Mauri Mauri

 

With two-hand navigation my luggage squeezed through the esky wide exit of Bonriki International airport I was greeted to smiling faces and to the Kiribati welcome of “Mauri Mauri”. I could still remember my name and announced it to someone that looked like she knew a thing or two about this country and it’s visitors. Yes, this was our Guru our "in country" manager,  I had been assured she was the one who knew everything that a volunteer in this developing country would need to know.
With a fresh flower garland crown placed on my head I knew my body and soul had arrived, I still had my bags but had managed to loose the duty free.

I’m sure it had been some years since some in my group had worn flowers in their hair and no amount of jiggling or slugging back the chilled water or cola being handed out was going to take away that “new arrival” look. As for the duty free, G&Ts without the gin in a country that doesn’t really have tonic water keeps the choices pretty simple !

No taxi rank here or hustlers for the best back packers in a town. Tourist are light on the ground, but an add on fare from Fiji appear to have attracted one couple, an elderly brother and sister from the United States. She’s bought along five books to read and has offered to pass them on, so the only known physical address is passed on. Anyone who has had the need to research Kiribati knows "Mary’s motel", stars may not have been given here but it’s handful of rooms with Western loos have made it on to trip adviser.   

We piled onto a rusty Nissan 26 seater that I thought had seen better days and was secretly hoping that this wasn’t going to be it’s last. The airport exit is past a few stalls selling handicrafts, bananas, packets of noodles and little else, but seems to provide activity for more people than were actually on the plane. Our guru announces the plan for the day, first off was the suggestion that she’d phone ahead for lunch and the promise of café lattés and smoothies. This woman is smart, straight to the growling tummies and coffee withdrawals of a bunch of middle class westerners. "Hands up for tuna or egg sandwiches". Smoothies and sandwiches on sweet bread is what’s on offer at the cafe and no doubt would be at any other sandwich shop if there was another one on South Tarawa !

Postcards, very artistic ones were bought up and stamped as evidence of arrival, and to provide an activity when the need arises.  

The colour of the lagoon was nothing short of stunning, an aqua that only nature can produce and it’s high tide gently ebbing and flowing onto it’s own coral beach. The clarity of the sky, the glare of the coral and the beauty of the water called for the camera. The coconut smashed and glued front window of the Nissan, it's rusted out steps and flesh wounded body with it’s proud young driver called to be recorded, and this was the perfect back drop. I think it may be a few years since the “gift from Japan” (as written on the bus) had started it’s life on the pot holed roads of South Tarawa, they have been hard years and no doubt this bus has carried many bottoms, large and small, and the not so odd yellow fin tuna, rooster and pig.

Off to our guesthouse and the last lugging of bags for a few days, it’s comfortable, very welcoming and has air con and a shower. 

She's a beauty with a few tales to tell and lot's of pollyfilla

 The stunning lagoon, and bath house to 40,000 people ! 

Sign for the government run hotel, which is about as touristy as it gets

Up next : The nuts & bolts, otherwise known as "orientation".