Culture Shock and the Island (P. 2)

 

To call the watercraft that brought us to the island a “small ferry.” is misleading. A more accurate description would be a large motorboat with wooden, built-in seats. The crossing felt like a continuous launch over the waves to then crash, smacking the surface. This violent movement left my guts in chaos. Once arriving, after helping my wife off the boat, I turned away and vomited into the blue sea. The pretty indigenous woman, dressed in a light blue polo shirt and white shorts, our greeter to the island paradise, covered her face and grinned. My wife seemed embarrassed, grabbing my arm in an attempt to prevent me from falling off the peer.

“Are you alright, Craig?” she asked.

The crowd of eight of our fellow motorboat travelers bursts into laughter as I raised my hand in the air and bowed to them! This action for me, at least, relieved the self-disdain that I felt at that moment.

Our pretty greeter, led my wife and me to a beautiful little bungalow set close to the ocean. The room was large, and the bed covers and prints on the walls were all quite colorful. Collapsing on the bed, I said, “Well, that was a good start to our vacation.”

She began to unpack our bags and said, “Don't worry about it. Take a shower and meet me at the main bar.”

This didn't happen. I fell asleep immediately and didn't wake up until 9:30 that evening to an empty room.

At first wondering where the hell I was for a second, I immediately hit the shower as my body was drenched in sweat from the thick humidity in the air. Dressing in jeans and a new Apple polo shirt that a fellow-worker gave me, I exited the room for the nearest pub. This was around the time that the Apple corporation came to Australia. The shirt is black with an Apple insignia emblazoned on the front. The first bar I came across was only a short distance from our bungalow. Entering the place, it appeared empty, except for two elderly gentlemen seated at a table in the corner... I ordered a beer when the younger of the two men invited me to join them from across the room.

“Did you arrive today?” the young one asked.

“Yes, this afternoon,” I said.

The older man, distinguished in manner, said, “So you're the young American fellow who lost his lunch on the peer.”

I laughed instantly to hide my embarrassment. “Yep, that's me, the experienced sailor of the crowd. I mean, really, word gets around.”

“It's a small island, and there's not much to talk about.” the distinguished gentleman said.

Our conversation steered towards the rise of technology around the world. This was the late 80's when Apple Mac hit the international market. I told them I didn't work for Apple, but for the AGE Newspaper in charge of the entertainment advertising. The younger man, once discovering my employer, began to be a bit stand-offish. Both men turned out to be Australian investment bankers, who had lost plenty of money in the crash of 87. When I was about to excuse myself to leave, the younger man brought out his business card, writing something on the back, and handed it to me.

“Bring your wife to brunch tomorrow. My room number and phone extension are on the back. I hope you can join us.” he said.

I left in search of my wife. On the back was written much more than his room number, but in small print, a brief description of a club he was a member celebrated wife swapping every year. Later I discovered that this group would meet every year on a different south sea island to swap partners. Needless to say, we didn't meet them for lunch and, for the most part, avoided their company for the rest of our stay.

I wandered around the island for about 30 minutes, to finally hear loud rock music blasting from the south. I walked through the saloon type swing doors to absolute mayhem. The place was packed with many more women than men, all pissed, loud, where a few girls are dancing on the bar. Making my way to the bar, I ordered another beer to turn around to see my wife playing pool with some pretty rough characters. Once my wife saw me, she screamed and jumped into my arms like she hadn't seen me for years.

“Where have you been?” screaming over the music of Jimmy Barnes' “Working Class Man”.

“Never mind,” I said. “Did you manage to have any dinner?”

She seemed to not hear me, and returning to the pool table, made a magnificent shot, pocketing the 8 balls in the side pocket. “Drinks on you!” she yelled to the burly dude in the sleeveless jean jacket. He didn't appear too pleased about losing to a 4 foot 10.' girl in her early 30's. My instincts told me to grab my wife and make a quick exit. I whispered to her that we needed to go. At first, I could feel the resistance in her body, soon to agree to my request. We soon found our way back to the bungalow to where my wife collapsed on the bed. Finding the mini bar, found a tiny bottle of vodka and turned on the TV. Of course, there was no reception. After finishing the drink, falling to sleep, I must have left the TV on because my dreams were of lost souls crying from another dimension, begging to escape their static prison, wanting to come home.