Right, so who wants to pay me for having updated my blog?

I feel somewhat of a hypocrite as I curse the lack of new activity on Sparkie's junkyard and P2006 while knowing that I have posted nothing here. Although not as much of one as Adam trying to complain at me while studiosly ignoring a site he set up half a degree ago!

Anyway, I though posting randomness might assuage some of that guilt. And inform those of you other than the six people I am currently with what's going on in the ever-thrilling world of Antimini.

You know this see-the-world, seek-adventure thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. So why not try staying at home and being a normal person? You know - live with parents, get job, live dull pointless and importantly stress-free existence for a while - sounds fun huh? Turns out I've made some wrong decisions in my life for that. Oddly enough, none of the jobs for temp work in my area say "Requirements: Good Science Degree from Top University." What's wrong with these people? Apparently previous experience is more what they're after. In fact that's all they're after. Why did I spend all that time studying when I could have been doing crappy jobs? What an idiot!

I go into the job centre and a man who doesn't care looks at a sheet I give him and says "Ok, good you're looking for jobs. Sign here please." And I want to say - 'Excuse me, I think I'm in the wrong place. I went to Cambridge. Cambridge? Can I have a job now please?'

In Cambridge at the mo. No jobs here either, but never mind. I realise that when (if) I do manage to get some minimum wage employment I will no longer be able to bugger off to see my friends for a week. And where's the fun in that?

Maybe I'll just enjoy being a waster and sponging off the government a leetle bit longer while lying in and laughing at my friends who have to go off to lectures. Unemployment ain't so bad! :D

Off the island.

There was more that happened in the last few days but there was never time to write in the rush of leaving. One of the best parts of the whole two months was the trip to Santa Clara on Franco and Richard’s boat. It’s just next to Robinson Crusoe, round the back where the airstrip is – inhabited by seals and sea-birds. We found a pink-footed shear water nested under the single park-owned hut, and disturbed numerous crabs and a whole colony of fur-seals while making our way up the cliff. Getting onto the island was an adventure in itself – as in South Africa it was a case of steering the boat as close as possible to the treacherous rocks and leaping off when the sea brought the boat up to the level of the rocks. This time there was the added fun of still feeling sea-sick while doing it and then having to form a chain to get our piles and piles of bags safely off the boat and far enough away from the waves and rock-pools not to get wet. Then there was edging round some cliffs clinging on with our hands while trying to carry large bags, then trying to avoid the occasional huge waves and slippery algae over the flat rocks (most of us failing on both counts), then we (mainly Libby) molested some marine mammals in order to get past them, and finally all our things were carried up the cliff to the grassy plateau where the house was.

Due to most of us failing to keep our feet dry, our hiking boots were piled up in a wall above the newly built fire to fry them. Cooking began as things were unpacked, as did drinking. Unlike the rest of them I am unable to develop any sort of fondess for beer – but the guys had thoughtfully brought along some yummy vodka and orange. I generally blame Franco for giving me more of it than I might otherwise have consumed, all before the lentil dinner was ready. I then spent some time ranting at Franco in very bad Spanish about how beautiful the stars were. And they were – ours were the only lights for miles around – we were in the middle of the ocean with the entire milky way spread out above us! Libby and Richard went off to play with some very expensive night-vision binoculars (for the nocturnal shearwaters that occasionally flew over head making creepy noises) and I waved my socks in front of the dying fire.

When it got late and people were starting to bagsy bunks in the house (apart from the guys who kept getting up to shine a torch at the boat far below and worry about how much water it was taking in) I left my hiking boots on the edge of the now gently glowing cinders and crawled into my sleeping bag and onto a plastic foam mattress. Some time later someone helpfully decided to put more wood on the fire. Going outside Erin was greeted by the sight of meter high flames shooting out from my slowly melting left boot. She bravely kicked it out of the fire while Franco stood in the door way and told me cheerfully (as far as I could understand it) “your shoes are dead!” My shoe was indeed somewhat dead.

By bashing the deformed plastic I was able to squeeze my foot inside and hobble back to the boat. And then all the way back up the hill once we got back to town. The next day’s trip to Rabenaal required the borrowing of Franco’s rather large boots and wearing almost all the pairs of socks I owned. It was just lucky that the great boot melting only occurred near the end of my trip, since shoe shops are not abundant on Robinson Crusoe. On the morning I left I dropped the boots into the large metal bin on the side of the street.

