I have taken up solid anchorage in an archipelago of islands.
One of them is the island where I found some steady employ as a labourer. The weather is predominantly fair, though sudden storms can erupt, and the landscape is as pleasant as any I have surveyed. The people are friendly... perhaps overly so. Indeed, it is their welcoming stance that gives me pause. It is odd that a fugitive would find an overabundance of welcome to be off-putting, but it is true. They give every indication that there is room for residence on their island, and react with ill-concealed dismay when I pole away. They do, to their credit, make an effort to conceal the dismay, but they fail. This has begun to make my stays there uncomfortable.
Another is an island I had been unaware of for some time. Its townspeople are proud, and distant, but the island itself is lusher and greener than any I know. When I am able to engage a local in conversation, they speak with considerable intelligence and culture, and I note the grace with which local affairs are conducted.
Yet a third is an island where I have spent much time, where I have friends and business contacts that go back many years. My comfort with them and their families would mean that if a small place, a cottage or apartment in town, became available, I would think myself a fool for turning it down.
And there are others, to be sure. Each picturesque in its own way.
Showing posts with label island. Show all posts
Showing posts with label island. Show all posts
24.2.09
5.1.09
Perceptions of others
I continue to be a happy raft dweller... no one can steer my raft, I go where I like, etc. etc.
As I've now been cleared for landing by port authorities and my doctors, I have begun to spend some time ashore.
The locals on shore are very warm and welcoming, and leave me to my own devices much of the time.
And I come and go as I like.
Ships who see me floating around in the shipping lanes often tease me, however, demanding to know why I would take back to my raft when I could stay on the island.
I don't know why I do either, but I resent the question.
It's also interesting that the islanders in question don't ask... just others who have seen me paddling away. I suppose I should make sure it's not bothering the islanders.
As I've now been cleared for landing by port authorities and my doctors, I have begun to spend some time ashore.
The locals on shore are very warm and welcoming, and leave me to my own devices much of the time.
And I come and go as I like.
Ships who see me floating around in the shipping lanes often tease me, however, demanding to know why I would take back to my raft when I could stay on the island.
I don't know why I do either, but I resent the question.
It's also interesting that the islanders in question don't ask... just others who have seen me paddling away. I suppose I should make sure it's not bothering the islanders.
8.12.08
Discomfort
I was trading with some ships in the area of The Island, when a patrol craft for the Junta that has taken over after the civil war hove into view.
I was doing no wrong. I have permission to fish in those waters, and to tend to some of the traps and projects that I had started there in the past years.
Apparently the Newcomer had seen me there and was distressed, so the Junta dispatched patrol boats to examine what I was doing.
The ships around me, however, made clear that I was tolerated and welcomed, and so the patrol boat withdrew without bothering me at all.
It came back out again after the ships had left, and I was poling away. The captain, a rebel faction member if ever I've seen one, addressed me over the loudhailer, and explained that I was responsible for discomfort of the Newcomer, because I had not declared my intention to be near the Island.
When I replied that in fact I had told the trading ships I would be there, and that they had passed the relevant information to the coast guard, I was informed, again via loudhailer, that this was not sufficient, and that in fact I was, in the future, to ensure that all my travels near the Island were to be filed with the Island in advance so that the Newcomer would not be distressed.
I don't mind letting the Islanders know when I will be nearby, as an exile it is only fair for them suspect me. It's taking the blame for someone else's reaction to me that chafes...
I was doing no wrong. I have permission to fish in those waters, and to tend to some of the traps and projects that I had started there in the past years.
Apparently the Newcomer had seen me there and was distressed, so the Junta dispatched patrol boats to examine what I was doing.
The ships around me, however, made clear that I was tolerated and welcomed, and so the patrol boat withdrew without bothering me at all.
It came back out again after the ships had left, and I was poling away. The captain, a rebel faction member if ever I've seen one, addressed me over the loudhailer, and explained that I was responsible for discomfort of the Newcomer, because I had not declared my intention to be near the Island.
When I replied that in fact I had told the trading ships I would be there, and that they had passed the relevant information to the coast guard, I was informed, again via loudhailer, that this was not sufficient, and that in fact I was, in the future, to ensure that all my travels near the Island were to be filed with the Island in advance so that the Newcomer would not be distressed.
I don't mind letting the Islanders know when I will be nearby, as an exile it is only fair for them suspect me. It's taking the blame for someone else's reaction to me that chafes...
28.11.08
A wretch, and some news
Raft living was not my choice, but I have made as good a go of it as I can. My raft is clean, strongly built, and seaworthy. I am aware of, and take seriously, the warnings of harbour officials, my bodyguards and my doctors. As a result, I have endangered no one except occasionally myself.
Some out on the high seas are not so fortunate.
