Culture Shocky Goodness

Posted on October 13, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello from the road!

 

Has it only been 13 days since we left The Rock? Ay carumba! What a kaleidoscope of stimuli we have encountered in just under two weeks.

 

There were a few sad farewells…

 

Final dinner at Puffy’s with Scotty & Keio

 

 

Jim and Jo-Ann come for one one last hug

 

 

Buh-bye Aitutaki! (Thanks for the flowers Jo!)

 

 

 

But we feel sure we will see our friends someday, somewhere, once again.

 

Our departure date was October 1st but that only took us as far as Rarotonga, where we were generously welcomed by our friends Kelly and Brendan of the Aremango Guesthouse. We spent three days with them and most of our time was spent doing a whole lot of nothing. How amazing it felt to know that we could flop down at two in the afternoon, for a nap, and not have to worry about a single thing. Is there enough toilet paper in the washroom? Is someone going to knock on the door wanting to book a tour? Are all the guests happy?

 

Aaaaahhhhhh.

 

We also, in those three days, learned what we’d been missing for the two years we’d spent on Aitutaki. All Prez and I had ever seen of Raro was a passing glimpse, on our way to somewhere else, and we weren’t impressed. But it turns out that Raro is actually pretty cool. There are lots of shops and restaurants, nightlife, cultural and sporting events. The Saturday market, with its many stalls full of fruits, vegetables, artisan breads, cooked meals and more, was enough to make us want to cry. Had all of this really been so close and we didn’t know it?!

 

Our brief time in the “big city” gave us time to catch up with Miss Mo and to meet some of Kelly and Brendan’s friends. Very cool and the perfect reintroduction to civilization.

 

Before long, though, we were climbing the stairs to our Air New Zealand flight to Los Angeles. I’d like to say that the long flight was spent contemplating my time in the Cook Islands and bidding a silent farewell but, since the flight took off at midnight and I’d already swallowed one of two “chill pills” at 11:30pm, the bulk of the nine hour journey was passed in a state of near unconsciousness.

 

Descending into LA was the beginning of our real culture shock. Highrises, traffic and smog greeted us we touched down. At the rental car counter, I asked politely if an upgrade might be possible and the nice lady bumped us up without hesitation…thank you flagging economy! A short drive east and we were soon back on familiar ground – Twentynine Palms and the home of Miz Liz and her bad dogs. Some of you may remember that Liz lost the elder of her two bad dogs, Chase, over the summer, but she has wasted no time in finding a new canine pal, Sheila, a border collie who is currently taking the “bad” title to new highs, (or lows perhaps?).

 

Words will fail me if I try to describe how it felt to see the face of our dear friend after almost three years apart or how grateful we were to settle in, once more, to her delightful guest house with its big, cozy bed, shower that has plenty of hot and cold water all the time, soft, squishy carpet that feels good beneath toes, and not an ant in sight. Imagine coming inside after wandering through a blizzard and putting on your favourite cuddly clothes and snuggling with your favourite person in front of a blazing fire and that will give you at least an inkling of how happy and relaxed we were.

 

About five minutes after saying hello, Prez was off to the grocery store. He returned much later with armloads of food and a smile I suspected might be permanent. He confessed to having a giggling fit in the middle of the store and – thanks to my visit home last October – I knew just how he felt. There is sooooooo much stuff here. I mean, really, you don’t realize how much stuff we have in North America. And it’s so cheap! Even after a week, I still can’t believe it whenever I buy something and the clerk reads me out the total. ‘Did she forget to charge me for half the stuff?’ I wonder. But no, that is the price. Prez and I both cringed when it came time to fill the rental car with gas, only to find ourselves laughing at the mere $37 total. Were they kidding us? That wouldn’t even get us a quarter of a tank on Aitutaki!

 

Our week here has been magical. When we aren’t hiking through Joshua Tree National Park – oooing and aaahhhing at the rock formations – we are sharing cocktails and laughs with our gracious host. And the party got even better when fellow ex-Posadians Mom II and HQ showed up in their fifth wheel. Then, last night, we all drove out to Rancho Mirage for a gourmet feast cooked up by another Baja pal, Vicky K. More laughs, more memories…more food.

 

Miz Liz & Mom II join us for a hike…

 

Twentynine Palms rocks!

 

Because I’m feeling so overwhelmed, I’m going to save some of my more detailed observations on our return to civilization for later, when evening cocktails and games of Rummicube aren’t beckoning. However, I will say that it is GREAT to be back in the world again. We may have to pay a visit to aunties Jenny and Betty, (Craig and Ford respectively), when we’re finished but it will all be so very, very worth it.

 

QUESTION: Have you ever noticed how much stuff there is here?

 

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

 

 

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One Last Tale from the South Pacific

Posted on September 24, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello, one last time, from the Big Blue!

 

In a week, our South Pacific Adventure will come to an end. To quote The Grateful Dead, “What a long strange trip it’s been”. I’ve been putting together a musical slide show to inflict on everyone upon our return and it’s been interesting going back to those early days and seeing what sights caught my eye, how enthused I was about everything…I have far too many photos of chickens.

I didn’t want to come here. To clarify: I always wanted to come to the South Pacific but at the time we took this job I was feeling comfortable in Nelson and not thrilled about the prospect of folding our tents, yet again, and venturing into the unknown. Like all great adventures, this one was filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, triumphs and defeats and a whole lot of self-discovery.

We arrived to a property in need of some serious TLC. As usual, me being the Black Cloud, I saw nothing but messes to be cleaned up and obstacles in our path. I wanted to leave; I wanted my old life back. Prez, being Mr Silver lining, saw possibility and opportunity. I need to thank him, because I don’t think I ever have, for talking me through those first days and overwhelming me with positivity that he may not have even felt himself. Thank you my love.

No sooner did I start to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel than we were both struck down with ciguatera poisoning and once more I wanted to board a plane and fly home. Once again, with Prez’s encouragement, I stuck it out.

And things did get better. We cleaned up and organized to the level we like, we eventually found time to play, and we met some amazing people from all over the globe – some who even came back for a second visit!

It was an interesting time in history to be so far away from the “real world”. We watched through our inverted binoculars as the world plunged into economic despair and faced a potential pandemic. From the nosebleed seats, we cheered as we watched America’s first black president take office. Even on our tiny island, Obama bumper stickers could be spotted and guests breathed an international sigh of relief, as it seemed sanity might finally be restored.

On a personal level, we dealt with sickness and loss, from afar. You don’t realize how far 6000 miles actually is until your dad is in the hospital on oxygen and IV fluids. We bit our nails and crossed our fingers when we heard the news of, first, our dear friend HQ’s cancer and then our friend Gary’s cancer, as well. And, most recently, we learned of “The Legend”, Alex Green’s battle with the big C. We waited anxiously when Mom’s partner, Will, suffered a stroke. We said goodbye to beloved pets of friends, including Willy the elderly kitty, M&M lover, Max, and bad dog Chase. And, of course, there was a goodbye to Emily, who I still can’t write about without tearing up. (I can’t even bring myself to take her name off the tag line of the Coconut Chronicles).

