Life's a Stitch

First up, there was great relief when M and KC were on the last flight out of Hong Kong before they closed the airport to long distance flights two nights ago. The terminal was due to close at midnight and their flight was given a special exception to fly at five minutes past! They flew to SFO, spent the night, then to Calgary in the morning. That leaves B and S still there. Ah young love, there was no way he was leaving her. I get it. They are safe, in isolation at her mother’s compound.

I remember as a child watching the Little Rascals and there being an episode about quarantine. An official came to the door and posted a sign to keep others out. Never ever did I ever think I'd be in a similar predicament. And here we are, not socially isolating, but confined to the house as per Canada's Quarantine Act. 

Two weeks, 24/7! There is no lack of things to do, one frustration being the inability to get outside and walk. When the rain stops I might consider laps around the outside of the house. These next three days will be the most nerve wracking, as it is the timeframe for symptoms to appear, usually days 5-7. 

We're eating better than usual, with lots of time for cooking, starting with Instant Pot meatballs and tomato sauce, always so rich and delicious. Cutting a large beef roast in two I've got half marinating for tomorrow's stifado and the rest cooking for four hours on top of the stove – Balinese Beef Rendang:

Perfectly tender and carmelized:

The recipe, technically a dry curry, called for 3 Tablespoons of chilli flakes. I’m a fan of spicy heat, however I stopped at one and it’s hot enough.

Our kitchen and freezer are well stocked, but we'll need to strategize fresh food items prior to the end of detention. I've tried all the grocery store apps and the next available date is April 8th! We've had some offers of help, though, so not too worried.

During the week I'll finish one of the Bali posts. It seems like a dream now. It's hard to believe we'd be only halfway through our trip.

 

 

So difficult. I lost it at the Denpasar airport, a teary mess, my mind going to terrible places. When will I see my kids again? A man, who it turns out is from our town, comforted me. We talked about the kids being in a lower risk category and it made perfect sense for us to be leaving, older folks that we are. 

The line up was long, held up by the situations of several people, also Canadian, who had driven to Seattle for less expensive flights. Unable to return, as the borders are closed, they were being rerouted to Vancouver, their cars continuing their US vacation. 

One of those affected shared her rant wth me. She asked how I was doing. “Sad to be leaving my kids.” Ranting was her forte. “What!!! You must not leave your children here, the medical system is S**t. Get them out of here…” Enter White Rock man who tells her “You have just undone all the good I did for this woman (me). Then he proceeded to tell the story of how, during their time in Bali, one of his daughters developed a severe ear infection. He was given a number to call. An ambulance arrived with two doctors and a supply of medication. They examined the little girl, confirmed the ear infection that required treatment and left them with the appropriate meds and supplies. All for $100 Cdn dollars. What an efficient system. Why expose people to an ER full of sick patients? Maybe this pandemic will lead to a healthier world.

At security my approved for travel, foldable, dull pointed tiny scissors were confiscated. I have flown all over the world with them and they accompanied me on our first Camino trek. Why here? Insult to injury.

2/3’s of the passengers wore some sort of mask, most ineffective, or worn improperly. There was a family of three dressed in plastic ponchos, goggles, masks and gloves for the duration of the first five hour flight to Taipei.

The food was as we heard: a piece of cake, a mini muffin, a raisin cookie and Crisp Balls and a six ounce bottle of water. We did get two meals on the ten hour flight to YVR. 

Our temperatures were taken at each airport. I have the ability, once I see the thermometer guns at the front of the line, to be anxious that I’ll sprout a fever by the time i get there. All went well.

The flights included a couple of people actively suppressing occasional coughs and a woman who felt the need to stretch with her feet on the wall. It takes all kinds.

We started our descent into familiar territory.

Vancouver’s airport procedure went smoothly. There was minimal co-vid screening, which surprised me. Just to have dinner at the Hyatt in Bali required the taking of temperatures.

We made it home via a disinfected Uber to settle in for our 14 day quarantine. We were greeted by the relieving news that M & KC had also made the decision to return home. Two less to worry about.

 

AKA Paradise postponed. What it feels like is Paradise Lost.

Checked flights online and one was available at an additional price of $3000 for the two of us (we flew here round trip for $1000 each), but changes required a phone call.

