Palau–or at least one of its two biweekly newspapers–has a thing for blond jokes. Twice in two weeks, the “Jokes of the Week” section of Tia Belau has featured a crack at the expense of the fair-haired. The fairer sex–and wives, especially–are also common fodder for the joke mill around here. I should note that Palau prides itself on being a matrilineal society, and that although the Pacific Islands are notorious for gender inequality in politics and a whole lot else, Palauan women exercise some authority over clan land, money and chief titles. (In Making Sense of Micronesia, published in 2013, Francis Hezel notes that women make up 4% of the total congressional representatives in Micronesia–in Palau, the Marshall Islands, and the Federated States of Micronesia, only three out of seventy-six legislative members are women.)
Accustomed to my regular rants in response to the derogatory and unsubstantiated attacks against blonds, Mr. Brian Quirk, Esquire, was particularly pleased to present me with the following joke recently. I have to admit, it’s a pretty good one. Click for a larger view and to find out who gets the last laugh:
Well, we did it. We packed up our lives. We sold our cars (thanks, Tim & Sally). We boarded a plane. And then another. And then another. And then we landed 16 hours in the future, in Micronesia. It was pitch dark, because most flights arriving in Palau land between the hours of 1 and 4 a.m., because Palau is an inconvenient place to get to and has to take what it can get when it comes to airplane access and so operates on other countries’ schedules. The downside for the traveler is missing a spectacular aerial view of the Rock Islands (although most Palauans–all 21,000 of them–live on a cluster of four islands, the country is made up of more than 200 volcanic isles and coral atolls scattered over 196 square miles). On the other hand, you get to spend your first night sleeping with a plane full of Palauans, which is a quick cultural immersion experience because shortly after take-off, everyone quietly disperses about the cabin with pillows and blankets, ditches their flip flops, stretches out across the rows and lets it all hang out, snoozing and snoring for the duration of the flight, so that when you get up to use the lavatory (which is often, if you’re a Vodicka), you slalom through an aisle full of bare feet.
But the real upside to a mid-night arrival is waking to view of the place from your apartment on a hill, an utterly spectacular panorama made even more breathtaking by the fact that it was shrouded in darkness when you arrived, and so you open your window blinds and squint in the sunlight and actually gasp in surprise:
No matter that all of our kitchen utensils are lost on a slow boat to China (we’re told USPS no longer ships by sea, but I haven’t given up hope that one of these days, our cups, bowls and spoons will wash up on shore). We will suffer through and order mai tais! No matter that, technologically speaking, we’re living in the mid-1990s, those salad days of MS DOS and AOL dial-up. We will unplug! Give our brains some vacation from the screen! Show Brian’s law school professors who promised, during his first quarter of 1L year, that as a lawyer in the 21st century he would never have to use a book! And no matter that I got knocked-out-cold sick two days after we landed. There is a hammock out our front door. There is a breeze coming in off the ocean. Several boxes of books have arrived. Let the Island Time begin.