Term finished on 15th March, and I spent a few days tying up loose ends, enjoying fishing, snorkeling, and the companionship of Ihavandhoo chums. It was tough to say goodbye – in ten weeks I’d grown fond of the island, its people, and even my classes. Most of them.
One problem was posed by the tough old landlord. Two weeks before he moved into our spare bedroom, and since then Andrew and I had been communicating with him through hand signals and mutual guesswork. His fishing boat had been damaged and was undergoing some extensive repair work in the harbour, so he wanted a place away from the fibreglass dust and heat. Never mind that he was related to half the island and practically owns every house on Ihavandhoo - he was chief and was moving in, although still disappeared to his daughter's place for breakfast. At first we were happy enough for him to stay, but then five of his crew moved in and started sleeping on the floors, and sitting up chatting and smoking late into the night, so we put the metaphorical foot down. It was meant to be our place, and we were now paying the bills for eight people who were keeping us awake when we had to be up at 6am every morning. Not impressive.
I didn't want to tell him of my imminent departure, because I could ill afford to hand over the March rent from my small savings. The wages owed to me by the school would easily cover several months, so he wouldn't be out of pocket - I just couldn't face paying and then not getting the wages. So I had to pack surreptitiously on the last night, and carefully smuggle half the suitcases to Merlin. When I left the next morning, with just two bags, I looked merely overprepared for six days in Male', and not like I was doing a runner. (Technically I wasn't).
In pursuit of an authentic Maldivian experience (and to save money), I eschewed a flight in favour of the ferry - a marathon 18-hour direct journey through glittering atolls and shimmering seas. (Fresh from my class on adjectives y'see). Maybe 200 people were crammed onto the good ship Komas, and this lent the journey a friendly, communal atmosphere. This did not equal comfortable. The boat was small and split into several four-foot decks, so there was only space to sit or lie. Lying on wooden boards for eighteen hours is not fun.
That night we slept on the roof, under a stunning night sky, unspoilt by light pollution. Bloody uncomfortable, but it was quieter and cooler than the cramped lower decks, and I could stand up. Everyone had warned me that it would be bitterly cold, but I was confident that the Maldivian standard of 'bitterly cold' would not overly trouble a British constitution. Wrapped in a thin cotton bedsheet it was fine. Poor Merlin suffered a little more - but no problem; finally I had a use for one of the two jumpers my mum somehow convinced me to take to the Maldives! I think it was a compromise after we negotiated her down from five.
I didn't want to tell him of my imminent departure, because I could ill afford to hand over the March rent from my small savings. The wages owed to me by the school would easily cover several months, so he wouldn't be out of pocket - I just couldn't face paying and then not getting the wages. So I had to pack surreptitiously on the last night, and carefully smuggle half the suitcases to Merlin. When I left the next morning, with just two bags, I looked merely overprepared for six days in Male', and not like I was doing a runner. (Technically I wasn't).
In pursuit of an authentic Maldivian experience (and to save money), I eschewed a flight in favour of the ferry - a marathon 18-hour direct journey through glittering atolls and shimmering seas. (Fresh from my class on adjectives y'see). Maybe 200 people were crammed onto the good ship Komas, and this lent the journey a friendly, communal atmosphere. This did not equal comfortable. The boat was small and split into several four-foot decks, so there was only space to sit or lie. Lying on wooden boards for eighteen hours is not fun.
That night we slept on the roof, under a stunning night sky, unspoilt by light pollution. Bloody uncomfortable, but it was quieter and cooler than the cramped lower decks, and I could stand up. Everyone had warned me that it would be bitterly cold, but I was confident that the Maldivian standard of 'bitterly cold' would not overly trouble a British constitution. Wrapped in a thin cotton bedsheet it was fine. Poor Merlin suffered a little more - but no problem; finally I had a use for one of the two jumpers my mum somehow convinced me to take to the Maldives! I think it was a compromise after we negotiated her down from five.
We arrived in Male' at 7am, so I went for breakfast before scooting to Hulhumale with all my luggage, a big man-made island designed to handle both rising sea levels and the Male' population overspill in coming decades, and now is slowly filling with amenities and tenement blocks - not the most typically Maldivian of places, but a pleasant enough solution to some big problems. HM also had the best restaurant that I found in the Maldives, where a fresh orange juice and breakfast could be savoured for under a pound. My favourite was the kulhimas, a sweet spicy chutney sauce layered on chunks of meaty tuna, and scooped up with roshi. Elsewhere the kulhimas was more of a fish curry. Not so appetising for breakfast.
The next few days passed in a pleasant blur, catching up with all the other volunteers. Everyone seemed to need a break and change of scenery. All those castaway in distant atolls had bolted for the comforts and amenities of Male', whilst the people based in Male' were backpacking in Sri Lanka. Strange how even the picturesque paradise islands of the Maldives become somewhere to escape from after ten weeks.
Male' city was still rocking with political protests and marches. Two days after arriving there was a big demonstration which was met with tear gas and rubber bullets. Dozens were arrested or hospitalised, and some buildings were set on fire. Yet the next day all as back to normality, or normality as it pertains to Male' - the standard chaotic throng of mopeds, taxis, vans, and people, all weaving through each other at any and every opportunity. One night we got tickets for an Asian Champions League qualifying game. A veritable Clash of the Titans between top Maldives team Addu Victory, and the aces of Kuwait City FC. It was a decent game, ending 2-2 (as if you need to be told), although the preponderance of female volunteers meant most of the game was spent admiring the legs and hair of Addu's number 19. (I wish I was joking).
The next few days passed in a pleasant blur, catching up with all the other volunteers. Everyone seemed to need a break and change of scenery. All those castaway in distant atolls had bolted for the comforts and amenities of Male', whilst the people based in Male' were backpacking in Sri Lanka. Strange how even the picturesque paradise islands of the Maldives become somewhere to escape from after ten weeks.
Male' city was still rocking with political protests and marches. Two days after arriving there was a big demonstration which was met with tear gas and rubber bullets. Dozens were arrested or hospitalised, and some buildings were set on fire. Yet the next day all as back to normality, or normality as it pertains to Male' - the standard chaotic throng of mopeds, taxis, vans, and people, all weaving through each other at any and every opportunity. One night we got tickets for an Asian Champions League qualifying game. A veritable Clash of the Titans between top Maldives team Addu Victory, and the aces of Kuwait City FC. It was a decent game, ending 2-2 (as if you need to be told), although the preponderance of female volunteers meant most of the game was spent admiring the legs and hair of Addu's number 19. (I wish I was joking).
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