Enjoyment of planning

I like planning. Half of the fun of any trip or other event is the anticipation, and being involved in the planning means you can take full advantage of the anticipation. There’s nothing quite like the excitement of finding the perfect solution and then the exquisite torture of having to wait to enjoy it. So I will frequently say to people “we should do that!”

But the delights of solitude don’t only consist of dreaming. Next in enjoyment, I think, comes planning.

On a smaller scale this isn’t a problem. For example, at lunch on Sunday with good friends, we decided we should cook a dinner together – mainly so C can use some tiny teacups I helped her select at the Weekend Market in Bangkok, and because the summer so far has been set on destroying our plans of barbecues on our decks.

After years (decades?) of suggesting we explore somewhere exotic together, my sister-in-law /friend and I finally managed to get a few days in France and Belgium together back in 2006. And when I’ve passed through the UK, I’ve managed to catch up with some friends I met on the internet. And I’ve had a couple of adventures with my friend in Geneva. But that’s about all I’ve managed.

On a larger scale though, it is harder to accomplish. I have two friends who want to go to New York with me if I ever get there, and if my husband doesn’t get too upset that he can’t come too. The thing is, I can’t imagine us ever doing it – managing to match our commitments, budgets, timing etc. But it’s fun dreaming.

My sister and her husband, and my husband and I have a shared love of good wine, and we’ve often drooled over the prospect of a week in the Barossa and Clare Valleys of South Australia together. But Charlie is only 3. Too young to put up with drunk parents, too young to be our designated driver. We’re either going to have to do that alone, or wait a few more years.

I also have another friend – one I haven’t seen since Bangkok airport in March 1981 – who I’ve discovered (thanks to Facebook) loves tennis too, and so we want to go to the Australian Open together. I’ve even investigated how to get tickets. I love watching tennis, and my husband doesn’t, so that might be easier to organise. Melbourne’s easy to get to from here. But Becky would have to fly from California. And we’d have to cope with Melbourne’s 40* degree heat – though tonight, when Rafa and Federer are due to play in the semi-final, temperatures are much cooler (around 23 degrees according to the Aus Open website). But I just know we’d have fun!

And again as a result of Facebook, I’m in contact with so many of those friends I farewelled at the Bangkok airport in March 1981. A number of them now get together annually for the Thai New Year celebrations at a wat (temple) in Washington DC. DC is one of my favourite cities. I would love to meet up with them there. I plan to. Someday. Becky is going this year. I’m a bit jealous.

My blogging friends and I have talked about meeting up somewhere exotic. Latest plans are to kidnap George Clooney and/or Colin Firth in Italy. Sounds bellissimo to me! Italy actually would be a perfect location for a first time meeting – if we hated each other, we’d at least have Italy. (We won’t hate each other, I know). But in order to actually manage a meeting, I suspect it’s more likely to be in Parts West in Vermont, or Canada on the Danforth, or at Duckfat in Portland, Maine. That’s OK – New England has always been on our list of places to visit one autumn, so I’m confident I can get there sometime. The problem will be whether our St Louis friends will be able to get there at the same time. Still, I’m reluctant to abandon Italy. Or France. I just know they’d love the villages of the Ardeche or Dordogne.

Of course, there’s always room here in NZ for them all. But it’s so far …

Making plans is fun. I know, I watched my mother plan to build her new house for much of my childhood, and saw how excited she was. But after a while, if the plans aren’t fulfilled, they are of necessity benched in a dusty, unused part of the brain, and I don’t want that. So seriously, Mali! You’re not getting any younger. If you’re ever going to achieve any of these then you have to actually make the effort and organise something.

So I’ll start. Italy 2014 anyone? 2015?

Unless commitment is made, there are only promises and hopes; but no plans.

Peter F. Drucker

* Temperatures in Celsius of course. 40 C = about 104F

Too Late

There’s something that’s driving me quietly crazy. Occasionally, it drives me not so quietly crazy, and I find myself raging at the radio, the TV, and once (if I recall correctly), even the newspaper. I regularly rant to my long-suffering husband, and friend Peony. I think it is a sign of the decline of civilisation, and it distresses me. At first I thought it was a kiwi thing, and that was bad enough. I was ashamed, and embarrassed, that we were the beginning of this decline. But no. I’m aware it has spread beyond these shores, and that the UK and US are also infected, though it is impossible for me to say how extensively. Was NZ the start of this epidemic, or are we just a stop on the way down?

