At Whakarewarewa, a Maori village open to tourists, the ladies learned to play the poi, an dance accessory that was fromerly a wepons-training tool.
Lulu, our host at the Nabua Lodge “resort” at Fiji’s Yasawa islands, was telling us we’re part of his family. All seven of us at the dinner table, including the German girls and guy and the Norwegian dudes. His family grows every day when new guests arrive at this backpacker haven, one of dozens of beachside hostels where the dorms sleep 12 and electricity exists for five hours a day.
When it’s checkout time, his family shrinks again.
We had just shared a meal of fried fish, green beans, carrots and potatoes over a bed of ramen. “Now we teach you three Fiji dances.”