Every day, I step out the door and feel a little awed to be here. I am in the jungle. Warm sun in the middle of winter.
It wouldn’t seem strange to you back home – this weather, it’s almost June. But I have had summer for so long and traveled such a distance that my body has no idea what month or season it is. Sometimes for days I think it’s October. Really. I recently saw a newspaper from May and thought it was from last year.
But I remember now - it’s almost June. In New Zealand, on the south island, the temperatures are dropping to five below. In Canada, it’s May Long Weekend. The threat of frost is over, and people are planting peas.
Here in Tonga, winter means that it’s the dry season, and that the heat is tolerable. At night there is a cool breeze; it rustles the palms and sounds like rain.
It may be winter here, but I’m comfortable in shorts and bare feet all day, every day. I enjoy the warmth of my blood, all the way to my toes. In the mornings and evenings I sometimes feel chilly enough to put on a sweater, but it’s still too warm for pants. The temperature gage says that it’s 26 degrees.
I don’t want my time here to end. I lie on the beach in the afternoons, soaking up the heat of the sun. It feels so close. The heat of the sun is red behind my eyelids. I feel the warm sand beneath my feet, under my palms: I want to bury myself in this good earth.
West across the water there is nothing, only clouds and horizon. If we launched a boat straight out, I wonder whether we would hit Australia. Or nothing.
Afternoon wanes; the sun falls away. I can imagine the earth spinning me east, away from its warmth. The sky blooms a fuchsia sunset.
The snowflake-fingered papaya trees appear to beckon in the wind. Their fruits are like enormous drops of sap, ripening to yellow against their trunks. Further on, the banana trees erupt with their broad leaves and trumpets of fruit, and give way to tall coconut palms, stretching across the horizon, all the way to the darkening sky.
More stars come out than I have ever seen in my life. The Canadian sky faces open space, but the southern hemisphere faces into the centre of the galaxy, so it is worth a visit for the night sky alone. Besides, I’m in the middle of the ocean, and the nearest city is hours away. From here, a brilliant streak of stars, like a brushstroke, rips open the sky. Vague to my eyes, luminous star clusters haze a pale blue, where new stars are being born. I wonder if my wide eyes reflect the universe.
From my room, I can still hear the ocean, a slow rumble and the drag of waves. I close my eyes and listen to the whispering grass, the piercing creaks of insects vibrating. The geckos make a sudden sound, very like little barks of laughter, as they lie in wait to ambush winged prey. Sometimes, at night, you can hear the giant fruit bats hunting.
Here I am. I’m on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, and the fact that this place seems big to me – it makes me feel even smaller. At one time, I had never even heard of this place.
Every morning now, I step out of my door and want to hold onto it. This place. Sometimes it seems unreal.
I think I could almost live here. I do wish to stay. I could eat all the pineapple I wanted.
On the other hand, I would have to give up chocolate – and going to the movies.
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