THE B WORD

The kid on the right with the smile so big that his eyes are barely open...that's my husband. I don't know a lot about how he was as a child but I do know that he was extremely inquisitive and he discovered many tricks to annoy his younger sister (pictured here) and brother.

I think I can empathize with Alexis and Sean as I, too, fall victim to Paul's antics. He will poke and jump and smack and prod and annoy and talk in ridiculous voices and laugh in ridiculous tones, all while batting his eyelashes and smiling that same smile.

This kid that you see in the photograph above....I have seen him a lot this week.

The other day I hear Paul say something that astounded me - something I really was not expecting.

"I'm bored. I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take."

I'm sorry, whatdidyousay? The guy who boasts about being paid to do nothing and take naps, the one who would rather sit in air conditioning than go to a bar with his friends, the one who has no interest in exploring the countryside or partaking in any cultural experience that does not include filet on his plate...The guy who parallels his greatest accomplishment with the Summer of George by naming his the Spring of Paul....That guy just hit his limit.

"I think I'd be fine doing nothing all the time in the U.S.," he said. "But here there is just nothing else to do."

This came on a day when I was actually feeling confident in my own time-filling abilities. When I got back here a month ago, I decided that I was going to give myself a purpose. I was going to relax from the holiday travels and the stress that accompanies travel, holiday plans and family time, and then I would be useful, whatever that meant.

I have found a lot to fill my days: exercising, meal planning, goal setting, reading, writing (here and other places), researching, studying, life planning, crossword puzzle guessing (let's be honest, I am surely not solving puzzles from the USA Today but I have totally nailed the ones in People magazine), catching up on my favorite blog, finding new blogs to follow, reading lots of articles. I have recently found a way to turn a hobby into a real-life goal. I have been brainstorming and researching other writing opportunities. And, let's not forget, I have been house hunting all over this freaking city because my husband must see every available apartment - even some that are not available. But we'll get to that in the next post.

This week we finally decided that we were done apartment shopping. We had three good contenders and I was ready to be done; Paul agreed. Then we saw one more. Then we were really done. At that point, Paul had nothing left to do.

His biggest disappointment in life hit him over the weekend when the Olympics closed and coverage ceased. If you have been with me for a while, then you know that I am a huge fan of the Olympics. I love watching the events and learning the behind-the-scenes-Bob-Costas-type stories. I read the articles on key athletes. But apparently I cannot compete with Paul's interest in the winter sports.

I had no idea that Paul was an Olympics fanatic. He quickly enlightened me on his love for the winter sports and how he could nearly care less about the summer sports, but the winter sports were exciting. So exciting, in fact, that our television was tuned in to the two Olympics coverage channels EVERY SINGLE DAY THE OLYMPICS WERE BROADCAST. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

One day Paul had to go into the office for something. When he came back, I was sitting quietly on the red leather loveseat reading a blog in the natural light.

"What are you doing?" he enthusiastically yelled.

"Reading," I calmly replied.

"Why is the television off? The Olympics are on. Why aren't you watching the Olympics? We have events to watch!"

I tried explaining that I can survive without the television and that sometimes quiet is necessary. I wanted to tell him that I was honestly getting tired of watching the Olympics 24/7 but I knew he would act like I had just stabbed him in the heart so I kept my mouth shut while he ran for the remote and ended the quiet.

Poor Paul. First it was the end of baseball, now the end of the Olympics. He has nothing left to fill his day.

This explains the annoying 5-year-old that has made an appearance throughout the week. He is taking touch time to a whole new level. He is demanding naptime and then poking me when I lie next to him. When I respond, he tells me that pillows don't talk. If I get annoyed, he just laughs, but not in his typical laugh; he uses a new, full-bellied, different pitched laugh that he just made up to be his annoying laugh because he knows that I think it is ridiculous.

Sometimes I can break the laugh by saying or doing something so funny that his real laugh comes out. Sometimes I don't even think what I said or did merits the good laugh but he is already gone so it doesn't matter. Sometimes I can get him laughing so hard (mostly by saying what he says in a satirical voice of my own) that he does the silent laugh that he just breathes through and convulses. Then he wants me to stop making him laugh. He can't have it both ways.

