A slow start today with little enthusiasm to do the Sunday thing. In Tonga this is to go to church or, if you are a white guy, go to a resort island. We were heading for Pangaimotu, the nearest and cheapest island.
The little ferry boat filled with an ex-pat bunch of people all resisting the temptations of the good lord. Mostly resisting any attempt at modesty. The Tongans like the womenfolk to not bare their knees etc.. At least the most vocal one [aboard] was wearing a knee covering skirt as she informed us all how she, a volunteer, and her Peace Corps boyfriend were meeting at his neck of the woods, Vava'u [a long way north], and were going to find a secluded island to spend their nights. The least of their problems being Tongan society frowning on extra-marital affairs but that their respective volunteer groups effectively banned intimate relationships. More importantly, to me, was how, if they were volunteers, do they get the money to fly about the islands on a whim?
Pangiamotu has a few fale (bungalows) and a noisy bar with a sandy beach either side. We took leave of the bar straight away and headed off round the (Maledivian sized, ie. small) island. A heavily untodden path with not much of interest.
At the far side when the beach ran out we were forced a little way inland into a sort of dead patch (salt seepage?) with lots of holes. Pausing to take stock and find our way back to the beach we noticed lots of tiny black crabs with giant red claws appear, then ones with [giant] yellow claws, then ones with black claws but red legs, then similar but with blue spots on their backs. Quite a scaredy bunch as any quick movement sent them packing but fascinating little fellas. That was it for interesting wildlife.
The bar sold medium-expensive (for Tonga) food and drink and was much like, say, the Spanish Costa with lounging Europeans labouring to keep their broods under control whilst something'n'chips was handed out. After a few hours book share (I have chosen to read Helen's book at the same time) we have to go, the excitement is unbearable. I shalln't mention that Helen kicked my pen into the water, never to be seen again. I'm not that bitter.
Back at the lodge, after a slow bag pack we head off for tea. After a clammy, sweaty half-hour route march, our chosen eaterie says it's closing in half-an-hour [at 9pm!] so we can't eat. Back to the Chinese, then. At least it passes some of the time before our 12.30am taxi ride to the airport and our 3.15am flight back to Auckland. It seems our 8pm arrival was unusual. Early mornings are the norm.
Copyright 2002 Ian Fitchet. All rights reserved.