Decided to try to call the airlines at 5:00a.m., thinking there would be fewer callers, to find that EVA doesn’t have a 24 hour call centre. Since it was during business hours at home I called the Vancouver office, which was actually in the US. Success after a 20 minute wait! We’re flying home today at an additional cost of $956, a bargain. 

Wish we could click our heels and magically land in our comfy beds at home. Instead, we’ll be on packed planes hoping the Taipei airport remains open for our connecting flight. Our canary in the coal mine from a few posts ago, flew back yesterday and reports they aren’t serving hot meals on the first five hour flight, and instead was served a bun, a cookie and water. Common on domestic flights at home, but different from the flight in.

Nine days in Bali, but we packed a lot in. I’ll keep posting more about the past few days and the trip home.

It’s going to be very difficult to leave the kids behind, but they don’t have the same level of risk and if they get stuck, they’ll have each other and S’s mom for support. It was good being here with two of them and their partners. At home all three are far away. I’m not too happy right now, feeling like we’re jumping straight from the frying pan into the fire.

I’ll end this one with a cheerful note, Sammy’s sweet puppies.

Back in Bali listening to EVA Air’s never ending on-hold music, ten bars punctuated with “Thank you for your patience…” over and over and over again.

We are a living example of the definition of the word dilemma; a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more equally undesirable alternatives.

Option #1: Stay put. Bali has a supposed low number of cases, but that’s to be taken with a grain of salt. Government officials have admitted to stretching the truth and any official numbers are questionable. That being said, it’s definitely lower than at home. 

Bali allows only the amount of prescription meds as your trip requires. We packed an extra two weeks worth in case of quarantine. With borders shutting down daily for indefinite periods that’s a risky proposition. We have copies of our prescriptions with us, so a decision to stay would involve a trip to the pharmacy to check on availability. 

Option #2: Leave. It’s not easy to give up the Bali dream, but to be here with no option of leaving is scary. The risk of this option is the high level of exposure during the travel process. Two long flights, a layover in Taipei, and the hours required clearing customs in the pandemonium of YVR. And although our travel health insurance is still in tact, since we arrived prior to the travel advisories, it’s probably better to be in our own healthcare system.

Therein lies the dilemma. Stay tuned. “Thank you for your patience…”

Tomorrow I’ll do another post on The Nusa Cenigan visit. I’ll leave you with our favourite photo of the trip.

 

We interrupt the regularly scheduled blog post to tell you the story of last night.

The island of Ceningan is connected to the island of Lembongan by a rickety narrow yellow bridge, which can only accommodate pedestrians and scooters.

I awakened in the middle of the night to what felt like the vibration of a large transport truck motor rumbling against the side of the house. The local dogs were barking hysterically. I knew there was no way a truck came over that bridge.

As the house shook and I realized it was an earthquake. It was quickly confirmed by an emergency government text, a 6.6 magnitude. I knew I bought that Indonesian SIM card for a reason.

Earthquake in Indonesia, what’s the next logical thought? Did you guess tsunami? Here we are, on a remote island, in a house made of sticks, overlooking the water. I went into mild panic researching tsunami incidence. I texted E in Edmonton for reassurance. Then I realized if the gov’t texted me for the earthquake, they surely would do so for tsunami. I recalled the big hill up the road and was able to fall back to sleep.

My mother’s voice is in my head: Never a dull moment!

 

From Nusa Ceningan, Indonesia 

 

Have you ever asked that question about being stranded on a tropical island? If you could bring one thing with you what would you want on that island in the sea? 

 

In a sense we are stranded, eight healthy Canadians unable to break through the bottleneck of the airline’s phone system. We’ve registered with the Government of Canada’s website in case of future opportunity for repatriation flights. Two from our group are scheduled to leave in a couple of days with one flight already cancelled. Our canaries in the coal mine will go to the airport and let us know of any new information.

 

I just heard on a CBC interview with Katie O’Mally from IPolitics that if you are not already in Canada, you are going to have difficulty getting home with the current state of the airlines, closed borders and the number of flight cancellations. Canada is putting measures in place to provide support in the form of emergency loans to those in need who are stranded. We are fortunate to be able to stay with Bryant’s Sammy’s mom.

