Day 4: Sherlock Holmes Review
Fine. I admit it. There’s no possible connection between “Sherlock Holmes” and “For the Man Who has Everything”*.
Nonetheless, here’s a review of “Sherlock Holmes”.
Three words: Violent. Funny. Excellent.
Visually it has exactly the beautiful, detailed darkness of the steampunk age that I hoped for. If I hadn’t just seen “Avatar”, I’d spend more time on how pretty it was (which is to say, very).
Also, it has Robert Downey Jr. Enough said. The man has enough charm to fall asleep for three hours and still be watchable. He is definitely in form. That didn’t surprise me either.
The thing that I loved (but didn’t expect) was the chemistry between Downey Jr and Jude Law. (The women were great too, but the film is mainly about the two men.) Every second of their dialogue was a delight.
Watson: “Are you. . . ?”
Holmes: “Am I. . . wearing a false nose? No.” [Then he jumps out the window – with his false nose on, naturally.]
Which is the main reason this, rather than “Avatar”, is a film I intend to own. Because it’s well written, well acted, well plotted, and worth watching over and over again.
*Except for a variety of tenuous ones, such as that both have a man in them.
Day 3: Survival tips
Side note: In an amusing counterpoint (amusing to me, anyway), I just wrote a blog celebrating my one-year wedding anniversay over at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com although if the lovely hubbie gives me a “Genuine Castaway Experience” he’ll be in biiiig trouble.
When it comes to water in the tropics, rain is your best bet. The best type of catcher is a large cloth, like a tarp or a sail (or, if you’re me, a voluminious skirt).
Some further advice on liquids (from http://www.survivaliq.com/ ):
| Fluid | Remarks | |
| Alcoholic beverages | Dehydrate the body and cloud judgment. | |
|
|
||
| Urine | Contains harmful body wastes. Is about 2 percent salt. | |
|
|
||
| Blood | Is salty and considered a food; therefore, requires additional body fluids to digest. May transmit desease. | |
|
|
||
| Seawater | Is about 4 percent salt. It takes about 2 liters of body fluids to rid the body of waste from 1 liter of seawater. Therefore, by drinking seawater you deplete your body’s water supply, which can cause death. | |
Day 2: Indonesian words you know, but don’t know you know
We’ll pretend for the sake of this blog that our hero’s location is one of the thousands of Indonesian island (a small one, clearly, and one without people). So if he discovers anyone, these words may be useful. Sorta. (‘C’ is pronounced ‘ch’ and ‘r’ is slightly rolled, and voila! You speak Indonesian.)
Food:
apel – apple
stroberi – strawberry
tomat – tomato
es krim – ice cream
es – ice
kecap – any kind of sauce
mi goreng – fried noodles (mi is noodles, goreng is fried) – it’s an Indonesian product.
teh – tea
kopi – coffee
rambutan/rambut – hairy fruit/hair
durian/duri – thorny fruit/thorn
Getting around:
taksi – taxi (possibly my favourite example of Indonesian spelling)
bis/bus – bus
passpor – passport
Religion:
Islam – Islam/a Muslim
Kristen – Christianity/a Christian
Protestan – Protestantism/a Protestant
Katolik – Catholicism/a Catholic
Budha – Buddhism/a Buddhist
Hindu – Hinduism/a Hindu
Other useful words:
buku – book
marbel – marble (also a yummy lollie; the lovechild of mentos and skittles)
demokrasi – democracy
guru – teacher (at school)
oranghutan – oranghutan (orang – person, hutan – forest)
Timor Timur – East Timor (ie Timur is East)
Botol – bottle
See? You’re practically fluent.
Day 1: Coconuts
Hello and welcome to a new theme and a new tale – the shortest so far. (In February stories will begin to tend toward a one-month length.)
Today’s blog is all about coconuts.
Coconut milk is recommended if you have food poisoning, because it’s packed with sugary hydration (and it’s delicious – young coconut milk tastes like lemonade, and I love it!) One tiny problem: it’s a natural diuretic. So keep that in mind on YOUR “Genuine Castaway Experience”.
Coconut trees are REALLY hard to climb. If you need to do it, do it fast – before hunger sets in. Strip off the soft outer layer of the coconut (if you’re up to making a fire, the brushiness will be useful to you) and use the tree itself to break the coconut open – it’s probably the only thing hard enough to work (unless you were thoughtful enough to bring a hammer).
I don’t recommend drinking or eating fermented coconuts. But that’s just me.
January 18: Don’t eat yellow snow, and don’t. . .
drink “Golden Lemonade”. I did a week ago today, and I’ve been sick ever since. It’s got all the ingredients of regular home-made lemonade, plus syrup, cordial, and egg yolk. It was pretty nice – like home made lemonade, but much more so. Powerful stuff.
Yesterday I drank undiluted cordial, which is apparently quite a good antidote to food poisoning (and no-one knows why). Even Dr Karl Kruzelnicki (so iconic here in Australia that we’ve learnt to spell his name – he’s the *ultimate* authority on SCIENCE) recommends it.
