Moving to another English speaking country, which basically is an almost exact copy of United Kingdom, shouldn’t be too shocking for mr.mck and I. Especially since I have lived in Australia before, and mr.mck has had visited the country for many times in his life.

Driving is an obvious example. Australians drive on the left side of the road, just like Britons – and Indonesians, thankfully – and all the rules are more or less the same, so UK driver license holders only need to convert their UK license to Australian ones once they have been here for over 3 months without having to take a test. Most of the roads, areas, and parks have English name, like Hyde Park and Oxford Street, we easily could feel we’re still in UK.

All the TV shows and newspapers also take a lot of thing from their big sister. I couldn’t believe that people here watch Eastenders. But they do (just like I don’t understand why Australian Neighbours are very popular in UK, but well…). Even the newspaper’s layout look very similar, and the Sunday section sometimes takes articles from UK’s previous publication.

And of course, we have met a lot, and I mean a lot, of people from UK who now call Perth home. It is not strange to walk around the malls or main streets and 6 out of 10 people will be English. Not the second or third generation, but fresh from UK. Among so many tradesmen who came over to our house to fix things, so far there has only been one Australian – or at least he speaks with Australian accent. Another one has a quite thick French accent, but the rest are no doubt imported directly from England.

With all the similarity and familiarity, I shouldn’t be having a culture shock, should I? Well, not quite though. Up until today I still don’t understand several things about Perthians, like:

Going barefoot. I lived in Sydney before and I don’t recall people walk around without their shoes on unless they’re at the beach. But here in Perth, they seem to hate shoes. I look around and there are always people with no shoes on, everywhere. At the mall and supermarket, on the bus, in the football stadium, even at the gas station. I once saw one guy strolled into the Department of Transport office shoe-less, and his palm of feet are not just dusty, they’re as black as night. It’s not that he didn’t seem to awfully care about his own hygiene, it was the over 40C temperature outside that made me wonder how he could walk on extremely hot surface without burning his own feet. Apparently they have been trained since they were little, as I see a lot of children walk with bare feet as well. Interestingly not so many women do this, perhaps because women love shoes and there’s no point buying pretty shoes but not wearing them, right?

Men wearing tank-tops. You could call it singlet, vest or wife beater, but whatever it is, to me it is strange to see men parading their arms. Especially if there is nothing to brag about except excessive body hair. And especially if it’s not the right place (at the bar), the right time (when it is dark or having dinner), the right tank-tops (is there one?), and the right body type (beer belly parade, anyone?). Women can wear a dress with only one long sleeve and it looks nice and is called fashion. Women can wear their skirt or trousers up to the chest or down low on their hips and it would still be called trendy. Men don’t have that privilege. If they wear their trousers too low people will look away in disgust and if they wear it too high they will be called morons. If they wear a t-shirt with only one sleeve present, they will be called crazy. When it comes to man’s fashion, it’s very limited to the thickness of the stripes of the shirts, the colour of the ties, and the length of the pointy bits of the shoes. So I get it, wearing sleeveless t-shirt is such a temptation of fashion exploration, especially in a such a hot place like Perth. However, I never (wish to) see Brad Pitt or George Clooney’s hairy armpits and I definitely wouldn’t want to see other blokes’, especially when I’m eating. Mr.mck has been threatening to wear one in order to fit in with the culture. So far I have managed to veto his wish.

Going topless. Countless time I see a lot of men driving around happily with no shirt on. Sometimes there are men washing their cars outside their home wearing shorts and – here is the strange thing – socks and sneakers. So for some reason they feel it is necessary to wear a complete half-outfit on the bottom, but nothing on the top. I understand that there is a lot of sun here in Perth and it’s all free and people want to have gorgeous tan, and if they have nice bodies they have the right to show them off. But would you rather eat your chips next to someone who is half naked and happily showing off all of his bits? Interestingly, the common habit doesn’t apply to women. At least until now I haven’t seen a single woman walk into a restaurant wearing a bikini top. They could wear the skimpiest outfit known to mankind but never in a manner of bikini-and-short or skirt, unless at the beach.

Women with big boobs. Seriously, this is not me trying to boost my blog rating up again by mentioning about boobs. But after a quite long period of serious observation, I could confirm that mr.mck’s previous statement that Perthian women have big boobs, is true. It’s not just they have big boobs, as you could find big boobs anywhere in the world. But in UK those with big boobs are normally, well, big women, while the sun in Perth has managed to produce a special species: slim women with small waists plus big boobs – more or less the ultimate Barbie doll body type. I guess because Perthians love outdoor sports, or sports in general, they tend to be healthy and slim even though all restaurants seem to serve ginormous portion of food. Jealous? Me?? Hmmpphh….

