Solomon Islands Recipe of the Week: Kasume (Fern) Curry

Welkam to the first Solomon Island Recipe of the Week of 2011!  This week: Kasume Curry.  Now, some of you will be scratching your head wondering a) what is kasume and b) FERN???? WTF?

That’s right, gentle readers, it’s time to explore the more…creative veggies in the Solomon Islands.  I made some soup last night with kasume in it and the best way to describe it is sort of like bitter bok choy or maybe silver beet.  So perhaps you can use those to replace ferns as the main ingredient.  Or baby spinach. 

However, I think that most ferns are probably okay to munch on, provided you use only the shoots or tops of the fern (the most tender bits).  However, just check first to make sure they aren’t poisonous…I really wouldn’t want to be responsible for any deaths or cases of diarrhea due to my recipes (I’ve had enough of that already…hey, there IS a reason I had to leave New Zealand…)

Okay folk, here is the recipe:

Kasume Curry:

·         1 parcel fern (Kasume)

·         5 ripe tomatoes

·         10 short (Deborah, whatever that means) beans

·         5 capsicums aka green peppers

·         2 hot chili peppers (or to taste..I know some of you kiwis have gentle pallets while some of my other friends in the states have burnt off their taste buds ages ago…up to you!)

·         2 onions or shallots

·         1 dried coconut or 1 can of coconut milk.  (I’m getting a coconut scraper soon, so I’ll be making my own.  Can’t wait!)

Directions:

1. Break up the top of fern and put inside a basin.  (Yes, you can eat the top of ferns, if they are tender enough.  I know this sounds slightly mad…but give it a go; I’m pretty sure that ferns aren’t dangerous.)
2. Cut tomatoes, beans, capsicum, hot chilli and onions into pieces. 
3. Pour coconut cream into pot/add five teaspoons of salt to taste
4. Put pot on the fire (or on the element, depending on your access to fires) to boil.  Add ferns.
5. Cook for 15 minutes or whatever.
6. Remove from fire (or said element) and eat...(maybe put a candle or lamp on the table to make it more romantic...hey, its fern curry, obviously its a bit of a special event...)

Writer: Ms. Jocelyn Toligesu, Kwage Villiage, North Malaita, Solomon Islands.  (Please note that anything in parenthesis is from the editor and therefore meant to be taken less seriously.)

The Big Move

This is the first blog of the rest of my lif….er…I mean this is the first blog written from my new house, Casa Turchese.  The view from my balcony looking out into the bay and a small cup of espresso in my hand means that, after months of moving around, I finally have a place to call home.

The last week have been particularly mad; shopping for a house and getting everything set up is no fun.  So I won’t bore you with the details.  BUT here are a few things to note.

First off, setting up a house is not as easy as it sounds in Honiara.  There is no Briscoes, no Target, no one stop shopping place that has everything you need.  The Honiara shopping scene is made up of dozens of tiny little shops; each carrying different supplies and items.  We had to go to literally about 20 shops to sort of outfit the house, even after the landlord supplied many kitchen items for us.  It’s not, what anyone would define, as a relaxing experience.  People don’t shop here for fun or for leisure; it’s basic and rough.

The prices and quality vary from shop to shop.  The shops are dusty and there are rarely any sale signs out-front.  Finding things like fitted sheets are impossible. It’s a bit of nightmare trying to get everything sorted and as I sit here, enjoying the view, I’m still exhausted from three days of nonstop running around. 

Store names are great too…there is K-K Mart, Barak’s, Rainbows and Pomas.  We tried to get our keys for the house cut and the lady at the hardware store (Placemakers) told us to go to what sounded like “Legal Queen”.  When we found the store, it was Kwee Kwok Keen...you might have guessed that all the shops are run by local Chinese families.

On Friday, we go to about 14 stores…Saturday is a bit of a problem because stores are only usually open for half the day.  Christmas has depleted the stocks of many items and new items won’t be coming in until February.  The combination of small stores, lack of supply, lack of variety and just plain hot, dustiness of it all does NOT make for a pleasant experience.       

To top off the running around, I have stupidly organized a housewarming party on Sunday afternoon….I thought it would be pretty straight forward getting the house sorted. I was wrong.  Once again, my optimistic nature undermines me.  

To be honest, the adventure really started last Wednesday, when another volunteer and his son and his son’s friend arrived in Honiara from Kia, off the boat.  Now, there are really only two ways to get around here in the Sols; boat and plane.  Flying is EXPENSIVE, but it is the preferred method of most people.  My friend, Steve, almost spent 800 New Zealand flying from Choiseul to Honiara (from one end of the province to the other). 

James*, the guy from Kia, on the other hand, took the boat out, which took about 16 hours and had to sleep on the top of the ship deck, under a series of small, blue tarpaulins. It cost him about 300 Solomon Dollars (around 40 N.Z. bucks) to come out on the boat but it sure was an uncomfortable ride.  Also, the boats are unpredictable; he came a day early because the boat didn’t stop at all the villages, like he initially thought.     

Anyway, I pick up James and the two youngish Kiwi blokes from the wharf, a bit unprepared for their arrival but hopeful it would turn out alright.  Suddenly, I was surrounded by men everywhere, with Steve still around, we have five people staying at the house for one night.  We watched a movie, ate dinner and talked until late.

James is an older gentlemen and he is a tough kiwi bloke, for whom everything is possible with some number 8 wire.  James is an introspective sort of fellow, like most kiwi blokes and literally, he is a man who lives on his own island.  By himself, with only solar panels and mosquitoes to keep him company for months on end.  He has his own boat to ferry himself over to Kia, the local village.  There are no stores or local markets in Kia.  He has to fish every day to eat.  The man is completely amazing.

