Dominic and I spent a long afternoon exploring the abandoned village in Munia. There were frangipani trees in blossom, a lonely dog sleeping in a doorway, a single pig in a pen. There was an old Morris Commercial lightweight truck close to being fully reclaimed by the jungle. Dominic examined a rusted-through leaf spring, dropping it on the pile of other parts with a loud clang. The clanging caused an eruption of eerily human baby-like wails from the tree tops above us.
I'm still not used to seeing bats in the daylight, particularly the huge, vampiric-looking kind. We've seen a lot of flying foxes since arriving in Fiji. Some are soloists gliding between islands in the late afternoon, others flock by the thousands, streaming past the mountains surrounding Viani Bay at dusk.
But this clan gave us our best viewing yet. There were at least a hundred dangling in the not-too-high-to-see canopy. They were napping in the noon heat, restless siblings squabbling, occasionly circling in search of the best branch or a spot in the breeze.