Six-pack generation. As I mention earlier, it seems like people in Perth love their sports. I am told that some will actually get up 4 AM to do their sailing, surfing, or whatever, and be at the office by eight. Like this isn’t impressive enough, they also do this at the weekends, the time where the rest of the world choose to stay up late and sleep in and only will start the day after 10. In Perth, people will have done so many things by 10AM they practically have the rest of the day for leisure. And because they love the water, and are very active, we could see very fit people everywhere. It is like looking at glossy advert pages in the magazine come alive. Why do you think I love sitting at the cafe at the beach? Definitely not for the beach, definitely not for the sun, and definitely not for the coffee….

Where the bloody hell are you? No, it’s not the infamous Australian tourism campaign that was banned in UK and Canada. It’s literally my question every weekend. The city, especially around the CBD area, always looks depressingly deserted on Sundays. It’s so quiet, even during the day time. If Saturday is bad enough because not all shops are open, it’s even more difficult on a Sunday. There are more than enough choice for dining out, but hardly for groceries and daily necessities, like newspapers, milk, or toilet roll. Floreat Forum, the nearest shopping centre from our house that has both Coles and Woolwoorth supermarkets and 90 other shops (as the website claims, I’m not sure it’s really 90 shops though, it looks tiny!), is conveniently closed on Sundays. The other shopping centre in the neighbourhood, Bayview Centre, is also closed on Sundays. I mean for God’s sake, if Aberdeen with only 250,000 people can have all their major shopping centres open on Sundays (for full day, I must add!), plus several gigantic supermarkets ready to serve the public 24/7, shouldn’t Perth – with its 1.7 million inhabitants – start behaving like a big city and get the business going even on Sunday?

The rest of the world: Is a mystery. Walk into a liquor shop in Perth and they surely have a huge range of wine. 90% of the stock would be Australian wines, and 80% of them are produced locally in Western Australia. Not that I’m complaining, as Australian wines are normally quite good. But go and ask the shop assistant if they have wine from other places, and they will point at a tiny wee section that sometimes only holds New Zealand and one or two kinds of French wine. There will be some Chilean and South Africa in some shops, even Argentinian if lucky, but almost no Italian or Californian. I once asked if they stock a Barolo and the shop assistant didn’t even recognise the wine. And I have asked several Perthians and they told me that they rarely try wine from other countries. Not because they think their wine is the best, but because there is no need to explore more and know more since what they have is good enough. But I couldn’t help but wonder if the attitude translates in other aspects in life. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read some article from the local travel magazine in Margaret River and the publisher who is also the main writer, started the sentence by saying, “the beautiful Asian countries, like Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, Bali…..”. The guy is a travel writer, and he, among other people, should know the best about Indonesia and Bali.

I am sure there will be more to come. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open!

Budi Putra posted a very interesting fact about Facebook: as of March 2010, Indonesia is at the top rank of Facebook users in Asia. With 18.9 million users, Indonesia is well ahead of the number two, Philippines  (10.5 million), and number three, India (6.8 million). I am not surprised. Indonesia might pick up the trend quite late, but once the country is hooked with something, it’s like watching an epidemic that spreads so quickly in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly we are hooked with lots of old friends we haven’t seen and heard for years. Primary school buddies, high school friends university mates, ex-neighbours, former clients, vendors, business acquaintances, and even long lost relatives suddenly pop up and say hi in our ‘wall’ and before we know it we get reconnected.

The thing about Facebook is once we are a friend of someone’s, his/her friends can see us and are able to add us as well. It can be quite embarrassing when someone adds us and we have no idea who this person is, although we are quite certain we spent 3 years in high school together as we share 20 or so mutual friends. Sometimes it is because the name has changed as she got married and drops her maiden name, and we have to make sure she is the person we used to know. Or it is because we know him as “Mario” while his real name is Marjonokusumaputra and we’ve had no idea about it at all until recently. Sometimes it is because they look totally different now – something that apparently a lot of my old friends claim about me (I just lose the extremely thick, enormous spectacles I had worn since I was 10, and have longer hair, but they insist I look different).

There are three categories of old friends in facebook. One is those whom we remember dearly and remember us too, and both are beyond ecstatic when get reconnected. Facebook is only one medium which brings us closer again. We are back in touch after meeting in facebook and basically back in being friends again, not just virtually, but in real world. Like Trisyandi and I, who have been friends since high school and had been separated when she went to Yogya for college, and I went to, well, pretty much everywhere. We hadn’t heard about each other until another friend tracked her down and put her in touch with me again. Last October, after almost 2 decades, I have finally met her. We chatted non-stop since the moment she showed up on my doorstep until 4 o’clock in the morning. And last month when I went back to Indonesia again, I took a chance to visit her in Yogya. It was us back in high school, with several lines on our faces, some pounds on the hips and few life-changing moments we both have been through. These are the kind of friends we are more than happy to endure extra miles to see them.

