I know, with a cracker smile and cheeky approach to life that makes him fun to be around. We used to work together in Liberia for ICRC, in 2006. I hadn’t seen him since then, so was looking forward to it. He was born in Cameroon, but educated in the UK, and had gone back to university for further study in Media and Communications at Bournemouth University after finishing up with humanitarian work after a few amazing destinations. So I jumped on the train and headed down to Bournemouth to hang out with him for a few days.

I got quite a welcome when I arrived – a big hug and pick up from the train station, an impromptu tour of his great little town, a trip to the beach, followed by an amazing roast chicken he’d made for our lunch. I felt very spoiled! It was nice to be taken care of, I realised how much I missed it in Indonesia! The beach was only 5 minutes away from his flat, and albeit cold and windy, being winter, I could imagine in summer it would be a cool place to hang out. If the wind ever stopped and the water ever got warm enough. Hehe! I never imagine beaches when I think of the UK, but being an island I guess it must have them somewhere…

The next afternoon we drove to Weymouth, further west. It was quiet, and many guesthouses said ‘full’, but were just closed during the off-peak season. Weymouth is another picturesque coastal town, with old stone buildings and a clock tower along the seafront, with a wharf at one end. We had come here to visit Zul’s mate from uni, who owned a nightclub and was hosting a big pre-Christmas bash there. After a tour of his club – which was amazing – we went for dinner, before coming back for a night on the town. The place was pumping, mainly upstairs in the club area with DJs, but also downstairs in the recently renovated, beautifully dark and seductive Moroccan-inspired Kas-bar. And the drinks were flowing… Zul’s mate kept cracking the bottles of champagne all night. Rad!

The next afternoon I received a tour of Bournemouth University and then onto the centre of town for some last-minute Christmas shopping, followed by watching an English Premier League game at the local pub, followed by trying to console him further (Chelsea had already lost) when his car was clamped for being parked illegally and he had to pay a huge fine… boo! We’d even moved the car once already, after parking illegally the first time, to what we thought was a legal park!

So it was at the train station the next day that I was sad to part ways with Zul. But we both had new adventures to look forward to – he was heading to Switzerland for Christmas and skiing adventures with a group of good mates, and I was heading back to London before cruising up to Manchester for Christmas with Lucy and her family. It had been a great few days with Zul, and I greatly appreciated all the effort he had gone to – I hadn’t felt that special in a long time! Amazing what a true bit of hospitality can do for you.

Back in London again, I checked out the Natural History Museum (my favourite building in London), which featured the National Geographic Wildlife Photographer of the Year. As usual, it was an amazing exhibition. I was also happy to catch up with two more friends, Sally and Isaac, for dinner one night – Isaac played footy with my previous boyfriend Matt, and we had become friends through him. While I had seen Sal at the pub a few nights ago, it was great to hang out with both of them at their place, and to find out what Isaac had been up to.

You can check out the pics here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=60812&id=543196685&l=34f29e40aa

Christmas Eve, I packed my bags (again!) and jumped on the train, direction: North.

Och aye! A gorgeous Scottish wedding

Medan, Singapore, Doha, London, Glasgow… Yep, five flights to get to Scotland, my destination of choice for a three week holiday. Phew! I can definitely state that I was knackered for a while after that. And luckily, I didn’t have any trouble with my ear on the plane – perforated or not – which meant I had plenty of time to find the perfect dress to wear while in Medan with five hours of waiting for my next plane.

The main reason for going to Scotland: my friends’ wedding. Steph and Jon are two fabulous friends who worked on Simeulue with me. At first I wasn’t really sure why they’d chosen such a chilly place to hold their big day. I arrived at Taychreggan around 8pm on Thursday, after a few hours on the train heading west from Glasgow (oh yeah add a 3 hour train ride to my flight tally), just in time to join the early arrivals for dinner. It was great to see Jon and Steph again – they’d left Simeulue in the middle of the year, but it felt like I’d seen them only yesterday.

The next day revealed exactly why they had chosen this place. Taychreggan is the location of a 300-year-old hotel situated right on the edge of Loch Awe, a gorgeously serene, misty and mysterious lake with perfect reflections of the reds, greys and browns of the countryside around it. And to top it all off, behind the Loch were some lofty hills with a sprinkling of snow. It may have been freezing – especially coming from balmy Indonesia – but it was such a gorgeous location and I could see immediately why they had fallen in love with it.

‘The girls’ spent Friday pampering Steph. Steph’s mum Sue, Lucy, Kari, Fritha, Lindsay and myself took her to the nearby town of Oban, on the west coast, for a manicure and pedicure, while sipping champagne of course. We took off for a bit of looking around the beautiful town and some last minute make-up purchases, while Steph and Kari (childhood best friend and Maid of Honour) got pampered. I was sharing a room in the hotel with Lucy, an English girl who had studied in Australia with Steph. We hit it off straight away and were the only two single girls at the wedding! Friday night the arrived guests shared dinner and drinks around the bar. The boys became quite involved in Scotch whisky tasting with the encouragement of David, the ‘everywhere man’ waiter-barman-“I do everything guy” who was a champion the whole weekend, at our beck and call and delivering everything that everyone asked. He really made life easy for everyone.

Saturday morning was spent busily helping to help Steph get ready (and calm her nerves with champagne and chocolate), decorate the hotel, wrap up the confetti and a whole bunch of other girly things. The boys, of course, went clay pigeon shooting near the Loch – a very manly but appropriate thing to do on the morning of the wedding!

The wedding itself was simple, elegant and beautiful. A string quartet played ‘all you need is love’ as a very nervous Steph almost sprinted down the aisle towards the equally nervous Jon at the altar! Steph’s dress was gorgeous; a white lace halterneck with a flowing silk gown, and a cute, almost 1920’s inspired lace hairpiece that partly covered her face. The marriage celebrant got down to details and it was over almost as soon as it began, the happy couple moving back down the aisle to the applause of the smiling crowd.