Almost two months after arriving I one again climbed aboard the small plane and headed for the mainland along with Erin and about 20 boxes of live lobsters. Spiny lobster fishing is the main occupation of the islanders and us gringas had been lucky enough to be treated to a lovely lobster soup the night before courtesy of Franco and Richard. As we flew back to Santiago the lobsters probably increased in value by the mile. Needless to say I did not choose to purchase a lobster dinner while in the city. Instead I stayed at a youth hostel and found a market for cheap clothes shopping!

The end of the story for anyone who hasn’t noticed my sudden reappearance is that I’m back in England – just in time for another winter. J But in the mean time there’s blackberries and pumpkins and dew dripping cobwebs in the sun. And here there’s the internet and hot water, tv watching and driving lessons, my mum’s cooking (and my dad’s ain’t bad either) and my brother’s AS work, telephone conversations, familiar faces at parties and a houseful of friends.

I’d now rant about how wonderful my friends are but I don’t want to make them big-headed. So maybe I shall occasionally keep you updated about my life, or give you some interesting things I have written, but I make no promises. All adventures from now on are likely to be of the more mundane variety.

6th Sept...Explanations and food!

On Saturday I read a book...In Spanish. Get in! OK so it wasn’t exactly a novel, more a children’s book with large friendly pictures. In fact it was Winnie the Witch (‘La Bruha Winnie’) which I was very excited about finding in a bookshop in Santiago. It turned out to be written in some crazy form of past tense that I don’t ever need to learn, but, armed with a dictionary, Libby and I were none-the-less able to decipher the thrilling tale. I now know how to say ‘magic wand’ in Spanish (always useful). I then forced Erin and Chupa to listen as I attempted to relate the details of the intricate plot, converted into the present tense. By which time I suppose you think you deserve an explanation of who all these people are and I have finally reached the point where I’m forced to tell you what’s going on around here.

I am currently living in a wooden house (with a corrugated iron roof that looks like it’s all been screwed together and which shakes when the wind blows), on a hill of mud at the top of a mud road with a concrete path up the side on the Eastern side of a small town (500-600 people) in a valley on a volcanic island some however many hundred miles off the coast of Chile. I can’t seem to find that handy little tourist pamphlet thingy or I’d be able to give you more exiting and specific historical and geographic details but I think this’ll do for now. I think you’d be unlikely to come here as a tourist anyway – but hey if you wanna come visit me feel free! (NB further research gives a figure of >400 miles)

So anyway, I am living in aforementioned wooden box with three other people. I shall now do you some brief biographies in order to assist your comprehension of my ramblings...
Erin: La Boss. In that it’s her project – the beginning of a long American PhD. She’s been coming to the island for about six years having previously been involved in a study on some endemic and endangered sea-birds. Vegetarian.
Libby: From Washington State (apparently no-where near DC; am learning lots of American geography!). Has just finished her Masters. Did two years of Spanish in ‘high school’. Vegetarian. Likes opera, birds and getting up early.
Kelly: Graduated from APU two years ago. Often works as a vet nurse while in England. Likes working, cookies, walking very fast and her Argentinian boyfriend. Speaks Spanish.
Other important people...
Chupa: Islander who works as a guide during the summer. Likes conservation and being only man and hence the most manly. Knows only swear words and the word ‘lesbian’ in English.
Pau: Lives down the road. Works with us three days a week. Is possibly housewife the rest of the time.
Sari: Islander, helps out on her weekends, incredibly good at spotting nests, seems to like my dancing.
Roak: Chupa’s dog, a golden retriever who comes along with us most places.
There are also various friends of Erin’s and Chupa’s who often come visit in the evenings such as Peri who has a cute three-year-old son, and Franco who has four horses.