I bet Jimmy Bind wouldn’t have gotten sick. He probably has at least three cast-iron replacement stomachs in one of his tardis-like pockets.
January 17: Bali Bogan
For those who haven’t heard the term, “bogan” is Australian for “white trash”. They’re the kind of people who hear that the government is helping young families, and start popping out kids at one/nine months. They’re also the kind of people that all seem to end up in Bali.
My partner and I came home via Denpasar airport. It was terrifying stuff. The whole airport overflowed with shiny whiny Australians, who in turn overflowed from their teeny tiny outfits. There were a few skinny little bleached-blondes, but the overall average weight was obese. Lots of these weird and frightening creatures featured low-cut tops apparently designed to show off their saggy bits, plus singlet sleeves (or no tops at all, for the men) to show off their brilliant sunburn and/or equally saggy tattoos.
It was a scary thing.
Curiously, they wear their hair just like certain Russian women I observed in China – bleached-blonde, almost every single time. Why is that?
January 16: Kamikaze Horse
Finally, the blog I’ve planned for months: Mount Bromo.
Mount Bromo is an active volcano in East Java, Indonesia. It’s inside a national park, and even the surrounding area is high enough that I get altitude sickness every time I go there. It’s over 2,300 metres (yes, metres) above sea level, and is certainly not the highest point around. The region is about ten degrees cooler than nearby parts of Indonesia.
Since our camera responded to the Great Wall of China by going on strike, I’ve had to take these pics off the net.
After a lengthy drive (or a short walk/drive from the hotels nearby), most people take a horse across the dead edges of the national park. It is a vast plain of sand and mud and ash – black and grainy underfoot.
The whole region is peppered with volcanoes, and Bromo has two sisters.
Of the three volcanoes here, Bromo is the wide and steaming crater on the left. You can also just see the Hindu temple at its feet (the temple gets rebuilt fairly often, as you’d imagine).
Bromo exudes a constant cloud of sulphuric steam (usually MUCH more than is pictured here), and the volcano behind it puffs out smoke at least once or twice an hour. Nearby cities are absolutely filthy from volcanic smoke and steam and ash (and by “nearby” I mean several hours’ drive away). The air is still clearer than Beijing, though.
We crossed the sea of sand on the backs of rather unwell horses (passing many other mounds of green or yellow droppings). My partner’s horse never stopped drooling a white and green goo. As we began to climb winding and soggy paths up onto Bromo, my own horse revealed its own little quirk: given a choice between a path and a sheer cliff, it would always head directly for the cliff. That certainly enlivened the trip for me (plus the increasingly ungentle sloshing of my belly).
After a couple of kilometres spent riding suicidal and drooly horses, we reached the bottom of Bromo’s concrete stairs (built onto the part of the montain that is too steep for the horses). We dismounted and climbed by foot.
Bromo’s entire crater (which is about a kilometre in circumfrence) was shrouded by the smoke, and I knew enough to know things were about to get nasty.
Any reasonably healthy person can get up Bromo’s stairs, but I don’t think anyone would find them particularly easy. About halfway up, when I was breathing hard and trying not to think about the journey back (and how far away the nearest toilet was), the sulphur cloud hit us. It hit hard, and I physically restrained myself from vomiting.
Sulphur smells like rotten eggs. Climbing Bromo, olfactorily speaking, is a little like cracking several eggs into a bowl, leaving them in the sun for a week, then covering your head with a towel as you lean over the bowl and breath deeply.
Bromo is absolutely worth visiting, and the journey is relatively simple. But don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s easy.
Coughing, retching, and gasping, we reached the crater’s rim. When the wind blows the smoke away, you can see all the way down to the fissure where the sulphur comes from. What breath you have left gets taken away by the glimpse of earth’s secret fires.
Because it was wet season, Bromo was largely deserted. I looked for Fu and Jimmy and Mrs Fu, but saw nothing. My partner and I both heard the eerie howling of the wind inside the crater, however, so perhaps Mrs Fu’s ghost was wailing for revenge.
January 15: Story so far
Sun3
The name’s Bind. Jimmy Bind. On mission to China. I can tell the flight attendant wants me diced on a tiny tray. Time for some airline food.
*
He comes at me with a poison toothpick. I click my pen and squirt gas in his eye. He reels and hits the Wong twins. Two Wongs make it right.
*
The Wongs knock the flight attendant out cold. I unclick my pen and accidentally poison myself. When I wake up, we’re in Beijing. Smooth.
Mon4
Tracked the faux attendant to a meeting in Chinatown. Too bad Beijing IS Chinatown. Got distracted buying shoes. Stumbled across baddie.
*
Baddie is Mr Fu. The girl with him is Yen. I chase him and he throws a shoe at me. It explodes. He runs. I bind my wounds with duct tape.
*
I follow Fu and corner him in an alley. He throws some kung fu, and I throw some bricks. “Who’s your boss?” I scream.
“It’s her!” he weeps.
Tue5
I’ve a yen for Yen. She’s small, dark, and deadly, like an expresso. I track her by smell and find her sleeping. “Where’s the jewel?” I ask.
*
She yawns, briefly distracting me. Her leg wraps around my neck (also distracting). Suddenly she yields to my good looks and leans closer.
