[password] caesar

[position] 19 08.912s 178 33.945w

[status] 0745 hrs 27 June 2018. Our social life is never ending. Last night we attended a post-dinner cocktail party where the cocktail of choice and exclusivity was kava. Another yachie couple and us brought the kava, which was transformed from ugly long roots to finely ground ugly powder. It was at our host family's bure attended by a select few family and friends. Lest you think kava parties are free flowing boozy affairs, think again. There is much protocol and formaility. First, we yachties sat on the floor facing our hosts and his guests, and, most importantly, the kava bowl. Fijian music played from a boom box powered by an inverter that had been hooked up to a solar panel all day, A handful (Fijians have huge hands) of kava powder is dumped into a square of cheese cloth. Water is added to a large kava bowl. And then the cheese cloth is sunk into the bowl and massaged by the designated kava server until the water turns a just right hue of muddy looking water with a bouquet of wet hay. A half coconut shell is used as the communal gulping vessel. That's right. Kava is not sipped. It's gulped down. And you hope no one has any communicable disease spread by sharing the half coconut shell. The drinker chooses "half' tide" (half a cup) or "tsunami" (full cup). Few Fijian would be so delicate as to order anything than a tsunami. The person tending the kava bowl, before serving, must await the formal cry from the person chosen for this auspicious job. And that job fell to me - probably because I was not driinking the kava - which was just fine with the guests as it meant more for them. Everyone sits around with unreserved anticipation until I cry out, in a loud, bold voice the magic word - Takei! Then, like turning on a light bulb, the crowd comes alive waiting their turn for a tsunami. Once the cup has made the round of all guests, everyone falls back into quiet anticipation until the cryer boldly yells out the magic word agasin. The problem relying on me, a non-drinker, was I would forget to regularly belt out, Takei. After awhile I would note a quiet falling over the gathering, and see everyone looking at me as a starving child would look for a bite to eat. Then it dawned on me. Takei!!! Laughter would resume, talking reverberated through the bure, guests would sway with the music, and the cup would make its rounds. Then all would slide back into anticipation mood for me to remember the next magic cry. The party went on for about 3 hours until all the kava was gone. By that time my legs were permanently bent into pretzels from sitting cross-legged on the floor. Leilani lifted me up and it took several mintues before I could stand on my own. And several more minutes before I could take a step. Once I could walk we started our 20-minute hike back to the dingy landing through the quiet village, over a footpath lighted by a beautiful almost full moon shining through palm trees on a remote Fiji island. It doesn't get any nicer than that.

We now await for Friday when the four villages will have a massive party with each village puttiing on mekes (dancing), food, and, of course, kava drinking. Takei!!!

Sototalay (see you later - spelled phonetically)
John & Leilani

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