NoCA bliss

Five months ago finds us desperately trying to organize an absentee move to northern California while preparing a 3 month escapade through asia and depositing a dissertation. Our final nights in our home there, the dissertation having been completed a few days earlier, were spent on the floor under a travel towl purchased for our trip. Our cars were on a truck headed to California (via God knows where), and our stuff was waiting to make the same journey in a wharehouse in Champaign. Finally we left it all behind and boarded our plane to Japan--with many a loose end behind. We didn't put our house on the market at the right time, for one. Nevertheless, the immediate needs upon landing in Japan and subsequently China were sufficient to distract us almost entirely from the worry of what we had left behind, what hadn't quite been completed, and the ambiguous status of all of our worldly posessions. Fortunately, travel with a backpack rapidly teaches you that you don't need much more than what fits in a backpack (and a lot of what one initially takes finds its way to the bin right quick) and a good companion. Hence, we didn't worry--much (acute moments of intense panic and stress and wondering if the house would ever sell etc., only to be replaced by the need to understand what the squiggly lines on the menu mean and whether this was the kanji for fish eyes or not...).
Needless to say, we survived Asia. Had a grand time. And never sold the damn house nor resolved many a loose end. Oh well.
Now we're in Northern California. One of us has a job, the other will soon. The house has an offer on it, and as the last loose ends are being removed, we find ourselves in the blissful cognizance of a bonanza of opportunity in our new home. In 2 hours we can go to the beach, the mountains, vineyards, etc. etc. People that live here don't know how good it is, and to realize this, we highly recommend a long stay in the mid-west. No offence to those that live there and love it, we simply didn't feel at home amidst the corn and soy, with the closest mountains hundreds of miles away (and not really mountains, some of us would argue). In a month or so, we have moved in, been to Tahoe, Napa, Sonoma, San Francisco, Oroville, Fresno, Merced, ... Life is good, quite frankly, and the only regrets we might have now are to have worried so much about things that are now resolved. Of course we are a little stressed about what we'll do next weekend: skiing, yosemite, beach, or wine?

Explanation

Early December of 2006 found myself and my wife enjoying the balmy weather of Bali, Indonesia. Due to some fortune and good sleuthing on the internet (www.tripadvisor.org), we had found a well recommended place to stay during our first days there. That it was 3 hours from the airport was something we didn't discover til just before arriving, but the driver and the drive weren't entirely objectionable after the 3 hour flight from Singapore. Our place was in Amed, on the Northeast coast. A quiet, small village on a black beach loaded with fishing boats of the kind with outriggers and a simple sail, some with long-tailed motors. Our days were spent snorkeling, swimming, relaxing, as well as our nights... rough life.

While most nights were tranquil and utterly gorgeous with crystal skies and a full moon, one was punctuated by a visit that proved memorable. Distant thuds bordering on 'booms' woke us this particular night, and finding it hard to sleep through the curiosity, my wife made out to the balcony to look and confirm that the sounds were of the fishing boats being put out to sea, fishermen taking advantage of the light of the full moon. She enjoyed the night for a period and then deigned to leave the door open, turn off the air conditioning, mosquitos be-damned, and have a go at a few more hours of sleep. This didn't last.

It began with a rustling sound I was willing to pass off as the wind, but a panicked squeak from my companion and the insistance of an animal's presence forced me to shake of the delicious sleepiness that was beckoning and pay attention. Of course, I saw nor heard nothing. So when the scream 'A RAT!!!' went up in the air and my wife went fleeing to the bathroom, I was forced to scrounge for my glasses, turn on the light, and make a better examination of things. Sure enough, a rat indeed and perched atop of the curtain rod examining me with otherwise curious and tender eyes.

This wasn't amusing. I have nothing against rats, even find them (the wild kind) rather industrious and clever. Especially this unassuming wood-rat who had the misfortune of wandering into our room. We left the door open, after all. But it was 4am and I knew that escorting this guy to the door was NOT going to be fun. That, and I had an audience, as I was being watched from the window of the bathroom (duly locked) with something that should have been fear (my wife has little fondness for rats), but looked more like great amusement. Thus with some caution I set about the task of showing my friend to the door. Success, or so I thought, was mine at one moment, and I returned to bed. My wife, after considerable coercion, emerged from the bathroom. And shrieked. And slammed the door so hard I began to wonder if we should check out early. Apparently the rat hadn't left. Sigh. Another effort, this time successful, again with some caution so as not to excite it nor corner it and to best lead it to the open door... it finally left. Peace. Sleep. Lasting fame, in at least one person's mind.

Biologist by training, cautious by experience, I thus earned the rather auspicious label of 'cautious biologist' (not without great mockery). Fair enough.

Bali.