One wretch in particular I saw in the harbour of an island (of which I will tell more later). He had poled in a raft made of old peach crates, dilapidated and smelly. He proclaimed loudly that he was a refugee, fleeing persecution, and leapt ashore.
His beard was scraggly and his boots untied. He accosted a pilot enjoying a cigarette, badgering him to help him carry his cargo. The pilot gave him an odd look, spoke nothing and continued his cigarette.
Seeing a patch of free land, the wretch dropped his noisesome sacks and began to set up a tent. This action drew the attention of the harbour police, who with some shouting and waving of sticks, drove him back on to his raft, and pushed him back into the harbour.
He did not struggle... rather as they badgered him back onto his raft, he entreated other sailors to invite him to their islands to set up his tent. Last seen he was poling out into shipping lanes, loudly declaring his desperate state.
In fairness, I should point out that I viewed this, not as a raftsman, but as a labourer. I had taken up employment on the docks of this island unloading and loading boats. It's the same island I had snuck onto earlier, where I had napped, and had found myself, coincidentally I'm sure, near it again.
It is very disconerting to work on dry land again, to not experience the rocking of my raft under my feet. It is with relief then that I sleep on my raft, drifting among the islands and boats in the maritime darkness.
Some out on the high seas are not so fortunate.
One wretch in particular I saw in the harbour of an island (of which I will tell more later). He had poled in a raft made of old peach crates, dilapidated and smelly. He proclaimed loudly that he was a refugee, fleeing persecution, and leapt ashore.
His beard was scraggly and his boots untied. He accosted a pilot enjoying a cigarette, badgering him to help him carry his cargo. The pilot gave him an odd look, spoke nothing and continued his cigarette.
Seeing a patch of free land, the wretch dropped his noisesome sacks and began to set up a tent. This action drew the attention of the harbour police, who with some shouting and waving of sticks, drove him back on to his raft, and pushed him back into the harbour.
He did not struggle... rather as they badgered him back onto his raft, he entreated other sailors to invite him to their islands to set up his tent. Last seen he was poling out into shipping lanes, loudly declaring his desperate state.
In fairness, I should point out that I viewed this, not as a raftsman, but as a labourer. I had taken up employment on the docks of this island unloading and loading boats. It's the same island I had snuck onto earlier, where I had napped, and had found myself, coincidentally I'm sure, near it again.
It is very disconerting to work on dry land again, to not experience the rocking of my raft under my feet. It is with relief then that I sleep on my raft, drifting among the islands and boats in the maritime darkness.
19.11.08
From time to time I cross paths with refugees from the Island. First,
there's a brief period of uncertainty when I wait to find which
faction they represent.
there's a brief period of uncertainty when I wait to find which
faction they represent.
If they are sympathetic, there's a warm and cordial greeting, with
news shared, and occasionally, if we have it to spare, food is
exchanged.
However, sometimes I find them to be hostile (the challenge with civil
war is of course that both sides look the same) and then the exchange
is different. Rocks, flotsam are launched at me, and I beat a hasty
retreat..
I sometimes wish my raft were armed, that a hasty whiff of grapeshot
would greet these hostile parties.
In reflection, I fought enough against these factions while I lived on
the island, and if my raft were armed, then I would always be
approaching potential friendly islanders with hostility, as well as
hostile ones.
I suppose that must be a good thing, but I wish there were more ways I
could detect what sort of exiles were which.
13.11.08
Sneaking in
I was drifting along the other day, and I passed another of the seemingly countless islands in this little corner of the world.
I was in a reckless mood, and low on provisions, so I said "To hell with it", and poled my way into a secluded inlet.
Sneaking ashore, I found it to be a most pleasant landscape, with trees and fertile fields, some nice villages with pleasant people... and excellent wine.
I could tell that the people did not know who I was, or where I was from, and I surmise they must have known I was not from the Island, but I kept quiet about who I was.
I drank a fair amount of their excellent wine and fall asleep under a tree in the afternoon sun.
(I slept like the dead, and it occurred to me that this may be the first time I've slept on land since the civil war.)
I woke most vexed.
Perhaps it was that I had abandoned my raft for day, and had forgotten it so much as to fall asleep, but I dreamt terrible dreams about calamitous happenings that I rushed back to the raft in haste to make sure everything was alright.
Of course it was. I am not now plagued with particularly portentous dreams, and never have been.
Reassured, I thanked the islanders for their warmth and kindness, and put out to sea again.
I may find myself in these waters again, and stop off again at this lovely island.
I was in a reckless mood, and low on provisions, so I said "To hell with it", and poled my way into a secluded inlet.
Sneaking ashore, I found it to be a most pleasant landscape, with trees and fertile fields, some nice villages with pleasant people... and excellent wine.
