Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I waited for the epoxy to set and cleaned up the rough edges, rubbing polish into the bare
wood.
I had plenty of old strings that were in much better condition than the ones I had taken off.
I never throw away guitar strings, and I replace them quite often, so I had a large supply
of them. I restrung the guitar now with a set of good used ones and tuned it with my tun-
ing fork. I noticed the strings were a little high off the fret board. I relaxed the strings and
slipped out the Perspex saddle and filed it down quite a lot. Most guitars now days have an
adjustable metal rod running through the neck. This can be tightened to straighten a warped
neck. I tuned the strings up again and played it. It was just fine, provided you didn't need
to play too high on the upper register.
When I presented the son with the guitar, his whole demeanor towards me changed. It was
like I had given him a brand new guitar. He positively beamed with pleasure and stammered
a thank you in broken English. I grinned back at him, happy to have helped.
Faali appeared with the news that the other divers had given him the thumbs up for me to
dive for pearls. “You come with us; we go after lunch. We take boat; we go to motu over
there,” he said, pointing out in the lagoon. I asked him if it was really OK to do this. I knew
it was their only livelihood. He insisted now and was very happy for me to go and dive
some pearls. He was pleased with the guitar repair as well.
I arrived later with my snorkel and flippers as instructed. The two boys and Faali had
dragged the heavy wooden boat into the water. Faali sat patiently on the side smoking a
cigarette. I went over and threw my gear into the dinghy. I noticed there was a pile of large,
plastic sacks lying in the bilges along with their diving gear.
I helped drag the boat into the water. Faali tipped the ancient motor into the water, and it
fired up after a few tugs on the starter chord. We were off in a cloud of blue smoke, skim-
ming along the smooth, blue water towards the one shallow motu.
We suddenly slowed to a stop, the waves we had made now racing under us and raising the
heavy, old boat up and down sluggishly. The older son threw out a little anchor and chain
into the shallow water. Looking over the side, I noticed it was only about six feet deep.
I saw the yellow, sandy seabed clearly through the water. On the sand were thick patches
and clusters of dark, rocky-looking objects. “Oysters, all dat is oysters,” Faali informed me.
“You put on flippers and mask; take one bag down wit choo. You look for open oyster; if
you see pearl, you put him in bag. You make full three bag for you.”
“Three bags full! That's wonderful,” I laughed with delight.
By the time I had put on my gear, the others had already taken off collecting oysters.
Clutching a bag, I jumped in and paddled off in the direction where they weren't working.
