Reflections…Housebound or homebody happiness?…

Footbridge over the creek in the village.

At 5:30 this morning, I tiptoed across the creaky wooden floor in the bedroom quietly shutting the door behind me in hopes of not awakening Tom. I had a strange sense of sunshine pending on the horizon from little slivers of light reflecting in the room, glistening in stripes through the rows of jalousie windows.

The sun was making a feeble attempt (not that the sun ever does anything but produce heat, solar flares, and radiation) to peek through a band of unenthusiastic clouds (not that the cloud possess any emotion) preferring to own the sky for yet another day.

Tossing hopes of sunshine, I booted up my laptop with the hopes of continuing to download a show after several wasted attempts yesterday. There was no signal, just a feeble “limited” notation on my desktop taskbar. I unplugged the in-wall router, waited 30 seconds and plugged it back in. Nothing.

This beach walk is comparable to the “esplanades” we walked in Australia at various beaches.

Should I be up for the day, shower and dress, make my tiny pot of coffee (we make one for each of us with the pot too small for two) to sit down in an attempt to write a few words, albeit between “limited” and “online”? 

Or, shall I return to bed, squinting to read the over-sized letters on the Kindle app on my phone (my contacts weren’t in yet), to gain more momentum to finish the good mystery that I’ll soon devour, as I do with no less than three books a week?

I opted for the later, returning to bed, falling back to sleep after Tom got up. I slept until 7:30, an odd habit I’ve developed over these past months. The extra sleep is good, upping my nightly ante to a total of seven hours, far more than Tom manages, by getting to bed at midnight and up and “at ’em” by 6 am most days.  Today was no exception. 

Many locals and some tourists take this bus to other parts of the island.

By the time I was dressed, showered, and prepared myself for the day, in the expectation of avoiding that “just out of bed look,” I poured the first cup of coffee (Tom had made my tiny pot when he heard me get up), lightening it with a load of the nicest thick cream on the planet. Once again, I sat down in the not-so-comfy chair, hoping to find a signal sufficient enough for today’s post. Tom was able to get online making my prospects look good.

Now, at 9 am, with a signal in tact, the sun has peeked out through the fast-moving dark clouds which surely will turn into rain again today with the 60% chance predicted. Tomorrow, Ratnesh is coming to get us, rain or shine. We need to get out.

Today, I’ll busy myself experimenting in the kitchen in an attempt of conjuring up a batch of homemade Italian sausage, after finding a recipe online. A few of the spices needed weren’t available in the market. I chose alternatives. There isn’t such a thing as Italian sausage here, nothing even close. 

Clothing for sale at the “chemist.”

We’d like to make our favorite pizza recipe and the pasta free lasagna we’ve come to love both of which require tangy Italian sausage. Fennel is a necessary spice in making the sausage. It was only available in the seed form, impossible to use unless cooking in a pot for hours, breaking down the flavors. 

With no coffee grinder, mortar and pestle or any type of grinding device, I had no choice but to dig out the plastic blender in the cupboard to see if it would grind the seeds. 

Tom helped me with the simple task of plugging it in. There are numerous types of adapters/converters used in this house and finding the appropriate device is necessary to avoid burning out an appliance or the fuses.

The town council building located in the center of town.

Electrical is “his thing” which could easily been “my thing” had I taken an interest in learning about all the various adapters, many of which we carry with us, others plugged into a variety of outlets in various homes throughout the world. I haven’t been even remotely interested in flooding my brain with electrical thoughts. He has. It’s not surprising how we automatically gravitate toward tasks befitting our innate skills.

As shown in the photo below, the blender did a great job of grinding the fennel seeds adequately for use in making the sausage. I won’t use casings. I’ve always preferred using the bulk Italian sausage (not in casings) which, on occasion we’ve found in only a few countries. Most often, if we do find Italian sausage, we remove the casings anyway for ease of use.

In Australia, we didn’t find the taste of the available Italian sausage to our liking. We used an alternative, a German cheese sausage spiced well but not tasting Italian. Those little sausages can’t be found here nor is there any possible alternative. Tourists don’t come to these islands to cook Italian meals or for that matter eat Italian foods or…for that matter, to cook at all. 

The blender I found to grind the fennel seeds for making the sausage. It worked out well as shown in the cup with the ground seeds. There are lemons ripening on the window sill.

The local curry is the big draw in the South Pacific which is not to Tom’s liking after all the time we spent in Morocco. I love the flavor, hot and spicy but, can’t seem to interest Tom in eating out when the smell of the curry permeates the air at the restaurants. Plus, many curry and side dishes are made with some form of flour, sugar or starch, making it pointless to dine out. 

A piece of grilled meat or fish and a steamed veg would be what I’d get in a restaurant, hardly worth the taxi fare and the restaurant’s bill. I learned my lesson long ago, also in Morocco, not to eat fresh salad in restaurants in many countries. 

In the village, where all of the restaurants are located, they’re using ‘city” water, not the fresh spring water we have here in the Korovesi neighborhood, generously supplied by Seawak from the spring on his land.  We’ve consumed that water since the day we arrived with no ill effect.

View from the upper level of a shop we investigated.

Paragraph after paragraph, I continue on and now close to 11:30 am, the peeking sun is long since gone, replaced by ominous clouds rearing to unload their day’s bounty. 

I’ll make the sausage using the spices we have available, hand chop cabbage, carrots, and onions, “snap” the green beans while deciding on how we’ll “test” the sausage in tonight’s meal of perhaps sausage and onions in a red sauce with hand-grated “pizza cheese.” When done cooking, I’ll read my book off and on when the Internet is down, attempting when it returns, to once again slowly download a few shows for tonight’s viewing.

Are we bored? Not yet. If the rain continues over the next two months, we may become so. For now, we continue to find ways to busy our minds and bodies to the best of our ability while living in this remote area, high atop a hill, where a walk in the neighborhood is an unlikely prospect but, with a view that is unstoppable, along with our spirit!

Photo from one year ago, September 30, 2014:

Honolulu was one of the several ports of call during the remainder of the cruise. Knowing we’d be staying in the busy city for 13 nights, we didn’t take a tour with the ship or other passengers. Instead, we walked off the ship wandered the city on foot, later returning to the quiet ship and pool, almost to ourselves.  For more details, please check here.