Getting Jiggy With Teli

Hello Lover

So how has life been since touching down at Ben Gurion International Airport to begin our new life in The Holy Land?  Well, let me see.  Not so holy so far.  But you never know.  I spent the first few days in a sort of jetlaged, traumatised, exhausted haze.  Snoozing in the afternoons and eating far too much hummus.  My kind of life.  Not sure if it was legitimate jetlag though, or just a wallow.  Wallowing is sometimes fun.  You refuse to leave the house, eat in bed and get crumbs everywhere, and wear leggings without underpants when you do sneak out to the shop to get more hummus.

But unfortunately there was a lot to do - the time was not yet nigh to become a morbidly obese recluse with crumbs stuck to my leggings and a birds nest the size of a small dog at the back of my head.....one day.....one fine day........

I've visited Israel many times before - but I want to take just a tiny bit of time to describe what it is like here in Tel Aviv upon first viewing when everything is fresh.

Nice

Boulevard

The first thing that comes across is how fast paced everything is. The city isn't massive - about 400 000 people live here - but it feels crowded and a little frantic on occasion. It's definitely noisy.  If you ever think of knocking up a pad here -and there is a lot of construction going on - invest in some double glazing. But as busy and crowded as it is, it is also extremely beautiful and inviting.


The Mediterranean Sea stretches entirely along the west of the city - from the ancient southern port of Yafo - or Jaffa - an area teaming with really old buildings, flea markets and a large Arab population - up to the northern part of Tel Aviv, past the new port - which is a modern collection of outdoor restaurants and big name shops along a huge boardwalk.  Running alongside the beach is a wide, flat, paved boulevard, which is totally chockers, at all times of the day and night.  There are scores of runners, walkers, bikers, rollerbladers, skateboarders, kids, oldies, (and everyone in between), dogs, cats, pigeons, people playing board games, masses of people getting right into a type of paddle board game, dancing groups, beach cafes, exercise equipment, kid's play equipment and seriously hot bodies wearing very few clothes.  The beach is always packed - even at this time of year - late October.  Usually this is a time when most of the Northern Hemisphere is breaking out the duffel coats and ordering stew.  Not here.  The weather is sublime, and everyone is sunbaking and surfing and swimming and rolling in the sand.  The temperature is in the high 20s at the moment, and the sea is warm.  Summer seems to stretch on for a good 9 months of the year.

Jaffa

Tel Aviv cafe life

This beachside part and lifestyle, frames Tel Aviv, and in my opinion is one thing that makes it so incredibly special.  Throughout the rest of the city - which is called "The White City" due to the style of architecture and colour of the buildings - life is pumping.  Streetside cafes with leafy plants and a retro edge are packed at all times, and locals and tourists spill out onto the streets late into the night.  Everybody here seems to have a lot to say, so the atmosphere is always buzzing with people having extremely animated conversations.  There is a lot of beeping and even more traffic. People ride their bikes on the footpath without helmets, and you wonder how they mange to avoid the crowds of pedestrians.  Hoards of dogs walk the streets with their owners, and freely poo everywhere.  All I can say is keep a look out.  Dogshit on your white loafers is not a thing of the past in Israel.   Lots of fresh juice stands overflow with displays of all kinds of fruit.  It is pomegranate season right now, and when you ask for a large rimon  - the dark crimson juice comes out with a kind of "crack" as the fruity seeds explode from the metal juice pressers.

Almost like brains really......

Night time action

Mmmmm

The coffee is good, as is pretty much anything you order in restaurants.  It always seems so fresh and unbelievably tasty, and salad is served with anything you ask for.  It's almost worth a visit to the country for the sole purpose of stuffing your face - and I will need to write several posts to properly address the pure deliciousness of what is going on here.

In some parts of the Tel Aviv, the trees are old and gnarled, and spill across the concrete and up through the cement.  They shade the dusty streets from the unrelenting sun that is part of life in the Middle East.  Olive trees drop their fruit all over the city streets, which shrivel in the sun and get squashed underfoot.  There are many shady parks packed full of play equipment for the hoards of children Tel Aviv is home to.  People typically know English, which makes it easy for us slacker types who rely on "Efshar beh Anglit" (Is it possible in English?) to get by.  But actually, I want to know what's going on around me - what people are saying to each other, and to me.  Passersby throw comments around all the time.  The city is alive, it is welcoming and it is fun.

City Trees

Shlomi and his mates give their all

Sometimes when wandering around, you hear pumping trance, and think to yourself "What?  A street party???"And a street party it is - for five extremely religious dudes going all out - dancing their way to a techno ecstasy, riding large on a religious high.  A couple of the guys dance in the traffic, one rocks out on the roof of the bass shaking van, one goes crazy near passersby, and another hands out reading material with a picture of some old hippy-looking religious dude wearing a dirty dressing gown.  He looks happy enough though.  Chalks and I wondered how the cult of the religious trance gang kicked off,  because it is world's away from most of the religious guys you occasionally spot around town (Tel Aviv is the city of sin - so larger numbers of the religious are mostly living in Jerusalem).  We decided that a few years back - possibly in the mid 90s - some Israelis dudes, who were taking far too much acid on the beaches of Goa, had some kind of religious epiphany while listening to some sick techno track.......and thus it begun......Trancing for The Lord.

