The jungle village we passed through to reach the sampans that carried us to the river is dominated, in every aspect, by the coconut. The forest, of course, is thick with coconut palms. One local industry on the banks of the tributary makes coconut candy; another makes handicrafts from the shells; a third does something mysterious with the milk. One particularly entrepreneurial gentleman has proclaimed himself a high priest in a religion that worships–or at least reveres–the coconut. It is not clear if there is a coconut god, but if there is, he must surely be depicted with a pair of salad forks in his string-like hands.
After the religio-craft showcase, we motored down the river to a waterside restaurant. Angling, vying for a parking space was an adventure of its own.
Then the food started coming, beginning with this novel presentation of a fried tilapia:
And now, lunch is on your own.