PERTH WITH PALS: THE FESTIVAL

Dearest Friends,

Shortly after arriving in Perth, we discovered that we'd got there just in time for the Fremantle Festival -- Australia's longest running festival (2012 will be its 107th year!). The festival is named for Fremantle Harbour, "port of Perth", and the Fremantle area is a tourist mecca known for its art, culture, cafes and of course, shopping -- just what we had come for!

What a great way to begin our Aussie adventure!

YOU KNOW YOU'RE BEGINNING TO ADJUST WHEN...

7th April, 1993

Dear Friends and Family,

Sorry it's been so long since my last letter, but I was just way too busy having fun, with visiting sister Kathy, to stop and sit at the computer! We really had a blast, but I guess you could say her agenda ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. We started off by picking her up in Singapore and going straight to Penang. We stayed at the same place we went to last year -- the one with all sorts of organized activities for the kids, the great rock slide into the pool, massages on the beach, little flags to raise when you wanted another drink, etc. (you get the picture!) Then we took her to Lake Toba back in Sumatra. Carolyn is the only one who can fully appreciate what you have to go through to get there, for she has now "experienced" travel in Indonesia!

Sister Kathy, a.k.a. Gus

First we had a one hour flight back to Medan -- not too bad, although you might not recognize any of the foods they serve on board. The Medan airport itself is the real adventure. No air-conditioning, lots of clove-scented smoke, millions of little porters in yellow jumpsuits who scramble for your bags, whether you want them to or not, and then head off in ten different directions, etc. Then there are the mobs of people, none of whom believe in queuing up for anything! Assertiveness goes first so, of course, we are always last.

We were met there by a very nice driver with a van who, unfortunately, spoke not one word of English.  (sad to say, our Indonesian isn't so hot either) He took us to lunch at Pizza Hut, and to the grocery store to stock up on "survival food." Then we embarked on the four hour trip up to Lake Toba, and this is where words fail me. All I can say is, thank heaven I had on my motion sickness patch, and was able to sit in back with my eyes closed the entire trip. I thought I had developed nerves of steel with regards to the local driving habits, but this was a true test! It was worth it though (easier to say, now that I've come out alive) for the lake truly is amazing. The island in the middle of it is larger than Singapore (so imagine the size of the lake itself!) and was originally the home of the Batak tribe, who were cannibals (we got to see some of their ancient stone tables, chairs and execution blocks) and they managed to withstand the influence of the Moslems by isolating themselves on the island and eating any strangers who ventured in. At least one intrepid missionary must have managed to infiltrate the island without being eaten, for now they are all Christians. They really love music and singing, and you see "Batak Singers" listed as entertainment at clubs all over Asia.  We stayed in some really neat cottages that resembled Batak houses, with roofs that are pointed on each end -- no A.C., but you don't really need it since it's nice and cool up in the mountains. Oh yeah, did I mention that this lake was formed in an ancient volcano crater?

After spending a few days here, we had to do the whole tedious trip in reverse. Unfortunately, I had used up my last patch, so I was green most of the trip. We were convinced of our driver's excellence when he managed to find us a little minit mart type place to stop at on the way home that actually had a clean bathroom. No, the toilet was not western style, but at that point, we really didn't care. Hey! That reminds me! A friend in Jakarta found this in her book on culture shock:

You know you are beginning to adjust to Indonesia when...

• you spend the night on the toilet, and don't bother mentioning it the next morning
• you sleep through the 4:30 A.M. call to prayer from the mosque's loudspeaker
• you don't flinch when faced with squatting over an Asian-style toilet
• you are positive cars in American movies are driving on the wrong side of the road
• you go on home leave, and try to bargain in the department store

I guess you could say we are very well-adjusted now!

Poor Kathy thought she was going to end her vacation by spending the week here at our house being waited on by our staff, lounging around the pool, and having facials and manicures at the salon. Unfortunately, she arrived right at the end of Ramadan (I swear I didn't know this when Bud bought her ticket last summer), which meant the help was on vacation the whole week, and the salon was closed. She's convinced I planned it that way so that I would have her help doing all those dishes by hand, and having to hang laundry out on the clothesline, since the dryer quit working the day she arrived! We still managed to have lots of fun and sun, then had a great couple of days in Singapore (hey Gus, remember eating Boober Cha Cha for tea at the Raffles, and almost wetting our pants, we got to giggling so hard?) before she had to head home. All in all, this has been a fantastic year for me, but next year will be rough. We are fairly certain we won't be having any more visitors from home, and the longer we are here, the more homesick we get. Also, the older Alexis gets, the harder it will be on her at school, since there will be less and less kids near her age.

