Say Yes to the Dress

Today was a day I never saw coming. While I have envisioned many experiences that I want to share with my children, today’s activity was not one of them. All right, I’ll just come right out and say it. Today Anna and I went skirt shopping and she helped me pick one out…for myself. What can I say? I needed a backup one.

 

Ah, the humble sarong, an item that has become as dear to me, and evokes as much sentiment as one of my trusty pairs of hiking boots. I’ve seen it called by many names here: the sarong, the sulu, the lavalava, the pettigoat, and the pereo.  Anna had given me one for my birthday in March, knowing I had been intrigued by them for weeks. Now I wanted a second one in case something happened to the first while travelling on vacation.

 

It’s an exceedingly simple item, in essence just a big thin light drape. Often they are brightly, even effeminately coloured, with lots of floral prints. Men here commonly wear them wrapped around their waist like we westerners might secure a bath towel, or tied in some manner around each leg, the overall effect being akin to a short pant for a genie. I have not as of yet been able to unravel (or rather ravel) the latter method. My first attempt resulted in my lying restrained and incapacitated on the floor until my family returned home to release me. Men and boys wear them commonly as every day wear or often as swimwear. The local Presbyterian college even uses it as part of their mandatory uniform for boys. When I first encountered a large group of them, all dressed alike in their sarongs and carrying bush knives, I could feel my mind working overtime to process the opposing forces in the image; boys in skirts, religious children brandishing knives, people rushing towards me with weapons but laughing and smiling, what the hell…?

 

The most common mistake for those men new to the sarong is sitting in an, “un-ladylike”, manner and unwittingly making one’s privates, not so private. Hardly second nature for us western fellows; it does require some getting used to, not to mention ample amounts of forgiveness from one’s children. Whether or not there are any nuances of fashion attached to the length of the hemline, I cannot yet say. Around knee length or just past seems to be about right.

 

While it does take a bit for a North American guy to get over the whole “skirt” thing, once you do it’s a revelation. They are terribly light, cool and comfortable to wear in a tropical locale. Always easy to pack along and have available for after a swim, you can also use them to cover your head when too hot or to shield your arms or legs from mosquitoes at dusk. A sarong is probably not strong enough to use as a tow rope if your truck gets stuck in a Tanna ditch, but I’ll bet you it’s been tried. I’ve been so impressed that I’m considering adding the sarong to my list of all-time beloved items. This is a list of things for which I feel an undue admiration due to their simplicity of design, functionality, reliability and versatility. In short, they share the capacity to open up a world of possibilities.  Among others, I count the humble climbing carabineer, the stainless steel surgical clamp, the elegantly forged mountaineer’s ice axe, the classic bandana and the venerable mountaineering boot. It's embarrassing to admit how much I want to add Captain America's shield and the X-Men mutant Wolverine's adamantium claws to this list, but there you go. It’s too soon to say just yet if the sarong will make the final cut. Potential candidates need a little longer track record, but I like its chances, and it just may carry its cousin, the ubiquitous Vanuatu bush knife, into the Hall of Fame with it.

 

Finally, I would be remiss today if I didn’t applaud the adaptability of my eldest daughter Anna as well. It is not every pre-teen girl that would feel comfortable skirt shopping with their father, for their father. Of course I’m sure it helps that we are in a different hemisphere from anyone she might encounter at home. At her request though, I’ll try not to make a habit of it.

 


Sean