LAKE MANINJAU, SEEN THROUGH NEW EYES

To market, to market...

Dearest Friends,

Here is what I love most about blogging: it allows you to enjoy one adventure over and over again, each time with new eyes! Take this trip to W. Sumatra. Tucked into the pile of photos I have from this trip were many of a large lake -- a lake I don't much recall.

I remember this photo. This was one of the more "rustic" hotels we stayed in on this trip, and, hard as that was to believe, I remember everyone charging into our room wanting to see it, because it was so much more luxurious than the others! Perhaps we got the bridal suite? That, however, is just about all I remember of this leg of the journey -- nothing about the lake, not even its name. So, I had to do some research. I am now fairly certain this must be Lake Maninjau, the largest in the area.

Drying Fish

In the process, I discovered a lot of stuff which probably went in one ear and out the other of my forty-year-old self (who knew less than nothing about permaculture or local food systems) but which just delights my fifty-eight-year-old self no end! I read about how the lake not only provides hydroelectric power to the area, but is also an entire food system in and of itself! They practice aquaculture in the lake, using floating net cages. There are rice fields on the lower swampy areas. Then there are forest-like tree gardens on the slopes above, where they grow fruit (durian, jackfruit, rambutan, etc.), spices (cinnamon, coffee, nutmeg, cardamum) and timber.

The School Bus

Is that awesome, or what?

BOTH THE BEST, AND THE WORST, OF GROWING UP OVERSEAS

Back to School Open House

Dearest Friends,

Know what I love about this picture? Check out the two boys center front. Look at the way little Travis, one of the youngest kids in the school, has his arm draped over older boy Jamie's, as if they were brothers. In a community this small, our kids made friends with everyone, and they soon learned that friends were not a disposable commodity. If you ditched your friends whenever they pissed you off, you'd end up very, very lonely, so they learned how to compromise. They learned that they could have friends of all ages and nationalities, and of both sexes -- kids whose interests and beliefs weren't necessarily the same as theirs, and who wouldn't always agree with them on every little thing. They learned that people could like them just as they were, even if they didn't have the "in" toys and clothes. Heck, they no longer had any way of knowing what was in! They learned that it's actually far better to have a teacher who makes you work hard, but stimulates your imagination, than it is to coast along in utter boredom. They also learned that it was important to balance that hard work with plenty of physical activity and creative opportunities. They thrived on being able to move about the classroom, and interact with the other students, including those in different grades. Most importantly, they learned that the universe was a very, very big place, and they were not the center of it -- that our way of doing things was not the only way, or even necessarily the right way. All this was the best thing about growing up overseas -- and it was the worst thing too, for it was going to make it very, very difficult to go back to the old way of doing things, and all but impossible to go back to the old way of seeing things!

THE BIG BLOW-UP

Dearest Friends,

In some ways my hubby and I are a lot alike. For one thing, we are both extremely non-confrontational. We'd do just about anything to avoid an argument -- our own, or anyone else's. In my case it was so extreme that just watching things like the Three Stooges or Abbot and Costello could make me twitchy. Part of this, I'm sure, is that neither of us has a glib tongue. John is a good listener, a great audience. I'm the one who thinks of brilliant rejoinders -- hours after the fact when it's too late to do me any good! Hence, we would surely lose in a battle of words, especially with someone who could think on the fly. Anyhoo, since we both hated arguing, and had not yet been taught how to handle disagreements productively, a lot of stuff was still getting swept under the rug in those days.

In other ways we were polar opposites. It was that classic half-empty/half-full scenario. No matter how bad things got, I usually managed to stay fairly cheerful. No matter how good things got, John still managed to stay fairly glum -- which created a nice balance, for the most part. While living the ex-pat life, however, it actually led to one of our biggest fights.

Miss Becky's nest in the Indo-house, where she did her thinking and writing.