Yesterday I was bored. I was stuck in the house waiting for a delivery that I knew would never come. Our internet was out and Paul was off flying, so I was stuck there. I had things I needed to do and they either involved leaving or the internet - one thing involved leaving in order to get internet somewhere else. But I couldn't leave.

WHAT?! Paul was actually flying?! Yes, Paul had a day trip yesterday. He left the house at 4 a.m. and was back by 2 p.m. Upon his return, he promptly apologized for leaving me for so long and stated that 42 days off between flights was just not enough. Today the 5-year-old is back. 

ALLERGIC TO PNG

It's official. I am allergic to PNG. I don't have any other reasonable explanation.

I arrived in PNG on February 2 and all was fine. He picked me up at the airport before the sun rose, I got back to the apartment, showered (oh how I needed a shower!) and then made breakfast. I slept a lot the next couple days and then we made a plan to go to Cairns for the weekend.

Thursday - day 5 - I developed a rash on my leg. By Friday the rash had spread to my foot. Saturday morning I had added a rashed arm. Thursday, while still in PNG, I had seen a doctor and was prescribed medication that I have taken a few times. Initially, I thought I was reacting to the medication.

Saturday, while in Cairns, I went to a clinic and saw another doctor who gave me another prescription and told me to never take that first one again. I still had the rash. I finished the medication and I still have the rash.

Though the rash is still present on my leg, it does not itch and it does not bother me. The shape has faded but it is still present. The rash is still on my arms - that's right, arms plural. And they itch. Day and night. I am taking a daily allergy medication and applying a Benadryl ointment up to three times daily.

I have begun to question foods, shampoo products and Paul's choice in laundry detergent. I tried to think of what I have been in contact with in PNG and Australia that I was not introduced to in America. I know that I ate peaches in both PNG and Australia so I stopped eating peaches for two days. I still have the rash.

I also abstained from onions for a day because I was exposed to both in both countries. I realize that a day really won't make a difference but I am impatient and baffled and I want the rashes gone.

Paul swears the laundry detergent is the same we used before we left so that can't be it. I am using the same soap, face products and toothpastes. We suppose that the housekeeping staff could have changed the detergent used on our linens so maybe we will have to check that.

I am considering refraining from eating most foods for the next week, relying on protein shakes and a couple basics like eggs to see if I can identify the problem, but for right now I am sticking with PNG. I think I am allergic to PNG.

THOSE MOMENTS WHEN

I don’t know how, when or why the social media trend started but someone somewhere in the world started posting about “Those moments when.” I have seen them on Facebook, on Paul’s reddit feed and from other social media sites encroaching on other social media sites’ territory (a.k.a. showing up in posts in my Facebook feed).

I am not a person who jumps on trends right away – I need to be at least three years behind the curve and then I might make an effort. Take sunglasses for instance. Large Jackie O. sunglasses made a comeback in oh, say, 2006. I bought my first pair 10 months ago. I didn’t even want them. I walked into a Georgetown, Washington, D.C., Kate Spade store because one of the women I was with wanted to take a glance. As a joke, I picked up a pair of dark oversized frames, plopped them on my face, turned to the two ladies and said, “Look how stupid these look on me!”

Jaws dropped, gasps were heard and the arms went flying. “Oh my gosh, those look amazing on you!!!” “Oh my gosh, you have to get those!!” I’m sorry, what? I thought they were crazy. “No, you have to get them. Look at the way the teal stripe gives a pop of color from the profile. I love them!”

I walked out of the store without the sunglasses. Two weeks later I was at another Kate Spade in Princeton, New Jersey, and I bought the sunglasses. Turns out I didn’t hate the frames and my friends had such a positive reaction that I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, seven years behind the trend, here I am.

This may be the only photo in existence with these babies on my face. Road trip selfie (another thing I usually do not post) requested by one Nicola Brown.