But we also celebrated. Tim Rippel’s successful summit of Everest, as harrowing as it was, “tops” the list. (Pun definitely intended). My sister enjoyed a big promotion at work and our various nieces and nephews continue to delight and impress us with their achievements. There were births and engagements, graduations and new jobs. A surprising amount of stuff can happen in two years.

But returning to the island…

Perhaps our biggest disappointment here is with the lack of concern for the environment. Time and time again we’ve watched this beautiful lagoon, a jewel in the world’s crown, raped and abused. Despite the hard work of many and the dire warnings of the WWF, very little progress has been made in educating people about the necessity of protecting this fragile ecosystem. How many meetings did we attend where some government mucky-muck stood up and loudly proclaimed, “The environment is our number one priority…but that’s not what we’re here to talk about today” or something to that effect? In two years, the “number one priority” has never been talked about.

Pollution, over fishing, illegal fishing and harvesting of marine life, greed, corruption, ignorance, lack of funding, lack of education, you name it, the list of offenses reads like a “how not to manage the environment” manual. The Cook Islands government should be ashamed of itself. Deeply. They are stealing from their grandchildren. Oh, and don’t think I’m letting tourists off the hook either…”but I just took one starfish”. We of the civilized world should know better. It’s time we set higher standards for ourselves.

If I had to pick the biggest “plus” to coming here, it would be the people. Michael Lee and Moana Williams have become two of our very dearest friends and I especially thank Ms Mo for teaching me about what “real” island life is like and sharing my frustrations over one or two glasses of wine. (Well, maybe more than one or two). Jim and Jo-Ann, from Etu Moana, showed us nothing but kindness from day one and went out of their way to promote Prez’s Adventure Snorkel Tours to their guests

Mr Buff made us laugh and still keeps in touch from his new management job down under. Tauono was always there to answer my tiny cries of “Help me!” when I needed fruit for snorkel tours early in the morning. His wife Sonja was ready with armloads of healing turmeric when she learned of my threatening breast lump. Trina and Steve, from the Koru Café, helped keep my dessert cravings at bay, (can you say “Chocolate Bomb”?), and gave Prez a place to indulge his “bad breakfast” fetish…and they are really nice folks, to boot. Mark, from down the road, was always kind enough to let me talk his ear off, (he must keep spare sets of ears at home). Steph and Turua introduced us to Pineapple Lumps, (dangerously good), brought me medicine when I was sick, (and laughed at the faces I made when I drank it), and Turua carved a beautiful paddle for our sister’s 50th birthday, complete with special, symbolic marks. The Kite Center Crew and their friends arrived just when our spirits were sagging and in need of some lift.

*I know I’m going to forget someone so please forgive me if you’re reading this and wondering how I could have forgotten you!

Special thanks must be given to Mr & Mrs Boss – Mathias and Riki Hagen – for giving us the opportunity to come here and for handing over their “baby” to us, to take care of for these two years. Running a small resort, especially on a remote island, is both a labour of love and bloody hard work. It isn’t easy to trust complete strangers with something you’ve put your heart and soul into but they did just that, allowing us the autonomy to run Matriki our way and to make changes we wanted. Lots of folks could never put their egos aside long enough to do that, so my hat is off to both of them for letting us be our own bosses and trusting us with their business. (Oh, and for the occasional delivery of much-needed steaks!)

I’m going to thank all of our friends back home in person but special credit is owed, as always, to the guy who works behind the scenes, (and doesn’t even read these Chronicles), and takes care of all our “stuff” when we’re away…Chris Bennett. I don’t know what we did so right to deserve a friend who consistently takes on the thankless chore of collecting our mail, depositing cheques, carting around our belongings, fielding phone calls, dealing with our million-and-one favours and all the petty nonsense no one can prepare for when they leave the country. He is in the highest order of friends and we owe him more than we can ever repay.

And of course, Pat & Joyce Roney, Paul and Wendy Kozak, our family, (especially Mom and my sister, Kelly), Tim and Becky Rippel, Liz Meyer, Helmi & Fred Braches, Deb & Ron Macatumpag, Meg and Dennis, Gavin and Jo, and all the other people who have given us support while we’ve been away are owed hugs and kisses and crates of juicy, ripe, mangoes. We couldn’t have done it without you!

To our guests, who we now call friends, we can’t wait to see you again, wherever in the world that may be.

Now, forgive me while I dive into the deep end for a moment…

Spending such a long time away from the hubbub of the civilized world, gives a gal time to do some serious soul searching. I came to Aitutaki looking for nothing, expecting nothing, but what I found was everything…what I found was me.

I am ashamed to say, it took me this long to leave behind the life I knew prior to May 2003, when we quit the film business and moved to another tropical “paradise”. No matter how many times I told myself I was OK with giving up everything, the truth is I really wasn’t. I liked having enough money to eat out whenever we wanted, I liked having a big house for friends to come and stay in, I liked the freedom of my own paycheque, I liked the freedom of being able to go to the gym six days a week, I liked not worrying about bills or price tags, I liked almost everything about that moneyed life and, secretly, I mourned for it long after it was gone.

Living here, you learn to cope with living without. There’s no choice and everyone, with few exceptions, is in the same boat. If the city water pump goes down, no water comes out of the tap and there is sweet-love-all you can do about it. No petrol? Oh well. It doesn’t matter if you are the GM of the fanciest resort on the island or the guy who spends his days watching the grass grow, no petrol means no petrol and you just have to put on your big girl panties and deal with it. With an already miniscule inventory of supplies on the island and constant shortages of staples such as cheese, milk, rice, bread, etc, it wasn’t long before all of my paradigms made an enormous shift. Now? I get excited about a new flavour of ice cream or a head of broccoli in the shops, when the DVD I rented isn’t a badly pirated copy it’s a good day, when water comes out of the tap, (both hot and cold), it’s like winning the lottery, being cool enough to wear socks is bliss, getting anything in the mail from home feels like Xmas, going out for a meal is a treat to be savoured whether cheeseburger or filet mignon, even the tiniest things have become luxuries.

For the first time since our U-Haul pulled out of Cornwall Place, over six years ago, I feel as if I’ve finally left that life behind. It feels good.

In many more ways, I’ve shed the burdens of civilization. When we first arrived here, I would panic if a guest saw me in the morning, before I had a chance to change out of my pajamas and fix my hair. These days, I’ll happily stroll down to the beach, in my old pajamas, hair askew, cup of tea in hand. No one really cares. I wonder why I used to worry so much? It’s not about not caring about my appearance, it’s about caring what’s underneath more. I’ve come to enjoy early mornings. I’ve actually seen sunrises. Really, I have. And I look at time, in general, differently. There’s just no rush for most things. It’s OK to slow down.

I’m forty now. I like me at forty. I like my life. We all end the same way, whether kings or peasants, so why not enjoy the ride?

A year from now, after re-acquainting myself with winter, after once again taking high speed internet and bubble baths for granted, and letting time paint over the frustrating details of island life, I will look back and really miss Aitutaki. This is where I found myself again. Some people plant sprouting coconuts here to mark their time on the island. Me? I will plant a piece of my heart and hope it will continue to be nourished by the land and water and people that helped it grow

Thanks, as always, for sharing the journey with us, it has been a pleasure having you along!

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life! Meitaki. Thank you.

The Princess

 

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Countdown Begins

Posted on September 7, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

We are now entering the “List” phase, as our exit date nears. If you were to write a love story about Prez and I, it could be called Love in the Time of Lists. We really are happiest when we have lists, tasks, goals, plans, things that need to be completed and checked off. Just yesterday I did my weekly house cleaning – or as Prez calls it “going crazy” – and while I was tidying the kitchen cupboards, fridge and pantry, I was making mental notes of what foods we have left and what kind of meals we should plan for in the next 24 days. I can tell you that Sloppy Joes, Eggs Benedict (x3), and something in a Greek marinade, are all on the menu.

I’ve been trying to appreciate our last days here, which isn’t easy when it’s howling with wind and raining almost every day. Today the sun came out and we celebrated by going on a long walk, watching me get sunburned, and returning home to let the newly hatched mosquitoes drink our blood. Sigh…I’m feeling melancholy already.

Mr. Boss is back on the island. He pops in from time to time and I suppose at some point we will hand over the reins. Apparently he has a girl lined up to take over a chunk of what is typically my job – cleaning huts, answering emails and doing office work. I will be showing her the ropes some time next week. It has to be done but I can’t say I’m overly enthused about it. I haven’t met her and she’s probably perfectly lovely but I know me. I am obsessive compulsive about cleaning so I just know the poor girl is going to look at my cleaning routine, (often involving moving beds to dust for cobwebs underneath), and panic. Conversely, I will be watching her work and biting my tongue to avoid speaking out, “Oh, you missed that crumb over there! It’s very small. Yes, I know it’s almost impossible to see but…"

Then there’s the whole towel folding thing. I mean, I almost go into cardiac arrest when Prez tries to fold a towel or, heaven forbid, a sheet in front of me.  I’m fussy, OK, I admit it but there really is only one, (proper), way to fold towels and have them look nice and organized and most people just can’t be bothered to learn it. I remember when I worked at the animal hospital and we had a cupboard full of blankets and towels for the animals. The first thing I would do after my two days off was to go into the back and re-fold all of the linen that had been put away in my absence. It’s a sickness. I know.

Then there’s the office. Answering email enquiries is far more than just a matter of checking dates and telling the prospective guest “yes” or “no”. At least fifty percent of the job is marketing, wording your responses in a way that is never negative and encourages speedy booking. I know people are going to love it here but first I have to get them here. That job’s a lot easier these days, since we’ve developed good word of mouth and we’re number one in Trip Advisor but you can’t really, ever slack off.

Ask anyone who’s in a management position, in a hospitality job involving travel and they will tell you that a good, innate understanding of basic, human psychology is a necessity for success.

One of my favourite marketing stories was told to me by Mom II, concerning her dad. (Apologies to Ruth-Ann as I now butcher her story). Please forgive me, as I’ve forgotten many of the details but Mom II’s father, (he passed away a few years ago) – who I’ll call Mr Mom – worked for, (I think), Sheraton Hotels, in one of those high up jobs, whose name has escaped me, many, many moons ago. Anyway, it was nearing Thanksgiving and Mr Mom installed a display in the lobby of the hotel with a cage containing a rather large turkey and a sign explaining that this turkey, (let’s call him Tom), was going to be killed and eaten at the hotel’s Thanksgiving dinner.

Interesting…but it gets better.

Mr Mom then wrote, under a false name, a scathing letter to the editor of the newspaper denouncing the cruelty of the hotel owners for their crude display and how dare they kill such a beautiful bird. This caused a stir. He then wrote another letter from the opposite point of view. Soon, people were …ahem…flocking to the hotel to see the controversial bird. In the end, the hotel announced that Tom’s life would be spared, which, of course, had been the plan all along. In the meantime, Mr Mom had generated an enormous amount of free, and ultimately positive, press for the hotel. Win, win, win.

Here on the Rock, I’m not above using little twists of language to sell our own corner of paradise. For example, let’s say you emailed to enquire about booking a hut for a week in May. I then look at the reservation book and see May is, at this point, absolutely empty. Great. But I don’t want you to know that. I would email you back and tell you that yes, we do have “some” availability for that week but could you please tell me which hut you would prefer. You email back and say you’d like the Beach Hut. I email back and tell you you’re in luck, the Beach Hut is open for that week! Now, you’re feeling pretty good but I don’t want you to get complacent, so I make sure to add that if you’re interested to please let me know as soon as possible as we do fill up quickly. Well, now you’re thinking you’d better hurry because you were fortunate to find the spot you wanted and you sure don’t want someone else scooping it up from under you. Hut booked.

And it’s a strategy that feeds on itself because the more bookings we get, the more times I have to tell someone that we’re full for some of their dates but would they mind switching huts or dates, the more people get the impression that this is a very desirable place to stay. And, the fact is, despite being budget, this is a very desirable place to stay but I have to get you here so you can see that for yourself.

Get it?

Answering questions is also tricky because you have to be honest without being negative.

Question: “Are mosquitoes a problem?”

Truth: Yep, they can be sometimes.

Answer: “We find that the only bad time for mosquitoes is at first and last light, and in the winter months they are not bad at all. We have a mosquito control program on our property and all huts have mosquito netting over the beds. However, there are some other spots on the island that are very bad for mosquitoes so make sure you bring some repellent.”

As you can see, I didn’t lie but I did phrase my answer in such a way that it makes things sound not so bad, (and it really isn’t that bad). I then added some reassurance as to steps we take to ensure the guest’s comfort. And, last, I showed a comparison that makes us look good.

None of these skills were taught to me. Marketing is mostly a combination of experience, skill with language, and an understanding of human nature. I’m not tricking anyone; I know that once they get here the guests are, nine times out of ten, going to have a fabulous time, even if the mozzies are biting and it howls with wind a rain for a few days. The question is: Is someone off the street, getting paid minimum wage going to have these skills and/or the drive to use them? I’ll be honest; I don’t think it’s something I can teach, especially not in 23 days.

But I’ll do my best, as always.

In other news, it looks like our old stomping grounds in Baja got a good spanking from hurricane Jimena. Miz Liz forwarded some photos of our old ClubFred, with most of the roof torn off and several windows smashed. I can only imagine the water damage to the inside. Some lots survived with minimal damage, including Liz’s old 30th Palm, which makes me question the veracity of the 3 Little Pigs story. Others were not so lucky. The place next to our old place lost the entire second floor – sheared right off. I know many of our friends have a lot of work ahead so I just want them to know we’re thinking of them and hoping the clean up goes quickly and smoothly.

ClubFred 1999…

And (now Ken El Club) today…

 

Mulegé also took a heavy beating. They are in desperate need of food, clothing and money, so if anyone feels inclined to help out, here is a link for donations: Mulegé Relief Fund

23 days left, as of today.