Insane amounts of sugar going on here

Talking of joy, Valli and Cordi started their first day of Kindergarden a few days after we arrived.  They were so excited.  They immediately raced in and started on a Winnie The Pooh puzzle and didn't even register my tragic grabs for attention.  Cordi threw me an exasperated "BYE Mum" over her shoulder on my fourth attempt for some goodbye love.  Valli ignored me totally.  I crept away dejected.  All the other mothers were saying how jealous they were that the girls didn't bawl and cling to my skirt (one mother said it took her an hour every morning to shake her son off her leg) - but to be honest, it was a shock (and a possible blow to the ego - was I not adored??? Those bloody ingrates - I will beat them until they love me).  No wonder they are having the time of their lives though.  Israel is a kid's paradise.  They have already attended 2 birthday parties (one with 2 bouncy castles, a pile of pizza and cake, and a mountain of lollies), and have another party for a set of twins coming up this Friday.  They go to the playground everyday, attend art classes across town, and already know everyone in their class by name.  They've picked garden produce, had a jam session and gone beach crazy - including going psycho nude with their cousin Mia under the beach showers.  They seem to have slotted in nicely.

Liad and Cordi duet

Group Jam

Munching out on top of mosaics

Cordi plucks an eggplant form the vine

Beach times

True Happiness

Nude Screaming

For me, I think it's going to take a little longer.  For one, there's the previously mentioned language issues.  Then there's the public face of politeness I have, that doesn't really mesh with the Israelis in Israel effect.  And then there's the driving.  But first, let's tackle the issues we had getting a rental car here.  Chalks had decided that he was going to hire a nice car for our time here.  Why not?,  thought he.  But first we had to hire a crapmobile and drive it to the outskirts of the city to get our hands on a good one.  Upon arrival, the young dude rolled up in front of us with the most banged up Mercedes I have ever seen.  That's also the thing here.  Every single car in this city is covered with more scrapes and dents than a bronze statue of George W Bush in the central square of Baghdad.  Filling out the vehicle condition report takes about 20 minutes and stretches over an entire page.  We got in and it totally stunk of ciggies.  In violation of the 'No Smoking' sign there had been a cigarette actually stubbed out on the back seat.  The young guy's response "This is Israel.  There are no rules".  I guess he had a point.  It was seriously disgusting though.  To fix the problem, the detailing dude hung an air freshener from the rear vision mirror.  Now it smelt like a toilet.  A toilet in which the occupant had smoked a lot of ciggies.  Chalks pointed out this very fact to the attendant, and she laughed.  We drove away in the crapmobile.

A fucking mess

And now to the driving.  I'm pretty sure I went on about this long and hard last time I was here, including my refusal to get behind the wheel.  Well, with my dearly beloved jetsetting off to Amsterdam to run a marathon (Yeah, SURE that was what he was doing), I found myself alone, and with the primary responsibility for driving the girls to school everyday.  I'm not the greatest on the other side of the road.  Actually, I'm not the greatest on any side of the road.  But when I'm driving on the right I seem to have severe issues in judging the front passenger corner.  This was only too apparent on the first day I drove the girls to and from school on my lonesome.  I have only one driving repertoire - and that is - to school and home from school.  Apart from that I have nothing.  So you can imagine my distress when our driveway was blocked by some arsehole with his hazard lights on.  Anyone who intends to drive here, get used to those hazard lights - never will they get more use than in Tel Aviv.  Stop anytime anywhere - it's fine as long as you flick that flashing switch.  Feel like parking on the footpath over a pathetic tourist's driveway?  Go the old faithful hazards, no probs at all.

But of course it was a problem.....for me.  Unable to pull in I was forced to cross into unfamiliar territory and drive on.  I started sweating.  I had to drive all the way to the school, and then all the way back, just so that I would know the way.  I was panicking the car would still be there and lost focus for a second.  SMASH!!! - I hit one of those kerbside green garbage bins on the passenger side at full speed.  Whoops.  I could see nearby people throwing up their hands in disgust in the rear vision mirror as I sped on.......and forgot to look straight ahead.  An Ethiopian crossed the road right in front of me and to avoid an actual death of more than a rubbish bin, I had to slam on the brakes as hard as I could. The jaywalking fool's life was spared.  By this stage I was sweating and shaking.  You can imagine my horror when I spotted the hazard flasher still parked over my precious driveway.

I remembered Chalk's words "To get anything done in this country you have to go mental".  No problem, I am actually mental, so it was barely a stretch.  I started beeping and yelling "Who's car is this???"  "Who's BLOODY car is this????".  More beeping, more yelling.  I saw some guy spot me from inside an office and he came out.  Imagining him to be the perpetrator, I cranked up the screaming "Get this car out of my way, I can't get into my driveway.  I've been driving round for an hour, for the love of GOD!!!".  Then he started screaming his head off at me "It's not my car, I don't know who's car it is, what do you want from MEEEEEEEE".  And then back to an now hysterical me, "I just want that idiot to move his FUCKING CAR!!!" And so on and so on......In the end a passerby took pity on my and directed me around the offending vehicle through a space tighter than my year 12 formal dress.  I had already started sobbing.  By the time I got into my apartment I was really howling.  I had failed in my first fight.  Poor Valli and Cordi - what a display for a couple of 4 year olds.  It was awful.  I was feeling really shit about myself, and despairing of my abilities to cope on my own in an unfamiliar land.  But then Valentina slipped her little hand into mine, and with concern she said the cutest thing I have ever heard her say (and the list is long),

"It's a busy world out there Mum".

