Hope enters

Not so long ago, in a place that often feels like a galaxy far far away, a little girl appeared at our door.

Emily was sweeping and then carrying the dust mop outside to beat and sweep again into a dustbin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a quick blur. Hearing her startled reaction, I came to the door. There was Emily bent over a tiny little dog.

The small dog was a reddish-brown poodle, with large intelligent eyes. Hope was so small and underfed that she looked like a puppy. She looked like a puppy that hadn’t been cared for, not for a long time.

We put out a bowl of water for her and started quizzing some of the building’s workers and passing residents. They replied with variations on a theme, “Just ignore her. It’s not your problem.” Their shrugs were almost audible.

Wyatt and Emily showered the little girl, and the name Hope was chosen. After her shower, I toweled Hope off and held her while Emily used a blow dryer and comb. The messy little pup was now clean and fresh. Hope was almost immediately at home.

That afternoon and that evening we watched her closely.

The next morning Wyatt, Emily and I went to Walmart. We bought a chair cushion that became Hope’s bed, and some dog biscuits and chicken sausages. I ordered some dry dog food online. We were worried about the effect of heavy meat on her shrunken stomach. That night Hope slept in with Wyatt. The next few nights her seat cushion bed and towel/blanket were placed beside our bed, on Emily’s side.

Emily gave Hope a haircut and combed out her hair.

Between meals, walks, belly rubs, and the occasional mess, we grew very attached to Hope.

We knew we had to find her a home. We must return to Indonesia each summer, so I can renew my permanent residence. As with last summer, we were home for two months. This summer it will be for a minimum of six weeks. We can’t depend on people we barely know to shoulder the responsibility.

We started to canvas the neighbourhood for Hope’s previous owners. We weren’t optimistic, but we were hoping that this lovable, intelligent fur baby might have a family that was missing her. We found no one. Then we put a notice up in our school’s online groups. Someone close to the school wanted a dog. We asked our Chinese co-workers about this woman’s character. Emily went to meet her to judge for herself.

On Friday morning I took Hope for her walk, brought her back to the apartment, rubbed her belly, and left for school with Wyatt. That would be the last time we saw her. While I was at school, Emily cut and shaped Hope’s hair and gave her another bath. Hope would meet her new family fresh and happy.

Yesterday we said goodbye to Hope.

Hope is the name we chose for a little poodle that wandered literally into our home, and into our life.

Emily met the woman and they discussed Hope’s situation and agreed that Hope would have a new family.

This is not an easy decision, and I keep asking myself if there’s another choice. I know there’s not.

Hope’s new family sent two photos of a very happy fur baby enjoying her new home.

Dear Hope

We will miss you, and we were so happy to share a few short days with you. So long, and good luck. Have a safe and happy life.

Regards, your family

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Rare and Delicate Legacy

We want to believe that each and every person is imbued at birth with a nigh mystical quality. We hunger to know that we are heirs to a rare and precious legacy that has been rumoured, and even had its nature insisted upon by some fanatical believers. In fact, there are some, perhaps even now, that claim to have seen evidence of this ephemeral wisdom. Perhaps they’ve glimpsed its magic out of the corner of their eye.
They call this fabled ability‘common sense’. It seems logical that untold millennia of human development and progress has imprinted gifts upon our character, our race memory, and perhaps even our DNA. Unfortunately, each and every passing moment makes that elusive quality seems as likely as unicorns. The only horns we’ll see are likely to be worn by violent cynics as they kick the last of our naïve hopes to death. Then again, we might just walk into traffic while texting with angels.

The consequences of neglect

Trash, litter, waste, and rubbish may be our actual four horsemen. We have almost as many words for what we throw away as the Inuit supposedly have for snow. We all face the same problems of lives spent leaving an unsightly trail.

As many of us work to improve our neighbourhoods and celebrate our communities, some can’t be bothered to carry a plastic cup to a bin. Children are allowed to drop garbage as they walk. In fact, children are encouraged in the lackadaisical littering by the somnambulant slovenliness of their supposedly more mature elders. What still shocks me, and shouldn’t, is that this attitude carries over into private homes and places of worship.

