While looking for some documents, I came across a file from the 1990s containing notes on a trip I took in December 1994. I had previously included some of this material in an employee newsletter [1], but now I feel inspired to translate and expand upon these notes, as well as scan the necessary images.
Here are the details of the trip:
Oct 29 – Dec 15, 1994 Bali / New Zealand / South Pacific Islands
FRA – BKK – DPS – AKL – (WLG) [2] – CHC – AKL – TBU – VAU – TBU – APW – HNL – LAX – FRA
Here are the details of the trip:
Oct 29 – Dec 15, 1994 Bali / New Zealand / South Pacific Islands
FRA – BKK – DPS – AKL – (WLG) [2] – CHC – AKL – TBU – VAU – TBU – APW – HNL – LAX – FRA
Tonga
The next stop on this journey hs been Tonga. Tonga - what lies behind this name? The Kingdom of Tonga, located in the South Pacific, consists of approximately 170 islands covering a land area of 750 km²; about 45 of these islands are inhabited. All the islands are scattered across an expanse of 700,000 km² of ocean. The capital, Nuku'alofa, is situated on the largest island, Tongatapu. Cologne and Nuku'alofa are approximately 16,685 km apart. The inhabitants of Tonga are Polynesians. Tonga is a constitutional monarchy, modeled after the British system.
Daily temperatures fluctuate between 23°C and 30°C, not much affected by the changing seasons. The rainy season lasts from November to April.
The greater Nuku'alofa area has a population of about 30,000 to 35,000, while Neiafu - the only town on Vava'u - has approximately 4,000 residents. Vava'u is the name of the main island in the archipelago of the same name, located about 300 km north of Tongatapu. The Ha'apai group lies roughly halfway between them. The Niuas - an island group whose inhabitants I had the chance to meet - are located another 300 km north of Vava'u.
In Tonga, there are 420 nursing professionals per 100,000 inhabitants (compared to 1,225 in Germany) and 100 physicians per 100,000 inhabitants (compared to 450 in Germany). The Tongan people are predominantly Christian: the Free Wesleyan Church accounts for 43%, Catholics for 16%, and other denominations for 41%. The national anthem is titled “Koe fasi oe tu'i oe otu Tonga”, which to my surprise translates to: “The piece of the king of Tonga”.
Christian Faith and History
In Western countries, the inhabitants of exotic destinations - such as Tonga - are sometimes wrongly associated with “savages” or “heathens”. This is a completely inaccurate perception. Tonga is inhabited by deeply devout Christians; most probably Germany has more heathens and savages than Tonga. The Sabbath (Sunday) is observed as a day for the Lord, celebrated in the biblical sense. Public transport comes to a complete standstill, and there are no international flights, unlike in many other countries, where exceptions are made for the sake of tourism. The situation is similar in Samoa. On Sundays, churches in Tonga (as in Samoa) are filled with people, and one can listen to the polyphonic Polynesian hymns. Christian missionary work began with the London Missionary Society; however, initial attempts in 1817 and the following years proved unsuccessful. In 1826, the Wesleyans launched a new effort, which culminated in 1829 with the baptism of seven young men by a group led by Nathaniel Turner. One of these men was the nephew of the young ruler Taufa'ahau, who was himself baptized in 1831 and took the name George (Siaosi). Under his influence, the local population gradually converted to Christianity. During this period, other denominations also began their own missionary activities. King George reigned until 1893, followed by George Tupou II. In 1918, Queen Salote ascended the throne, and her son, Taufa'ahau Tupou IV [4], who passed away in 2006, was only the fourth monarch to reign over a span of more than 150 years.
In Western countries, the inhabitants of exotic destinations - such as Tonga - are sometimes wrongly associated with “savages” or “heathens”. This is a completely inaccurate perception. Tonga is inhabited by deeply devout Christians; most probably Germany has more heathens and savages than Tonga. The Sabbath (Sunday) is observed as a day for the Lord, celebrated in the biblical sense. Public transport comes to a complete standstill, and there are no international flights, unlike in many other countries, where exceptions are made for the sake of tourism. The situation is similar in Samoa. On Sundays, churches in Tonga (as in Samoa) are filled with people, and one can listen to the polyphonic Polynesian hymns. Christian missionary work began with the London Missionary Society; however, initial attempts in 1817 and the following years proved unsuccessful. In 1826, the Wesleyans launched a new effort, which culminated in 1829 with the baptism of seven young men by a group led by Nathaniel Turner. One of these men was the nephew of the young ruler Taufa'ahau, who was himself baptized in 1831 and took the name George (Siaosi). Under his influence, the local population gradually converted to Christianity. During this period, other denominations also began their own missionary activities. King George reigned until 1893, followed by George Tupou II. In 1918, Queen Salote ascended the throne, and her son, Taufa'ahau Tupou IV [4], who passed away in 2006, was only the fourth monarch to reign over a span of more than 150 years.
