The bold colouring of the local hotel on Banda Neira foreshadows an emerging linguistic opportunity.  The restaurant was far from a dive…. It was welcome to the eels and reef life.  The warriors emerged from the village in traditional dress.  The oars reaching into the swelling sea with a synchronous cadence — a welcome song.  Welcomed according to tradition!  With kindness and respect.

In the marshaling grounds at the entrance to the village, ceremonial dancers punctuated the speeches of the elders and the ships captain.  Trader rituals permeated dance, drums and dress.  The blending of Muslim, Christian and Local traditions created celebrations that welcomed visitors and underscored history.

In the village corrugated awnings and sunscreen tarps frame the street scape.  The orange coloured boxes, blue tarps and faded pastel walls frame your way around town.

Under the noon equatorial sun the golden cloves dry.  The air is rich with that pungent dental-office odor. Slowly the orange cloves dehydrate and darken to a rich black colour.  The finger rubbing rich odor of the cloves are ready for market.  These are the spice islands and the simplicity of sun drying the harvest is low-tech.

The walls of the historic fort rise above the pasture and in the dry moat a young heifer grazes, waiting to be delivered.  The stretch of opportunity, the flavors of food, the baked goods with coconut and the equatorial sun spark the flavors our tables savour.  The spice of life is not a flavour but rather a blended living of lives steeped in tradition.