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Perth: Can we Live here?

SarahAlderson

August 4, 2010

Yes. I could live in Perth.

If the apocolypse was looming / and or I just been told I had six months to live. Or if the people whose house we’re staying in wanted to maybe say give us their house to live in. Because it is rather stupendously lovely.

Perth reminds me of that scene in Beaches where the dark haired woman who isn’t Bette Middler is dying. I keep expecting to hear John singing that I’m his hero and everything he wishes he could be (I’ll keep waiting on that). It is beautiful and peaceful and sedate. It’s the kind of place where you could sit on a veranda in the sunshine and listen to the Kookaburras all day and not do anything . And be perfectly, serenely happy. If I had to wait for death to claim me I would do it here. For sure.

Here are my other fascinating observations on Perth:

You could play What’s the time Mr. Wolf on the freeway blindfolded and not get hit by a car.
You get called a lot of things. Like Champ, darling, sweetheart, love, beauty, you beauty, darling and mate. It’s quite nice.
It is exceedingly expensive. I’m sure it wasn’t this expensive when I was 18 because I managed to enjoy myself quite a lot back then (ahhh Nimbin. Mr. Morgan if you happen to be reading, remember that?) But now it is the equivalent of eight quid for the cheapest bottle of wine and five quid for a bottle of Garnier Fructis. And I am not resorting to drinking shampoo as a cheaper alternative – that’s what meths are for.
Fashion seems to have entered a strange vortex here. Ripped jeans, mullets, sequinned tops, singlet vests over tight t-shirts, knee high stiletto boots with silver buckles (maybe she was Russian though – I couldn’t tell) everywhere I look. But if the apocolypse was looming I might not care about what I was wearing. Maybe. Though probably that is not true.
There are drive through liquor stores here called bottle shops. I mean why have we not thought of that in Europe?

So goodbye Perth, see you again, I hope. Or not, as the case may be.

Being Sarah Alderson

SarahAlderson

4 comments

August 2, 2010

I kept telling people that the one thing I wanted to bring back to Bali was my recipe books. That I really, really missed cooking. That I was going to excess baggage my way back to Indonesia with a suitcase filled with garlic presses, creuset pans, working can openers, my juicer and even a few cake tins. Except we get to Australia, to a house stocked with non stick pans and sparkling counter tops, with philippe starcke lemon squeezers and silver cheese slicers, with an oven, and a coffee grinder and six types of olive oil and a larder of delicacies and Jamie Oliver recipe books and you know what?

I cannot be arsed to cook.

Can’t even manage to melt chocolate in the microwave in a feeble attempt at dessert. I put it on for 20 seconds and forgot about it. Came back half an hour later and put it on for a minute. Came back when I smelt it burning. Gave up. Ate the strawberries as god intended.

Have had to hide the bowl with the burnt chocolate on it until I can figure a way of drilling it off.

I would argue that after dealing with ant infested kitchens for six months (we are talking so ant infested that you’d come downstairs in the morning and find a line of them walking off with the s-bend), I’ve lost interest in kitchens and cooking. But I think it goes deeper than that. I think that’s just an excuse I made up to cover up the fact that really I’ve lost any kind of interest in the domestic.

Tonight I watched our lovely host wash up. She looked at me standing there and said, ‘The tea towel’s over there on the side.’

I stared at her confused for full on ten seconds wondering why she was telling me this. My hands weren’t wet. I didn’t need to dry them.

‘I think you’ve gotten too used to having help,’ she laughed when I finally twigged that it was being suggested I dry the dishes. It is true. I have not washed or dried dishes in a very, very long time.

I then went into the bedroom. It’s rather messy. My excuse for this one is that we’ve been living out of a bag for six months and moving every few days so what is the point of unpacking? And if you do, Lula just comes and takes everything and rearranges it anyway into little shrines around the house. Best off keeping it in the bag. Or at least piled on top or around the bag.

‘You’re so messy,’ John said to me.

‘Oh my god,’ I replied, ‘what are you saying? Are you saying [pause for indignation] I’ve become a slob?’