At the reception dinner, Kari’s Maid of Honour speech was so lovely that it brought a tear to the eye of everyone in the room (and I’m glad to say her partner Aaron proposed to her shortly after the wedding when they went to Edinburgh. I think his already formed plan, plus her tear-jerking speech, and lots of encouragement from us in the wee hours of the morning convinced him it was a good idea!), and Gareth – Jon’s best man – played the clown in his. Jon’s speech was great because he couldn’t stop referring to Steph as “my wife”. I love love.

After dinner, we all joined in the Ceilidh – traditional Scottish group dancing – which was loads of fun! Half the time we spent just trying to work out what the hell we were doing, and it was hilarious. A number of the guests cracked out their traditional family tartan kilts (even a Frenchman – maybe not so traditional…). There were a lot more drinks at the bar, plus a spot of snooker on a regulation-size table, which took forever but was fun with a couple of whiskies under the belt (sneakily supplied by Gareth in his water bottle) or wearing masks of Jon’s face, which Gareth had made up and distributed for all the boys to wear. Gold!

What I loved most about the wedding was the ‘big family’ atmosphere. I don’t know how many members of the two families and various friends had all met before, but everyone just clicked. Everyone was so lovely, welcoming and easy to get along with and I felt like one of the family. Both Steph and Jon’s relatives were gorgeous. It was also quite a multicultural wedding; Steph’s family being Canadian/Australian, with a number of other family members coming from other countries like France and Russia; Jon’s very traditional English family; plus the group of friends who came from Australia, Canada and England.

Sunday involved some refreshing and much-needed walking around the loch to get to the pub for lunch with the crew who were on their way out. It was great to have the chance to catch up with Jon, Steph and Sue about the wedding and life in general, and to share dinner that night with the remaining family who had so willingly adopted me!

So, by Monday, part one of the adventure was over when Lucy and I reached Glasgow. I was a bit sad to leave, but it had been so awesome to be invited halfway around the world for a wedding, plus I got to meet some great new people. Lucy was a champ and invited me to her place for Christmas, which I gladly accepted! Plus, I had the next instalment of the adventure to look forward to: London.

Idul Adha celebrations and potongan kerbau

... which means carving up buffaloes for distribution to the poor and to family & friends...

what a spectacle....

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=53531&id=543196685&l=cb2bdc7d84

Simeulue road trip

Guess what? It’s only one week til I go on holidays. Exactly one week from now, I will be sitting on a plane to Singapore. Yah! I have about 6 hours between landing in Medan and leaving for Singapore, hopefully enough time to get a hair cut (so I look half decent for this wedding) and to buy some warm clothes! I need gloves, scarves, thermals, socks and comfy closed shoes. Not to mention maybe a nicer outfit for this wedding…

Being in the field like this, with little to do at night, provides me with ample opportunity to regularly update my blog.

Last weekend we took a road trip to a little place called Sibigo, aka Batu Ragi. It’s a trip that’s been long in the planning – we’ve been meaning to go there for about a year! It’s about 4 hours drive on the other side of the island to Salang – heading north-west from Sinabang on the east coast road rather than the west coast road. There’s only one road around the island, and I don’t even know if you can make it all the way around. The north-western tip of the island is apparently impassable at the best of times, particularly in the rainy season.

Which it definitely is at the moment! This last few days has seen almost constant rain all through the day and night. Simeulue seems to be constantly wet anyway, but we’ve had downpour after heavy downpour here over the last week. It’s crazy! Thank goodness it finishes by January (apparently). That will help the project a lot. Luckily we had enough of a break in the rain this afternoon to participate in a game of volleyball with the local lads (and one other lovely lady). It was good fun, although I felt a bit crap at the game, especially compared to the guys who are all extremely athletic and can jump a metre in the air to spike (local version: smash) the ball. Still, it was good to finally get some exercise here in Salang. I noticed that the neighbours also have a table tennis table, and I brought my Frisbee too, so that will keep me busy.

Anyway back to the story: road trip to Batu Ragi. Back during the time when Steph and Jon were still here, we’d talked a few times about making a trip to Batu Ragi, the location of the field office of Norwegian Red Cross, where my friend and fellow ex-pat Shir Shar works. He’s another WatSan delegate on Simeulue, and is a nice Afghani fellow who has a project up there building community latrines and capturing spring water supplies for a number of villages on the opposite side of the island. He spends as much if not more time in the field than me – and stays every second weekend there – in an equally isolated little town on the water.

Last weekend at Lugu, we were discussing our various weekend plans and once again this one came up. So finally we decided to do it the following weekend. Why not? We were all free! So, late Saturday morning after a lovely German-style brekkie at Lugu, Chigusa, Daniela, Anna, ShirShar and myself set off in the NRC landcruiser to Batu Ragi.

The drive itself is one of contrasts. Beautiful coastal scenery; the now dead and rocky coral, which was exposed when the 2004 earthquake tipped the island up; the mangroves hugging the shore, little re-forestation projects here and there, designed to help them recolonise and buffer the shoreline from future tsunamis; the hilly terrain with its beautiful untouched rainforest. Scattered in between the forest are little villages, green rice padis with their new shoots interspersed with empty ones or those underwater, or even disused padis that are now only the playground for wallowing buffaloes. And then you drive over the next hill and out come the gasps of horror, or amazement, or both, from everyone as we see, yet again, rows and rows of ‘kebun sawit’ – palm plantations, stretching as far as the eye can see. Last time I went on this road – around one year ago – I was amazed by it. The destruction is now at a catastrophic level, with more than double the area cleared. It’s really sad. Unfortunately its providing the community with a means of income but at the same time destroying this beautiful island. At the moment the price of palm oil is apparently very low. Maybe this will be the island’s rainforests’ saving grace?