Second category of facebook old friends is those who slightly remember us and vice versa, and both can walk down memory lane quite a bit. We exchange few hellos in facebook, might exchange phone numbers or chat via instant messenger several times, and even go even further to meet up once or twice. I sat down in a restaurant with other friends from high school whom I haven’t seen for decades on my last trip back to Indonesia, listening to their conversation about this or that teacher, and this or that friend. They started drawing a virtual class-seating diagram and I was amazed how they can remember who sat next to whom. I, I couldn’t even remember which class I was in, let alone who sat next to me! The semi-private room in that restaurant was filled with laughter and endless conversation topics flowing one after another. Everybody is as exactly as I remember, and I couldn’t be happier. But then we’d go separate ways with fond memories about each other, and would only, or might be, in touch via facebook, until maybe there is another special moment that reunite us back again.

And the last category is those who add us as their friends but leave no indication whether they still know us or not. They might add us because it is suggested by other friends who think it is a good idea. Or they might add us because we thought we still know them and add them at first. There might be one hello or one confirmation that we are who we were used to be, but then there is no more further conversation. Neither is interested in each other’s lives and soon enough we’d forget about having them in our list. We keep them quietly for ‘just in case‘, but the moment most likely never comes. It’s like having 10 umbrellas but never remember where they are located anyway.  Once or twice we scroll down the list of friends and we wonder how they are, or worse who they are! But we either are too lazy or too polite to delete them. Or we are just plain nosy and still want to have access to their daily lives. So when they post new pictures, we take glance and ruthlessly make a mental note that they were in Japan last month for holiday (wondering how they afford it), or wear ridiculous tops (wondering whether fashion police will catch them), or have gained at least 10 kgs (glad we still have some waist).

The last type is the reason why I write this post. I have been looking at my friends list in facebook closely and wonder the extend of these almost-a-thousand-friends. Some of them naturally fall into the third category. And I have been asking myself: for what? Because even in facebook, we still have to maintain our friendships. Show some attention, remember their birthdays, chat once or twice, meet-up if possible. Just like what we do with real friends. Facebook isn’t a new version of address book, where we jot down all the names of people we know or (might) need. It’s a social networking website where we interact virtually with each other. If we need a fancier address book, we shall download a different program.

So if neither of us thinks is important to start the conversation now, then it wouldn’t be different next week, next month, or next year. Sometimes, old things should be preserved and maintained. Sometimes, old just means old and it’s time for a change. Just because we went to the same school together, doesn’t mean we have to know each other now. Just because we were friends 20 years a go, doesn’t mean we have to be friends now.

What do you think?

A man in New Zealand is selling what he claims are two troublesome exorcised ghosts on an internet auction website. He claims the ghosts, one of an old man and the other a young girl, were removed from his house by a spiritualist and are now captured in vials of holy water. The seller, known only as Melvin S from Christchurch, says on the www.trademe.co.nz website that the spirits created havoc in his house before the exorcism, switching lights on and off, turning an electric kettle on, and terrifying the dog.

Of course, this is not the first time people try to sell wacky things on the internet. Webupon pulished an article titled This Is Not Right: The 10 Most Eccentric Items Ever Auctioned Online where it list down extremely strange objects sold by humankind on the internet, from… are you ready for this? ………  a man’s soul, an imaginary girlfriend, a haunted rubber duck, until Justin Timberlake’s french toast.

Wait, there’s more. Remember when Britney Spears had supposedly chewed and spat out a piece of bubble gum at the 2000 Wembley Arena concert? It was sold on ebay and the winning bid was $14,000. A tissue used by Scarlett Johansson has only been sold for $5,300 (£3,600) on auction website eBay. The actress was appearing on US talk show Tonight when host Jay Leno handed her a tissue after the star said she had caught a cold. Johansson blew her nose twice, leaving some lipstick and mucus behind, before putting it in a bag and signing it. Although proceeds from the sale are going to hunger charity USA Harvest, the charity of Scarlett Johansson’s choice, I still couldn’t fathom the fact that someone, somewhere, thinks it’s worthy to have someone’s snotty tissue, or chewed bubble gum, or half-eaten toast. What would they do with it? Frame it and hang it up on their living room wall?

In August 2008 Reuter reported that an Australian woman has taken revenge on her cheating husband by putting a photograph of his lover’s underpants up for sale on the auction site eBay. In the listing the woman says she is selling a picture of a pair of lacy black knickers and an empty condom wrapper “size small” found in her bed after her husband had an affair with another woman. The seller — identified on eBay only as annastella007 — provides a rather unflattering description of the knickers: “They are so huge I thought they may make someone a nice shawl or, even better, something for Halloween perhaps.”

If those are not interesting enough, how about buying the meaning of life? That’s right, folks. For $3.26 it’s all yours. The answers to everything you could ever ask. But if you live outside of the U.S., that’s just too bad because the seller would only ship within the U.S. The exact nature of this item was not given and the only picture was the rainbow.

