Fat Burning Boot Camp

Given the sucess the Lady of Leisure had at the fat burning boot camp run in the early summer, she decided that, it was only fair to share the pain and hunger, and promptly signed me up for Boot Camp 2. Only now it has been rebranded. The "gym" hosting the camp, Shakti. is more meditation than military, so the camp has been renamed the Wellness Bootcamp. I thought to myself, "bit of yoga, some spinning, cut ot mid-week beers and mid-afternoon sweets, piece of piss"

Yesterday morning arrived, 6:30 am and I was jogging up and down a road in Kingston., when normally never even walk anywhere. Gasping for breath, searing pains in my legs and chest, I made it back to Shakti to discover that was simply the warm up. What happened to the first session being an assessment? We were straight in with all kinds of lunges, stretches, weights, and high knees all over the place. Always accompanied by the obligatory and very annoying monotonous thump of mid-nineties house music (140bpm).

The class was mostly female, and largely had people not making too much of an effort on each exercise. A few skinny kids, who shouldn't be there in the first place were putting us all to shame. After 40 minutes, I collapsed. I was exhausted though I think there was a little left in my legs and arms if I needed it. It was my head spinning and my stomach churning that forced me to stop. The urge to projectile vom over the sanctimonious skinny cow in front of me was almost overwhelming. I didn't, rather I sat down and closed my eyes taking slow controlled breaths. I did notice that those apparently making little effort managed to make it to the end of the class. Who's laughing now?

The over all target is to lose 19 pounds in the 8 weeks, which might be a bit ambitious, but it looks like I have to set myself a number of interim targets, like finish a class first. If only to stop the instructors patronising me to the Lady of Leisure, by calling me a "trooper".

The incongruity of it all...

Jamaica can be frustrating, to the point of extreme irritation to which my diatribes in earlier postings can attest. My limited expatriate experience may possible ascribe many of the issues as peculiarly Jamaican, when they could be standard fare for any similar posting. Work too has issues that have probably more to do with the management ethos, and the chaotic nature of massive growth of the organisation than anything to do with the local workforce.

So I will try to get some perspective and get some balance. Lets weigh it up....
Pro
I live in the tropics tax free, in a massive house that I could only dream about in Ireland and have my own pool. How will I ever move back to a mere 2000 square foot hovel in Dublin?
Con
Everything thing here is bloody expensive, from food, school fees to the extortionate electricity bills which appear arbitrarily calculated on ability to pay which quickly eats up any tax free benefit and more.
Pro
I am relatively senior in an organistion that has become regionally important and globally known. Work can be incredibly interesting (for an accountant). I am paid as much or more than I could currently expect back at home and I have visibility.
Con
I have hit a glass ceiling in the organisation and have to rely on the company growing for career progression. Work can be incredibly dull, as well as being incredibly stressful with staff (both expatriate and local) not really getting it. (This might be an indictment of my delegation / training skills but I prefer to think of myself being the only clever / diligent person is a sea of muppets). The equity package is currently underwater and visibility is only good when rewards are more meaningful than a thank-you e-mail from the Chairman.
Con
Jamaican bureaucracy is like living in a Monty Python sketch. Doing the simplest of things costs a huge amount in time, money and sanity. Everything is triplicate, different offices, and those rubber stamps don't pay for themselves.
Pro
I have (personal) staff so I don't need to do as much running about as I used to.
Pro
The beaches on the North Coast are some of the best in the world and I get local rates into resorts that feature on the pages of Conde Nast
Con
We live in Kingston, which is a bit of a shithole, with extreme poverty and an underlying violence, and have to travel to the north coast every few weeks for some respite. It takes forever driving anywhere here and each time you are taking your life in your hands. Jamaican would rather crash into you than slow down, and o course it is easier driving on the wrong side of the road, particularly when there is annoying queue of traffic on yours.
Pro
I have a number of very good friends here and the social life is much more active than it would ever be at home
Con
It is the nature of expatriate life that friends roll in an out of your life with metronomic regularity. Formalities of finding new friends are not stood upon, it is all very Wham Bam thank you Man. I also miss some very good friends from home.
Pro
The family have a great life here, outdoor living, very good school, and many societies and clubs to keep them all busy, so much so that the family has expanded during my sojourn, with the addition of Songbird, now 14 months old and a little terror.
Con
The Lady of Leisure has got involved so much in community life as to make her title redundant. The Little Madam (another redundant title) has started to feel the restrictions of living in Kingston understandably claustrophobic.
Con
Life feels temporary and transient based on a succession of expatriate contracts, and there is a definite, though as yet ill defined end to this party.
Pro
At almost 4 years here now, this has been longer than many permanent positions I have had. Renewing my contract will be taken for granted by the company and conceivably this could turn out to be my longest serving employment within the next contract!
Pro
It is sunny here - a lot!
Con
It is rainy here - a lot!