While living alone on a tropical island might turn some people a bit funny, James takes it all in stride, with good humour.  He finds Tessa and my antics hilarious, as he helps us get the shopping done.  Now, shopping is not James's bag but he puts up with the dusty shops, the quarreling between me and Tessa pretty well.  

Anyway, on top of the fun with James and his boys, our charge (Steve and I have been house sitting), the high energy puppy called Shiva, goes into heat for the first time while the owners are away. We first realized this when we saw little blood splatters on the floor everywhere.

“Er, Sara…is everything okay with you?” Steve asks, looking completely mortified.

“Its not ME, stupid…it’s the DOG!”

My dear friend Steve, who wasn’t raised around dogs, hadn’t realized the whole “going into heat” process”. To be fair, the tiled floor in the house starts looking like a murder scene and we spend time dodging blood droplets and running around with a paper towel to clean up after the dog.  The male dogs in the neighborhood circle the house like sharks.  At night the Honiara Male Dog Choir bleats beautifully, serenading dear Shiva. Sleep doesn’t come until late.

On top of the howling dogs, I struggle with sleeping due to my weird nightmares.   Or, more specifically, I fall asleep, in that place between waking and sleeping and I sense a gigantic spider in the room (well not like the Hobbit gigantic spider, but Huntsmen size, anyway).  I wake up, like that jerking reflex you get when you are in between the space of sleeping and waking.  I then go back to sleep, seeing no spider.  Then the spider has perched itself above my bed; watching and waiting to jump.

I wake up again, this time, deeply afraid.I go to sleep again. The last one, of course, was the spider perched on my pillow.  I wake up this time, screaming.  At no time does the spider attack me; it simply watches.  I’m terrified though the whole time.  I turn the lights on when I sleep now.  Scary stuff!

At first, I consider the obvious.  Maybe it’s late onset schizophrenia. Maybe there are simply giant spiders in my room.  Maybe it’s the Doxycycline I’m on, an antibiotic used as prophylaxis against malaria.   

Tina (my local counterpart), god bless her little cotton socks, says that in PNG, some people take on animal totems and that, if she was still there, she would suggest that someone from a spider clan is attacking me.

I ask her what the locals would say, wanting to keep my name out of it.  When I get back to work on Tuesday, she looks at me quite concerned.

"I talked to some people and they asked me if someone from Western Province owns the house.  Because if they do, they think it might be the guardian of the house. The guardian doesn't recognise you and wants you out.  You need to leave immediately." She says, very serious.

Phew! Good thing I moved out of that house sit.  Thank goodness my new landlord is from Angola...

Whatever it is, the next night, after an truly fun game of Texas Holdem with eight other players, whisky and me losing all my money in about an hour, I sleep like a baby. To top off all the excitement, I’ve been charged with looking after several friends of friends visiting Honiara...the house becomes filled with people coming and going to and from the airport in transit.  Life buzzes around me and I struggle to keep up with the constant movement, a dog in heat and change of plans and socializing.  I get slightly grumpy.    

As Steve and I leave the house sit, the guards make us a full barbecue of blue fin tuna, sweet potato, melons, and assorted yummies.  The guards have been so lovely to us; we have really enjoyed this house sit.

To top it all off, there is the mysterious case of Charlie’s shoes….

One of the best (and worst) things about Honiara is the constant ebb and flow of people.  Charlie was one of the first people I met here in Honiara and is now heading off to greener, more developed pastures.  I’m sad to see him go; he is a decent fellow.    

On Saturday night, he hosts his farewell party.  Charlie is a piano player, like myself, and I spend much of the party being anti-social, enjoying the feel of piano keys under my fingers.  Charlie has a nice Roland; I’m envious because my piano doesn’t come until Feb/March.  I miss playing dearly; I’m not the best at it but playing relaxes me.  I have started playing the guitar a bit more and I enjoy it but nothing can replace the pure joy of playing piano. 

Anyway, the party ends abruptly with poor Charlie getting threatened with a punch in the head by a neighbor (another ex pat) because the music is too loud.  Here I thought Christchurch had the monopoly on bogans…We evacuate the house like a prison break, running for taxis.

Unfortunately, I imbibed a bit too much and had a slight hangover then next morning.  So, I move into my new house and have to cook not feeling my best.  Now, I FULLY realize I have no one to blame but myself for these somewhat unpleasant turn of events.  But still…

With some valiant assistance from Tessa, Steve and other people, the housewarming party hums along, with about 25 people attending.  I’m sort of shocked and pretty grateful with how many friends and associates I’ve made in the last two months; I think my leaving party in Christchurch had about the same amount of people and I had lived there for four years. 

Anyway, at the end of the party Charlie comes up to me and blurts out that someone has taken his shoes.  We search for his shoes; there was an older, similar looking pair of shoes left behind.  This is one of the problems with parties in the Solomons; no one wears shoes inside and so you leave your shoes exposed to potential switcheroos.

I email and ring around to find out who might have taken Charlie’s shoes but sadly no one fesses up.  Charlie’s shoes remain at large in Honiara…

Despite the madness, Tessa (remember Tessa? She is my new housemate. Marco doesn’t come back until sometime next week, no one knows for sure…) and I have gotten on pretty well during the shopping excursions and parties.  Even after spending all week together, we still stay up until 2 a.m. talking.

The next day is filled again with shopping errands and a dip in James's pool (he is house sitting too).  Steve, James, Tessa and myself play a classic game of Marco Polo.  Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with Marco Polo, it goes something like this: one person is in the centre of the pool, and has to have their eyes shut.  The others arrange themselves around the pool.  The centre person or Marco (no, not that Marco), disorients themselves and then calls out "Marco!".  The others answer "Polo!".  The Marco has to then figure out where the people are in the pool and lunge at them, tagging them it.

Now, this is a game I played in my childhood.  The average age of all of us in the pool is about 33.  We squeal with delight at the game, splashing  and swimming quickly away.  My top falls down (as per standard operating procedure of any swimsuit I have ever owned that does not go up to my neck).