Yes, I’m probably over-reacting, but it is very frustrating to see something that is so wrong, and not to be able to do anything about it. And now, its momentum is too strong, and the cause is lost. I realised that at Christmas. There were examples daily. I wanted to hide in a cave and pretend it wasn’t happening, screaming “la la la la la” to block it all out. I recognised again the truth that the words “too late” are the saddest words in the world.

What is this catastrophe, you might ask? It is the loss of the truncated plural (my label). I hear, too often, someone saying “there’s” when they should be saying “there are” or “there’re.” At first it was just people commenting generally. But the day I heard a BBC report use “there’s” I shuddered, sensing that this was bigger than I had suspected, even in my worst nightmares. And then Tom Hanks, as Woody, said in Toy Story 3, “there’s toys up there.” I sobbed.

At Christmas, I regularly heard advertisements on the radio and TV. “There’s gifts for everyone!” blared the TV, imploring us to shop at shop X or shop Y. Ironically, one of the businesses that committed this faux pas was our largest chain of book and stationery stores. The ads must have been scripted, and handed to an actor/voice-over-artist to read. Didn’t they use the spell-checker? Mine is yelling at me now (well, as much as a green squiggly underline can yell) that “there’s gifts” is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And the worst thing is that this infection is so pervasive I fear I might have said it myself. I know I’m not a grammar expert. So I can’t confirm that I have said it, but I can’t confirm that I haven’t. And I know what that means. There’s no hope for us. It’s too damn late.

Summer So Far

I know it’s not just me. With the exception of those in the deep south of the country who are having a very pleasant summer, the rest of New Zealand has been deluged by rain, lots of rain, in some places 1-in-100-year rains. We’ve discovered new leaks in our house. Now we just need a dry weekend to be able to fix them. Temperatures have been mild – with the occasional cool day, and the slightly more frequent bright sunny days, but mostly days have been just a bit gloomy, and not quite hot enough to be able to bask in that summer feeling. Winds have been strong, and so in Wellington, that means gale force. Even when the temperatures allow, it’s too windy to go outside for a barbecue. And of course, if the rest of the country has been having mediocre weather, that means those of us who live in Wellington are really having it rough. We know this. And we don’t need our friends and family in Martinborough or Tauranga or Southland to come here and gloat. We get that all the time anyway. But this year, it really hurts.

It doesn’t help that there are viruses going round that are hitting people (according to my doctor) twice as hard as they normally would. So here I am, two weeks after developing a cold, still suffering, still not feeling much better, still with a sore head, still with breathing problems, just wanting to hibernate here at home, rather than venturing out into nature, to enjoy the freedom of warmth, the freedom of summer holidays.

So I can honestly say, so far, summer sucks.

13 January 1981

Our year in Bangkok was nearing an end. We only had a few more weeks left, and we were feeling that acutely. We’d spent most of the year relaxed, seeing things when we could, taking pictures when we felt like it. But by now, we had realised that it was now or never. So Fe and I decided we needed to explore and take photos. And in particular, we wanted to go to Wat Pho – The Temple of the Reclining Buddha. Cee and Madeline decided to come too, and we were happy for their company.

It was a Tuesday, but by now, we’d well and truly given up on school. Time was running out, we weren’t getting any credits for our time in school, and the amazing city of Bangkok was quite literally on our doorsteps. Besides, we’d made some wonderful friendships over the year, and who knew if we’d ever see each other again? Time spent together was important. We felt it, even if we didn’t say it.

We headed off to the temple. It was quiet, tranquil, with lots of pigeons, and – for 1981 – lots of tourists. On my last visit (a year ago), I remembered how peaceful it had been in 1981. In those days, a busy temple probably meant 10-20 tourists in the compound. There had been no queues for photos of the Buddha’s feet, or to put coins in the bowls which line one side of the temple. Wat Pho in 2011 was still pleasant, and is always interesting, but can no longer be described as tranquil, though there were still spots you could find yourself alone for a short time.

Wat Pho is one of Bangkok’s most ancient temples, and has always been a seat of learning, in particular for traditional Thai medicine and massage. It is still very much a working temple, despite the tourists, and you frequently see monks hurrying across the courtyards, on some business or other. We encountered two young monks, and must have said something – presumably something polite and respectful – to them in Thai. Astonished, they disappeared then quickly reappeared with their teacher (also a monk) telling him over and over again that “they can speak Thai!”

Soon we were surrounded by over a dozen young monks wanting to talk to us, keen to meet these strange young foreign teenagers who could speak Thai. We chatted for about 30 minutes, and then their teacher gave us a fascinating tour of the Temple. We went home happy, after yet another unique AFS experience.

