Wednesday, 22 March 2023 // From Poland to London
4:37 am, 79°
I can’t sleep. I should be able to because the setting is perfect. I’m 2 1/2 feet off the ground on the wonderful kia-kia. It is well-made and constructed. 10 feet wide by 14 feet long. Coconut palm frond roof is 100% waterproof, but it’s not raining. It’s cloudy and there are a few stars. My air mattress, cotton sleep sack, and cotton sack in which I have my clothes that doubles as a pillow, all that is needed for a good nights sleep.
My problem is not the cockerels crowing that started about 20 minutes ago. The problem is the incessant terrible music coming from the kava bar at least a 590 yards away. It’s like having a terrible, inconsiderate neighbor. The pop music is insipid, and repetitive, with a steady beat, it seems inspired by the worst of American Pop music.
I’ve heard other music here, pop music, I find appealing. Some I am shocked to find so so much like American country western, although the rhythm is a little bit different, a little bit Pacific – whatever that may mean. Maybe a touch of reggae to it. Then there is this loud, incessant beat of some Techno Island, hip-hop. I hear that sitting in the backseat of the car, and by the guy wearing the MIT T-shirt, who has agreed to take Yao, his wife, and I into Poland, Yao having to repair the chain on his motorcycle. I am 100% certain the chain has never been lubricated, and it goes through all kinds of water and sand.
I heard a song, so sweet yesterday I had to find it. I was speaking with Tabare when I heard it. I am told that tabare is the richest on Kiritimati. I was told he ran the largest copra operation. The latter may be true, as I have seen what looks to be a well organized system. I see no evidence about the former. His compound uses the same kind of rude cooking, a fire of coconut husks built on the ground, iron or metal strapping over it to hold pots in place.
But that’s not the point. The point is I’m speaking to Tabare – about copra, about the broken motorcycle chain, about Poland and London – and I can’t help but hear a wonderful singing, more than 100 yards away, in the bush, amongst the coconut palms.
I ask him about it and he tells me it is toddy cutters at work. toddy is a beverage made from the cuttings of the coconut spathe, collecting the sap or resin that runs within.
After my conversation with Tabare I walk off into the bush, trying to follow the sound of the singing. I spy a young man in the offing, wearing nothing but a pair of red shorts, carrying several bottles that are attached as if they are a string of fish he has caught. he is yards in yards in yards away and I quickly turn on my camera to film him.
I stand motionless, and just tell him walking through the palm forest. It is beautiful, and he sings, the song, melodic and plaintive. After he walks away, I run after him, and don’t either of a speech of his language. I may clear my request. I play him several digital recordings I’ve made on my phone: the church singing in London, my own guitar, playing back in Maine, the sound of a pig, I have recorded in Tabwakea. He understands and stands there and sings this song for me.
His voice is wonderful. His singing is clear and effortless, he swoops around and up to high notes and back. I have my eyes, closed the entire time, and nod and sway to his rhythm. when he finally finishes, we nod in approval.
I want to capture more, but he has humored me enough and leads me through the forest underneath another coworker, who is high in our palm tree. They both laugh.
In the tree, amongst the crown, the young men whistles and sings. Then he comes down the tree, effortlessly, holding several bottles again corded together. We would both like to interact further, but there is some kind of moth out there that is swarming us, and we are battling them away, as darkness starts to edge of the forest.
I walk out of the forest and back towards the copra station. Tabare is already out in the bush, and hands me a coconut from which to drink. The coconut is so young. The entire shell is pliable. Instead of drinking from one of the three holes that can be cut out at one end, he has just cut out a half dollar size hole right in the middle of it. The water is fresh and clean and light, and about as wonderful a drink as can be. These are the kindnesses I receive. One notes, something that I like and they find a way to repeat it. He sent me off with an extra coconut just the day before. One for the road. Back at camp in Paris, Iou’s wife has cooked up pumpkin with grated coconut, as she has heard from a friend in London I like that. They even went out of their way to find a pumpkin in Poland. Her version is radically different, but it tastes good and it’s the thought that counts.
Of course, I have acquired certain tastes over my lifetime. The breeze as I sleep, the pumpkin and coconut, the coconut water, the singing of the toddy maker. It does not comfort me when I can recognize certain chord progressions, or base lines from the music of the kava bar. But I’ve talked enough into my phone now, but just maybe the music has stopped for the night.
It is 5:14 in the morning, the trade wind blows consistently from the east, roosters still do a call and response. The sun is up in less than two hours. Maybe I can get some more sleep. But something tells me the village will be moving and up and about so enough.
Note: at 6am I’m woken by the heavy clang of bells striking repeated sets of two, less than 50 yards from where I WAS asleep. I lie. They are not bells. They are to tall cylindrical metallic tanks that were used for some kind of fuel most likely. That’s what everybody uses for bells for their churches and schools around here. The damn kava bar is at it again. More roosters, children, talking, a motorcycle engine in the offing. Good morning from Poland.
I left Poland at 8:45. It’s now 9:34. The odometer reads 27.5 but I know it hasn’t been working correctly. I’m currently at the paved road! So that was all of 45 minutes. Very good to know. Off to Main Camp and then London. Just before I left Poland I saw somebody riding a brand new trike the rear part of it being a covered platform. They said something about it costing $4000. It’s $2000 for my motorcycle is equal to 1400 American, then what is that for 4K? I ask, because I’m considering buying one for IOU to use as he maintains Paris. He is supposed to have another worker along with him, whom I met the other day, but who speaks no English.
I was told yesterday that he is not out there because he has no transportation. He could have his old bike, and it’s six years old it looks 60 years old because it is rusted and corroded and as I witnessed with a chain breaking yesterday Really just a minute short of disaster.
I’ve also thought of a couple books I can buy to send to the primary school since they’re learning English. “Where the Wild Things Are,” Dr. Seuss’s “The Sleep Book,” “Curious George.”
Wild things was my favorite, and of course, there are palm trees and wonderful creatures. Sleep Book has creatures having a cookout on a beach. And there is a mischievous monkey that will engage kids.
No doubt a few other things will come to mind. Good night moon. OK time to ride.