Читать книгу Wanderlust: A Solitary Island in the South Pacific - Nina Hoffmann - Страница 11

Nina can't wait to see the photos I brought with me.

"I have something else for you," I say. "Spread out your hands." I pull out the water bottle that I have half filled with sand on the island, open it and let Nina trickle the sand onto the palms of her hands. "Well, what do you think of the fineness?"

"It's exactly as I imagined it would be," she says and falls around my neck with joy. "But I wasn't idle either." She takes me into our temporary living room and points to a tall tower of cartons and boxes that she has filled to the brim with durable food, most of which we will need for the first six months of the island. There is a box of noodles, a huge sack of rice, a sack of potatoes, flour, sugar, several cans of tomato sauce, corn, beans, beetroot, cans of peaches, pears and pineapples. Next to the box with the inscription "Medicine", which we have already taken care of in Germany, there is a box with spices, salt, pepper, soy sauces and wasabi pastes for island sushi. Two boxes contain long-lasting breakfast: jam, New Zealand muesli - called Weet-Bix - coffee powder, tea bags and milk powder in mega cans. And very important: biscuits called breakfast crackers, which replace breakfast bread in the South Sea. Nina also bought some crockery and a tea kettle.

"Wow, that's so much," I say as I gaze at the huge pile.

You can't imagine how much stress it was to bring everything here," says Nina, "and I'm thinking of our rental car: a small green junk car where the windshield wipers only work when the radio is on and it's raining in through the side windows, and which amazingly is still ready to go. In order to be allowed to drive around with it, Nina first had to buy a driving licence, as is usual in Tonga. Then she went through each of the approximately fifty minishops that can be found in Nuku'alofa. There is no such thing as a supermarket on Tongatapu, which is why Nina had to buy the stocks of several shops empty before she had everything together.

The shop assistants stared at Nina with disbelieving eyes, and at some point someone dared to ask what she needed the supplies for. Nina told her the whole story and then at the best the saleswoman must have thought she was dealing with a crazy woman. Nina tried to explain to her that she couldn't even buy supplies on the desert island because we didn't have a boat and we were too far away from civilization to even think about supplies. But no matter what Nina tried to explain to the employees in the shop, she could tell from their eyes that she didn't understand.

"But your husband is lucky that you accompany him to a lonely island," the saleswoman finally said with a shrug of the shoulders. Probably she also thought: instead of staying at home and leading a luxurious life.

Of course, life on the island will be sparse, and we will have to do without many things. But we are happy to accept that and even look forward to the challenge of making the best of what we have. It is well known that necessity is the mother of invention, even if it is chosen by oneself.

However, we do not want to do without a luxury good that many Tongans would never afford because of the high price: cheese. There's this well-shaped cheddar wrapped in yellow boxes the size of a piece of butter, which doesn't have to be cooled, and of which Nina wants to take thirty with her. This is a complicated process, especially as this cheese can only be found in a few shops, but also because in many places the expiration date has expired. After a day of driving back and forth with the rental car, this point is also ticked off on the list. Thirty of them!

I hate going shopping, and for me the last days in Nuku'alofa are very hectic, although Nina has already done many things on our list. The thing is, if you seriously have to answer the question of what to take to a desert island, you end up with more than three novels and an iPod.

"Oh, man, I'm really not in the mood anymore. That's enough," I say moodily at some point.

"You'll regret it on the island," Nina prophesies. "Suggestion: I'll continue shopping, you go to the port and ask Sione when the next boat will leave."

"Okay," I answer, "but remember, I definitely want two jars of Nutella. Whatever it takes." Even such an indispensable luxury...The sums we spend on our food are probably the reason for the shocked reactions of the sellers. We buy for Tongan standards with monthly wages. Much less than we earn at home, but no meagre sum for us either. We have saved every single cent at home to make our dream come true. It would be stupid to spoil things now because we're stingy in stockpiling. Otherwise we will stand alone on our island later and may experience a nasty surprise, because the roots growing there are not enough and we will have to starve more or less. We wish ourselves a good, healthy time and do not want to expose ourselves to any survival experiment.