I could tell that the people did not know who I was, or where I was from, and I surmise they must have known I was not from the Island, but I kept quiet about who I was.
I drank a fair amount of their excellent wine and fall asleep under a tree in the afternoon sun.
(I slept like the dead, and it occurred to me that this may be the first time I've slept on land since the civil war.)
I woke most vexed.
Perhaps it was that I had abandoned my raft for day, and had forgotten it so much as to fall asleep, but I dreamt terrible dreams about calamitous happenings that I rushed back to the raft in haste to make sure everything was alright.
Of course it was. I am not now plagued with particularly portentous dreams, and never have been.
Reassured, I thanked the islanders for their warmth and kindness, and put out to sea again.
I may find myself in these waters again, and stop off again at this lovely island.
4.11.08
A comfortable routine
I thought I'd be less relaxed than this on my little raft...
The storms are completely passed, and the stormy season itself seems to be over. I have a clear bill of health from the doctors, and could, in theory, explore new islands.
Exploring new islands is diverting, but I find myself back on the raft before too long, drifting to and fro again.
Part of the reason for this is that my raft gets solider and solider every day. I patch little holes, brace the sides and bail out the water.
I tend to the little cutting of the Glade, which continues to thrive.
I fish. I hate fishing.
I'm not good at standing still, so this confinement on the raft (and the damn fishing) are both challenges to me. The problem is that they're necessary, so I'd better get used to standing still.
The storms are completely passed, and the stormy season itself seems to be over. I have a clear bill of health from the doctors, and could, in theory, explore new islands.
Exploring new islands is diverting, but I find myself back on the raft before too long, drifting to and fro again.
Part of the reason for this is that my raft gets solider and solider every day. I patch little holes, brace the sides and bail out the water.
I tend to the little cutting of the Glade, which continues to thrive.
I fish. I hate fishing.
I'm not good at standing still, so this confinement on the raft (and the damn fishing) are both challenges to me. The problem is that they're necessary, so I'd better get used to standing still.
6.10.08
Island consternation.
I'm out in the shipping lanes, and well out of sight of land.
I have had a very strange encounter... and it's left me very puzzled.
Over the last week I have floated through a stunning archipelago of islands, each very lovely, but each as different as the last. Some seemed calm and peaceful, others warring and fractured.
One island in particular was very strange... I was drifting by, with no intention of going closer (particularly in light of my new medical troubles as identified here), when a small dugout canoe approached me, offering some sort of sticky fruit, possibly a papaya or paella or a pollo or something.
I hove to, and tethered their canoe onto the side of my raft and did enjoy a brief visit with the merchant.
Following that discussion, the merchant mentioned how pleased he would be if I came for supper with him. I tried to make an off-hand refusal, to casually imply that while I thought that to be a lovely invitation, undefined obstacles would prevent it. (I'm very reluctant to say to an islander "unfortunately, as I am very sick and likely to infect your population with hideous tropical fevers")
Thinking the matter concluded, I detached from the canoe and poled my way away. Not 15 minutes later, four canoes appeared, and beseeched me to return with them to the harbour.
I was hot, tired, sweaty and parched dry by the sun, and I thought there'd be little harm in a brief sojourn nearer to an island, so I accepted, thinking that to be surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a port would be lovely.
When I arrived in the port, hustle and bustle there was! Boats of every type and description scurrying to and fro, unloading and loading and music everywhere.
I saw, to be sure, the usual blights that you see in any community. This island has been very poor, and its people have sacrificed much to build what is there. I believe they also pay tribute to a mainland colonial power.
But what friendly people! Every boatman that passed, every dock-hand above my makeshift craft, waved hello to me. The people seemed as kind and as warm as any I have met in some time and genuinely and specifically glad to see me!
I began to picture that I was being invited to stay on the island, but though every indication was so (including being given a map, an understanding of residency requirements and an introduction to a merchant who was hiring labourers) no clear offer was made.
Maybe I was supposed to ask myself if residency was possible, but I forebore for two reasons:
1) My doctors would be most displeased (in fact, I believe they have dispatched a small barq of marine troops to ensure I do not land on any island)
2) As we toured the harbour, they were more than open to show me where mainlanders live, and to show me that there is no vacancy there, that housing is in very short supply.
As I write this down, though my pencil is getting short and I am running out of paper, I see the value of this journal as perhaps, after writing it, and imprisoning this experience on the page, I will be able to sleep again...
... for since that harbour tour I can scarce close my eyes before the sights and sounds of that harbour re-appear in as vivid detail as when first I saw and heard them.
I have had a very strange encounter... and it's left me very puzzled.
Over the last week I have floated through a stunning archipelago of islands, each very lovely, but each as different as the last. Some seemed calm and peaceful, others warring and fractured.