And so it is my darling.  So it is.

Unexpectant Entrance into Eritrea

Chalks dressed appropriately for today

Sometimes it happens.  And when it does, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, and no way out of it.

Cordi struggles with check-in

We got off to a dubious start during our check-in to Israel when some dickhead left his suitcase out in the open while he wandered off to grab a snack from the Family Mart.  One abandoned suitcase in the check-in zone for a flight to Israel equals mass panic, and an evacuation carried out with such speed and dedication that the dogs were sent in before the dude even popped the top off his sour cream and chive pringles.

I should have sensed there was going to be trouble from that moment.  But who really expects the shiz to hit the fan?  It’s always a shock.  But the way I think of it, with the amount of flying we’ve racked up, our number is constantly and fast moving towards being up.

This was too subtle.  I went hot pink with monkeys

To kick things off, we didn’t have the means available to take a points ticket in business class.  Although we don’t usually travel in the higher end of the plane on short trips, on anything longer than 6 hours – and especially an overnighter – warrants a points upgrade in our opinion.  It wasn’t possible.  As the flight took off at midnight, the girls were already goners, folded over and around our shoulders like lumpy and weighty scarves, as we struggled with our excess of luggage.

The plane was chockers.  Completely full.  A total pain in the arse.  You always hold out for the holy grail of economy class – a 4-seater all to yourself.  But as airfare prices fall, and planes are packed fuller than ever, that becomes an unlikely scenario, and this time it was more so than ever.  Faced with a unpleasant night I went somewhere where I had vowed never to go.  A place I reserved for mockery and the shaming of others (especially those who wore them round the airport before boarding).  Yes, I am talking about the neck-pillow, and I finally got pushed over the line by a friend whose advice I respect (deep, deep, deep down), who encouraged me to try one out.

I admit it, it does prevent the dreaded crick in the neck from getting all flopsy when you’re on the nod.  And I would like to attribute my 6 hours of sleep to it’s hot pink and monkey covered presence around my shoulders.

After copping a foot hard to the boob about 8 and a half hours into the flight,  I woke up with my bladder bursting.  I stood in line outside the tiny cubicle and smiled at a tatty blonde haired woman waiting in front of me.  Then came the announcement that you never want to hear uttered while 40 000 feet above the ground.  First in Hebrew, and then English:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have just lost one of our two engines and have been forced to attempt an emergency landing, please return to your seats, and prepare yourselves and belongings for impact”.

I'm not going to lie, it wasn't good.

Just not much going on here

As we broke through the thick grey clouds on a sharp trajectory down I looked out across the landscape below.  The early morning light had only just swept the sky and all I could see were plains of orange grass.  Not one sign of civilization.  Eye contact with my fellow passengers was a bad idea – you can see your own fear reflected in their faces.  Unfortunately my husband had been seated alone several rows away from us, so I couldn’t even hold his hand for comfort.  All I could do was to place a hand on each of the girls and wonder if it was too late to pray.

It actually looked like we were going to land in the long grass – only later a girl next to me said she could see the small strip we were headed for.  We hit hard.  And with one engine functioning in reverse, it seemed like the slow down was never going to happen.  But of course it did.  We were safely on the ground.

In Asama, Eritrea.

Bustling

Going nowhere in a hurry

Not exactly uplifting image here

I was one of a few ignorant types that had never heard of the small African nation that borders Ethiopia and Somalia, but I would forever remember it now.  It is safe to say that it is one of the most destitute countries on the face of the planet.  It is also predominantly Muslim, and possibly a place where you just don’t want to show up in a white plane with a blue Star of David on the tail and Israel plastered across the side - although Israel does have an Israeli ambassador there (he turned up and posed for pictures with the passengers), and the Israeli government  calls it "the only friendly port on the Red Sea".  We were lucky, dam lucky - if we had had to land in Egypt or Sudan it could have been an international incident.

Any further interest in this tiny country I know nothing about?  If so, read on.....

 "Roughly the size of Pennsylvania, Eritrea has a population of at least 6 million people. About 69 percent of them are poor, the school enrollment rate stands at 47 percent and annual per capita income was $403 in 2010, according to the World Bank. The country has faced chronic drought over the years, fueled in part by the government’s restrictive economic policies, according to the Central Intelligence Agency’s World Factbook".

"Human Rights groups, which often lack access to the country, have called Eritrea an oppressive state where the rights of civilians are frequently violated. Human Rights Watch, which once described Eritrea as ‘‘a giant prison,’’ reports that ‘‘torture, arbitrary detention, and severe restrictions on freedom of expression, association, and religious freedom remain routine’’ in the country. The group says in its global report for 2013 that ‘‘political parties are not allowed’’and that ‘‘Eritreans are routinely subject to imprisonment without explanation, trial, or any form of due process. Incarceration often lasts indefinitely’’.

Maybe not the greatest place to visit as a tourist, but beggers can’t be choosers.  But like I said, it could have been worse.  It could have been Somalia.

Broken welcome sign

There was a fire truck waiting to greet us, however that thing would have had trouble putting out a cigarette by the look of it.  We didn’t need it anyway (there was no smoking on board).  However, we did not have the authorization to land, and certainly not to disembark, so for 3 long hours we sat on a stuffy plane waiting until they cleared us for entry.  We all piled off and were escorted onto a couple of buses that drove us 30 metres to the door of the “International” airport.  We were greeted by some shifty types, some serious types, and some secret service-looking types.  After a few announcements by the captain, it became clear that we were going nowhere in a hurry.  All 218 people settled into the airport waiting area for what turned out to be a very long day.  We couldn’t leave the airport for security reasons, but the airport had absolutely no food or water.  Luckily they brought a few bottles off the plane so at least we could drink.

Refugees

An examination of the engine indicated serious and unfixable issues, so consequently it was deemed necessary to fly another plane all the way from Israel to pick us up.  That took all day.  I repeat, all fucking day.  There was talk of transferring us to a hotel - but with immigration and then security risks and checks, it just wasn't going to happen.  So we instead spent 15 hours in an airport with barely any food and minimal drinks.  They managed to bring something in for people to eat about 8 hours after we arrived - but canned tuna mixed with tomato paste on stale thick white bread, is a culinary challenge  I'm just not ready to take on.  I ate some stale, tasteless cake that was rustled up instead.  This was the one and only occasion I wasn’t laden down with extra snacks for the girls.  What a fuck-up.  They are lucky they are so cute, and as they were two of only three children on the plane,  they were showered with candy and chocolates from all the other passengers.  They were absolutely the darlings of the entire plane, and everyone was sweet to them, and for that I am so so grateful.  At one stage Cordi turned to me with her mouth full of a mini Mars bar and said "Mum, this is better than Christmas".

Choccy high

There was one person who wasn’t the darling of the plane and that was a senile old lady who had been put on a flight from New Zealand to Israel to visit her son.  There was a non-English speaking Thai porter who helped her transfer at Bangkok, but after that she was totally on her own.  When she was asked her reasons for visiting Israel by officials, she responded "Israel?  ISRAEL??? I'm not going to Israel".  She kept wandering around the plane, and when we had the emergency landing she had absolutely no idea what was going on or where she was.  The hostesses lumped her care for the entire day onto an Australian nurse who was sitting behind me, and gave her 2 valliums to drug the old lady with.

All happy until somebody squished a large scorpian nearby

Sing-a-long

It really was a long, long,  day.  But Israelis being Israelis made the best of it.  There was lots of happy chatting, good humored pooling of resources, sharing, and laughing.  There was also a few sing-a-longs – most notably when some famous dude got his guitar out and led 100 people in a chorus of classics.  I accidently got involved when I took Valli to the toilet and was spotted by an airhostess and dragged to the front of the circle where it was loudly announced (in Hebew) “:This woman and her family are emigrating to Israel TODAY!!!!”.  This kind of announcement, when told to any Australian friends was met with the response “What the fuck do you want to do that for?????”.  However, amongst Israelis it was met with loud cheers, joy, and congratulations.  Then the guitarist broke into a song of welcome and sung it to my face, then everyone joined in and tried to force me to dance to it by gripping my hands and shaking me.  It was pretty nerdy.  Almost nerdy as the fact that I was wearing sandals over socks.  It was my plane look for the toilet - I wasn't expecting to publicly spend 15 hours embracing this fashion faux pas, and it was cold too, so I wasn't taking them off.

Just don't think this one's going to be the next big thing

And finally, FINALLY, the new plane arrived as it was getting dark,  and the cheers rang out.  But then it took another 3 hours to unload the old one, load the new one and sort shit out.  Eritrean airport doesn’t exactly have the latest equipment, a team of donkeys appeared to be pulling some of the cargo.  Ok, maybe not, but the donkeys would have been quicker than the sorry excuse for a luggage cart they produced

The forbidden zone

And we were on.  Strapped in and ready to go.  The girls passed out immediately.  The safety video was played and the plane began to fire up......and then........

No idea it's going to take 15 hours - Valli is suss though

Suddenly the air pressure started building and building, and everyone was clutching their ears and moaning.  The pain woke Cordi up, who went into an absolute melt-down of pain and terror.  She had a little bit of a cold, so that never helps.  But she was so frightened that she covered her mouth and wouldn't drink or chew a candy or swallow, but was spasming in agony.  The poor little thing, it broke my heart.  I couldn't do anything to help her.  At last they turned it off, but of course it thwarted our leaving plans.  The captain made an announcement that something was wrong with the air pressure (oh, really???) and we couldn't take off after all. Well after that everybody went nuts.  People were yelling and screaming at each other, and going all round mental.  Then everyone was out of their seats and fighting, while some were surging up the back of the plane and begging, just begging, for a tiny scrap of food. It wasn't good.  But we waited it out - for yet another 2 hours.  And finally, god dam fucking christ all mighty finally, the plane took off.  My ears did not feel good the entire flight, but all I cared about was that Valli and Cord were asleep.  I was so hungry there was no way I could nap.  The food came out and it was good.  If, like most people, you find it hard to enjoy the fine fare offered on a plane, just starve yourself for 15 hours beforehand, and I promise you it will then taste like crème brûlée.