As you drive through Surabaya you will see high apartment towers, shining malls, mosques and churches. You will also see quite a number of ornate neoclassical and modernist homes. Many of these enclaves of large homes are ringed by gates and staffed with private patrols.

Even in these fortresses, and the schools and shops that serve them, the lack of care is evident. Tables and desks left strewn with the detritus of a task or meal. Trash piled against a wall or left littering church or mosque steps.

Parents, schools, and communities need to be on board for any change to work. Imagine the reaction from Mom and dad when the satpam tells the kid, “Hey, use the trash bin!” Even if it’s phrased as “please dispose of your trash in the appropriate receptacle”. (Insert correct translation as you like) In the west and in Singapore people have been conditioned not to litter, and of course there are fines. We see it here in Surabaya, and in Bali that quite a number of North Americans, Europeans, and Singaporeans happily relax their morality and social conscience while on vacation.

This isn’t about when in Rome … the long term consequences of our actions and inactions have to be considered. The same goes for us as visitors; you don’t litter at home, don’t do it here.

Locally, people will change, even in more traditional communities. They need to see viable alternatives and workable (within their capabilities and resources) solutions.

Governments and industry are happy to tout their respect for local/traditional wisdom as long as it keeps locals traditionally ignorant. Kalimantan, Sumatra, Lapindo, Bali’s water crisis and the mess that is Kenjeran beach are not the fault of villagers and tukang parkir.

Waste and neglect are not an enviable legacy to be left by any culture.

Improving your life shouldn’t cost an arm and a leg

http://indonesia.affordabledegreeoverseas.com/

Memories of Bali

I should note that this was originally posted in 1998.

It’s good to be home.

Emily had gone to Bali a few days earlier, as she had some business and both my son and I still had school. On Christmas Eve we got to the airport and boarded our flight to Bali.

Like the song goes … “the weather started getting rough. The tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage of the fearless crew …” We made three passes over the Island of the Gods, but it wasn’t meant to happen.

The rain was buffeting our sturdy craft. It was impossible to see anything, and then the peanuts ran out.

Well, next thing you know … ol’ Wayne’s back in Surabaya. And Boy howdy, was I ever happy about that. I peppered the air with cries of gosh golly and dad burn it. I’m not happy.

Emily is waiting at the airport for me and her handphone is obviously not working. My handphone has previously given up the ghost. Now I’m using a phone card and trying to find a compatible phone. I find one, but unfortunately, it’s sandwiched between two phones occupied by men talking louder than seems necessary.

I can’t hear a bloody thing. I’m trying to explain the situation to my mother-in-law. She’s a nice lady who I communicate quite well with in person, yet her English doesn’t exist, my Indonesian is poor, the connection sucks and the surrounding noise is unbearable.

Well, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas at the top of my lungs, I compliment their country and their courtesy and I wish them on their way. My son thinks dear old Dad is ready for a new sports coat in that lovely wrap-around style.

Finally, I get through. Everybody’s okay on that side. We waited in Surabaya’s Juanda airport for an hour and a half. Finally, the plane boarded again. It was now 10:00 pm. The flight to Bali is about 35 to 45 minutes. Bali is an hour ahead of Surabaya.

We arrive in Bali at 11:40 p.m. Bali time. It’s drizzling. The taxi driver asks for Rp 40,000. I decline. We walk out to the taxi booth and buy a voucher. We pay Rp 26,000. Christmas Eve passes in the back of a taxi. We arrive.

My wife is at work preparing a shipment of fruit to Hong Kong. I am now a fruit packer. By 12:00 p.m. Christmas day the fruit is packed and on its way. We shower, eat and almost everyone sleeps.

Me, … I’m wired. The rest of our merry band has fallen asleep. The nanny and the cook are watching the kids. The next day the lost sleep will catch up with me. I take a long walk. We were in Denpasar, Bali and it’s hot. I walk for an hour and come back drenched in sweat.

Christmas night we head to Jimbaran.

Jimbaran beach is a long strip of seafood restaurants. You order your food fresh. You pick a table. On the beach, if it’s not raining, under the tents if it is. On a clear night the sound of the surf, the smell of barbecued fish and the majesty of a star-filled sky conspire to bewitch even the most cynical traveler.