One island in particular was very strange... I was drifting by, with no intention of going closer (particularly in light of my new medical troubles as identified here), when a small dugout canoe approached me, offering some sort of sticky fruit, possibly a papaya or paella or a pollo or something.
I hove to, and tethered their canoe onto the side of my raft and did enjoy a brief visit with the merchant.
Following that discussion, the merchant mentioned how pleased he would be if I came for supper with him. I tried to make an off-hand refusal, to casually imply that while I thought that to be a lovely invitation, undefined obstacles would prevent it. (I'm very reluctant to say to an islander "unfortunately, as I am very sick and likely to infect your population with hideous tropical fevers")
Thinking the matter concluded, I detached from the canoe and poled my way away. Not 15 minutes later, four canoes appeared, and beseeched me to return with them to the harbour.
I was hot, tired, sweaty and parched dry by the sun, and I thought there'd be little harm in a brief sojourn nearer to an island, so I accepted, thinking that to be surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a port would be lovely.
When I arrived in the port, hustle and bustle there was! Boats of every type and description scurrying to and fro, unloading and loading and music everywhere.
I saw, to be sure, the usual blights that you see in any community. This island has been very poor, and its people have sacrificed much to build what is there. I believe they also pay tribute to a mainland colonial power.
But what friendly people! Every boatman that passed, every dock-hand above my makeshift craft, waved hello to me. The people seemed as kind and as warm as any I have met in some time and genuinely and specifically glad to see me!
I began to picture that I was being invited to stay on the island, but though every indication was so (including being given a map, an understanding of residency requirements and an introduction to a merchant who was hiring labourers) no clear offer was made.
Maybe I was supposed to ask myself if residency was possible, but I forebore for two reasons:
1) My doctors would be most displeased (in fact, I believe they have dispatched a small barq of marine troops to ensure I do not land on any island)
2) As we toured the harbour, they were more than open to show me where mainlanders live, and to show me that there is no vacancy there, that housing is in very short supply.
As I write this down, though my pencil is getting short and I am running out of paper, I see the value of this journal as perhaps, after writing it, and imprisoning this experience on the page, I will be able to sleep again...
... for since that harbour tour I can scarce close my eyes before the sights and sounds of that harbour re-appear in as vivid detail as when first I saw and heard them.
1.4.08
The Newcomer changes his mind
The Newcomer had a meeting with the bank on the island last night, and a friend, who works there, filled me in.
The Newcomer, worried about his mainland problems, has chosen not to move to the Island. He will continue to visit, but seeks only to stay in beachside hotels while he is here.
As I write those words I grow very angry.
I have moved here, given up all mainland aspirations, moved off the beach and into the inland areas. I no longer am greeted by the sun every morning when I rise, as he is. I am no longer bathed by the night winds while I sleep as he is.
Now, be it true, he does return to the mainland often, and there he can only see the island through his telescope, while I am surrounded always by its beauty.
Living inland is no great hurdle. I can walk when I like (during public hours) to the beach-head or the marina and fish... I can go to the glade every day if I choose and rest there.
But I envy him for the superficial beauty he gets to experience. He pays no taxes, he never shovels mud from the streets after a big rain, he never feels the frost of the wind as it howls down from the mountains. If he does, he can return to the mainland at his whim, returning to the island when the weather is better.
I call him weak, and I call him coward
The Newcomer, worried about his mainland problems, has chosen not to move to the Island. He will continue to visit, but seeks only to stay in beachside hotels while he is here.
As I write those words I grow very angry.
I have moved here, given up all mainland aspirations, moved off the beach and into the inland areas. I no longer am greeted by the sun every morning when I rise, as he is. I am no longer bathed by the night winds while I sleep as he is.
Now, be it true, he does return to the mainland often, and there he can only see the island through his telescope, while I am surrounded always by its beauty.
Living inland is no great hurdle. I can walk when I like (during public hours) to the beach-head or the marina and fish... I can go to the glade every day if I choose and rest there.
But I envy him for the superficial beauty he gets to experience. He pays no taxes, he never shovels mud from the streets after a big rain, he never feels the frost of the wind as it howls down from the mountains. If he does, he can return to the mainland at his whim, returning to the island when the weather is better.
I call him weak, and I call him coward
25.3.08
Island living, continued.
The Bwana and I fought again on Sunday over the Newcomer, and my role.
"How long to expect to live in your house on this island?" he asked.
"All my life! I would not have moved here if I did not intend to stay my whole life."
"Why do you persist in doing the work that you do, and in trying to improve this island life?"
"Because I feel it is my duty"
That was a real watershed for me. I've given up the easy conveniences of mainland life for island life, and I have worked /most/ days as hard as I can to improve this island. If I am thrown off the island I will go proudly, knowing this to be true.
