The Coconut Chronicles

Hello again from the Big
Blue!

Hold on a minute, I have to
change my “Princess is: hot and sticky” sign to “Princess is: melting”. There,
that’s better.  

(I’m not complaining)

People. I’ve been thinking
about people quite a bit lately. They’re everywhere, have you noticed? A
large number of them pass in and out of Perfect Beach Resort. Some, such as the
Italians, bring tears to our eyes as they depart. Others bring tears to our
eyes when they arrive. Thankfully, the latter are the minority.  

Remember Crazy Guy? We did a
little jig when he checked out. Then he came back. He wasn’t staying here, we
were fully booked, but he just missed us so darn much he made a point of
visiting as often as possible. Even after he left the island he wasn’t gone
completely. He called us several times from Raro about various items he was
missing:

Crazy Guy: “Hey Prez, have
you seen my computer, I think I left it there?”

Prez: “No, it’s not here.”

Crazy Guy: “Are you sure?”

Prez: “Um, the huts don’t
have any hiding spots. We would have seen it.”

Crazy Guy: “Can you ask the
other guests if they have it?”

Prez: “No. I think they would
have told us if they found a computer.”

Crazy: “Oh.” (pause) “Well,
have you seen my pants? I think left them there.”

Eventually the people of the
Cook Islands banded together, with flaming torches and pitchforks, and ran him
off the island. While I applauded their efforts, I could have told them nature
abhors a vacuum – get rid of one Crazy Guy and another steps in to fill the
void.

Enter, Mr. Wu, the Vietnamese
guy from Texas. 

I knew we were in for trouble
long before Wu arrived. Emails don’t sit in the inbox more than an hour when
I’m working. We have discovered, similar to our experience in Nelson, a key
aspect to business success on Aitutaki is, simply, answering emails and phone
calls in a reasonable amount of time. “Reasonable” meaning: in less than a
week. So, when Wu’s email requesting accommodation appeared, I jumped on it. As
I was typing my response, the phone rang…

Princess: “Good morning,
Perfect Beach Resort, Princess speaking!”

Wu: “How come you no answer
my email?!”

Princess: “Um, it just
arrived five minutes ago; I’m writing you a response right now.”

After that, he sent me,
approximately, seventeen more emails, each more detailed and demanding than the
last. I couldn’t wait to get the report from Prez after he picked him up from
the airport. “Well, he’s not crazy, per se, but he definitely has
a…glitch.”

During his stay, Wu walked
around in the sweltering tropic heat in jeans, running shoes, and a
long-sleeved shirt. He was obsessed with coconuts and we could hear him
battering at our trees with the coconut pole at all hours. Laundry was also an
issue with him. In ten days, I believe he wore twenty-seven pairs of brand new,
tighty-whiteys. How do I know? Because we offer a laundry service here and I
had to wash and hang all those briefs.

His glitch was made humorous
by his odd Texan-Vietnamese twang. One day, when Prez caught Wu tossing his
trash in the other hut’s garbage bins, he asked him why he wasn’t using the
buckets on his own porch – the three big, white buckets labeled “Glass &
Aluminum”, “Compost”, and “All other household garbage”.  Wu replied, “Oh, I was wondering what
those buckets for, maaan! I thought they were for latex, maaan. Back in Texas,
those buckets have paint, you know, maaan. Latex paint.”

Each morning, Wu came into
the office to find out where his bill was at, calculating to the penny how much
he’d spent. Prez finally said, “Dude, you really have to start your vacation
some time.” Wu talked to the chickens. Wu complained of the sand in his room,
(sand he brought in but never thought to sweep out). Wu invited himself to
dinner at the neighbour’s place. Wu told us his towels were smelly. Wu asked me
to change his bedding then complained to Prez I had let all the mosquitoes in
his room. Wu demanded to be taken to the airport an hour and a half before his
flight despite Prez’s insistence that twenty minutes is more than plenty for
tiny Aitutaki.

Wu left toenail clippings all
over the floor of his room, (you can imagine my horror, maaan). 

Two days ago, I received a
phone call from a woman who, in broken English, kept babbling on about coming
to stay with us, but she didn’t have reservations, and she didn’t want to make
reservations, and she wanted to be independent, and could I please give her the
number for the taxi; then she hung up on me mid-sentence. I told Prez we were
on Crazy Alert. She showed up with the taxi driver yesterday asking if we had
any rooms. We were booked solid. “For how long are you booked?” she
asked. “How long are you going to be on Aitutaki?” asked Prez. “One
week,” she answered. “Oh, rotten luck, we’re booked up for an entire
week!”

We’re learning. 

The writer in me wishes we
had hidden video cameras in all the huts. You know, whenever someone tells me
one of the characters I write is over the top, I feel like saying, “You need to
travel more.” And by travel, I don’t mean a week lounging at one of
those resorts that are custom designed to make suburban people feel they are
still in the suburbs, except with nicer weather, free drinks, and a buff, young
Latino blowing his whistle every half hour to get people to play pool
volleyball.

This resort is unique. This
isn’t Thailand, with $6-a-night rooms and a hostel full of drunken university
students on every corner. You need money to get here, and you need money to
stay here. To say Perfect Beach Resort is “budget” accommodation is a bit
misleading. We’re budget compared to the average resort charging $300 and up
per night. Just up the way from us is Super Swank Resort Inc.; their cheapest
room goes for $800 per night. And guess what? Our beach is nicer than theirs!
The kind of guests we attract are adventure travelers. They are engineers, doctors,
computer programmers, professional photographers, chefs, psychologists, etc.
They don’t come here because it’s a bargain; they come here because they are
adventurous and looking for an experience. Well, the ones who aren’t busy
talking to the chickens, that is.  

So, what I get here is a
constantly changing cast of characters, from all across the globe, to file away
in my mental rolodex. What more could a writer ask for?

(Air conditioning) 

QUESTION: Who is your most
memorable character from real life?

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

The Princess

Hello again from the Big Blue!

Several hours have passed and I am still awake – this is a good sign. My story concerns
a fish but I believe it begins with a rooster. However, I will start with the
fish and explain my theory about the rooster later on. My story begins on a
pleasant and productive Sunday… 

Sundays are the only day Air Rarotonga has no flights here, so Prez and I have decided
to make Sundays our “day off”. In the resort business, there really is no such
thing as a day off, as anyone reading this that’s ever worked as an
owner/manager will attest, but at least on Sundays there are no check outs, or
check ins, so we can plan on some time to relax. So, on this past Sunday, I
spent the morning and early afternoon finishing laundry, cleaning the Garden
Hut for the next day, cleaning our house, and tidying loose ends in the office.
After that I had several free hours to write while Prez worked on the website. It
was, overall, a lovely day.