Swimming in the pool is lovely; after all the hot errands and dustiness, the water feels like cool silk on my skin.  After the game, I just float, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and the sun reflecting on the water.

At night, we host our first of probably many ad hoc and last minute dinner parties, with 11 people in attendance.  Because it’s a new house, we don’t have enough dishes so the invitation reads: bring your own plates, knives, forks, tongs, serving utensils, wine glasses and/or cups and toilet paper.

The party is lovely; we light the new coconut oil lamps and look out on the water at the large fishing boats.  Tessa is a perfect hostess; she can see I’m less than up for the party and keeps everyone’s glasses and plates full.

The party goes on till late and I crash into bed.  The next day, Steve leaves at 4:30 a.m. for his flight back to Choiseul.  Steve has been a pretty constant companion for almost a month and his help has been invaluable to me.  He has chopped up food, organized people, entertained, fixed stuff, dealt with bugs and rats, and looked after the dog and cat.  But I think Steve got something out of his experience in Honiara too…he even got a bit of romance (NOT FROM ME, PEOPLE!).  When he leaves, I miss his presence, his passion for the environment and Anchorman (the film) and his absolutely dirty sense of humor.   

Fleur, our house mere (or keeper), comes early the next day.  Okay, I want to say a bit about this arrangement because for those of you not living in developing countries, the concept of a house keeper or mere (as they say in the Solomons) may seem lazy or downright offensive.  Fleur is much more than just a cleaner; she looks after me and Tessa.  She gives us good tips on sourcing local goods, she teaches us about Melanesian food and helps me with my pidgin.  She has a wonderful sense of humor and brightens our day.

Granted, she isn’t the world’s best house mere; my clothes are covered in weird red brownish spots and the window slats are still dusty but having her there does help the house run smoothly.  And it’s fairly inexpensive to have her there.  Fleur comes twice a week to help with the running of the house. 

The other reason for having a house mere is that all the mod cons that one has living in a developed country aren’t here.  Everything takes much longer; speed and efficiency isn’t the Solomon Islanders’ bag.  Even simple tasks can take hours because we simply do not have the same access to time saving devices.

So working five days a week (and obviously hosting dinner party after dinner party) and doing all the housework is downright a huge task.  House meres are a part of expat life in Honiara and it is sort of expected that, as an expat, even a volunteer, that you have someone occasionally come and look after you.     

Fleur comes early and gives me a big kiss on the cheek.  She speaks quickly to me in pidgin and despite my pidgin getting better; my head can’t quite get around her cheerful conversation.  I need to sit down.  I need to take a moment from the craziness.

So I ask Tessa to look after Fleur for a few minutes while I sit on my deck and soak in my busy week.  I look around at my turquoise house, at the coconut trees lazily swaying the breeze.  I sip my espresso. I can see the local guys mowing the lawns of the high commissioners’ house; he is coming back soon.  I see my next door neighbours, the lovely Stan and even lovelier wife Jean, sipping their cups of tea on the balcony of their chalet.

The activity is slow and gentle in our little cul-de-sac.  I feel peaceful and take a few minutes to reflect back on the week. I know it’s been crazy and social, but that is what I wanted. Still it’s nice to take a quiet moment to reflect and enjoy the sounds around me.

“Sara, can we have Elsa and her friend from China come over for dinner tonight?  Also, Martin and Jean want to have a neighbor dinner, so they need to come too…and Jocelyn wants to meet Elsa’s friend, can she come too…oh and we need to pick James up from the other house today…” Tessa yells from the downstairs kitchen.

Here we go again...

Adventure Island

Happy new year! This bloggie is going to be a bit back to front, with the New Year's adventure first in Savo and then the info about Christmas/Boxing day at the end.  I figured if you got here because you googled Solomon Islands, adventure, tourism, hotel, volcano...you will want to read the Savo Island bit first. 

Savo is essentially a volcanic island covered in jungle bush and rivers, about 20 kms or so from Guadalcanal.  The island can be seen from Honiara on a clear day and even, a not so clear day.  To say the island is lush is like saying the sky is blue; it simply is the lushest place I have ever visited.  We leave at 7 a.m., bright and early.  Unfortunately, it’s December and rainy season has decided to do her thing and pour down for the better part of eight hours. 

Its cloudy and the wind picks up.  By the time we reach the place where we take the boat across to Savo, the waves are between 2-3 metres high; a bit perilous in a 14 foot boat.  Its choppy too; so the boat guys decide to wait until things calm down.  We wait for about two or three hours for the boats to come across from the resort, brining back soaked tourists.  

The journey lasts about an hour and the boatman carefully navigates his way across the waves.  As we get closer, Savo reveals itself to be a volcanic island, with high peaks and black sand beaches.  The island looks like something out of Robison Caruso or Monkey Island video game (I loves me some Monkey Island!!!)

Savo was the site of many big battles in World War 2, especially the Battle of Savo, which was, according to some historians, the first major battle in the Solomon Seas.  Fighting in Savo would be rough; the bush is dense and the presence of two, slightly active volcanic zones create a sulphuric haze. 

We get to Sunset Resort; a locally owned and operated place located on the western end of the island, in the centre of a peaceful bay.  The beach is black sand and the water is muddy  from all the rains but we sit in hammocks and drink deeply from coconuts.  The resort isn’t anything flashy; the accommodation is in a large two story facility, with the resort workers staying downstairs and the stayers upstairs.  Everyone gets their own room if they want one; no other guests are at the resort.  The rooms are tidy and clean, with a large balcony (but no chairs, which is sad because I would have loved to have just sit outside and enjoy the view from my room).

The beds are comfy and nicely sized.  After checking out the rooms, we go downstairs and eat in a large hall.  The Sunset Lodge is nicely equipped for larger groups and it seems a bit sad to have just the six of us staying there.