I'll be honest, I have not worked every day, and I have worked hardest when the Bwana is angry with me, as if to prove to him that I am worthy of praise. But I have worked a lot.
I think, looking back, that the islanders worked as hard as I did on these projects... the new quay, the shops... but they seemed to grow bored with them earlier than I did. The typical islander seems to bore quickly.
Anyway, after much arguing and fighting, so much that the island police came to see if everything was alright, the Bwana laid down the law.
"If you remain here, you will remain here as an equal with the Newcomer. We will construct a new house for him on the island where he may stay when he visits. We expect you to create a house for yourself on the mainland or on another island. That is all... begone!"
... then he invited me to Temple. But I forewent the privilege, as I believe he invited me only out of guilt at my grief over their rejection of me.
"How long to expect to live in your house on this island?" he asked.
"All my life! I would not have moved here if I did not intend to stay my whole life."
"Why do you persist in doing the work that you do, and in trying to improve this island life?"
"Because I feel it is my duty"
That was a real watershed for me. I've given up the easy conveniences of mainland life for island life, and I have worked /most/ days as hard as I can to improve this island. If I am thrown off the island I will go proudly, knowing this to be true.
I'll be honest, I have not worked every day, and I have worked hardest when the Bwana is angry with me, as if to prove to him that I am worthy of praise. But I have worked a lot.
I think, looking back, that the islanders worked as hard as I did on these projects... the new quay, the shops... but they seemed to grow bored with them earlier than I did. The typical islander seems to bore quickly.
Anyway, after much arguing and fighting, so much that the island police came to see if everything was alright, the Bwana laid down the law.
"If you remain here, you will remain here as an equal with the Newcomer. We will construct a new house for him on the island where he may stay when he visits. We expect you to create a house for yourself on the mainland or on another island. That is all... begone!"
... then he invited me to Temple. But I forewent the privilege, as I believe he invited me only out of guilt at my grief over their rejection of me.
18.3.08
Shouting at the islanders
I have lost my temper with the islanders.
I discovered last night that access to the Temple is being withdrawn.
What is the Temple, you ask? For me it is a slightly bewildering place, but one of great beauty and calm, but always wild joy. When I had gone previously, I had become like a man who has drunk much wine, but lately, when I have gone, it has been closed to me and the Newcomer is inside, rollicking.
I asked the Bwana when I might be allowed to re-enter the Temple, and he said, "Never. The temples on other islands should sustain your spritiual growth, and you will find in them the answers you seek."
"But I have found those answers in this temple," I said, louder than I should have.
"But the priests feel that you expect to be allowed in, and they resent that"
"Am I not an islander, do not all others have access to the Temple?"
"All others may ask, but no, this is a closed templed"
Now I know that the temple has never turned anyone away. I pushed on, my voice growing louder.
"But what of the others who come? Why do they gain entry?"
"They gain entry, oh pushy one, because the head priests choose to give it to them. You, they have decided, must seek Temples elsewhere"
"But I do not wish this, this is my Temple! What evil have I committed to be barred thus? Have I not tended these grounds? Have I not evangelized to bring others to the Temple? Am I so evil?"
"No", said the Bwana "but still... this door is closed to you. Go elsewhere."
"But then I should leave, take up residence on another island with a Temple"
Here, to my great astonishment, the Bwana grew very angry
"IS THAT ALL WE ARE TO YOU? Is our temple all that draws you to our island? IF WE BAR YOU FROM THE TEMPLE FOR EVER YOU WILL ABANDON YOUR COMMITMENTS? WE WOULD NOT DO SO TO YOU!"
"But access to the Temple was part of what drew me to the Island. Whaty if other Temples reject me... can I return?"
"No, we will tend to you in the gardens, and ensure your home is ready for you, but the Temple is closed to you forever."
My desperation was growing.
"What if I am unable to travel to another island for Temple services, what if I am dying and require rites of purification before death"
"The temple is closed to you. What is more, I will be unable to discuss it with you over the next few days, as I am meeting with the Newcomer on urgent matters of residency on the Island, and his duties here."
"He- he- already has duties... a home has been chosen for him?" I asked, terrified of the answer.
The Bwana calmed, and told me, with sadness, of his conversations with the Newcomer...
I discovered last night that access to the Temple is being withdrawn.
What is the Temple, you ask? For me it is a slightly bewildering place, but one of great beauty and calm, but always wild joy. When I had gone previously, I had become like a man who has drunk much wine, but lately, when I have gone, it has been closed to me and the Newcomer is inside, rollicking.
I asked the Bwana when I might be allowed to re-enter the Temple, and he said, "Never. The temples on other islands should sustain your spritiual growth, and you will find in them the answers you seek."