After about a 4 hour drive, we arrived. Batu Ragi is a beautiful little place, right on a now-disused harbour. When you stand on the jetty, where the local kids jump into the water for an afternoon dip (which we also did), there are four identically sized, identically spaced islands spanning the horizon between two peninsulas. It really is a beautiful place to while away some time with a book.


The NRC compound may have once been a nice little place, but clearly only men live there! It’s pretty grubby. Its staff accommodation shelters are currently being dismantled as they downsize their operations, and move next to the PMI (Indo Red Cross) and Government Water Supply Company offices. Not far up the road is another little town (whose name escapes me at the moment) on another bay, where people take the local ferry, called a “Robin” – named after the motor it uses. The ferry is basically a motorised wooden canoe! It has a couple of nice waterside warungs (local restaurants), so we watched the sunset over the water before heading back to the compound.
The following day we took a boat out to one of the islands. It was interesting to see, as we approached, that the four islands were in fact very distinct from each other and different in size, shape and composition. The island we visited was beautiful, with a long, white sandy beach – and I’m totally bragging when I say all of the outlying islands around Simeulue are like this! Ahhh nothing like living in a little tropical island….
The snorkelling was beautiful and we spent the next few hours exploring the coral reef surrounding the island. The coral, as in most locations around Simeulue, was dead or exposed in some areas, but it was unique in this case because it was arranged in hundreds of canyons extending outwards from the island, creating havens for so many fish - many more species than I’d seen in other locations around Simeulue (like Pulau Siumat, where we normally go). Hence it was really interesting to snorkel around this island and discover what it had to offer.

So we finally made our road trip to Sibigo. It was worth it too, and we had some great company. I really enjoy spending time with the other expats on Simeulue; they are such a wide variety of fun people with such different interests, and coming from so many far flung and different countries, it makes for an interesting group of friends.

Next weekend will be a long weekend, because on Monday (8th Dec) it’s Idul Aha, or the Hajj. Perfect for me to have enough time to pack! And just for something different, we also plan to attend a buffalo slaughtering ceremony. During Islamic celebrations people jointly buy buffaloes, get them butchered, share some with the poor, and then cook up their portions in a big feast. We plan to go along and witness it, and then buy some buffalo meat to make a barbeque. A bit of a pre-Christmas Christmas dinner, so to speak. Something else to look forward to … hope I can keep my breakfast down :)

Musings from an office armchair

So, it’s 8:17pm and I’m sitting on the faded, dirty, blue & yellow-checked couch in my field office in Tameng. The fan is humming away in my direction; it’s pretty humid in here. I can hear big drops of rain smattering on the roof, and the kids a few houses up are jamming. There’s a couple of guitars and a vocalist, and it’s nice to have some background noise. I enjoy hearing them try to pull together their songs, and after a couple of nights here I’m recognising familiar tunes. I’m all alone in our little wooden office, apart from our security guard sitting out the front playing with his phone and humming along to the melody. I think they’re his kids jamming over there!

I recently packed up and moved my bed here, so I could give more room to the guys in the guesthouse – about ten of them squeezed into two rooms of bunk beds, while I had one room all to myself. But then we got a new female PMI volunteer who occupies the “girls’ room” and for a month we have a female English teacher staying with us, so that plan went out the window. But the benefits of being here include not being kept awake by night owls, or my engineer’s distinctive snoring, plus the water quality is terrible in base camp – here, about 5km up the road, it’s lovely and clear. It’s also easier for me to cook my own food here, without the crowded kitchen. I’ve got my little gas stove, microwave and a fridge, so I’m all set.

I’ve taken to bringing and cooking my own food, because there are so many freeloaders in our midst who don’t pay for the food provided by the staff – leaving the costs to me or them. Plus I don’t want to eat rice, fried fish, chilli and eggs 3 times a day! Most of the food cooked by our Pembantu (housekeeper), Risam, in typical Indonesian fashion, is heavy on the oil. By cooking my own food, I can choose what I eat as well as what’s in it. The staff find my food kinda strange, but every now and then one of them gets up the courage to try it! They just can’t fathom why I don’t eat rice with every meal J

The TV is at the guesthouse, as is all the company. But for now I’m content on my own, able to read my book or let the contents of my brain spill out onto the screen in relative peace and quiet.

The office itself is kinda crappy. It’s ok to work in during the day, with the windows open and sunlight streaming in. I like the fact that it’s wooden, and airy, and has a lot of open space. But the mossies get in too easily! Which is not such a good thing if you’re sleeping without a mosquito net. Unfortunately PLN (the local electricity supplier) hasn’t got their shit together (normal) and we use the noisy generator approximately 30% of the day. We go through a shitload of fuel.

It’s also pretty grubby. The bathroom out the back is all concrete, and while totally fine for having your mandi (the water that you haul out of the well with a broken old bucket is certainly much cleaner than at the base camp!), as soon as you step out of it into the back room, the feel of dirt on the bottom of your feet is rather disconcerting… as for when you use the latrine attached to the back of the house. Sponsored by ARC, of course. But this is the norm. None of our Australian luxury. It’s definitely a liveable place; it just needs a good scrub!

The rain has just become heavier, and sounds a lot more like the downpours I’m used to here in Simeulue. I wish I could hear it properly – last week I came down with a cold and subsequently an ear infection, and then I got a perforated ear drum when I flew from Medan to Simeulue, so I’m currently almost deaf in my right ear. It’s driving me crazy! Not much I can do about it til the drugs kick in and solve this little problem. It was kinda strange going to the Sinabang Rumah Sakit Umum – Simeulue general hospital – and having an x-ray of my head to determine if I had sinusitis! Still, I hope it rights itself before I fly out of here on the 10th December for my Christmas holidays.

