for three months now we've been living in a narrow room, perhaps 3m by 6 m, in a converted office building next to the mortorway. we have one window that looks out into the carpark. the side of the building to our left has been converted into a great billboard that has been covered with three different adverts: the first was innocuous (milk), the second offensive (tv show - don't ask), and the current one is ...mmm, colorful (petrol). across the carpark and beyond to the left are old brick buildings. the farther ones simply make for interesting lines, chimneys, false fronts detailing that is left out of most modern buildings. but the one directly across from us is someone's loft apartment. they have many windows and a balcony; the front door is grey painted planks a high step above the slanting pavement. during the days the lady hangs out her laundry and it blows in the wind that is always coming up from the direction of the sea. the sea, or more properly, the gulf lies out to the right, both to the west and east. you have to stand on the end of the bed and lean against the wall and nearly press your face up against the glass to get a good view, but you can see it. away to the east are islands and the far curve of the mainland. it has to be a clear day to see very far. some days the gulf is filled with sails, bits of small white hardly moving. they look like bits of torn paper thrown up into the wind and coming down in whatever fashion the sprite chooses. the near island is a volcanic cone, covered in greens that change according to the light. on bright days it is a verdant green, bespeaking much life and growth, beckoning the city-worn to come and rest in the quietude. on days that are dim with clouds or mists or rain, it becomes sullen and foreboding, reminding one that it is after all still an active volcano, merely resting between fits of activity. far out in the distance, over the greyness of the water are greater islands. the mountain range can be seen on days that are not too hazy. they seem like entirely other worlds from our little room, so far away and beyond us. the center of the city lies in the middle distance, dominated by tall buildings and towers. here and there gaps can be identified as relics of the old city or bits of reserve greenery.

i didn't like it much at first. it's small and finding places to put things so they would be "away" was a challenge. the wireless signal, while legal and on the up-and-up, is patchy at best and subject to frequent bouts of mind numbing slowness or vanishes all together. we have to share a narrow kitchen fitted out with ill-tempered electric burners (more than half of which at the moment do not work - that makes for 13 people trying to cook on three burners!) and not very good pots and pans. it took some time to get a feel for other's cooking schedules and routines. S. cooks only rice and something based on kim chee. A. stir fries copious amounts of vegetables every couple of nights. K., the resident 'artist', bakes on most nights - a mix of chicken and vegetables coated with a sweet chili sauce. we weave our way around them, making do with as few pans and burners and counter space as possible. but gradually somehow it's grown on me. the near constant chatter of voices in the lounge in the early evening while not always pleasant, is more friendly than the motorway. cooking supper often combines conversation with people whose only other contact with america has been through tv and movies. watching our neighbours across the court coming and going though the day. i've developed a fondness for our neighbours particularly the lady. she has hair of a lovely silver white and nearly always wears a skirt, knee length, with high socks and a layers of sweaters. she will sit out on the balcony at a small table brought out specially for sitting in the sun; she will read for hours, drinking coffee (it must be coffee, that's all people drink here). as the sunlight become warmer, she'll gradually unlayer like a flower shaking off dew. first her hat and scarf, then outer sweater. what view out the window that is not taken up with buildings is filled with sky. the city is nicknamed 'sky city', whether for the tower that dominates the skyline or for the sky itself. it is the most dynamic sky that i have yet lived under. being so close to the sea it is never cloudless. they pile up high creating fantastic cities, full of towers and hills in mimicry of the one below. the winds are constantly in motion, often sweeping roughly across this narrow strip of land, surprised to be running into something so foreign on their journey across the wide ocean. they hurry the clouds along with little care for their elaborate configurations. sunlight and shadow, rain and brightness follow so quickly one on the other that at times it will be raining through the bright sunlight and blue skies.

still it is not an ideal place by any measure. we frequently talk of finding somewhere new but assignments will pile up or the internet will die for days and we become distracted. well yesterday while the wireless signal was momentarily alive we went looking. this time something came up, something that was less than where we are now and they weren't put off right from the outset because there were two of us. the evening twilight saw us squelching through the mud of the cricket pitch and rugby field taking a short cut through the domain. the place was beautiful;
third level over looking the trees and sweep of grass we'd just walked across. windows facing east and north; open kitchen with gas stove and granite countertops; drawers and cupboards to spare; a real bathroom with shower and tub; bedroom and closet; and to cap it off, a study. by the time we'd walked home we'd decided that we could afford whatever up front costs there would be to move in. the day was spent with a vague anxiousness and frequent glancing at the phone to make sure that i'd not missed a call. i found myself thinking almost nostalgically about our flatmates here, wondering if we'd somehow run into them after we were gone. as hour after hour passed without hearing anything, we grew less and less confident. by the time the call actually came it was not much of a disappointment.
"we've decided that we really don't have enough room for a couple. good luck with your searching." (having personally packed nearly all of my current possessions into two suitcases i personally found the statement somewhat bemusing. but such preconceptions are part of life.)

as i said, i've become used to living here, almost to like it and think of it as a home of sorts. but then the wireless signal dies, or have to wade through the puddle left in protest by the water spirit (i still haven't figured out how to appease him), or walk into the kitchen to find it a near disaster zone and i can't help but think that for what we're paying we shouldn't have to wade through puddles or clean up after other people. so i'm left not knowing quite what to do, not wanting to give into that part of me that says i'm too good for this place, that i deserve better. i tell that part of me to stop being such an over privileged american and that if its enough for the others who live here then its enough for me. i don't want to be like most of the other americans i've met down here, supported by someone else's money. i guess that leaves us in our 3m x 6m room for the time being.