While waiting for dinner in a hammock, I spot the dorsal fin of a small (probably 1.5 metres) white tipped reef shark, cruising in the muddy shallows.  The guide, John, confirms the existence of the shark; he saw it too the next morning. 

The food is great; fish caught that day and then fried up nicely.  The chicken is also pretty good, as is the fresh fruits and veggies.  All and all, it’s simple but delicious food, with fresh fruit for dessert.

We spend the rest of the day napping, relaxing in hammocks, playing with kittens, swimming and talking about the end of 2010.  In the evening, a nice beach bonfire is built for us by the staff.  We sit around the bonfire, talking about the year, life and everything in general.  We do a nice ceremony of writing down things we want to leave behind in 2010 and then throwing the paper into the fire.  We also write down what we want for 2011 and throw that into the fire as well.

I am ashamed to say that I didn’t quite make it to midnight; I was tired and I wanted to be fully rested for the next day’s activities.  I was happy to see 2010 and go, I felt I made my peace with the year and I wanted a fresh start to 2011.

The next day was adventure day! We woke up and munched on crispy bacon, spicy sausages, and yummy eggs.  We needed a big breakfast; we were going to climb up to Big Savo Volcano!

We slather on suncream (I still got sunburnt, what a shock!) and head out for the big walk.  On our way out, we encounter the resident pod of dolphins.  The grey and black dolphins danced with our boats, and swam so close I felt like I could just reach out of the boat and touch them.  We saw baby dolphins jump high into the air.

Under the water, which wasn’t terribly clear, the dolphins looked like phantoms, swimming quickly to keep up with the boat and jumping out into the wake.   It was magical to see the dolphins dance, sing and jump around happily in the waves.

After about 30 minutes, we jetted off to our big walk.  We landed on a large span of black sand beach and clambered out.  The group started walking through the large braided river bed; the guide said the water had been very high the night before, at least a metre...the river bed was now completely empty.  As we gently climb higher, we reach a black stone gorge, eroded by time and the rivers running down it.  

According to the leader of our group, Rachel, the river was much higher than the previous times she has walked up it.

Seriously folks, it was like Indiana Jones and the Lost Volunteers; large vines hanging down and heaps of foliage everywhere.  Strange birds and stranger spiders (one shiny black with, get this, RED WING type things on it!  I was horrified; hey that kind of spider is usually a black widow where I am from, when the guide let it crawl all over him).  As we climb higher and higher, the water gets hotter and hotter.

We reach a fork in the river and go up a small creek area.  Our guide, John, touches the water and says “Too hot! Be VERY careful now; could burn your skin!”.  Yes, we had reached the place where the water was too hot to fall into.  Now, I’m not known for my skills at balancing and, more often than not, I just walk through rivers rather than avoid getting my boots wet.  I know I have no skill when it comes to hoping from rock to rock so I just plod on through.  No such luck this time.

We climb up to a six metre or so waterfall.  The waterfall steams and, if any of us weren’t sweating yet well the waterfall solved all that.  Our clothes sticking to our bodies, we climbed up a lashed, wooden ladder with rungs too large for a midget to climb up (meaning that yes, I had problems with it.)

We continued to walk along slippery logs, landslides and steaming hot pools until we reached the top.  The cone area was HOT, with pools of steamy, hot, sulferic type water bubbling away at our feet.  The cone was hot to the touch (yes, I did touch it) and silica mud streamed out of crevices.  There were large steam holes and little hot pools.  It looked like being on the moon; if the moon was white/yellow/orange/red/rust/brown and HOT.

Being in the Caldara of a volcano was freaking cool.  After we came down a little, John took some local foliage and created crowns for all of us.  Apparently, this mossy foliage only grows on Savo near the volcano.

It was slippery going down and I thought to myself “my parents warned me not to do stupid stuff like this”.  The walk down was pleasant enough and it was great to get out of the hot zone.

We got back to the beach in no time and proceeded back to hang out with the dolphins some more.  This time, three of us got to get into the water to swim with the dolphins.  Now, swimming with dolphins is not what one might expect; the dolphins weren’t in a playful mood and liked to run away a lot. 

With the water clarity being poor and the idea of hanging off of a rope in the pacific like bait off of a hook not seeming too fun, I decided not to go.  Plus some members of our group who really wanted to go never got the chance, because the dolphins swam quickly away.  When we arrived, hungry and tired from our big walk, back to the resort, the dolphins followed up and played not 100 meters off the beach.

The rest of the day was spent...well resting.  Hammock time was a must and I took a nap, enjoying the sounds of the crashing surf. 

At night we played a rousing game of spoons, tongues that included an interesting component of truth or day.  It was lots more fun than I remembered it at 16; clearly years of experience make the game more interesting.  If you want to know what went on, forget it. What happens on Savo, stays on Savo. 

During one hand of spoons, the smallest geiko in the world fell from the rafters, some eight metres above, on to my hand of cards.  He was clearly stunned and then proceeded to vomit a little on the table cloth.  After he regained his composure, he scampered off. 

The next day, we packed up and went back home.  I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed my time on Savo and can’t wait to go back.  The whole island has a magical feel to it; wild and unexplored. Climbing up to the volcano was a real highlight.

In summary: If you visit the Solomons, GO TO SAVO.  Sure, there is no snorkeling or diving, really, but it has so many beautiful things to see and many great activities to do.  The resort is locally run and man, do they do a good job taking care of you.  I HIGHLY recommend Sunset Beach Resort, sure its pretty basic but hey, its cheap, fun and the people who run this establishment are very accommodating.  

Prices (in Solomon Island dollars, which is between 6 and 8 dollars per NZD or 9 USD) are as below, for those interested and reading this blog for tourist tips:

Accomd.: $120 per night, per person

Food: $300 per day (three BIG meals a day)

Big Volcano Tour: $50 per person plus $30 for transport  (HIGHLY RECOMMEND)

Dolphin swimming/viewing: $40 per person.

