Cracking the coconut

Many years ago, on the night of my 15th birthday, my father came home from work and grinning ear-to-ear, presented me with my coconut. I stared at him, confused. What was the significance of this round, hairy, foreign object?

'It's a coconut', my father explained. 'Instead of a birthday cake, you get to have something different!'

Right. So instead of getting a delicious vanilla cake frosted with cool whip and decorated with strawberries and kiwis (the only cake my grandma has ever been known to make, and so she makes it very, very well) I was getting ... a coconut?

I thanked my dad, still baffled, and told him that I didn't know how to open it. I guess this was something my overly enthusiastic father had failed to consider. We all stared at it, puzzled - me, my dad, and my best friend Kim. Thus began the night's labor of opening the most bizarre birthday cake I've ever received.

First we tried scraping open a hole with a paring knife. It failed to make a dent. Then we tried smashing it against the kitchen counter, again, to no effect. We soaked it in water, thinking maybe it would soften the outer shell. Nothing. Finally, my dad took matters into his own hands and retreated into the garage with the coconut. We could hear sounds of heavy machinery being used. A few minutes later my father triumphantly emerged with a freshly drilled hole in the coconut. He emptied the contents, which amounted to half a glass of cloudy coconut milk, and gave it to me, 'Happy birthday!'

I was less than amused, but Kim was highly entertained by the entire process. 'Your family is so random,' she said. Sigh... this is true.

Since that day, I've always been a bit wary of coconuts. That is, until I came to the Cook Islands. Since then, I've discovered the taste of freshly opened coconuts, and I can't get enough. This week I finally learned to crack the coconut. It's amazingly simple.

Step 1: Husking the coconut. The husk is the big green or brown shell encasing the coconut and takes some effort to remove. Most people pry it off using a traditional metal pole with a pointed tip to get it under husk.


Step 2: Cracking the coconut. This part is the most fun. See that red line I've drawn around the middle? You have to strike that imaginary line with a blunt object while rotating it to get the weak points. Eventually a crack will show and you can pry it open. A professional can do this with just three strokes and under 2 seconds. I'm working on it.


Step 3: Enjoy the coconut!




I can't get enough of Henry Nilsson this week. I wish I grew up in an era where songs like these made Billboard Top 100.

Click here to listen to 'Henry Nilsson - Coconut'

Working with water

Ahh.. the end of another working week in the Cook Islands. I guess I should explain what it is that I'm doing here. Still finishing up the last semester of my program, I'm interning with one of the government ministries in water resource management, which is relevant to my studies. Basically I'm trying to engage with people from all over the island to talk about what the future of water and health will look like for the Cook Islands, and what we need to start doing now.

Holding a workshop on the future of water, health and climate change

The interesting part of managing natural resources in a small island setting is that any changes you make to the environment has an immediate impact. For example, if there's an unusually heavy rainfall and papaya plantations are laying fertilizers on their fields, it gets washed into the lagoon, causing a spike in algae blooms, threatening beaches and livelihoods because the country is so dependant on tourism. That's why its essential for people across different sectors communicating so they realize how their activities affect, or are affected by, their neighbours. Fortunately this is a place that has close community ties, making this easy to do, most of the time.

Meeting people from all different backgrounds is the best part of my job. Where else in the world can you call up a department minister totally out of a blue, and then sit down for a meeting with them later that day? People here are just so approachable and friendly. I get to talk to schoolchildren, traditional leaders, landowners and lots of other people working in government. Water is important to different people in different ways, and everyone is more than happy to share their point of view.

One thing I didn't expect is how my job would continue to follow me after working hours. Being a tall asian girl with a Canadian accent makes me stand out here, a lot, so people are always asking stopping me to ask what I'm doing here. There have been instances where I'm picking up something at a local shop, and the owners will take me to their house to show me the discoloured water and low pressure coming out of their taps. Other times I will explain what I'm working on, and people look at me and think I'm just attached to another aid project, paid to give their opinion and leave. I've talked to taro planters who have thrown f-bombs at me, telling me that no government should ever tell him what to do with his land. All of these opinions are valid though, and its mostly good-natured. Sometimes I'll be walking along the main road and people will ask me if I've fixed all the country's water problems yet, and I'll laugh and say I'm working on it.

Looking into the island's water sources and reservoirs

I know that the time I'll spend here is relatively short, and realistically maybe I won't have that much of an impact. The one thing I try to do is keep an open mind and try to listen (harder than you think, consider how much I talk!) and appreciate this experience.

Cook Islands

I've been pinching myself every morning for the past month. I've been waking up to sunrises like these, thinking its too surreal to be living in the Cook Islands.