John didn’t answer – kept his back to me.

‘Oh my god.’ I tried to sound appalled and outraged. But oh my god. He is right.

And there is no excuse. Except maybe to say ‘But my hand hurts. I can’t pick anything up.’

But we all know that’s an excuse because I can still manage to pick up my glass of wine. And lift that tub of ice cream out of the freezer.

So there we have it. I am a slob. This is making me wonder what use I am to the world. I am too scared to voice this outloud though in case John doesn’t answer and keeps his back to me.

Wanting

SarahAlderson

1 comment

August 2, 2010

The thing about being back in ‘civilisation’ is that it’s quite stressful. The capitalist gene kicks in and everywhere I look I see things I want to buy. Ok, not everywhere I look. When I look in the clothes shops the communist gene kicks back in. But everywhere else I see things I want to own, consume – pork belly, ludicrously priced organic skincare, a house with gables and a veranda.

It makes me stressed. So stressed that I can’t breathe properly. It makes me think about money. And the fact I am unemployed with only my book advance to sustain me until John manages to woo Singapore’s design companies into employing his genius. Wanting things is stressful.

In Bali and India there was little to want and what I did want I could generally afford – partly because back then my bank balance was still flush – a nanny? Check. A tuk tuk driver? Check. Tailor made clothes? Check. Ribs every night? Check.

There’s a lesson here in wanting. It’s certainly true that I was happier in Bali. But was that because I wanted less or because I got what I wanted (barring wine)? The Buddhists are right whichever way you look at it -wanting things is the root cause of unhappiness.

I gotta figure out a solution to that one.

Acclimitisation

SarahAlderson

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July 31, 2010

This is what 11 degrees feels like. I’m not a one for the cold. It is one of the prime reasons we left the UK. Re-entering climes of less than 30 degrees sent my body into the type of violent shock usually witnessed in car crash victims. My teeth almost shattered. The muscles in my shoulders locked from all the spasming. Luckily the house we are staying in, apart from being on the nicest street in the nicest part of Perth, has a bed with two quilts and an electric blanket. I feel like a hunk of cheddar lying under a grill when I sleep.

John’s response was to say ‘yeah, the cold. So over it.’

Lula’s acclimitisation has been somewhat different. For starters she tried to climb into the car through the front seat (after two months of jeep living). Then she stared at the child seat like it was an alien. When prodded to sit on it she freaked out at the seatbelt. In Bali we are not used to such safety measures. There are only two safety rules to the road there – own a four wheel drive and wear a bra.

Another big difference – the silence. At night. It’s silent. I miss the roar of cicadas and the howling of cockerels and the incessant barking of rabid dogs.

We are all however acclimitising nicely to the food. Yesterday I went shopping and ended up having a Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment outside the butchers. Then later a Harry met Sally moment over the wine. The wine. The wine. How I have missed you. An emotional reunion that began over the pacific (I almost asked the Qantas cabin crew to just park the drinks trolley next to our seats to save them bother) continues indefinitely. It’s like a honeymoon with Shiraz.

10 Free things to do at Changi. That don’t get you high.

SarahAlderson

1 comment

July 28, 2010

I’m hanging out at Singapore’s number one visitor attraction. The airport. Last time we were here I ruminated on why it was the number one visitor attraction and came to the conclusion it was because Sing Sing sucks so hard everyone’s rushing to Changi to catch the first flight out. Either there or to the lion enclosure at the number two visitor attraction – the zoo.

I’m here for 8 hours. On my own. With an overtired child who won’t walk and who has taken to crawling along the travelators. At one point she refused to budge from her prostrate position spreadeagled on the carpet tiles. Would have been ok but we were at the head of the security line. Even a man with a big gun couldn’t get her off the floor. She wouldn’t stop screaming even when his friend with a bigger gun joined in and the queue behind started tutting.

There would be shame but shame and I long ago parted company. Sometime in India I think it was. Or perhaps before then. I forget.