I am officially counting and dreaming of our long, luxurious trip back home wherein the only towels I will fold will be my own!

QUESTION:  Do you know how to, (properly), fold towels?

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

p.s. I also want to say HOORAY once again to Teri & Gary, as Gary’s CT scan results came back and he is 100% cancer free!!!

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Guardians of the Lagoon

Posted on August 14, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Hello? Anyone out there? I guess it’s my fault for being
so sporadic in my postings. Well, for the five of you patient enough to wait
around for me, how about an update?

With six weeks left on the rock, Prez and I have been
enjoying the cooler days and nights and trying to savour all the things we’ve
come to take for granted that we will no doubt miss once we leave this little
paradise. It helps that our friend Michael, of Conservancy Trust fame, has
started up a little business venture with two friends from Kiwi Land.

In the last Coconut Chronicle I mentioned the South
Pacific Kiteboarding Centre, which is now up and flying on Exile Island, a
small motu in the Southeast corner of the lagoon. For those who’ve never heard
of it, kiteboarding is similar to windsurfing except instead of a sail, it is a
large “kite”, (actually it looks more like a parachute), that catches the wind
and propels you through the water. The guys who run the school and teach the
courses, Jimmy and Andrew, are both super blokes and hot boarders.

Kiteboarding is a thrilling sport but from what I’ve seen
the learning curve is fairly steep, and involves getting a few liters of salt
water up one’s nose. Prez, who, quite frankly, often pisses me off with his
ability to learn any new sport in less than a day, even commented on his first
day “body dragging”, (exactly as it sounds), and how tough it was on the body,
over a hand full of Advils. For spectators, though, the many multi-coloured
kites soaring against the azure sky is a beautiful sight.

Of course, this wouldn’t be a small island story if it
didn’t include some pettiness, greed, and sophomoric drama. The first to
complain about the kite center were the lagoon tour operators. Yes, the same
ones who went pouting to the mayor about us, way back when. Their song never
changes. “They’re taking business away from locals”. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
However, in the case of the kite center, the exact opposite is true.

Prez, never one to sit back idly when he smells bs,
conducted an kind of informal survey among several of the kiters he met. Turns
out that all of them agreed on one thing, they would not have come to Aitutaki
if it wasn’t for the kite center. And here’s something else to note: in order
to kite board, one needs wind. A decent amount of wind, in fact. As you may
suspect, the wind does not blow every day. What do the kiters do on the days it
is not windy? Why they might go shopping in town ($), they might treat
themselves to lunch at one of the restaurants, ($$), they might even take a
lagoon tour ($$$). So, all these people, who came to Aitutaki just for kiting,
actually end up spending money on a variety of local businesses, (I didn’t even
mention their accommodation, flights, etc). And the brainiacs whose businesses
benefit from these extra tourists wanted to stop the kite center from
operating?

Yeah, welcome to the Twilight Zone.

The next group of kite center detractors are my favourite
because the irony is so thick you can eat it with a fork.

As I mentioned, the center is located on a small motu on
the lagoon. In accordance with local laws, the structure the guys have built is
not permanent. At the end of the season – when the trade winds vanish – the
entire center will be taken down and put into storage back on the main island.
Also, they remove all of the garbage they produce and cart out all human waste,
(think: porta-potty). The area where the boarders set up and ride is,
essentially, a large sand spit, since riding around and potentially wiping out
on coral is not something anyone would classify as a good time. The only thing
more environmentally friendly than kiteboarding is thinking about
kiteboarding.

Enter the Island Council.

Ah, this group of fossils, who do nothing worthwhile that
I’m aware of, began head shaking and finger wagging over this new business and
the tourists with their new fangled contraptions. “We are Guardians of the
Lagoon!” they declared. Now, if I was a cynical person, (who? me?), I might
suggest that these blowhards are nothing more than a bunch of walking egos whose
collective noses were put out of joint because a small group of mostly
foreigners didn’t come crawling to them for permission before opening a
successful business.

Guardians of the Lagoon you say? Really? So,
when the Chief of Police was fishing in the Ra-aui, (protected reserve),
you did what? Oh that’s right. Nothing, as usual. And how about all the others
who fish, spear fish, gill net and remove farmed clams – illegally – from the
same reserves? Nothing, again. The lagoon tour operator who incinerated a large
chunk of protected motu, rather than clearing foliage by hand, for his new
lunch area? Nothing to say there Guardians? The old septic tanks leaching human
waste into the lagoon, the pig farmer who keeps his animals – illegally – right
on beach front land, the garbage being burned in pits and also seeping into the
water, the people who walk on and destroy the coral, the gill nets twice the
legally allowed length, the gallons of tourist sunscreen washing off and
damaging the delicate coral? What of all these offenses? What do you, oh wise
and mighty Guardians of the Lagoon, have to say about all this?

Nothing.

(Six more weeks…six more weeks…six more…)

Anyway, Jimmy and crew, like the rest of us papa’a
understand the necessity of not rocking the boat, no matter how full of shit
that boat may be. They have taken steps to assure the Island Council that they
will be respectful of the lagoon…just as we have been these past two years.

If only the people who lived here cared as much about
this amazing, natural treasure as those who are just passing through.

But, lest you think I am all storm clouds and frowny
face, I should reiterate how happy I am to see the kiters come to this island.
Not least of all because I was able to spend some time with Jimmy’s wife, Liz,
and pass many happy hours, “nattering about books”. Intelligent, stimulating
conversations are manna from heaven and sadly absent since my friend Moana
moved away to the bustling metropolis of Rarotonga. (We miss you Mo!!!)

Prez and I were also treated to a theatrical production
of “The Rainbow World”, written and performed by the young children of the Kite
Centre parents, (directed and co-starring the aforementioned Liz). What a show!
Music, dancing, even an underwater sequence! Culture finally comes to Aitutaki.
It’s about time.

I’ll wrap up with a big Congrats to Kozak!!! Who, I’ve been
informed, was the Grand Prize winner of this year’s “Wing Off”, hosted by
Maratha and Patty Cakes Roney. I’m not sure which of his three chicken wing
dishes won but I’m sure they were all fabulous. We were privileged to receive
the master chef’s menu in advance and, well, I pitied the competition. Way to
go big fella, now start marinating that beef, you’ve only got two months left
before we arrive!

QUESTION: Guardians of the Lagoon? Really?

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy and
lovin’ life!

The Princess

 

Posted in Travel | 1 Comment

The Small Four-Oh

Posted on July 14, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello from the Year Forty!

 

It’s official, I have reached middle age. Gosh, it seems like only yesterday that 40 was “old”, ancient even, and now here I am.

 

I always imagined my 40th would be marked with some grandiose celebration but here on The Rock that’s pretty much impossible. For Prez, even buying a gift is a Herculean task. “Oh, a coconut bra?! Wow, how did you know?” He came to me the day before, heavy of heart and said, “I really wanted to do something special for you but…” he didn’t need to explain. And I really didn’t care.

