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Archive for the ‘Island life’ Category

Baby octopus on Bird Island. Photo credit: Greg Berke

Since my twice-daily drive to town taking the kids back and forth to school gets grindingly dull as I pass the same stunningly beautiful scenery time and time again .. azure seas, white sand beaches, verdant forest, ho hum … I frequently offer lifts to neighbors waiting for busses, and although ensuing conversations too often consist of tedious discussions of the three most popular topics here — a limited range of weather (all tropical), fish (also tropical), or sex (not as steamy as you’d think) — occasionally something gets me thinking.

My passenger this afternoon was an octopus diver, which is to say he puts food on the table by hunting, then selling, octopi for the tables of others. Since Sam has recently started snorkeling, we’ve been on the hunt ourselves for a sight of an eight-armed wonder, but they’re bloody hard to find.

Having access to an expert, I sought some advice, but ended up getting more questions than I asked. Knowing that I spend much of my time online, he asked if I could do a bit of research on the tasty cephalopods, then report back.

Asking about the lifespan of an octopus started the wondering, since Stephen has no idea if the creature he finds, stabs in the eye, then pots has been around for five months of fifty years.

Turns out, the fifty year thing isn’t possible. According to the octowiki, these amazingly intelligent, bilaterally symmetric dudes aren’t around for long at all … and they can blame that on sex (which we knew we’d get around to eventually).

Octopuses have a relatively short life expectancy, and some species live for as little as six months. Larger species, such as the North Pacific Giant Octopus, may live for up to five years under suitable circumstances. However, reproduction is a cause of death: males can only live for a few months after mating, and females die shortly after their eggs hatch. They neglect to eat during the (roughly) one month period spent taking care of their unhatched eggs, but they don’t die of starvation. Endocrine secretions from the two optic glands are the cause of genetically-programmed death.

According to the octopus hunter in my car, there are plenty of octopuses that are hard as hell to find, and since they breed by the zillions and don’t last long, I’m not too fussed about the occasional curry I enjoy.

I am, however, a bit bothered about dining on someone so much smarter than a cow.

Octopuses are highly intelligent, likely more so than any other order of invertebrates. The exact extent of their intelligence and learning capability is much debated among biologists, but maze and problem-solving experiments have shown that they do have both short- and long-term memory.

In laboratory experiments, octopuses can be readily trained to distinguish between different shapes and patterns. They have been reported to practice observational learning, although the validity of these findings is widely contested on a number of grounds. Octopuses have also been observed in what some have described as play: repeatedly releasing bottles or toys into a circular current in their aquariums and then catching them. Octopuses often break out of their aquariums and sometimes into others in search of food. They have even boarded fishing boats and opened holds to eat crabs.

Thanks to my car companion du jour, I now have a bit of an idea where to start looking for an octopus to share with Sam in the sea instead of over dinner, and I can’t wait until he catches sight of his first as it suddenly appears, moves, settles, then disappears in the flash of color morph that perfectly mimics its new spot.

Side note: a sack of dead octopuses is a pulsating bag of color … fascinating and sad, but when I come across the option I usually buy one for dinner.

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Deb's farewell "Sunset White Party at Lounge 8" ... she's a classy lassy ...There are many differences between life on a small tropical island and life just about anywhere else, or in what those of us here refer to as the “real world”.

Some of those differences are annoying, like a slow and sporadic Internet connection, unpredictable shortages of things you never expect a whole country to run out of … potatoes and toilet paper, for example … and the ridiculously high price in time and money of going anywhere.

Some are great. The climate, the beaches, the pristine water, clean air, lack of crowds, mass media, marketing blitz and glitz in general all contribute to the positive aspects of Seychelles life.

(In completely classic timing, the electricity just cut off … again … so it may be hours before I can actually post this.)

A double-edged sword, as is so much in life, taking the good with the bad is a daily practice.

On an important up note, inhabitants finding like-thinking, fun others learn quickly not to take anyone for granted. Friendships are founded fast and furious, and with so few entertainment options available, social interactions … meals, beaching, dives, hikes, mutual veranda confabs and such … happen regularly to the enjoyment of all.

The downside is that all but a handful of these like-thinking, fun others are only here for a short time. Work contracts usually run for a couple of years; a long enough time to get attached, dependent on the entertainment value of the said fun other, and accustomed to their presence.