 

Back to the island. If you have to be marooned and socially isolated, aside from the ever present viral elephant in the room, this place ain’t too shabby. An antique house imported piece by piece from Java, reassembled on a waterfront lot on the island of Ceningan.

The side trip to the island was eventful. Let me start by saying boats are not my thing. Ships yes, but not boats with outside motors and marine gas fumes, that you have to board from the beach. I saw said vessel and the wavey seas and jokingly remarked to M, you read about these things, I can see it in the news – nobody was saved, five of the eight from the same family. 

These are boats with 3-6 motors, designed to go FAST. Off we went, the 8 of us, the captain and his deck hand. At full speed there was a loud crack and a sudden stop, leaving us pitching wildly from side to side. We had hit a log. 

 

In anticipation of the worst case scenario, a flipped boat, we went to different places in our heads. Mine was “get me a life jacket!” R’s was “I knew we should have put our documents in a ziplock.” M went to self-calming “I have Ativan with me.” The men had their own versions. B thought of the Jamieson Whiskey within reach. The engineer had diagnosed the problem in his head “the motor’s shear pin is gone.” KC looked for logical points of exit and C’s was the observation that the boat could flip and wanted more information.

 

Drama aside, after a few wild rocks back and forth things settled down. We arrived at dusk turning to dark. A truck carried the dive gear, two suitcases and four of us to the yellow bridge where only scooters can fit. 

 

B and KC met us on scooters to ferry the bags onward, while the rest of us walked in the dark, motor bikes whizzing by, the 20 minutes to our island getaway. We arrived relatively unscathed, C with a “Bali burn” on his leg, from having contact with the muffler of a stopped motorbike.

 

I need to catch my breath just writing this! That’s the kind of scene your kids don’t tell you about when they’re travelling. They survived, mom and dad don’t need to know.

 

36 hours later we’re all recovering nicely, socially isolated, avoiding crowded restaurants, swimming in the ocean, watching the sunsets, reading and doing the things you do when you have nothing you need to do. 

 

So back to the question. What is the one thing you’d want to have with you while stranded on a tropical deserted island? Besides your significant other, of course. My 1.5 lbs of art supplies, up from the 13oz carried on the Camino. Haven’t used them yet, but I intend to.

An update from our family:

 

We’re amongst those far from home observing the world in turmoil via CNN International. As house sitters were still willing to follow through, we arrived in Bali ahead of travel advisories, armed with a decent supply of antibacterial wipes, purposely booking connecting flights through a city held up as Asia’s paragon of infection control and a resulting low incidence of COVID-19. 

 

It seems there are few cases here in Bali as well, giving credence to the warm weather concept (actually it’s crazy hot here). Of course there are conspiracy theorists who say officials are lying so it won’t affect tourism. If you look at one of the disease mapping projects, currently the heat theory appears supported.

 

We are receiving emails, iMessage and WhatsApp messages, and FaceTime calls with no problem. We are not receiving calls/texts on our Canadian phone numbers. And thanks to all for your Bali Birthday wishes. So all’s well here in paradise, where we, M and KC are visiting our son, B and his girlfriend’s mother. Stay healthy!

 

 

 

On the dozenth run to Lowe's I thought to myself how could I be doing this again? It seems like yesterday that I was running back and forth to the home improvement store as we were selling our old house and rebuilding the one we're in.

We've decided to sell the family "cabin," the vacation condo we bought 29 year ago, a meeting place for friends and family and a way to encourage free range kids. I expected more dissent from those now grown up children, but they realize what we do. Our new location has its own holiday feel and is less than an hour from the condo. It's no longer a getaway and selling it will have a positive impact on the daily budget, very helpful in retirement. Does it sound like I'm trying to convince myself to let go? Maybe.

Wouldn't you know it that the refrigerator died coincidentally at the same time? The realtor says "as long as you're replacing the fridge, do the stove at the same time." Ugh. That and the bathroom vanities, the countertops, the seven different doorknobs and hinges to match, the globular light fixtures, anything that screams the 70's, all the things I couldn't justify in a second home for ourselves I'm now doing for a perfect stranger. Indeed, another one of those first world problems. It's a good time to list it, though, as we recently finished paying the special assessment to cover the recently installed new siding, sheathing, insulation and roof. That should be a strong selling point as other condo associations in the community have that in their future.

