I don't know why Surabaya doesn't advertise itself better. Western tourists are mad not to organise a holiday when they can get their dental work done, order tailor-made clothes, play golf, do a side trip to Bali and still have plenty of money in their hand, compared to doing the same things "back home".

I had an extended visit to my dentist last night. I'm terrified of them, thanks to childhood memories of the dentists always going that bit to far and hitting a nerve. My current one is the best. Everything is explained clearly (although I'm not sure I should have asked what, exactly, root canal work entailed) and it doesn't hurt at all. The surgery looks clean and modern, and the bill is tiny, compared to the same work in Australia.

Helen and I headed out to Mojoagung, the "bronze village" on Saturday. On previous occasions, we have always ended up on the north side of the river to Mojokerto, and, at least once, "visited" Jombang market. This time, a look at the map showed that we needed to, basically, turn left, right, left and right, then continue on through Mojokerto.

Helen bought two pieces for school and we purchased some Christmas presents. We also ordered a bookcase, the main purpose of the trip. On the way back we stopped at one of the big "tourist trap" restaurants, and had a fairly basic meal out the back - you have to try these things.

We're waiting for one of our "babies" to come home. Latte has been at the vet's for four days now, and we all miss him, especially his brother - not that Latte will care when he comes home. He is a cat, after all. Even though I love cats, I like Billy Connelly's take on them: Everyone says they're cute and loving when they rub around your legs, but, 10 minutes later, they're doing the same thing to the coffee table!

I wonder if it is being on holidays that makes new places seem really good. Obviously, visiting is very different to living somewhere, but the places we have been this holiday have been excellent. Even though we have only had a snapshot of Laos and Vietnam, they both seem to be on the up, although one more rapidly than the other. The thing that impressed me about both countries was a willingness to preserve their heritages,

Tourism in both places was relatively hassle and sleaze-free. Traders were courteous, and not overly persistent. Hoi An is much more laid back than Hanoi, and tailors and shoe makers were exceptionally friendly. We bought far too many things, simply because the quality and price were too good to refuse - I already have more clothes and shoes than I am capable of wearing, but being able to get a "Mulder-style" coat for well under $100 and a wool/cashmere suit for the same price was too good to let go.

The old town of Hoi An is really well set up also, although being there in the rainy season detracted a little. Still, it didn't stop us getting around.

Laos was wonderful to visit. Vientiane was much, much nicer than expected, and Vang Vieng was a lot of fun, with breath-taking scenery. Luang Phabang was neat although the Phabang (like the stolen-from-Laos Emerald Buddha) it is much smaller than I expected. Both countries have excellent, cheap restaurants, and it is possible to get a cheap, drinkable glass of wine.

Seeing both countries makes me extremely angry about what the U.S.A., and Australia, did to them, based on a purely ideological "threat". Far from being the evil little savages that the media made them out to be, when I was young, the Vietnamese are, generally speaking, lovely people, who were basically defending themselves against invaders. Yes, I know a lot of South Vietnamese were killed, or fled the country, but the division was artificially created by the Western world in the first place. Korea, Vietnam and now Iraq were/are wars which directed money and power to U.S. politicians and their cronies, but did nothing for any country involved, including the aggressors - just imagine the good that could have been done in the U.S.A. and around the world with the billions of dollars wasted in Iraq.

By all accounts,the six year-level camps, last week, had been very successful, although the Year 12 camp to Bali was a bit "soft". Those of us expats, who went on the five camps in East Java, aren't keen to eat white rice for quite a while. The other big change from the expat lifestyle is the bathing, or having a "mandi". On our camp, sloshing yourself with freezing-cold water was the only option (although a number of kids probably just stayed dirty). It is a sobering thought that 45 million people in Indonesia don't even have the lifestyle that we had on camp.

Yesterday, Helen was well enough to come on another ride with Rachel and Andy. This time, we went "clockwise" around the circuit, and deviated along a canal. It was a really nice ride, and brought us out north of Citra Raya. We then returned via the reverse of the route we'd taken a couple of weeks before. Andy was keen to visit the Citra Raya pasar (market), which is a focal point for cyclists and walkers every Sunday. We all had some fried tempe and klepon (glutinous rice, filled with palm sugar and covered in coconut). Rachel and Andy also had a drink each, and Rachel's was very similar to a mango lassi.

This morning, a holiday for the first day of the fasting month, Helen and I walked down to Lakarsantri, around a few back streets that we had not been down for a while. There were not many people about, and many seemed to be on their way to work.

  
 
 
We went into the market, which was a bit bigger and better-stocked than
we had previously thought. We found a stall selling coffee beans for
Rp10,000 (~US$1.10) for 250g. After breakfast, I cycled back and bought
a bag of coffee, plus some fireworks, from a roadside stall

One of the great things about living in Asia is that you can go on the same walk every day, and still see something different. Where we live, on the western edge of Surabaya, we can walk and cycle through rice paddies, cornfields and villages.