At least I just had my own children to look after.  I felt really sorry for the woman who had to care for the crazy lady.  She admitted to me that she if someone had told her the day before that she would end up in a country she's never heard of, grinding up drugs in the airport bathroom in order to slip a mickey to a demented woman, disguising them inside a stale piece of cake, she never would have imagined it. Apparently there was no effect on the woman after both valliums (a double dose) - the old duck must be immune.  Wish she'd handed them over to me - I couldn't relax properly until the plane was completely stationary at Tel Aviv airport which took 3 more hours of flying.  And let me just say, that once we got off and carried the sleeping girls, plus our luggage, plus having to make a pit stop in an airport office at 1am to fill out emigration paperwork, and then drove into Tel Aviv, we were beyond finished.  I got to bed well after 2am.  Our flight was 17 hours late, and can you believe that Chalky's beautiful sister Hannah and his brother in law Alex (who are both busy doctors) were waiting for us when we arrived?  Such an incredible thing - I will never forget it.

Our adventure made tonight's news - as did a lot of footage from the days events taken on cell phones.   There's talk of compensation - and let's hope it's better than the chocolate and the movie tickets they palmed off on us as a pathetic "sorry" when we disembarked.  Unamused.   The chocs weren't bad though.

Thanks for not letting me and die and everything - but where's our real compo bitches?

 So now, we are here, our first day in Tel Aviv settling into life in our new country.  Let's hope it goes a lot smoother than the journey here.

*For anyone who wants a look on at one of the english articles online:

http://www.timesofisrael.com/el-al-plane-makes-emergency-landing-in-eritrea/

It's Always Thailand Time

Is there really a way???

Faced with the impending terror of getting in my bathers at the end of winter, I did what any self respecting bogan would do.  Got a spray tan yo!!  Brown flab is so much better than white.  When I made the call to the salon round the corner I was asked if #1 If I could make it there in half an hour; and #2 If I could be a model.  "Are you serious?" I asked the girl on the phone "You would not be asking that if you could see me.  Winter has not been kind".  "Don't worry" she said cheerfully, "You're more like a practise person for a new student doing training".......Ah, I get it.  The Fuck-Up Person.  "Sure no worries".  Anything for a freebie.  There was a little bit too much time spent with two strangers peering at my arse cheeks as I bent over, but I must admit, she didn't do too much of a bad job, although one of my little fingers and the side of my hand were strangely deep brown.

A glamorised view

So here I am, slightly streaky and in Thailand faster than you can say "Give us a pad thai and a banana shake, my tiny little Thai friend".  Good old Thailand.  Favourite of backpackers and other scumbags the world over.  Although these days you get less bang for your buck than 18 years ago when I visited Thailand for the first time.  Then it was all new.  To me anyway.  I ended up on Koh Phangan (as you do),  dancing in the water at a full moon party with a glow stick and a bucket of Jim Beam and coke.  I literally mean bucket - they were all the rage back then.  I then abandoned my plans to travel the country and spent six weeks hanging with a bunch of sleazy shaman-types and freaked out flower children at a bungalow set-up, which was a boat-ride around the corner from the main beach of Haadrin.  They were all living on the proceeds of their dubious international border activities, and the savings earned from stripping at the hostess clubs in Tokyo.  Whatever finances your next bludge on the beaches of Asia I guess.  I never quite went there myself (too gutless and prudish), and hopefully I didn’t start calling people “sister”.  But I must admit to doing a spiritual belly-dancing course and wearing glitter as eyeshadow.

Reality is much more like this

But times change.  And 18 years later I am out of the five bucks a night shithole, and shacked up with a husband and two kids at the same glorious resort we tried out in December - a tiny private island, and a 5 minute speedboat ride from the Phuket Marina.  Mainly we’re trying to avoid the Aussie bogans that call Phuket their second Asian home – after Kuta Beach of course.  My first overseas trip was to good old Kuta at the tender age of just turned 18.  This is where I learnt that monkeys attack (and have a penchant for nipple biting), and also, after visiting a friend's bungalow one morning, that it is possible to actually shit your bed after too many shots.   It was also my first serious encounter with the ABO  factor (Australian Bogans Overseas).  And seeing as I have visited Gallipoli, it certainly was not the last.  Bogan knocking is such easy sport, and lots of fun.   That is until you investigate the website “What Bogans Like”, and realise that you are jiggy with far too many things on that list. For those of you who are disbelievers in your own boganity just have a little look.....and own up if you like Fascinators, 50 Shades of Grey, Cheap Petrol, Angus Beef, Zumba, Ducks, Losing Weight For Summer or  Car Parks.  Make sure you click on the ones you like and have a read.  It is embarrassing.

http://thingsboganslike.com/the-full-list/

And for all you superior types who think you’re so original and don’t resonate with anything on that list – just tune into “Stuff White People Like” - Roller Derby, TED, Picking Your Own Fruit, T-Shirts, Banksy and Snowboarding -  to feel like the knob that you are.

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

Private lushness

The weather was shit.  Apart from not being able to show off my tan job I was fine with it.  Rain means more lazing around, and less activities.  Guilt free sleeping-in as well.  The Chinese tourists didn’t share my enthusiasm.  They used to sit on the sun lounges in the driving rain, holding an umbrella and staring wistfully out to sea.  They just couldn't accept that their imagined holiday by the pool was not an option, and therefore went for it anyway, rain be damned.  Actually most people were pretty gutted.  Crappy weather and a fortune in room charges brings out the worst in people – not to mention the added issue of the shits from too many chili flakes in your pad thai.  There is something everyone should consider though, when taking a family vacation.  And that is, you spend a lot of time with your kids.  A LOT.  I’m not saying that it’s bad........yet I am also not exactly pointing it out as a positive.  Just be prepared – there is no buffer zone.  This mean that there are sure to be times when you consider strapping on your backpack, applying some glitter to your upper lids, and heading as far away as possible for a solo mission of the mayhem and cheap thrills only a sheet of homemade LSD can bring.