The first few years of life here saw me avoiding any closeness with expats. Goodbyes were much harder for me then, and it seemed a set up to allow myself to get close enough to temporary islanders to face suffering the predictable loss of them after only a year or so.

I’m over that now that I’ve learned the payoff; not only are there fab times while we’re rock-bound together, the result of them moving along is a wide and global scattering of people I adore. Even with island Internet and its issues, we stay in touch over the years between visits, and there’s no shortage of holiday ops in some of the most interesting places on the planet.

As of this coming Thursday, another treasured wonder bites the dust: our own Miss Kinky Black, Deb Wilson, is buggering off after two and a half years of keeping people here smiling, drinking and generally well amused.

As is tradition, a farewell is conducted with appropriate amounts of booze, food and conversation. In Deb’s case, classy woman that she is, it happened at Lounge 8 with everyone decked out in white to best offset the fabulous sunset that arrived on cue to thunderous camera clicks bent on immortalizing the occasion.
As a departing gift, a book compiled of our individual memories concerning Deb was printed. Titled appropriately “Paradise My Arse” … a phrase trotted out by Ms Wilson on more than one occasion … and emblazoned with a photographic representation of her making that point so well, it’s bound to be a gift she’ll keep handy throughout her life for ease of reference to this rock, her time here and those of us who will still be missing her.

New, wonderful, funny people will show up, though, and we’ll let them into our lives, enjoy them while they’re here, then think up leaving gifts special to them when it’s time for them to head back to the real world. That’s just how it works …

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The year begins ...
Cj and me in February
First f 3 trips to Bird Island
Anchor Cafe
With Shrone at the beach in March
Book promo in April
Happy and Iris were here in May
June 2nd ... the worst day of my life
California ... filled with sadness
Lots of love in Mexicoa
Switzerland in July
Tribute tatt ...
Old friends leave ... Ciao, Lio!
New friends come ... Me with Carlos and Violeta
With Deb and Mel
Visitors Kim and Cake
New friends Tommaso and Helen
Alan adds my kids to an old tatt
Gay takes the kids on hayaks ...
I spend some time online ...
Back to Bird in October and in November
Sam's 7th birthday dinner
Cati finally arrives ...
Enzo and Amanda add to the mix
November ends
Christmas is coming and the year is almost over ...

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Because that’s how we do things here, Sam gets a YouTube vid for a birthday gift.

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Guess what I found in my post office box today. No. Really … guess.

(Take some time … )

Okay. Spilling now …

Today, the 28th of September, 2009, I open my PO Box to find … ta daaaaaa!!!! … my absentee ballot that starts out like this:

Dear Voter,
Your Vote by Mail Ballot for the November 4, 2008 General Election is enclosed.

You are designated as an Overseas Federal Voter. Your voter registration form indicates that you are living out of the country indefinitely. As a federal voter you are only entitled to vote for federal candidates in the following offices:
President, Vice President, US Senator and members of the House of Representatives. (And so on …)

Gee. Thanks.

I’ll assume that “only entitled to vote for” can be interpreted as ENTITLED to vote, which may be a bit tough since my ballot reached me almost one full year late.

Although Seychelles is on the other side of the world, it is actually ON this planet, and … hey! … we have a postal service that connects to other countries. My address on the envelope (no postmark to indicate when it was sent, by the way) is correct, and with “OFFICIAL ABSENTEE BALLOTING MATERIAL – FIRST CLASS MAIL” writ large across the front, it seems that slow-boat-round-the-horn was not to be an option for getting this into my hands.

I was in Sacramento, site of the return address, just a couple of months ago, so know that it has not vanished for one hundred years, a la Brigadoon. and that planes still fly from California toward the rest of the world, many carrying post.

Were I the conspiracy-minded sort, I may suspect that my declaration of Democrat on the application might have slowed down the process a bit, but … well … okay, that did run across the corners of my mind and felt no less far-fetched than the idea that I’m either living in a time warp or on some far-flung planet.

Imagine how pissed off I’d be if Obama hadn’t won …

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Sam and Cj on and adventure with Gay and Carlos

Sam and Cj on and adventure with Gay and Carlos

Ooooh, lookie here … a brief window in the pickle that’s been gerkin me around lately, taking up my thyme, so how about a little ketchup?

