Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“What's the diving like here in the lagoon?” I asked.
“It's good, but if you want to get fish it's best to go and dive off the seaward side of the
reef. You should go with a local; there are some pretty scary sharks I believe,” he informed
me with his gentle manner and half smile.
“Hmm, I think I might dive around the channel entrance; there may be some fish that come
through there.”
“Yeah, good idea, let me know when you go; we might join you.”
So it went. I relaxed for three weeks on this lovely tropical oasis. We dived and fished,
walked about the island, visited the few night spots, and played music. The first time I ac-
companied Terry and Lynne to the ex-New Zealander's restaurant was quite memorable.
I was introduced as a guitarist from South Africa and met Rick, the retired professional mu-
sician, and his stunning nineteen-year-old daughter, Esdee. Rick was virtually Maori and
his wife, Wendy, was a bonnie white New Zealander. Their daughter was a mixture of the
two. She was like a goddess to me. I don't think it was because I had been at sea too long
either. She had olive brown skin, very long, straight, black hair, and cool, dark, limpid eyes
that looked deep into your soul. Her main dream in life was to become an accomplished
lead guitarist! Wow, if I was half my age! I told her of my ambition too, and we had a won-
derful chat about music and guitar styles.
Terry set up his portable electric keyboard on the raised, wooden stage, plugging into the
public address system. Rick asked if I would like to play guitar, and pointed to an old beat-
er of an electric guitar leaning up against an amplifier. I self-consciously went up on the
stage and picked up the guitar. The strings were very rusty, but it was perfectly playable
and appeared to be in tune.
The stage was set a little away from the bar. In between that and the stage, several outdoor
tables and chairs were placed under the stars, and guests now sat about chatting and enjoy-
ing the night. The stage had a roof of vine or creeper that covered it. There were flowers,
shrubs, and trees all around the courtyard, a most quaint and natural restaurant bar.
Rick came up on stage after a while, amid cheers from the several patrons, many of whom
I recognized off the boats. He helped me to plug the guitar into an old amplifier, and we
had a little sound check for volumes. Knobs were tweaked, microphones were checked,
and we were ready. I was terrified! Rick played a guitar as well, and he now said grinning,
“Hey everybody, welcome to the Crusher Bar and Restaurant. Tonight we have Terry on
keyboards, many of you will remember his fine playing from last week, and on my right we
have a new victim, Jonathan, a sailor from South Africa!” Up went an exuberant round of