At the harbour I get to know that the next ferry leaves next Monday, if the weather remains like this. Until then we need a gas cooker because we do not know what we will find in the kitchen on the island and how functional the appliances are. Nina catches one at an Indian grocery store in the center of town. She buys a cooking gas bottle near the harbour at a filling station.

Next, we need tools. In order to get a view through the island thicket, we need several machetes, which are available in a small DIY store on the outskirts of the city in a larger selection.

"Let's take other things with us when we get there," says Nina and stacks spades, hammers, pliers, tape, string, nails, screwdrivers, gloves, a plastic sheet and mosquito screens in our shopping carts.

In our rental car we rumble on gravel roads, and after another pothole we have a flat.

"Damn, this can't be happening," I curse.

"This had to happen sometime," Nina says relaxed. "You're lucky the box still drives."

Somehow we get our car rolled into a backyard workshop, where the mechanic only wants five dollars for a tire patch. By chance we meet there the grumpy Franz, to whom we owe the decisive reference to our island and who asks us about the state of our preparations.

"We're making good progress," I say. "However, we still need a car battery and a solar panel to recharge our satellite phone, camera and laptop. The battery's light, but I have no idea where we're gonna get a solar panel." I'm sighing.

Franz pats me on the shoulder and his grumpy face brightens. "No problem," he says. "I know someone who can help you."

Nina and I exchange a disbelieving look. Another stroke of luck?

That's the way it is, a fine trait of fate. Franz is friends with a German engineer who is currently in the South Seas for a few months to convert the resort from generator power to solar energy.

"I'm sure he knows where you can get a module like that." For the second time Franz hands us a note with an important name.

"You see, it's a good thing we had the flat tire." Grinning, Nina hooks herself up with me. "So get out of your bad mood."

Franz's friend is Georg, is in his mid-fifties and a loose guy who would like to go with us to the desert island if he didn't have to work. He shows me the solar system he's setting up at the resort and explains the details I absolutely don't get. Then he pulls out an orange hard-shell suitcase under a table.

"I think I have just the thing for you," he says. "This is a solar case." He opens the lid.

"Wow," I dig it out. The wonder box accommodates everything Robinson needs on the island in the 21st century: two small powerful batteries connected to a charge controller and inverter; the energy can be used by means of two car adapters. A foldable solar module, forty watts, completes the set. The suitcase is terribly heavy, but ideal. And best of all, I'm getting it on loan. Just like that.

"Hey, thanks a million, I'll never forget that. So cool."

"No problem at all. Have fun," says Georg.

I load the suitcase into our overcrowded rental car and we wave goodbye. Finally our list becomes lighter. A few dozen candles are still missing, because despite the solar case we won't have any electric light. Also juice concentrate, mosquito smoke spirals, a box of Kingfisher beer from India, which we want to treat ourselves to on special occasions. There you go. We have dried seeds for the garden ourselves in the last few days - obtained from vegetables from the market.

For us, the weekend means taking a deep breath before the start, and with every hour that passes our excitement grows. Do we have everything? Is everything gonna be okay? Can the weather hold?

On Saturday morning we visit Sione again on his residential boat and prepare him for the fact that we will bring some cargo with us.

"Can this be done?" asks Nina.

"Io." Sione waves casually. "Sure you can. The weather is good."

He is one of the few people who immediately understand our plan, because he himself lived for a long time on a secluded island; on Tofua, a five hundred meter high volcanic island, the island on which Captain William Bligh was abandoned in 1789 after the mutiny on the Bounty with 18 crew members.

To say goodbye to Nuku'alofa we go to the Billfish harbour bar in the evening, which becomes a disco on Saturdays. For the last time in a long time, we drift in a crowd. It's Caribbean reggae. I pulling Nina against me.

"Look, they're so prudish here," I scream into her ear to drown out the music. "Nobody dances tight."

"Soon we'll be on the island," Nina replies and smiles. I'm grinning.

The party's over by midnight. On Sundays we are banned from dancing in Tonga, and we go home, relaxed, but somehow relieved, because we only have the island in our heads.