Well, I’m down for the count with only my second cold since leaving Morocco. Oddly, the last one, a year ago at this time, was while I was back in Morocco.
Then, it was easy to figure why. I was in the High Atlas Mountains and it was freaking cold at night, with ice cold water to boot.
Here, it’s still hot. It’s just as hot as it was when I arrived in April. Really, time is hard to judge here. I go to check my watch -- it has date and month – and realize, holy cow, it’s November. And now it’s not even just November, it’s halfway through November. That’s just insane, since it’s still *hot*.
But we are between seasons. The rains are coming, and they’re close. Like really close. It’s been storming more often lately, and soon, from what I hear, it will be a daily occurrence.
Oh, I’m not relishing those times.
We’re not talking Tallahassee T-storms here, where it rains hard from 3 p.m. to 3:15 p.m. daily and then is done until the next day. No, here, at least from what I have seen, it gets dark and ugly for hours before and then storms for about an hour. And sometimes, later that day, it does it again.
And since there’s absolutely no infrastructure, the world collapses. The already jammed streets simply stop, still filled with cars loaded with impatient, horn-honking passengers. The motorcycles, however, pull off on the side of the road – or the sidewalk – to wait it out. In the way of walkers, of course.
If there are sidewalks, they flood and cave in. For those that caved in long ago, the mud turns into lethal weapons, forcing walkers to walk in that little narrow strip of the street between the moving cars and the curb, which has already turned into a knee-deep rushing stream.
The rats and other varmints come out of hiding – I’ve already seen this. My daily rat count has jumped already.
The sandals aren’t going to cut it. Just thinking what’s in that mud and rushing water makes my skin crawls. I’m in the market for some boots. Wellies or something like that. I’ve seen people wearing them, but I searched high and low in my low-rent mall today and came up completely empty. I’ll check at Ace (it is The Place, after all) on Saturday, but I don’t get it. I know the motorcycle drivers don’t shop at the most expensive ex-pat mall. Those boots have to be somewhere for cheaper than Ace will have them – IF Ace has them. I couldn’t believe not a single store in the mall had anything that could remotely pass for waterproof boots. Where’s an LL Bean store when you *really* need one?
I’m looking for a poncho, too. I have a jacket, but it doesn’t work for the long-term – long-term being a 30-minute walk. It’s fine for 15 minutes of drizzle, but it doesn’t handle downpours well. Wish I’d brought my FSU one.
So, seven months down, doesn’t the rainy season sound like something to look forward to? It will likely continue until April, when my contract expires.
I’m wondering how it affects the entire city, especially those people – mostly motorcycle drivers – who basically hang out all day, hoping to pick up customers.
Just down the street from me (note: not the 3-4 guys who are basically camped out straight across from my apartment driveway), at the corner of the big road, there is such a group.
It’s mostly the same bunch of guys every day, and they’re really nice, even if I do maintain I HATE those darn bikes. They’ve occupied this little corner, which has trees and cement walls to sit on.
It’s also got, for some reason, a huge tank of water, and there’s usually someone napping by it. I leave the nappers alone but say hi to everyone else as I pass by at least twice a day. I guess my leaving of the napping folks alone is the main reason I didn’t get too close to that tank of water for a long time, but a couple months ago, it was devoid of folks catching Zs on the side and I realized the tank was full of koi.
The little corner is becoming more and more like someone’s living room. I mean, however bathtub-like it is, there’s a fish tank, and even newer, there’s a TV!
Yes, these guys have installed a TV in one of the trees. They’ve set a set in a Daddy-inspired wooden box and it’s on every time I walk through. In a common male-bonding theme, they’re glued to the set.
The guys sit on what appear to be former car seats or simply pillows that are resting on a big, long plank. Others nap by the koi tank. It’s really pretty amusing. It’s like crashing someone’s card game, but there are no cards. Mostly it’s just the TV, and lately they’re watching the SEA Games.
These are the regional athletic games, like the Pan-Am Games, only for here. Sadly, they’re in Indonesia, which has been one snafu after another. (Thank me here – I won’t get started.) Closing ceremonies are Nov. 22, although I’m sure the corruption/graft charges/trial/aftermath will continue long after Mac, Nic and Zac’s grandkids finish college.
Other upcoming events in the area include Julio Iglesias (insert holy cow moment now – “Iglesias” is in Word’s spell check), Elton John, Richard Marx and Kenny G.
Wake me up when Toby Keith arrives with Scotty Emerick, I know, but the whole Western infusion thing is bizarre. Ticket prices are comparable with what people would pay in the States, which means your average Indonesian will not be “Right Here Waiting” any time soon. (A hundred bucks for Richard Marx? God save us all.)
I’ve not a clue where the venues are, but Kenny G must be somewhere around my house, because suddenly, on the street out front, there are all kinds of posters for his show.
His is not a mug I need to see on my way to work.
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