Megapod viewing (which I was too lazy to do): $40.

Sitting in hammocks, drinking from coconuts, playing with the local kittens, getting a gigantic huntsmen spider out of your room (A big thank you to Steve for his spider wrangling skills!), and seeing the BIGGEST, FATTEST geikos every: FREE!

   

Christmas and other holiday stuff

Christmas Day was spent with a lovely bunch of expats. Again, the people around the table were from far off lands: Taiwan, India, Austria, Australia, Spain, New Zealand and American (me!). 

We sat down to a beautiful Christmas dinner with a honey basted ham, a leg of lamb and a roasted chicken.  Steve and I had a bit of struggle roasting the chicken and lamb; neither of us had ever used a gas oven before and the ignition switch was taking Christmas off.  After a few panicked phone calls, we got it sorted.

The day was filled with merriment, good food and good conversation.  The Princess Bride was screened after the dinner.  Manny, our resident Spaniard, clearly loved the filmed and quoted it to:

"My name is Inigo Montayo...you killed my father.  Prepare to die!"

Unfortunatly, Santa also gave me the raging Honiara flu, which meant that I spent much of Christmas evening and Boxing Day in bed with a high temp, coughing and hacking away.  

On Christmas evening, I suspected that I might have malaria and went down to the hospital to get a blood test.  Now, normally I would just go to a local clinic, where everything runs pretty well. But it was Christmas evening, the clinics were closed and the Number Nine clinic was all there was available.

When we arrived, the” Number Nine” (so named during World War II) clinic was packed full of sick kids and people.  Mothers and children were laying down on mats, trying to sleep, waiting for doctors.  I spoke to some local ladies and they told me they had been there since 10 a.m. (it was 8 p.m. at that point), waiting to see a doctor.  No doctors were actually at the clinic.

It was a huge wake up call for me to witness the public health care service in the Solomons in action.  Triage nurses were set up in various rooms but I actually didn’t make it too far.  After speaking to a few people, everyone seemed to have the flu in Honiara and their symptoms seemed closer to mine than malaria.  After looking around at the really sick and injured people, I thought it was best not to waste the medical professionals precious time with my hypochondria and went back home to die quietly in my room.

Now, having the flu is no fun but having the flu in the tropics...well...thats really no fun.  By the end of the flu, the sheets were soaked, and I was still sweating profusely even after the fever broke.  After the fever broke, I was euphoric to be feeling better, so much so I almost went out to finish off some partying but then decided against it.  Good call; turns out I was weaker than I thought; I almost passed out on my way back to bed.

So a good, fluey time was had by all.

When I did get back into the social scene, turns out almost everyone had the same thing.  Tales of fever breaking fun littered conversation and everyone was still sniffling and sneezing.  

Steve and I attended a rousing game of Texas Holdem Poker and we munched on cigars, drinking some fine whiskey.  We also spend some time with the other Choiseul volunteer, Sam,a lawyer, and his girlfriend.  Sam has been out there a long time now in Choiseul and is Steve's only other expat around.  Sam is good value; we joke about getting him a white linen suit, Panama Hat and gin and tonics to get the full colonial expat look going on.  

I felt better and decided to go down and finish mailing all the packages to various volunteers throughout the islands.  

When I arrived at the post office, the guys knew me by name and had a big smile on their faces.

“Mrs. Sara, we garem goodfella package for you!”

Excitedly, the guys went into the back room and grabbed a lovely package that had my name on it from my friend Helen back in Christchurch.  I was speechless. In my hands was the first care package I had received in many, many years.  Probably six or so.  My cousin Amy used to send them but she gave it because I never sent her anything back.  I suck as a friend; that’s why I don’t get typically don’t care packages.

I excitedly opened it up…first off were the pirate stickers! Yarg! Me love a good pirate sitcker!  Second, the kiwi chocolate.  Third, a precious little ornament for a tree (which I didn’t really have this year).  A card, and the last was a handmade calendar with pictures from 2010 of me and Helen’s adventures.

I must admit, I wept when I opened the calendar.  I was so touched; words cannot express how much this small care package meant to me.  After all these years, I felt I was so over receiving things and that I didn’t need anyone to send me anything.  I hadn’t realised how wrong I was until that moment, when I flipped through the funny calendar with beautiful pictures.  In that moment, I felt all the years of being away from home, missing birthday, Christmases, Thanksgivings and all the other big and little moments.

Occasionally, the universe hands you the bill for being an expat.  Right now, the price seems higher and higher and I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. I wonder if being away from my family for nine years has been the right decision.     

Over the next few days, it’s a blur of social fun and activities until we get ready to leave for Savo Island...(please read above to see what happens next! OOO its like a Choose your own adventure...but...not...hey, these blogs can't all end awesomely...)

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

Truer words were never written about 2010.  At least for me. 

2010 will go down as being one of the best years of my life.  Not because it was easy; hell no.  But because it was the year when everything changed.  Every aspect of my life turned upside down; I left my well paying job to become a volunteer, I moved countries, my marriage fell apart for good, it…was a very tumultuous time.  I can honestly say that this year has been the most transformative of my life.  I grew, changed, and freaked out with the best of them this year.  Blessing rained from heaven and I fell between the cracks of life for awhile.  

Things got pretty bleak, and then things got much, much better.

This is the year that I really had to face myself and all the really ugly things that I had been denying.  I had to dig deep and really learn something about loving myself more completely, to stop hiding in other people and enjoy my own life more fully. I took risks, huge risks.  I sold everything I own (pretty much) and lived out of one suitcase for five months.  I jumped without looking.  I took leaps of faith every day.   

