They shimmied up, then dove to the sandy ground, attempting a run for their lives.Too late, though.
Soon, she would shell and de-vein them, with lightning dexterity, and feed them through a manual grinder with hot chilis, ginger, and shallots.
This is how Montero and her son, Jason, make their sarsa a yang, steamed fish cakes, which sell out by mid-morning at the local market.It was a world away from the all-suite, 596-passengerSilver Muse, our vessel for the preview, with its grand Italianate columns and ever-present air-conditioning.
After being taken to shore earlier that morning, we seafarers had traveled in a convoy of motorized tricycles the island's favored mode of transport.
But to get to the Montero home, we'd traveled much farther than just those bumpy seven miles from port.During the preceding week, we had navigated the travelling to Indonesia, first calling at Bali, where an excursion took us through a working farm in the Ubud highlands.
Strolling across the patchwork rice paddies, I met a farmer boiling coconut sap into disks of sugar, a beekeeper cracking open a hive to reveal tart red honey, and a gaggle of local kids.