Being Rich

A good friend reprimanded me (out of love, of course) for my lack of blogging over the last....well....9 months basically. I never actually thought anyone checked my blog in the first place, but this dear lady checks it everyday, so she tells me. Boy, did that make me feel like a real schmuck. When I made the lame yet very truthful excuse that I'm just not a blogger, her reply was short and sincere. "No kidding." So, Patsy Day, this post is dedicated to you.

(And for the record, I write in my journal every night, so I have record of all the things that happen. I just get too lazy to hook my computer up to the ethernet cable in our freezing lounge and type in wool gloves just to keep my fingers from freezing instead of just writing in my journal from the comfort of my cozy, duvet-covered, queen-sized bed.)

My life here is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. My grandfather on my mom's side (we called him "Papa") had a great sense of humour. Whenever we'd be sitting outside by the pool or enjoying a nice meal, he'd often say one of my favourite phrases ever: "I wonder what the poor people are doing today?" Now, of course, he didn't mean it in a snobby or rich-person sort of way. It was just the realisation that life at that moment was perfect and that he felt like the richest, luckiest man in the world for that brief time. I found myself saying that yesterday as I enjoyed a coffee with my lovely friend, Rachel. We were sitting at Fidel's (a cafe on Cuba Street.....and yes, they do have some weird obsession here with Cuba) in the sun-soaked side porch area surrounded by the coolest mixture of hipsters and business people also enjoying the sunshine and the company of their mates. It was as simple as that, but I felt very lucky and satisfied (plus, I reckon the caffeine had just kicked in.) The weather here is gradually getting warmer and less rainy, yet still as unpredictable as ever. With the sun comes an enormous increase of activity in town. People come out of the woodwork and swarm the streets as if this were the last day of sun ever. It's almost like walking around a festival of sorts with buskers and magicians and Hare Krishna people and people selling jewelery and sausages. And those are just people with an agenda. Most of the people on the streets are uni students or people with nothing better to do (I'm starting to think that people don't actually work here). And these people are gorgeous and very stylish, every last one of them. It's like they all just walked out of an Urban Outfitters, eventhough that doesn't even exist here. Where they get their good style from is beyond me. In addition to the beautiful town and people, I also have an amazing job. My boss is incredible, and my hours couldn't be better. I work at night mostly, so I get to enjoy the day in town before work and then hit the town after work and go dancing. The boys I take care of are adorable little devils. They dance on every last nerve I have and somehow make me melt just seconds later by asking for a cuddle or a kiss. They drive me mental sometimes, and other times I swear I couldn't live without them. I've made a few friends here as well. It's a good feeling walking down the street and seeing familiar faces. I even find myself having to add descriptions to people when I list them in my phone. For example: I now know THREE girls named Rachel. So to keep them straight in my phone, one is Rachel Church, one is Rachel Ohio, and one is Rachel Striped Shirt. It may seem lame to you, but it makes me happy that I have to create such a complex system due to the sudden influx of Rachels/friends in my life. (I suppose I could just ask for their surname, but why mess with a system that works, right?)

So, as I sit out in the sunshine drinking a cuppa while looking out into the rolling hills surrounded by the bluest sea you've ever seen and watching all the white sails gracefully dance across the ocean, I think to myself, "I wonder what the poor people are doing today?"