No more gong, please no more

Our hotel, while seemingly luscious, had it’s quirky elements.  One thing is the gong you have to bang when you arrive and leave.  I was like “Oh Jesus, that fucking gong AGAIN??”.  Then there’s a general sort of offbeatness in the restaurants and some unorganised staff issues going on.  As I watched Valli and Cordi get face-painted to resemble zombie tigers, a panting red-faced American sprinted into the games room.  When he saw his 5 year old son in there (who’d been looked after by a Thai nanny for the previous 5 hours) he almost started crying.  “Oh God, Warren, son, Jesus Christ son, you’re ok, oh son, oh God”.  Apparently he’d rung reception to say he was going to be late to pick up his boy, and the person on the phone told him that his son had been taken by "people unknown" on a boat to the mainland.  Naturally he freaked out, got put through to Guest Services who then told him that nobody knew where his son was, and they had no idea what had happened to him.  Hence the avoided heart attack when he turned up to see Warren Junior happily playing in the ball pit.

They may be terrifying, but at least they were happy

now the girls look like they've got some terrible disease

We avoided the babysitting ourselves, but the staff still get involved with your kid's fun - which is nice (or not, depending on whether you are an animal).  The Thai water sport boys showed Valli and Cordi how to dig up crabs on the beach, and then taught them how to terrorise our crustacean chums by chasing them, screaming, poking them with sticks and throwing sand on them.  It’s better than last visit, when I’m pretty sure the same young dudes were emulating masturbation while blowing up the long balloons for the “Balloon Art” session.  I really needed their help myself one morning when I was gathering food from the buffet.  I felt a twitch in one of my runners.  I ripped it off only to see a tail of something uncool inside.  My husband got a fork, and finally managed to drag out a 15cm long millipede curled up inside.  Apparently they are dangerous.  Apparently I was lucky.

But weird staff, dubious food, awkward dinner dancing displays, poisonous insects and shit weather aside, Naka Island resort gets away with it all, because it is so bloody gorgeous.  Especially when they have a special, so that when you you stay 6 nights, 2 of them are free – and with a room upgrade thrown into the mix, you can kick back from your private swimming pool overlooking the beach and wonder how much it would cost to move in permanently.

Nice

It really is an unreal world there.  No cars, no noise, no random stinks, no peddlers, no dogs, no chronic diarrhoea.  It’s not really Thailand.  It’s a shock when you do enter reality again, as we found a week later when we pushed our way through the Phuket airport crowds with all our fellow boganic countrymen.  The girls fell over on the ground and became instantly filthy, there was nothing to eat except Subway and Burger King, and I got somebody else’s tomato sauce splatted across my crisp white dress when I sat down to drink a coffee.  Time for a spot of Zumba anybody?  Or a wine tour?  And hands up anyone who likes Bear Grylls?


Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Melbourne Round-Up

There she blows - the view from our bedroom

Mmmm two months in Melbourne, let me see......1 nice apartment, 1 trip to Byron, 3 trips to Tassie, 4 family visits, 3 Tassie friend visits, 200 glasses of wine, 35 nice dinners, 45 rendezvous's with various friends/family, 1 AFL grand final, and finally one psychotic shovelling of all kinds of crap into boxes, tubs and suitcases - most people call this kind of activity packing.  All in all not a bad effort.

Stay Back, Stay BACK!

I'm going to start with a brief summary of my trips to Tassie.  The Big Tas, the Old Map Of.  And I will start with the plane trip there.  Has anyone ever sat in the exit row of a Jetstar flight recently?  I did on my solo one-night-only Tas adventure in early August.  Usually you will be asked (while you're trying to concentrating on your NW Magazine - "Battle Of The Bulge - See Celebrities Who Have Stacked it ON?" either that or "Rake Thin - Which Of These Stars Have Gone Too Far" - both fascinating reading), whether you feel confident to operate the exit door in case of an emergency.  You usually nod, and think to yourself - "not a chance, but I'm after the extra leg room here love, so piss off".  Satisfied that you can rescue an entire planeload of people should the plane plummet into to sea, they typically leave you alone.  But not this time.  "Madam I need to know that you will feel able to fend off the other passengers"  "Yeah, yeah, sure.... WHAT???". She continues... "In case of cabin fire, the passengers will surge towards the front of the plane and you will have to stand up and hold them back like this" (she demonstrates a pushing motion).  "Umm, I just thought I had to operate the door".  "Yes, but in case of an emergency people will become panicked and flee towards the doors, so you will have to stop them".  But I thought the whole point of the emergency doors was to allow people, especially those on fire, to get out and hopefully not die.  "Just stand up and block the aisle and hold them at bay like this" (again with the air-pushing motion).......not if they're on fire I won't - For the love of god, I just want to stretch my legs out, not be responsible for restraining half crazed air crash victims.  ...."Then those next to you can get the doors open" my fellow passengers look up from their magazines and grunt a "yep, sure will".  So there you have it.  If you are going for the exit row for extra comfort, don't sit in the aisle seat unless Exit Door Defender is on your list of To Do's.