I’m getting excited about these holidays... only two weeks to go! I fly to Glasgow via Doha and London for the wedding of two friends who met and worked here in Simeulue. One is an Australian-adopted Canadian, the other a pom. They are getting married in what sounds like a beautiful little corner of Argyll in Scotland, overlooking a beautiful Loch. I’m not looking forward to the cold though! So far I’ve managed to get hold of a couple of warm jackets, I have a beanie and scarf, but that’s it. I need to get my hands on some gloves, thick socks, a pair of boots and definitely some thermals! Those might have to wait though – I am yet to see thermals in Indonesia! It’s definitely going to be a shock.

I’ve managed to track down a whole bunch of people living in England that I hope to catch up with. Not difficult though – name one Australian who doesn’t know at least a handful of people living in London! I’ve already planned to catch up with Lisa and Dave, two friends from Uni, and housesit their place while they’re away over Xmas. A Cameroonian friend, Zul, lives in Bournemouth (south west of London) so I’ll cruise down there to see him. Another friend from uni, Rach, and I will then be heading to Edinburgh for their big New Year’s celebrations, which should be rad. So, along with a bunch of other crew living in and around London, plenty of good times to look forward to!

Now to just get this work thing sorted …

Memories of Liberia...

I’ve just got off the phone to my friend Roland in Harper, Maryland County, Liberia, with whom I worked in 2006, for ICRC. He has been asking me for new uniforms for Jacqui Football Club, the team of kids that I sponsor and who – bless em! – named their team after me. Just gotta get to a bank in Medan that has the right facilities to send the money. It was so great to speak to him. I found out that one of the other lovely security guards who I came to know and love was married recently, and another one is engaged to be married to a guy from Monrovia. I really do miss those guys. I need to get back there to see how Liberia and my friends are “comin’ on,” as they would say. Yeah-o, I miss Liberia-o!

I was reading The Age’s Good Weekend newspaper last night – a gift from a visiting National Office colleague – and it featured a photographic exhibition of public servants’ offices from around the world. On the second page was a photo of a Major Adolph Delaney, who works for the traffic police at the Liberian National Police HQ in Monrovia. In the photograph he is sitting at a simple desk with piles of paperwork, (apparently) working. On the wall are examples of traffic signs, there’s an old bicycle balancing in the corner, and a large, beautifully manicured blackboard with a drawing of a traffic accident in white chalk. Specially prepared for the photo, I’d say.

What is even more interesting is on the left side of the board, it reads: “Verse for today: in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. St John 1-1:3." Yep, typical religion worming its way into everything, even the office of the traffic police!

The caption of the photo reads “Traffic accident victims are sometimes willing to pay a little extra if Delaney’s department quickly draws up a favourable report to present to a judge.” Ha! Sounds like Liberia to me.

I always seem to be complaining in this blog.

Why is that?

Oh well, too bad.

I’m sick at the moment. And I’m not very good at it. I become a bit depressed when I’m sick, because I hate not being able to do what I normally do, and from feeling like people think I’m faking it when I take time off work (in this case from “overdoing the partying in Banda” – which I must say is not true. I had a fairly tame party on Sat night, which included shooting fireworks out the front and accidentally into the mosque across the road, plus fabulous dancing until the wee hours. Then there was a bit of a late one on Monday night with the boss and his barbeque before my early morning flight to Medan. But that’s it. I swear). After getting back to Simeulue I found myself with a crappy head cold, and a blocked right ear. It’s driving me mad! Hopefully it will sort itself out soon.

I went to Banda Aceh on Saturday. I went around to my old boss Paul’s house, to see him and his family. His little boy Adrian is so big now… he is Gigantor next to other Indonesian kids of the same age! It was cool to have a few beers and a chat. He’s moving to Medan soon for a new job, which is good for his family because his wife Popy is from there, and her family can help look after Adrian.

I usually enjoy going to Banda. But I didn’t enjoy being in that office this time because one of my colleagues, who is dating a local staff member, was basically ignoring me. Fair enough. I broke the news to her after the party early on Sunday morning that this ‘boyfriend’ of two years had been fooling around behind her back, including with me (I didn’t know!). This was going on while she was away at home in Scotland; she was under the impression that they were still together. So I had to tell her. It wasn’t fair otherwise.

Anyway, we had planned to go surfing the next morning, and in our hungover state we didn’t really think much about the fact that it wasn’t a good idea if the three of us went surfing together after the events of the previous evening! But out we went, and I really wasn’t in the mood for surfing – I don’t like being bad at things generally, particularly when I’m hungover and in a “three’s a crowd” situation. So after less than an hour pretending to enjoy being really crap at surfing, I made my way back to shore and amused myself on the beach until they were finished, then got them to take me home. Even more unfortunately, I happened to be staying at her house!

It would have been pretty funny being a fly on the wall. But I hated it! It wasn’t my fault, but she made me feel like it was.

When you’re staying with someone, it’s nice if they take care of you. Just a little bit. I don’t expect her to hold my hand; but after Sunday I hardly saw her, and she didn’t talk to me at all in the office. So I had to amuse myself by finding other friends to play with. Not difficult really – the other delegates live around the corner, so I hung out with them for dinners and we played a bit of tennis (even with a sore arm, I can still play if I don’t serve – but I feel like a bit of a wanker serving under-arm! This time, I didn’t get to thrash the boss, but a run-around was awesome, and much-needed!).

