Road trip to Riung (Ree-oong) took the rest of daylight hours. Again many stops for photo ops along the way. This area has me reminiscing of times past when Dad packed the family into the vanagon and just drove for days. Sun sinking over dried out land. This is Wyoming with a coast and few palm trees.
By and by scrubby savana makes way for thick mangroves. A stop off at a solitary hilltop affords views of an island hopping excursion planned for tomorrow. Darkness looms. Make way for Riung.
Along the way Alexy comes across yet another friend. Seems he knows everybody on this island. Phillipus invites us to a sort of christening ceremony for his soon to be opened beachfront guest house. Graciously accepted good sir.
After a quick stop at this night's crib to refresh we make our way to the event. Calm surf under full moon is something out of a storybook. Philipus has a brilliant concept. He has scouted a prime location, a sandy spot under shade of palm trees not far from the beach. A few bungalows to house guests, he explains emphatically. A raised commons with dance floor/conference room capabilities will be lashed together, here, at four corners between these sturdy trees, you see? Isn't it perfect? Sounds about right.
Representatives from the community are present, eager to engage in the opportunity proffered by this enthusiastic éntrepreneur. The local wise man/village elder delivers a, presumably, inspiring speech before a meal of rice and boney meat is served. Palm wine is passed about as Phillipus begins his night tales.
Subjects range across eons from ancient through mystical and well into the banal modern. He has just wrapped work on an upcoming film about Flores that, among other things, delves into archaeology/anthropology and documentary, all the while telling a traditional dramatic love story in a feature film format. Fascinating. Talkative fellow. Somehow his tale segues into traditional medicine, magic, and the Ancestor Spirits that possess a confounding sort of spiritual power share arrangement with the local Catholic practice.
I learned from him about the nomadic diaspora of his ancestors escaping the religious and social turmoil during the Muslim conversion of ancient Persia. Drifting from ancient homeland to the horn of Africa, onward to India, and eventually to Pulau Roja (which the Portuguese eventually dubbed Flores, because of the plethora of flowers found here.) Undoubtedly they absorbed some of the cultures they passed on their generations long trek, however they have managed to remain tethered to their ancestral lineage to this day.
I wish I could have stayed to learn more but rain and fatigue demanded our departure. Perhaps one day I will return to seek out Phillipus and the wisdom he holds.
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