"But I have found those answers in this temple," I said, louder than I should have.
"But the priests feel that you expect to be allowed in, and they resent that"
"Am I not an islander, do not all others have access to the Temple?"
"All others may ask, but no, this is a closed templed"
Now I know that the temple has never turned anyone away. I pushed on, my voice growing louder.
"But what of the others who come? Why do they gain entry?"
"They gain entry, oh pushy one, because the head priests choose to give it to them. You, they have decided, must seek Temples elsewhere"
"But I do not wish this, this is my Temple! What evil have I committed to be barred thus? Have I not tended these grounds? Have I not evangelized to bring others to the Temple? Am I so evil?"
"No", said the Bwana "but still... this door is closed to you. Go elsewhere."
"But then I should leave, take up residence on another island with a Temple"
Here, to my great astonishment, the Bwana grew very angry
"IS THAT ALL WE ARE TO YOU? Is our temple all that draws you to our island? IF WE BAR YOU FROM THE TEMPLE FOR EVER YOU WILL ABANDON YOUR COMMITMENTS? WE WOULD NOT DO SO TO YOU!"
"But access to the Temple was part of what drew me to the Island. Whaty if other Temples reject me... can I return?"
"No, we will tend to you in the gardens, and ensure your home is ready for you, but the Temple is closed to you forever."
My desperation was growing.
"What if I am unable to travel to another island for Temple services, what if I am dying and require rites of purification before death"
"The temple is closed to you. What is more, I will be unable to discuss it with you over the next few days, as I am meeting with the Newcomer on urgent matters of residency on the Island, and his duties here."
"He- he- already has duties... a home has been chosen for him?" I asked, terrified of the answer.
The Bwana calmed, and told me, with sadness, of his conversations with the Newcomer...
17.3.08
More about the Mainlander (who I call now the Newcomer)
"Bwana", I said, "You asked me here to do a job, for which you have paid me, handsomely, and I thank you for that. But now it seems you are hiring a new mainlander to take my place, for you have said to me that he possesses skills and knowledge that are needed for this island."
"But no, my friend", quoth the Bwana, "While the newcomer does have new skills and talents to benefit us all, you also have skills and talents that we need, and our need for those talents is not news to you, for we have often spoken, sometimes gently and sometimes as your employer, of our hope that you will develop these talents yourself."
"So I may keep my position, even if the newcomer lives on the island as well?"
"Of course. The Glade requires your care, for none has your expertise in botany or biology to maintain it as you do. Also, you are our expert in relations with the mainland, and the newcomer's relations with the mainland are suspect. You are also heavily involved with infrastructure planning, and the newcomer's skills in that area are unknown to us."
"But no, my friend", quoth the Bwana, "While the newcomer does have new skills and talents to benefit us all, you also have skills and talents that we need, and our need for those talents is not news to you, for we have often spoken, sometimes gently and sometimes as your employer, of our hope that you will develop these talents yourself."
"So I may keep my position, even if the newcomer lives on the island as well?"
"Of course. The Glade requires your care, for none has your expertise in botany or biology to maintain it as you do. Also, you are our expert in relations with the mainland, and the newcomer's relations with the mainland are suspect. You are also heavily involved with infrastructure planning, and the newcomer's skills in that area are unknown to us."
14.3.08
More island shenanigans
Well.
Here we are.
The worst looms on the horizon.
The Bwana has said they are reviewing my island residency. Apparently the new mainlander has better qualifications than I do, but my years of service are being recognized and considered and my residency may not be revoked.
The options, as I see them, are:
1) The Mainlander may be forced to return to the mainland. This may be inevitable, as he faces criminal charges and may be extradited
2) I will be sent back to the mainland and barred from the island. This would devastate me. I have built a good home here, and would miss the glade and the afternoons spent debating policy and legislation with the bwana
3) I may be moved in with the general population here, in the barrios, and the Mainlander will take my place. This would hurt, but may be in fact where I should be living, as the bwana has taken, recently, to treating me as a local, instead of a valued counsellor.
4) The Mainlander may move into the barrios and share duties of counselling the bwana with me.
If I have not stated it before, I should point out that I am not the only mainlander to set foot on this island. Even after I came to live here, mainlanders would visit and spend time with the bwana. At those times, I was happiest relegated to the glade where I could work on my hedges and trimmings.
Here we are.
The worst looms on the horizon.
The Bwana has said they are reviewing my island residency. Apparently the new mainlander has better qualifications than I do, but my years of service are being recognized and considered and my residency may not be revoked.
