By Kathy Giuffre
In an try and get away from her annoying lifestyles as a unmarried operating mom of 2 younger boys, Kathy Giuffre books a year-long journey for 4 in a tropical paradise. on the final minute, her boyfriend proclaims he's not becoming a member of them, and Kathy unearths herself in an unlivable condo in Rarotonga, a tiny speck in the midst of the South Pacific Ocean. Her not likely savior is Emily, an 82-year-old Maori lady with a wide white residence at the fringe of the sea, which the 2 ladies proportion with callous missionaries, the ghosts of Emily’s ancestors, and, in short, a strange couple from jap Europe. As time passes, Kathy is seduced through the island and its humans and by means of emotions she hasn't ever earlier than skilled. this is often an inspirational tale approximately having the braveness to go looking for anything greater and discovering it—serenity, sensuality, and, eventually, love.
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Extra resources for An Afternoon in Summer: My Year on a South Sea Island, Doing Nothing, Gaining Everything, and Finally Falling in Love
The boys and I went over to see. The octopus was three feet across and feisty. “You can touch it if you want,” the man offered, as a stray tentacle snaked its way up his calf. We took a step back in unison. “That’s okay,” I squeaked. ” I sat a few yards down the sand thinking about other things while the man bashed the octopus senseless on a rock. Behind me, the volcano rose up out of the jungle; in front of me, the Pacific Ocean stretched away with no other landfall until Antarctica. After a while, Aiden came strolling up with a clam shell as big as a soup bowl; he was using it as a sand shovel.
Who knew? My parents, supportive of my new career goal, rousted up the son of a friend of a friend who was an actual anthropologist and took me to meet him for dinner when he came to Arkansas to visit his parents. He obligingly entertained me with gruesome stories of having to eat live monkey brains and other local delicacies, which put me off anthropology for a while, but as I got older I mastered raw oysters, straight bourbon, caviar, pâté, calamari, eel sashimi, Roquefort cheese, escargot and sperm.
I have been repeatedly warned never to park a car under a coconut tree as a falling coconut can completely take out a Toyota. It makes lazing in a hammock under the palms seem rather more exciting than I had originally envisioned. Still no leads on the promised house. One does not mock the Bungalow Gods. Take care. Love, Kathy EMILY Thinking back now it seems that we lived in the Central Motel for a long time, but really it was only about two weeks. We didn’t do much other than hang around town or go swimming on the south side of the island, where the lagoon was wide and calm, and where, across the road from the beach, we could buy lunch at a stall called Fruits of Rarotonga, that also sold home-made jams and preserves.