OF THE SPECIES IS MORE DEADLY...
CARP ISLAND, Palau Before the typhoon, the sea and sky turn all dove-belly: pinks and blues and subtle greys. Our kayaks smear through the scene like Number Two pencils.
We beach, then scramble along the inlets, caves and cliffs. Rebar binds coconut shells into the stone: crab traps, Bronwyn reveals.
As we pick along the fern-shrouded shore, Steph solicits items for her magazine's section, "you know you're a travelgirl if..."
"... you have a little black dive dress," I suggest.
" ... you've eaten fruit bat more recently than fruit roll-up," Bronwyn adds.
"... you like to swim with creatures larger than your carryon," Steph volleys.
"... you'd rather see a sea snake than a trouser snake," I blurt, crumpled with laughter. Ever the wise editor, Steph intervenes.
"You know that's awesome. And you also know I can't run it."
"A lot of women would identif"
"Well, yeah. But think demographics."
I pout, until they cheer me up with pitcher plant and sea cucumber jokes. We have stumbled into a freakishly phallic patch of the rock islands.
And, well, sorry, but we make all the bad jokes men fear.
Maybe a sea snake isn't the most venomous creature after all?