The Left Foot
The caf in the Kompleks Negeri where I work is like a food court with competing vendors offering a variety of very cheap, good food. I was impressed and tried them all. But then the ministries sharing the building moved out, leaving only the cheapskate students and academics to cater for. Two of the food merchants promptly folded their tents and moved out. Then Ramadan arrived, half the clientele stopped eating and another vendor closed shop. We took to our cars and went to JoJo instead. Five of us at a cost of RM 33 ($16). On the second day of Ramadan I wandered disconsolately over to the caf, not expecting much. But some enterprising soul had spotted a gap in the market and arrived with bain-maries full of wonderful fresh food. Excited cheers from the many Chinese and two Australians. Today was even better. The people cooking and serving this delicious food are all Muslims and not allowed even a sip of water yet they show no signs of a struggle against temptation. I guess all hell breaks loose when the sun goes down.

Here is a challenge for all you roster wizzes out there. During the fasting month the Muslims are entitled to go home at 5.00, leaving me with exactly two bodies to cover all the nightshifts. I await your suggestions.

The Left Foot
The rainy season is upon us and I am fighting down my fear of the elements. With the first alarming fork of jagged lightening every afternoon I have to resist the urge to run out of the library and away home before the weather gets worse. Thick black clouds hover menacingly overhead, chasing me along Jalan Simpang Tiga. The traffic slows, accidents abound and no RACV to call. With a multi-lane roundabout every few metres drivers are constantly in merging mode. I long for a straight stretch like High Street Road despite its venomous speed cameras and the horrors of the Glen Iris level crossing. I dare not relax or put on the radio. Instead I grip the steering wheel grimly, with steely determination not to get lost and not to have a bingle but mainly to get home before I have to figure out how to turn on the back window wipers. Later, the Right Foot tells me there are no back window wipers.

We are nearly at the half way mark of our stay here and I am expecting a frantic rush to the finish line to achieve what I hope to. As well as the management role, I am doing a lot of liaison work as well. The tried and true technique of 'lurk and leap' works just as well here. You waylay people in corridors on route to the loo, or over lunch in the student caf or in the car park first thing in the morning. Much better than scamming them all with emails they won't read.

Tonight I discovered that Ting & Ting does sell vaseline. Still no vegemite though.

Images from the weekend

After four solid weeks living and working in the Enchanted Tower, I thought I knew it all pretty well - our floor of it that is. Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, large lounge, kitchen with all mod. cons. (except hot water!? oh, well, that's why God invented plastic buckets, I guess). The laundry lives off the kitchen on a large open landing. The huge A/C units block off the landing balcony and spew hot air back into the landing which certainly dries the clothes quicker than a hot north wind day in Melbourne. Off the landing is a small room with no external window and yet another bathroom (with only cold water, too). Ever since we moved in, I thought (when I gave the matter any thought at all) that these were respectively: a utility room/junk room and a bathroom for those who were so putrid that they couldn't even make it to the closet facility.

Then the other day it dawned on me as I scanned the employment section of the Borneo Telegraph. They are in fact the maid's room and bathroom. The paper carries several ads. for Indonesian maids and putting two and two together, I figured that the future inhabitants of the Enchanted Tower might just be the sort who might need a maid.

For some reason, the thought absolutely freaks me out. I cannot let go of it. The place is large enough sure for two people but not so huge that you'd absolutely have to have a third person there all the time to cook, clean up and make themselves generally useful 24/7 as the Americans say. What a definition of hell! You couldn't be yourself, say what you liked, act how you liked, take off your clothes if you liked. There'd be someone there in the background all the time. Moreover, while you relaxed in air conditioned comfort, the maid would be sweltering out the back in her airless, lightless little cubby-hole. There is little enough to do here in any case and if you did not have a car, things are really desperate - shops are too far away and it is the End of the Line in any culture, however elegant the building and surroundings. You might be able to drive away but the poor bloody maid would be stuck up there for good!

The Left Foot
Another brilliant weekend in the city of the cat.
Topspot is an eclectric gathering of eateries on top of a multi-storey carpark. They give you a plate and a pair of tongs. You select from a huge range of seafood, meats and vegetables, they cast their eye over it and calculate a price. You decide how you would like it cooked - stir fried or in broth. Then you settle back in the balmy evening air with a Tiger and your custom-designed dinner and watch the passing parade. Absolutely magical.

I enjoy my weekly trips to the supermarket. Will we go Halal or Chinese? The selection of Aussie-friendly products varies so it depends what you're out of. But dropping by Ting & Ting for some hooch has now become a must.
I bought some three-quarter length pants in Giordano and guess what? They really ARE three quarter length!

Saturday afternoon we swam in the pool at the Hilton with tourists and a few ex-pats. I like to think I am sort of an ex-pat too - It sounds so glamorous. Backstroking down the pool, surrounded by small brown bodies and gazing at palm trees overhead instead of the usual flags at Melbourne Aquatic Centre was something to remember. We got chatting with an Australian woman, married to a Vietnamese engineer but living in Kuching. It was fascinating to hear the tales of her transcultural life. She invited us to catch up for a meal next weekend. So now we have a friend.

We bought a piece of New Zealand steak, exchanged our usual sos chilli for sos black bean and had our first red meat for four weeks. That gave us the energy to tackle the Cultural Village today. Sarawak's major tourist attraction took several hours to explore. It is a beautifully re-created village where each home represents a different ethnic group. The surrounding scenery is stunningly beautiful - extravagant, rich and abundant.

Tomorrow is Deepavali, the Indian festival and Ramadan starts on Tuesday. Fasting begins at the first sighting of the moon from any one of 26 designated locations. I won't be looking up.

On Tuesday, while all of you are at the races or having a barbie in the back garden, I will be interviewing for my permanent replacement. Wish me luck.