You see, I did such a good job of making the best of things that, eventually, John would always forget that there was any down-side to my situation -- that I had given anything up, or made any trade-offs to be there. All he saw was that he had to go to work every day, while I stayed home with a maid and a driver. As if that weren't bad enough, I had the nerve to be all chipper when he got home each day, wanting to tell him about all the fun things the kids and I did while he was at work! Anyway, things finally came to a head one weekend when John went to make a peanut butter sandwich, and discovered we were out of bread. He blurted out something rather hurtful, on the order of "You'd think a woman who didn't have a damn thing to do all day could at least manage to keep bread in the house!", then grabbed the kids and headed off to the snack bar, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, words finally came to me, but of course, I had no one to say them to. They didn't come in a gentle way, either. It was more of an eruption. I had no choice but to grab a pen and start writing a letter to my hubby. I don't remember exactly what was in that one, but I do recall it as one of my better letters -- one where I was able to open his eyes to a few truths, but in a humorous way. I think I started out apologizing for the error of my ways, and telling him he deserved much better. Perhaps he deserved one of the wives we knew who stayed drunk all day long, because it was the only way they could deal with the tedious monotony of their lives here. Or perhaps he should be with the one who was sneaking off to sleep with her hubby's best friend while he was at work. Then again, maybe he would prefer one of those who seemed to be back in the states or away on trips more than they were ever here on the compound, or, better yet, one who refused to come to Indonesia in the first place, even if it meant death to her hubby's career. Oh wait, here's an idea! Maybe I should trade in my part-time maid and the ordeal of fixing my whole family three meals a day, from scratch, almost every darn day, and get not only a live-in maid and a cook, like most everyone we knew, but also a nanny for the kids, like a few others had. That way I could devote every waking minute to his needs.

OK, maybe I didn't really say all that. I think I got a bit carried away there towards the end. Skip that last part and jump ahead to where I closed by saying something like "Silly me! I never knew I actually had a choice in any of this. I thought I had to quit my job at Chez Vous, say goodbye to my friends and family, and a home and a church I adored, to follow you to the ends of the earth. I thought it was my duty to make the most of the situation, and to stay as busy and cheerful as possible. I thought that was what you wanted! Was I wrong? If so, there is a simple solution. Book those tickets and we can be on the next plane outta here!"

His reply? "Damn, Becky! Did you have to go and make me laugh? Couldn't you let me enjoy my righteous indignation a little bit longer,  just this once?"

MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE PISSED

Dearest Friends,

Although the temps in Indonesia stay the same year-round, we most definitely had seasons on our Sumatran compound.  And, though I wasn't aware of it at the time, we were heading into the "stormy" season.

Even our easy-going Mr. Austin got his grump on this time of year -- especially when momma was forced to take away game privileges.

I suppose it is inevitable, when you take a disparate group of people, toss them into an enclosure (no matter how luxurious) and lock the gate on them, that, sooner or later, nerves are gonna fray.  Add to this that you have mixed together people from different countries, with different beliefs and customs; that we had no one else to socialize with other than the same people we worked with everyday, so it was impossible to get away from shop talk and rumors; that the teachers and doctor had no choice but to fraternize with their students' families and their patients, so they were never off duty; that gossip spread faster than the slash-and-burn fires which the farmers set, up on the hillsides above us, and that there was always lots going on to gossip about, and, well, it's easy to see how stress could build up after seven or eight months, and tempers would be lost.

On top of all that, we were all very homesick by then, and desperately looking forward to taking our annual home-leave as soon as school was out, but sad because we knew that some of the families would not be returning, and our kids might well end up in a class the following year with no one even close to their own age.  Most stressful of all was trying to work out the details of one's home-leave, and making all the arrangements.  In fact, as you will see in upcoming letters home, it was a bit of a nightmare!

