Ye Ole Swimming Hole
Friday, September 20th – In our honor, a pig has been killed for tonight’s dinner. The First Mate appreciates the honor, but not the offering — island pig being what it usually has been: tough, dry and tasteless. We are cautiously hopeful, however, for the first two meals we have had here in the Louisiades have been tasty surprises. Each boat is to bring a side dish that will feed those on their boat plus a few more. The First Mate makes another big pot of rice with onions, zucchini and cherry tomatoes thrown in for variety. With our bodies and clothes liberally coated with mosquito spray, for this is malaria territory, we head ashore at 1630 for the evening’s festivities. We bring along our pot of rice, our drinks, our plates, our utensils and a flashlight to light our way back to the boat after nightfall.
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We discover that this pig is not being cooked in a traditional mumu or underground oven. It is going to be grilled on the barbie, Australian style. The First Mate strolls over to where the men are cutting up the carcass and promptly wishes she had not. A blue plastic bin full of roughly cut-up hunks of pork flesh, bone, fat and skin is being fine-tuned for the grill. There is not one recognizable hunk of pork that she can see. This is not looking good. There’s no marinade in sight. Well, maybe if they slow-cook these hunks, they’ll end up tender and tasty, but she thinks it’s a good thing she packed in their steak knives.
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While the men go about the grilling, the Rally is officially welcomed by selected community leaders. Guy accepts the welcome on our behalf and then doles out several of the bundles of goods our boats have hauled over.
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Solar lights, books and clothes for the school kids, medical supplies, ropes and linens are given as well as a small chain saw and a weed whacker which had been specifically requested. Then our Rally kids present a “SingSing” for the villagers.
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The program concludes with a “SingSing” by the local children. By now, it is dark, and we are all hungry.
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As is traditional island etiquette, we, the DimDim guests, eat first while our hosts look on, a practice which is always a bit uncomfortable for us. Here we are, feeding our well-nourished bodies while these thin, little kids watch, but that is their way.
The pig? The poor thing should have been left to live. It certainly had nothing to offer us in death. Even with a steak knife, The First Mate cannot hack her way through the small hunk she has on her plate. In the darkness, The hungry Captain found that he had picked up nothing but chunks of bone and grizzle. The First Mate wonders where those delicious Papaya Biscuits are, for none are in sight. She guesses that she was not the only one who keyed into them at lunch today. We content ourselves with small helpings from other DimDim serving bowls being careful to only take a little just to slack our hunger so that the islanders will have plenty left for themselves. After we are finished, the remaining food somehow vanishes, though we never see any of it being eaten. The First Mate finds her offering bowl scraped clean.
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Saturday, September 21st – The Rally adventure for today is a trip to a hidden lake deep inside a lava cavern. We dinghy over to the other side of the island and are warmly and formally welcomed by the village of South Panasia. The village women are preparing a traditional mumu feast for us upon our return from the lake. Here in the Louisiades, a mumu is the underground oven which is known elsewhere throughout the Pacific as an umu.
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Waiting for the guides to get organized, The First Mate studies her surroundings. As she has seen throughout the more primitive areas of the Pacific, the various buildings are one or two-room thatched-roof affairs. In this village, few of the buildings are closed construction which makes sense here in the tropics where heat and ventilation are issues. Most of the buildings have raised platforms upon which the inhabitants sleep, sit and shelter from the rain. Life for these villagers is out in the open. The beach, a log under a tree, a straw mat — these are all the living room needed in this balmy climate.
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She spots a clearing that appears to be the community cooking area. Various pots are balanced over small fires and hot stones. She watches a woman carefully lifting a lid to give the contents a stir.
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Finally, we are on the move. A procession of DimDims and villagers treks off into the bush for the half-hour hike up to the cavern. It is an easy hike, though the last part is tricky and slippery as we navigate over thick muddy branches and boulders.
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The final ascent is up a rough ladder, through a round opening in a rock wall and then down a metal lattice into what looks like an open-air cave, if there is such a thing. It feels like we are in the bowels of the earth. Truly this would fit into all those creation stories of human life emerging from a hole in the ground.
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We continue to descend further down to the lake itself. Here the way is a bit more slippery on the damp red dirt, and more than a few of us (The First Mate, of course) end up with red bottoms for our effort. The villagers with their toughened bare feet have no problem. What they must think of us clumsy DimDims!
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We find ourselves in a magical place — a hidden swimming hole deep in a rocky mountain lit by sunlight coming through the hole in the top of the cavern.