 

For me, just making it to forty, healthy, happy and in love with a great guy is all the present I need.

 

But then Prez said, “Why don’t we just save your party for Vegas?” Ah, well, that changes everything!

 

Still, I had a lovely day. I started it by emailing my hubby a naughty photo of myself. Hey, I had to immortalize myself at 39 so he’ll have something to look back on, fondly, when we are old and (more) wrinkly.

 

Then I surfed on the computer and did some writing while hubby cooked me up my favorite “fluffy French toast” made from the evil, white, cheese bread that’s made locally. I read, I wrote, I napped, I surfed, I enjoyed a luxurious massage followed by a gourmet steak dinner. We watched DVD’s and flaked out. It was a most relaxing day.

 

To be honest, I’m surprised how cool I feel about turning 40. I’m actually excited about it. I feel as young and enthusiastic about life as I ever have. My general state of mind is much more “chilled” than it was at thirty and I feel as if I have little to prove anymore. No, I haven’t done everything I ever set out to do but that list is ridiculously long and I would need five lifetimes to complete it. Best of all, I still don’t need glasses to read, (knocks many times on wood), which was my biggest wish. (Please, just give me ten more years of 20/20!)

 

Since life has been somewhat uneventful here, I thought I’d share a few photos highlights of some of our more interesting moments…

 

In late June the Esther Honey Foundation sent two vets, an assistant and their coordinator over to Aitutaki on a spay and neuter campaign. Prez and I gave a cash donation, provided free accommodation for two of the girls and I spent a day assisting in surgery. It was a crazy day and my hat is off to the vets who were working in very primitive conditions. In 3 ½ days, they managed to desex almost 100 cats and could have done more if there had been more cages available to trap them. Here’s a photo of the operating room…

 

 

New on the island is the South Pacific Kite Boarding Centre. A couple of hot dog, Kiwi kite boarders/instructors have partnered up with our friend Michael and opened a groovy little boarder hangout and school on Exile Island. The island is basically just a sandbar but the surrounding water is perfect for kite boarders from beginner to pro. Word is spreading and I won’t be at all surprised if Aitutaki gets itself on the map, in the next few years, as a world class kiting destination.

 

Here’s Jimmy, one of the owners, in action…

 

And here’s the other owner, Andrew, with his, Joe, (getting a free kite ride while dad keeps him grounded)…

 

 

The Centre…

 

Fred got his first taste of kite flying and he was a natural, as usual…

 

 

And in the cute-but-weird department, I’m beginning to wonder what it is about me that encourages children to touch inappropriately? Have a look at the two cutie pies in this photo…

 

 

Innocent, huh? Well, right after we snapped this photo – while strolling along airport beach – the girl closest to me reached up and pushed on the side of my breast. “Niiiiicce,” she said. Next she reached over and patted my stomach. I had to pry our camera and my body from her hands. Some of you may remember the incident in San Carlos, Baja, when the nine-year-old boy grabbed my butt? Equally unsettling.

 

So what do you call it when you are an adult who is sexually molested by children? Besides “icky”.

  

And in closing, let me just leave you with The Princess at 39…

 

QUESTION: Can you still read this without glasses?

 

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The 40-year-old Princess

 

 

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

The Literate Vampires of Aitutaki

Posted on July 5, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

My absence I shall explain merely as an act of mercy to
you, my dear Nutters. I’ve been wallowing in and out of a funk since returning
from Auckland but even in my quasi-depressed state I realized writing at length
about the hardships of living among swaying palms and turquoise waters and
balmy, sunny days would only cause me to look back on such Coconut Chronicles
with profound embarrassment.

Two things finally pulled me out of my fog. First, news
from Guru Terri about her new hubby’s, (Lefsa Gary), latest treatment against
stomach cancer. This woman and her never-ending optimism amaze me. In a show of
support for LG, who went under the clippers to remove the hair that was falling
out because of the chemo he’s going through, Guru sacrificed her own locks as
well. Not only did they both undergo the full sheep-shearing treatment, but
they also took time out to make funny hair-do’s as they went, including a limp
Mohawk and a cowlick gone wild.

Reading about such playfulness in the face of adversity
was just the reality check I needed. Yes, Prez and I have begun to feel as if
our days are spent on a hamster wheel surrounded by pretty scenery but things
could be so much worse.

The next anti-funk remedy was the booking of our flights
back to civilization. Strange how one, mostly symbolic, act can change a girl’s
entire outlook. Nothing has really changed since I booked the tickets – except
for my Visa balance – but it feels as if I’ve just tiptoed downstairs on Xmas
morning and stumbled upon Santa Clause, wiping cookie crumbs from his beard.
“Yes! You’re real!” I shout.

October 1st we fly from Aitutaki to Rarotonga
and at 11:59pm on October 3rd, we fly to Los Angeles. It’s no longer
an idea, a notion, a thought, a possibility…it’s real.

We’d wanted to first spend some time in New Zealand and
possibly Australia but finances need to be considered and we’ll be dragging far
too much luggage with us to make hopping around from place to place fun or
convenient – so we’ve decided to come back to this hemisphere and explore at
another time

What a joy it has been these last few days to chat over
sunset cocktails, calendar and pen in hand, planning our itinerary. As it
stands, stop one will be in 29 Palms to visit with Miz Liz, Mom II & HQ,
and hike our brains out around Joshua Tree National Park. Of course, Vegas is
just too close to resist, so we’ll be zooming over there for a few nights of
much needed hedonism. (Man there’s some good deals to be found in Sin City
right now!). Next we hope to scoot over to Petaluma and pay an overdue visit
with the Benedettis, flying back to Vancouver from San Francisco.

I have lobbied hard for as much time on the coast as
possible. My last stop there was such a whirlwind, this time I’d like to be able
to relax and enjoy some quiet times with our family and friends. (Not to
mention doing some shopping, attending my writer’s group meeting, getting my
teeth cleaned, hair cut, and body checked out)

Our last stop will be Nelson, where we’ll hangout with
the Ripsters before they leave for Australia. We are both anxious to see Nelson
again and reconnect with all our friends there. In short, we miss our “home”.

Along the way, there will be much eating of food.

About three weeks ago, we had a couple come to visit that
had brought with them a load of groceries from Rarotonga. They offered us a
couple of steaks, their generosity no doubt prompted by the trickle of saliva
coming from both of our gaunt faces at the mention of red meat.

The steaks had to be cut from a giant slab of meat and
they were as sweet and delicious as cotton candy.

“You bought this on Raro?” we asked, desperately.

“Yeah, at the CITC,” they answered, tugging the remainder
of the package from our hands.

Five seconds later, Prez was on the phone to Mr Boss
asking him to buy us one of these packs of miracle meat and ship it over ASAP.

We are now on our second meat slab and each yields about
sixteen or seventeen sirloin steaks. Since the only steak available on the
island for the past three or four months has been an unidentifiable part of the
cow, (though I suspect it is the hooves or ears), we have gone a little
red-meat crazy. Suddenly, we are like vampires working the night shift at the
blood bank.