If you ever feel lonely, you might want to buy a month of friendship, which thankfully includes two e-mails a week, phone calls and text messaging. It was auctioned on ebay and the final bid reached almost $2,000.

There’s also a vampire killing kit, an UFO detector, and of course, several cheetos/doritos/toast that looks like Virgin Mary, Jesus, Pope, penis, a state of Illinois and so on auctioned on the internet (you can laugh all you want, but two sisters from Virginia found a cornflake that appeared to be the same shape of the state of Illinois and sold it for over $1,000!).

So, think hard and look at surround you. You might find something that bizarrely interesting enough to sell on the internet!

Who would have thought that we could be famous just by crying our eyes out? American bloke Parker set up the site after 400,000 people watched clips of his missus sobbing on Youtube. A dog who smiles whenever his owner is around has become an Internet superstar, as apparently more than 300,000 people have watched the clip.

You just need to dig up your… errr… talent to be an internet hit nowadays. Like this man!

Having read Ecky’s post, I too have to reveal something that both mr.mck and I have found since the day we set our foot here in Perth. Everywhere we go, everybody who serves us, from the baker, the florist, the staffs at the shops and supermarkets, delivery people, guys at ticket box, the call centre staffs – basically, well, everybody! – is incredibly friendly.

I must say I find it extraordinary because having lived in UK and traveled a bit around Europe, smiles can be as rare as the sunshine. Some shops have friendly and helpful staffs, but the friendliness would stop at ‘hello, how are you?‘ or several other bits of conversations. Most of of the time the staff would mutter a ‘hiya‘ under his breath, followed by forced smile sometimes, before getting busy with the order.  There is no necessity to engage a deeper conversation with the customers, unless asked. Both parties feel the need to rush out, to finish the buying-selling process, and to go back for being moody again.

In Indonesia, or Asia in general, on the other hand, the staffs constantly smile up to the point it is either scary or you’d think you have spinach in between your teeth and they try to tell you something. These are smiles without meaning: genuine, but don’t reflect what they think or feel and the staffs don’t engage in any conversation rather than answering the questions about the products they sell, and unfortunately many of them don’t have vast knowledge about them, or have no idea how to handle customers. In many occasions customer would enter a shop to find staffs following them on every step and offering products they sell, or sitting down at the end of the room staring back at customers blankly and only move when someone ask for assistance.

Of course it is not always the case. There are places both in Europe and in Asia which have impeccable service. I recently flew with Garuda Indonesia and noticed the cabin crew and the ground staffs have new way of greetings, with both hands put in front of the chest, accompanied by smiles. Individual shops in Europe tend to be looked after by the owners who normally put extra effort to be friendly with their customers. Back in Aberdeen there was an electrician who spent 5 minutes checking up on our cables and another 45 minutes telling a story about his holiday in Thailand.

However, Perth is somewhat different. It feels like everybody is happy. Maybe it’s the sun that shines all year around. Maybe it’s the beautiful beaches and warm temperature. Maybe it’s the ground, awful taste, tap water. I don’t know.

Upon receiving my new ATM card two months a go, I had to call the bank to activate it. The guy on the phone was not just politely asked how I was, but he also chatted a little bit about – no, not about the weather like a standard conversation in Europe – but what brings me to Perth. He sounded interested in my answers, followed by enthusiastic questions about Scotland and Indonesia. All while typing all information I gave him, and suddenly the process was done. He thanked me and wished me good luck and hoped that I would enjoy Perth. I didn’t want to end the conversation because I actually enjoyed it!

The lady at the telephone company where we signed our contract up was another example. Smile never leaves her face and she was sincerely passionate about everything. And it is not only that, she even left me her mobile number, which was totally unnecessary, so I could call her just in case something went terribly wrong. Her bright mood is contagious I always left the shop feeling happy. And it is more than enough to forgive her when she put the wrong date on the column of application that results in a delay in our cable installation, and when I have to go back again to the shop as she has forgotten to ask me to sign the bundle contract. In other words, I – the feisty, impatient girl who wants everything to be correctly done and it has to be done now – didn’t mind at all, just because a friendly treatment.

Another girl at the furniture shop also was very helpful and friendly, she alone was responsible for our extra spending. We came just to have a look, and ended up having a huge bill. Staffs at some luxury shop – who are famous for being quite snotty – are also nice. I once ended up chatting with a sales person about his past jobs back in Europe and how we both enjoyed the city of Bath, something that would never happen, say, in London.

Even the bus driver is very friendly. On once occasion a driver stepped down to help a senior citizen finding the right bus to go home and to escort her back to the bus stop. In Aberdeen, on the other hand, a bus driver closed his door and drove off just because the queue was moving too slow!

