Papa Mike’s Palau Blog

Hi Everyone, hope you are all fine and well. Sorry I am having troubles uploading pictures. I am trying to find someone with a DSL connection here in Palau, but no luck yet. Visited the dolphins at Dolhins Pacific yesterday and this report is about the trip to Kayangel. Hi to Terry, Jeff, Round Man and all the Poker Players. Hi also to all my other friends. To the whole world, Kelly has a job!!!

The fishing boat to Kayangel left from T-dock at 9:30 in the morning. It was a 34’ open cabin inboard with the configuration of a Boston Whaler, single seat cabin in the middle of the deck. Just prior to leaving it had been raining, but the rain stopped just before the two of us left. The sky was broken with pockets of squalls apparent in the area. As we started north and headed toward Babeldaob the hills of Arai State looked as if a gray screen covered the island and it was apparent they were receiving a heavy rain.

We continued to skirt the west coast of Babeldaob, with the barrier reef on our left and the coast on our right until we reached Ngardmau State, where we turned outside the reef into about a three-foot chop. At this point the captain rigged up a couple of trolling lines and set out lures, continuing north towards the tip of Babeldaob. There were seabirds around us and at times the captain had to adjust our course to avoid the many reefs. The jungle-covered hills of the big island to our right seemed to continue on forever as the boat rocked and we passed through squalls. Large shallow bays disappeared around peninsulas and shear cliffs extended to the edge of the ocean. Occasionally, the captain would glance around looking for a tug on the line, but he hardly acknowledged his passenger. We traveled past reefs and in the open seas the waves got worse and I caught the spray from my position on a bench at the back of the boat. When I talked to Leah at the Visitors Authority, she had said that the Kayangel speedboat was awaiting parts and what would have been a two-hour ride would take five hours in the fishing boat. I was hoping she was wrong and it turned out she was—it took six hours.

I had been searching for Kayangel for what seemed like hours; every time the boat righted itself and I could view the horizon I would glimpse what I thought to be the island. But each time it was merely the waves breaking on yet another reef. Finally after five and one half long hours it appeared on the horizon—low lying and hazy—but this time for sure. The reef passage was at the far side of lagoon, marked by what looked like two identical sets of goal posts on an aqua blue football field. The lagoon was over three miles wide and smooth as we pulled up to a large dock that seemed over sized for the island. Kayangel itself was actually three islands; the northern island in front of us was occupied, with the other two un-occupied but reachable on foot at low tide.

I had arrived in Kayangel, I bid farewell to my talkative captain and climbed the concrete stairs to the dock. My home stay contact, Ungilreng, was on the deck and welcomed me, she was dark skinned and had a bandana in her hair, as if central casting had chosen her part. We hoped into her tiny Daihatsu pick up truck and drove off the dock down a tiny lane with huge tropical scrub scrapping the side of the truck as we drove the fifty yards to her home. The house was of modest measurements, with a corrugated tin roof and gutters to divert rainwater into two large concrete cisterns alongside the house. There were multiple windows with slanted glass. In the front was a door that appeared to be seldom used, but two side doors opened on to an outdoor kitchen area with a single propane flame. In the front area, the entry had been converted into a tiny store and food items were randomly stacked for sale. On the grounds surrounding the house a family of chickens roamed among breadfruit, banana and coconut palms. The air was still and the heat was oppressive. Sweat was dripping off my glasses as Ungilreng showed me to my home for the night, an adjacent house about the same size and shape. Judging from the linoleum floor and wallpaper, I placed construction to have occurred in the early fifties, but would have to adjust for decorating trends in the South Pacific. So maybe mid-sixties, tops! I will sleep in the living room and a fold out solid wood cot has been placed in the center of the room. Did I mention that it is extremely warm? I thought so. Next to the cot is the prettiest baby blue electric fan I have ever laid eyes on. I walked the perimeter of the living room—guess what—no plugs. I looked again and confirmed what I already knew. About the time I was ready to cry, Ungilreng arrived and I posed the obvious question to her. She smiled and pointed at the ceiling fixture with a plug on the side, within minutes she had dispatched her husband and the fan was blasting wonderfully hot air directly at me, life in the islands was suddenly bearable.

Later Ungilreng returned with my dinner and showed me how to use the breaker to turn the light on. Hell, I was happy to sit in the dark with my fan blowing at me; a light was unspeakably modern life to me. My meal was quite tasty, two fried fish, rice with soy sauce and fried plantains, with a drinking coconut to top it off. It tasted great and was the first food I had had since a breakfast of peanut butter and jelly. Once I finished my meal, I was suddenly much more aware of my surroundings, for the first time I noticed the three turtle shells mounted on the walls. One was huge almost four feet long and was polished or shellacked to bring out the colors. I have got to tell you I felt pretty content in my pad, just the turtles and me. By now it was pitch black outside and I was ready for that tiny cot in the middle of the room. That is when I realized I had neglected to take care of one tiny detail before darkness set in. I had failed to take a sojourn to the outhouse. It would be a long night.

I was awake when the roosters started in at 4:30 and had been tossing and turning most of the night waiting for daylight to come, hell I was praying for daylight to arrive. About 5:50 it was light enough to make it to the outhouse and make it to the outhouse I did—barely! In the best of conditions outhouses are not a pleasant experience, in the tropics they are far less than pleasant and it was as if the mosquitoes were just waiting for me. I got hammered in some rather unlikely locations on my immense body. I did not even care in the slightest for the relief was well worth the punishment—if you catch my drift. The unfortunate part was that my winged friends followed me back to my living room to continue their feast. I placed my chair in direct line with the fan and they could not reach me, thank God for that fan. Now, I would just kill for a good cup of coffee.

How does one write eloquently of simple things? When Ungilreng showed up at my door with a plate of fried bananas and a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, I could have kissed her! The cup of coffee was magical in my present context, on a tiny island too small to exist on most maps. For now I am content—the king of my living room—just the turtles and me, and oh yes the mosquitoes.

I have finished my breakfast and returned the dishes to my hosts. I have some time left and decide to take a walk to the eastside of the island a short walk away. I pass other homes on the path and notice the many fruit trees all the cottages have surrounding them. It is clear the soil is rich and can support a variety of small subsistence crops. There are enough fish on the reef to support the village and tourism is nothing they view as an income source. The people are content to host visitors at their homes, to share what little they have with others, a simple life for a simple people. In time there will be some tourism, the place is just too idyllic to avoid it. I hope it is a long time away.

The east side of the island is quite different from the west. Here there is no deep lagoon and the reef is quite close. There is no white sand beach; instead the beach is made up of bits of coral, rock and shells. The beach is on the windward side of the island and breezes are brisk. I think this side is safe from tourism.

It is nearing time for me to leave and I must admit to being torn. In some ways I wish I had more time to learn more about the people who live here, yet on the other hand I won’t miss this hard bed, the heat or the mosquitoes. We drive on in Ungilreng’s tiny pick up and the chickens scoot out of harms way, in a few seconds we are back at the dock where it is much cooler. I wonder why Ungilreng and her family live in the hot interior, I guess I may never know the answer.

Tags: Travel

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 19th, 2005 at 6:16 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.