Driving Blind

Sheesh!  S’been a wild and crazy week; work, drink coffee, eat, work, drink coffee, little bit of sleep, drink coffee, work, drink coffee, work, eat, work, little bit of sleep … am completely knackered but have that wonderful sense of happiness and fulfilment that being in the Islands gives you.

Have also got some fun little observations for you over the next few days, but for now, until I get some shut-eye, this will have to do.

Given how much of my everyday schedule involves wistful sighs as I reminisce about the things I miss most from my years in the Pacific, it always comes as a surprise when I arrive back on-island and am reminded of something which is so typically Melanesian, and which I always marvelled at before, but which has completely slipped from my awareness until I see it again.

Case in point was what struck me after striding purposefully out of the arrivals hall on Monday, past all the confused, first-timers staring wild-eyed and paralysed with fear at the menacing-looking savages which they imagine are and drooling over their succulent hambones .  I smugly head straight for the taxi stand, and even just the 20 metre walk through the oppressive heat has me dripping by the time I collapse into the front seat, to the welcome, air conditioned darkness … hang-on, darkness?

As a taxi passenger in the Solomons, one doesn’t have to travel much further than a kilometre or so before one’s neck starts to develop a permanent, aching stoop.  This is a result of the DIY window tinting that adorns every taxi here, and which almost completely blacks-out the windscreen, apart from a narrow, horizontal strip across the lower 1/3 – the cause of my acquired, tropical upper spinal kyphosis.

Now I can appreciate that a taxi driver’s complete privacy is conducive to receiving blow-jobs in the front seat during quiet moments at the taxi stand, but surely being able to see out the window is somewhat of an occupational requirement, and a greater priority for the sustainable economic development of the taxi driver and his family?

It’s good to be back!

Admittedly Solomon Islands is not the only country I’ve visited where the transport workers aren’t as alert as they should be.  Pic:  http://tomstock.photoshelter.com

City of Cull-cha

"So what kind of place is Adelaide, anyway?"

My friend, Mr Belfast tells me it's the serial killer capital of Australia.  Other reports make mention of bikie-dominated organised crime.  MasterChef would tell us it's all Asian gastro-culture, or young engineering students who also excel at the culinary arts.  And art itself seems to be a biggie for Adelaide as well; a thriving scene of galleries, live music and comedy.

But what strikes us as we come down off the Adelaide Hills to the flatlands and the coast?  A scary, black, hot-rod ute with male and female mannequin heads sticking up out of the covered tray, their faces set in frightened screams and their manacled feet hanging out the end.  An Australian flag flying above a surfboard bolted to the roof, and bumper stickers featuring skulls, bourbon and porn ... and this one gem which I particularly liked,

"The real forgotten race (White Australians)".

What kind of a place is Adelaide?  Serial killers, bikies, avant garde art installations and racism - I think this particular road user just about covers them all.  Lock yer doors, people!

Welcome to Adelaide, where the locals are real friendly.  Pic: http://www.sodahead.com