Rant: A taste of home makes me feel ill

I have just left an expat divers bar after hot pizza and cold beer, in these parts found more frequently the other way round. A treat after chicken and fried rice, or fried chicken and rice for most meals. I am badly craving salad and fruit smoothies! The table was set there, as all over Malaysia with fork and spoon only.

Finding good healthy food here is difficult with Kedai Kopis a national institution. These are typically Indian run Formica tabled cafes, filled by men smoking and nursing Nescafes sweetened with condensed milk and sugar. Such a shame that instant coffee has such a following, given the number of countries nearby that have a long history of producing great brews. I am reminded of the traditional Bracci, or Welsh - Italian cafe, where Benny Grannies raise frothy coffees to their prickly lips with Parkinsonian grips.

Here at least, the humble Indian roti has been raised to another level, the oily flat bread may be found stuffed with bananas, pineapple, coconut, chicken or veggies. Tea Madras is the closest thing to the the Indian Masala chai, being served in half pint mugs rather than the familiar shot glasses.

A place so full of Western divers is good preparation for my re-immersion into occidental culture.
Hearing familiar accents – mostly British, and meeting people who knew Swansea well enough to know which pubs to avoid no longer feels odd.

As I left, the covers band was getting into full swing, which in typical British fashion means, the volume is set so conversation is impossible, the mind goes blank, and there is nothing to do but drink, smoke and nod ones head appreciatively at the source of the noise.

I realize this makes me sound like an old fart, but then I have always preferred conversation to external entertainment. One of the pleasures of being older is no longer having to pretend I enjoy it anymore. Instead I can sneak back with a like minded friend, and wake up to yoga and market fruit while all around are nursing bad coffees and sore heads.

A large part of my dissatisfaction with life in the UK is the drinking culture, particularly strong in South Wales. Removed from that environment, I became aware of it in a way I had not before. The pub, kebab shop and Full English cafe are such popular institutions. One who is faithfully at the pub most nights is called a regular – not someone with a problem. Now I like a drink occasionally and very occasionally like to drink a lot, but it is the monotonous regularity of the whole thing that bores me to tears. There are plenty of other vices to explore, live a little!

One can join with groups, yoga classes or a surfing crowd but it has not reached that tipping point yet, where life supporting lifestyles become the norm rather than the exception. It seems one becomes part of a subculture if one wants to live a healthy life. Being an independent minded fellow, I will always do my own thing, but back home it can seem an uphill struggle.

It is so sad that the dominant social activities are harmful to ones health, even here amongst the expatiate diver crowd smoking and heavy drinking are very much part of the culture.