Home Sweet Hut

On the 13th of March the Airlie Beach jungle hit became my longest stopping point since leaving Boston.

The rains here have been more torrential than I’ve ever seen anywhere.  Some local governments have declared a state of emergency and the tiny airport nearby is all but underwater.

Last week I took advantage of a brief break in the downpour to walk to the grocery and found some poor bastard’s day-sailer smashed up on the sidewalk.  He’s going to be in for quite a surprise when he comes up to his beach house for the winter.

Better check that mooring next time, dude.

With roads still impassible and the outdoors effectively rendered into a massive shower, I’ve no choice but to hunker down and work on my rice cooking skills.

The locals had the same idea, and the hut I have been sharing with transient Europeans has been invaded by moths and grasshoppers the size of iPhones.

The place is pretty spartanly appointed with not more than a college dorm size fridge, porcelain pooping chair and an ice-cold shower that makes you feel like you’re getting subdued at a civil rights rally in the 1960′s.  At least the congregated roof is solid enough to keep most of the water out.

There is a WiFi access point in the middle of the residential village.  But of course, the router is quite touchy and creeps along at a dismal 40 Kb/second making Google Earth or porn downloads only feasible in the most desperate of times.

Now I’m borrowing a connection from an upscale hotel lobby down the street… hoping if I hang around here long enough one of these waiters will bring me a whiskey.