Paea, Tahiti, French Polynesia
Sunday, 15 Jan
I didn't make it to the internet yesterday, mostly because of my own timidity. We went to visit a Servas couple, Isabel and Herve, for dinner. They're both teachers from France. The French have a centralized educational system, meaning that you can request a transfer, if you like, to Tahiti, or the Marquesa Islands, or Miquelon up near Nova Scotia, Canada, and if there's a slot open and you have enough of whatever points or seniority you need, you can go off with a decent living and school holidays.

That's how Michel got to Tahiti in the first place. He was a principal in the Parisian suburbs and went to Rurutu, the little island where JF spent New Year's with Teura's brother.

We know several people who have gone off to, say, Madagascar to teach. The closest we've got to this system is the network of military schools around the world.

Herve and Isabel, the Servas people, are the only ones listed in the host book for this corner of the globe, so they get plenty of visitors all year round. (Unlike us, in our less-than-fascinating location in the middle of the Piedmont Hills of North Where-the-hell-is-that? Carolina.) They have just moved onto a spectacular rental up on the side of the volcanic crater overlooking the city of Papeete. They have an awe-inspiring view of the sea and the island where JF and I are headed today, as well as a view of the steep green sides of the volcano, dropping for sharp-edged ridges. They have a little swimming pool for that after-work dip that cools, and an open-air terrace dining area.

Isabel did some kind of creative Chinese dumplings with shrimp, cabbage and carrots, and served that with grilled tuna steaks and grilled steaks of duck liver in a tamarind sauce with cold green beans in a salad on the side. For dessert, chocolate mousse with some kind of crunchy cookie as a kind of crust.

Then we went out on the town, to a bar in a restaurant with living room chairs and couches to hear Guitar Shorty and his group. I have an audio clip of one of his wild and wooly rifs. We heard that Mr. Shorty is Jimmy Hendricks' "beau-frere," which could translate as brother-in-law or step-brother, either one. I have never heard music like that live, I confess. I don't think that particular music is fashionable any more, but I admitted to Isabel that I'm not particularly drawn to music in my daily life.

If nobody puts music on at home, I'm perfectly content to do my chores, deal with my email and Worlds Touch work life, fold laundry, etc., without it. I will put on a book and listen to a story rather than put on music. This blues guitar that talks, that makes love, that whines and sings and runs all over the emotional spectrum is not something I'd listen to, anyway. It demands your attention. It wants you to stop what you're doing a PAY it attention.

Today is Sunday, and I'm aware of missing my weekly meeting with Sobina.