Of course not all Perthians are happy and cheerful. There is always a person who think he or she is better than anyone else and treats others like dirt. There is always a person who think he or she is more important than others and has to get his or her way, no matter what. But so far our experience in Perth has been very positive. And hopefully it stays like this until the next 3 years.

Two weeks had past so quickly I woke up today in Perth already. It felt like it was only yesterday I was stuck in traffic jam in Jakarta, desperately wanting to pee, in a taxi that smells like feet, helplessly looking at my watch, worrying I would be late for my appointment.

Two weeks had past so quickly and my schedule was so tight I hardly sleep, plus for  some reason, the basketball court right across my apartment window, which was normally pretty quiet except for afternoon matches, was filled with security guards who were busy huffing and puffing everyday, started before dawn and ended around seven o’clock. Loud enough to make me sweat and noisy enough to wake me up from my barely 3-hour sleep.

Two weeks had past so quickly I had to look at my pictures to remember whom I have seen and met. Bloggers gathering was held on a Saturday, and it started at lunch time and wasn’t finished when I left at 6 PM. Our “land coffee” group which was initially started from 2-4 people gets bigger every time we meet I’m afraid in the next two years we are going to need to rent a ballroom. It was great to see everyone, Therry, Toni “the coffee and photography guru” Wahid, Boy, Parvita, Ivy, Devy, and ‘newcomers’ like Tatterscoops and Cn Naz. Several were unable to attend, but even that we needed a huge table for everybody and every camera we brought with us.

On my second week in Jakarta, I had the honour to meet Budi Putra in person. I barely could contain my excitement, as he is one of the celebrated Indonesian bloggers who now is the country editor for Yahoo! Indonesia. Unfortunately Unspun was unable to join us as he was celebrating his birthday. The meeting was rather brief plus I had another friend on my side who needed equal attention, so I didn’t have enough time to pick BP’s brain, but hopefully we’d meet up again when I’m back in town in the next few months, and by then I’d be ready with a very long list of questions!

Tasa Nugraza Barley contacted me when I was in Yogya, and the following weekend my face was in The Jakarta Globe – which I didn’t see it until a few days later when I was back in Jakarta and was informed by a friend who scanned the newspaper and sent it to me. I found myself in between Jeanny S. Bev and Enda Nasution, both are at the top of their games and I’m proud and humble having my tiny face grinning next to them. But apparently my “celebrity luck” just didn’t stop there. We were at my friend’s restaurant called Kedai Pelangi at one afternoon, having an informal junior high school reunion, where there was TV crew shooting upstairs. They came to see us a few minutes later and asked several of us to stand before the camera and gave a testimonial how the food taste, especially the famous pallu mara (yellow tamarind fish soup), which was really delicious I wish I could bring one portion back to Australia.

Two weeks had past so quickly I had to schedule my meetings quite strictly between lunches, coffees, dinners and drinks. One former client protested that after bravely tore down the heavy traffic to see me in one afternoon, he found out he had only 2 hours as I was having dinner with other friends after 7 PM. Some friends who dropped me off at Eastern Promise to meet mr.mck and other friends after dinner wondered if I ever sleep.

Not in Jakarta.

The picture is by Parvita.

On one Sunday mr.mck and I decided to go for a brunch, and since the day before we had a quite successful experience with Boucla Cafe using the book “The Food Lovers’ Guide To Perth” as our inspiration, we decided to check another spot listed in the book, and we decided this time to do it alphabetically. So we chose Aubergine Gourmet Foods as a start.

I was the designated driver, and for the first time in Australia we used and tested our tomtom, which just downloaded Australian map into its system. The cafe is located in Fremantle (or Freo, as the locals would call it) and everyone seems to like the area and always speaks about it with a great fondness. Since we had been to Cicerello’s and had its fish & chips which tastes alright (no better than Aberdeen fish & chips!) and Little Creatures, which beer mr.mck really likes, we were looking forward to another culinary experience. When we arrived, Fremantle was buzzing. The streets were full of people. All the cafes and restaurants were all busy. I felt we made the right decision, as it seems everybody has chosen Freo for their Sunday brunch.

We passed the street where the cafe was supposed to be, and the tomtom lady has yelled, “You have arrived in your destination” several times. But since on-street parking is prohibited, I had to drive a bit further to park the car, and soon we secured a spot which wasn’t far from our lunch destination. It didn’t feel far indeed, but we got lost only after hundreds of metres. I tried to follow tomtom’s direction – which made mr.mck stood a few feet away from me: men chose to get lost for hours than looking for a help! – but for some reason it took us round around in a big circle. Finally after several unnecessary Victory laps, we arrived in South Terrace, and started looking for this Aubergine Cafe. Every time we passed another cafe we got even more hungry looking at the meals presented on the patrons’ tables, and were really looking forward to try the cafe’s delicious menu.