I could continue but I'm sure you get the gist. I used to think I was a glass half full type of person, but age seems to have reversed this. So should I stop whinging and enjoy the opportunity for as long as it may last or should I continue scratching off the days on my wall?

If there is a reader or two out there, I'll take a vote.

Normal blogging service will resume presently.

We'll try again....

I have been re-inspired to blog. Through twitter I have chanced across one or two blogs that really lighten my day, well semi-interesting and short lived diversions from the drudgery of work at least.

I had originally started this blog, to keep in touch with friends and to relate some of the quirks of living as an expatriate in Jamaica. As time went on, I found myself concentrating more on the tribulations of live in Jamaica and the blog took on an unpleasant tone. That may have been reflective of my views on the place in general and work in particular but it can't have made fun reading for the few followers I had. And I got bored.

Well I am about to embark on a new me program; fitter, healthier and happier. I may become a weight loss / fitness bore but hope to get back to relating the vagaries of life in the Caribbean, and juxtaposition of working in a very dynamic and intense Irish company here staffed almost completely with Irish country bumpkins and bewildered Jamaicans.

26 July 2008

It has been a while dear friends, and I promise to catch up with myself, but I have bee motivated tonight.

  This week I spend two days in Jamaica before commencing a quick trip to New York.  During my time in Jamaica I managed to get my credit card skimmed.  Thankfully I was alert enough and there was no ultimate cost to me, though a shed load of inconvenience.  On returning to Jamaica I discovered, not one but two, other friends had their credit cards skimmed the same week.  One had hers done twice, both times in the same shop.  new Best Friend suspects his was also done there and while I don't think mine was, it certainly casts a huge shadow over that particular shop.

Astrid Gilberto, the beloved of the young protegee, send a mail around a few friends, describing her misfortune and warning them away.  Unfortunately the mail went viral and before long, Mr Mega Loot,  the owner of the shop in question was immediately speaking to CEO of the company demanding an explanation.  He had tried the same tactic five minutes earlier with the young protegee only be be questioned uncomfortably why he was more concerned with the tone of an e-mail than trying to resolve endemic fraud within his organisation.

Mr Mega Loot is friendly with a few people in politics, and it was not long before (alledgedly) an ex-Prime minister and the wife of the current Prime Minister were on the blower demanding apologies.   Apologies for what exactly - A friend getting skimmed in their shop twice in the same week and warning her friends of the danger?  Its not as if the company in question is not unlinked with fraud - only last year the owner was caught defrauding the electricity supplier for years, and while scandal ensued, I cannot remember censure.  Political connections helped I'm sure.

Tonight I attended a function at a Golf Club in a very respectable part on Kingston.  Run by a bank, with an invitation only guest list, I still managed to get myself robbed.  True it was only a few phones which are easily replaced.  But it was the fact that it was a function attended by the Great and the Good of Norbrook, who were still not above rifling through another mans pockets.

Before I left I spoke to the management of the Golf Club, who could not have been less interested if they were asleep (though they almost were).

Tonight I'm disenchanted.  I have been pick-pocketed by a well to do Golf Club Member, and a Prime Minister of Jamaica has run to protect the reputation of a proven fraudster and suspected thief.

Corrupt as be damned  - there is no changing them and I've had enough.

 

13 October 2007

Enough of Dubai city – we headed out to the desert for the ‘real’ emirates. We had booked a desert safari which was pretty exciting. Unfortunately as Ramadan had just finished, hundreds of others had a similar idea. There was no sense of isolation at all with dozens of exactly similar white Nissan 4X4 all driving over the same dunes. All nose to tail like a train of white ants on the red sand for miles into the horizon. In fact in places the sand was packed so tight it made a better raid than many in Jamaica.

By watching all the jeeps in front it was obvious we were in no danger, but still feeling the vehicle slide sideways down a dune, was thrilling, like a natural roller coaster.

We made a few stops along the way, ostensibly to look at a magnificent red sun set over the red sand, though I suspect the driver just didn’t wan the kids throwing up in the back of his jeep and was giving them a breather. Sunset was fast and a few minutes later we were sand boarding by spotlights from our vehicle. It was crap, even Wee Lad managed to stay on the board every time. Riding an escalator is more exciting and certainly faster.