In addition, the office in Banda Aceh felt really unfriendly. I arrived with my engineer Rinaldi, and hardly anyone came up to say hello and introduce themselves to him. It was much different to usual; maybe because there’s been a few changes in the delegates, and a couple of the teams have moved to a different shipping container in the compound. But normally when us Simeuluenians go to the office, people are friendly, inclusive for lunches and keen to have a chat. The usual bright, cheery people were great. But there was none of that from anyone else. The admin and HR staff were particularly unfriendly, and even made Rinaldi organise his own briefing schedule – instead of organising it for him, they made him go around to everyone in each department and find out when they were free to give him the run-down of the different programs. How rude!

So I came back to Simeulue and became sick. Crap. And then on the weekend, I wanted to go out to Anna’s place to go kayaking. When I approached my housemate with the request to take the car, he got all narky with me and started carrying on about how I always take off with the car with little consideration for when he wants to go somewhere. We’re a bit short on cars at the moment, because of maintenance needs outside of Simeulue.

I can understand his point. I do often just go tearing off with the car to do things on the weekends. Being stuck in Salang all week really makes me ansty and I enjoy the freedom to be able to get out and about. But I usually check to see if he’s around, and he’s usually sleeping or off having coffee on Sat and Sunday mornings, so I just take the car and figure he’s big enough and ugly enough to call me if he needs to use the car. In the past, we’ve had enough cars for me to do this and it hasn’t been a problem.

But also, let me paint a picture of my housemate. At a guess, he’s in his late 50s, and spends his free time on weekends and after work doing the following things: reading, sleeping and smoking. All in the house. Or, he goes to the office. So he hardly goes anywhere. The only time he ever really needs the car is to go to the office (if he's too lazy to walk! it's only 15 mins up the road), or if he wants to go into town for a change of scenery on the restaurant front. So I thought it was a bit rich to hassle me for using the car as I do. But the main thing I was mad about was how he spoke to me, just launching into me without even really saying hello; and then when I asked Anna to come pick me up (I wasn’t able to take the car) he started mouthing off to her. That really pissed me off. I was almost in tears.

And then I WAS in tears when almost straight after our argument, I get an sms from my sister Ange: “I miss you! :( Can you please hurry up and come home so we can do fun stuff?! Love you xo”.

Anyway, the upshot of it all is that I’m just pissed off with being here at the moment. Counting down big time til December 10th. Bring on those holidays!

The environmental nightmare that is Simeulue...

I thought I'd give you some delightful imagery of my little slice of paradise.

Environment is not high on the priority list here. But making money at the expense of it certainly is.

The prime example is the seemingly humble palm plantation - "kebun sawit". Hectares of virgin Indonesian rainforest are being knocked down to plant these ghastly trees, all for the purpose of harvesting palm oil. The community cuts the wood for their own consumption first, but they are being encouraged by the government to sell and/or rent their land to the palm oil companies who make big bucks - and little goes back to the community. There is a lot of community land dedicated to palm oil production.

The Bupati - the head of governance in Simeulue - is up to his neck in dodgy dealings with the oil companies too, at the expense of the community. He's been in court and I think even in jail for it. The amount of land available on Simeulue is not even close to that needed for a palm processing facility.

It's depressing to drive around the plantations and see just how much was forest before. I remember the first time I arrived in Simeulue and went for a nice drive - only for my jaw to drop to the floor when I drove over the hill and saw the rows upon rows of palm trees stretching to the horizon. And the destruction continues around the island - even in Salang where I work, there are just more and more hectares being cleared. We don't see many monkeys any more :(

Then there's the rubbish dump. It's gross! There is no proper way to deal with the mountains of plastic bags, bottles, food scraps, wood and other rubbish that rapidly accumulates in this little town. There are a few entrepreuners around town who have set up their own businesses to collect cans, old bikes, 44 gallon drums and rusty old ships and export the metal back to Medan by ferry. There are scavengers that peruse the area for anything valuable that can be recycled, like plastic bottles, for which they get a small sum of money.

In terms of dealing with household waste, people just make a pile out the back of their house, dump their rubbish there, and burn it. In some ways it stops the rubbish making its way into the drains and the sea, but pollution-wise it's not good, especially as a high proportion of the waste is toxic plastic bags.

Recently, the UN set up a waste sorting and management facility (the big blue building in the picture) to try and deal with it. They are also planning a waste education program. the can really only operate effectively in Sinabang, the location of the main mass of people. In the kampungs its not feasible.

The positive thing about the waste management program though is that it's a practical one. The idea is that the Department of Sanitation, together with UN, go around with trucks and personnel and load up with the town's rubbish. Then they take it out to the waste management facility at the dump and sort it into non-recyclable and recyclable plastics, organic matter, paper, wood, metals etc. The organic waste gets composted and any recyclables sent to Medan by ferry to be recycled.

The harbour is a disgrace rubbish-wise. People dump their rubbish straight into the 'rivers' - read concrete lined canals to transport water to the sea - and it goes straight into the harbour. Plus there's the fishermen and boat passengers that throw all their rubbish overboard. There really is very little understanding about the importance of waste management. The UN has now started a waste collection and harbour clean-up program in Sinabang to try and deal with the growing mountain of plastic bags, bottles, fishing nets and other visible rubbish that blights the landscape; we regularly see teams of rubbish collectors around the place. But they're fighting an uphill battle; as soon as they clear the shoreline, more rubbish washes in. If you take a boat out into the harbour and beyond, on the way back you don't need to guess how close you are to home - just observe how much rubbish floats by!

Tameng tales and other woes

This is the bridge in Tameng, which fell down this week when one of our gravel-laden trucks went over it.




The drivers had to dump the load of gravel into the river and then try to lever it out. We then got into a tricky situation when we signed an agreement to pay half the cost to the local government to fix it. It still isn’t fixed 2 weeks after the contractors promised it. We can’t move any quarry or hardware materials to our villages until it’s sorted. It’s been very dodgy for a long time, so it had to happen. But still, more frustrations!