The options, as I see them, are:
1) The Mainlander may be forced to return to the mainland. This may be inevitable, as he faces criminal charges and may be extradited
2) I will be sent back to the mainland and barred from the island. This would devastate me. I have built a good home here, and would miss the glade and the afternoons spent debating policy and legislation with the bwana
3) I may be moved in with the general population here, in the barrios, and the Mainlander will take my place. This would hurt, but may be in fact where I should be living, as the bwana has taken, recently, to treating me as a local, instead of a valued counsellor.
4) The Mainlander may move into the barrios and share duties of counselling the bwana with me.
If I have not stated it before, I should point out that I am not the only mainlander to set foot on this island. Even after I came to live here, mainlanders would visit and spend time with the bwana. At those times, I was happiest relegated to the glade where I could work on my hedges and trimmings.
3.3.08
trapped on the island
I've just been informed they've canceled the damn ferry again.
I only ask them to run the ferry once a week guaranteed (and let's be honest, sometimes it does run 2 or 3 times a week) but tonight I'm informed that because of the new Mainlander wanting to meet with the Ferryman, there's no ferry on Friday or Saturday.
So, churlishly, I said I would spend the weekend tending the glade.
"Oh no, effendi", they say "we have arranged a grounds keeper so that you do not have to work on the weekend"
Yes, well then I'm trapped on the island and bored you primitive jerks.
Some days living in paradise isn't worth the trouble.
Now, let truth be told... on Saturday last, when the ferry was running, I actually rented a house on another island altogether and slept there. The first time I've slept off the island in 5 years. Very strange experience, and, to be honest, not one I look to repeat.
Some days, despite the trouble, I wouldn't live anywhere else.
I only ask them to run the ferry once a week guaranteed (and let's be honest, sometimes it does run 2 or 3 times a week) but tonight I'm informed that because of the new Mainlander wanting to meet with the Ferryman, there's no ferry on Friday or Saturday.
So, churlishly, I said I would spend the weekend tending the glade.
"Oh no, effendi", they say "we have arranged a grounds keeper so that you do not have to work on the weekend"
Yes, well then I'm trapped on the island and bored you primitive jerks.
Some days living in paradise isn't worth the trouble.
Now, let truth be told... on Saturday last, when the ferry was running, I actually rented a house on another island altogether and slept there. The first time I've slept off the island in 5 years. Very strange experience, and, to be honest, not one I look to repeat.
Some days, despite the trouble, I wouldn't live anywhere else.
25.2.08
An historical document washed ashore in a bottle:
Friday, September 24, 2004
Mainlanders and The Island
I suppose it behooves me to explain about Mainlanders (as I used to be one). Mainlanders see the island as a true Shangri-La. They have exactly the same impressions of it as I did when I first visitted two and a half years ago. It's not that the island has a good Tourist Bureau; in fact, locals from the island are noticeably reticent about their paradise home. The Bwana is quick to pick up on any attempt to over-promote tourism here, and he seems to be suspicious of any one who tries to encourage visitation by Mainlanders. Of course, once the Mainlanders come, they are welcomed. Some Mainlanders explore only the most obvious charms on the island while others are able, by charming the locals, to get very in-depth tours of the place. Since I have been here none that I know of have been to the Glade. I don't mind Mainlanders myself, except that some of the vistas here are very small, and even a couple of people there make it so that I cannot visit my favourite places. In fact, it seems the locals welcome tourists more to the vistas than they welcome me, which seems unfair, because I live here. I do contribute to The island in a permanent way.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
More about The Island
After I moved to the island, I spent an idyllic year exploring every chasm and cliff, every valley and peak, and every scenic spot. I found the best spot on the entire island. I had to gain the trust of the local populace to see it, but I had heard of its existence long before. It was place I have come to call the Glade. It is the best place on the island, and fiercely guarded from all but the most trusted tourists, of which I was considered one. I had thought I would be considered a resident right away, but obviously in the locals' eyes I was still a tourist until I had proved myself. In the Glade it is possible to see every scenic vista of the island. I don't mean that from the Glade you can see everything; rather that in the Glade itself exist all the best places of the island. It is almost a replica of the island in miniature. Tourists have of course from time to time left their mark, but because of the protection of the locals, their impact has been almost entirely positive. As I grew used to the island, I would come to rely on the Glade as a refuge.