“What should we have for dinner?” Prez will ask and
before I can answer he is taking a saran-wrapped package out of the freezer.
“Steak? Sure, why not.”

Our digestive tracks must be in a mild state of shock. Oh
sure, we still eat some fish and pasta but, even as we’re commenting on how
delicious the sauce is now that we have fresh picked tomatoes, we are dreaming
of the next night when we will once again sink our fangs into the
colon-clogging goodness of beef.

The other compulsion that has taken us over is our
nightly Scrabble game. To be honest, this was all Prez’s doing. He started
playing with the guests, mostly out of boredom but once he figured out that the
game was as much about math and strategy as spelling, that was it.

One guest suggested we might want to change our slogan
to, “Sun, Sand and Scrabble”.

I’m ashamed to tell you how many games I’ve lost to him.
I’d spend ten minutes formulating a six letter word, for a grand total of six
points, and then Prez would play “as”, on a triple letter, double word space,
connecting to three other words, and score 57 points.

I’m slowly learning to put aside my love for syllables
but it’s physically painful. (Last night, however, I struck a crushing blow
with “gargoyle”).

So we’re filling our free time with over consumption of
red meat and an addiction to word games. Life could be worse.

On second thought, maybe our slogan should be, “Sun,
sand, steak and Scrabble”?

QUESTION: Do you scrabble?

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy
& lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Auckland Express Part II

Posted on May 27, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Welcome to “Auckland in 36 hours – Part II”

I was on my way to Ascot Radiology Clinic, where I would first have a mammogram and then meet with a doctor for an exam. Since the clinic knew my situation, everything was put on a “rush”, which was lovely of them.

I’ve discussed the unpleasantness of mammography before and every woman reading this who’s ever had one knows exactly what I’m talking about, so I won’t waste time with a long description. (Men, just go clamp your hand in a vice for awhile to approximate the experience). However, there was shock and amazement this time around. Not only was the nurse so fast that her movements threatened to reverse the earth’s rotational direction and send us backwards in time, but they also had some fancy new machine that flexed, just a little, and didn’t give the full pancake effect. Bing, bam, boom, squish, it was over just as quick as that.

From there I popped right next door to see Dr Marli, a pleasant woman in her mid-forties and an expert on breasts. (Yes, my husband would tell you he is also and expert on breasts but take that with a grain of salt). Photos of the girls were already up on her large computer screen. I’ll tell ya what, they’re just not as attractive when you’re looking through them.

Dr Marli went on to explain to me, with the help of the visual aide, that my breasts are abnormal. (Dr Marli, by the way, is a comedian). “The way we look for cancer, with mammograms, is to look for white spots.” We both stared at the photos of my girls; almost every square inch of them was white. This is because I have dense tissue -good for looking perky at forty years old, bad for detecting cancer. She said, “Let me show you what normal breasts look like.” (No, she didn’t take off her top, men, get your minds out of the gutter!). She opened a random file and showed me someone else’s mammogram. All grey, no white.

Essentially, my photos were almost useless. On to the exam. Finding the lump was no difficult feat, even among the dense tissue, so we moved right to the ultra sound.

Whoever finally wised up about warming that gel they put on you for ultra sounds deserves a medal, let me just insert that right here.

Lump came into view, lump went out of view. Dr Marli checked both breasts, as she hummed and hawed about my troublesome tissue. “Hm, I don’t like that.” These are words one never wants to hear under such circumstances. When I asked what the problem was, Dr M moved the scanner thingy over to my left breast and focused it on a small cyst. “See that, see how the edges are clearly defined? That tells me it’s a cyst; that’s what we like to see.” She then moved back over to the lump, which I noticed, not happily, was not clearly defined and not within the What We Like to See category.

Damn.

The question was what I wanted to do about it. We decided a needle biopsy would be the way to go, followed by another ultrasound once I returned to Canada if the results were negative.

Bing, bang, boom, poke, the biopsy was done and I was on my way.

I don’t know if I just happened to get really lucky or what but I was utterly impressed with the Kiwi medical system. As a foreigner, I had to pay for all my tests and services but all totaled that only came to about five hundred Canadian dollars. Cheap as! (As they say in this part of the world). The quality of care, skill and friendliness of everyone I dealt with is the best I’ve ever received from any medical provider. Despite the stress one inevitably feels when facing the possibility of the Unfriendly C, I felt that I was in very good hands.

At last the squishing and poking was over. The results would come in soon enough, the rest was out of my hands. Time for another bubble bath!

That evening, I was scheduled to have dinner with an old guest/new friend, Jo. She agreed to pick me up – probably for the best since I was now on, roughly, hour thirty-six without sleep – and take me out for a meal of my choice. That was easy: steak. Poor girl, she was in meetings until way late, then drove across town in the rain and traffic to get me, then back into to town for dinner. The effort was much appreciated and it was so fantastic to see a friendly face and have someone to chat with about life on the Rock and all those sorts of good things.

Jo took me to this quaint little French restaurant in downtown Auckland. I’d love to describe my meal in intimate detail but I’m afraid that will only depress me. Suffice it to say there was fresh bread and tasty dips and filet mignon, perfectly cooked, and salad and…

Oh man, I need a moment to compose myself.

I asked our tres French waiter for a martini but he didn’t seem to understand the concept of cold gin in a glass and kept insisting they only had a French type of martini that wasn’t actually a martini at all. Since he was so good looking, I went with the not-quite-a-martini martini, which was very tasty but more like a not-at all-like-a-martini martini.

I’d planned on ordering dessert but couldn’t even finish my main course, (le sigh), and was starting to nod off at the table. Jo, (after secretly paying for my meal, cheeky girl), drove me back to the hotel – before her ninety-minute commute home (saint) – and I crawled into my big, fluffy, temperature controlled, ant and mozzie free bed…and passed out.

Only to wake up at 4am, dazed and confused.

“WheretheheckamIandwhattimeisitandwhydoesmyboobhurt?”

For the next few hours I dozed on and off, finally dragging my tired arse out of bed for my final bubble bath.

For breakfast, I chose the hotel’s buffet. Holy comuli! Passing right by the fruit table, I loaded up my plate with Eggs Benedict, bacon, and hashbrowns. When my plate was empty and my stomach was full, I looked longingly at the waffle station.

Darn, maybe I should have had a waffle instead?

It’s a buffet, you can still have a waffle.

But I’m full.

You know you want it.

I do.

Well then…?

I love waffles, what can I say?

My flight was scheduled to leave at 7pm, which meant I needed to be at the airport by 4pm, which meant I had about five hours to shop. And shop I did, stuffing my one piece of luggage as full as I’d stuffed my belly at breakfast. Heinz ketchup, Lindt chocolate, hot chocolate, herbal tea, licorice, tortillas, salsa, refried beans, bagels, English muffins, salad dressing…you name it, I bought it.

Oh, I also found a cupcake, which was one of my goals.