After the extreme sports, we adjourned to an “authentic” Bedouin camp. Camel rides, belly dancers, henna tattoos, dressing up in Sunni robes for photos, and a free bar. The Bedouins know how to live. As touristy as it was, it was at least different and with Dorothy, Scarecrow and family deciding to come along, the gang all had a great time. Scarecrow found himself maneuvering to get a better look at the belly dancer, while at the same time shrinking away from the stage for fear of getting singled out by her. There was no such shyness from Wee Lad who was straight on stage at the first opportunity, striking pure rock star poses for the crowd.

Sleeping arrangements were in a communal tent on the ground. The smell of camel piss from the corral behind was overwhelming. It was an uncomfortable night sleep, and breakfast was instant Nescafe and cold boiled eggs. This was certainly far removed from the opulence experienced thus far in UAE.

12 October 2007

A one hour road trip through the desert through what promises to Dubailand, a vast theme park, rather ridiculously depicted with huge cardboard cut-outs. It felt a bit like driving through the pages of a pop up kids book. Into another Emirate and we arrive at a water park. As it is Eid, most people have the day off. Locals are at the mosque, but immigrant Indians have arrived en masse at the water park. The place was absolutely swamped and queuing was arduous in the midday sun.

There was a bay close to the park, which gave off a rank sulphurous odour, which seemed to switch between a smell of fecal matter and urine. Certainly not the most enticing aroma for a water park. The kids didn’t seem to mind and though I resolved not to enter the water, I had to gingerly wade in at one point looking after Wee Lad. I tried my best from then on to keep him top attracts such as the bumper boats, where I could watch from the safety of dry land.

The day was for the kids, that evening was definitely for the adults, with a table booked a Verre, Gordon Ramsay’s Dubai restaurant. Sitting sipping pre-dinner cocktails in the Hilton, dressed for the occasion, we felt more like we were in London than the Middle East.

The meal itself was overall very successful. We chose the menu prestige and asked the sommelier to match the wines, though I did request one, a Sauterne with my fois gras. In general the wines were not great, though there were some terrific pairings such as the tuna Carpaccio and Muscadet Sur Lie.

First course of a fresh Minestrone made from a clear tomato broth, very fresh cubed veg, and finished with fragrant pesto was an immediate winner and set a great tone for the meal. Pairing wine with soup is difficult at the best of times, and the choice of a Pinot Grigio was innocuous enough, though I would have preferred to bring out the green fresh veg flavours a bit more with a Sauvignon Blanc.

The second course was the first of two with a choice. The fois gras and duck terrine with a beautifully balanced Sauternes was a perfect match. Aged and sweet, it gave lovely carmelized orange flavours to compliment the rich pate. The Tuna Carpaccio and Muscadet Sur Lie worked well with the wine not too flabby after the vinigarette.

Third course of Halibut on a risotto with a lobster bisque was very tasty, but the pairing with a Macon Chardonnay was poor. The wine was itself was not great, flabby, slight and weak, and added nothing to the food.

The further course was the second choice on the menu and with most of our table choosing duck as it was the only opportunity to have a glass of red. It was served with a very ordinary Chateauneuf du Pape when something with a little more sous bois would have worked much better. It was with this course that the restaurant let itself down badly. All three duck were stone cold. . The other choice was monkfisk with Parma ham, which was superb and served with a pretty unremarkable Semillion. The Maitre D had been absent since seeing us to our table, so we complained to the sommelier. While he immediately lifted the plates, it was notable that he offered not a word of an apology. I was kindly offered to send back my monkfish, but this was fine and I could sit out the replacement ducks with my wine.

The rest of the wine went downhill a little from here. The Sommelier was still pretty attentive to us, though he had lost a little of his earlier bubble as he probable had us down for trouble makers.

A pre-desert of a mango parfait went down well with the ladies before crème brulee trio. A demi-sec Vouvray which was nowhere near rich enough to be served with desert, did nothing to rescue a very ordinary course. Is there a new fad for demi-sec wines with desert that I haven’t heard about yet. I am definitely not a fan.

Port and cheese is always a personal favourite and good strong blue and goats cheeses offered did not disappoint. Coffee and petit fours were served, but much of the joy had gone from the waiting staff taking umbrage at our complaining about a sub-standard course.

We retired to the Martini bar feeling a little cheated. The meal was great value, and some courses were really top quality, but others were really not up to scratch. Service is where the restaurant let itself down badly, and I would suggest a little more effort, (and better quality wines), are put into the pairings.

10 October 2007

Dubai at last. It has been a bit of an odyssey. 17 hours flight time, while the journey took 42 hours give or take time differences.