I found out a few things on my trips to Tassie, #1 My old Geography teacher's boobs reach her waist (as reported by someone who ran into her half naked on Mayfield beach) #2 Having random shots behind the bar at Syrup at 3am gives you a really bad hangover the next day, #3 Cinnamon donuts from Salamanca market still fix hangovers, and #4 Half of Tasmanian adults are illiterate.

I know, I couldn't believe it either, but unfortunately it is a statistic just released by the ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics), and those bad boys just don't lie. Next time you are feeling a little down, just be glad that you can read.  I shall offer you a direct quote;

'A report by the Australian Bureau of Statistics for 2011-2012 shows half of all Tasmanians aged 15 to 74 are functionally illiterate, and more than half are functionally innumerate—meaning they don’t have the skills needed to get by in the modern world, like filling out forms, or reading the instructions on their prescription'.

http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/backgroundbriefing/2013-09-22/4962902

At least I know now why practically nobody I know comments on this blog.  You bastards can't read it.

The Spazzas

But back to Melbourne - my newly beloved future home.  Hopefully the people aren't living there aren't total thickies either, but I suspect the problem could be nationwide.  My daughters have been attending ballet classes the whole time we have been here.  And I use the term "ballet" very loosely.  When your children get a little older, the dance class doors are shut and you wait outside with all the other bored mothers.  Or you don't.  I would nick off to drink coffee and pray one of them didn't need a wee (those leotards are tricky to get down).  Anyway when the end of term concert was on - and again I use the term "concert" loosely here too - actually it was more like a display of what you've been paying for these last two months (conclusion = too much).  It wasn't exactly riveting stuff.  Everyone else was holding up their mobiles and ipads to capture every second.  Jesus, I was having trouble watching it once.  Was it cute?  Of course.  Was it entertaining? For about 5 minutes.  The rest of the time I was dumbfounded about what spazzas children are.  Including my own.  Especially my own.  Unfortunately my daughter was the only one to rock back a bit too far during the "Twinkle Toes" segment, smash her head on the floor and howl so much that I had to go up and cart her off (thank god I didn't go for that deeply desired coffee this time).  Both of mine also went a bit nutty during the ribbon waving part, never did what the teacher asked them, and in "Wishing Well" Valli was encouraging her classmates to wish for "Poo Poo Fairies".  They are the only ones who can't skip either, and thus completely rooted their skipping solo.  Who knew you had to teach that at home?  Anyway myself and my husband came to the conclusion that our girls are little buggers.  I tried to apologise to the teacher "Miss Catherine" after class, thinking she would reassure me that they were fine.  She didn't appear to be amused.  And I thought my childhood ballet teacher, Mrs Todd, was a battle axe. All those bloody pliés.

It's also been Miley Month of late.  Personally, I'm really fucked off with Miley Cyrus.  Bitch stole my signature move "The Tongue".  How can I ever pull it off again.  Not only was it my favourite everyday move, but it was also my favourite drunk picture pose.  God knows how many photos are out there of me with "The Tongue", but now it is all over.  Thanks to fucking Miley.  People even describe it as HER signature move.  I am gutted.  I knew I should have patented it.  But there's a new kind of Miley controversy raging at the moment.  In response to Miley going on a slut rampage, Sinead O'Connor wrote an open letter to Miley (basically calling her a prostitute) - Miley responds by pulling a red leotard up her fanny  -

and is now this artistic comeback is followed by Amanda Palmer's open letter to Sinead O'Connor about Sinead O'Connor's open letter to Miley Cyrus, and next Miley calls Sinead a mental case and finally in Sinead's next open letter to Miley, she goes all gangsta on Mileys ass (actually she mentions her tits).  All good stuff.  A few interesting points, some Miley put-down's from Sinead, a bit of Amanda Palmer's attention seeking bullshit (I still love her though), and more snaps of Miley's vagine.   But basically, nobody even mentions her ripping off "The Tongue" from me.  Pissed off.  I'd write an open letter myself, but basically nobody would give a shit, so instead I'll just reminisce over a few old snaps.

At a glacier

on a snowmobile

on Harriet

all over Liesel

In the middle of nowhere

with food accessories

There are a whole lot more - but I think you get the message.  I did it first.  But did I do it better?  Possibly not.  And let's face it, it's pretty fucking gross.  I really shouldn't post these, but of course I will.  It's so annoying when other people catch on to amazing and inspiring activities you've been doing for ages (like tonguing people and inanimate items), or start to like music you listened to WAY before it became cool.  This is part of the "I Did It First Syndrome" - which is annoying and pretentious.  Obviously I suffer from it, as I also think I was the first person to bring back boots over jeans (seriously, nobody was doing it 12 years ago), and to coin the phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder" (you've got to admit, it's a modern day classic).  I do however think I definitely could be the first person to identify and name this syndrome.

Another thing I want to address is that it is Year Of The 40th for all my friends.  This sickens and disgusts me.  When the hell did I manage to amass a bunch of old lameos as my friends and acquaintances?  No offence everyone, but you are all so fucken old.  For god's sake, just go and kill yourselves already.  I can get away with this abuse (or can I???), because I am still in my 30s.  Who gives a shit that it's only for 3 and half more months.  I am milking it, and will continue to do so.  Oldies!  Go buy some adult diapers you grey haired dicks!  Got your seniors cards yet fuckfaces?