We’re enjoying the last week of the holiday, as Sam and Cj start school again on Monday. Sam will be in Year 2 and Cj in what’s called Reception 2, and both are looking forward to getting back in the education saddle.

We’ve not done a heck of a lot over the couple of months they’ve been free from schedules, but have hit the beach more than usual and enjoyed leisurely breakfasts at The Pirate’s Arms … which is not the same as IN A pirate’s arms.

Irina, a lovely Russian friend, took Sam to Praslin and LaDigue, and Gay has invited both kids to adventure and hyake (That’s hike and kayak on the same day … sounds much better than saying they kiked.) a few times.

With guests here — Carlos, Kim, Cade — excuses to be out and about were easily available, so we took advantage and showed the sites of Victoria, both of them, which managed to fill a couple of 15 minute slots that would have otherwise been spent sitting on the veranda gazing at the sea.

Party fun with Violeta, Mel and Lio ...

Party fun with Violeta, Mel and Lio ...

I’ve had many laughs at great parties lately. Sadly, some of my favorite friends here are coming to the end of their Seychelles time and are soon to move along, but that no longer stops any of us from enjoying what we have while we do, and staying in touch no matter the distance in future.

Diversion has been good for me. I’m okay most of the time now, but do get sideswiped by sadness on a regular basis. Some days are better than others, but even on the bad days now there is comfort in the fact that this hole I live with in my heart will refuse to heal; I don’t want it to scar over, not ever.

Ernesto, me and Carola in Basel in July

Ernesto, me and Carola in Basel in July

Ernesto is headed to Seychelles at the end of the month for a five week stay, and I’ve been laying the groundwork for him to play here … a lot. He’ll be doing guitar workshops for the National Arts Council, giving group lessons for music students at the French School and performing.

We’re all looking forward to having him around for quite a while, and Sam is working on his Spanish in order to expand a repertoire of mutual banter that is presently limited to little more than pollo loco.

So, life is what it is, and as the summer from hell draws to an end I’m not sorry to see it fade into past. 2010 looms and I have hopes that arbitrary designation contains more happiness sandwiched between its bun than its predecessors 2008/2009.

Pass the mustard …

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It’s time to take a break from outrage and post some bits of life here on this island for those of you who actually like sharing my life with me.

I’ve written before about the wonderful people with whom I’m blessed to spend time … a smart, funny, lovely and international gang … and as it goes here, new people join in as others move along.

Going away get-togethers are a bittersweet aspect of Seychelles living, and I’ve been to a few lately. The other night was such an event … Violeta is leaving for some months … so a dinner at Sam’s Pizzeria was on the plate.

As always, many countries were represented, and if the UN could do half the job around the table at creating global warm fuzzies as we do the world would be a much better place.

Check out the smiling faces …

Me and Sam ... that's the US, Seychelles and Cambodia

Me and Sam ... that's the US, Seychelles and Cambodia

Deb ... a Yorkshire lass ... and Cj

Deb ... a Yorkshire lass ... and Cj

Violeta, from Serbia

Violeta, from Serbia

Laura is Italian

Nathalie is from Lebanon

Nathalie is from Lebanon

Lio and Carlos ... that's France listening to Spain

Lio and Carlos ... that's France listening to Spain

Photo credits: Sam Benoiton

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Just received some photos Kimmy took of me back in February, and since she’s very good and makes me look not half bad, I’m posting some here.

If compelled to comment, please keep in mind the words of Thumper’s mother …

Photo Credit: Kim Jade Pockpas

Photo Credit: Kim Jade Pockpas


Photo credit: Kim Jade Pockpas

Photo credit: Kim Jade Pockpas


Photo credit: Kim Jade Pockpas

Photo credit: Kim Jade Pockpas

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The Indian Ocean Playground

The Indian Ocean Playground

My post from yesterday on disappearing places that exist only in memory without a time bubble for backwards traveling apparently sent more than a few readers traipsing down the dirt track of memory for some revisiting.

A comment from a long lost friend … reason #396 that I’m happy to be online, the reconnection thing that happens more often than it could without the sort of access to the world a blog allows … (Thanks, Ali!) brought another to my mind.

Even though I’m only five minutes away from the setting for memories galore, I haven’t walked the rutted way to what was once my favorite beach in Seychelles in a couple of years. I just don’t have the heart.

