- Mood:
Sociable - Listening to: Marching Bands of Manhattan - Death Cab for C
- Reading: number9dream - David Mitchell
Foreign countries are great places to go for holidays. So is your own country, but that's beside the point. I went to a foreign one. Really foreign. The sort of country that the word foreign was invented for. Seriously, it was invented, yep.
Ow! The grammar in some of that previous "paragraph" seems to have molested my eyes.
I did go to Tonga, though, and thanks to Umberto Eco, I had somewhere to write down some thoughts and happenings- often related, but not necessarily. So, with my actual travel journal sitting at home on my bed, and my faux travel journal kept carefully away from water, oil and fire-based substance (water, oil and fire being the most common of these), I proceeded to trampse about in foreign farmland and tropical settings for the better part of 10 days.
That is, after the five and a half hour flight filled mostly with Niko and I trying to determine the approximate distance of the horizon (and later, exactly how the pilot's slide rule worked - we're scientists, not engineers, dammit!).
The trip did not start well.
Military rifles are not something you expect to greet you at the airport. Overpriced water and currency exchange booths, yes; loaded automatic rifles, no; random ponies on the side of the road, also no, but rather pleasant.
After the rifles, the country was much more pleasant.
The first night we stayed at a backpackers, but the only room available was with a private bathroom so it was a little more expensive than we had hoped. Meh. The owner and operator was a kindly old lady who was more than happy to assist us, provide fresh watermelon, and offload her husband for story-time. Said husband was the owner of a meat-processing business, father to an indeterminate number of children (one of whom was passed out in the living room), and a clergyman. All this despite being retired from 41 years of service as the Head of Finance at the Bank of Tonga.
We were woken at 4 by a broken rooster.
It crowed every 5 minutes for 3 hours, just outside our window. Shamefully, we couldn't have it for dinner that night. Breakfast, the opposite to dinner (non-dinner?) was massive and Niko and I were joined by a bunch of US Peace Corps (as opposed to HARDCORE) who I am convinced could probably spearpunch pineapples. Spearpunching melons (as opposed to pineapples), Niko and I decided, would be a rather spectacular way to surprise opponents in bar fights. Ah, the conversations one has at a juice (IF YOU COULD CALL THE HOLY NECTAR THAT I DRANK JUICE) bar after a long day of exploring the surrounding area, are pretty spectacular.
Almost as spectacular as seeing a Fijian and 2 Tongan people praying with their hands rested on the head of an Irish street-preaching evangelist in a private home.
People with enthusiasm fascinate me. Saying that these people were enthusiastic about their religion is the understatement that gets you attacked by bears in the woods because you're just that stupid. At least, it clarified in my mind that I must seem like an absolute loon sometimes when I talk about my family, friends and work, because I've been known to provide some of the same facial expressions and body language as those that night. Family, friends and work are my Jesus.
And so the next day, we went to an actual tropical island.
I should probably clarify that statement. Tonga'tapu, the main island in the Tongan archipelago is an absolute dump, relative to the other islands. The streets are noticeably lined with rubbish and public bins are few and far between. Bins at people's houses are even less common. Why? They can't afford it. The average Tongan family cannot afford to have the rubbish collected. We are talking a poor, poor country. Yet, despite this lack of economic prosperity, nobody starves and nobody is homeless. At the age of 16, men (and potentially women, but I'd have to check) are given a piece of land as is their constitutional right. They can do with it whatever they wish, but most construct houses and farms. They then proceed to farm their own animals (chickens and pigs) and grow their own fruit. Everything they need is from the land, and if they aren't particularly well-off one week, they can ask the neighbour for a bit of grub. If he says no, he is obviously not a Tongan. Hmm, being nice to people, they are obviously all on crack.
They must have been too, as the ferry was freaking crazy and some of these people took it on a regular basis. 3 and a half hours on a rickety boat over a deep sea trench with waves about 9 metres high. HURRAH! At least when we arrove (hehehehehe, arrived), the guy who operated the place we stayed at provided us with conversation of a political nature. Tongan politics is confusing, yo.
And then we went on a 4 wheel drive tour.