The day after Christmas I sleep until 11:00 a.m. I’m still tired when my two nephews and my niece wake me. Chinese-Indonesian children do not play outside and are generally spoiled. I’ve brought some cartoons with me. The VCDs keep them occupied for half an hour.

We head to Kuta that afternoon. We don’t go to the bars or the shopping malls. We find a relatively quiet beach and play in the surf. My son, who’s eighteen, seems more interested in the spectacle of topless women frolicking close by. My head may have turned one or two times. The surf-kissed sand has been rendered almost mirror-like. The sky is a rich blue with traces of white clouds. Gradually the blue becomes purple and the sun is a descending red ball. Pale pinks and rich oranges dominate the fading palate. A tropical sunset is beautiful and abbreviated.

In fifteen minutes it is dark. The stars are brilliant. Aside from a few moments of temper, the week passes uneventfully. We watch videos on New Years’ Eve. Two days later we hop in the car and head to Lovina. We’re going to see the Dolphins.

Last episode we left for Lovina to see the dolphins.

Along the way, we pass the site of Gunung Agung’s 1963 eruption. The devastation was massive and thousands died. The Balinese believe that this was because prayers had been interrupted. Now the boulders, once part of Gunung Agung’s crown, are strewn about, but they are covered with lush vegetation. It was another example of nature’s power to repair itself.

I was reminded of a walk through Canada’s Algonquin Park.

Granted, it probably doesn’t need to be said that it certainly wasn’t similar terrain. A picture from the early years of the last century showed a devastated mountain.Trees, and earth torn away to run a rail line through. Then in the fall 0f 1995, I walked down that same path and tall, healthy trees shaded me. Waist high grass surrounded me. I was shaded by mature pines. Nature will right itself, once given a chance.

Now I stood in the lushness of Gunung Agung’s revival. Gunung is the Indonesian word for mountain, and the center of Bali is a spine of mountains. Many of them are still active volcanoes. As late as 1994 there have been eruptions. They don’t call the Indonesian archipelago the Ring of Fire because of the hot food. We arrived in Lovina. We looked at one place. They wanted RP 300,000 a night. That’s the price of a luxury hotel in Surabaya.

We found the Hotel Padma. We paid Rp 120,000 for each of two rooms, barely enough for myself, Emily, her sister Suzy, our son Adryan, Suzy’s three kids and a family friend. So, it’s guys in one room, and women in the other. The pool was clean large and warmed by the sun. We ate a large dinner and turned in. At 5:00 a.m. we were up and by six o’clock, we were in two traditional boats heading out to see the dolphins. We were about 20 minutes out when the first small pod appeared.

They surfaced, played about and were gone – only to reappear in another area. This went on for half an hour or so. Then a larger group appeared. The two groups surfaced, dived, disappeared, raced the boats and delighted their audience. It is impossible not to feel a little like an alien watcher, privileged to witness a very personal kinship with nature.

The surrounding mountains were mist-cloaked shadows at the water’s edge. The water was black in the pale early morning light, briefly disturbed by our bright-coloured boats and the sleek gray bodies that danced and dived around us.

Then it ended. We had spent almost two hours watching. It was impossible to tell who was more excited, the adults or the children.

After breakfast, Adryan and I went snorkelling.  A reef lay about halfway between the shore and where we watched the dolphins. Again, we were in a traditional boat. A narrow canoe like craft with twin outriggers, a small (5.5 horsepower) outboard motor and an inverted, triangular-shaped, lanteen sail that also serves to shade our driver/guide as he naps. We don masks and flippers and enter the now blue waters. Colors explode around us. Angelfish, rainbow-hued fish, blue neon tetras and unfortunately a few too many jelly fish. We moved location twice. Adryan managed to find a French coin. Once cleaned, it was revealed as a 1995 coin, but still a find. I had to rescue it from the pool bottom later that evening, so the excitement of discovery was obviously short-lived. We stayed two days then headed back to Denpasar.

We flew home that Saturday.

Hopes For The Year Ahead

Happy New Year.

May the year ahead offer health, happiness, prosperity, purpose and fulfillment.

All the best, Wayne, Emily, Adryan and Wyatt

Seasons Greetings

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