But we couldn’t find it! We walked back and forth several times but didn’t see it. We consulted with tomtom which indicated it was still 2 km away from where we stood, which can’t be right, because we had been back and forth South Terrace and still couldn’t find the cafe. Mr.mck’s iphone also said the same, although sometimes it put our current position in the middle of the sea. We got more hungry every minute and felt the unforgiving sunshine at the back of our head. After 30 minutes we gave up and chose another one that looks interesting, Madmonk.  Their front outdoor terrace was full, and there were 2 big pans of paella being cooked and spreading flirty aroma. The inside part was also busy but we’re lucky to get a table. The menu looks interesting, and mr.mck ordered flat bread, goat balls, and 6-hour cooked lamb. I ordered paella, of course. The flat bread and goat balls came first, and while I was nibbling mr.mck’s food, I was more convinced that the paella would be really great, as everywhere I look everybody was eating the dish. Even all 6 people in the table in front of me had paella, nobody bothered to have anything else.

But after the bread and the goat balls were finished, my paella still hadn’t turned up. We checked it with the waitstaff, who came back and said that the paella had gone and the chef was cooking a new batch, but it will be another 20 minutes to be ready. I was getting annoyed but even more determined to try it, so I said I’d wait. It must be really popular if it’s gone quickly! Mr.mck’s lamb came and I tried it a little, but I saved myself for the legendary paella.

The lamb, which was really, really good, was finished. 20 minutes had passed a long time a go. But my paella’s whereabouts is still a mystery. It was 3 PM in the afternoon, and I had been waiting for over an hour. Dammit, I was hungry, fed up, annoyed, disappointed, but most of all, well, hungry!! We canceled the paella and paid our bill. The 2 big pans of paella were right in front of the cashier, and I was glad we decided to cancel the order, because they didn’t look ready, even after 40 minutes. I was still hungry, but also lost my appetite altogether. I wanted to eat, but didn’t know what I wanted. After walking with pouty lips, sulking, I decided to stop by at another cafe which displays pastries and ice creams and provides Italian coffee. The pastries look delicious, and the ice cream is home made so I was convinced all will taste good. I asked for one profiterole and another pastry, with a cup of cappuccino. We chose to seat outside, and I began to relax, knowing for sure that least my meal will come soon because it doesn’t involve cooking at all!

An Italian man approached our table and gave me a cup filled with black water, so I looked at him and said that I ordered cappuccino. He repeated the order, “long black?” in a heavy Italian accent, but I shook my head and insisted I ordered cappuccino. He went to another table next to us, where the lady said she ordered “long mac” (I suspect it’s macchiato? Why do Australians like to shorten everything, even though it doesn’t take longer time to say it in full?), not black. They guy, defeated, went back to the kitchen.

I began to wonder if today wasn’t my lucky day, as a simple order like cappuccino can go wrong. But when another man appeared with my profiterole, I was happy again. It didn’t taste as good as I expected, nothing compares to Patisserie Valerie in London definitely, but since I was hungry, I devoured every single piece of it. However, half way on my attempt to finish the gigantic pastry, I found a fly, lifeless, with its legs sticking out in the air and its wings flat and limped, on the bottom of the plate!

Really, let’s just go home, shall we? Before I find a dead cockroach on the bottom of my coffee. Please?

I was still traumatised and frustrated by the whole unfortunate experience in Fremantle, so at dinner time we rewarded ourselves with a bottle of Semillon Sauvignon Blanc (or SSB, naturally, since saying its full term is too tiring for Australians). I only had a glass and a half before we went upstairs to call mr.mck’s friends and family in UK, but suddenly I felt so dizzy and nauseous and in a mere minute I found myself in a toilet with my head down. I am not sure what had happened, but I suspect the dead fly in the pastry was something that I could see, and who knows things that I couldn’t see in it? Probably the alcohol has accelerated the effect. Whatever it was, it’s not a pleasant experience at all.

I went to bed with stomach pain, severe nauseous and dizziness altogether. I couldn’t move because my head was spinning, but I had to go back to toilet again when my stomach screamed, which caused another headache and dizziness. It went on forever until I was finally tired and fell asleep.

So much for quite Sunday brunch. So, Fremantle again? Hmmm… Maybe not now….

I’ve been living in Perth for almost 2 months now, but it’s already felt like forever. Slowly but sure mr.mck and I begin to adjust with the new life in our new adopted city. We have finally moved to our home last month and although our stuff from Scotland hasn’t arrived yet, the rental furniture make the house quite feel like home. We have finally connected to the internet, as well as cable TV. The first is a key to my happiness, and the later is definitely for mr.mck catching up with his football stuff and switching channels-exercise. We start finding our way around, and I feel that driving in Perth is definitely easier than driving in Aberdeen. I also start making friends with fellow Indonesian ladies, and have met a few since last week. Turns out I have a so-called cousin living here but it seems like she is either very busy or her concept of replying text messages is… err…, somewhat different, so I wouldn’t be meeting her anytime soon. Maybe someday, but definitely not this time.