Ahhh my project seems to take two steps backwards as soon as it takes one forward. We recently got an audit done of the program, and our engineer uncovered about 50 houses in the first two villages ARC built in, where the septic tanks were made of concrete and brick, and never actually finished. They used a ‘traditional’ design where there is no floor in the tank – which means the shit goes directly into the soil without proper filtration! And while soakaways were supposed to be attached to these tanks for the effluent, the completion of these was left to the community, including filling them with self-procured gravel and sand. So of course, they neglected to do this, and in some cases used them for other purposes like garbage dumps.

So now we have to go back and fix this problem. And it ain’t cheap. We have decided to replace the old tanks with new fibreglass ones, and fill in the soakaways. My budget was already looking shabby, not to mention my timeline totally overshot by at least three months.

I might be here until the end of 2058, not 2008!

Other favourite pastime: kayaking

One of the very enjoyable things I am lucky enough to do in Simeulue is take a kayak out on the bay on the weekends. My previous boss Paul left his kayak behind for me to use. It’s an aluminium-framed, canvas and rubber, kit kayak. A few months ago, Anna (another expat here) bought herself one so that we could kayak together. Along with Chigusa (working for Japanese Red Cross), she lives out of town in a little village called Lugu, in a beautiful wooden house overlooking the water on its own little bay. It’s such a tranquil place. At night all you can hear are the frogs croaking, the crickets and geckos chirping, and the buffalo tramping across the grass. Oh and the asphalt factory rumbling away up the road (but forget I said that). It’s been the location of many bule gatherings, and for good reason.

From Lugu, Anna and I take our kayaks out and paddle around the little (and not-so-little) islands that dot the bay. The first challenge is carting the kayaks down the hill from the house, through the fence and across the grass, then along some dodgy wooden planks and bamboo bridges that aid you in your quest to reach the water. Once you reach the water’s edge, depending on the tide, you encounter rocky coral or thick, squelchy mud in which you sink halfway up to your shins. It’s an effort just to get the kayaks out into the water!

But once we’re out there, it’s great. We can cruise around to our hearts’ content. On days when the weather is good to us, it’s absolutely beautiful. The water is like glass, and our kayaks glide over it as we make our way around the mangrove-covered, rocky coastline. The mangroves are an amazing shade of green. We always see fish jumping out of the water. One morning we saw what seemed like hundreds of black devils leaping around in a seething mass, either in pursuit or being pursued by something under the water. The shoreline is regularly dotted with a multitude of little mud towers, the works of art of the millions of crabs that inhabit it. They are curious little creatures, with one, oversized, yellow, red or white claw that they wave around at you as they retreat back into their burrows.

We have kayaked around some of islands, out into the open sea, and also right across the bay that shelters the town of Sinabang. It’s a nice perspective of the town; you can see the shiny, silver towers of Sinabang’s waterside mosques glittering in the sunshine and watch the bustling activity at the port.

Unfortunately, our long breakfasts on the balcony mean we often don’t get out on the water early enough, and by then the wind has sprung up and the clear, sunny day is already partially clouded over. The wind is what kills us. Particularly when we emerge from the shelter of the mangrove forest and out into the open channel, the wind picks up and makes it very difficult to go anywhere. It’s a little scary at times when the water is choppy, the wind is blowing you all over the place and you’re struggling to stay upright. I wouldn’t want to tip over in one of these things. They are great for calm conditions, but if you were to fall over, you couldn’t just do an Eskimo roll and right yourself. The kayak would fill with water and you’d be hard pressed to get it to move anywhere. They are a dead weight when they get water inside them!

We’ve been caught in downpours a few times, which hasn’t been a fun experience; battling waves and wind as well as rain! Especially when you’re constantly worried about whether you’ll tip over and whether you’ll be able to find your way back again. All the little coves and bays start to look the same after a while, and in heavy rain, it’s hard to make out the landmarks that were so trusty just a few minutes before…

We have quite a few big plans for our kayaking trips; following the coastline down to the popular beachside location of Ganting, which is about a half hour journey by road, to meet up with other, equally keen friends who are happy to share a mie goreng and then help us get back with their vehicles. Anna is keen to try to paddle out to Pulau Siumat, but it’s an hour by boat on the open sea and I’m not so keen! I think it would take us a lot longer than we think…

I have taken my kayak a bit further afield in the past when solo, carting it to various locations by car. There is a really beautiful spot on the south-eastern end of the island called Labuhan Bajau, which is a maze of waterways, islands, shallow mangrove forests and rocky outcrops. It’s also a good place to snorkel and swim, so a few friends have accompanied me there. I’ve launched the kayak from various port locations dotted around Sinabang, always to the curiosity of the locals sitting around on docked boats, hacking down bushy coastal land for timber, or just hanging by the waterside. Taking the kayaks up the little rivers is also great – providing you stay away from the toilets dotted along the more ‘urban’ rivers, and the wallowing buffaloes! The trees close in around you and you often disturb egrets and other wading birds foraging for their lunch.

It’s a really enjoyable way to experience Simeulue, and being out on the water, away from everything, when you’ve managed to rustle up a bit of speed and are gliding along with nothing behind you but the wind, is definitely one of my favourite ways to spend my time.

Bring back tennis!

I REALLY wish I could play tennis at the moment. Since being based in the field all week, I hardly get a chance to play any more. I’ve gone from playing around 5-6 times a week to not playing at all. It’s been raining a lot too, so on the rare occasion I am able to play, the weather prevents it. D’oh! Plus I hurt my right arm – I can’t serve the ball because my muscle is too sore … it’s like tennis elbow in my upper arm! So I have to rest for a while. NOT my favourite thing to do! I miss the exercise, the laughs and the company of the guys that usually play. Hopefully I will get back into it soon.

