From our… “illustrious explorer”. – Editor
Hello, hello fellow travelers! It is I, Terry Traveler here with Part II of my adventures traveling to the mostly unknown island of Waponi Woo or “Little island with a big volcano”.
I can say that homesickness has begun to show its menacing face upon the wrinkles of my lobster red face, neck, and scalp.
I ran out of sunscreen several days ago and have since been using a local remedy provided by the village Sage.
It is an unnaturally bright yellow with a thick consistency similar to that of butter. I spread the oily substance across my body for a few days, but the red only seemed to deepen from a rosy blush to an angry scarlet.
On day three I asked for the ingredients and was handed a tub of “Say It Ain’t So!” margarine. Thank goodness for my previous foraging experience that lead me to the location of aloe plants and natural anti-inflammatory herbs. The margarine is exceptional on toast.
Days on Waponi Woo are spent in the most relaxing manner possible. In my current condition I can do little but lie in my hut and wince at the topical breezes, but in the great days before sunburn, I would only move 15 feet outside my hut to a rattan lounge chair and do the same. As there is little commerce, there is a great deal of time available to necessity, and being highly efficient people, the Waponi have found several ways to accomplish all that is required in less than 3 hours of daylight, leaving them plenty of room for hobbies.
The men hunt and fish before retiring to the shade for countless hours of snail race gambling- coconuts, bananas, live squid are all used as currency (and the suckers give a great facial massage. I easily look 20 days younger.)
The women here have been weaving a garland of flowers for decades. One generation teaches the next until the single strand covers the village. Of course the flowers wither and die, as do the artisans, so each generation spends their life repairing and replacing the garland. When I spoke of plastic flowers an elderly member of the village called me a Hollywood hack.
Something in that compliment reminded me of home, and now, as I prepare to waddle in excruciating pain from the village hotspot back to the uncomfortable comforts of lying still and wincing, I can think of little else than my own bed, my own pillow, and my own prescription burn cream. (Third shelf behind the Tucks. Send care of T. Traveler, The Weird Guy’s Hut, Waponi Woo. Somebody, have a heart!)
Watch for Part III of my wild adventure on Waponi Woo! (Remember: burn cream.)