Anyway now she lies prostrate before Spongebob squarepants where I have deposited her. Japanese tourists keep stopping to pap her – I’ve given up trying to stop them but maybe I should charge them. Because here I am surrounded by the kind of shops that make you want to lick the displays and writhe naked on the counter tops before scaling the pyramids of Absolut bottles. And I can do no more than stand before them, longingly, achingly. Until Alula screams at me to get moving. Because the ATM still says NO.

I am starting to hate the ATM machine.

Being here is like standing before a naked and willing Askars and not being able to move or nod yes please. It’s like being dead and watching everyone get drunk and high at my own wake.

However, being a resiliant and resourceful kind of girl I have tried to see what kicks I can get for free. Apparently economising is in vogue (urgh). Here is my list of free things to do at Changi. (in case you ever happen to be at Changi with 8 hours to spare and find the ATM is no longer your friend).

1. Free internet

2. Free massage chairs

3. Free perusal of Grazia magazine

4. Free perfume squirts (Lula and I now smell respectively of eau de Barbie and a brothel)

5. Free SKII slatherings of $389 moisturiser, liberally applied six times. Do I want to buy that? Er, no lady. Why would I want to buy it when I can slather it on for free and not have to worry about remortgaging to buy another jar? Dur.

6. Free Elizabeth Arden 8 hour cream (see above)

7. Free lesson in gun control / toddler control from security.

8. Free Fox’s Glacier mints stolen from immigration

9. Free pen also stolen from immigration (take that Singapore – what you gonna do? Jail me for ten years?)

10…

Oh who am I kidding? It sucks. Free stuff doesn’t get you high. There’s a mac store just ten metres away and gleaming things called Mac Book Pros are calling to me like Sirens and the best bit is I have no idea what $1691 means in English. Could be twelve quid. Could be five. But I must own one. I MUST.

ou est le husband and his plastic?

How much money does it take to travel around the world?

SarahAlderson

no comments

July 27, 2010

So it turns out there is a point when the ATM decides to say NO.

Or in my case

NO. NOW BACK THE HELL AWAY FROM THE TERMINAL, TURN AROUND AND GET OUT.

Could be that withdrawing thousands of dollars worth of rupiah (which runs into the billions so high that I can’t even count it without getting vertigo) over the course of 5 days is not such a wise thing to do before checking your bank balance. The little minus sign next to the big number. That apparently means something.

Then John goes and hops off to Singapore taking his plastic with him and leaving me with a stinking jeep which now ain’t getting a clean, a small child who is going to be dining on fruit mentos tonight, 2 episodes of Man Men till the end (hmmm what would Joanie do?) and not enough cash it would turn out to pay for the taxi to the airport, the exit visas, the small issue of our rent and our return visas (and if I don’t pay that one I don’t get our passports back).

It’s time for a glass or five of wine whilst I reflect but oh, I forgot, wine here costs $20 and I HAVE NO DOLLARS. I have no money.

There you go. That’s how long it takes to travel the world before going broke. 6 months and 9 days.

And to think planning used to be my forte.

One time in Greece when I was about 20, I ran out of money on my last day. I called my dad reverse charges and begged him to wire me some so that I didn’t have to sleep on the streets of Athens and prostitute my way back home. He told me he was busy in a meeting and hung up.

So the path to daddy is closed. I’m going to have to man up and figure this one out all by myself.

Excessive use of the word dude

SarahAlderson

4 comments

July 23, 2010

For those of you who don’t know me so well, I use the word ‘dude’ quite a lot. I use it occasionally as a term of endearment as in ‘hey dude’ meaning ‘hello my friend’ but more often I use it in lieu of the words ‘for fuck’s sake’

I figure that by using the camaraderie of the d word no one will be able to haul me up on the subtext and punch me. Examples:

‘dude, you just cut me up’

‘dude where are the keys?’

‘dude where have you been? I’ve been waiting in a hot car with a screaming child for hours.’