I am very tired so everything seems a little foggy and the effect is exaggerated with the sand haze hanging in the air. My first impression is of a country that has been sun bleached. Everything is dusty, dry and beige, quite a contrast from Jamaica.

It seems very strange staying with Dorothy and the Scarecrow and it might be pushing the friendship a little by imposing upon them for a week, but its all going swimmingly for now. All in all it was a quiet day walking around the local area, keeping the kids happy, braving a sand storm and trying to stay awake.

8 October 2007

Holidays today, and what a day to be leaving Jamaica. It has been cats and dogs all morning, and a positively chilly 23 degrees. Kids have been packed off to school so Lady of Leisure and myself have a full day to sort out the suitcases. This is fine by me, but LoL would normally take a week to do this..... we're going to forget something.

The house has not yet flooded because of the rain, mostly because we are getting better at blocking up the door. Water is still seeping through the wall but there is little we can do about that. The rain will give another excuse for the workmen not to come around to fix the guttering. I think another slavo off to the letting agent and landlord is warranted.
After lunch, and literally hours before my deadline expired, whence I would be withholding rent, a team of crack Jamaican handy me came to fix the guttering. There 5 of them and as far as I could ascertain, 4 of them were foremen. Is this an indictment of illiteracy rates in Jamaica? Regardless, the four of them did a marvellous job directing the individual up the ladder. 2 brackets, 4 nails and 5 minutes later – job was complete less than 6 weeks after I notified the landlord.

Off to the airport.....

6 October 2007

Another quiet Saturday though the excitement is building for the holiday. After getting tough with the landlord, 3 guys eventually came around to fix the guttering. They got out of the car, I showed them the problem and the agreed it was a new bracket needed and left.

Quite obviously when I said more than one month ago, all we needed was a new bracket, the subtle nuance was lost.

I have noticed a fungal smell in the drinks cabinet as dampness is seeping through the wall behind. I'm worried about the sherry tainting.

21 September 2007

Modern Hippies invited us round for a bite to eat. We arrived at a relatively laid back party with Friend of a friend and his wife and another couple we had previously not met before. The new couple was drifting around the world arriving in Jamaica after working their way through a number of sub-Saharan countries. They took it in turns in each country for which one would find gainful employment, while the other bummed about. Jamaica has been his turn and he has filled his spare time sculpting. He has found that the more pornographic the sculpture, the faster they sell and the more he can charge. He is not so troubled with the concept of art, just in it for the money. In fact most of the evenings discussions centered around modern art and how little regard he has for it.

Funny guy, but in the end he became a character from a bad sit-com as he was a pissed up Dutch guy, smoking joints and talking about pornography. I liked him.

20 September 2007

With still no sign from Mr Wilson, we phoned the landlord about fixing the gutter. We were told someone would be around to look at the problem in the afternoon.

No Show.

16 September 2007

Preston female, speaking to Lady of Leisure, commented on how well the men-folk got on and what a good time her husband had. “We should do it more often”. I think they must have gone to a different barbeque after leaving the one we were at!

15 September 2007

We have been invited round to one of Lady of Leisure’s friends houses for a barbeque. Dizzy Blond’s husband is notoriously parsimonious and when I see
That we are bringing a pasta salad, wine, beer, fillet steaks and various body parts of chickens all tenderly marinated, I enquired what exactly the friends were doing to host the barbeque. LoL had been asked by Dizzy to bring around a few things, and we should have been thankful we did not have to bring our own charcoal!

The third family at the barbeque are the Preston pair and when all the ladies adjourn to the kitchen, the men-folk talk as men-folk do. What the ladies were doing in the kitchen is a mystery, as being a barbeque, all the action should have been outside. Preston male, who works down at the Red Stripe brewery has brought a crate and the men-folk are well refreshed as the conversation progressed. This is the second time I had spent time in Preston male’s company and I notice that six months in Jamaica has changed him. No longer quiet and retiring, the man had become ignorant and arrogant. Of course, me not being one to shy away from a challenge, especially with a few Red Stripe on board, the conversation quickly resembled two stags rutting. I normal relish such conversational jousting, but only when the counter party is educated and informed. When arguing with someone holding such entrenched views and opinions based on nothing but his feeble imagination, I found an edge creeping into my comments. It was a relief to be rejoined by the ladies and conversation reverted to frivolities.

My opinion of Preston male plummeted to new depths as on the way home, he picked up the remained of his (perquisite) crate of stripes.