I'm staying on the main island of Rarotonga, which has the only international airport, and the most tourists. With ten thousand people, its the most populated of the 15 islands that makes up Cook Islands. We have two grocery stores, one bookstore, eleven fish n' chip stations and fifteen churches. Perhaps that gives you an idea of the girth and the religious fervor of the people of the Cook Islands. To get an idea of where the country is located, find Hawaii, then head south for about 7000 km. Those tiny dots are the Cook Islands.

The sheer isolation of the island geography was initially daunting, but its hard not to be charmed by the small community feel to Rarotonga. In my first days walking around the main town area, random people on the street approached me saying 'hey you're the new intern from Canada? Welcome!' and there are always open invitations to family birthdays, community socials and dinner parties from virtual strangers. It's easy to feel like you're cut off from the rest of the world, but the sheer generosity, friendliness and amazing hospitality of the Cook Islanders have made me feel like I have a home in the middle of the Pacific.

Tally-Ho!

One of the best things to happen during our stay is that in mid-January my parents' visas expire. What does this mean? Turkey requires visitors to leave the country every three months in order for their visas to be renewed upon their return. In other words...the Ho's are going on Ho-liday! Okay, sorry, I'll stop with the ho-rrible Ho-jokes.

So what does a Ho family vacation entail? Well, lots of eating for one thing. My father measures time in intervals of snacks and coffee breaks. This will give us ample opportunity to sample all of the deliciousness that Istanbul, London and Rome have to offer. Ho trips also require lots of walking. Endless hours of walking. Some of our friends who have accompanied us on past family trips have discovered this the hard way. We walk everywhere, rain or shine. Some may argue that this is because the best way to discover a city is on foot; I argue that my father is cheap. Only under certain conditions will we take public transport (free being the major factor) and under no circumstances will we ever take a taxi.

We will see if these traditions will continue to be upheld for the next few weeks as we traipse through select cities in Europe and technically Asia (Istanbul is half Europe, half in Asia).

Tally-Ho!

Mutlu Yillar

Translation: Happy New Year (in Turkish)!

For the past few months the family has been scattered across the globe; with me studying in Brisbane, Australia, Hazel in the south of France, Victoria at Ottawa U and, finally, my parents in Turkey. It hasn't always been easy communicating in four different time zones, but somehow we managed to get ourselves organized for a long-awaited family reunion over the Christmas holidays aboard our floating home for the next few weeks, the Three Rivers.

My sisters and I wearing the matching shirts that our parents gave us. Apparently buying your kids matching outfits never gets old.

I must admit, the thought of cramming all five of us together in fairly confined conditions for several weeks had me a bit, shall we say...concerned. We would literally be in each others' faces all day, every day for the duration of our stay. Add that to the fact that its been half a decade since we've all lived under one roof and it sounds like we've got a recipe for disaster (my specialty). Well as it turns out worries were unfounded, and it wasn't long before we settled into some kind of family routine again.

So what it is like living with three sisters and their parents on a 43 foot sailboat? It means that when one person gets up in the morning, everyone has to get up. I used to wake up to the sounds of my father making coffee and talking to our cat Smokey. Now I wake up to the sounds of my father loudly hosing down the boat, directly overhead of my cabin. It means that, instead of having the smallest room in the house, I now have the smallest cabin in the boat (think the length and width of a coffin, except with a height of 6 feet). It means that from 3pm to 4pm, we all have to be very, very quiet, because that is prime napping time for my father. At any given time, you know exactly where every member of your household is, and what they are doing. It also means that the only alone time you will get during the course of a day is when you visit the bathroom, and when you're asleep.

Ho family at Christmas dinner (we're not really orange, its just my sub-par camera)

All joking aside, the town of Kemer has a lot to offer and I can see why my parents love it here. The Mediterranean coastline is breathtaking, especially against the backdrop of the recently snow-capped Taurus mountains. The biggest draw is the marina itself, where there's a great liveaboard (people living off their boats at the marina) community who are spending the winter sailing season in Kemer. Because the average age of the liveaboards is about 60, you can't help but draw comparisons of Kemer marina to that of a retirement community. A very active and structured retirement community, at that. Monday nights mean board games, followed by Tuesday choir practise, Wednesday movie nights, Thursdays line dancing lessons and Friday nights out at the symphony. It may not be the most exhilarating place I've traveled to, but I can't think of another place I'd rather be than here with the Hos.

Another beautiful day at the Kemer Marina

Intense outdoor ping-pong tournament

Freshly squeezed pomegranate juice at the market