[i]Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door[/i]

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While eating dinner tonight, I listened to a guy from Omaha karaoke Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door while a Frenchman played the electric harp. Oddly, his slow tempo rendition sounded much better than anything Axel Rose put out. What struck me the most is that the moment put me at peace with our trip. The rain has been incessant since our arrival in Tahiti but even it was soothing this evening as it pelted the tin roof of our restaurant.

Earlier in the evening we spent about two hours with one of the original ‘Bali Hai Boys:’ Muk. His real name isn’t Muk and he surely isn’t Tahitian. Actually, he’s an ornery 77 year-old Newport Beach expatriate. Muk and his friends (insert names) came to Tahiti in 1960, opened a series of businesses and never looked back. Every night, except Wednesday, Muk mingles with guests of the Bali Hai, answers questions and waxes philosophical. In a comforting way, he reminded me and Gina of Les Jones, my friend Jason’s 80 year-old father.

As we watched Muk fiddle with his two fingers of Jose Cuervo Gold, we had an opportunity to meet some of the other guests staying at the Bali Hai. When I discovered that one couple hailed from Cincinnati, I inquired if they had heard of my friend Jason Nicholas, a local news anchor. They grimaced and said they “knew of him;” their faces contorted, as if he was some seedy playboy. I chuckled - small World.

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Comments

[darby]

too much party party
with the expats and we will never see you guys again...