This end of Mahé is in full development swing, so what was my little corner of paradise is now looking a lot like Joni Mitchell sounded.

I could rail against the dramatic changes to my neighborhood, and in fact I have, but there are smellier fish to fry these days that sap energy and … well .. progress is progress and money makes the world go around and sustainable development is an oxymoron in any language, and there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it.

So, instead of spending my days allowing myself to be perpetually annoyed by the sound of cement mixers clanking and huge trucks chewing up roads and blocking traffic and legions of Chinese, Korean and Indian workers wandering down my road looking for coconuts and throwing rocks at my dogs … who are simply doing their job of keeping legions of strangers from my house … I try very hard to focus on the fact that I was lucky enough to know this place before the world caught on.

The area now under rapid and extensive development … and right behind my house, for the most part … was, in 1993 when I first landed here, without a road of any recognizable variety. Yes, there was a dirt track, and some hearty souls with sturdy vehicles did drive it, but only the most intrepid of tourists wandered this far, so I would go weeks without seeing even one person who hadn’t lived down this way for most of their life.

Strangers attracted attention, and those aimlessly drifting would be asked their business, then either aided or warned away if said business was deemed to be possibly shifty.

Back then, those of us considering a stretch of sand to be “our” beach were right piqued to find other bodies soaking up “our” sun and swimming in “our” bay, and a count of more than two or three extras had us grousing on about how crowded the place was.

We were always topless, and often bottem-less, as well, but presently tan lines are de rigueur with construction workers being pretty much of the same ilk worldwide … providing stimulation for hoards of wankers lurking in the undergrowth is neither appealing nor conducive to relaxed paddling.

But I did know it when, and the Anse Soleil of bygone years exists in my mind’s eye. Too bad the present version is more like a poke with sharp rebar.

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About as dangerous as wildlife gets ...

About as dangerous as wildlife gets ...

Although I live in what is technically Africa, and there are many trés African elements ici, wildlife on the continent takes far different forms than on this rock.

Across the thousand miles of Indian Ocean to the west, lions, leopards and hyenas hunt, venomous snakes are legion, rhinos stamp out fires and elephants munch bouquets of wildflowers at the end of the rainy season. Caution is vital under all conditions, and lone random wanderings by the novice in city or wilderness are rarely a good idea.

Thankfully, it takes no special vigilance on the part of the tourist to successfully navigate Seychelles … on land. The sea is rife with dangers, and even more so now that pirates have joined the list of maritime threats, but terra firma? Nah.

We have no poisonous reptiles or insects, and although mosquitos may be annoying there are none of the family anopheles, so no malaria.

My visitors get a very quick orientation before I send them out exploring. If they’re not British and driving, they get an X marked on the back of the right hand to reference on which side of the car the middle of the road should be positioned. If swimming or snorkeling is part of the agenda, I warn about sunburn, stonefish and the need to rehydrate.

If deciding to walk in what passes for jungle here, this is what they hear:

1) This is a fairly small island, so getting lost isn’t easy. You can see the sea from just about anywhere, so if in doubt either walk toward it or away from it, depending on where you’re heading.

2) You can run into people just about anywhere, so if you come upon folks in the bush, assume they are either, a) out for a stroll like you, b) collecting fruit, or c) looking for a place for a quick bang out from under the gaze of significant others.

3) When walking through the forest, if you hear a rustling in the undergrowth it can only be, a) a chicken, 2) a lizard, 3) a hedgehog tenrec, or d) the above mentioned tryst seekers

.

Of course, there are dangers and bad things do happen … bags get stolen from the beach, people drown, car wrecks do great damage … but far too often the disasters occur because folks tend to think they’re in some Disney version of the world where the very fact that it’s a holiday somehow protects and makes common sense unnecessary.

It may be possible to leave a backpack full of money, passports and camera unattended while on the Jungle Cruise through Adventure Land, but on a public beach for two hours while snorkeling happens? Getting soaked sitting in the front of Thunder Mountain Railroad is not the the same as taking on the Indian Ocean. And anyone thinking Somali pirates are anything like Johnny Depp needs to give yacht rental a second thought.

Duh.

Thankfully, my friends are, for the most part, sensible. Sure, they come to Seychelles to swim, hike, dive and partake of all things island, but so far they’ve all managed to make it safely back to my veranda where cocktails and conversation are the biggest dangers.

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