The reaction of almost every villager is friendliness, even though the gawks that we get from some of them indicates that they don't get out much. Mornings and afternoons are good in the village immediately behind us, with everyone greeting us with the traditional "Hello Mister".

I have a couple of rides, varying from 20 to 30km, usually north to north-west of home. This morning, however, I rode with two new colleagues. Andy and Rachel, to the south, and we made it down to the Surabaya river. Andy had yellow cycling gear on, which piqued the interest of a number of locals. When we got off to have a look at the river, one bloke looked like he wanted to swap shirts.

It is very useful speaking a bit of the language. For example, today, a bloke told me that a gang (small street) that we had passed actually led to where he guessed we wanted to go. (And, he was correct.) It's also useful to ask directions, and also find out information about objects of interest.

Like us, Andy and Rachel seem fascinated by the different things people here do, compared to our home countries. Many of the expats rarely venture outside their comfort zones, and miss out (in my opinion) on some wonderful experiences.

No matter how
adorable and loving cats seem to be, they are natural-born killers. Usually,
their prey dies slowly and horribly. 

The recent
efforts of our two young cats, Latte and Jahe, to catch and kill creatures
around the house has caused me some minor physical discomfort.

The first was last
Tuesday afternoon, as I was taking my bike out through the garage. The cats
were tormenting a large grasshopper, which escaped by launching itself onto my
face.

Normally, for me,
this wouldn't be a problem. However, the grasshopper had, somehow, hooked a
claw into the soft tissue up, inside my nose. I had to stop, lean my bike
against me and use both hands to career detact the creature.

On Wednesday
night, Latte caught his second small bat. I grabbed him, made him drop the bat
and handed the cat to Helen. I grabbed the bat, to put it outside to increase
its chances of survival. As the very small bat attempted to bite me, I
remembered that they can carry rabies. Luckily, it didn’t managed to break my
skin.

Yesterday brought an enormous shock for Helen. She found one of our two gorgeous female kittens, Latte, licking an anatomical part that girls don't have. Examination of Jahe showed that both kittens were boys! The vet had assured us they were girls! However, they are still cute, and often naughty. I think that Late looks different now that I know he isn't a "she". Perception is everything.

The weekend was pretty good. Friday and Saturday were spent in a Theory of Knowledge workshop, with Vivek Bammi, from Jakarta International School. He has been teaching it for yonks, has contributed to textbooks and is a deputy chief examiner. The two days went well. It turned out that Vivek and his wife know friends of Helen's, and Helen had actually spent a Christmas Day with them, about 15 years ago!

After it finished, at ~3pm yesterday, I went out to the field to "captain" the South softball team against the Northern hemisphere folk. They wanted to play a version that was unfamiliar to those of us from the Antipodes. It centred around pitching "lollypops", so that all but the most inept players were able to hit the ball. At the end of the second (of five)innings, in which 11 North players got home (primarily thanks to our fielding), Helen pitched a "shut out" (I think that's what it's called when the opposition are three out without a run) and we ended up "flogging" them.

It was all in good fun (more so when you win), and we headed over to the T-Bar for a couple of ales. Some friends there invited us to share their Indian meal, at their home, with another couple, and we had a lovely evening.

On Friday evening we took Vivek, Kevin Morely (who did an English workshop for us) and two participants, from other schools, to Cafe Pisa with a crew from school. Again, we had a very convivial evening.

Today was pretty relaxed. Helen had forgotten to buy the mandatory croissants, and more than compensated by making some delicious ricotta pancakes. They were superb, with some strawberry-champagne chocolate sauce and cream. The two "little boys" wrestled for ages on our bed, before having a snooze for most of the morning. I joined them, but couldn't settle. In the afternoon we played 9, very quick, and very ordinary, holes at the par-3 Pakuwon course. We'll need to return before the North-South match in two weeks.

We had some polenta that was in the freezer for dinner, watched the news, and headed upstairs to potter about before bed. I reckon I need another day, though.

When I was younger, I had no real interest in ANZAC Day. I knew that I'd had a great grandfather killed in WWI, and Mum's father fought as well. There were also uncles and various other more distant family members who had participated in WWII. Pa, Dad, and I were all just a bit too young to take part in any of the major conflicts, and, even though my brothers, friends and I used to play "war" a lot in the scrub, around our house, the real stuff has never seemed worth spending time on.

However, when I worked in Bali, the Australian Consulate held a dawn service each year, and folk from Bali International School were the mainstays. It also coincided with a bit of re-inventing of ANZAC Day in Australia, as a day to remember all those who have fallen, and what it was really like, rather than putting veterans on some sort of pedestal. So, it was good that, when we moved to Surabaya, we also could attend a dawn service. The Australian Army had a couple of members in the "village" (helping the Indonesian Navy with its aeroplanes!) so there was support (and money for a slap-up, buffet breakfast).

