I could tell you all about the dramatic journey to get there, leaping across a huge gap in the dark and rain onto the village boat and then trying iguana curry on the six and a half hour boat ride, or about the village life and how it revolves around the river, or about the complex political subtexts that became apparent during the heritage month event, or the interesting and strange people we met along the way.
But instead, I'd rather share a true story that was told to me over the weekend.
I'll keep the names anonymous. Lets call the two protagonists Bob and Jim.
Bob was a young man who'd just moved into Jim's house, as he was starting to work for Jim's company, having been taken in as an apprentice.
Every morning Bob would get up, and take the container of water that he found outside his room to use to wash his face and brush his teeth. After about a month of this, Bob turned around one morning after finishing his bathroom ritual to find Jim bright blue in the face, doubled up with laughter.
"How [gasp] long have you been using [wheeze] that for?"
"The last month, so what?"
"That's [chortle] my daughter's bedpan. That isn't water."
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Well it made me chuckle anyway. If you're still more intereted in Orealla, here's a few pictures:
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