Inked

Now what does this interesting looking old woman walking towards me on the beach want?  What is that little pot in her hand?  What's all over her hand?  

Henna.  Cool!

"Yes, of course, old woman give me a henna tattoo."  She and I chatted for half and hour during the henna application, like one would with his barber, and I am certainly older than she is!  Her 29 year old daughter has no children, nor does her 13 year old luckily.  It's a muslim country, so that joke is in really bad taste and will probably disappear soon.

I don't like the brand-like, cutesy or corporate logo type hipster tattoos, or naively considered icons from some alien culture where things have to be better; or especially the ones in giant ye olde English lettering.  The only ones I have ever liked are the Pacific Islander genuine cultural markings, like the Maori's or less so the Hawaiians.  So, yeah, nataka kuna Maori tafadahli. Naturalistic.  I just redid my apartment in William Morris Arts and Crafts to balance my accumulated kangaroo-route-stop world ethnic tribal art: Burma, Indian, Sri Lanka, Egypt, Thailand, Japan.   I want something like a strap. Very Maori.  As large as you can for 10,000 Ts, tafadahli, and hand her the note.  She wants 15000 Ts.  We shall see.

This lady is a geniune artist, and knows how to manage her canvas, me.  So the lines were not perfect.  I was being myself and not still.  My arm was propped erotically on her knee on the beach.  (erotic if you are into Muslim black old ladies.  someone is, I bet!)

How did she keep it all so clear, drawing with a toothpick?

upside down, right-side up, stuck on the echidna while my ink dries, seemed like forever

I want MORE!!!  I might do another few bands before this trip is done

Well, she genuinely earned her 15,000 Ts with long-practices artistry.  I hand her a 10,000 Ts note and ask for change.  She scurries around the beach to find two 5000 Ts notes.  And comes back with two 1000 Ts notes.  "You be here tomorrow?"  "un, maybe"  "I give you rest tomorrow"  

A tout overheard this to step in and insulted her terribly, you are never coming back old crazy lady. And he offered to change the note for me.  I got a 5000 Ts note and handed it to her and she was off.  "She drinks all day and smokes the marijuana.  She is crazy."  Duh, she's an artist.

Then it was going to be hard work to get my change from him.  Maybe a visit to his stall?  Nope, finally I got three us one dollar bills, which are fun to give as tips.  In fact, I have started handing out tips like they are candy, which is not done among these ultra cheap all-inclusive resort euro tourists.

Damn, my brain injury keeps acting up on the spacial temporal details.  I keep having to figure out where I am and what month and year it is.  So crazy.  I am in a strange vortex in the middle of my grueling cognitive-rehab trip, and my brain needs a break.  So I have been writing my fingers off, learned Swahili pretty well, worked out the logistics for my comlicated trip to Athens tomorrow, set up an opera in St Petersburg, downloaded by bank and credit card transaction details for the last 120 days to audit my accounts for my trust today inside my room where the laptop screen is legible, and start learning Greek.  Then lunch and a beach walk to see the aquarium if it is low tide.  Better ask now..