I travelled around the world, made new friends, reconnected with the old ones, had some pretty amazing entanglements and ate some great cheese.  I reflected, screamed, raged, cried, sang, played and danced my heart out. 

I think the most important thing was to realize that I have very little control over things that happen.  I can only control my responses; everything else is beyond my control.  I think it is a completely delusion and a waste of time, now, to try and control anything. Life is messy; people do stupid stuff to each other all the time.  That’s part of being human; no one is perfect. What a boring place the world would be if we didn’t have conflict or make mistakes.     

Anyway, psychologists used to have a stress test with key indicators of stress and man, I scored the highest you could score in one year.  Technically I should be a basket case.  Or so emotionally cut off I can’t feel anything.  Or just be a bastard to everyone and blame everyone else for my problems.  Or drink myself under the table.  Or do all kinds of bad things to other people.  There are a thousand ways this could have played out for me.

I guess I chose a different path cause I don’t feel or do any of the above. I’m pretty sure I’m not a basket case.   

During challenging times, I guess you can choose to walk the bitter victim path of blame, anger, hatred and misery or a path of acceptance of responsibility, growth and change.  I chose the latter.   I figured out that you either learn and grow or you just stay the same bitter, horrible person you were.  And I couldn’t be that person anymore.

I remember one game changing moment came in early January. The old bed in my apartment had an interesting fault.  The slats would come unbalanced and the mattress would usually slip to one side.  You usually needed two people to adjust it and even then it was always a bit of challenge. So there I was, one January evening, contemplating my life, when CRACK, the bed slipped out and my face was suddenly facing the floor.

I panicked; I had never fixed the bed alone before.  After about an hour of trying to adjust it the old way, with a partner, I gave up.  I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor and I cried.  I didn’t know how to live this new life alone.  My face turned bright red and I just wailed with frustration, anger, loss and grief. Then suddenly, everything became really calm and still.  I realized that the reality of me being in a couple no longer existed; no one was going to help me out.

No one was worried if I didn’t come home for dinner or if I was stressed out at work. I had no one.  I had lost not only my husband but my dear in-laws who had been such a supportive, loving family over the years.  I was 20,000 miles from my family, in a foreign country, completely alone. Those things hit me hard. Before that moment with the bed, I had been full of bravado and anger; enough to be really cut off from the reality of the situation. Now, I felt the full impact of the loss, wanting to sink into the deepest hole on earth.

And suddenly, in the storm of self pity, came this calm. 

I got up, pulled the mattress completely off the slats.  I picked up the slats and put it firmly back into place. I put the mattress back.  I tidied the bed and it all took me less than two minutes. I went to sleep.  I woke up the next morning and realized that I could do this; I could be alone.  I could manage on my own; I didn’t need anyone else to fix things for me or prop me up.

This revelation was pretty awesome; in that moment, I knew that despite the ups and downs, I would come out of things okay. But if I was going to do this right, I was going to have to stop running and face things full on.  I made a promise with myself that I wouldn’t try to cover up my feelings, I would ask for help and I would feel my way through every moment of the process.  I had to accept that the life I had known was gone forever and the future was a complete gray area of no guarantees.

Was it always that easy? Nope, there have been dark, dark days indeed. Has it been scary? Absolutely mind numbingly terrifying.  Have I wished things were different sometimes? Sure, I play that game.  I wouldn’t say that I’m happier than I have ever been but I’d like to think, I hope, I pray, that I’m smarter, wiser, more loving and independent.        

People say that everything happens for a reason.  I think that’s far too tidy a sentiment.  Or that everything that happened is meant to happen.  I still think that’s a heap of bollocks as well.  I think it’s better to say that something happened, you made a choice and you can learned something from it.  That you won’t repeat the same mistakes or hurt people the same again.  I think, for me, that is much healthier. 

When my dad came over last December, we went on a brilliant road trip together around the South Island.  Dad is sort of my spiritual guru; I trust him completely.  He is very loving and forgiving of people, even when they don’t do what he thinks is best for them.  As we went through the countryside, we listened to a LOT of music together but one song was a favorite from the Mountain Goats.  The lyric he loved the best was:

“I am going to make it through this year, if it kills me.”

We both laughed and laughed.  When I said goodbye to him at the airport, he told me that I would have a rough year.   I sort of didn't believe him; I thought I was totally over it.  I was wrong. 

He said he felt that through the year I would be sad, frustrated and alone.  But he smiled and said that I was going to make it through the year, even if it did kill me.   Later, in October, we spent a lot of hours together.  He put his arms around me and said “Kid, you made it through the hell year; I’m proud of you. It will all get better now. Trust in God and trust in that.”

He was right; I had turned a corner.  I felt it in my bones; the years of sadness, anger and isolation were over; now it was time to celebrate the coming through of a great ordeal and to start a new.

I am truly grateful to all the friends, family, lovers and strangers that carried me through this interesting time of change.  I could not have done this without you.  And despite all my self love, independent blah blah blah diatribes, I did lean on all of you quite a lot.  So thank you.

And thank you, 2010.  You have occasionally been a bitch of a year but I can honestly say, I’m glad I lived through you. I had some of the best moments of my life this year; such amazing highs! And less amazing stuff too.

2011 already appears to be a much more stable year; Casa Turchese is going to be in full swing (Marco is going to put in an outside wood fire pizza oven!!! Tessa going to help me train for a 21 k in Bali in May), more travel is in the cards (Bali, back to N.Z. in October probably!), kittens abound, new hobbies (hello Karate, mural painting, guitar and Melanesian cooking), new languages (hello Italian, pidgin, and catching up on my French!) and many new adventures await.

Already I know one thing about being here in the Solomons: it is wasn't what you expect.  I don't think I could ever work hard enough to balance out, as a thank you to this place, everything that I have learned already about myself from being here. 

