Loco

When he sailed here many moons ago, Captain Cook named Tonga ‘The Friendly Islands’. Little did he know that it was only due to the islanders’ indecision about precisely how to attack him that allowed him to escape unscathed. As far as I know, no-one is planning to attack me, so in a bold move against the little sensible person who usually resides on my shoulder, I have abandoned ship.

That’s right folks, I’m leaving the sailing vessel Esprit in my metaphorical wake and striking out alone. One of the potential hazards of this particular kind of hitchhiking is that personalities can clash. And with no more than a few metres to separate you from your fellow crew it can become a little stifling. Let’s just say I didn’t necessarily like the cut of my former captain’s jib, and was eager to see what opportunities might open up if I took a chance on Tonga. So as I write this email I am a boat-less sailor, a nomad of the open seas, and am bravely sticking out my thumb in the hope that another yacht will take pity on me.

Despite my initial fears that I might be stranded in this paradise forever (woe is me), my bravery has been rewarded. Within a few hours of officially leaving my yacht, I have been offered not one, but two crewing positions on other boats. They say beggars can’t be choosers, but I think that ‘they’ were not in Neiafu so I am currently being a yacht snob. I am enjoying myself far too much here to set sail again too quickly so am currently staying put, throwing myself head first into a great little community that has made me feel more than welcome. And if all else fails I can always stay here and have lots of Tongan babies because the locals sure are pretty (don’t worry Mum, that’s a joke…sort of).

So watch this space. I could be back on a boat before the week is out, heading to Fiji, Vanuatu or, well, anywhere. Or I could hang around for a month, who knows. Afterall this is a place where the school uniform is comprised of a skirt for the boys, there’s a pub quiz on Wednesdays, and a weekly drag show in which local Fakaleitis dance to Kylie Minogue. What more could you possibly hope for?

Back to top