When My Toes Were In Charge: Traveler, There Is No Path
TONGA
I finally found it! A cafe with not only great coffee, but one that actually grows, dries, grinds, packages, produces and provides with a good cuppa. Caroline flashed her gold teeth at me, smiling proudly at the plants that lined the obscure and quaint cafe. I’d made a mental note that there seemed to be a cute hipster hangout, but things here can be hard to find, even with Google Maps. Such is life I suppose, a constant search for the path.
I toured the seedlings that they nurse and transport to the bush and the machines that help them peel the husk after they’re dried, as well as the one gadget that was gifted to the people by the Ministry of Agriculture in the hopes that it would be used for coffee production, even if some of the automation now required manual movement.
Thanks to Nagi, I scored recently roasted beans to take home to my loved ones for lattes later on. It was nice of him to hand pick and pack this bag from the little they had left over. Here, many things are made on order only, so to wander in and hope to pick off the shelf happens only with a few fast moving fast food style things.
Paired with a papaya scone, I settled into my seat. Soon, I heard the breeze rustle the leaves of the cacao, mango, vanilla and of course, palm trees. I felt it brush my inner thigh, right tricep and on my lips as my palette savoured the locally roasted coffee. With only a quasi agenda, no route mapped out and no real timeline, I sat feeling liberated, but also with the gentle gnawing like I was needing to ‘do something’.
Do you also have a seemingly incessant battle between your mind and body? However brilliant our brains, sometimes I wonder whether the secrets in our spirit and senses are hushed, hustled and perhaps even harangued by our minds …
Soon after, I snailed into site seeing. Main attractions included the Royal palace and tombs, churches (of which the Seventh-day Adventist are so common) ‘Stonehenge’ and Captain Cook’s landing. The ring road here also had tributaries which allowed for more efficient routing and photo shoots.
Places where I hung out a bit longer were the blowholes and spelunking at the Anahulu Cave. The former was somewhat familiar, given that the Alofaaga blowhole in Savai’i was the impetus to explore the the larger of the two main islands in nearby Samoa. In contrast, the Tongan blowholes spanned a bit wider and perhaps, given the higher tide, seemed slightly more spunky. Created by crevices in caves that abut the ocean’s edge, the combination of current, force and restricted outlets produce these unpredictable displays where water spurts skyward unabashedly.
With blowholes bursting, it was as if Nature were popping bottles of fizzy drinks along her shoreline … perhaps she too was celebrating various milestones. Coupled with these upward spews sounding like ‘pffffts’, crashing waves pounded and poured over the rocks, splaying streams of water in its wake.
It was easy to let time slip away, knowing that this show had been ongoing and would continue with or without this sole audience member. Like the persistence of these powerful strikes against stone, I wondered what ways I’m constantly belaboring my own walls, be it at work or play. Are the things we push and pound away at an exercise in repetitive futility, or is it that we’re patiently sculpting away, seeing a beautiful product in our mind’s eye, much like shorelines that have taken centuries to shape? I watched the waves and wake to see if I could interpret their take.
I’d walked much further than planned. The look out, the car, the few other locals and even my own footsteps were long out of sight. I was curious of the view where the coastline curved, but also could see that the path ahead and back was barely visible.
Somehow, I had unfound my way. Then, I was reminded by lines in Antonio Machado’s poem, “Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar” (Traveler, there is no road; you make your own path as you walk).
I’ve been living life as if it’s a ‘choose your own adventure’, sometimes on the mainstream highway and at times like this, telling my toes that they’re in charge - or rather, noticing they are when I look up to see where I’ve landed.
If only, our minds could relinquish the reigns, I wonder what wiser part of me would assume Captainship … just like these tours and detours in Tonga transpired, if our toes and bodies were at the helm of how we made decisions, where in the world could that lead?
This South Pacific adventure was imagined as screensaver beach hopping, sitting, sleeping, seeing, seeking, sipping slowly whatever the scene offered. While there were some of these moments, the gymnastics required more mind power than I often wanted to expend. I was to travel the road where there wasn’t really one etched into clarity, needing to let go of what I should do and to allow for that which was. Trying to see and be zen within the logistical scramble of the seas, stays, schedules, seasonal showers (that have gone on and on) and so on - this seemed to be the beast and beauty of this trip.
I’m lucky to have met some lovely folks along the way, and more so, to have let Life be what it is - to let it lead, even if that meant looking up and wondering how I got to this landing. As such, Machado’s poem ends with “Caminante, no hay camino sino estelas en la mar” (Traveler, there is no road; only a ship's wake on the sea).
I examined the land. Little colour changes gave hints of where I should steer. Audiobook in my ear, I let my feet make my path as the waves thrashed in the background. Soon, my little vehicle with the bling steering wheel came back into view - I’d found my way! And so, the (road)trip continues …
May palpable peace permeate as we let our footsteps be the path,