The road ends and half of the island is left ahead of me. As I continue to walk, the dirt road gets narrower and narrower becoming a small trail in the jungle. No one is around. There’s not even insect, bird or animal noises. It’s quiet. There’s flowers I’ve never seen and trees with no ending and no beginning because the roots and the branches are the same. I walk some more. It’s still quiet. An hour later, around the bend, a man appears. He is tan, tattooed, muscular and has long black hair that hangs loosely down to his waist. He has cheekbones that you only see on runway models. He is wearing only a pareo which I guess is the Tahitian word for a sarong. He is wearing a floral skirt, basically. I greet him in the native tongue for hello. He passes me without looking or saying anything. Like I’m not even there. 

I can’t get him out of my head. How many white women does he see walking alone in the jungle? What’s up with him that he is so apathetic to my presence? 

Next time I’ll just rip my clothes off and optimistically wait.