Tonight is the dress rehearsal for John's play. He's done nothing but moan and groan about it from day one, so I was really shocked when I finally saw a rehearsal and discovered that he was great! The director says he is the most improved of all the cast members. His only problem is that he has trouble keeping a straight face when he says something funny, but I think the audience will love it all the more if he actually loses it during a performance! He swears he will never do this again, but maybe it will be like having babies, and he will forget about the agony after a while.

Not much else to tell, except to update you on our plans for the summer. Looks like we will be arriving in Cincinnati around 6:00am Sat., May 22, then in Dallas Sat., May 29, around 10:00 am. John will probably drive on out to Odessa the next day, but the kids and I will wait and fly out a week later. Luckily, we will be there to keep George company so that Theda can fly up to see Megan graduate from high school June 10th. Around June 28th we plan to head for the hills! (Texas Hill Country, that is) We hope to stop in and see the Reeh's ranch in Doss, meet up with the Sanfords in Fredericksburg, maybe take in Fiesta Texas in San Antonio, and finally end up by dropping Alexis off at camp in San Marcos on July 4th. We've discovered what appears to be a great one at Southwest Texas State University's Edwards Aquifer Research and Data Center. It's called Aquatic Studies Summer Camp, and they combine learning about pond, river and aquifer life with doing fun things every afternoon like tubing, rafting, and going to Schlitterbahn, Aquarena Springs, Seaworld and Natural Bridge Caverns. She's really excited, and it looks like her friends Lizzie and Jennifer Newsome will be going too (same one she went to Scout camp with last year).

Anyway, as soon as we drop her off we will head up to Dallas, since John has to fly out late on July 8th. Then I will have to turn around and go back to get Alexis the next weekend. Anyone care to go along for the ride?  It looks like July 16th will be the best weekend for our family trip to New Orleans, to celebrate Mom and Dad's 50th anniversary. May 1st is the actual day, but they are sneaking away on a cruise by themselves, and waiting until we get home this summer for the family celebration.

That covers just about everything, except for a 3 or 4 week orgy of malls, movies and restaurants, before the kids and I head back home around August 11th. Y'all take care, and let me know if anyone hears of any great activities for Mr. Austin to participate in this summer. We can't wait to see you all, and are counting the days until we head in that direction -- 43 to be exact!

P.S. I've got lots of pictures I'll be posting over the next few days. In fact, we took so many on these trips that I will have to sort through them first, and just pick out the best of the best!

SETTLING INTO OUR NEW ABODE

Our new house, which...

unbeknownst to us...

came with a kitty!

It also came with a fancy, home-built barbecue pit, which we never really figured out how to use.

Miss Becky had a new toy in the new house -- the amazing Miracle Piano! You hooked it up to your computer and learned how to play the piano by shooting ducks and such in little video games. I got pretty good at playing Ode To Joy, but that was about it.

THE MISERABLE LES MISERABLES

Dearest Friends,

My Indo-bud Mel moved back to Jakarta not long ago.  I keep track of her via facebook, and she recently posted something there about taking her college-aged kids on a sentimental journey back to Singapore over the holidays, the place where her son was born.  When she mentioned an excursion out to Sentosa Island, I quickly typed a reply, saying something like "Ooh!  We spent a whole weekend there with the kids once.  Had a blast!"  It wasn't until much later, as I sat sifting through memories from that weekend, that I dredged up one that wasn't really fun at all. In fact, it was pretty much a nightmare, and if it had happened anyplace other than Singapore, the least "seedy" city I've ever been to... well, I don't even want to go there.

It all started when I was flipping through one of those "what's going on" magazines that had been left in our hotel room, and discovered that the broadway hit Les Miserables -- the musical I had heard so much about but never seen -- was playing in Singapore that very weekend.  Oh how I longed to see it, but tickets would be expensive, if we could get them at all, the kids were too young to appreciate it, transportation from the island would be a problem, etc.  My reasons for not going were numerous, but one by one, John shot them down, securing tickets, suggesting pizza delivery and a hotel sitter for the kids (my friends used them all the time, though I never had), and even placing a request for a taxi to come out to the island (via a causeway) to pick us up.  So off we went.

It was fabulous.  It was magical.  It was everything I had imagined, and more -- until about 3/4 of the way through the play, when it started to rain.  And thunder.  The rain turned into a roaring deluge that went on and on, drowning out the singers' voices, and making us extremely nervous over the odds of our taxi driver's having come back just to fetch us, as we had requested.  We were right to have worried, for as in any huge city where few people own cars, the harder it rains, the more scarce the taxis become. By the time we made our way out of the the theatre, there wasn't a one to be had.

