‘The Isle is full of noises,’ Prospero told his guests in The Tempest. Here, during the night, all sound is drowned out by the throbbing roar of the generator that charges up the equipment for the following day, as well as running the safety lights and the water pumps. The big rainwater tanks need to be aerated to keep mosquitoes from breeding.
But last night the generator broke down and all we had was the silence and the night noises of the island. There was a full moon riding out to sea, so we could see everything clearly.
|Nightfall on the island, with a big thundercloud|
It was too hot and sticky (29C and 78 degrees of humidity) to sleep without a fan. Some of the volunteers were playing Khmer music in the communal hut and chatting by torch light. We walked down to the end of the pier to catch what little breeze there was, and sat and looked at the moon and the winking lights of fishing boats, dangling our legs over the water.
This is our last day. Tomorrow we begin the long haul back to the cold north and a culture so different in character it’s almost impossible to imagine from here.