Back to my point. I don’t jump on trends easily and I don’t jump on trends until they are well engrained in society. I have yet to do a throwback Thursday photo, a credible hashtag or a TIL (Today I Learned) comment. No kitty photos, no grumpy cats, no GIFs of any kind. To date I have only posted one selfie.

Today, however, I am posting my first “That Moment When.” And I am doing it blog style.

I have some big things brewing and my mind is full of decisions and ideas and wonderings, so I have been taking some quiet time the last few days. Paul is distraught that I have either left the room or turned off the television during Olympics programming. Scandalous. 

This morning when I sought refuge in bed with my laptop, writing, researching and pondering, Paul came in to distract me or keep me company. He told me he was bored decided it was naptime. So here’s my TMW:

That moment when your husband jumps into bed, interrupting whatever you are doing, wraps his arms around you and decides that it’s naptime. Except it’s 9 a.m. and you’ve already had coffee.

I thought about moving. I thought about trying to sleep since I was rudely awaken at 6 to construction noises, vibrating earth due to the construction and a very noisy, very large airplane outside our window. 

Yep, that's an airport outside my window...right where my head is positioned. 

But it was three hours later and I had already had my coffee so there was no chance of sleep.

I thought about getting back to what I was doing. My laptop was only a few feet away and my phone was somewhere on the foot of the bed. I thought about getting my camera because these moments in bed are some of my favorites but who takes photos in bed?

Then I thought about these moments that others do not get to have: the ones who have husbands far, far away; the ones who lost husbands to death or divorce; the ones who are sleeping alone and surviving. I even thought about the ones who have husbands who are not able to do things like play around in bed on a Sunday morning even though it’s Wednesday.

I decided to embrace the moment that I was embraced. Instead of fighting, I closed my eyes. I smelled my husband’s hair and I kissed his forehead. Twice. I cuddled up next to the man who would never admit to these times and who likes to lighten the mood by offering humor to the situation. Of course, I know how to play that game, too.

I was quiet for a while but after a lecture on the benefits of the Clapper system controlling lights and air conditioning units (the one in the bedroom was off and the remote was in the other room), and nearly falling off the bed as Paul attempted to grasp his phone that had dropped onto the floor beside us after a failed attempt at flipping it from his toes to his head. He also tried to grab the phone from the floor with his toes, nearly rolling me off the edge. I did not hit the floor; I actually gave in and rolled myself over to pick up his phone for him.

While up, I grabbed the air con remote, and grabbed my phone in case I found a proper moment for a snapshot. And then I curled up next to my husband, propped my head on his chest and contemplated my next move.

Women have certain spots on men that they love for one random reason or another. Some like their man’s feet, some like to hold onto a hand or a thumb, maybe a pinky finger. Some women like to touch a man’s ear or to put her finger on her man’s nose. I happen to like my husband’s belly.

I like to rub it, I like to poke it and I like to tickle it. I also like to make raspberries on it. With my head on Paul’s chest, looking down toward his feet, I used my free arm to gently pull up his T-shirt and start poking.

“I know what you’re going to do!” he remarked and started waving his arms as I moved my face a little closer. I put my mouth on his stomach and started to blow hot air really hard to make the raspberry vibration – you know, something a toddler would do. He curled into the fetal position, laughing, grabbing my arms simultaneously.

“Why do you like doing that?!”

“Because it makes you laugh. And it’s a lot of fun.”

“Here I am, giving you what you want…” he starts…granting me the touch time that I need (because physical touch is my primary love language). I kindly reminded him that touch is also one of his love languages – he quickly reminded me that touch is his second – and that I was giving him his primary love language with the quality time I was spending in his arms.

“This is not quality time. If you wanted to give me quality time, you would be in the kitchen making me breakfast.” And then he laughed like he was the funniest man in the world. In that moment, he was the funniest man in my world, and I was grateful to be in his.

HOUSE HUNTING IN PORT MORESBY

Paul and I have been house hunting. Since June 2013 Paul and I have been living out of four suitcases - meaning everything we own in PNG can fit into four suitcases...O.K. maybe five since we have had to purchase some things for the apartment, mostly for the kitchen.