Thankfully, the drive back to the airport, in the daylight, with handy signs, was much easier and quicker. I checked in, (redistributing some items into my carry-on to make the weigh limit), grabbed a bottle of duty free tequila, headed for the nearest bar, ordered a real martini, popped my little orange, happy pill, and chillaxed.

This time I was prepared – two pairs of socks, three layers on top – so I snoozed comfortably for most of the flight.

I left Auckland at 7pm on Monday, flew for about five hours, and arrived in Raro at 1am on Monday. Yeah, it’s too crazy.

Another restless night at the Aquarius and then I was back on my way to Aitutaki. Goodies were unpacked, story related to Prez, (who was very glad to have me back), and then I fell into a dead sleep for most of the day, waking only for dinner and then right back to sleep.

Whew.

The results from the biopsy arrived by email the next day…

Benign.

I have been sleeping soundly ever since.

QUESTION: Did I really do all that in 36 hours?

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

P.S. Thanks so much to all the medical staff who took such good care of me and big, big hugs to Jo for making time for me in her busy day!

Posted in Travel | 1 Comment

Auckland Express

Posted on May 20, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

I’m considering writing a new guidebook: “Auckland in 36
hours!”

Part I

The adventure began here, on the rock. I packed my bag
and hopped the plane to Raro at 4:40pm on Saturday, May 10th. The
date is important. New Zealand lies on the other side of the international
dateline and had it not been for my friend Moana catching a discrepancy in my
stated itinerary, I would have flown to Raro on Sunday the 11th and
missed my flight to Auckland completely.

As I did in October, I passed the eight-hour layover at
the Aquarius Hotel, which has clean bunk accommodation for cheap. Knowing I’d
soon be stuffed into a tin can for four hours, I went for a stroll. You know,
an X-ray would certainly show my hind end stuffed full of horseshoes because my
decision to go for a walk brought to light the fact that I’d neglected to pack
my one pair of shoes. I called Prez and he sent them over with the guests who
left on the last flight of the day.

I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to my
fellow Pacific Blue Passengers, as my one pair of shoes also happens to be the
shoes I’ve been running in for a year and a half and I don’t imagine they
smelled all that pleasant.

Not all my luck was aligned, however. I also forgot to
pack any sort of timepiece or alarm. This meant I’d need a wake up call. Said
wake up call would be delivered by the night security guard, who apparently
would somehow physically wake me up at midnight, providing he remembered to do
so. After dinner, I crawled onto my bunk and attempted to snooze, while images
of me waking at dawn to find the security guard sound asleep at the front desk
kept passing through my brain.

Needless to say, the wake up call was unnecessary. I
remained wide awake. It is likely the people in the other bunks did, too, since
I was getting up every ten minutes to run into the lobby and check the time.

At 11:30pm, tired of lying on my bunk, I changed into
some warmer clothes and headed across the street to the airport. The flight
left at 2:30am but I had a good book.

I’ve never flown Pacific Blue airline before. I now know
where the name comes from. Shortly after take off, I donned my eye mask and
blow up pillow, (which I’ve yet to find a perfect sleeping position with), and
went after some z’s. My guess is that the Captain was trying to acclimatize us
for the chilly, winter temperatures in Auckland, why else would the air
conditioning be set at “Comfortable for Penguins”?

All around me, passengers shivered and rubbed their hands
together. I’m sure I saw a group in the back using the shell of one of those
hard suitcases as an ersatz fire pit, in which they burned airsickness bags and
in-flight magazines to stay warm.

So, the “Blue” in Pacific Blue obviously refers to colour
your lips and skin will be upon landing.

Bear with me here because things get weird.

We left Raro at 2:30am on a Sunday, flew for four and a
half hours, arriving in Auckland at 5:00am on Monday. I’d lost a day but gained
two hours. International travel can mess with a gal’s mind.

Happy to be nestled in the warmth of the Auckland
airport, my next challenge was to find transportation to my hotel, which was
twenty minutes away. I priced out taxis and shuttles and was shocked at the
cost. A rental car seemed the wisest and cheapest option but I was now on
twenty-four hours, (or was it twenty-two?), without sleep, it was dark, I had
never driven in this city before, and everyone insists on driving on the wrong
side of the road. Hm. A decision this serious could require only one thing…

“One hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie, please!”

I sipped my cocoa and nibbled my cookie as I wandered
between the shuttle phones and the rental car desks. My drink had an odd
flavour and a distinctly gummy texture. I sipped again and again, trying to
place the taste. I was at the Thrifty counter when it hit me. You know the Big
Turk chocolate bar? Well, people in this part of the world have some weird
fascination with whatever comprises the center of that treat and now it was in
my hot chocolate. I suppose I should have been grateful they didn’t put a fried
egg in there or some beet root.

Annoyed with my contaminated chocolate and hopped up on
sugar, I decided to be adventurous and rent a car. It wasn’t until I was behind
the wheel that I noticed I’d spent an hour wandering around the airport. Funny,
it only felt like a few minutes, Kiwi’s do some strange things with time.

The twenty-minute ride to the hotel took roughly an hour.
On the plus side, I learned how roundabouts work and took a few unplanned side
trips into neighbourhoods I might not have seen if I’d followed the directions
correctly.

My hotel was chosen for its proximity to the radiology
clinic I would be visiting later that day. Being staffed with Chinese workers
with only a rudimentary understanding of English, this place made me feel as if
I was back home in Vancouver and I couldn’t help feeling a little melancholy.

Priorities are important and mine, having only a day and
half in this enchanting part of the world, was clear: have a bubble bath.

After the first of what would be four bubble baths over
the course of my stay, I checked out the local TV. Rugby, rugby, news, rugby,
news, yoga, news, rugby. Nevermind.

I’d made an appointment to have my haircut. My last real
hair cut had been in October and I was dying for some real coiffing. I drove
out to Mission Bay, a charming seaside area. I should say I imagine it’s
charming, when it isn’t freezing cold and raining. Frankly, I was enjoying the
cool temps but I seemed to be the only one who was.

Zoey was the woman in charge of taming my wild locks. She
was a lovely woman, as friendly as she was pregnant. I gave her a brief
explanation of my small island situation but I don’t think she really got it.

Zoey:
So, who cuts your hair there?

Me: Um, me.

Zoey: How?

Me: With some household scissors.

Zoey: *Gasps and looks horrified*



Zoey: So, Princess, what kind of product are you using?

Me: Shampoo

Zoey: Oh. *Starts scratching items off mental list of things she wants to
sell to me* What type of shampoo do you use?

Me: The brand they sell in the store, I can’t remember what it is.

Zoey: *Mentally removes me from mailing list*


Zoey: You’ll notice that I haven’t cut it quite as short as you showed me and
the reason for this, as you’ll see, is that when I blow dry and style it, it
will sit perfectly at the length you want.

Me: Uh…um…OK. *Considers telling her that the only time I’ve used a
blowdryer on the island was to dry a pair of underwear, that got caught on the
line during a rain storm, before I went out for dinner but then think I’ve
probably hurt her enough for one day*

Before
leaving, I passed her a tip, which seemed to shock her. Later, my friend Jo
would inform me that it is not normal to tip one’s hair stylist in the land of
Hobbits but that I’d probably made the woman’s day.