OK, are you satisfied yet? Look how much I told you! I think it’s very generous of me. :P

The weekend before last there was a disco on Saturday and a bar open on Friday (I think rare events). There are numerous things I didn’t expect to find on Robinson Crusoe’s ‘desert island’ including: Street lamps, A disco, A circus, and also Bailey’s. I can complain only about the street lamps which are everywhere, since they confuse nocturnal sea birds looking for the sea and nocturnal foreigners looking for the stars. I should also admit that when I say circus I mean two circus people who do classes and shows with the children – but it was still cool – they juggled fire! Well the 18 year old did. Not sure what their health and safety regulations are like around here. :S

Last weekend was a turning point on the graph of ‘mood’ against ‘time’. I got bogged down in a lot of maths trying to work out whether it was the bottom of a y = x2 curve, or if I should shift it to y = (x + 10)2 – 100, or if the change point was actually going from –ve to +ve; anyway I think there’s going to be lots of going up from now on, possibly even at an accelerating rate. I studied lots of Spanish which made me feel all knowledgeable and motivated and capable of learning. I also like waking up warm and in the daylight and not having to hike up hills, which may be why the weekend was accompanied by unexpected cheerfulness. However work this week is also going well – the end of the third week seems to have finally brought a reasonable degree of proficiency at most of the multitude of tasks we spend our days doing. It feels good to go off with Kelly and Libby and get some things done in the necessary time without forgetting things or having to follow other people. I’ll tell you about all the work another time.
Which probably doesn’t actually matter since I’m pretty sure you’ll be getting a load at once. The normal problem with the internet is getting a slot; this was made impossible when normal Don-Internet left on the navy boat and there is now only someone in the library during working hours (when we are, unsurprisingly, working). The ultimate problem is a sign saying ‘sin connexion’ on the door of the biblioteque. Apparently last year the internet worked for about two weeks out of 3 or 4 months. However I remain optimistic, in complete denial about the possibility that I might actually have to live *without* the internet (you know like people in the olden days).

Erin has a laptop and Kelly brought some music. Whenever ‘Mr Brightside’ comes on I remember the graduation party – crazy dancing Sonya (which Ravi has an awesome picture of), running off with Fiona, attempting to forcibly prevent Adam from leaving, boogey-ing with Raviji, hugging Rob, talking to Angie, and going to find Dunni in a big circle of M people. I’ve been thinking lots about all the good times I’ve had with so many people and wonder what some of you are up to (damn facebook deprivation!). I miss you guys. I also miss my music, DC++, a digital camera, freely available fruit and vegetables (man Adam would love it here if it wasn’t for the complete absence of grapes), meat and chocolate.

Fresh fruit and veg come on the Navy boat once a month so you have to make it last – apart from Chard which we go and pick from a patch of green along the sea-shore in front of the town. Erin and Libby are vegetarian (mostly) so I’ve had to learn to cook meals not based on meat. Saying that, in the past week we did get delivered to our door an entire leg of a goat which ended up sitting in a bucket in our kitchen. Chupa cooked it for us – it was tasty but impossibly chewy. I have also cooked crab all by myself. Yes I am now a gourmet chef! Except that it turns out it’s really easy – you just dump them in boiling water for five minutes and they go all red. Cooking them was certainly a damn site easier than eating them – though they were yummy! As for chocolate – I have successfully broken my addiction. Yes, that’s right – I do not *need* chocolate! Unfortunately I have found a replacement in the form of Dulche de Leche (sweet of milk) – which seems to be common in South America, and is known here as ‘manjar’. Correct pronunciation: man-haar. Our pronunciation: man-jar.

The first rule of manjar is: there is nothing that cannot be improved by the addition of manjar. The second and third rules are also the same. You are allowed to talk about it though.

It is like a thick sticky caramel, dark brown and sweet and syrupy and horrendously calorific. We usually have it on biscuits for pudding – though it can also be added to apples, porridge and even Milo. For porridge I have finally discovered that wonders of good old fashioned jam – yummy. Although, now I mention it, Milo is pretty much hot chocolate though it doesn’t say so on the packet – I’m drinking some now as I write this on the dining room table and I couldn’t tell the difference. Milo or coffee or just plain hot water are vital for being warm around here – in the evenings in our completely un-insulated house, or at lunchtime in the cold forest from a thermos lid.

OK I think that was a bit much information about food there. I’ll stop now – it’s almost 10pm – past my bedtime. Heck, I don’t need the internet to communicate with you – good night guys!

xxx