I’d be hard pressed to give a reasonable explanation for this long silence. I like blogging. Only thing is, I’ve once again become disengaged, as it’s happened to me regularly over these past few months.
I suppose I should own the fact that I am becoming blasee. The wonders of the world no longer phase me. I turn my mind to other things – to my inner universe and the stories I want to write, the imaginary people screaming to be born of my mind.
Yet, my pen is sterile and it is a blissful torture to be so inhabited by unborn phantoms.
Perhaps it would be kind of me to describe the setting in which this rant is born. It is on a boat, a small ferry that reeks of lake water and market smells, a place so full of the chatter of old Indonesian ladies, it is a wonder I can write at all. There are six bullays on this ship: yours truly, Spade, Vee, a man with too much belly and very bad skin, another with stunning blue eyes, and a girl who has backpacker stamped on her forehead.
The ship leaves, to the sound, very alien, for this setting, of La Lambada. It takes me a moment to recognize it. Destination: Samosir, on Lake Toba, North Sumatera. It is my second tourist outing in Indonesia, an they are only a week apart.
I was last weekend in Sabang, on the island of Palau Weh, off the coast of Aceh. A much needed breath of fresh air, with highlights including roast beef and snorkeling. I didn’t find Nemo, but maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough. I suppose getting sunstroke might also be a partial explanation as to why my efforts were hampered.
Also, hammocks rock. If I ever stop being a gypsy, I want one in my home. Another highlight: waiting for the night to crash on me as I belt out Yeats, Edith Piaf and Streisand to myself.
I guess I’m not so unphazed, after all. Just lazy. Aaaargh. Must be productive. Must must must.
Oh, a hammock.
My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !