"When will come that time that I will have my happiness?
It will be when the clock chimes that hour: when my country has lived up to its ideals.
For now I am blessed within my family whom I love."

Or something like that...¹

The message is etched in a pitted window pane, in a bare room where dust motes drift in watery sunlight. The thinning panes of the window distort the view of a long-dry fountain outside, beyond which lies a ruined pier that would have so often been the focus of attention of the message's author, a former controleur in the Dutch colonial administration of the Banda Islands.

These former offices, an adjacent mansion and the walled garden in between form the Istana Mini or Little Palace, the island group's administrative center during the years prior to, and for a while after, Indonesia's independence. Built in the early 1820s, the imported glazed stone tiles of the floors, the wide collonaded verandahs and decorated high timber ceilings hint at former grandeur, but near total emptiness, the thick patina of dust on the scored floor tiles and the creeping mould that forces the paint from the walls create a despondent, abandoned air today.

Desert, Deer and Dragons

          Udabno's Church of the Annunciation           Lavra Monastery's upper yard and grottoes           Asomtavruli script and bullet hole above Lavra Monastery entrance           Fields behind the Lavra Monastery           Interior of Udabno's refectory with tables and last supper fresco           Udabno refectory front view           Udabno's main church (damaged deer fresco at mid right)           Udabno's Church of St George           Udabno's Church of the Martyrs, Azerbaijani border post visible at middle left distance           Door to the spring of Father David's Tears behind Lavra Monastery Udabno's Church of the Annunciation

Clinging to the remaining rock wall in the shattered cliff-top room, a dusty, defaced fresco depicted a haloed bloke reaching between a deer's legs. There had to be a story...

It's not just a touch of flu!

"Infected tonsils" the doctor pronounced and instructed the hijab-clad nurse hovering nearby to prepare a penicillin injection. This was NOT how we'd envisaged our visit to the Libyan desert oasis town of Ghadames to proceed. Amber was by now too ill to show much concern, but I was freaking out...

Not an Idle Dreamer

(A discourse on the hard labour involved in a life of frivolity and grand plans revealed)

It's been ages since I've posted to the dreaming track. I've been leaving all the blog work up to poor Doug, who does a much better job at blogging things anyway. I have been keeping myself honestly busy in other ways, though I have a great deal of trouble getting anyone to believe it :)

The only two people who do know how much work I put into dreaming up schemes are Doug and my mother (both of whom seem to think I have a touch of the old OCD). I feel compelled to defend myself against frequent accusations of idle hedonism from those who don't (I am only a hedonist on odd days) and I want to tell you all about the exciting plans we've been cooking up.