Though we had nothing to compare it to at the time, our first spring on the compound was even more stressful than usual.  It turns out that the new school principal had actually be brought on board that year to "clean house"-- to make sure that the school received the desired accreditations -- and word had just leaked out that two of the current teaching couples (they hired only married couples) were to be let go at the end of the school year, and be replaced over the summer.  People who were good buddies with these teachers were livid at the news, and declared war on the principal and his wife.

I did my best to stay neutral, but was actually reduced to tears on one occasion.  I had planned a nice spring luncheon for everyone, before I even knew what was going on, and it turned into a major fiasco.  Half my guests refused to come if certain others were going to be there, and those who did come ended up arguing with one another.  By the time it was all over with, I was ready to be rid of the lot of them, and home leave couldn't possibly get there fast enough for me!

What I didn't know at the time was that this happened every year, and that after two or three months of me and my kids schlepping from one relative's house to another, trying not to overstay our welcome or get on their nerves; my trying to get the kids enrolled in camps and activities that they couldn't get overseas, and then having to figure out how to get them there; trying to shop for all the clothes, gifts, household items, etc. that we would need for the entire year, while staying within budget, and then managing to fit it all in our luggage; and trying to see everybody we needed to see, while balancing the amount of time we spent with each, so that no one got their feelings hurt, why, by August, I 'd be feeling pretty much the same way about all my kin folks as I had about my Indo-friends before we left, and I'd be running back to that compound with open arms!

HOW NOT TO TRAVEL

Dearest Friends,

Our month-long jaunt through Europe, back in '77, is probably the most important journey we ever took.  Why?  Because it's the one that taught us how not to travel.  It was everything that "Slow Travel" is not!

Because we had no way of knowing whether we would ever make it back to Europe again, and because we had those free plane tickets that allowed multiple stops, we ended up going to Athens, Rome, Florence, Zurich, Innsbruck, Salzburg, Vienna, Copenhagen, Paris and London.  Ten cities in 29 days.  Of course, you must then subtract all the time we spent traveling on trains, planes and busses, waiting in airports and train stations, waiting or searching for luggage, plus packing and unpacking, to get a true picture of how very little time we had in each city.  Also, don't forget to consider the time it took us to find a place to stay in each town.

Because we wished to be "flexible" -- to have the option to stay longer in some places than in others if we so desired -- the only place where we actually had a hotel reservation was in Athens, our first stop.  Everywhere else we went, we would consult our copy of Europe on $10 a Day, then take a bus or train to wherever was purported to be the best area for bargain hotels.  Of course, we weren't the only ones trudging around those areas with that book tucked under our elbows, toting our non-rolling bags.  Sometimes it would take another half-day just to find one with a vacancy, and then it would be on the 4th or 5th floor of an old townhouse with no elevator, and we'd be sharing a bathroom with everyone else on that floor.

So, how did we spend the couple of days that we did have in each city?  Why, we crammed in as many tours, galleries, museums, landmarks and cathedrals as we possibly could, of course!  We ate a few good meals, and a lot of bad ones, shopped every flea market for touristy knick-knacks and postcards to send home, had to check out every bar or pub with an interesting name, spent a whole lot of time being rather disgruntled with one another, and...well, in spite of all that, I wouldn't change one single thing about it, for here is what it taught us:

1) Being together 24 hrs. a day, for an entire month, is a lot to expect from a couple who'd each become used to spending a lot of time on their own.  By spending a bit of time apart each day, doing things we are separately passionate about and don't wish to be rushed through, we enjoy our time together all the more.

2) Our internal clocks are very different.  I am an early riser, he is not.  When I am ready to call it a night, he's getting geared up to go out and party.  After many tiffs, we finally learned to compromise.  I get up with the birds, wander out to a cafe, and get my fill of people watching, journal writing and tea sipping, while he sleeps in.  If he wants me to party down in the evenings, he makes sure I get an afternoon nap, which gives him time to wander around with his camera.

3) When you try to cram too much into too little time, it all just turns into a blur, one place indistinguishable from the next.