Sometime around midday, Felipe & Jenny paid us a visit. They’re from Chile and were
staying at the resort next door for their honeymoon. Fred had taken them out
fishing twice and they were thrilled beyond belief. On this visit, they just
wanted to thank us again, and they brought over a filet for us from the fish they
said was their favorite of all the fish they’d caught. (*We thought it was a cabrilla,
or something similar. It looked identical to a cabrilla but we found out
later it was a Brown Cod.) We thanked them and decided to have it for dinner. 

Around 7pm, Prez said it was high time we ate something and he was going to cook up
the fish. I pried myself away from the computer…I wasn’t terribly hungry but
that doesn’t mean anything, I often forget to eat while I write. We ate the
fish and were surprised the Chileans had found this one their favorite – it was
good but a little chewy, and there were others that were much better. Near the
end of the dinner we heard a voice calling us. It was Felipe, we told him to
come in.

Felipe did not look well. “I came to tell you not to eat the fish,” he said.
Prez and I looked down at our empty plates. Uh oh. Too late. Then he explained
that shortly after lunch, he and his new wife had begun too feel ill. Within a
few hours, they were rushing to the toilet, and soon they were en route to the
hospital. The doctors told them they definitely had fish poisoning – Ciguatera.
There is no cure or treatment for Ciguatera, and so they were advised to take
their anti-diarrhea meds and return to the hospital if things got any worse.
Felipe said he’d come over to warn us as soon as he was well enough. 

Still, we held out hope. They had eaten three types of fish for lunch: Emperor, Red
Snapper, and the Brown Cod. The most likely culprit was the snapper, even the
doctor said so. We had only eaten the cod, maybe we’d be OK. Maybe. Felipe said
the sickness came on fast and that we’d know in a few hours if we had it. Talk
about a stressful night. Whether we had it or not, we felt terrible for giving
clients a bad fish.

For those who’ve never heard of it, let me tell you about Ciguatera. There
are tiny organisms called “dinoflagellates” that live in certain algae blooms.
Fish that eat this algae take the toxic organisms into their body, these fish
aren’t good for us to eat but the fish that eat the fish that eat the algae are
even worse, as they now have a much higher percentage of ciguarotxin in
their body. There is no way to tell if a fish has it or not, cooking or
freezing the fish will not get rid of it. Your only defense against getting
Ciguatera is to avoid eating fish that might have it. (Prez and I both know
this; we never eat any kind of Jacks, Barracuda, or large Grouper for just this
reason.)  

What are the effects of Ciguatera? Well, the first symptoms are much like your standard
food poisoning – nausea, diarrhea, vomiting – but then the neurological stuff
kicks in. More about that later.

So, there we were, watching the clock, waiting for any sign of the illness. Around
11pm we fell asleep, confident we’d had a very narrow escape. Around 2am I woke
up and ran to the toilet. Nope, no escape for us. The rest of the night was
spent running between bed and bathroom.  

By morning, the other symptoms began in earnest. Cold was now hot. If I put my
hands under cool water, it felt as if they were being burned. (That feeling has
not subsided – I use a dish towel to take things out of the fridge, now.) My
head was not just aching, I had the sensation that it was clamped in a vice and
someone was slowly squeezing it. My skin hurt, as if I had a minor sun burn on
every inch of me. My hands and feet were numb, then they would tingle, then
they’d itch. Drinking water was awful; it tasted funny and burned my mouth and
throat. Everything smelled and tasted weird. Perhaps the worst was the
“Squeezy-Squeezy” – my name for the waves of muscle pain that came over me,
like my body was wrapped in tensor bandages that someone kept pulling tighter
and tighter. In other ways, it felt like the flu: extreme fatigue, body aches,
headaches, etc.

Prez felt bad but bounced back pretty quickly. His biggest symptom was a feeling
like he had to “piss like a racehorse” but when he tried nothing would come
out.  

Monday morning was hell. We had three huts to turn over, two airport drop offs and one pick up. A zombie freshly woken from the dead would have had more energy than
us. I honestly don’t know how we did it, especially Prez; he did most of the
work. About 9am I sat down for a break and passed out.

I spent most of Monday either asleep or writhing and moaning on the bed. During my
waking moments, I tried to find ways to make myself feel better by playing a
little game called, “This would be worse if…” I would think things like, This
would be worse if…I was in a refugee camp in Africa, or This would be
worse if…I had young children to care for. I’m not sure why I play that
game, it never works. Usually, my mind starts wandering to “This would be better
if…” and then I start remembering the big fluffy bed I slept in at Miz Liz’s
place while I recovered from the flu last year, and BJ’s nice Chai tea that
would taste so good, and other impossibilities.  

Tuesday was not much better, though I did stay conscious long enough to do some office work.

Today, Wednesday, I have been fully awake since 8am (it is 1pm). And, as long as I am
lying down, I’m feeling OK. Walking to the bathroom and back is the equivalent
of doing the Ironman and I must close my eyes and rest after I do so. The
Squeezy-Squeezy has calmed down a bit, though the whole hot-cold thing has not.
I had a sort of sponge bath, with water heated by the kettle as our hot water
is solar powered and the sun has been absent for two days.  

Now here comes the really bummer part…

Since Felipe’s announcement on Sunday night, I have done extensive research on
Ciguatera. Across the board, doctors advise not to eat seafood for 4 to 12
months after you have been poisoned. No seafood, of any kind. Apparently, it
can trigger a relapse. Prez says he will only wait a couple of weeks but I know
how useless my immune system is, so I’ll be seafood-free for the next 6 months
at the very least, and after that I will be very careful about what type of
seafood I eat. Also, alcohol should be avoided for 3 to 6 months, as it can sometimes
trigger a relapse. No martinis???!! For 6 months??!! Good god, they’re the only
thing that keeps me sane here some days. Waaaaaaa!! 

So, I’m in a tropical paradise and I can’t eat fish or have a cocktail. How stupid is
that?

My research also uncovered a few more facts. First, ciguatera is found in many
more fish than what I believed. Along with Jacks, Barracuda, and grouper, you
can also get it from parrot fish, wrasse, snapper, emperors, Dorado (mahi
mahi), and basically any warm water fish. Tuna seem to be OK, (whew). Also,
ciguatera is on the rise thanks to world climate change. (Oh come on all you
doubters, give it up!). A warmer global climate means more toxic algae blooms,
which means more ciguatera. Yikes.  