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The walls rise up around us like folded veils of cloth.
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Stalk-like protrusions of rock offer great diving points. The local boys lead the way showing off the most daring ones and assuring any so minded DimDim of the depth of this watering hole.
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Of course, The Captain has to take up the challenge and is soon climbing a high point along with a couple of island boys and a few hardy Dim-Dims. That’s him in the orange suit. It’s not a great photo, but as leader of the pack, his ascent and descent must be noted.
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He
taunts The First Mate that as one of the more (most?) senior grandmas in
the group, she must climb up and jump. The taunting works. She’s not
that old yet! She’ll show him. Up she scampers, though on the slippery
rock, her ascent is more of a crawl. Out on the pinnacle she balances,
and down she plunges with a whoop. Unfortunately, there is no photo to
mark this triumph, but the effort was enough to spur on the rest of the
grandmas in the group!
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It looked like most of the village had made the climb to this remarkable swimming hole, but only a few of the youth join us as we cavort in the water. The rest, perched on the rocky descent like spectators in a prehistoric amusement park, happily watch the show. The Annual DimDim Migration had provided them the equal to a Hollywood extravaganza.
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Swimming time is up. We all negotiate the trek back to the village in time to watch the women formally open the mumu. We are led to a mound of large leaves and palm fronds. Several of the women position themselves around the edges of the mumu and carefully pull the leaves off the top and out of the way.
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Exposed is a layer of hot rocks. Using a pair of long flat sticks as tongs, the rocks are removed one by one. It is a painstakingly slow process, for care must be taken as to where behind their feet they are placing these hot rocks.
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We marvel at the bent-over posture of the women and at their backs which are flat enough to balance a glass of water. The First Mate rubs her back in empathy, but her empathy appears unneeded. Not a one of the village women rises up to do the same. Pilates, she thinks. Strengthen the inner core. These women would put some instructors to shame.
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Once all the rocks are removed, a second layer of fronds is revealed, and when this too is removed, the contents of the mumu are revealed. The yellow, gold and cream are various forms of potato and starchy root vegetables. The browns are hunks of pork. The women sit back to allow our inspection — or maybe they are finally easing their over-extended backs. We ooh and ahh.
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To
create this very effective earthen steam oven, hot rocks had first been
placed into a pit. Large leaves, layered next, form the cooking
platform upon which the food is placed. The final top layers of fronds,
hot rocks and more fronds seal in the heat, and the umu is left to
bake. There is not doubt that the preparation is time-consuming, and the
presentation is definitely impressive. The First Mate vows that she
will never again think putting on a Thanksgiving dinner a tiresome
affair. At least she does it all standing straight and not bent-over
like a penitent.
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Lest one might think that we were all next invited to dig into the stew with our plates and utensils dutifully in hand, the village ladies then set about separating the various hunks by color. Cream with cream, yellow with yellow, brown with brown and so on.
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Before lunch is formally served, the Rally presentation of gifts must be given and accepted. Speeches are made and received. Finally, we are invited to a thatched-roof enclosure where a long table is laden with the now lukewarm food. There is nothing unusual in this delay. Cooked food left standing around under wraps for quite a while is the norm out here. Food is eaten at what might be called tropical “room” temperature. A sizzling steak straight off the grill is not the Pacific island way.
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We DimDims do appreciate the care and pride that has gone into this ceremonial mumu. It is heart-warming, for we know this is not an everyday event. The First Mate helps herself to a little of everything, not wanting to be rude, but it is hard to finish her meager plate. Oh, the miracles that a little salt and meat tenderizer would have performed! The Captain does find his pork to be some of the more tender he has experienced at an island feast, but it still has a long way to go in the taste category. The First Mate, who has never truly been fond of pork, fears that after her tour through the Pacific, she is on her way to becoming an abstainer. Her new friend, Laurie, on s/v Eclipse, who admits to being a non-practicing Jew, whispers that she is about to return to the Kosher roots of her ancestors. Those within hearing distance, gnawing politely on their tasteless hunks, chuckle and understand.
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Returning to the Panasia anchorage, the two sister J/160‘s, Avante and Salacia, wait calmly at anchor. After scrubbing a load of laundry to get the red mud of the climb off our shorts, suits and towels, The First Mate relaxes. We spend a quiet afternoon on the boat. This is a beautiful spot and one surely meant to be savored and enjoyed.
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Evening gives us a special treat. A full moon rises over the anchorage. What a splendid sight! One could not ask for more here in this island paradise.