We wandered the streets for a good long while, doing our best not to get lost, hoping we'd find a stray taxi once we got away from the crowd at the music hall.  No such luck.  Of course, we had no cell phones back then, so we couldn't call for one, or even call our sitter to warn her that we might be late.  Very, very late.  Eventually we managed to find a bus that was still running, despite the hour, and it got us a lot closer to the start of the causeway, but then we had to cross it on foot -- a rather risky thing to do even at the best of times, but especially in blackest night, during a thunder storm!  Our only saving grace was the lack of traffic at that hour.  It was probably only a mile or two across, but without umbrellas or raincoats, wearing high heels, and worrying with the sound of each approaching car whether we might get clipped, well, it felt more like fifty. We eventually made it safely across, but then had to hike up a long, climbing driveway to reach the hotel.  It must have been well after 2:00 a.m. before we finally made it back to our room, looking like drowned rats.  The sitter looked ready to burst into tears when she saw us.  No telling what she'd been imagining.  Knowing my hubby, I'm sure he made it worth her while, and got the concierge to order a taxi for her trip home.  As for our kids?  Well, they had konked out shortly after we departed (they'd had a very busy day!), and woke up a few hours after our return, as cheerful as could be and rarin' to go, completely oblivious to their parents' mad escapade.

You know, most of our misadventures have made for the very best, most humorous stories in years to come.  But this one?  This one still just gives me the creeps.

HASH PHOTOS

Dearest Friends,

As long as we're on the subject of "the Hash", I thought I might as well share a few photos with you.

We had a choice of riding two buses to wherever our trail of the day began: the family bus, or the bawdy bus.  Mr. Brad enjoyed being one of the song-leaders on the bawdy bus.

If you actually managed to find your way to the grog truck at the end of the trail a certain number of times, they held a ceremony in your honor. 

Here my hubby is being "christened" with his official hash name: Slick Lane! (that water was icy cold)

Later, little Austin became "Slow Lane" and I became "Lover's Lane" -- not for any particular reason, though.  They just couldn't resist using that play on words.  We ended up with quite the collection of hash t-shirts.

The local people who saw us trekking through the jungle thought we were very strange, and delighted in leading us astray.

A couple of times per year, we celebrated with an official Hash Dinner at the restaurant, complete with entertainment.  Here one of the teachers, Mr. D., demonstrates "The Amazing Bass-0-Matic"!

Anybody recognize the diva in the yellow hip-scarf?  The one who's channeling her inner Diana Ross?  That just happens to be our newest addition to "The Muses" here in Wimberley -- Painter Woman!

Looks like she even managed to get our oh-so-proper British physician to channel his inner diva as well!  Yep, I'm pretty sure that's Doc Connelly there in the middle. 

MY INDO-SOUNDTRACK

Dearest Friends,

I don't know how it is for you, but most all of my important memories have a soundtrack that goes along with them.  For instance, when I think of my wedding, I hear my sister and her band singing Let's Bungle in the Jungle, in honor of my heading off to Indonesia with my new hubby.  When I think of college, I hear myself singing my little heart out along with Carol King, Carly Simon and Eric Clapton. I also see John taking me to Austin honky-tonks, to hear "a new kind of country", and wishing I knew how to two-step.  But, in the background, thanks to the all-girl choir I was in and their frequent trips to entertain at military bases, there is the dark, eerie thrum of acid rock and the whop-whop-whop of chopper blades that I associate with Viet Nam.  These soundtracks, when looked back upon from a distance, are clearly divided into  eras, each with a certain aura or feel to it.  One such division occurred while we were living at Anyer Beach.  From here, it is easy to see that the year we got married, 1975, was a cusp -- a turning point -- and it would all be downhill after that.

When we stopped in Singapore on our honeymoon, John took me to a record store.  Copyright laws were different over there, and John told me to thumb through all the albums, pick out five or six that I liked, then they would record them all onto a tape that I could listen to on John's huge reel-to-reel player -- all for less than it would probably cost to buy one single album back in the states.  I forget now who all I put on that tape, perhaps some Loggins and Messina or Jerry Jeff Walker, maybe some Diana Ross or Mommas and Pappas?  But there's one I remember for certain -- Barry White.  He alone has become the soundtrack for my time at Anyer Beach. I can still remember, clear as a bell, that deep, sexy voice, wrapping itself around me, caressing me, as I sat out on my little front stoop each evening, door ajar, straining for the sound of John's tiny Honda, chugging its way home.

A few months later John brought home an issue of Time or Newsweek.  In it there was an article about a new dance craze called "The Hustle."  The article included step-by-step instructions on how to do it, including a pull-out diagram with footprints on it, which we put down on the tiny bit of floorspace we had next to our bed.  We were oblivious at the time, of course, but that was the day everything changed...the day someone lifted the needle off of the soundtrack of our courtship, and replaced it with a new one -- one called "Disco."