The symptoms of Ciguatera usually last one to two weeks, sometimes for months, and
there have been a few, rare cases where they lasted up to twenty years. It all
depends on the amount of toxin in the fish, the amount consumed, and the
individual. Let me just say, I am so glad we only ate a small amount of
a small fish! There is no cure or treatment for this poison; you can only treat
the symptoms as best as possible. And it’s cumulative so, if you get it again,
it will be worse the second time.

And what does this have to do with a rooster? Good question. 

I don’t think I need to explain my dislike of roosters here. Prez frequently gets up in
the middle of the night to pelt the more boisterous ones with coconuts and
dreams of elaborate rooster traps to catch and kill them. So, when we were
driving to the video store on Friday night and a rooster was walking out on the
road we kind of pretended to swerve at it. The roosters here always turn and
run, (they are not well liked). They always turn and run. I’m not sure
why this one didn’t. Instead, he ran right towards us and…WHACK! WHUMP! SQUAWK!

I have never intentionally, (or, in this case, semi-intentionally), run over an animal
in my life. What a horrible feeling. And when we went back to have a look at
him, and while it was obvious this rooster was never going to crow again he was
still alive and we couldn’t let him suffer. Without a weapon at hand, we used
the next best thing – the car. Prez aimed for the head, I kept my hands firmly
over my eyes, and then there was a bump. “Is it over?” I asked, still
covering my eyes. “Yeah, he’s…what the…?!” Prez couldn’t believe it; the
rooster was still alive and had managed to drag himself off into the
bush.  

Oh man, this was some BAD karma. I told Prez at dinner that evening, “We just lost
about a thousand karma points with that rooster!”

And then, two days later, we were poisoned. You can tell me it was the fish but I
know the truth.  

The rooster did it.

QUESTION:
Have you ever known you were headed for a “karmic payback”?

Until next week, and hopefully under cheerier circumstances, I hope this finds you healthy,
happy & lovin life!

The
Princess (who has reformed her evil, rooster-killing ways)

p.s. – HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTHA!!! 

p.p.s. – Thanks so much for all the sympathy emails, they really helped!

Hello
again from the land of the Big Blue!

As I
began to type this Coconut Chronicle, I was dismayed to find my keyboard
covered in grit. Dismayed, but not surprised. For the past week or more
Aitutaki has been putting the “wet” in “wet season”.  We have seen storm after storm. Some days the
wind blew so hard you didn’t dare venture outside without one eye firmly
skyward to watch for falling coconuts. And, when it wasn’t raining, the wind
liked to kick sand in our faces…and in our house, and onto our laptops.  

The
tempest was not so bad for us – it kept the mozzies away, (mostly), and let us
sleep without sweating out 4lbs of water each night. And when the rain gave us
a break, it was exciting to sit on the beach, with the wind doing its best to
blow you away, and watch the massive waves crashing over the reef. For our
guests, however, it was not so fun. Prez did his best to lift soggy spirits. He
even played Scrabble, a first for him, I think. One dreary afternoon we rented
a DVD and set up the TV in the common area so everyone could watch a movie. I
even found some microwave popcorn, though we don’t have a microwave so I had to
scooter down to the grocery store and ask, pretty please, if I could use theirs
to pop it. And it was hard to hear the dialogue of the movie at times with the
wind howling, but I think the guests had fun

Today we
woke to silence and stillness and sunshine…ahhhhh. Right now every pillow is
hanging on the line drying out. In weather like we’ve had, everything gets damp
and nothing ever dries out completely. Going to bed at night is a bit like
sleeping on a damp towel. Ick.

Yes,
Mother Nature has been up to some tricks this week.  

One
morning, Prez came in and woke me up by saying, “A dead Sperm Whale washed
up in the lagoon”. Now, come one, I wasn’t born yesterday. There’s no way a
giant whale is going to get over that reef and into this shallow lagoon. No,
more likely, this was just Prez’s funny way of getting me out of bed. But, when
I walked, sleepy-faced, down to the beach, there it was, a full grown whale
about 300’ out, draped over a coral head, and, (to quote our friend Fred
Pirelli), “deader than hell”.

Soon,
the beach was jammed with people. Some folks paddled, cruised, and even swam
out to see the body, (and to cut out some ivory teeth). Not me. You can tell
the locals here are not used to dead whales because there were a score of
unhappy faces back on the beach later wondering how the heck they were going to
get the vomit-inducing smell off their bodies. And, of course, there was much
discussion about what to do about the poor dead creature. Leaving it out on the
coral was not an option, the minute the wind changed directions and the sun
came out that vomit-inducing smell would be all over the island, not to mention
the oil slick of decomposing flesh flowing out into the pristine lagoon. 

The
entire day was all about the whale. You’d think someone was giving out free
money from the number of scooters racing down the road to the beach. The local
Big Shot named himself head of the whale removal operation. He was going to get
some boats to bring the whale to shore, and then he would simply cart it off to
a big hole by the airport and dump it in. Easy peasy, right? Prez tried to,
gently, explain that the whale would probably weigh about 15 to 20 tons,
definitely stink, and it would probably be wiser to wait until high tide and
then tow it out of the lagoon and back to the open ocean. “We know what
we’re doing, we’ve done this before,” the man grunted. Don’t you just love
small town big shots?

They did
manage to get the rotting carcass to shore. But then they didn’t quite know
what to do with it. Eventually they used a piece of heavy machinery to chop the
whale into a more manageable size. And they did succeed in towing it away and dumping
it in the hole. Of course, this took considerably longer than any of the people
who’d “done this before” thought it would, and the area around where the body
had been smelled like death-reheated, for awhile.  

And now,
life has returned to normal. Though I can’t help wonder what’s going to happen
as the whale rots, slowly, over the next few years. Even in a covered hole, I
have my suspicions that there will be a nasty fragrance lingering around.   

But the
fun doesn’t stop there! One night I was awoken from a rather lovely sleep to a
scratchy-scritchy sound. I perked up immediately – I have heard that sound
before. A rat! It must be. As much as I dreaded it, I woke up Prez and told him
we had a rat in the bedroom. Lucky for me, the thing was still making the
sound, so Prez grabbed the flashlight and started looking. He looked and looked
but couldn’t see anything. “It sounds like it’s behind the TV stand,” I said.
And sure enough, Prez pulled back the stand, shone the flashlight in, and there
was the…crab?

It’s egg
laying time for the coconut crabs on the island. You can see them at night, all
over the road, making their way from the jungle to the beach. Well, this little
lady got side-tracked somehow and ended up in our bedroom. She was none too
happy about having a flashlight beam on her and took off as fast as she could,
which, on a linoleum floor, is really not all that fast.  

But
worse than the weather, the whale, and the wayward crab, was one of our latest
guests, who I refer to as “Crazy Guy”.

Our
guests, across the board, have been terrific, (even the ones who had to vacate
early J), so I suppose we were overdue
for a wingnut. Enter, Crazy Guy. Even before he arrived, I had a weird feeling
about this dude. He never emailed – all our guests email – and of the three
email addresses her gave me, none worked. His second phone call came at 2:00am.
And our phone conversations were a little “strange”. But, never one to be
prejudiced, I decided to give the guy a break. Hey, maybe he would be just a regular
guy. 

Or not.

Within
moments of meeting him, Crazy Guy told us all about his new business…except he
didn’t really…that is to say, his explanations explained nothing. “It’s a
new business, called U-Travel and it’s custom itineraries utilizing technology.”
Huh? What the technology was, or how it worked, or how the itineraries were
developed, or why, he never really could elaborate in any way that made sense.  

Then he
told us he was here to open a health retreat.

Then he
told us he was here to help the locals by bringing technology to them. 

Then he
told us he was on a mission from god.

Oh boy. 

He
wandered away when Prez was trying to give him the intro tour. Apparently he
walked into another hut, with guests in it, asking if this was where he was staying.
When we finally corralled him, he pounced on another set of guests and tried to
recruit them in his new business. Later he cornered the guests he walked in on
and, in the space of ten minutes, told them about his “technology”, how he had
tried to commit suicide, and how he’d had a vision from god and was now on a
mission.

Oh boy. 

Yesterday
morning Crazy Guy strolled into our kitchen and started using our sink to wash
out something. “Hey mate!’ called Prez. “That’s the common area out there; all
this here is our house, our private living area.” Crazy Guy seemed not
at all fazed by the fact that he was in someone else’s private space, finished
what he was doing, mumbled, “Sorry for the offense,” and ambled off to bother
someone else. Poor Prez has to take him on a Lagoon Cruise tomorrow. All day on
a boat with Crazy guy? Yeah, oh boy! At least there will be four other
people to share the misery. I have images of them feeding him to a giant clam.

Our
saving grace through all this was Roland and Ursula. They are from Austria and
on a round-the-world trip. They stayed for nine days and had lousy weather for
six of them, but they were so sweet. We had a ton of fun hanging out in the
common area and chatting about religion, politics, travel, our homelands, and,
of course, trading horror stories about Crazy Guy. When I get down about
things, people like Ursula and Roland, or Pam & Steve (guests from our
first week), seem to show up at just the right time to make me feel better and
remind me why we love doing this.  

To
update: Mr. Boss is no longer living with us but he’s on the property almost
every day tinkering with his various jalopies and messing up the workshop Prez
keeps trying to clean. At least we have our nights alone!

Oh, and
I wanted to mention to all the wonderful people who are sending me stuff on
Facebook, I can’t watch videos or look at pictures here. I really appreciate
that you think of me but we are on limited bandwith and it’s very
expensive, so please don’t send me anything unless it’s really important! Sorry.
Bummer. I know.

I have a
day off to write tomorrow and not a crazy person in sight…except my boss, I
guess. 

QUESTION:
Why me??

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

The
Princess 

p.s. – below are pics of our new boat, the whale watchers, the whale, and Ursula & Roland

Hello
again from the land of the Big Blue,

If food
has been on my mind a lot lately, it’s likely because it hasn’t been in my
stomach. A combination of unavailability, expense, and the heat diminishing my
appetite, has put me on an unexpected diet. And while I’m now looking smashing
in my new bikini, a few dizzy spells now and then are an unwelcome side-effect.

I must
say, however, being here has really opened my eyes about how often – back home
– I eat just to fill in gaps. Not physical gaps, more gaps of boredom or just
too much time on my hands. I rarely snack here. What would I snack on? There
are only so many luscious mangoes one can nibble in a day, and the more
traditional “snack” foods are less than appetizing. Apparently, there are three
flavours of potato chips here – plain, chicken, and onion – all of which taste
stale even when they’re fresh off the assembly line. Go figure. I’m working at
avoiding the deadly yet highly tempting loaves of freshly-baked white bread
found in every shop. Oh man, then they have to go and put cheese on
top…bastards!

Pam and
I are becoming well acquainted; in fact I’m eating her frozen stir-fry
vegetables right now. Pam makes everything: Pam’s Baked Beans, Pam’s Chicken,
Pam’s Cookies, Pam’s Pasta, Pam’s Dish Soap, Pam’s Jet Engine Fuel. Not sure
about that last one. I wonder if Pam makes “Pam”? (That’s a cooking spray for
my international readers.) Hmm. Pam’s only real competition is Wattie.
Sometimes I imagine Pam and Wattie as Mob bosses…

Pam: “Oi,
Wattie, I see you been selling baked beans with sausage in my neighbourhood.”

Wattie:
“Yeah, watcha gonna do about it, Pammie, old girl?”

Pam: “Don’t
cross me, Wattie. Or have you forgotten the dish soap incident?”

Wattie:
(Shivers involuntarily) “Fine, I’ll pull the baked beans out of Avurua, but
that’s all! You better watch your back Pam, some day you’re going to
slip up…and I’ll be right there, with my baked beans and sausage, waiting!”

Pam does
make some mighty fine cookies, though. You gotta give the old broad her due.
“Tim Tams” are my new, favorite, evening sweet tooth satisfier. The ice cream
here is surprisingly good and, not surprisingly, expensive.

Everything
is expensive. I’m slowly processing that fact. Sometimes you just have to shut
your common sense switch off and suck it up, though. The other day Prez and I
were at the Heineken store, (I have no idea what the actual name of this store
is but they have a sign out front with the Heineken logo on it, so now that has
become its name), and Prez saw a package of salami he wanted to buy. We both
knew the salami was going to hurt. “Don’t tell me how much this is,” he
said to the lady at the checkout. She promptly replied, “Fifteen dollars.”
Maybe it was my imagination, but I think I detected a note of glee in her voice
because she knew that we were going to buy it even if she said it was a hundred
and seventy dollars.

Speaking
of the Heineken store, yesterday I was scootering home from the post office
when my path was suddenly blocked by a glut of traffic. This is highly unusual
on an island with one road, populated mostly by scooters. So there I was,
trapped at the Heineken store, and lo and behold there was our little friend
waiting patiently at the ice cream counter. I’m not one for conspiracy
theories but…OK, no, it was a wedding going by and that’s why the road was
blocked. When Islanders get married, they exit the church and go for a drive
around the island. This bride and groom were riding on top of a large truck
with all their wedding party around them. In the truck behind that, there were
a load of drummers, and then several more cars in the procession behind them.
As the happy couple cruise the strip, people line the streets to give them
gifts. After this is done, the wedding party goes for a kind of wedding shower
where the bride presents the groom’s family with gifts – mostly linen. The
whole thing finishes off with a big reception and the groom’s family is
responsible for paying for that. If you ask me, the bride has the better end of
that deal…I’ve seen how Cook Islanders eat!

Prez and
I witnessed how Cook Islanders eat at the big Fishing Club event I mentioned
last week. Now, this is not an event tourists would attend, so it was our first
real glimpse into local culture. What a scream.

The
Fishing Club has a story of its own. It has been blown to smithereens, twice,
by cyclones. The members figured it was time for a sturdier structure so
they’ve started building a massive cement fortress. Remember how I said
everything is expensive here? Well, massive cement fortresses are no exception.
To pay for said fortress, the Club hosts events and holds raffles. Their first
attempt at a big raffle was not very successful as they realized, quite quickly,
they weren’t going to be able to sell enough tickets to cover the $50,000 prize
offered. Oops. They gave all the money back, which I’m sure was a mighty pain
in the behind.

The
grand prize for the event we attended was a scooter, (I didn’t win, darn), but
there were other prizes as well. Unfortunately, they still haven’t quite got
the raffle thing dialed. They sold tickets and had chips with numbers
corresponding to the tickets. The chips were to go into a bucket for the draw.
Of the 500 tickets printed, they only sold about 150, BUT they put all 500
chips into the bucket. Soooooooo, we had to sit through a lot of, “#0478…unsold
ticket. #0217…unsold ticket.” When they got to the 39” TV the announcer said,
“This draw is for a 39” TV, but the shop ran out of them so we have two 21” TVs
instead.” Of course, this triggered an endless stream of jokes from Prez and I,
“This draw is for a 1200 Harley Goldwing motorcycle, but the shop ran out so we
have twelve 100 Hondas instead!”

At least
the raffle was conducted under “Police Supervision”, and we know they never
cheat, so that’s something.

The food
was good though. (Yes, back to food). Dinner was a traditional umu kai
feast with roast pig and chicken. The food is cooked all day, below ground, by
hot rocks. They cover the food containers with heaps and heaps of banana leaves
and pull them off at the last minute. The guys pulling off the leaves shout all
kinds of stuff in Maori, which I think translates to: “Holy cow these leaves
are hot!”, “Ouch!!”, “Why didn’t our ancestors invent oven mitts?!”, “So much
for my hand-modeling career!!” and so on.

Prez
learned a valuable lesson at this dinner. When he got to the pork table he
pointed to a large piece, “That’s my piece!’ he told the (also large) man
serving it up. When it was my turn, I said, “Give me the one you think
is best”. Prez’s piece turned out to be 95% fat, while mine was almost all,
yummy, yummy, slow-cooked, white meat.

After
dinner, we were treated to an Island Night performance. The stage area was a
little squishy and the crowd less than enthusiastic. I guess the novelty has
long worn off for them. The dancers left the stage with only us and a few other
papaas, (outsiders), clapping, but they didn’t seem to care very much
and had their gear packed up in about 30 seconds. Oh, there was lots of
applause when it was time for the raffle, though…lots of applause.

Three
days ago we tried to go out and catch our own food…on our new boat!! Hooray!
Hooray! We now have a 21’ foot panga-style longboat to bomb around in. Prez
took three of our guests out yesterday for some hardcore snorkelling. The
guests continue to be fun. We had three single guys for awhile, (now that’s my
kind of resort!), One guy is from Scotland and we’ve quickly learned to just
smile and nod around him because we can’t understand a bloody word he says and
it’s getting embarrassing asking him to repeat things. Another gent is from
Pittsburgh but works as an engineer in the Antarctic – he LOVES it here. The
third bachelor, who just checked out this morning, is a French-Canadian who
tours with Cirque du Soliel, he was a real sweety. Today a couple from Austria
checked in, along with a couple from Kauai.

Last night
we met the three bachelors at “Puffy’s” for Island Night. This time around
there were a group of junior dancers performing. The highlight of the show was
when a jungle crab sauntered across the dancing area and latched onto a young
girl’s toe. I guess he’s as hungry as I am.

Well,
time for a snorkel and then some more quality time with Pam and her delicious
Tim-Tams. I hope all my American friends are enjoying Thanksgiving. Appreciate
your bounty!

I wonder
if Pam makes roast turkey?

QUESTION:
Who is “Pam”, really?

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

The
Princess

Hello again from the land of the Big Blue,

I’ve been thinking about choices this week – the choices we make, how they affect us, how they affect everyone else, and when a choice is really not a choice.  

We had a guest from London with us this week, (we’ve had several from London actually, love the accent!), and she was very, very nervous about snorkeling. In the lagoon, just out front of our place, she was somewhat calm. After all, the water is so darn shallow, if you ever start to panic you merely stand up and you’re usually only up to your waist. But she was going out on a lagoon cruise with Mr.Boss, her husband, and two other guests, and part of the tour goes outside the reef. She was certain she wouldn’t snorkel in the open water despite our insistence that she should just “try”, even a little, because she wouldn’t want to miss the eagle rays.

As it turned out, once outside the reef, she agreed to climb in the water and hang onto the swim ladder – that way she could put her face in the water and look but still feel safe. Then Mr.Boss talked her into swimming out just a bit, promising he would hold one of her hands and her husband would hold the other. She agreed. Eventually Mr.Boss let go of one hand, hubby let go of the other, and there she was, snorkelling, which she swore she’d never do. She saw the eagle rays. And she loved it.  

Good for her. She made a choice, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy, but her life is now richer because of it.

People often assume you can simply overcome a fear or dislike of something by just choosing to not be afraid, or not dislike, the thing in question. In the case of the Reluctant Snorkeller, this was true. I have a small fear of flying due to quite a traumatic plane experience I had years ago, my friend Martha can say the same about spiders, and my friend BJ can say the same about water; I doubt any of us could shed those fears simply by choosing not to be afraid. (Although this last flight I was able to shed my fear chemically – thanks again Doc!).  

And what about stuff we’re not afraid of but simply don’t like? My thing is finger and toe nails. (Not my own, mind you). If I see someone picking at, or grooming, their nails, (especially toenails – ick), my stomach churns, I have to turn my head and I literally feel ill. Prez is always chastising me for my nail issues. But then, he flees the room if a cat hacks up a hairball while I can pick them up with my bare hands and it doesn’t bother me. Now you’d think I would be able to talk myself out of my nail issue, and I’ve tried, believe me, but it ain’t happening. Why?

I think we aren’t able to choose some of our reactions because we have two brains. We have what I call our Spock brain – this is the part of our brain that says, “Don’t be illogical, there’s nothing dangerous or dirty about seeing someone clip their toenails” (I have a hard time even writing that). We also have what I call our Reptile brain – this is the part which screams, “Oooooooo gross! Run away! Toenails! Yuck!! Barf!!!” And as much as we know our Spock brain is correct, our Reptile brain has been around longer and it’s the boss of us. 

Now in the case of the Reluctant Snorkeller, I’m going to make a few assumptions. #1. She probably wasn’t terrified of snorkelling, she just wasn’t familiar with it so she was nervous. #2. She was highly motivated to get over her fear because her husband snorkels and she wanted to be with him. #3. She felt a high level of trust with Mr.Boss, and maybe after talking to us as well. Those are three powerful factors. If I really wanted to work at a spa, for example, I might have to force myself to get over my nail issues – there’s a reason I don’t work at a spa.

But what if the Reluctant Snorkeller had not broken through that wall? Well, I guess her hubby would have been a tad disappointed but that’s about all. Then what about the things that really do matter? Now I’m going to get all hypothetical on you. 

Let’s say I’ve always known way down, deep inside, that I was a Muslim. After years of trying to convince myself it wasn’t true, living a lie, the voice of Allah finally became too powerful and I had to confess my Muslim-ness to the world. A painful confession it would be, but how could I continue to live a lie? What a relief to finally be true to my heart, to don the hajib, forgo alcohol, say the prayers, celebrate the holidays, out in the open. Wouldn’t everyone be happy for me and my new life?

Some people would be OK with it, some might even be genuinely happy for me, but many of my loved ones would not be OK with it, and they’d either say so, or find reasons to keep their distance from me. My question is, knowing that my conversion to being a Muslim was something I could not control no matter how much I wanted to, was not a choice, in other words, what responsibility do the people around me have to support, or at least accept, my change? I mean, they could all just choose to accept me as I am, right? 

Or could they?

I suspect there would be many who would really want to accept me as a Muslim, who would want to be happy for me, but every time they saw me wrapped in a head scarf, or turn down a martini, or refuse to go swimming because I wouldn’t wear a bathing suit in public, or interrupt our conversation to go pray, their Reptile brain would scream, “This isn’t right!!!! Get out of here!!!” For some, just the thought of those things would be enough to find excuses to stay away from me.  

The idea of choice is good – to quote one of my old university professors, “We must believe in free will, we have no choice” – but the idea often falls apart in the real world.

And what does this have to do with paradise? Nothing, just some thoughts rattling around in the old bean. No, I’m not going to become a Muslim (not that there’s anything wrong with it). 

Um, paradise, yes, that’s where I was heading. Still hot, though we’ve had a few storms. I’ve launched an anti-mosquito campaign. In the morning, I hit my feet with DEET and try to avoid going outside until the sun is up, (usually not a problem the way I sleep in), and at 4pm I put on a pair of socks and a long sarong to cover my legs, (can you say “geek”?). So far, I’m getting good results – though someone went out and left the screen door open the other day and, consequently, I became Mozzie Chow. Sigh.

Mr.Boss, with many not-so-subtle suggestions from us, has decided to put off building another hut and put the money into a newer, better boat and hut upgrades. (Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!). He’s also planning on moving out in the next two weeks. (Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!).  

I’m losing weight without really trying. It’s called the “Food is damn expensive so don’t eat too much” diet.

Our high(er) speed internet has arrived! My inbox is finally getting cleared and I might even try uploading a picture or two to this Chronicle. (Ooooo, baby steps).  

I had a fairly unpleasant experience in the bathroom one night. There’s a big spider that lives in there, (sorry Martha), and I’m always careful to bring my book light in and look around for him – which I did on the night in question. Satisfied that there were no arachnids crawling around me, I sat down on the toilet and moments later felt something tickling my bum. I jumped up in time to see a rather large cockroach skitter away. Yeah, like I said, unpleasant.

Tonight we are off to a “do” at the fishing club. There’s going to be a show, and a raffle for a TV and a scooter, (I really want that scooter!). It should be an interesting night and I’ll tell you all about it…next week. 

QUESTION: What choices does your Reptile brain make?

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

The Princess

Photos shown below (from left to right) are: 1. Lagoon tour to the Maina atoll 2. A friendly islander 3. Prez cracking a coconut 4. Ladies our potluck dinner 5. Main street of Rarotonga

Hello
again from the Big Blue!

In case
you missed it in the newspaper, or on TV, the first Aitutaki Summit was
convened in the front area of our new house a few days ago. Delegates from
Canada, New Zealand, Germany, Japan, and the Cook Islands met to discuss and
solve the world’s problems. You’ll be happy to know the event was potluck,
which amounts to big savings for you – the taxpayer.  

The
summit was a rousing success. The following issues were discussed and
satisfactorily resolved:

1. Borat
was a very funny movie

2.
Over-fishing must stop

3. If
you don’t wear a helmet while riding a scooter you must learn to “tuck &
roll”

4. Jim
Carey is not as funny as he used to be

5. My
bruschetta is quite authentic even without the proper bread

6.
Companies which over-package products should be fined…heavily

7. What
is the deal with no alcohol on Sundays here? (That issue was resolved by 2
trips to the Heineken store, which will, in fact, sell booze on Sundays).

8.
Mosquitoes are stupid

9.
Coconut bras are nice looking but get itchy quickly

10. The
jury is still out on Mr.Bean – I think he’s funny but some stupid-head
delegates disagreed. 

Apart
from the lagoon, the best thing about Aitutaki is the people, both guests and
locals. We’ve met some really cool individuals already and have been offered
invites to both Germany & New Zealand. There’s just something about this
place that opens people up and makes them want to be friendly, (for the most
part anyway).

The
aforementioned potluck dinner was one of those moments. We talked and laughed
into the wee hours, (the “wee hours” being about 11pm here), and for one night
I forgot that I was covered in mosquito bites, sunburned, missing my kitty,
cursing dial-up internet, and generally frowny-faced about the state of our new
home. Yes, the ups and downs continue. Oh, by the way, the sunburn was entirely
my fault. It was one of those “up” moments when I went for a solo snorkel and
got carried away because it was so stupidly, fishily, awesome. My bum was on
fire for three days but it was worth it! 

If it
weren’t for the people here, though, I think there would be a lot more “down”. Pamela
and Steve from New Zealand had me in stitches for most of my first week here.
The four of us formed a bike gang, (well, a “scooter gang”, really), and our
cry of “Tigers!” struck fear into the hearts of the locals as we zoomed by.
(Perhaps “fear” is a bit of an exaggeration – “amusement” might be more
accurate.)

Prez and
I have traveled a fair bit and we’ve seen pretty much every level of friendliness.
Baja was the standard by which we judged every other place because we found the
people of Baja so kind and welcoming; but now it looks like we have to raise
the bar a little.  

A few
days ago, Prez hopped on our little scooter and decided to have a looksee
around the island. (I was hit by a minor flu bug and flopped out on the bed all
day). He came across a little bakery and started chatting with the owner. They
were just pulling the last batch of the day’s bread out of their enormous stone
oven and the owner showed Prez around the place, letting him snap photos and
ask questions. Then he grabbed a loaf of fresh bread, cut it open, slathered it
in butter, and invited Prez to join him in a little feast. He also picked some
mangoes and showed him how to eat them the Aitutaki way – you cut off just the
top of the mango and squish and squeeze until the mushy fruit comes out the hole.
Then he sent my hubby home with a big bag of bread and a load of fresh-picked
mangoes…on the house.

That’s
kind of how it is here. Mind you, we are outsiders, so we’re never going to be
accepted fully, but that’s something you come to accept as an expat. At least
the Cook Islanders are friendly and gracious toward us, unlike the residents of
another country – I won’t tell you the name but it starts with a “B” and ends
with “ahamas”. 

Last
week, we were invited to attend a tourism meeting as representatives of Perfect
Beach Resort. As we slapped away the hordes of mosquitoes draining us of blood,
a man and woman from the Ministry of Tourism Cook Islands did their spiel. They
spewed facts and figures, laid out the Ministry’s plan for 2008, and then
fielded questions from the audience. It seems the main gripe here is that
tourism has always focused on Rarotonga and the Aitutakians feel snubbed.

From our
view point, Prez and I thought that everyone was missing the point. You see,
the Ministry feels the best way to promote the island is to bring in travel
agents to see the place, and for Ministry members to travel around to trade
shows handing out pamphlets and CD roms. Hello? When’s the last time you
attended a travel show? The internet was given only a passing mention. How many
of you have either booked travel or researched a destination over the internet?
That’s what I thought. So, Prez is all hopped up about building a website for
Aitutaki. But first… 

He has
to build a website for the Aitutaki Conservation Trust, which we are now
somewhat unofficially a part of. I’ll explain.

Like
everywhere else, Aitutaki is a victim of over-fishing. There are many other
environmental stresses here – septic tanks that leach toxins into the soil (and
then into the lagoon), giant clam poaching, lack of recycling, invasive
species, etc. Sure there are reserve areas protected by law but when there’s no
one to call to enforce the law it’s meaningless. Enter Conservation Mike, (who
Prez bumped into out on the lagoon one day). He’s on a mission to protect the
lagoon, (hooray!), and he’s set up a trust to help achieve this. It’s still
early days and he’s only just planning his first meeting to get everyone’s
input and start forming a plan. I’ve read his proposal and it sounds doable. 

Anyway,
you’ll be hearing more about the ACT in the future, but it made me think of the
tourism meeting. After the meeting I questioned one of the Ministry reps about
what their commitment is to the environment. The answer, in a nutshell, was
“nothing”. I then pointed out that among their facts and figures was the fact
that the number one reason people travel to Aitutaki is for the lagoon. Lose
the lagoon and you’ll lose your tourists, I said, whereupon I was given a whole
bunch of excuses as to why the government is helpless to change things. Ah,
governmental shortsightedness…I feel like I’m back home in Canada!

So, it’s
Sunday and it’s stormy, which is fine by me because I went and burnt myself
again…stupid, stupid, stupid. I know I’ve rambled a bit but I think my point
was supposed to be that we’ll probably make some good friends here. And maybe
we won’t solve all the world’s problems but we might be able to help protect a
little lagoon in the great big Pacific Ocean. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

QUESTION:
Met any cool people in your travels?

Until
next week, (and hopefully on high speed), I hope this finds you healthy, happy
& lovin’ life!

The
Princess

Hello
again from the land of the Big Blue!

The
hardships I must endure to keep my life interesting so that all you Nutters
won’t get bored and trundle off to another blog, I’m telling you. Torture,
absolute torture. Oh, hold on just a minute, I have to wipe the mango juice off
my chin and move a little closer to the palm tree for some shade. There, that’s
better.  

OK,
let’s get serious now. I wish it were all mangoes and palm trees but it’s not.
It never is. That’s the difference between visiting paradise and working in it.
It’s been one week since we left, hard to believe considering all that we’ve
experienced. Shall we start with the good stuff? Very well.

Aitutaki
is amazing. I could pull out my thesaurus and bombard you with a hundred other
adjectives but I think “amazing” sums it up nicely. The spot we live is right
on a white, sandy beach, and not ten feet out from said beach is some of the
best snorkeling I’ve ever had. The water – oh, the water – is 47 shades
of blue and the perfect temperature for swimming. The island is ringed by a
coral reef, which means the water inside the reef, (the lagoon), is calm ninety
percent of the time. Imagine the lagoon is a high class nightclub and the coral
reef is the bouncer at the door. Outside the reef there’s all kinds of
commotion, lots of riff raff and troublemakers, big waves trying to stir things
up – the reef keeps all that out and everything is always peaceful. Aaaaahhhhhhh. 

Only
Costa Rica can compete with the fruit and veggies here. I usually avoid paw
paw (papaya) because it’s so musky tasting but the ones here are sweet,
almost like mangoes. And mango season is upon us; the trees are chocker-block
full of my little must-floss-afterwards friends. Two doors over from us is
Tauno’s place. He’s an old islander, (I’m guessing, in his sixties), who runs
an organic garden and café with his Austrian wife. Shopping there is less of a
chore, more of an experience. Old Tauno will guide you through his little
hodge-podge of herbs, fruits, and veggies, telling stories as he goes and
letting you pick your own stuff. The air is thick with smell of basil,
coriander, and rosemary. I bought two avocados yesterday that are roughly the
size of small footballs.

On
Tuesday Mr.Boss took five of us out on his outrigger canoe thingy for a lagoon
cruise. First we went outside the reef where we snorkeled with eagle rays in a
deep channel. Prez surprised five 50lb jacks; what a sight to see those massive
silver bodies charging through the crystal clear water! Next we went to the
reserve to visit the clams. Not just any clams, mind you; Giant Clams. At three
feet across minimum, these goliaths with their psychedelic, multi-coloured lips
were everywhere. Of course, Prez had to dive under and carefully tickle their
mouths to make them close. (Kids, do NOT try this at home). We snorkeled a few
more breathtaking coral heads then putted over to the Maina motu for
lunch. (A motu is like a tiny island and there are several around the
lagoon). Mr.Boss gave us a quick lesson on coconuts – which ones are for
drinking, which are for eating, how to open them, how to cut the meat, etc.  

We
nibbled on fresh coconut meat as we waited for our flying fish to cook. Our
beach party consisted of Prez & me, Mr. Boss, as well as three resort
guests: Adrian the Kiwi, and Andrea & Paul who are Vancouverites. Lunch was
a lovely introduction to some of the local fare. Taro root and sweet potatoes
are staples of the Cook Islands – I enjoyed the latter but found the taro kind
of chewy and bland. Ota was also on the menu, it’s a blend of banana,
coconut, and arrowroot, which comes in a sort of long, skinny tube, wrapped in
a banana leaf, (at least I think it’s a banana leaf). I tried the Ota
plain and fried – plain was OK, friend was very tasty. My favorite of all the
dishes was Riku – boiled taro leaf. Taro leaf can only be eaten boiled, well
boiled, otherwise it would be like eating glass. It doesn’t look so appealing,
sitting on your plate in a mushy green lump, but boy was it good!

There’s
lots more good stuff to talk about but I’ll wrap up with our Island Night at
Puffy’s restaurant and bar. Island Nights are the thing to do here. Generally
you pay a set fee for a Polynesian style buffet dinner and a show, (at Puffy’s
you can watch the show as long as you buy a drink). If you’ve ever been to a
Hawaiian luau, an Island Night is similar…but not really. There’s dancing, and
drums, and singing, but on Aitutaki it’s not a slick, professional affair
designed for tourists. The performers are all family, and you can tell by the
laughter and smiles that they really love what they’re doing. The dancing will
make your thighs and abs hurt just watching. The girls wear coconut bras and
cloth skirts with a ring of leaves at their waist – I have no idea how they get
those leaves to move so vigorously! However, I think the drumming and singing
steal the show. The singing is a mix between drunken brawl and church choir,
and it flips on a little switch deep inside your gut you probably don’t even know
you have. I dare anyone to walk away from an Island Night without a smile. 

And now
for the bad stuff…sorry, maybe I should have gotten this over with first?

Our
resort, which I’ll call “Perfect Beach”, is a bit…what’s the word? Ramshackle,
I think that sums it up. I mean, tons of guests love it; it is very Robinson
Crusoe. But there is work to be done, changes that need to be made, maintenance
long overdue. I wasn’t surprised by this, in fact I was expecting as much.
There are three huts here and one unit that is attached to our house. The huts
have little kitchenettes and outdoor showers. Unfortunately, because of the way
the septic field is laid out, the huts all share one toilet. Until yesterday,
the toilet room was not screened and this made the mozzies (mosquitoes) very
happy, and our guest’s exposed behinds very unhappy.  

Yes,
there are mozzies here. Prez doesn’t seem to notice them but I’m one of those
types that itch for weeks after being bitten. I can’t go out of the house
without a good dose of deet. Between the bug goop, waterproof sunscreen, and
sweat, I’m a sticky mess. Hopefully my body will adapt and I won’t feel like a
piece of human fly paper anymore.

Our
employer, Mr.Boss, is very nice and he is practically bending over backwards to
accommodate us. Unlike our Bahamas experience, we should have a fair amount of
autonomy here and be able to make most of the changes the guests seem to want.
Mostly it’s little things like better air flow to the huts and chairs on the
beach. So that’s all good. What’s not so good is that we’re living with Mr.Boss
until mid-December and, nice as he may be, living with a stranger, especially
your employer, in a very non-soundproof house, is awkward. Let’s just say there
won’t be much “Romance” until he leaves. Also, Mr.Boss has been solo on the
property for almost a year, (his wife and son have moved to Rarotonga and he
will join them there), so the house has been a little “neglected”. I admit, my
standards of cleanliness and organization are higher than, oh, ninety-eight
percent of the population but you shouldn’t have to pull lizards out of the
shower that have been dead for a week…am I crazy? After one week, I have our
bedroom and most of the kitchen at point where I can look at them without
shuddering. Tomorrow I will tackle the bathroom (shudder) and begin sorting out
the office.  

And no
high speed internet yet. Sigh. The Princess specifically demanded high speed
internet prior to arrival! (I’m stomping my feet and crossing my arms across my
chest right now). How can anyone run a business on 46 kbps??!??

Stuff is
crazy expensive here. I mean, I expected high prices, all remote islands have
to have everything shipped in and that’s costly, but this is ridiculous. A
medium-sized cooler is almost $200, a sheet of plywood is $108, a bottle of my
beloved gin $46, a plain old bucket is almost $20. Apparently this wasn’t
always so. But when “Survivor” came here to film, and bought or rented most of
the island, the locals saw a cash cow and jacked up all the prices sky high…and
they’ve never come down. Needless to say, we are very conservative with our
food. Not that there’s a huge selection in the grocery store here anyway,
(again, no surprise). But there is soy milk!  

No
writing group, no book store, no library, no surprise. But sad.

And then
there are the roosters. Crowing outside our window at 3am, boinking the poor hens in broad daylight, bastards! Must kill roosters. Must kill roosters. Must kill
roosters. Must kill… 

But hey,
time to turn my frown upside down. It’s Sunday. Nobody works on Sunday here. So
I have the day to write and read and swim and snorkel and sleep and eat and
dream of ADSL internet and pet the kitties and watch those fluffy white clouds
drift by in the breeze. Life is not so bad.

QUESTION:
Have you ever wished you could smile and frown at the same time?

p.s. Hi
Emily! I hope you’re being good for Grampa…but I doubt it.

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

The
Princess