I’m still shocked to find the price here, though. Seems like everything is more expensive than UK. Our biggest complaint would be the price of booze. My second complaint would be shopping in general. On Boxing Day sale I bought some stuff from Karen Millen, and the price with 40% discount is still a wee bit more expensive than the retail price in UK. I bought handbag hooks for my friends back in Indonesia, and the exact same thing the sell in UK is sold 3 times more here.

Heat is also something difficult to adapt to. Several days last week felt like hell, but for some reason last Saturday mr.mck and I thought it would be great to be a tourist for a day and catch a ferry down to Fremantle – which takes an hour from the jetty – rather than driving (which takes 25 minutes). It was a big mistake, the temperature was 42 degree Celsius and we were melting away. I think our bodies are still in Scotland time, because it looks like everybody also complains about the heat, but they look fine! I even saw an Asian girl wearing black cardigan in such weather! I, on the other hand, was only able to walk for 5 minutes, before feeling dehydrated or out of breath, and had to stop to drink. But on good days, like yesterday, when the wind blows cool breeze and the temperature isn’t insane, I am very grateful to find myself sitting outside the café. It’s a luxury in Scotland, even in summer!

My feet, however, definitely still think they’re in Scotland! Until now I can’t even wear peep-toe shoes, as my feet will protest and start sweating when it is above 30C. This is not the first time my feet do their own thinking. When I moved back to Jakarta after living in Sydney for a couple of years, they did the same thing. It will take a while for my feet to adjust. For now, I can’t do anything about it, so I get around wearing sandals.

Being in Perth of course has some advantages. It’s pretty close to Indonesia, and that’s why we’re going back next Thursday for a short holiday. I am excited to meet my friends and family again, to party, to eat great food, and to stock up my sandals collection!

Two months a go, when I was enjoying my (another) holiday, I bumped into Bart in Cazbar at lunch time. The last time I saw him was probably in our wedding, as he had relocated to Bali and we moved to Scotland, so it was a nice surprise to see him again. He told me he’s opening a new shop, “upstairs,” his index fingers pointing upward, “on the 4th floor”. Is it Sweet Home Obama shop? No, it’s antique maps and books gallery.

I was excited, I know such shop doesn’t exist in Indonesia, but who’s going to buy antique maps? Is there a market here? Bart is very convinced there would be. Hence, the shop above Cazbar. He offered me to snoop around, but I said I will when it’s ready.

I mentioned about an antique book shop in Bath, where I found an antique Indonesian map. “It’s not that expensive,” It told him proudly, “even though it’s from the 19th century.” The shop also has first edition of Hemingway’s book on display with £2,000 price tag. And lots of old prints too. He nodded and told me he’s off to the Netherlands, and might go to UK as well to search antique maps and books for his new shop. “Well pop in and visit us in Aberdeen then,” I said.

Bart said he might as well, he hadn’t been to Scotland.

I didn’t forget the encounter, as when I arrived back in Scotland the week after, it was the first thing I told mr.mck. “He said he might visit us here too.” Mr.mck was delighted. It was Thursday afternoon. I was suffering from jet lag – especially because I was stranded in Schipol from 6 AM until 3 PM – the day was cold and windy and wet, and all I wanted was to go to bed. I dreamed about doing nothing on the next day at all, just sit down with hot cuppa and Tilly cat, who looked really happy that I was back, curled up on my lap.

But mr.mck quickly reminded we would have dinner with his boss and his wife at Malmaison Brasserie on Friday night. We love Malmaison, the whole hotel decor is very Scottish but it is very modern and nicely done, the staffs are friendly, the ambiance is great, and the food is fantastic.  The dinner, as predicted, was excellent, and as usual we ate too much and drunk too much.

It was midnight when we got home. Too many red wine always makes me sleepy – plus don’t forget the jet lag – so I jumped into bed where Tillycat had been waiting all along. Mr.mck checked on his iphone and suddenly, looked surprised, he turned to me and announced: “Bart is coming.”

“Pardon?”
“Bart. He’s coming to visit us here. He’s in NL now.”
“Oh yeah, I remember he said he might. So he’s coming? When? Next week?”
“No, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow??”
“Tomorrow night. Saturday, 10PM.”

I quickly calculated that we would actually have the whole day on Saturday to tidy up before Bart showed up. So it’s alright. I will wake up late tomorrow. I will get over my jet lag. I will have time to prepare the bed in the guest room. And I’ll cook something up for supper.

But the next morning, after Mr.mck went down to feed Tillycat her breakfast, he came back holding his iphone. “Hun,” he said. “Bart is coming.”

“I knowww…” I was still half dead, “But it’s not until 10 PM tonight. We still have time.” It was so cold on the outside world I didn’t want to get out of the comfort of my bed.
“No,” mr.mck now was shaking me, “It’s 10 AM.”