Everything has been so tense I took the opportunity to try a course in loose painting. As a photo realist this is very difficult for me. I did a pear, that I call "imperfect." 

Followed by a bunch of flower-like shapes. In my usual style to define items more literally, I've got two versions, one totally loose (don't read relaxed into that phrase) and one with ink. What do you like better? So far anyone who has seen them likes them both. Will you be the tie-breaker?

Ink?

No ink:

I'll end on a good note. Remember the post that included this painting that I did earlier this year? It won third place in our art society's challenge. The theme was “Out of the silence.” 

 

 

 

Looking over my photos from that January day, I realized I must have been in the mood for angles. It was a day of sightseeing in the desert with C's cousin and his wife. We headed south along the Salton Sea, that body of brown water that used to be nicknamed the Salton Riviera, a haven for the rich and famous near Palm Springs in the 50's. It has a detailed sad ecological history that you can read about here.

This one seemed like the angle of destruction. A train, hundreds of cars long, carrying a deadly cargo of military vehicles painted in the camo of Middle Eastern war. Think armoured vehicles, tanks, personnel carriers and infantry fighting machines that went on for a loooonnnnggg time.

It was our Atlas Obscura day, leading us to fluky locations worthy of lengthy description, but I'll try to limit myself to a sentence or two of each.

First stop was Salvation Mountain…..Lots of shapes in there, like a rainbow sand castle, in reality clumps of concrete painted in pastels.

History:

Up the road was Slab City and its subdivision, East Jesus, an art park constructed of recycled junk.

Oddly it isn't what you'd expect with a name like that. There was little religion, more philosophy and oddly a flavour of American patriotism, what with all the flags flapping in the desert breeze.

More angular photos along the way:

Bombay Bay, the town where it used to happen. A graveyard of building remnants, motels, clubs and bars, and a beach made not of sand, but the crushed dried bones of birds and fish, long killed off by the saline brownish liquid, I hesitate to call it water, of the Salton Sea. Not to be abandoned, enter the art installations. It proves there can be beauty, or an interpretation of it, anywhere.

Even the tire marks were creative:

The golden hour was perfect for our version of a selfie.

One more angular wonder. A couple of days prior, we attempted to go hiking at Whitewater, the other side of Palm Springs. We were turned around by a ranger, suggesting we try the Mission Creek trail, a few miles away, as the park was closed due to a helicopter roundup of feral cattle. Our disappointment was quashed a couple of minutes later when we were forced to stop the car to allow a herd of big horn sheep to cross the road. I was torn between taking the time to dig out the camera or to watch this rare spectacle unfolding before us. This is one for the camera of the brain. After they crossed I followed well behind and got this shot of them in the distance. Look carefully.

In case you are wondering, they're not the angular part of the story. The Mission Creek Trail is located on the site of another long gone resort. The shells of the abandoned cabins have been made into picnic shelters.

The sun was just right to capture this:

 

Let me start with the fact that bad habits die hard. A 15+ year history of blogging hasn't instilled in me the good habit of hitting the save button sooner rather than later. And when that's not done, the auto save doesn't kick in and you risk losing everything. Hence, my absence last week. I just didn't have the energy for a do-over.

Deep breath, here we are again. I must add I love having a computer again as almost two years of phone and iPad blogging leans toward the onerous. Hit save, I remind myself right now, as I have to check on dinner.

OK I'm back again. What have we been up to?  Once again full credit to our house sitters. Who knew when we weren't looking, Bryant and his friends became responsible enough to entrust with the care of our new home? The stories we have from the previous house in the rain forest… You don't want to know.

I'm feeling a bit distracted, can you tell? Too much on my plate in retirement. Really? Since we've been back there's been my new Zumba endeavour, a compromised credit card, painting classes, sifting through two months of mail, a trip to Washington to visit Blogless M and Dave as well as preparing our condo for sale. And we've only been home for a week.

The dry desert seems like a dream compared to the atmospheric river we've had since our arrival. But it's good to be home, cozied up in our house, C back to his woodworking and me with my painting.