Colonia, Yap — THE slogan is silk-screened on T-shirts sold in stores on this tiny Micronesian island: "Where the heck is Yap?" It's also the question I fielded most after telling people I was headed here.
Yap, one among the Caroline Islands, is in the Western Pacific and part of the Federated States of Micronesia, or FSM. I visited last summer with my boyfriend, Tim, and his family to spend time with his brother Joe, a Peace Corps volunteer assigned here.
Although Yap has only 83 square miles of land, it is made up of 134 islands -- including one that locals call "Yap Proper." This was the lush green strip that was becoming visible as we descended at the end of a 48-minute flight from Palau. The most striking part of the aerial view was the water, which was at least 10 shades of blue. It was easy to see why divers love the region.
On the ground, we passed through immigration and were greeted by a topless girl in a grassy skirt. She smiled graciously and placed a plumeria-strung \o7marmar\f7 (crown) on my head.
Joe's host family -- the locals with whom he lives during his Peace Corps service -- greeted us at the baggage claim area and bedecked us with more \o7marmars \f7for our heads and \o7noonoos \f7(like Hawaiian leis but more intricately woven) for our necks.
A 10-minute ride to our hotel gave us a better sense of the island's lushness: Save for the road, almost every inch of land was blanketed in tropical plants. At a small intersection, I caught a glimpse of several bare-breasted women sitting by the side of the highway; they stared curiously after our van.
When we arrived at our hotel, the Pathways in Colonia, a portly innkeeper greeted us warmly with chilled pineapple-orange-grenadine juice. He showed us to our rooms, passing a prominently displayed collection of the stone money, the unique currency for which Yap is known.
The nine-unit hotel, straight out of "Swiss Family Robinson," was a glorified treehouse made comfortable with air-conditioning. Full-length windows afforded bay views.
It was evening, so we headed down to the hotel's outdoor restaurant, JM's, where Joe's host family met us for dinner. I ordered the $2.50 veggie burger, a satisfying mishmash of vegetables deep-fried together and placed on a mayo-slathered bun. Tiny cats milled around us begging for scraps; the air buzzed with mosquitoes and fireflies. Teo, Joe's host family's father, dominated the conversation with stories about the islands' politics. He'd been a state senator for 16 years.