What?
“10 AM. Ten o’ clock in the morning! Less than 2 hours from now. Get up, get up!”

Bart showed up indeed about 10 AM. He profusely apologised, but I think he liked to surprise us and caught us off guard. He didn’t realise Tillycat wasn’t happy because she missed her morning cuddle – she gave him a cold stare the whole time when we sat on the living room having our coffee and tea. I showed Bart our antique Indonesian map. He examined it for a while and guess the price. “Is it about £40.00?” He’s correct! How does he know? He just shook his head, because like a magician, he wouldn’t reveal his trick.

We went for lunch at a pub – as Bart and his friend wanted to sample the real English – whoops, sorry, Scottish – pub food , then headed to an antique map shop on the corner. I had never been to the shop. One, because it only sells antiques, not really something I look for on daily basis, and two, because the door is closed. Any shop with closed door only indicates that they want certain customers: customers who know what they want, or customers with money. But we went inside this time, and I was in awe. The shop was full of beautiful maps and sketches, and prints, even an antique furniture and one grand piano. I wonder if the piano still sounds good and was about to touch it, but mr.mck slapped my hand. “Don’t!”

“Can we get one map of Scotland then?” I ask mr.mck. “That would be a great wall decoration when we’re in Australia!”

Mr.mck thought it was a good idea too. I pointed at one map, framed and hung next to the window display. “How about that one? It’s only £80.00.”

Mr.mck looked at it carefully and turned around, “It’s £800.00, not £80.00!”

What? How come a piece of paper can be so expensive? I began to look at Bart with new admiration. He must know what he’s doing and is really serious about it! I mean if he starts buying one map at a time, for 16 million rupiahs each, how much money does he need to invest on his new shop? Bart, on the other hand, had already been questioning the owner of the shop, a guy who looks older than the stuff he sells. “How about that one?” Bart pointed out a bigger map, a world map, which looks so old but also so beautiful. “Oh, that is…” the antique guy checked on his list, “… £4,000.00…”

4,000 quid? 80 million rupiahs? For one map?

“I can give you £100.00 discount,” the antique guy quickly offered. Like it will make a big difference on the total price.

Bart patiently explained to my amateur eyes that the older the map, the more details it has, the more expensive it becomes. But my 19th century Indonesian map is only £35.00, I wanted to protest, but quickly shut myself up as I remembered that the lady at the shop said it’s a page from an atlas book, not a real map.

I looked around at the antique shop and realised they must have really expensive stuff here. No wonder the door is always closed! Bart didn’t buy anything at the end, but he obtained the owner’s name card. He wants, he later explains, to concentrate on Dutch and Indonesian antique maps. Guess not many people want to buy antique Scotland map in Indonesia anyway.

The next day he went away for the whole day with Party Dad and came back with several books. They are all big and heavy with thick covers. He proudly showed them to us. “First edition,” he said. “Very old.”

I didn’t dare to ask how much he paid for the books.

I didn’t hear anything from Bart again, until the newsletter came to my inbox. Bartele Gallery, selling rare antique maps, prints, and books, starts to open from last Monday, December 21st, 2009. Come and have a look. The complete address is Kantor Taman E3.3, unit A-1, 4th floor. Access is from the Cazbar, where you go into the elevator that takes you to the 4th floor. Just ask the barmaid if you think you’re lost. It will be a great alternative presents for your boss, business partners, or your loved ones. I certainly want to buy an Indonesian map, a real one this time, not a tear-off of some atlas book!

And if you spot a big world map, it might be the one with 80 million rupiahs price tag….

Maybe because it’s summer, sunny and hot and it’s Christmas and there’s supposed to be cold and snow. Certainly because Walker’s shortbreads are sold everywhere but I know nothing compares to granny mck’s homemade ones: straight from the oven full of real butter, and made by love. Or maybe I am just still in culture shock phase. But I am terribly missing Scotland. I remember wearing spiky-heels boots and the road was so icy and I slipped and danced to balance my walk on every step. I remember feeling so cold my toes were literally frozen and I couldn’t move them. I remember insisting wearing open-toes jeweled sandals for a party and stepping out of the car into the snow and couldn’t care less because it’s a ceidlih and I wanted to look phenomenal, only to find out others wore Ugg boots and changed to party shoes at the concierge. I remember waking up one morning and find everywhere was white and the car was somewhere underneath the pile of snow. And having breakfast in a hotel looking out the golf course and the snow started falling, covered the whole ground with white, and people still insisted on dragging their golf clubs and kept on playing. And most of all, I remember I bitched about the weather a lot. Which now I miss the most, among other things I really didn’t care about when I was still there. Strange, eh?

Anyway, here are the things I miss about Scotland – not in particular order.

Merry Christmas to you all!