OUR FIRST HOME

Dearest Friends,

Lounging in our back yard.

Life at Anyer Beach was a huge step up from the Pula Rita, yet still a far cry from the Singapore Hilton.  Each of those little beach bungalows you saw was a duplex, so we got half of one.  All the furniture was rattan, and there was just enough room for a double bed, a small armoire, a dresser, and a wee little fridge.  They were tight quarters, which grew tighter by the week, but at least it was just the two of us.  Imagine what it was like for those who had brought a kid or two along!  The best thing about our new home was the small porch nestled under that curved overhang.  It was a great place to curl up with a book, to entertain, to find some space from one another, or to share a breathtaking sunset.  We could sit there for hours, mesmerized by the rhythm of the waves.  The most thrilling time to be there was when a storm was brewing out over the ocean.  Soon as we heard the first rumblings of thunder, we’d wordlessly drop what we were doing, and head out to watch the show.

Our bathroom/kitchen/darkroom.

Officially, we weren’t supposed to cook in our rooms, but most everyone chose to ignore that rule.  The resort did have a restaurant, but the menu was rather limited and would have grown very old, very fast.  We saved it for special occasions, like the time they threw a luau-like shindig out by the pool, centered around a roast suckling pig with apple-stuffed mouth.  The rest of the time I made do with the electric frying pan and small toaster oven that we had received as wedding gifts, both of which had to be plugged into a big black transformer that sat in the corner of our room.  We had left most of our gifts packed up at my parents’ house, but a couple of months before the wedding John sent word that I was to pull together a small shipment consisting of whatever I thought we would need to get by for a year in a furnished apartment, should we ever get one.  Then he added, “But don’t go overboard.  B&R will only pay for so many pounds.”  I, of course, had no freaking clue what we would need, never having seen the place, and only ever having lived at home with my family, or in a dorm. 

P.S.  Know what's really funny about that picture of John washing up?  We must have sent this one home to the parents, because I wrote a note to them on the back which read "He's only posing - I don't really make him do dishes!"  Obviously I wasn't quite as "liberated" as I thought. Maybe I felt the need to compensate for the imbalance in our financial contributions --  a sign of what was to come, perhaps?