I’ve been trying to find ways to exercise in the field. From our base camp I can walk to the beach in about 15 minutes. I have to wade across a river to get to the beach, and there’s only one place you can do it – and only at low tide. The mouth of the river is quite wide, and really deep, so you can only walk along the beach on one side of the river! But it’s a good way to get some exercise after sitting in the office all day.

Fuck sit-ups and all that other crap. Give me interesting exercise! Maybe I should wander down the road and see if anyone wants to play volleyball or table-tennis in the dark.

Random adventures in Medan

And so I made it back to Medan in time to meet up with Penny and Ian, two workmates from Australia who were about to embark on a five week Sumatran adventure. Medan being the gateway to this beautiful island provided a timely location to catch up with them and to finally see some of Medan myself. I have been to Medan many times, but have never really had the time to ‘see the sights’ (some would argue there aren’t really any) as I’ve always been there in passing.

We spent quite a bit of time in Sun Plaza actually, surprise surprise! The ‘oasis in the desert’ as I like to call it. Airconditioned, clean and as fake as any western shopping centre, it provides expensive shopping and great people-watching. In between bouts of hot chocolates, perusing dvds (I now have two whole Simpsons series – 16 to go!) and testing out all the gym equipment, we cruised around on becaks (which turned out to be almost more fun than the destinations themselves due to the fact that we were four bules squeezed onto one!) to various parts of town.

We visited the Mesjid Raya, Medan’s largest and most beautiful mosque, the Istana Maimoon (royal palace), hit up the Pasar Patissa, the central market for clothes, shoes and other goods (which are always too small for big, tall bules like me), unsuccessfully tried to visit the North Sumatra museum and generally just enjoyed cruising around the place.

But the most disturbing part of our visit though was yet to come. I’d recently learned about a new attraction in Medan: the Rahmat Saleh Wildlife Museum. Sure, this was the usual sort of place I’d visit – if the animals were alive. But this was a taxidermy museum.

Well, it was an attraction nonetheless. Plus I’d been told by the yokels that it was quite a bizarre and kitschy place to visit.

So in we went. And it literally blew us away – pardon the pun. There were hundreds of stuffed animals inside that had suffered the same fate, at the hands of a famous Indonesian businessman, with a hunting fetish. Lions, tigers and bears – oh my! They were all in there. Elephants, giraffes, kangaroos, zebras, bison, komodo dragons, rhinos, wolves, crocodiles, a seemingly never-ending collection of birds; you name a living creature, particularly an endangered one, and it was in there. Even the poor old polar bear (no panda thank goodness, not sure how he escaped this horrible fate). And there were three floors of these poor creatures. I now know why Sumatran tigers are almost extinct – I think I counted about 25 of them in there. They even had one display with a whole family of the poor little critters.

We luckily got FREE entry to the ‘night safari’ exhibition of the museum (wow!), which was basically a dark room filled with all sorts of animals of the night (and the day, I must admit) that were illuminated as you walked along the path to the tunes of howling wolves and growling tigers. Not really sure why this is usually a part of the museum that you should pay extra for. Maybe it was the huge turkey that randomly held pride of place along the walkway. Ha! Better off on my dinner table on Christmas day.

And talk about an exercise in self-promotion! Framed newspaper clippings adorned the walls. There was a ‘trophy corner’ that showed off his prowess in other pursuits for darts, bowling and other random interests. You could buy his book. You could also read about the golf tournament he attended with three ex-US presidents.

The big five were proudly displayed in five big photographs, along with hundreds of others lining the walls showing off his, and his kids’ (poor bastards) “achievements”. Even more strangely were the photographs of Miss Worlds and Universes and Galaxies from various years, who had come to visit this morbid museum and had been presented with a book by the man himself. Our own Jennifer Hawkins featured proudly. Hehe.

It was horribly depressing, yet morbidly fascinating at the same time. Another disturbing thing was the “kids’ corner” which housed everything from mice to guinea pigs to frogs arranged in random dancing poses. What was also quite disturbing was the deformed goat and sheep with two heads. Someone must have donated them. Whoever they were, they were clearly disturbed as well. May have even had two heads of their own.

For more pics, go to:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=43412&l=6f4f9&id=543196685

Welcome to the jungle!

Alternative title: LEECH LAND

Hooray for Idul Fitri! It’s the official end to Ramadan when everyone stops fasting and begins feasting. Sounds good to me. It’s only supposed to be three official public holidays, but because they fell on Monday, Thursday and Friday, we got the week off. Sweet!

I met up with Wendy, a lovely girl I’d met in Pulau Weh at the time of my last holiday, and randomly discovered that Robyn and Rob, two other friends I’d also made there, were also in town, so we met up for a lovely dinner and a few drinks. It was a nice reunion.

But then, the real part of my little holiday: off to Tangkahan. I was pleased to find that it was only listed in one of the two guidebooks I had – and not in the Lonely Planet – which meant that there wouldn’t be hordes of people there. I was also happy that I had some mates to accompany me – Sendhi, who I work with, and Wendy, a Canadian working in Medan – especially on the looooong bus trip there.

We made the trek out to Pinang Baris bus station in Medan, aiming to leave on the 10:30 bus, only to find that the 10:30 bus was actually the 10am bus, and we’d missed it. We got bored waiting around, even while perusing the local bakery’s fare of delicious goodies – and fair enough, as the next and only bus for the day wasn’t til 1pm – so we decided, at my urging, to jump on one of the many mini-buses to Binjai, an almost-suburb of Medan, and see what we could see. In the end, not much. But we had to wait somewhere, and waiting there was better than in Medan, where it was a lot more noisy and polluted.

Unfortunately it meant that by the time the 1pm bus rolled on by, it was packed. And so we stood in the aisle for a good hour or so before enough people disembarked and there were vacant seats. Nice one Jacqui! If we’d waited in Medan we would have got a seat for sure. The bus itself was a sight to behold – a big, rusty old clunker that looked like it had been side-swiped by about twenty cars, rendering the outside almost paint-less.