Friends chatting with monks 31 years ago

Ten things I Like Unabashedly

1. Travelling
2. Language and languages
3. Chardonnay and Pasta (together or separately)
4. Blogging and Facebook
5. Swimming (but only when the water is warm)
6. Cats
7. My Victorinox knife
8. The call of the tui in our trees
9. The West Wing
10. Gorgeous George

Ten Things I Admit to Liking Despite the (Real or Imagined) Judgement of Others

1. Not being in full-time employment
2. Certain E Channel series (Yes, I’m too embarrassed to confess which ones)
3. Sleeping really really late on Saturday and Sunday mornings
4. Soppy happy stories (yes, I admit it, they make me cry)
5. Terry Pratchett books
6. Dr Who and True Blood
7. My Christmas tree decorations
8. Addictive games on my iPad (current addiction: Harbor Master)
9. Carbs
10. Judgement with an “e”

Ten Things I Don’t Like But Wish I Did

1. Being neat and organised
2. Tequila
3. Running
4. Poetry
5. Wellington’s weather
6. Black Coffee
7. Really Loud Music
8. Dogs
9. Sticking up for myself
10. Using the telephone

Ten Things I Don’t Like and Probably Never Will

I confess I stole this idea from Indigo Bunting. To ensure variety, items on her list have not been included in my list, even when I agree wholeheartedly.

1. Heights
2. Small enclosed spaces, and crowds, or worst of all, both
3. Not being believed (when I’m telling the truth) or being misunderstood
4. Large four-wheel drive vehicles
5. Waking up early
6. Biting into soft sultanas
7. Flying economy class
8. Hypocrisy (in others)
9. Really loud music
10. Cycling as exercise; also, for that matter, cyclists going up the gorge when I’m driving home.

Red blooms = Joy

We drove around the Bays yesterday. “Why bother going to the Coromandel?” my husband asked me. I laughed in delight. He was right. Currently, Wellington – especially the eastern suburbs and the drive around the bays there – look like the Coromandel or Northland (albeit a month late) lined with pohutukawa in brilliant red. I had talked about making a special trip north one year to see the pohutukawa in bloom. But after Wellington, why bother?

I wish I had photographs of the bush-clad hills and the pohutukawa lining the edge of the harbour. I took a few at the end of our drive but they’re poor relations to the ones I oohed and aahed at.

Gorgeous, vibrant, red

Evans Bay. In the distance, my gym.
This is (in reverse) the view I get when working out.

The city – on holiday – felt like a beach resort. Everywhere there were people enjoying the sun. After a dreadful few days between Christmas and New Year, perhaps this smacked a little of desperation before going back to work. But it felt joyous. I’ve never seen so many people fishing on the harbour’s edge. My husband informed me this may have been as a result of someone recently catching a 10 kg (22 pound) kingfish. Inspired, half of the population of Wellington appeared to be out fishing for their supper. The other half were playing on the beaches, walking, cycling, running. Or picnicking, as we did on the world’s best bacon-and-egg pie (if I do say so myself) and enjoying the view. New Zealand’s Christmas Tree, decorated by nature, was out in full bloom, and it seemed appropriate that we were all making the most of the festive atmosphere before the year began again in earnest.

Today.

New Year … um … somethings

Let me be clear, these are not resolutions – that would mean they are doomed to fail. They probably are anyway, but here are some thoughts about how I want this year to be.

1. Let’s get the perennials out of the way. You know them well: lose weight, get fitter, keep house tidy, drink less (well, no, not really – but perhaps drink only when I really want to/enjoy what I’m drinking), save money or win Lotto. They’ll all still there. I live in hope/delusion that one day I’ll actually achieve one of them.
2. Do something more public with my writing. I’m not sure what. But if I don’t put myself out there, it’ll always just be a hobby/procrastination tool. That’s okay, but I’d like to see if it could be something more. Of course, that means I must …
3. Finish Writing Project A.
4. Change Travelalphablog into something new (when I finish this round of the alphabet).
5. Make more money. I’m not getting any younger, retirement age if not bank account is only ten years or so away, and travelling makes for an expensive lifestyle. I have to work more.
6. Improve my Spanish / Chinese (depending on where we decide to go next).
7. Ring my mother more often.
8. Play the piano more. (So that means getting it tuned, too.)
9. Have more patience.
10. Find a bunch of new recipes – and make them.
11. Finish all (most/some of) those home maintenance jobs we’ve been putting off for so long.
12. Be more sociable. Extend my network of friends. Put myself out there a bit, even when it is uncomfortable.
13. Walk.
14. Photograph.
15. Be happy. It’s mostly a choice, after all.