New Britain State of Mind
Brewing my first cup of tea for the day, I stood in my kitchen this morning gazing through the ubiquitous palm soldiers, the only thing between my new abode and the beach 50m away, I pondered the humour that my kettle offered. Rather impressed with my initial purchase of the new bargain white-good, which clearly confirms my advance into adulthood (next step Ab-King Pro…) I knowingly smiled at the brand sticker that was already starting to peel away in the humidity. Carefully removing the label making sure no sticky residue (pet hate) remained on my still white, white-good I did in fact laugh out loud at the letters printed so neatly… My kettle’s name is ‘Integrity’.
Ok, so it’s been reliable and held its ‘integrity’ pretty well thus far, aside for the ambivalent flickering red light and that I still have to pick up my ELECTRIC kettle with a tea towel because the handle breathes steam, of course… But alas the kettle has turned against me and joined the ‘darkside’ out to ruin my typically pleasant tea-drinking experiences. As I joked over its proud title, it has enjoyed last laugh. Boiling water still sits on my bench as a taunting reminder that there’s no tea to be made in this household tonight. Did I mention that the kettle is barely two weeks old?
Lesson 9: It’s the little things in life. Like enjoying a cup of tea. And trying to not get killed by a vengeful kettle, hell-bent on electrocuting every last ounce of tea-desiring cravings out of you.
Truth be told I still am enjoying a cuppa of Bushells, although I’ve also just discovered that it is made in PNG, courtesy my new gas oven installed on Friday. When I say installed, I mean that a ‘qualified’ carpenter who happens to live next door (?) came and drilled a hole in my floor and fed a rather battered piece of copper down underneath my stilted house to a gas bottle sitting on the cement pad. Paranoia has me make the trip outside the mosquito free haven of my shade-cloth covered house to turn the gas off after every use. Not taking any chances especially when the kettle has been so malicious.
Welcome to life in PNG! Where if you don’t laugh at every little ‘challenge’ that rears its head most hours of the day, you’ll cry. And with Air Nuigini adding fuel to the fire, even if you had managed to book the first available flight home, chances are it’s already cancelled. Any excuse seems to do.
And I guess that’s exactly why it’s paradise. No one can get here, and the ones that have chanced their journey, are now stuck. But no one complains. Because why wouldn’t you want to be stranded on a tropical island with bananas hanging right outside your door, people who genuinely want to know the name of your sisters’ first pet cat, where the walk to work is barefoot along the beach and where you fall asleep to a harmonic orchestra of waves beating against the pumice beach combined with tuneful cicadas and sultry evening rains.
Lesson 10: Paradise is a frame of mind.
Ok, so it’s been reliable and held its ‘integrity’ pretty well thus far, aside for the ambivalent flickering red light and that I still have to pick up my ELECTRIC kettle with a tea towel because the handle breathes steam, of course… But alas the kettle has turned against me and joined the ‘darkside’ out to ruin my typically pleasant tea-drinking experiences. As I joked over its proud title, it has enjoyed last laugh. Boiling water still sits on my bench as a taunting reminder that there’s no tea to be made in this household tonight. Did I mention that the kettle is barely two weeks old?
Lesson 9: It’s the little things in life. Like enjoying a cup of tea. And trying to not get killed by a vengeful kettle, hell-bent on electrocuting every last ounce of tea-desiring cravings out of you.
Truth be told I still am enjoying a cuppa of Bushells, although I’ve also just discovered that it is made in PNG, courtesy my new gas oven installed on Friday. When I say installed, I mean that a ‘qualified’ carpenter who happens to live next door (?) came and drilled a hole in my floor and fed a rather battered piece of copper down underneath my stilted house to a gas bottle sitting on the cement pad. Paranoia has me make the trip outside the mosquito free haven of my shade-cloth covered house to turn the gas off after every use. Not taking any chances especially when the kettle has been so malicious.
Welcome to life in PNG! Where if you don’t laugh at every little ‘challenge’ that rears its head most hours of the day, you’ll cry. And with Air Nuigini adding fuel to the fire, even if you had managed to book the first available flight home, chances are it’s already cancelled. Any excuse seems to do.
And I guess that’s exactly why it’s paradise. No one can get here, and the ones that have chanced their journey, are now stuck. But no one complains. Because why wouldn’t you want to be stranded on a tropical island with bananas hanging right outside your door, people who genuinely want to know the name of your sisters’ first pet cat, where the walk to work is barefoot along the beach and where you fall asleep to a harmonic orchestra of waves beating against the pumice beach combined with tuneful cicadas and sultry evening rains.
Lesson 10: Paradise is a frame of mind.
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