In the end the bus trip was around five hours. It wasn’t too unpleasant because the people on the bus were interesting, as was the scenery, particularly the further we travelled from the city. We ended up driving along a bumpy, muddy, ox-cart track through acres and acres of palm plantations – which was in itself disturbing, considering how much forest would have been cleared to plant them, and how the plantations went right up to the park boundary. And then we arrived at the end of the line: Tangkahan.

The village of Tangkahan is located right next to the Gunung Leuser National Park, amongst the plantations, but the bungalows and guesthouses for tourists are actually located inside the park, perched right on the edge of the beautiful river that divides protected land from farmed. A ferry transports you across the river to the guesthouses, from which we chose to stay at Mega Inn, a gorgeous little set of bungalows and a restaurant overlooking the river that are named after its owner. Mega had never heard of the English meaning of his name, and his broad smile grew even broader when we told him what it meant. Mega, his wife, and his two young partners in crime – Ucok and Preen – were awesome hosts, not to mention lots of fun.

So for the next four days we proceeded to relax, read books, make rock towers by the river, watch the monkeys in the trees, eat yummy food and drink ginger tea by the mugful. Our nights were taken up by singing and playing guitar with Ucok and Preen, and playing shithead (of course!). It was just what we needed – a nice break away from work in a beautiful, relaxing place.

We also decided to partake in the more adventurous activities that Tangkahan offered – one day which entailed riding elephants. Our two trusty steeds – Uni and Ardana – were amazing creatures, and while I’d ridden elephants once before, I’d forgotten just how beautiful they are. It’s amazing how well they can be trained to understand Basaha Indo commands and how they stoop right down to the ground to allow you to clamber up onto their backs.

At one point they became quite perturbed by something rustling in the forest, probably a monkey or pig, but we certainly didn’t see it! Apparently elephants can sense the presence of other animals from quite a distance. What was really amazing was the deep sound which reverberated through their bodies – it was like being inside a stationary car with the motor idling. They were clearly not happy, but after a bit of urging from our guides, continued on down the slippery path. Watching their ginormous feed plodding along, I wondered if they would ever slide down the steep slopes, but their sheer size and weight guaranteed our safety. Provided we hung on, that is! Getting a front seat – mahout style – was fun too, sitting on the neck of the elephant, with its leathery ears slapping your legs as they walk. Their skin is thick and leathery too, and quite scratchy due to the coarse hairs that cover it. You simply move your leg against their ear to instruct them which direction to turn.

We emerged from the forest to our now familiar river, where, in the rain, we helped to give the gentle giants their daily mandi. Scrubbing them down with brushes and water was my favourite part of the day – getting up close and personal with these beautiful beasts was really enjoyable. And they certainly enjoyed the scrub! The mahouts thought it was hilarious – and probably do every time – when after an offer of a shake of the trunk turned into a water fight after they instructed the elephants to give us numerous squirts of water! :)

We also did a short, one day trek through Gunung Leuser National Park. Ucok and Preen accompanied us on the trek, learning to become guides themselves, and of course undertaking the all important job of carrying delicious nasi goreng for our lunch. It was such a nice day out; we trekked through the beautiful jungle for three or four hours, where the diversity in plant life was amazing and the haunting sounds of the hornbills surrounded us.

Our other little guides were the constantly lurking and surprisingly fast-moving leeches – pacat in Bahasa Indonesian for the little suckers and linta for the big ones. We had both, weren’t we lucky? And could they suck blood! Wendy, who had come a little unprepared without her trekking boots, did her walking in flip flops – and paid the leechy price! But even I, who was wearing socks and shoes, still got attacked because the little buggers managed to make their way through my socks. Our feet were a bleeding mess by the time we reached the river to eat our lunch. The final straw for me was on return to my bungalow, when I noticed a spot of blood on my shirt. When I lifted it up I found one of the little buggers had made his way into my belly button and proceeded to attach himself there, sucking himself silly until he was big and bloated. Gross! I still have a little scar there to this day! Boo!!!

Sadly our jungle trekking finished, but that wasn’t it for the day. Our next destination: Oh-oh! A caaaave! A daaaarrrrk, gloooooomy cave! We can’t go over it….. we can’t go under it…. we’ll have to go…. through it! The cave was a twisting, turning maze of pathways leading to nowhere or to huge caverns that opened up in front of us. There were hundreds of bats perched on the ceilings of the main cavern, their little eyes twinkling in the torchlight, and they swooped us with glee as we picked our way along the tunnels. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when one came screaming down the tunnel and flew straight into the back of Wendy’s head! Didn’t help her claustrophobia either! The colour of the stone was also an unusual shade of orange, which I didn’t expect, and which didn’t show up under torchlight – it was only Wendy’s camera which exposed the true colour of the stone. Probably from the clay soil through which the rain leaches, and created the cave in the first place!

After we emerged from the cave, much to Wendy’s relief – and it had certainly been a task to even get her in there in the first place! – we jumped into the river and made our way over to some natural hot springs which bubbled out of the rock and had over time created a crevice, just big enough for 2 bules and 3 Indonesians to squeeze themselves inside. So we chilled out there for a while in the lovely warm water before deciding, finally, that tubing on the river was in order to get us home. It was hard to leave our steamy little oasis, and the water of the river seemed all the colder for it! But tubing was the perfect way to end our day of trekking; the river was surprisingly fast flowing, and before we knew it we were already back to Mega’s for another cup of ginger tea.

I really didn’t want to leave Tangkahan. And I’ll certainly be going back there again. Our next physical challenge is to conquer the four day trek between Tangkahan and Bukit Lawang. Providing we can conquer the leeches :)

Check out my photos from the trip: