Overtaking on the Left

The company driver, a Timorese man named Eustace is an hour and a half late to pick us up, the departure time was already put back several times that day so it’s nothing new. Its 10.30pm by the time he comes, I was originally told noon. I am being taken to Tuban, 100km from Surabaya which is where I’ll be teaching and living. Two of the office girls are coming along, I am not sure why since it’s a Friday night but I guess the boss told them to accompany me. My allusive boss Fera is the daughter in law of the company’s director Irawati, a spritely little Chinese lady who is appears very pleasant but I can tell she is a savvy businesswomen. She calls us native speakers or sometimes just speakers for short, like a commodity being traded around brokers. I guess our prices are low right now which is why nobody has bothered to even go over the contract with me, let alone give me my schedule. A week in and I feel that a trend of empty promises and being kept in the dark has only just begun.

Anyway we set off into the night and instantly I am wondering how this man could be a driver, because he clearly doesn’t understand how to use the clutch. The old jeep jars and bounces along the inadequate excuse for a highway, in the backseat we are kept in a constant state of jolting backwards and forwards, as he suddenly takes his foot from the accelerator and slams it back on. He drives maniacal like we are in downtown Baghdad and it would be dangerous to slow down or even halt for a minute. Over taking lanes are nonexistent here but that doesn’t stop him passing the large and numerous ambling petrochemical trucks, if there’s oncoming traffic that’s no problem he’ll use the left shoulder instead, that space in the road never intended for overtaking but it is possible here, leave enough room and cars and motorcycles sneak past at any opportunity. I think that’s a good euphemism for Indonesians, overtaking on the left, everything is done the way I never expect they sneak past your blind spot without any confrontation. I am sure the company are by passing me now with longer work hours I didn’t expect.

We stop at a roadside shop, an open air convenience store/cafe/the owner’s house. I jump out to have a smoke, the driver invites me to sits down, he says he is having coffee because he needs to stay awake. That’s a good idea I tell him, hoping the coffee is strong. The glass must be too hot because he pours the coffee from the glass into the saucer and drinks it that way. Berapa jam ke Tuban? How far is it to Tuban? I use the opportunity to practice a new phrase. He answers in English, its 3 hours to Tuban. Great, I say but he doesn’t catch my sarcasm. Fera had told me it was only 1 to 2 hours away, once again I’ve been passed on the left.

As we continue along the highway there is a constant stream of trucks moving all sorts of goods, the north coast of Java is rich in agriculture as well and minerals and natural gas. The tired drivers must amble all through the night on these terrible roads moving at snail’s pace to wherever be their destination. Its 1am by the time we arrive, he made pretty good time, but I shudder to think how long the drive will take on a Friday after work without a maniac driver.

This is my life

FACT: The average life expenctancy in Australia for a female is 83.6 years, that means I have about 57 years left.

You know considering I want to LIVE on every continent in the world, learn how to PLAY Karma Police on the guitar, SPEAK another language fluently, CLIMB Kilamanjaro, learn to like vegetables, get over my fear of the ocean, live in the moment, fall in love like really in LOVE, read more Tolstoy because his stories are ART, WRITE a book and get it published, take more pictures because pictures of adventures with friends is JOY simple as that, learn how to slice in tennis, RELAX and not stress about my career, create my own business that provides FAIR TRADE to disadvantaged communities, live socially and environmentally responsible because PEOPLE and the ENVIRONMENT MATTER, read Adam Smiths A Wealth of Nations, meet PJ O’Rourke and tell him that his words and wit are one of a kind, be a part of my family and cherish their kindness more, build and strengthen relationships with people with I love because YOU guys are EVERYTHING to me, smile everyday to everyone, go scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, talk, converse, laugh, cry, joke, debate, with good friends and good wine and beer because the best part of life is people and the connections you create with them….. and much, much, much more

In that case I better get living

How not to send a package abroad in India

Go to the post office with less than 2 hours time to wait around

Go to the post office thinking they sell boxes and envelopes

Finally jump through all the bureaucratic hoops which include having the parcel wrapped and sewn in cloth from a dude down an alleyway

Then go back to the post office while everyone went on lunch break so you no longer have time to wait around because you must catch a train

Go to a post office in another city thinking they have the same protocol of sewing cloth on the package. Turns out they don’t and refuse to send without seeing inside first. Walk out cursing India’s postal system.

Finally leave the country with package it’s probably easier to carry it home anyway

India on Monday

So I am absolutely crapping my pants right now. I have never been so scared about going to another country before. I been reading up at the website India Mike, and all the stories of the hassles the touts, the freakouts, the bizarro things people will do to get a buck, its all too much. Just reading the accounts of First time arrival experiences is enough to make anyone’s stomach churn and knees wobble.

If no one heres from me next week please send help

Reasons why you will hate me

I have now reluctantly resolved to the fact that I will not be leaving Korea for Christmas or New Years. Its seems the gods of budget airlines are not shining down on the land of the “mourning” calm right now.  Therefore I will be slowly deteriorating into a state of insane desperation for just a little piece flexibility and freedom. If you don’t hear from me in January you will probably find me Soju bottle in hand, kim chi seeping through my pores, walking barefoot with an empty stare. Reminiscing the hip city life I once led in far away land with nice weather, oh how my laissez-faire days seem so distant.

Me after 6 months in Korea

A collection of various thoughts for a Friday

Reasons  why I need to get a new job – No. 138

Ways my highly professional and charismatic Principal likes to address me – “Hey YOU” and “Breeeeennda”

(Brenda was my unfortunate predecessor who lasted 9 months, she was also blonde and American, I’m not sure if he just confuses me for her?! How he could do that is beyond me or thinks that everyone not Korean  is called Brenda, and looks at us all kinda like the way we see  meerkats)

*sigh* Only 10 weeks or 70 days till I hit the 6 month mark

I do love me a smart guy in glasses who is also charmingly witty and a slight disturbance  to society, subject for the day Julian Morrow

Walking on Eggshells

South Korea is like having a weekend long sleepover at your really religious friend’s house. You know the ones and the family is so conservative you feel like you can’t relax, you always have to watch what you say so as not to offend, and always be on your best behavior. Time goes slow and feels drudgingly long.

Fun comes in the most wholesome of forms such as watching G rated movies in a spotlessly clean living room. Conversation is also strictly G rated, the safe topics being sports, pets, and school, and no one that would dare utter anything worse than a “fudge” or a “oh plum”. If you hear someone yell Jesus Christ, it’s because they mean it in a good way.

Then there’s the 9 o’clock bed time even if you’re not tired. By the last day you are literally antsing to get home, where the first thing you do is take off your good clothes and sprawl out on the couch.

Except this isn’t a weekend its going to last for a year….that reminds me, where did I put my Vicodin?

Who on earth is reading my blog? My apologies because I have writers block

I seem to have a steady flow of people reading my blog for the last month, I am not sure who you are cause no one leaves me  a comment. No need to be shy now kids.

But my apologies because I feel like I have got writers block since I have been  here. Stemming from the fact that I have not been paying attention to current affairs and therefore have no material to write about. I am still struggling to think of a fabulously witty slogan to put on the back of  a wicked camper van.

But to my new readers I hope you do not become bored, I have plenty of past ramblings to keep you entertained until I regain soberness. And we can continue to get to know each other every day in a fashion that is both friendly and yet full of sexual promise.

Latham vs ADF

I have been quite surprised at the reaction to Mark Latham’s latest vitriol on the about Australian Defense Force, which is by the way a topic that provides a plethora of material to condemn. In a way that suggests Latham is trying to take the title of media slut back from the chk chk boom girl he says “One of the habits of our national life is to glorify all aspects of the military, I have always assumed this gushing, out-of-proportion praise could only come from those who have never met our soldiers and experienced first-hand their limited intelligence and primeval interests in life.”

Not to go all unpatriotic, but I am with Latham on this, whilst he could have said it in a more polite way. He would have not garnered as much press, falling short of the desired outcome. Besides we would have missed out on the lovely phrase “primeval interests”, conjuring images of Flintstone era men. But why has the whole nation gone into this tut tut crowd of how dare he?

People, are you choosing to forget that each year we get some story of ADF blokes getting themselves into a drunken stupor and usually either, A do something racist , or B do something sexist. The shenanigans of our soldiers are only outdone by that of the NRL football douches.

We will probably never be free of war precisely because too much of our world is populated with those with primeval interests, to blow shit up and shoot at people.  That being said, Latham may want to think twice before labeling man mountains with AK’s as meatheads.

Hervey Bay The Happiest Place in Australia!

So whilst I’ve been in limbo for the past few months I have spent quite a bit of time back in the good old Fraser Coast.

For so many years I hated this place with a passion, but recent months have softened my opinion on the place especially after years of city living. Also the knowledge that I will never ever be subjected to mind numbing mediocrity by living here again really helps the matter. So for a temporary spot to find my feet it has been good to me this time around.

For those of you with a life outside of Hervey Bay you may not know that in a country wide survey, Hervey Bay was found to be the happiest place in Australia ( its true they even did a 60 minutes piece on it). No doubt it is because the great majority of the population are retired and do nothing  but fish, play golf, fish, drive really slow and did I mention they fish. Needless to say life is not stressed when that is your day! Perhaps they are also the majority of people that have time to fill out a twerpy happiness survey. Though if you happen to fall short of being in your twilight years the place can be really boring and unstimulating for a long period of time.

But the reason I have dedicated this post to Hervey Bay, is because the past week after a really draining time moving out of my Brisbane house, I have been in fast pursuit to completely indulge in some much needed hedonism. Thereby sunning myself on the beach while reading, going for a swim and eating at quintessential beach cafes on the esplanade. The strange thing is that my only other company are not fellow past locals in between jobs and waiting for their next chapter in life to begin, like me. But its mostly foreign backpackers, tourists and a spattering of retirees that share the my current sun and beach ambitions.

Strangely this mix makes the place feel completely different, it doesn’t even feel like Hervey Bay anymore! There is not  a teenage single mum in sight, no motorised chairs carting about white heads, no overweight yobos discussing the weeks football. I have somehow managed to slip over the invisible line into being a tourist and I like it,

This got me thinking about how the outsiders view the place and I stumbled upon the following fantastic opinions from LP Thorn Tree and must share.

Hervey Bay is full of traffic, and retirees, and is known as God’s Waiting Room

This is my favourite, some poor soul asked the question should I live in Hervey bay, and got this.

Are you nearly dead? If so yes, Hervey bay, is the retirement capital of Australia (and the only town in the country with a dedicated track for motorised wheelchairs). lol

Though I must admit I have been greatly enjoying the beach, the water is so still and clear its like the biggest swimming pool you will ever see ( just try not to think about sharks). And in the handful of other midday patrons sunning themselves there are a  few lust worthy young travellers to keep things interesting!