SMACK IT! SMACK IT WITH YOUR FLIP FLOP!

The warehouse was next to the old port, and the owner had conceived no problem renting it out, no questions asked, seeing as no freighters stopped there anymore. The copra harvest had lessened every year, and the channel had not been maintained since the war.
And, allegedly, it was a dangerous place. Things had gone to seed.
Not at all like the old days, sir!

Many of the outsiders had returned to the mainland and the original inhabitants who had never left had gradually retaken most of the coastal area. They no longer wore kumelau, prefering store-bought garb, and tattooing was largely a thing of the past, though the concentric swirl patterns were now a favourite decorative painting motif.
Their diet had, allegedly, improved. Spam was on the menu.
The Chinese shopkeepers had mostly remained.

It rained a lot there. From June through the end of the year, drizzle, downpour, showers, squalls. Very green. Lots of insects. Little brown bugs everywhere.
Ulan-maulan mapabangak lah.

Not cold, though. Ninety plus everyday. Thirty degrees Celsius.
Very very humid. Like wearing a wet towel all the time.

We put the crates in one part of the warehouse, and made the other part as comfortable as possible. Tables, chairs, frames for the netting. Drying racks. It would be quite a stay. Bought plates, cups, bowls, and cooking equipment from Mr. Liong, and except for occasional trips to the airfield stayed at the docks. When you have to wash your clothes every day they never really dry, and become hospitable environments for many things besides mildew. Strong soaps, and hang them near a fire. They end up smelling like petrol and chemicals.
And so do you.

Pesticide exposure remains a possible issue in places like that.

Fortunately, you can smoke inside. Nobody minds.

Yesterday evening Tim mentioned Tungsten Carbide, and it rained off and on throughout the night. All of that, and the pipe I had smoked earlier in Chinatown, which I've owned for a very long time -- acquired it when I still lived in Berkeley, that long ago -- brought back memories of the warehouse. Spam is actually quite edible, but don't use soysauce when cooking, it's salty enough already. Plenty of chilies, and some shredded ginger.

The other two gentlemen smoked horrible local Marlboros. Having a pipe set me apart, and my consumption of tobacco was also far, far less. By the way, did you know that the metal wires of pipe cleaners rust in a rotten climate? Eventually the damned things are useless.

[In many parts of the world famous cigarette brands are made under license using near-approximate tobacco, or whatever the market will accept. They taste quite different. Sometimes they're very nasty. Like floor sweepings.]

We shall have some tea from the thermos on the table which Ah-Kian put there this morning. Kindly pass me your lighter.



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