It’s a big deal that our group of cruising boats is visiting Pasarwajo during the festival, and to welcome us the mayor and his wife invited the whole gang to their home for a buffet lunch. We made an effort to dress according to the occasion, which, for many of us, is not too easy, given our limited wardrobes. We did the best we could.
We were herded into buses and driven to a dramatically decorated house where we were welcomed and served traditional foods on the cool veranda.
Afterward we were encouraged to tour the house. Some rooms seemed hastily set up so we weren’t sure whether they had just moved in or the house wasn’t quite completed yet. Nonetheless the family were gracious to let us poke our noses into the various living spaces and were very proud of their digs.
Naturally there were speeches and the obligatory photo ops, where the family and officials were as eager to take photos of us taking photos as we were to take photos of them. It reminded me of a hall of mirrors, reflecting our reflections back to us. This became our pattern during our entire stay in Pasarwajo. I’ve never been so photographed in my life. By the end of each day our cheeks hurt from all the smiling, which in the grand scheme is not a bad thing.
Back at the hastily constructed and dicey dinghy dock during a change of tide swell we learned we would need to share rides to shore to reduce the number of dinghies tied up at a given time so none gets lost or damaged. Getting on and off is like an old funhouse challenge, often requiring the hands and knees belly flop maneuver.
