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The island of Yap is criss-crossed with stone pathways that were created many generations ago, forming the lifeline linking one village to another. So each day, I would explore the island walking down the narrow stone paths through villages where the locals would lower their heads and avoid eye contact, retaining a formality in any exchange. I had been advised from the first day that should I walk through any village, I was to carry a small leafy branch at all times to let the locals know I was there in peace. This tradition extended beyond foreigners to locals visiting other areas outside their own village boundaries.
It was during these strolls through the tiny Yap villages that I would also be beckoned into homes where behind closed doors or under the shade of a tree, locals would open up and feel comfortable to speak with me. Yapese are incredibly shy, unassuming people, who have little contact with outsiders. As a general rule, most of the few tourists who head to Yap each year have little or no dialogue with the locals and little knowledge of local history or tradition as they quickly disappear for short breaks to impressive dive resorts owned and run by foreigners.
In the evening, I would return to my hut where almost magically, my arrival would be accompanied by the arrival of a local village woman who would make her way by torchlight to bring me my dinner. For US$5, I would receive a hand woven banana leaf plate piled high with taro, steamed fish, cooked bananas and yams. The satisfying meal was always perfectly accompanied by a coconut with an inserted reed plant straw giving me access to the sweet coconut milk inside.
As a regular traveller, I would say that as a Western woman, I was first viewed with suspicion as it was clear that very few travellers ever make contact with the local population. However, I found that the more time I spent time with the locals, the more they trusted my intentions, and their softness and warmth became apparent. On one visit to a remote village, I was invited as a guest to a local school where I was treated to a spectacular performance of cultural dance and singing. I watched in total adoration, the pride of these performers as they watched me, looking for my response and approval of their ability.
I felt that after ten days without technology, chemically enhanced food and the benefit of non-pressured conversations that Yap could only be described as one of the world’s last tourist-free destinations. I also felt that Yap was as much of a mystery upon departure as it was on arrival. As I boarded my flight out, I knew that just a tiny part of me was left behind in the tropical breeze moving across the reef beyond the sting rays and the sharks to this magical place where the world moves very slowly.
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