The Walrus and the carpenter

Running a guesthouse is definitely a very interesting, if rather demanding, way of life. You're constantly inviting strangers into your home and sharing your life with them. It takes a while to get used to, and I guess I'm still adjusting. You meet a fascinating cross-section of human kind. In the huge majority of cases you meet interesting and wonderful people, it really restores your faith in human nature, though you always have to keep in mind that these people are just passing through, which is sometimes hard. But every now and then you also have to deal with people that are not so likable, in most cases you can just grin and bear it......but last week we had, possibly, one of the most unpleasant people that I've had the pleasure of welcoming at our guesthouse. It's a good exercise in tolerance to try to find likable traits in such people, but I'm afraid that I failed rather miserable, I have a long way to go on the path to enlightenment!

I love traveling, and have to admit that despite having such a beautiful home and family, my feet still itch for my student days when I was able to up and leave and rough it. I always enjoyed experiencing new cultures, and just seeing new things, all the beauty that this world has to offer and there's still so much more out there that I'd love to see. But it's clear that this is not what inspires everyone to travel.....about a month ago I read 'Do Travel Writers go to Hell', a slightly dubious book, the memoirs of a travel-writer on his first big job writing for Lonely Planet Brazil, and the craziness of trying to fulfill his deadline, his struggle to figure out how best to go about his task and his moral dilemmas. It's not such an amazing book, but he does meets an array of travellers, those travelling to escape, those travelling to find themselves, those travelling to lose themselves. I'm not sure where our guest fits in, he was someone who had devoted over ten years of his life to traveling, and very proudly told me that he had visited 161 countries and had only 36 left to go, he'd seen everything that humans could do. But his complete lack of empathy with others, and complete absence of interest in Rurutu was astonishing to me. He spent three days with us, glued to the internet and quickly did the island tour on his own, and told me that he had Rurutu pretty much sussed out! He did not speak a word of french, nor did he feel it necessary to try, he simply shouted at anyone he needed to communicate with in English, assuming they would understand better if he spoke louder. He could not comprehend that my husband's first language was neither English nor French. I had a terrible time, trying not to explode into an indignant rage, tact is not one of my virtues. He was a retired academic of some kind, and somehow, for me, this made his mindless superiority all the more insufferable. And, yes, he was American...

Following hot on his heels was the 'arrival' of Viriamu's Uncle Rudi, the rightful king of Rurutu! He actually lives here in Rurutu, but he has a lady-friend visiting at the moment, and as his highly religious grandmother does not approve of that kind of thing (he is in fact a 53 year old widower, but some people are pretty strict around here!). So, knowing Viriamu's good for it, he pulled the family card and bagged a room at our guesthouse. He is fervent about rejuvenating the royal family, and believes that he is/should be the one wielding the scepter. He held 'court' on our terrace for the last few evenings, and the idea clearly was that we should bow to his every whim. I'm afraid I've never been very good at being reverent, even when merited, but I had to try to bite my tongue.....the absurdity of this last week's guests brings to mind Lewis Carroll's Walrus and the Carpenter. In fact, the more I think of it the more I feel like Alice!

"The time has come," the Walrus said,


"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- 

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."