I remember when my own mother turned 40.  My Dad gave her a card that said on the front "At 40 You're Still a Peach" and then  inside "Yellow, Fuzzy and Occasionally Stoned".  I think he was aiming at the yellowish part as my Mum was going through an obsessive carrot eating phase that actually turned her a pale orange kind of a colour.  It was the "stoned" bit that got me though.  My mother stoned???  I know she had smoked it once at university (unsure about the inhaling bit), and it made her sick. There is no way she could have become a deviant at 40.  It didn't make sense.  I used to wish she had been a stoner back then (mainly so I could knock off her stash), but now I love that my mother is sweet and innocent (and how her vomit smells like dried lavender).  She never did trashy things, like getting pissed or borrowing my clothes, or trying to crack on to my boyfriends.  I can appreciate that so much more now.  Even though at the time, I would have loved to see her roll up on a motorbike and smoke a joint while waiting in the school carpark to give me a lift home.  If you knew my mother, that image would amuse you.  Anyway, I was 19 when my mother turned 40, and my own daughters will be 4 when I do. That means I am going to be going through their teenage years when I am in my 50s.  Excuse me while I have a little rock in the corner.  God dam it.  There is always surgery I guess.

I hate those big fingers

And I suppose I brought up the Grand Final, but honestly, I am too bored with the topic to even discuss it.  I thought it would be in someway good being actually in Melbourne for the day of all days - the AFL Grand Final - on the the weekend just before we left too.  And yet......unmoved.  My husband was pacing around like it was Christmas Eve and he was 7 years old and knew, just KNEW he was going to score a Nintendo.  Who knew that getting pissed with your mates could inspire such excitement.  I really like my husband when he is retarded on alcohol.  Some people's husbands (and people in general of course) get emotional, some get abusive, some silly, some aggressive and some sleazy.  Mine gets stupid.  Kind of like Simple Simon.  He's really easy to manage, and kind of cute in a thicky sort of way.  It's a refreshing change from the know-it-all smarty he is in real life.  Remind me to challenge him to a game of Trivial Pursuit next time he drinks beer for breakfast.  Anyway I was forbidden to attend the boy's day - me and my friends were previously thinking we could have a family affair with one and all, until the kibosh was put on those plans.  Later I learnt that it was for our own good.  Who wants to see almost 50 year olds wrestling in the garden, piling up on top of each other in an embarrassing display of male bonding, and then exploding an egg on the barbecue.  I'm happy to pick the dummy up later and put him to bed.  Only this time he sobered up and came out with me and my friends.

I show my new chums "The Tongue" and they love it!!!

That's something I forgot to mention.  I have Melbourne friends.  At long last I have chums.  And they actually like me.  It's a miracle.  And these are new chums - not people obligated by family ties, or old old friends that have forgotten why they liked me in the first place.  I know I said I wasn't recruiting, but in this instance I will make an exception.  Zoe, Alex, and Sarah too, you are the best.  And of course I can't knock the old chums - my sweet Bec and gorgeous Liesel.  They may however be able to knock me after I tried to poison them with my home cooking one night.  I got the recipe from Mark Newhouse.  I think he's out to destroy me culinary-wise.  Let's put in this way, never make his lemon chicken.

Anyway, one of the best things about hanging with old friends is the reminiscing.  In this instance, one of my old friends brought over a letter I had written to her when I was about 13 years old.  It was about a trip up the East Coast of Tasmania I had taken with my parents.  Highlights include;  "Dear Bec, I am disgusted as today I nearly tripped over a little boy BOGGING in the sand dunes"; Obviously high-brow stuff.  Or, "Dear Bec, me and Louise (my then 7 year old sister) just spied on some bogans fucking their girlfriends in the caravan next door"  Nice activity for a 7 year old.  And a very detailed story about how my brother and I shoved a peanut up my Dad's nose while he was asleep, and almost killed him.  There are also some other exciting details about a giant brawl over Scrabble that ended in my mother packing her bags, claiming she hated us all (her kids not husband) and almost catching the bus back home; and an episode in which my parents had to cart saucepans full of water to pour down the toilet to flush away my father's rogue poo.  It was obviously a happy and fun filled family time.  Family trips were always so much worse than you could have imagined before they actually begun.  I was also amused to see that I wrote pretty much the same way 26 years ago.  Same focus on negative details.  Same bagging out of nearly everyone I know, and all the people I don't know.  Same swearing.  Same political incorrectness.  Same over-concern with shit.  How can I explain it?  As I said in my last blog, I've been a nasty little piece of work my entire life.  Even in my hippy phase I was still inherently evil.

So last time I eluded to the fact that I had not been accepted as an Israeli emigrant.  This still holds. My husband and children made the cut though.   I am however planning to enter Israel on a tourist visa next week, so it's still all systems go.  Currently we are taking a little pit stop in Thailand.  Some people may ask why, I myself, ask why not.  Thailand is always in favour.

But first - bye Melbourne.  Thanks for a great couple of months.  I am really looking forward to living in you in a couple of years (is it me, or does that sound kind of pervy?).  So long to the best coffee, the meanest drivers, the warmest winter on record, our amazing view of The Shrine, painful barre classes, caffeine fuelled park dates, wine nights, yummiest dinners out, yummiest dinners in, great shopping, hottest nightlife (not that I'd know - I'm almost a Senior remember....).  And most of all, so long to a bunch of total legends.  My family and friends, I miss you so much already xxxx

My little lamb's new passport pictures