If you have been following along, we left Singapore the first week of April last year, two years after we first arrived. When we departed we were under the impression that we would be back in Singapore within a couple months (Paul's company previously told him that he could be based in Singapore), so we arranged to have everything either donated or packed (it all ended up being packed because the Salvation Army did not return my phone calls until our apartment had literally been vacated...completely), and placed into storage in a warehouse somewhere on the island. When we signed the paperwork, we told the representative that the items should be removed in two months, maybe three.

So 11 months later here we are in PNG still paying storage fees to a Singaporean warehouse. When we officially moved to PNG last what I will call summer, we were told that we would temporarily be moved to a hotel compound and that we would have other housing arrangements made by the company's housing department.

So eight months later here we are in our roughly 700-square-foot hotel compound unit where Paul first landed back in June.

Let's just say that he is tired of being in cramped quarters, tired of fighting for space on our red leather loveseat and tired of paying storage fees in a country where we no longer live for stuff that we obviously don't need anymore. And he's tired of waiting on the people in the housing department who obviously do not have this in the bag.

So here we are house hunting in Port Moresby.

I landed back in PNG the morning of February 2 and was told that our first apartment viewing would be the afternoon of the 4th. Two weeks later we are still hunting for prospective apartments. Why? Well, I could give you reasonable excuses regarding the lack of real estate websites in a third-world country, communication barriers between American accents and local PNG men guarding the security gates and a lack of a single expat relocation source or functional apartment search like Realtor.com or ApartmentGuide.com. Those are all viable excuses.

But let's be honest: it's because I am married to Paul. And Paul has to consider his options. And when I say his options, I mean all options. Whether looking for Jeep Wranglers, televisions or housing options, Paul has to examine every available option - all brands, all companies, all retailers - to make sure he is getting the best option for the best price.

Before we get into the individual listings and a few of the places we have visited (including actual possibilities and absolutely nots), I thought I would take a few photos on our drive through town.

We are weaning our way out of the wet season. When Paul arrived back here in January, it rained all day nearly every day. By the time I arrived in early February, we were back to sporatic rains once or twice a week.

All that rain has created a much greener environment than when we left in November, and the local government seems to have put a lot of effort into cleaning the streets so, all in all, Port Moresby does look a lot better than it did just a few months ago.

Although much of Port Moresby boasts paved roads, even the paved roads have craters and crevices in many places; some major roads, like the one outside our compound, are dirt roads that become dusty in the dry season and incredibly muddy throughout the wet season.

The island of New Guinea is located in the southern hemisphere, just north of Australia. While the western half of the island belongs to Indonesia, the eastern half is Papua New Guinea, along with a bunch of other islands floating in the Pacific. We live in the National Capital District of Port Moresby, located on the southern shore.

We live in a neighborhood called Boroko in an area called 7 Mile, and we can view the airport runway from our two windows, which are located on the northeast side of the apartment.

The A represents our compound; that large grey area is Jacksons International Airport. The peninsula to the west where "Cargo Terminal" and "Ela United Church" are highlighted holds the Central Business District.

The best thing about our current location is the proximity to the airport; the distance between our door and the airport terminal is about five minutes. The grocery store and most businesses we frequent are located in the middle section on Waigani Drive and closer to the CBD.

A few days each week for the last 2.5 weeks, we have been driving around, exploring random roads and doing our best to find available apartments. We do have plans to secure a GoPro to our SUV and posting a higher-speed video soon but, for now, we took some snapshots out the window. While I will crop some of the photos to remove dashboard and windshield stickers from view, none of the following photos have been retouched.

No, this is not the site of a plane crash. That beat up airplane in the background is an art installation marking Air Niugini's headquarters. Air Niugini is the national airline of PNG. The sticks by the road were trees last week. Someone came by and ran them over with a bulldozer...at least that's what it looks like.

The main road outside our compound

There used to be a large local market at the end of the main road but it seems to have mostly vacated.