I hope you have a year, sometime, like 2010.  Not because I hate you but because of how much I hope you will grow through meeting some pretty big challenges.  Sometimes you need certain things to happen in your life to humble you.  I can honestly say I have MUCH more empathy in my heart than I did a year ago.

So if you do have a year like this one, I hope you chose a path of kindness and forgiveness, love and empathy, strength and occasionally being a bad ass. If you do have one of those years, email me; I’ll be a support person. Cause I’ve been there.  And because I owe the universe some pretty big favours. 

I thank you, 2010! I hold you in my heart with much affection; loving and respecting the past and looking forward to a new year.

Till 2011,

S     

  

The Santa Nightmare

I'm scared of Santa.  Here is why.

Okay, so here is something that very few people know about it.  As a little kid, about 12 years old, I played Santa Claus in the school play.  This play was about Santa losing weight and getting healthy.  To clarify for any confused readers, yes, I am a girl. 

Now a couple things happened during the play.  First, I got a horrific case of strep throat right before the performance.  I went on anyway. Secondly, because I was wearing so much padding, my pants fell down during a crucial running scene.  In front of 500 people.  Luckily I had on black leggings.  But still; not cool for a 12 year old girl.

I was in the play with a sidekick, my buddy Mike.  Recently he got back in touch (thank you Facebook, you are occasionally an awesome thing) and he reminded me of the play, which involved copious amounts of twinkies and other food that I had to eat.  He also reminded me that I stole the part from him. 

But what is awesome about this, as a sidenote, is how cool my sidekick buddy turned out to be when he got older.  He is now an the armed forces, serving his country and generally doing cool things.  And while I’m not one for serving my country through military means, I respect his service.  Its cool to see people grow up around you and achieve amazing things; even if you beat them out of a part in a play almost 20 years ago.  

Plus, Mike, if you are reading this…there is no way you had the lungs for Santa.  Just sayin. J

Why is this relevant to Christmas this year?  It’s not.  Or it is…I don’t know.  I’ve always had a pretty love/hate relationship with Christmas.  I haven’t had a Christmas at home with my parents since 2004.  Why? Because its bloody expensive to fly from where I have lived back home to the states during Christmas time. And it is HUGE hassle.

Also, mostly during Christmas, everyone seems really unpleasant and stressed out; too strung out of candy canes and sugar plums to really chillax and enjoy the season.  The other Christmas’s were spent at my ex’s family house, which was really lovely and I have good memories of ye olde Christmas BBQs and drinks…very, very good memories.

Last year I spent Christmas with my friend Louise and her miniature donkey and 14 alpacas.  My theory was that if I was going to have a weird Christmas, I was going to make it all out weird.  Her family was so lovely and welcoming (I got gifts even! Wahoo!) that it didn’t feel like a weird Christmas at all.  Thank you so much, Louise and family.

Even still, the many years of living overseas in a warm climate has taken something out of Christmas for me.  And this year, there were no miniature donkeys to cheer me up.  To rub salt in the wound, I had to go pick up all the Christmas packages for my fellow volunteers and I didn't have ONE.  Not one.  After years of living overseas, I've gotten used to getting left off the Christmas card list, but still.  One card or letter might have been nice.

So with this in mind, I wasn’t in the Christmas mood this year.  I’m far away from home and slightly grumpy about most of my mates clearing out of town to be with their families for Christmas.  Sorry but I’m needy and shallow occasionally. Or often.

Anyway, I got the job of hand delivering Christmas Cards this year to my host organisation’s partners.  Honestly, I didn’t want to bring on the shiny, fake smile but I agreed to do it.  As I visited the partners, I began to realize all the amazing work these people do every day.  I smiled and delivered the cards with my colleague, Tina.  I said “Me hope you garem goodfella Christmas and New Yai”…to everyone I met. 

I began to feel this lightness.  My smile didn’t feel so fake; I felt the happiness come from naturally.  And the people around me changed too; before I was intimidated by some people but they warmed up to me like a snow man on a beach in Honiara.

I went to places where they are helping manufacture soap with local communities and I bought some as gifts.  The next was farming, naturally and sustainably, sponges from Western Province (I bought some too).  And so on…the work really inspired me from earlier in the week where I had started to become disenchanted with those expats taking advantage. 

I saw the other side of the work we do; the good stuff, the smiling people and the great community projects.  Development can and DOES work and there are a whole group of people here who do this work every day.  I am proud to call myself one of them.  I am so glad I accepted this role, although it did come with its share of sacrifices. 

And isn't this what Christmas is about? Helping others, being kind and loving to each other?  Serving our fellow men?  Some do it by coming here, or singing carols at home or fighting for their country (like Mike) or feeding orphans in India.  Or being a stay at home mum or dad, who serves their family.  And so many other roles.  Maybe its just as simple as sharing a smile, an email, a letter or kind words.

And sure, sometimes we get roles that we are happy to play.  That makes it easy to be smiley and happy.  But sometimes we get stuck with roles that we never want.  But how we embrace the challenge of all these roles is what really makes or breaks the experience.

I wish you all a happy upcoming Christmas, wherever on the planet you are.  I will let you know how the expat Christmas events go (I believe there is a three day party I am going to attend.  Pray that I survive).

May you all have a very Merry Christmas and may your pants never fall down in front of 500 people.  

Seriously, I still have nightmares (maybe I should have let Mike have the part after all…).

P.S. My mother would like everyone to know that twinkies are of the devil and should never be eaten.  According to her they are as toxic as a cigarette.  She said that once in church and was almost run out of Relief Society (a women’s group) by an angry mob…ah Mom…anyway, don’t eat twinkies.  

S

The Exodus

Over the next couple of days, Honiara begins to clear out completely of expats and locals alike.  The office only has a handful of people left and its pretty quiet.  Everyone is ready for Christmas break.