Back
to the hotel and bubble bath #2. I still had some time before my scheduled
mammogram so I zipped over to the nearby mall at Sylvia Park. There really
should be some sort of warning label on places like this. “Warning! If you have
been confined on a small island for longer than a month and can count the
number of shops there on one hand, please enter this mall with caution. We
suggest you keep one eye closed and please alert mall staff if you feel dizzy.”

So.
Much. Stuff.

I
came out with a pair of warm socks for the flight home and a list of stores I
would ravage the next day.

Back
to the hotel. I grabbed my medical records and ambled over to Ascot Radiology
to have the girls squished and examined.

And
I will write all about that in the next installment!

QUESTION:
What product are you using in your hair?

Until
soon, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The
Princess

Posted in Travel | Leave a comment

Whose Nose?

Posted on May 9, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

 

My bags are packed and I’m on my way. Correction, my bag, singular, is packed. This will be a short jaunt to Auckland – a day and a half, to be precise. Just enough time to eat a few treats, get the “girls” checked out, have a bubble bath, go out for dinner with fellow feline fancier Jo, and pick up a few groceries.

 

I’ll have a full report upon my return but this Coconut Chronicle I wanted to talk about something a little different…

 

Out of the blue, not too long ago, Prez received an email from an old friend I’ll call CD. They were ski bums together is Vail, Colorado, many moons ago. I know it was fun for Prez to catch up and CD sounds like a really nice fellow.

 

About two weeks after CD’s email, we received a huge care package from him. Talk about your welcome surprises! There was chocolate for me, licorice for Prez, beef jerky, smoked almonds, sunflower seeds, and much, much more. For two people who have come to look upon grocery shopping as the single most depressing chore we have, this box was exactly the kind of cheer we needed. If you’re reading this CD, a million, billion thank you’s!!

 

Also in the box were a couple of local, Vail papers. This is always a treat for me. I love reading newspapers and it was especially cool to read news from beyond the rock. However, as I was scanning the pages, (and happily chewing on sunflower seeds), something stopped my eyes in their tracks. Down in the left hand side of one page was an ad for a plastic surgery center and in bold print was this…

 

“Rhinoplasty for Your High School Graduate”

 

Beside that little teaser were two photos, a before and after, of a pretty, young woman who’d apparently had some nose work done. Here’s what got me, if I had seen those two photos without the advertisement alerting me to their purpose, I never would have noticed the nose job. The difference between the before and after is so minimal, I had to look at it several times to make sure this wasn’t a prank.

 

Nope, no prank.

 

What the heck? Am I the only one who sees through this? Teenage girls, who hate what they look like no matter what they look like, are now being encouraged to surgically alter their face before they’ve even had a chance to live with it long enough to make that kind of decision.

 

I’m not going to stand up on the soapbox and rant about plastic surgery. If you are unhappy with your body and feel that the only way to change how you feel is to physically alter yourself then fine, more power to you. When it comes to kids though, plastic surgery makes me very nervous.

 

If my parents had been wealthy enough and had I been shown how “easy” it is to change yourself, there are all kinds of things I would have changed about my body when I was a teen. My nose would have been shrunk, likewise my upper jaw (the one that gives me my gummy smile), I’d have asked for more prominent cheekbones, a smaller butt and bigger breasts. If it could have been arranged, I’d also have loved longer, thicker hair, darker skin, less moles, Feet that never smell, longer fingers, nails that don’t break, hairless legs and armpits, and eyes about two shades bluer. Oh and I would have demanded to be made two inches shorter, (all the popular, pretty girls were tiny).

 

Now, at nearly forty, I can honestly say there are few things I would change about my body and none I’m motivated to spend any money on or go under the knife for. I love my height. My breasts may not qualify me for the Playboy mansion but they allow me to jog without feeling as if I’m carrying two sacks of flour. There never was anything wrong with the size of my nose. My gummy smile has become so much a part of me that I would hate to lose it. My hair may not be long and thick but it’s soft and silky. About the only thing I really dislike are a few moles, (it’s a texture issue), and those can easily be “zapped” away at the doctor’s office.

 

I’m no supermodel but I don’t want to be. It took me a lot of years to figure that out.

 

I am a realist though. Yes, there were kids in my highschool for whom a nose job or some other surgical fix would have helped immensely in the gladiatorial arena that makes up the teen social scene. But, then, where do you draw the line? Do we want schools full of homogenous but beautiful Stepford children?

 

Beauty is dangerous. Too much of it, too early, can rob young girls of the opportunity to develop other aspects of themselves. As much as it sucks to admit, strength is gained through adversity, so is wisdom.

 

These surgeons pimping their services out to teen girls are scum, in my eyes. Give them a chance to grow up before you start slicing them open.

 

Beauty may only be skin deep but it’s their skin and I say keep your scalpels off of it!

 

QUESTION: Would you let your teenage daughter get plastic surgery?

 

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!
The Princess 

Posted in Life | 1 Comment

Island Fever Breaks

Posted on April 26, 2009 by clubfredbaja

Hello again from the Big Blue!

 

Sorry for my long absence but I’m in the middle of a creative frenzy. As of now, we are full for most of the next five months, which means I’ll have to cram writing time in wherever I can. I’ll try to post as often as possible just to let you know we’re still alive and well.

 

Good news! We’ve survived our second soul-melting Aitutaki summer. Honestly, I think anyone who achieves this should be given a medal or a plaque or something. When talking to other folks about it, it feels like we’ve all just come out of a thick fog. All of a sudden we can see each other again and we’re all a little giddy.

 

“I put a sheet on last night!”

 

“I can drink hot tea in the morning again!”

 

“Look, it’s noon and I’m not covered in sweat!”

 

Ah, happy days are here again. No wonder working with a steaming hot laptop doesn’t throw me into a fit of despair anymore. Hoo-bloody-ray!

 

News? One of my short-short stories will be coming out in May in small literary journal called Barbaric Yawp.

 

We’ve been out of pretty much everything on the island for most of April but we’re getting by. Some wonderful guests gave us a bottle of real Canadian maple syrup as a gift and another lovely guest baked scones almost every day and shared them with me. YUM!

 

I’ve found another lump in my breast. Monday I will be calling New Zealand to make arrangements for a mammogram/ultra sound. It’s probably just another cyst but better safe than sorry. (Those of you in civilization don’t ever take good, close health care for granted!)

 

Two days ago, all of the guests on the property were from BC – Invemere, Burnaby and Bamfield. How weird is that?

 

We are now #1 in Trip Advisor. When we arrived here, we were #7 our of 12 and I made it my mission to get us to the top spot. The recent reviews are amazing. They make me feel very proud and very humble at the same time. You can read them here: Trip Advisor Reviews.

 

So, life is cool. Literally and figuratively.

 

QUESTION: How the heck are you?

 

Until my next free moment, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess 

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