This market used to have stands all the way up to the fence

A small shopping area across from the market space

We drove toward the CBD in order to see some compounds located on the hills overlooking the sea. Today we encountered a common traffic stop. Police men block off one lane, forcing traffic to merge into a second lane where they check everyone's vehicle registration, identified by a sticker on the passenger side of the windshield. In addition to the vehicle registration, a safety inspection sticker is also placed on the window; both stickers have expiration dates.

Though we were asked to pull over for further checks today, we did not encounter any issues. The driver's license passed as issued and we were waived on our way within 30 seconds. Smooth sailing. I should mention that we have not had any issues (to my knowledge) since our one and only incident.

The view on Waigani Drive

This is one of the many, many roundabouts in Port Moresby. .

There are few, if any, stop signs and only a few speed limit signs. Paul likes this idea. "People don't need signs. Everybody figures it out," he says. I should also mention that without any street signs, there are no rules, so anything goes most of the time - even some that do not make sense. 

Street sweepers were all over the place today. Paul thinks they like to keep all that dust out of the road. Sweepers have always been common, even when trash filled the roads and common areas. This guy was working the freeway on-ramp.

And this is our one and only freeway. It's not very long but it does have three lanes on each side for a few hundred meters.

Notice all the greenery and farmland.

 

See that? There's water ahead!

Now that's a better view!

I am quite aware that while we are searching for high-end apartments with special features like appliances and dishwashers and Paul is asking about employed housekeepers, many people in Port Moresby are living life quite differently. I actually once told our housekeeper that our luxuryish apartment (O.K. it's luxury for PNG) was just too small. Then I thought about how her family of four likely lives in a place half this size.

Here is a look at a few local homes:

Houses built upon stilts are popular in Port Moresby. The houses stilted on land are said to prevent critters from entering the premises. 

We sought complexes in the Waigani area, the CBD area and near Ella Beach, which is the area southeast of the CBD. I bet you can't wait to see what we found.

CAIRNS'D AWAY - PART TWO

Cairns, Australia, isn't the mix of city or outback I was expecting. Knowing that Australia's largest cities are further south and all along the coastline, I assumed that Cairns would more resemble outback lands filled with dirt, mountains and lots of open space. Since expats - specifically commercial pilots - abound, I was expecting residential areas as well but nothing like a downtown cityscape.

Well I was right about the non-cityscape but my outback scenery was way off base. Cairns looks more like a rainforest than Singapore with the mix of tropical trees, bushes, high grasses and tree-filled mountains.

With a tropical landscape comes tropical weather (or is it the other way around?). Heat, humidity and heavy rain were more prevalent than kids at a toddler's birthday party. The warm air mixed with the clouds above to form mist along the skyline. Sometimes the mist seemed to descend from the heavens to embrace the mountains below and other times the trees seemed to expel the mist, breathing the mist toward the sky.

When the sun peered through the clouds it gave light to beautiful landscapes. We decided to take a drive north toward Port Douglas on an actual coastal road. The road was windy like any West Virginia drag and oftentimes framed by trees on either side, clasping branches above the road.

We were met by rockscapes, cascading waterfalls hidden around angled curves and vacant beaches.

The mood was gloomy most of the weekend as the rain dominated; luckily we were in chill moods and enjoyed hanging out with Beth in her condo watching endless hours of Olympics coverage (you know how much I love the Olympics!).

The humidity inside often seemed worse than the humidity that awaited outside. We think Beth's air conditioner was broken because the air was damp and the floors glistened with moisture.

The condo was so humid inside that when we returned Monday afternoon, the clothes inside my suitcase were still damp. Spending more than two years in Singapore, we cannot recall a time when our condo was ever that humid.

Our weekend away was informative on several levels. We learned why so many Aussie pilots choose to live in Cairns: they have solid infrastructure, good healthcare, Coles food stores and Target. Oh how I miss Target.

But the area did not appeal to me and neither did the constant rain. If given the choice between PNG and Cairns, Paul picks Cairns. If given the choice to live anywhere in the world, I pick somewhere else.