Kijana (18 page)

Half the crowd were yachties, the other half surfers. We scoffed our food in time to board an ancient minibus that pulled up outside. Everyone crammed in until it was set to explode with passengers, forcing six people to climb onto the roof. We were driven north out of town along the main track, coming to a halt at a dry riverbed. The driver announced he wasn't sure if the bus would stay upright as he headed through the riverbed, so would we mind getting out. He didn't have to ask twice. We ambled along, watching in horror and amazement as the bus jolted at precarious angles until it was safely on the other side. We all jumped in and on, and set off again.

We continued on a little further, then took a track to the right, away from the beach. We arrived at a house lit with floodlights. In the distance I could hear the hum of a generator.

Near the house was a bare area that looked like a dusty dance floor, around which dozens of locals sat on homemade benches. As we joined them, an old plastic jug with a matching cup was passed around, with everyone expected to take a stiff shot of a clear alcoholic drink, called sopi. It didn't leave a taste but gave a hot flush, the sort I'd experienced with tequila. It was handed out by a guy with an Australian accent. He was a tall, weather-beaten man aged in his fifties with a broad friendly smile. He reminded me a bit of Paul Hogan, the actor.

Kijana
at anchor in Thailand. I never got sick of looking at her sweeping lines.

Me, Mika and Josh.

Beau

Me and Maya (at Maya Bay).

Nicolette

Maria

Swimming with the Yolngu kids in Arnhem Land.

A cheeky face on the beach. We had a lot of fun with Gayili and her family.

Gayili teaching Mika and Nicolette to weave.

Our final night in Arnhem Land. We could hardly wait for our feast to cook in the underground oven.

Josh, me and Maria. A typical cockpit dinner aboard
Kijana
.

Arriving in Kupang, Indonesia, felt like we were stepping back in time.