*
I wake up strapped to the side of the Great Wall; tied firmly with two rolls of my own duct tape. Curses!
Wed6
After a surprisingly good night’s sleep, I notice writing on the wall: “Forgive me, mother. The ruby is at. . .”
I fall.
*
I fall among Shaolin monks, who immediately attack! Luckily I have my blow-up gum and I spit it at them just in time. Kaboom! No more monks.
*
Due to budget cuts, my car is a matchbox car. Luckily it has vertical grip and a camera. I discover the ruby is at Solo – in Indonesia.
Th7
I go shoe-shopping, hoping to dispatch Yen and/or get hiking boots before I leave. An old saleswoman is suspiciously attractive.
*
I neck-chop the woman and she says blearily, “Yen? Is that you?”
“Yes,” I say (femininely).
She says, “Your stupid brother stole the ruby.”
*
Is my wall-writer Yen’s naughty brother? Is Fu as powerless as he seems? Is the boss Yen or her Mum? And are these boots the best or what?!
Fri8
Another flight. Fu appears dressed as a fat woman and slips me a note. “Meet me in Solo,” it says – “come solo!”
I nod.
*
“Yen’s my sister,” Fu explains over unripe-coconut milk. He tells me to search in the temple.
I put sleeping-gas in his drink just in case.
Sat9
The temple staff make me nervous after the Shaolins. Suddenly they spit acid! Luckily I’d already wrapped my torso in duct tape.
*
The holy men’s acid burns through my precious tape. I grab some gum but all it does is freshen my breath! The Indonesians close in. . .
Sun10
I can hear tourists jabbering above my cell. Even when I beg for help in nine languages, all they do is clap. My last meal was airline food.
*
I make a gun using duct tape and my matchbox car (which is made mainly of cast iron and black powder, plus of course matches), and wait.
*
Yen appears. As I scrabble to light the match to shoot her I accidentally click my pen, gassing us both. We instantly sleep. Together.
Mon11
Yen slaps me awake. I sit up fast. If she spoils my good looks all will be lost. “Where’d you take the ruby?” she says.
I say, “Huh?”
*
She shoves me back onto the floor and storms out, slamming the door so hard she breaks the lock. I run out and shoot the guard dead.
Tue12
I find Fu shoe-shopping, and demanded the truth. “It’s a bomb,” he says, showing me the glowing ruby,“and only a volcano can destroy it.”
*
“Give it to me,” I say.
He says, “No.”
“But –”
“No.”
“I –”
“No.”
“Pretty please?” I say.
He says, “Oh, if you put it like that. . . no.”
Wed13
Fu and I walk up Mount Bromo at dawn. He says, “I don’t like my family, and I don’t like you!” and shoves me into the steaming crater.
*
Sulphuric rain falls, choking my lungs and coating the crater’s sides in poison! Luckily my duct tape retains some adhesiveness. I climb.
*
Mrs Fu appears on the crater’s rim. “Not so fast!” She stomps on my fingers but I grab her ankles.
She tumbles down and smashes to bits!
Th14
The waiter at my hotel smells of sulphur. My foe, Fu! “Your mother is dead,” I say.
He says, “Thanks,” and stabs a fork into my shin.
*
I grab for his apron but the strings slip through my fingers. Luckily I catch a glimpse of an Aussie flag on his boxers. So that’s next.
Fri15
Yen sits beside me on my flight to Canberra. “Mum wanted you to have this,” she says – and kisses me on the cheek.
It burns! Acid!
*
I rush to the tiny bathroom but my face is permanently scarred. In a white-hot rage I pull Yen’s hair until she screams. Then I gas her.
*
Yen is arrested at the airport. That leaves Fu – and a bomb shaped like a precious jewel.
January 14: The Women
PS: My partner and I are safely home from China and Indonesia – with plenty more to blog about here in the next little while. Meanwhile, here’s the secret past of the two women of “The Spy Who Shoved Me”.
Mrs Fu
All mothers want what’s best for their children, and Mrs Fu is no exception. She can and will blow up anything if she believes one of her dear children would enjoy it. She spent most of her youth in orphanages after blowing up Beijing’s Temple of Heavenly Peace at the age of four (her parents were blamed, and imprisoned).
Yen
Yen, due to a deaf servant, was accidentally apprenticed to a circus from age two until age thirteen. She made the most of it, however, and can backflip until her attackers get dizzy and pass out. She can also kill a bull with her little finger (without breaking a nail).
January 13: Not Dead
I’m sitting in an internet cafe in Denpasar, sick and grumpy. So instead of blogging about Mount Bromo, here’s a few domestic Indonesian airline slogans I’ve collected along the way:
Wings Air – flying is cheap (especially when you recycle airplanes that would be illegal if you were an international airline)
Adam Air – now anyone can fly (but for how long?)
Sriwijaya Air – your flying partner (because our pilots like to nap during flights so you get to help fly the plane, hurrah!)
And Lion Air (our flight with them just ended; they have prayer cards in every seat pocket) – We make you fly (because we prefer to save funds by not using professional pilots at all).