The tour went for about 6 hours, and involved a greater proportion of time outside the car than in, so that was pretty swell. Especially since while we were in the car, Peter, our driver, continued motoring up steep inclines while facing the rear seat chatting away to Niko about his family or local mythology. Danger is his first middle name. His second was VineMan. Well, he let us use his hands as steps on a vine to climb out of a giant hole in the ground. I think that justifies my giving him another second name. He was infinitely charming, and lilted slightly when he talked. According to Peter, this is his wife's fault as she is from the Tongan tribe that have a particular sing-song tone to their voice, and her community are the people he talked most to now. He showed us some rather awesome stuff though, and it didn't seem to be affected by the tone of his voice, but I can't guarantee it.
My highlight was definitely the human skulls. A cave, adjoined to a cliff, had apparently been found only recently. They found bones inside and upon investigation discovered that the people had been buried standing up. Eerie. Nobody knew who they were or how they got to that particular spot. I like to theorise that they all touched the leaves that make you scratch yourself until you bleed and that they stood in a line and scratched each other to death. It's possible.
But then, waiting around at an airport for a 6 minutes flight is also possible. And we did that.
Seriously short flight that one. Ayep. Fortunately, when we landed we were cabbed over to a gaudy resort for a night of entertainment and feasting. Suckling pig is tasty. So very tasty. The dancing was typically touristy. I'm sure that when they perform these dances in reality they are spectacular, but the sheer volume of colour and splendour seemed like tourist-fodder. A shame really, because the dancing itself was quite dramatic.
Similarly dramatic, but much more authentically so, was the mood lighting in the fresh pool cave we visited. 50 metres from the ocean and about a 150 metre hike from the entrance of the cave, there was nothing but darkness and freshwater. Jumping off of a rocky outcrop into a pool of freshwater in complete darkness bar candlelight is bloody scary, but well worth it. I could have stayed there for a long time- I'd happily risk hypothermia- but we had to return to the backpackers as church was at nine the next morning.
Unfortunately, Church didn't happen.
Sulia, the lady who offered to take us to Church while we were standing at Sydney international airport (mmm, forgot to mention that didn't I), had transport issues. Therefore, church was well underway by the time we got to her house. Lunch wasn't though. Neither was the wooing and marriage of her two beautiful cousins as she sat us down at a giant feast directly opposite them with a grin and introductions. HMMMMMMMMM. But, holy crap, can these people throw a birthday party. Firstly, the entire community attended, and before eating, they all prayed and sung together. I couldn't think for the sounds of their voices. Enchanting, absolutely enchanting. Finally, when people did start eating, so did the speeches, and as soon as the speeches finished, everyone's cutlery shot to the table and they started to collect up the leftovers to be distributed and taken home. Niko and I left with about 5 bananas, several mango, and an assortment of desserts and mains. Yum. Of course, Niko failed spectacularly and lost his camera. Only for me to find it later in his bag, after several hours of him becoming increasingly more anxious about the photos he'd already taken (And fair enough too).
I slept, I woke, I did nothing on the 29th January. Well, I pottered, but that was about it.
On the 30th, however, I got quite pissed off at the lady who had a day earlier booked us onto a ferry that didn't exist. Tongan people do not like conflict, so you can imagine she was fairly uncomfortable as I demanded a refund for our tickets. She cowered. I glared. She told us to come back after she spoke to her manager. We received as refund. We then went to hire bikes from a man who tries to communicate with people by staring at them. Niko, the bike repairer, as distinguished from Niko, the friend I went with, doesn't speak a lot. He simply stares at you until you invent and say the response that seems most appropriate to whatever he was saying with his eyes. It's a very trial-and-error sort of situation.
"You want the rest of the money now?"
*staring*
"Okay, here's 5"
*Staring*
*slightly less interested staring*
*staring with a half-stare seamlessly blended*
"Oh, sorry, it was 6, wasn't it"
We then rode to a beach, that turned out to be rocks, and situated close to a village with dogs that chase people riding bikes.
I feared for my life a little. As one tends to do when chased by four ravenous beasts.
That night, Niko murdered a mosquito. He is a destroyer. A destroyer with a sore arse from riding too much.
The ferry however had padded seats this time. Further, the tropical island it took us to had sand, and camp (gay, not outdoorsy) people. So, Niko and I proceed to walk around the island (20 minute walk turned into an expedition that took multiple hours), before stretching out on the beach and discussing roleplaying. A relaxing final day in a form of paradise.
I was impressed.
I was also slightly surprised at the number of white people in Australia.
But I had a fucking excellent time. And just as much fun coming back to lovely people that i can tell stories to. Hurrah!
And, I'm going to Adelaide next weekend for a 21st. I think I need to learn how to avoid taking holidays.
everyone leaves canberra eventually
