First off, to whomever stole my e-mail password and completely dashed my abilities to get my job done over the past month, I would like to say…
Phooey! I would like to say a lot more, but I always said that people who use profanities don’t know how to express themselves, so I won’t stoop that low. But when I get home, I’ll get Grouchy Retired Travel Writer Lady to spew profanities at you because she’s already stooped low. Mainly from osteoporosis. But also because she has the mouth of a sailor. (I know this because I have to edit out the naughties from her submissions.)
Argedley bargledey!
So phooey!
It has been a difficult few weeks. My long-awaited trip to Nauru has been eye-opening, but it’s a tough place to be at times. Take the day that Booby the bird, whom I met right after my arrival, gave me a tour.
He took me to his favorite restaurant, which happens to be his restaurant. It’s not really a restaurant, per se, but don’t tell that to Booby. He get’s offended. It’s actually a de facto dump along the northern coast, but why split hairs? People dump their garbage and Booby made a business out of it. How…entrepreneurial.
Yes, that’s the word I’ll use. Entrepreneurial.
On the face of it, Booby’s…restaurant has some things going for it. It has a marvellous ocean view. The service is very friendly. (Booby and his other bird friends bend over backwards to be nice. Or maybe they’re spilling over backwards because of all the beer they drink before noon. But again, don’t ask Booby for details on this. He’ll get offended.) And the menu changes according to what’s locally available.
That’s normally a good thing, if you want the freshest food out there. There’s just one little glitch. Nauru has to import 90% of its food. So what’s locally available doesn’t come in pods, peels or shells. It comes in cans. Take my lunch at Booby’s place as an example.
“What are you up for grubbing?” said Booby.
I ignored the ignoble way he referred to eating. “What do you recommend?” I said. (Travel tip: Always get the local suggestions if you want an authentic experience.)
“There’s canned ham, canned pineapple, canned chicken…”
“Do you have a light, white wine to go with any of that?”
At this, Booby looked confused. He wrinkled his brow. “Does that come in a can?”
So let’s just say that rotating fare doesn’t equate with freshness on Nauru.
It’s not that Nauruans are foodie schlubs. It’s that there’s isn’t much place to grow anything on the island. Eighty percent of the land was wrecked by phosphate mining. At only eight square miles, Nauru doesn’t have much room left over. So they import. And you can never get the freshest and best when you have to bring in your daily bread from Australia.
I asked Booby about how he coped. He just shrugged. It’s what everyone is used to. Put the checkered tablecloth out and make the best of it.
“At least no one’s eating me,” Booby said. He slapped his thighs and snorted.
But the story get’s more difficult, as I saw during my tour around Nauru. (Quite literally, I might add. Nauru is a round atoll, and the habitable, non-phosphate-mined portion runs in a strip of land around the edge of the island). Many Nauruans are, well, quite chubby. Ninety percent, according to some statistics. And diabetes is worse here than anywhere else in the world. Forty percent of Nauruans have diabetes.
“So, Booby, what do people do to control their diabetes if they can’t get their hands on good food?”
Booby shrugged. “They don’t.”
I always try to find the good wherever I go. This is not to say it isn’t hard to live on Nauru. although it dying comes rather easily. (See the above statistics). But still, I don’t want to leave the impression when I travel to poor countries that I suffered the whole time I was there. So despite the power outages, despite the water shortages (I used wipey naps from the airplane for some of my baths), despite the canned fare, I fell in love with…
Duuuuuuuck!
Coconuts. They grow cocunts on Nauru. They have for years. And coconuts are admittedly wonderful. Where would Hula dancers be without them? But they’re kind of hard (and by hard, I mean impossible) for mosquitoes to crack open. So travelling somewhere where coconuts abound and where my tour guide has a beak was great. I had lots of coconut. Lots and lots of coconut. Every day, morning, noon, tea time and night.
I never want to see a ruddy coconut again.
“You’re looking chubby,” Booby told me on my last day. “You shouldn’t have gorged on so much coconut. Atoll you so.” He slapped his thighs and snorted.
That was my joke. But, on second thought, Booby can keep it.
Tags: coconut, diabetes, harvey flea, Nauru, obesity, Pacific cuisine, Pacific islands, smallest country in the world