"When we leave this village," I told them firmly, "I want to go out in a fishing boat on the coast for a few days - and nights."

Chau rolled his eyes and looked longingly at his hammock. Fung lit a cigarette and lodged it under his gold tooth. They huddled briefly together, then retaliated with an arsenal of excuses. "The boats," Fung said, "They go out for two weeks at a time." The crews disliked strangers, particularly foreigners and most particularly, women. It wouldn't be possible to get permission. Customs. Storms. Seasickness. "I don't get seasick," I said. Fung looked at Chau, who looked at me. "We do," they said in unison. I invited them to stay on shore. They argued for a few more minutes, then gave up and agreed. The following morning we would take the boat back to our bikes, then pedal down to the shore and arrange for a boat out to sea. I felt foolish. Why hadn't I stood up to them long ago? They accepted my surprised thanks with dismissive nods and disappeared to check on the midday meal