Before that happens, the three amigos, Tessa, Marco and myself go out to dinner at a French couple’s house, Celine and Arneau.  It’s a great meal and a good time; French, Italian and English are all spoken liberally throughout the meal.  My French is still shaky but I get the drift of most things.    

One of the wonderful things about holidays is access to vehicles left behind.  I was lucky enough to grab one; a lovely little Toyota Hilux, which I love so much, I am considering orchestrating some kind of “accident” of its owner.  Just kidding.  Sort of.

Anyway, Honiara is EXTREMELY difficult to navigate around in at night time.  There are no streetlights, no road markers, no signs…nothing.  It’s pretty much a road (and often times barely that) and that is it.  Pedestrians walk in the centre of the road and are typically impossible to see due to the dark clothing.  It’s amazing I haven’t hit anyone; I worry about that all the time.  There are many small panicky moments with the Hilux; it is much bigger than anything I have ever driven before and I am a horrible backer upper. Or at least I thought I was; I’m actually better than I thought!

The week is spent saying farewell to my new, dear friends.  At the airport while dropping off my friend Tessa, I experience a whole new level of queuing…literally we wait for two hours to get her checked in.  Now, I know that things go at a slower pace here than back in good old New Zealand or the U.S. but really…I mean seriously the line wasn’t that long and there were three people at the desk.  Seriously, they could use some kind of efficiency experts here or something.  One couple I knew took forty minutes to get through (due to excess baggage).

(Editor's Note: In the original posting, I had a very large rant about certain expats.  At the time, I felt I just needed to vent some perceptions that I had.  However, it has come to my attention that some people, who were never considered when writing this post, took it personally.  I have never intended to hurt or offend anyone with this blog; the work the expats do here is amazing and I am honored to be counted amongst these people.  My sincerest apologies to anyone who felt as if I was personally attacking them or their lifestyle, it was never my intention.  I have deleted this rant not only because of other people but because on reflection, I felt myself that it was an unfair and overly critical assessment. For that, I apologise. Hey, nobody's perfect, especially not the author of this blog!!!!)

Anyway, the rest of the week was all about trying to deal with the transition of moving from my little hotel room in Sanalae, working and hanging out with Steve, a volunteer from Choiseul.  Steve’s experience is VERY different than mine; don’t worry, he is writing his guest blog as I write mine, so more on him later. 

I’m sad to be leaving Sanalae; the people are so lovely there and I learned so much.  Like washing all my clothes by hand.  Or how to make sticky cabbage soup.  Or how the people who worked there walked and talked with me about what was going on in their village or settlement.  So thank you Sanalae; it’s true, you were just for the time being.  And it was a wonderful, interesting time of transition. 

Until the next bloggie, hope you and yours are happy, healthy and loving where you are at.

S

Solomon Island Recipe of the Week-Fish Curry, baby!

Hi Everyone,


Because I lack any real cooking facilities until I move into Casa Turchese (Jan. 7th! Woot!), my dear friend Helen has kindly volunteered her kitchen and cooking skills. She even New Zealandised the recipe...here is her review of last week's recipe:


Who can resist trying out a recipe with “Slippery Cabbage” in the title?  Unfortunately I had no slippery cabbage, let alone a puzzle of it, but I did have a three-week-old remnant of red cabbage sitting forlornly on the bench (Editor's note: Clearly my bad behavior re: ignoring my cabbage for weeks on end has rubbed off on poor Helen.  Anyway, continue on).  For a low saturated fat option I went with a can of coconut flavoured evaporated milk (like a true kiwi dairy lass), a curious mix, but quite tasty and much easier than scooping out coconuts themselves (I imagine, having never scooped out a coconut)(Editor's note: I have...its hard work!).  In went the finely sliced red cabbage, some chopped red onion, a dash of chilli powder, a chopped tomato and some spring onion (no shallots in cupboard either) (Editor's rant: THE OUTRAGE! NO SHALLOTS! WHAT KIND OF SHODDY CHEF ARE YOU, HELEN???), finished off with a generous sprinkling of salt.  Result: a tasty purple soup (Editor's note: ala Bridget Jones, who made blue soup.)  To my surprise the soup was just as nice reheated gently the following day for lunch.  Am looking forward to more recipes and will be stocking up on coconut flavoured evaporated milk in anticipation.


Okay that's the review.  If you want to give this recipe a go, here is the link to last week's recipe:
http://stilettosinsolomons.blogspot.com/2010/12/solomon-island-recipe-of-week.html


Many thanks to Helen!


Now for this week's Solomon Island Recipe:


Fish Curry with Tomatoes:
You will need:

• 1 medium size fish (fresh fish/Snapper/Yellow fin tuna/Trout...whatever, it has to be fishy)
• 2 table spoons of curry powder
• 2 table spoons of oil (I think sesame seed oil would be nice with this but I have a fondness for the stuff...up to you, really)
• Tomatoes (go nuts...really, the recipe says any amount...)
• 1 bush lime (or a regular lime...bush lime is like regular lime only wild...WILD LIME!)

How to prepare:

1. Pour yourself a gin and tonic.  You will thank me for it later.

2. Cut tomatoes into desired size (I have no idea what this means....I guess quarter the suckers)

3. Heat oil and add curry, stir under low heat.

4. Add tomatoes, stir...stir like the wind, damn you!

5. Add fish into the mixture; stir to allow mixture to coat the fish.

6. Cook them very slowly on low fire (I assume that means heat but in the Solomons, it DOES usually mean fire) till the fish is cooked.

7.  Add salt/pepper to taste.

8.  Make sure to eat the fish head.  I'm a big advocate of eating fish heads; they are tasty and highly underrated. The eyes are especially yumtastic!

9.  Pour another gin and tonic and/or mojito.

That's this week's recipe...next week: Christmas Feast: Solomon Style!

Till then, wear you stilettos and keep rockin on.

S