Introduction to my island
I should explain: In January 2002 I went on a prolonged vacation to a beautiful island. I cannot reveal its location, so I will refer to it only as 'The Island". To say that I was stunned is to understate the case. Picture the greenest trees, the tallest mountains, the bluest ocean, the warmest breezes, the softest rains, the best food and drink and the friendliest people. You have pictured a boring, underfed and cheap facsimile of the island. The island was perfect. Every day on the island made me happier than the day before. I made a decision: I would move to the island permanently Upon my return to the mainland, I sold my adequate house and made steps to transfer to the island. I sold my winter clothes, I sold my mainland furniture, and I purchased books with titles like 'How to live on The Island" and "Happy Island Living". In September 2002 I moved to the island.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Mainlanders and The Island
I suppose it behooves me to explain about Mainlanders (as I used to be one). Mainlanders see the island as a true Shangri-La. They have exactly the same impressions of it as I did when I first visitted two and a half years ago. It's not that the island has a good Tourist Bureau; in fact, locals from the island are noticeably reticent about their paradise home. The Bwana is quick to pick up on any attempt to over-promote tourism here, and he seems to be suspicious of any one who tries to encourage visitation by Mainlanders. Of course, once the Mainlanders come, they are welcomed. Some Mainlanders explore only the most obvious charms on the island while others are able, by charming the locals, to get very in-depth tours of the place. Since I have been here none that I know of have been to the Glade. I don't mind Mainlanders myself, except that some of the vistas here are very small, and even a couple of people there make it so that I cannot visit my favourite places. In fact, it seems the locals welcome tourists more to the vistas than they welcome me, which seems unfair, because I live here. I do contribute to The island in a permanent way.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
More about The Island
After I moved to the island, I spent an idyllic year exploring every chasm and cliff, every valley and peak, and every scenic spot. I found the best spot on the entire island. I had to gain the trust of the local populace to see it, but I had heard of its existence long before. It was place I have come to call the Glade. It is the best place on the island, and fiercely guarded from all but the most trusted tourists, of which I was considered one. I had thought I would be considered a resident right away, but obviously in the locals' eyes I was still a tourist until I had proved myself. In the Glade it is possible to see every scenic vista of the island. I don't mean that from the Glade you can see everything; rather that in the Glade itself exist all the best places of the island. It is almost a replica of the island in miniature. Tourists have of course from time to time left their mark, but because of the protection of the locals, their impact has been almost entirely positive. As I grew used to the island, I would come to rely on the Glade as a refuge.
Introduction to my island
I should explain: In January 2002 I went on a prolonged vacation to a beautiful island. I cannot reveal its location, so I will refer to it only as 'The Island". To say that I was stunned is to understate the case. Picture the greenest trees, the tallest mountains, the bluest ocean, the warmest breezes, the softest rains, the best food and drink and the friendliest people. You have pictured a boring, underfed and cheap facsimile of the island. The island was perfect. Every day on the island made me happier than the day before. I made a decision: I would move to the island permanently Upon my return to the mainland, I sold my adequate house and made steps to transfer to the island. I sold my winter clothes, I sold my mainland furniture, and I purchased books with titles like 'How to live on The Island" and "Happy Island Living". In September 2002 I moved to the island.
Damn islanders
Somedays this island drives me nuts!
What's going on this week:
Well, another island nearby is threatened by an imminent volcanic eruption, so Bwana is preparing to move four FOUR new glades to this island.
Here's the problems
1) I don't have time to be chief forester of four more glades. And while the natives love the glade, I find I do about half the work here, so I must now prepare for four times as much work. Plus the new glades would have to be acclimatized to our soil, which will be more work.
2) We already have an agreement with another island to build a bridge and I would become chief forester of a glade there as well. We've in fact already had the first bridge-planning meeting
3) The volcanic eruption is preventable. This is what really kills me. The people who are running around making plans for how to move their glades could prevent the whole catastrophe. Personally I think this is just their excuse to abandon their island, which is not ideally situated.
Bwana has spoken with the tribe and they have decided we will not be shoring up the western cliffs this summer as we had planned. Instead we will be spending the summer raking the beaches so they look pretty for tourists.
oh yes and,
There's another damn mainlander in the guest-house. He seems nice enough but now Bwana spends all his time meeting with him.
(and of course still expects me to participate in all the rituals...)
What's going on this week:
Well, another island nearby is threatened by an imminent volcanic eruption, so Bwana is preparing to move four FOUR new glades to this island.
Here's the problems
1) I don't have time to be chief forester of four more glades. And while the natives love the glade, I find I do about half the work here, so I must now prepare for four times as much work. Plus the new glades would have to be acclimatized to our soil, which will be more work.
2) We already have an agreement with another island to build a bridge and I would become chief forester of a glade there as well. We've in fact already had the first bridge-planning meeting
3) The volcanic eruption is preventable. This is what really kills me. The people who are running around making plans for how to move their glades could prevent the whole catastrophe. Personally I think this is just their excuse to abandon their island, which is not ideally situated.
Bwana has spoken with the tribe and they have decided we will not be shoring up the western cliffs this summer as we had planned. Instead we will be spending the summer raking the beaches so they look pretty for tourists.
oh yes and,
There's another damn mainlander in the guest-house. He seems nice enough but now Bwana spends all his time meeting with him.
(and of course still expects me to participate in all the rituals...)
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