4) What do I remember from all those landmarks, museums and cathedrals?  Virtually nothing.

Here's what I do remember from that trip:

• laughing ourselves silly over our lopsided bed in Paris
• wandering the streets at night in Athens, hearing laughter and that distinctive Zorba-the-Greek-style music drifting out to us wherever we went (what is that instrument called -- a bazooki or something?)
• my first taste of retsina at a wine festival we just happened upon (it tastes like pine sap smells)
• arriving at the airport in Athens with time to spare, then discovering we were at the wrong airport
• lying in bed at our Roman pensione, listening to the sounds coming from the movie theatre next door, which had cranked open its ceiling to let in the cool night air
• a picnic lunch of wine, cheese and bread, eaten at a little pull-down table in our own private train compartment aboard the Alpen Express
• another train trip where we were stuck out in the freezing passageway, with a passel of young people, all. night. long!
• watching a motorcyclist spin out and crash, after coming too close and bumping into my elbow - possibly trying to grab my purse
• trying to watch Fellini's Satyricon in Italian, with German subtitles (what the?)
• a funny little old Tyrollean gentleman in a feathered hat, who took a shine to me in an Innsbruck bar
• the best hot chocolate of my life, piled high with whipped cream (schlogg?), at a cafe in Vienna
• happening upon a lovely pavilion in a Viennese park, where we spent a Sunday afternoon sipping more chocolate, whilst listening to a small group perform Strauss, along with the locals
• touring the Carlsberg breweries, and finding that the workers are allowed to drink beer while on duty (Denmark has no age restrictions either, but virtually no public drunkenness - other than the Swedes who come over to get blotto, because they can't get it at home)
• eating Smorgasbord at the railway bistro, then ending up at Vin & Og, a Viking beer hall where I had so much fun, I lost my voice
• being turned away from dining at Simpson's on the Strand in London, because John had no tie
• getting caught in the rain in almost every town, then running across a gorgeous raincoat I just couldn't live without (it swirled when I spun around!) at our very last stop 
• turning to one another in the back of a big black London taxi, at almost the same time, and saying to one another "I think I've had enough.  It's time to go home." 

So what is the final lesson I have learned, just from making this list here?  It's that our very best memories come from slowing down enough to soak in the moment, to be fully present and participating.  As for the very best stories?  Why, those most often come from things not going at all according to plan!

P.S. It turns out all the pictures from this trip were made into slides, which we have now located.  Unfortunately, the scanner that could turn them into bloggable photos is broken.  We tried to buy one in Austin yesterday, but ended up having to order one, so it will be a while before I can post any pictures. Of course, now that I think about it, what constitutes "good" trip pictures is something else we have never been able to agree upon (John's never include any people!), which is why we now take two cameras.

THE PENDULUM SWINGS

Dearest Friends,

I have never been able to decide which is worse -- being bored to tears because absolutely nothing is going on, or being totally stressed out, because too much is going on.  For me, it has usually been a case of "be careful what you wish for."  If I complained about being bored, someone up there was sure to send the pendulum swinging all the way to the other side of the spectrum, which is what happened in Bahrain.

Ha!  Bet you didn't know I used to work in a "saloon"!

No sooner had my boss returned from London, than she announced that she would be leaving on a buying trip to Paris within a couple of weeks.  Handling the correspondence with our French suppliers had been a real struggle while she was away, so as soon as I heard that she was leaving again, I got myself down to Alliance Francaise and signed up for a three-afternoons-a-week French class.  Unlike my high school classes, AF believed in speaking nothing but French in class from the very first day.  Although I ended up being the star pupil when it came to vocabulary, my accent caused my teacher to shake his head in woe on more than one occasion, whilst muttering something about "You Texans!"  The hairdresser I worked with, George, was from Lebanon, and spoke French fluently.  When he heard I was taking lessons, he started trying to hold conversations with me as he did my hair.  That's when I probably should have realized that there is a short circuit between my tongue and my brain, and that the only way I would ever be able to communicate would be via the written word.  It took my trying to speak several different languages, including English, before I finally figured that out.