The funny thing is that until now I never figured what the subtext was. It took an episode with our friend Jay to realise. He and Natasha, parents of Lula’s crush Egg and her nemesis/conspiritor Noah (it’s like baby vampire diaries watching them all together) have just moved into a stunning jungle top house perched over the champuan river, complete with maid and cook. But no pool. Which is why we decided to go swim in the river. I’m thinking all natural essences and run off to don my bikini and grab my shampoo bottle. I flip flop my way down the slope with Jay.

The first dude occurs within 60 seconds.

‘Dude where are we going?’ I say.

‘Just down here’ Jay says.

I frown at the tangled undergrowth and follow after him. A flip flop gets sucked into the abyss. My foot is covered in slime and coated in mosquitos. I am Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone.

‘Dude, where’s the path?’ I yell surveying the sodden, dank ground – haven for cobras and pythons. My heart rate is upping frantically. A friend’s daughter got bitten four times by a python not two weeks ago, very near to here.

‘I’ll go ahead and see if we can get down,’ Jay shouts over to me and off he goes, leaving me with just my panic and the mosquitos for company.

A minute later he calls to me that he has found a way down. I take a breath. He is not my husband so I cannot go hysterical. I cannot swear or yell or turn back. No I have to act all Nancy Drew about it. I follow until I reach him and when I do I look around at the foot deep undergrowth and the twenty foot drop to the brown, churning river below and then I look back at Jay and say, yeah you guessed it, ‘Dude, where is the path?’

Jay hacks a way down and I slip and slide after him until I come to rest on a rock overhanging the muddy rapids. Acollection of rubbish has dammed the river in front of us.

‘So you coming for a swim then?’ Jay asks.

I look at him carefully, ‘Dude, you have got to be kidding.’

postcards from the edge part deux

SarahAlderson

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July 21, 2010

Today a lady called Bobbi hammered my hand, arm and neck with a chinese instrument of torture, involving six sharpened needles and a whole lotta pain. Now it looks like this.

this is after she wiped the blood off

looks like John got a little hungry? Nah. that's from a hammer. Does it work? Don't yet know. It hurts. It bled.

The day my arm stopped working (strained ligaments from all the atm withdrawals) my keyboard also stopped working. Universe trying to tell me something? Anyway, the acupuncture seems to be working.

But typing one handed bores me. So here in photo form is our day yesterday…be prepared.

recognise this place? that's right. M&S. Sans Percy Pigs however. And for some reason selling woolen snoods. Just what I need. The underwear was also $50 a pack so I guess I'm commando for a few more weeks. So to vent, I let Lula run around in a pair of high heels. Actually I didn't let her. She helped herself.

busted by security outside the shop of top. I know I went all righteous following India and vowed not to shop there again blah blah convictions wane you know...

How cute is this little number? I was going to have a J Crew style one made up for me but then I saw this for 15 dollars and thought I'd give my tailor some time off. but my boobs have shrunk to such a state of nothingness I need to get it taken in. so back to the tailor's today (I have another Missoni dress being made up shhhh don't tell John). but this is why I'm looking like I'm about to do the chicken dance. I'm holding it to avoid giving you a page three experience. A microscopic page 3 experience.

All my lovely new clothes. and a my little pony for lula. because the world needs more purple plastic. and I needed silence. Thank you Centro Mall.

Lula rockin her new t-shirt. I made her take off the matching shorts. She still doesn't get co-ordinating. Instead I clashed her with her green batik shorts and red fake crocs. Pure class. I then accessorized with two flowers and a ceramic tiger which I feel adds a certain je ne sais quois to the outfit. I should style for vogue. undoubtedly.

I totally needed pyjamas too. It's getting cool at night, lately dropping below 25. And here I am running in our garden away from all the ants.

oh and I almost forgot. Today we bought this too. The view I mean. This is the view from the balcony of our house in Ubud. We will be decorating with a few ceramic tigers and then renting it out to holidaymakers in search of Javier Bardem come 2011. Come stay for free before then. Did I mention the pool? And when I say free I mean 2 bottles of duty free vodka and some percy pigs is the rental for one week.