The beggars in Lautoka all appear to be Indian. As I crossed the road, with Adrienne, in the heavy rain, an old man put out his hand. I scrabbled in my pocket for coins - a disappointing lot came out, but better than nothing, surely. One brown and wrinkled hand held the silvery coins while his other hand turned them over. He muttered something as he handed one back - it was from French Polynesia, and of no use to this man. I smiled, and said to Adrienne, it's not true - beggars can be choosers!

This the street for beggars. A week or two back we were walking the same street and I was approached by a tragical-faced woman, holding a plastic-sleeved document. "My house burned down" she kept saying over and over. I gave her a ten Fijian dollar note. It was only minutes later, while we stopped in a store to buy Adrienne a pair of socks (her sandals were hurting) and another woman came begging. As we left the store more beggars followed, and by the end of the block we led a thirty or more as they trailed after us - a veritable handout of beggars.

Actually, the last part is not true - but it creates an image, hey? Would have been funny. But the woman did see the ten dollar beggaroo, and she did follow us into the sock store. And the shopgirl would have none of it.

We are waiting for bad weather (gales to the west) to pass, another day or so, before venturing out on passage to Port Vila. It's raining.