And so we left Tuvalu, banked right, and headed south towards Fiji giving those of us lucky enough to have a right side window seat an utterly spectacular view of the island I had become to call home. As the strips of turquoise and emerald sailed past, no longer were they nameless, generic, tropical beauties, instead, they now had names, they had a history, a future, they had individual features, and story to tell.
As has so often happened during my time in Tuvalu I completely misread the situation, and after a rushed conversation with the community leader it transpired that the space reserved at the front of the maneapa directly opposite the future King of England and his wife, arguably two of the most famous people in the world wasn’t only reserved for Inaki, oh no, it was also reserved for a now very pale looking palagi wearing a Scout uniform
Cannonball and Uncle Bulgaria dragged us away from the growing crowds, up the gently sloping beach, and onto the back of a waiting pickup truck which then drove us all of 300m down the dirt track which passes as the main road, to the room which I was to call home for the next six weeks. That first night we were treated like kings and welcomed into the community like long lost brothers. A feast had been prepared, and my stomach rejoiced at the thought of some sustenance after being empty for almost three days – little did I know that this was to begin the longest food binge I have ever been asked to undertake
It turns out that trying to understand the shipping schedule in Tuvalu is a bit like trying to discuss the meaning of life in a nightclub – both parties ask the right questions, then follows lots of noise and wildly exaggerated hand gestures, but ultimately no one has a clue what is going on and so the answer is never reached. After peering into my crystal ball, consulting the Rosetta stone, and asking for some local assistance, I came to the conclusion that I needed a ticket for route (ii) whatever that meant...
I dutifully turned up at the police station the next day with my pink licence in hand; handing it over for inspection I was trying to pre-empt exactly what a Tuvaluan driving test would consist of – there weren’t any cars around, just a collection of bikes gently rusting in the sun, and it dawned on me that if the test had anything to do with actually driving a motorbike I would most definitely fail. After a few minutes of showing my exotic licence to everyone in the police station, the policeman began to tell me the process of getting a licence…
There are times in life when you see something that you physically can’t take your eyes off; it might be an incredibly talented musician, a record breaking athlete perhaps, or a stunningly beautiful human; it is rarely a kiwi fruit. Not that exceptional you might think, I can assure you that a kiwi fruit in Tuvalu is about as likely as a polar bear wandering down Oxford street, and for that moment I found myself just gazing at the flirtatiously firm and furry fruit dreaming of the taste explosion I was about to receive.
Congratulations! You’ve almost made it, you’ve survived the barren wasteland of time that sits between Christmas and New Year – the epoch of time traditionally filled only with the making and eating of leftover turkey and ham sandwiches – soon you will have made it off this dog-eared, coffee stained page of the calendar and into the crisp, sweet smelling pages of a brand new year, a year where you can eat more than just Turkey, and the cranberry sauce can return to the back of the fridge until next Christmas to keep the piccalilli company.
Sharing a cup of tea with a fellow Englishman, is arguably one of the most normal things you can do. However, sharing a cup of tea with a fellow Englishman at 3 in the morning on a massive Fijian cargo ship, towering above Tuvalu, whilst watching a total lunar eclipse, I hope you agree is a little more unique.
Now I would never claim that the work I am doing in Tuvalu will alter the way we look at fundamental scientific theories, however I still find it difficult to convince some people that I am in fact in Tuvalu to work, just like Darwin. I have a job to do, and am not, as some people still think – on holiday.
Since arriving in Tuvalu over two weeks ago now, our staple diet has been fish and rice (or cassava if we’re feeling fancy!) the fish is exotic, fresh, delicious, and cheap and the rice is…well rice, and if I’m honest, a little dull. Since arriving we have had two apples each which were brought as a present as they are hideously expensive – being imported from New Zealand as they are, and other than that, the closest we have got to fruit or vegetables is the odd onion, tinned coconut milk, and the seaweed that we see floating in the lagoon.
I am assured that in some Indian temples it is good luck, and indeed a blessing from God, to have a rat run over your feet – I’m not sure a rat chewing on your big toe in Tuvalu however, has similar Holy implications, unless you are talking about the various “Holy this” and “Holy that” phrases that it inspired.
The storm did mean quite a bumpy ride for myself and the other 28 passengers, but a bit of turbulence was nothing to worry about, particularly as the tiny plane we were currently sitting on, was in two hours time, hopefully going to land us on the tiny island nation of Tuvalu – a country recently plagued by epic water shortages, resulting in a state of national emergency, and aid being delivered from a number of neighbouring countries.
explore v. (ɛkˈsplɔː) 1. The action of travelling through an unfamiliar area in order to learn more about it
