A Lamma Book Signing

Sunday. Ferry arrives and a mass of people emerges, fans out from Yung Shue Wan pier. Human tentacles spread, move into main street, slide up side streets and paths and into hives of homes, exploring. The more vigorous, armed with sticks and water bottles and hatted, veer off. They strip outer layers of clothing, too hot for December sun on their backs. They hike across the island, over the hump and head to Sok Kwu Wan, focused on seafood lunch. Fish, prawns, crabs, lobsters and sea creatures frantically wait, swimming in no-escape aquariums.

Overnighters study holiday chalet window vacancy notices.

City people seeking crucial country experience photograph dogs with their mobile phones. Many stop to admire and pat them. Free and business-like dusty dogs are everywhere: in the streets, in the alleys, in the restaurants, running back and forth quenching their thirst from plastic bowls set out by dog-loving shop owners. Other dogs, lap dogs, sophisticated and on expensive leashes, heads held high, lead owners through the crowd. The dogs, those island dogs, they have seen it all before.

Bicyclists, Lamma belongers, impatiently ringing bells, pedal past, avoid hitting the throng. Narrow trucks, on roads narrow, carry stone cement and steel rods to pile more homes upon homes. Mini-ambulances and mini-fire trucks pass by, keep watch. Policemen on bicycles greet Kailash Vernon, Gung the Zine, and Nick the Bookman, long beard lifted by breeze.

Trendy artists, photographers, writers and Da-da duos frequent bars, restaurants, craft shops and pavement cafes. Spicy Island, Deli Lamma, Island Bar, Banyan Bay, Bookworm and Just Green.

Shopkeepers wait, try on ideas, catch browsers with attitude, talk them into buying nothing needed – clothes on racks, casual and neglected chic, organic foods, potpourri, handicraft, candles and oils essential.

Town dwellers seek an alternate style, connect to their soul.

End of day. Visitors, having found themselves, leave. They thread their tired way like a sad song towards the pier and home. The last ferry moves away, diminished enthusiasm.

Lammaites, islanders who stayed solid, pulsing, dreading, waiting, through the day, now affectionately settle back, their lives returned.

Sun sets.

High tide rhythmic, no stars, was there a moon?

Old friendships renewed, new island friends made, Floating Petals signed.

Thank you, Sharon and Dan.