Last night I was bested by a nine-year-old with bright eyes, a good grasp of English, and cut-throat UNO skills. She punctuated each unfavorable hand or game loss with "Awwww, SUGAR!". Adorable. Aaron and I went to a "restaurant" consisting of some tables and plastic chairs with a wood print and a kitchen. The kitchen was mostly outdoors, a flat iron, some gas stove tops I've only used camping, a small wood fire merrily heating up an iron-cast tea pot shoved into the top. This enterprise is ran by Gianya and we were there on her thirty-second birthday. She's just made it into the Lonely Planet book, possibly in part due to the letters Aaron sent after his first visit to her restaurant back in 2010. The guidebook status is brought up multiple times during our visit.
Gianya named her restaurant after her daughter, Dewmini, her number four Rotii shop, after the first three had to close to accomodate more people and the inevitable politics that arise with one person's success in a tiny village. It's now in her home, and they've added a guest-room to rent out. Gianya has a ready laugh, high and wheezy, and she tends to pat you on the arm or enfold you in a hug as she makes that laugh. Her husband is also very huggy with Aaron, he arrived just after we had and immediately declared it was a booze night. He put Aaron on the back of his motorbike and wobbled unsteadily to the exit. Looked like booze night started much earlier.
In their absense, Gianya and Dewmini and I played hand after hand of UNO. I didn't hold back in my strategies or my commentary, so it was a lot of "come on girls, let's DO this!" from me, a wheezy laugh from Gianya, and Dewmini rolling her eyes as she was just dying to slaughter us as soon as we'd lay down some cards. Time passed quickly. When the men returned in a tuk-tuk, I made sure to pull Aaron aside and check in. Apparently the tuk-tuk got involved fairly early on, included the liquor run, and the driver, Aaron, and Gianya's husband sat in a tuk-tuk slamming beers and Arrack until Aaron reminded them that dinner was waiting for us.
I much preferred the company of the ladies and didn't mind a steady losing streak. I had taught both Gianya and Dewmini how to shuffle cards Western style, and we'd worked on our numbers up to 7. Gianya emerged from her kitchen space, manned by her, her mother and little Grandmother (Dewmini's great grand mother, now relieved of any teeth and never shy with a smile). A huge spread of curries, chillies, beet root, bread fruit in yellow curry, and fresh herbs from the garden laid out in front of us. We ate. And ate. Gianya's family did not, but pushed each bowl at us exclaiming we had to try this one and that one. We didn't pay one rupee for our meal. We were fed, as much food as we could eat, and given beer and Arrack as much as we could drink, and spent the evening with that lovely family, all gratis. I think in 2010, Aaron had made quite the impression.
The day leading up to that spectacular dinner was equally great. Trip planning, a dip in the ocean, a careful walk through waist-deep water to a large group of rocks that a set of stairs and benches had been added to. We climbed all over it too, getting low enough to watch the tide come in, wave on top of rolling gray wave stacking the ocean higher and higher. Fisherman deftly leapt from rock to rock in front of us, tossing fishing line tied to drift wood into a sheltered area from the battering ocean. They were unbelivably thin and quite literally fishing for their dinner. It was over 15 minutes of patient baiting and tossing before I saw one of them pull out a fish the length of one of their palms.
Aaron and I spent some time chatting with the local boys on the highest point of the rock, they're the beach boys of Marissa with long hair and the occasional bleached out section. These guys get plenty of ladies, sell you weed at prices that require long winded stories about cops or capers, and are always ready with a smile and a hard-luck story. One had come to our aid earlier in the day and he and Aaron spent quite a while talking before "Sunny" shouted, "Turtle" and we all rushed to a rickety rail and looked down. Sure enough, there was a turtle that would rival me in weight, slowly feasting his way through the shallows protected by the large rocks, occasionally lifting his head and breathing.
Tide coming in
Fishing perch (how do you come in?)
Dinner
Local food
beach boys
That afternoon, Aaron and I indulged in a sit by the ocean at our hotel, drinking a cocktail of local ginger beer and coconut Arrack. Some men were thowing out a rock tied with fishing line beside us, winding up by spinning around their heads and releasing it far into the surf. We noticed a few turtles swimming around just below our seat and tried to get a picture when the cry went up from a group of locals. Apparently a turtle had been snagged by the rock/line combo. A man offered to sell us the meat. I told Aaron to buy it, but make sure it was alive. Aaron made the counter offer. The man looked at us like we were crazy. I turned tail and went into the hotel office. Finding the manager, I asked him to translate for us that we wanted to buy the turtle, but we wanted it alive.
The manager moved faster than I thought he could as he lead the way out of the office and towards the crowd at the beach mumbling about that being forbidden. When we got back, Aaron and the beach boy were talking with the fisherman, and it all blew over after a rapid-fire discussion between the men. The turtle was released, we had all of our rupee, everyone left. Now Aaron and I were feeling pretty good about interfering and all, but it again brought up the discussion of first world morals and third world reality. Awwwww SUGAR!