John's job was undergoing some changes as well.  First of all, they took away his half-day off each Thursday, and he was back to working ten hours a day, six days a week.  Then he came home with news of a company-housing compound that was nearing completion, and he said perhaps we should consider moving out there.  "Why on earth would I want to do that, when I've gone to all this trouble to fix this place up, and we live in walking distance to my job, the American club, a movie theater, and everything else."  "Well, um, because it looks like I'm gonna be spending a lot more time off-shore, and I thought you might be more comfortable having people around who can help you out when I'm away."  Well, crap.  But I still wasn't movin'!

Not sure why he was taking pictures of the engine.

On top of my refusal to budge, John had the worst day off ever, right about that time.  We tried to go to the beach, but our car broke down.  So we walked to our friends T & L's house and borrowed their car, but it broke down on us too!  We then caught a taxi over to S & BD's house, so that John could borrow some tools to work on the cars with.  I guess that was the straw that broke the camels back.  The next day we were at the Honda show room, looking at brand new Civics.  He probably figured he'd never have a moment's peace off-shore, unless I had reliable transportation.  Now all he had to do was wait for ours to arrive (which would take at least a month), then pray that our marriage would survive his having to teach me to drive a stick-shift!

It was a bright, lemon yellow, as I recall.

THE HOME-LEAVE FRENZY

One of many get-togethers organized during our brief time at home.

Dearest Friends,

How can I describe our first annual home leave, other than to say "It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times."  It was: major jet lag, mild nausea, exhausted days and sleepless nights; hopping from Dallas to Odessa to Austin to Houston, with constant packing and unpacking; greeting friends and loved ones ecstatically one moment, then saying tearful goodbyes the next; trying to divide our time evenly between parents and in-laws, and between each of the siblings and grandparents, so that no one got their nose out of joint; eating, eating, and more eating; catching up on doctors, dentists and allergists; shopping, shopping, and more shopping, while trying to guess what all we might need over the next year, in a place we'd never been to and which we knew nothing about, then trying to fit it all into our designated number of bags while keeping under the allotted weight.

Mostly, it was wondering how things could have possibly changed so much, in the short time that we were away?  For instance, when did all the normal foods in the grocery stores get replaced by all these "convenience" products, and when did all the traditional beauticians get replaced by young blow-gun-wielding "stylists" who didn't have a clue how to handle my curly hair? (see photo above)

It was terrible.  It was wonderful.  We thought it would never end.  It was over in the blink of an eye.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING

B&R Christmas party in Singapore, B.B. (Before Beck)

Dearest Friends,

Though living on a tropical beach, making lots of money, and having people wait on you may sound idyllic, there is a dark side to expatriate life.  As Pat commented recently, too much of anything is never good.

Mr. S., acting silly.

Too much money was at the root of most problems.  A lot of the people we met overseas had grown up without any at all.  Now, suddenly, they had more than they knew what to do with, and no clue how to handle it, which led to some excessive behavior.  You do a little too much drinking, too much partying, too much gambling, have a little too much sex, or all of the above, and a life can spiral out of control.  Over the years, we lost track of how many people arrived on the compound as "social drinkers", but went home as alcoholics.

"Uh-oh!  She's giving me 'The Look!", says John.

I have often wondered just what made John swing so quickly from never even "going steady" with me when he left the country, to proposing marriage just a few months later.  Did he look at what was going on around him, and decide what he needed was a good wife who was just a wee bit prudish, to keep him on the straight and narrow?  Ha!  Not hardly -- or at least, not consciously.  But, could there have been something deep inside, telling him that a bit of balance might be a good thing?  Possibly. And, lucky for me, my John is one smart cookie, and knew just where to find it!

Miss Becky at work in the UT Student Union's "General Store."