Should we worry? We found the doctor in the labyrinthine alleys of a tiny Asian village. He wore a Micky Mouse T-shirt and was half-asleep.

Here I was, in the throes of labor and in comes the doctor, wearing . . . no, not scrubs, not a white coat, but . . . .

My store of expat life patience is exhausted. It’s not only the chicken, the water, the electricity, the tiny fridge, the heat, the dull knife, the lack of kitchen drawers, …

Locked out, barefoot and phone-less, in the hot sun, on the balcony of a new apartment where you don’t know a soul. Not good.

Ever done something so dangerous that afterward you were stunned by the stupidity of what you’d done? As an expat foodie living in Indonesia I did just that.