The Further Adventures of an Idiot Abroad by Karl Pilkington Read Free Book Online

from his head, wearing a nambas with flip flops. Again, if they can buy flip flops, they can buy a pair of
pants, surely. The chief’s nambas was not made of wicker like Albi’s and JJ’s. It was made of leaves and looked like a cross between some sort of Thai starter and a spec case.
Clothes normally help you to guess the age of people, so I was struggling to guess the age of most people while in Vanuatu. I tried to see how low the men’s testicles hung as a guide. The
lower they hang, the older the man. For women I used the same technique but with their breasts. By using this guide I’d say the chief was around 40.
    As he led us up to where he lived the the rain came down. We walked and talked. He told me they speak the language of Ninde. He said everything begins with the letter ‘n’. It’s
at times like this I wonder if they make things up to joke around with tourists like me. A palm tree he pointed to was called a Nimdimdip, we saw Naho, which is a fruit, and he pointed out a leaf
that was called Nooholee. I said that playing I-Spy here would be tough as you’d be guessing all day. He agreed.
    We then stopped at an area where he explained that people lay. At first I thought he meant to relax or to have it away with their partner, but then I saw a load of bones and realised he meant
where dead bodies lay. I saw a skull and asked whose head it was. Quick as a flash, he said, ‘Nicola’, as if showing me a photograph. I would’ve understand it more if it had been
the head of some ancient chief or something, but the name Nicola isn’t usually the name of a leader. Maybe having everything beginning with the letter ‘n’ makes it easy to
remember things. I thought it would be odd to see the skull of someone I knew.
    We got to the village. It was really nice. The gardens were like something in a royal park. The chief took me to a wooden hut where I would be staying the night. It was basic but would do the
job of keeping me dry. They had also installed a wooden toilet over a pit, which I think was built especially for me as it looked unused. This was how they showed their wealth. It wasn’t
about how much they had for themselves, it was more about how much they could give to others. He told me meat and kava would be served soon. I set out my sleeping bag on the floor, put up a mossy
net while there was still light and hung up my socks and trousers to dry before joining everyone at the communal eating area.
    All the men were sat around chatting. A few set about making some kava, a drink made from the kava plant roots. They ground the plant with some water from the stream. After an hour of bashing
the root with a wooden pole they had created a washing-up bowl full of grey kava. They poured me some first, as I was the guest. It tasted like soap and made my tongue numb, which at least made it
easier to drink the rest. My taste buds were off their tits.
    Apparently 5 million people attend Oktoberfest every year. I like the odd beer but not with 5 million other people. Imagine the queue at the bar. I’m happy having a
     night out with maybe three others but soon as you’re having to push tables together and use a notepad and pen to make a note of what people want to drink – it’s too many.
     I’ve only done it once or twice but I didn’t enjoy it. The saying used to be ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’. I wasn’t sure if I was on a night out or
     on some sort of protest march. I remember having to announce I was going home forty minutes before I wanted to go to allow time to say goodbye to everyone even though I hadn’t actually
     had time to say hello to them as there were so many bloody people. Never again.
    No women were present. In all the time I was there I didn’t see the men and women mix. Nicola’s dead head was the closest I saw the chief get to a woman.
    The chief was sat on a log chatting on his mobile phone, a sight I’d still not become accustomed to, even though each tribe