15 November 2020
[Above photo: Weaver bird nests over the Shire River in Liwonde Game Park, Malawi]
Kelly and I just returned from the American Club, which I’ve described before. Several tennis courts, a coffee shop, a swimming pool, a gym, a softball/soccer pitch, and outside terraces set on several acres of lawn and trees at the north end of Inya Lake. It is bucolic. Kelly is a competitive tennis player and wins single and doubles tournaments there, although a 16yo boy beat him yesterday. We went there to see an exhibit of furniture repurposed from salvaged hardwoods—from monasteries, old houses, etc. It was gorgeous in design and execution; the joinery was crisp and tight. I want to visit the showroom to possibly buy something to send home. The cabinets, small bars, chests, tables, chairs, and chess sets were all wonderful. We had snacks and smoothies, getting brain freezes. My god, those hurt!
It has been a pretty uneventful week. We’ve expanded our culinary repertoire to include a red curry (me), gazpacho (Kelly), and masala dosas (Indian Tadka, down the street). I made pasta from scratch, using a salvaged pasta machine Kelly found in a cupboard. It was simple, if labor-intensive, and wonderfully tasty. We are eating more green leafies than before. Our poker game last night was hilarious as we created new versions of old standards; “Double five card draw with hold ‘em and a wild card kicker at the end”. The hands ended up being fabulous—5 aces, Royal Flush—, as are the pots. I lost over half my buy-in, as my betting skills collapsed with the change in odds. It was cheap entertainment.
I did try, once again, to send Aillen some money for a laptop. I now have spent 10 hours on 7 or 8 trips over 4 months to various branches of Aya and CB Bank. I have learned to say that I am retired—-“I’m 80yo!”—and, thus, have no work contract. (You must show a contract.) Yes, she is my relative, my cousin on my mother’s side. (Aya Bank doesn’t allow you to send money by Western Union unless the recipient has your surname.) At CB Bank on Wednesday, after a third futile trip to immigration to secure my visa, the teller issued me the money, which I had to walk around the corner and change to dollars at a separatte “money changer” window. I came back and gave it to them, assured it would be sent that day. Two hours later a frantic call came to me at home. They should not have issued me money over the counter via my bank card. I had to write a check, although I have never received a check-book from them. I went in two days later, they gave me a check book, I wrote a check, and then thought to review my balance. They had deducted the amount twice from my account. They fixed that and gave me a new receipt. But before sending it, they needed to see again the paper from the Ministry of Immigration assuring my visa through April. I had shown it to them two days previously and didn’t bring it this trip. But I’ll go in again on Monday with all the papers, plus the cash in dollars that they returned to me, and try again. It’s surprising anything gets done here, with all the interlocking bureaucratic hoops, born of paranoia and profit, through which everyone must hop. I should keep my money in a sock under the mattress.
My trips downtown were fun, however, as I visited several areas I know that have busy street markets. I bought fruit and vegetables and enjoyed the exchange with the vendors and the general atmosphere of bustle. I miss that, although I love the company and natural beauty here on Kokkine Swimming Pool Lane.
At a check-in a week ago with a group I lead, I forgot to mention the US election results. It is the most important thing to me at present but I have such Trump-drama fatigue that it slipped my mind. To think that he’s possibly going to continue to receive a lot of press for years to come is repellant. He gives repellant a bad name!
Ari continues to find, and evaluate, homes and home-sites for me near her. There are many, each with their benefits and shortcomings. I am eager to return to the US, although not into the current covid maelstrom. I want to settle into a new home, make friends with my neighbors, and build a 16 foot long seaworthy skiff on which to run out to Beach Island. If I could continue active teaching here, with a clinic, I’d be content but being at loose ends isn’t my cup of tea.
Looking out my plastic-covered door, I see butterflies fluttering by in patches of sunlight that penetrate the thick, lush canopy. It drops my blood pressure and makes me want to snooze!
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 