The Army withdrew, and, last year, ANZAC Day was upon us, before I realized that no-one had done any thing. This year, I mentioned it to one of my colleagues, and he took it on with gusto. We had a lovely service this morning, as a consequence. Most participants were work colleagues, but there were a couple of others, and a visitor, from Jakarta, to swell the ranks to about 20. My office staff had organised a second rope and pulley on a flag pole, for the NZ flag, my colleague had given me the bugle pieces and anthems as mp3's (to put on the iPod) and had also organised a "bring a plate" breakfast. Two of us performed Eric Bogle's "And the band played Waltzing Matilda", and we did all the traditional bits of the service.

Breakfast was very good. Our Muslim pembantus (maids) cooked bacon and eggs, and we has lamingtons, butterfly cakes and Anzac biscuits to go with the juice and coffee. We drifted away before 7am, as the School began to come to life, for the last day of the working week.

This is the first time I've had a go at doing this on my PDA.

I'm pretty tired after the weekend, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's the stress of trying to get school "right".

Helen and I had a lovely walk through the village behind us. We were surveying a run for the Anzac Day Hash. There are several hectares of beautiful rice paddies. We continually ask each other why other expatriates don't avail themselves of the same opportunities.

Research, so I've read, shows that single people with pets live longer, on average, than those without. This is put down to a more positive outlook on life by the former. Certainly, Cappucino, and other cats (and dogs) I've had could be a good, uncritical listener. Whatever you tell them, they don't disagree, and we take this, and the fact that they do not immediately run away, as agreement. It is usually much simpler, and less stessful, living witha cat or/and dog than a fellow human.

Our kittens, Late and Jahe, are still to little to be companion animals, much, but they are a constant source of laughter, and, therefore, are conducive to a happy environment. For example, Martini told us that Latte jumped from the stair into a tall, Egyptian-style vase, from which it was impossible for her to escape. Martini heard the whimpers and rescued her.

Last week, while Latte and I were watching television (I was, anyway), a mouse ran into the lounge. Latte had never seen one, but it moved, so she followed it. By the time I got to the dining room, there were two little cats sitting under  the table looking out into the garage area - actually catching the mouse was, at this stage in their short lives, beyond them.

However, going up to the drying area on the roof and pulling washing from the racks is within their capabilities, as is darting out into the front garden any time a door is left open. How they do not end up a mass of bruises by the end of their play with each other is a mystery to us. They are happy to hurt each other, but not not too much, and they bear no grudges, even from the odd smack or water bottle spray when they transgress.

It's not possible to be "down" when they are around, because they are guaranteed to to do something cute or funny. Even when they are asleep, a quiet stroke of them is reassuring to their "carers".

Bali is a magnet for the flotsam and jetsam of Western society. The perception (often accurate) that white people can get away with almost anything is immensely attractive to an array of substance abusers, shysters and assorted emotionally, morally and psychologically-challenged weirdos. (There are some nice, normal Westerners in Bali as well.)

The Jazz Cafe, in Ubud, is a microcosm of Bali "characters", both long-term and just-visiting. We recently visited it on two consecutive nights, to enjoy the excellent music that the venue offers. The food is great too, but it has plenty of competition in that respect.

The first evening was fairly tame, with the usual Japanese and Javanese tourists, as well as an assortment of Australian, American and European expatriates and tourists. The "funk" band was great, although the requests from the audience had them eventually sounding like an Indonesian country and western band.

The audience mix on the second evening was verging on unbelievable. One couple, in particular, seemed to be the hands-down winners for the "most extreme" award. He had very long, white hair and a white moustache, with a white shirt, silver lycra trousers and white gym boots. She had orange hair, white blouse, and what looked like a black netball skirt over black bike pants. They were both well into their 40's, if not older. She was very animated, he was almost comatose.

However, as the evening progressed, a small, middle-aged woman in black, with a long scarf, crept through the doorway. She looked like she had escaped from day release. Suddenly, as she became aware of the music, she began to gyrate on the dance floor. Following her, a woman, possibly her daughter, in a black singlet and denim skirt, entered, followed by the boyfriend, in black singlet and shorts. He was the sort of person who, in any western society, would be regularly beaten simply for who he was trying to be. In the safety of expatriate Ubud, his (their?) arrogance was spell binding.

They immediately ensconced themselves in the pathway of the waiting staff, and seemed oblivious to the fact, as they began to chain smoke. "Mum", clearly on something, ashed her cigarette on another patron, and the boyfriend had to mediate. Luckily, a table became vacant, which resulted in them moving to a less obstructionist position.

In the meantime, an obese tourist after looking at Helen, moved seats so that she was exactly blocking Helen's view. One of her two companions, realising that she was never going to see anyone in the restaurant again, ever, got up and began to "groove" on the dance floor. This encouraged an elderly Japanese couple to rock and roll, and a few others to join in. Her obese friend joined in, which wasn't a pretty sight.

Eventually, tiredness overcame us, and, even though the blues music was excellent, and the "floor show" was entertaining, we headed back to our hotel.