14 September 2007

1876 a wine club in Jamaica, organized a tasting meal in Mac’s. I have been in Mac’s a number of times over the last few months and have been increasingly disappointed with the fayre. Inevitably I order the filet mignon and the cuts of meat are always too marbled to be ordered blue or even rare. Quite obviously, the normal clientele order their steaks crispy and the chef orders his meat accordingly. The set menu for this meal will at least force me to try other delicacies, to see just how Mac’s can justify its reputation and price.

1876 is an interesting club as the proprietor takes a genuine interest in the wine and promotes them with huge enthusiasm. He partners with a Master of Wine who regularly co-hosts tasting evenings and waxes lyrical on the virtues of the wines. Unfortunately with the shipping and duty costs of bring wine to Jamaica, very ordinary wines become very expensive.

Starter of guinea chick lobster accompanied by a brandied lobster bisque was delicious. This was served with a white Hermitage. The wine was a terrible disappointment, flabby and tasteless most certainly not the honeyed richness our hosts were praising. This set a pattern for the evening where the food was well matched to what the wine should have been, had a decent expression been available or affordable.

The next course of pan fried Chilean Sea Bass with saffron was probably the highlight of the meal and the pairing with a good green and fresh South African Sauvignon Blanc worked very well. A cheap and cheerful screw cap that benefited from the good food, but it also certainly gave something back. The only complaint was the Croxetti pasta with which it was served, had a consistency of undercooked dauphinoise potatoes and was inedible.

The filet mignon ( I couldn’t avoid it!) was well hung and quite gamey and served with a reduction of the wine being tasted, a Napa merlot. The wine was a straight forward full flavoured, big alcoholic Californian wine. Little subtlety or delicacy in the wine thought it did stand up to the meat. More strongly flavoured than I would expect of a filet and still with some connective tissue, this certainly wasn’t cut from the thin end of the chateaubriand.

I thought at the time that final course of a roasted hazelnut and white chocolate mousse was a purchased desert, though I have since been told that it is a house speciality. Ridiculously with a demi-sec Anjou, the wine was lost completely.

Cheese were served with a standard LBV port, though the Roquefort was good and coffee was a very good Blue Mountain roast.

In all it was a decent meal let down slightly by the wines. Paul and Adrian must be slightly embarrassed at some of their offering, and it is probably just as well that to a majority of Jamaicans, fine wine is an unknown quantity. Mac’s definitely do some things well, but steaks are not a strong suit, despite the reputation.

13 September 2007

Mr Wilson, the handyman came round to look at our flooding problem in the morning, He very helpfully identified the problem as a broken bracket on the guttering , but he didn’t have the part with him. He was going to the hardware store and would return in the afternoon.

No Show.

11 September 2007

We had another flood in the house today. The first was the weekend before the family returned, and while pretty extensive, as it had not happened again since I had ignored the problem.

This time as the rain was very heavy and sustained, the water flowed through 4 rooms on the ground floor. After we managed to stem the tide, we had a look at what was happening. A very simple matter of a bracket on the guttering had snapped so in heavy rain, the guttering bends tipping water down the walls.

A quick call was put in to the landlord explaining the problem and a request for their handyman to come round to fix the bracket. No show.

9 September 2007

I have crossed a threshold in my life and I’m not best pleased. I was called “Daddy” by a stranger today. Daddy is a Jamaican expression which is sometimes a mark of respect, akin to wise man, although more often it just means old man. What galled me the most was the car park attendant who gave me the moniker was no younger than me. Granted he was much fitter and more athletic, but that does not give him the excuse.

2 September 2007

A neighbour kindly pointed that the guys who removed the boards from the upstairs windows, had kindly left them on the roof. I climbed up to remove them, and without any help, the easiest method was simply to drop to the ground below.

These massive plyboards could be quite dangerous falling from the first story of a house. While I was dropping them down to the grass, Wee Lad came out to investigate the noise. I panicked as I saw Wee Lad run directly under one as it fell. Practically helpless, I shouted out to him and thankfully he stopped dead in his tracks. My heart stopped until I heard the thud as the leading edge landed on the grass. Now it was his turn to panic as the board began to fall towards him. He turned and tried to run as the board collapsed towards him. Everything was in slow motion, but his little legs could not carry him clear. The board caught him and pushed him flat into the muddy earth. From my rooftop vantage all I could see was the board with two little arms and one leg sticking out.

I leapt down from the roof and thankfully the only bruises were to his pride. As the shock subsided I could not help but laugh at the sight of him trapped under the Board as something taken straight from a cartoon. It took all my reserves to suppress my giggles for fear of upsetting him further, though the sigh of the Wee Lad shaped indentation in the garden certainly did not help.