The village was spotlessly clean and tidy, the lawns shaved with machetes and the weeds carried away. Concrete homes, which can withstand hurricanes, have largely replaced the coconut bures. The school was set out around the rugby field. The church was built by a carpenter and has carvings of the saints all around. The chief sat us down and made a short prayer. The church was not for gawking tourists.
 On Sunday we went to the service there. They beat a log drum for half an hour before it began. The church was full. Everyone was barefoot and dressed nicely. The children sat in the middle, the women on the right and the men on the left. The choir, with the women in white dresses, sat in front. Although we clashed with the brown skinned congregation nobody stared at us. The choir opened with an unaccompanied psalm in robust 4-part harmony. Sudden pianissimos made your hair stand on end. It was like Montiverdi. In the middle of the service, the schoolteacher stood, welcomed us formally and explained that the sermon, which we would not understand because it would be in Fijian, would be about Adam and Eve. The minister gave a fierce address and beat the pulpit. Then we stood for some vigorous hymns.
 The teacher invited us to her home to take a photo of her grandson. We met her granddaughter, Mere, a bright-eyed, graceful girl of about 12. She took us to the school and showed us her drawings of mosquitoes. Her exercise book was neatly written in English. There was spelling, science and topics that seemed intensely practical: rubbish disposal, toilets, what you do if you have diarrhea. A list on the door indicated which students were responsible for sweeping the classroom each day. The school rules posted beside the door emphasized obedience and respect for property.
We asked one of the teacher's sons to show us the hurricane cave. We followed him up a track behind the village. Little patches of cultivation were everywhere. Cassava plants have slender stems with just a few leaves on top. After 18 months you dig them up. The tuber underneath is over two feet long. If you cut a short section of the stem and stick it back in the ground, it grows into a new plant and, in 18 months, you can harvest it again. It is the same for pineapples. Eat the bottom, plant the top and you get a new pineapple plant. Yams require a bit more work, their vine-like stems need a cane to grow up but bananas, papaya, breadfruit just grow wild. Everyone is potentially self-sufficient. Only flour and sugar are brought from the mainland. Half way up the mountain there is a cave. It was just crouching height but it extended back a long way. When the hurricane comes the villagers carry mats, water and food up here and lie at the entrance watching the debris flying by outside. Over 100 people can sleep in here. There were ashes in the fireplace from the last time.
If you are interested in marine life, this is the place to be. The sun blazes down, the water is warm and clear and there are all kinds of creatures down there. One of the best dives that we had was on an underwater pinnacle near Castaway Island. From the surface you could see down about 30 ft to a field of coral and, at the edge of it, a cliff that fell away into deep indigo. We swam to the edge and slipped off into space. Flocks of fish hung above us or swam in schools around the wall or vertically downwards. The cliff was encrusted with coral and full of life. There were coral shelves and bushes, sea fans that extended out into the current, sea whips with a feather star perched on the end fishing the stream. The coral was dotted with yellow sponges and Christmas tree fan-worms. We found an anemone fish, fox red with a cream stripe, nestled in a carpet of anemone fingers. As you approached he shot out bold as a terrier and did a U turn in your face. If you poked at him with a finger he shot back into the anemone and looked out from the deep pile with just his face showing. We found a sea slug, in a smart black outfit with yellow dots, and a gentle giant clam with its beautiful mantle exposed to the light. There were fish with neon blue stripes and fish with eyes painted on their tails. We slowly toured the pinnacle marveling at the scene.
 Musket cove, where we ended the trip, was full of super-yachts. This is where they gather for the hop to
New Zealand 1200 miles to the south to escape the hurricanes. The Musket Cove yacht club (lifetime membership $1) runs some very informal races. Everyone sails around the island and the race committee chooses the winners.
It all went very quickly. Then we were on a charter flight back to Canada feeling a bit like Cinderella just after midnight but glowing with health and warm memories.
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