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Blowholes
On the way from Waikiki toward the western part of Oahu, or, for instance, on the island of Kaua, one is often shown a "blowhole" near Hanauma Bay. These formations occur when the sea undermines the lava rock and eventually breaks through to the surface. When the water level and wave conditions are just right, a fountain of water shoots high into the air. Here on Tongatapu, the entire coastline is honeycombed with hollows, and one blowhole follows another.
On the way from Waikiki toward the western part of Oahu, or, for instance, on the island of Kaua, one is often shown a "blowhole" near Hanauma Bay. These formations occur when the sea undermines the lava rock and eventually breaks through to the surface. When the water level and wave conditions are just right, a fountain of water shoots high into the air. Here on Tongatapu, the entire coastline is honeycombed with hollows, and one blowhole follows another.
Beach House
In Nuku'alofa, I stayed at the Beach House, a place recommended by every guidebook I came across. How could anyone choose a luxury hotel over such a charming guesthouse? It was frequently claimed that if W. Somerset Maugham [5] had known about the Beach House, he surely would have stayed there. Perhaps one person came up with this idea and everyone else simply followed suit, but it really does ring true! During the First World War, Maugham spent several months on various Polynesian islands. The impressions he gathered during that time found their way into short stories such as "Mackintosh," "Red," "Honolulu," and "Rain" - arguably his most famous story, which is set in a small guesthouse in Pago Pago (American Samoa) amidst a downpour. I watched the young girls on the veranda as they spent their day - doing a bit of their chores, joking around, braiding each other’s hair, lounging, sleeping, and chatting. The atmosphere on the veranda feels just like something out of one of Maugham’s short stories. When it rains, you can almost feel the spirit of "Rain" in the air, and images from the film adaptation starring Joan Crawford come to mind. From the veranda, you look out over blossoms, palm trees, the sea, and distant islands - though, despite all the South Seas romance, you also see the occasional car driving by. Alternatively, you can cross the street and join the young people playing ball under the palm trees, or sit on the quay wall, laughing and talking. Upon returning from "town" (Nuku'alofa is, in reality, more like a vast village - likely with a larger population than Apia, which, by contrast, has the character of a small town), one is greeted by a tree with red blossoms (a "fire tree" or "crimson glory") standing before the open veranda and the rusty corrugated-iron roof.
In Nuku'alofa, I stayed at the Beach House, a place recommended by every guidebook I came across. How could anyone choose a luxury hotel over such a charming guesthouse? It was frequently claimed that if W. Somerset Maugham [5] had known about the Beach House, he surely would have stayed there. Perhaps one person came up with this idea and everyone else simply followed suit, but it really does ring true! During the First World War, Maugham spent several months on various Polynesian islands. The impressions he gathered during that time found their way into short stories such as "Mackintosh," "Red," "Honolulu," and "Rain" - arguably his most famous story, which is set in a small guesthouse in Pago Pago (American Samoa) amidst a downpour. I watched the young girls on the veranda as they spent their day - doing a bit of their chores, joking around, braiding each other’s hair, lounging, sleeping, and chatting. The atmosphere on the veranda feels just like something out of one of Maugham’s short stories. When it rains, you can almost feel the spirit of "Rain" in the air, and images from the film adaptation starring Joan Crawford come to mind. From the veranda, you look out over blossoms, palm trees, the sea, and distant islands - though, despite all the South Seas romance, you also see the occasional car driving by. Alternatively, you can cross the street and join the young people playing ball under the palm trees, or sit on the quay wall, laughing and talking. Upon returning from "town" (Nuku'alofa is, in reality, more like a vast village - likely with a larger population than Apia, which, by contrast, has the character of a small town), one is greeted by a tree with red blossoms (a "fire tree" or "crimson glory") standing before the open veranda and the rusty corrugated-iron roof.
Dances in Tonga
In Tonga, too, I attended a tourist-oriented evening. There were dances to watch, songs to hear, and a museum to visit, featuring a meal with traditional dishes. There was also a kava ceremony, consisting of two sips of kava per person, which was more focused on the ritual itself.
The staff from the Visitor’s Bureau were also working in the evening at the Tonga National Center; they expressed their gratitude for the tourists’ visit, as it provided them with employment (quite literally!). I particularly enjoyed the women’s seated dances, which involved many rhythmic hand movements and various styles of clapping.
In Tonga, too, I attended a tourist-oriented evening. There were dances to watch, songs to hear, and a museum to visit, featuring a meal with traditional dishes. There was also a kava ceremony, consisting of two sips of kava per person, which was more focused on the ritual itself.
The staff from the Visitor’s Bureau were also working in the evening at the Tonga National Center; they expressed their gratitude for the tourists’ visit, as it provided them with employment (quite literally!). I particularly enjoyed the women’s seated dances, which involved many rhythmic hand movements and various styles of clapping.
M.S. Olovaha – The Ferry
I had decided to travel from Nuku'alofa to Vava'u by ferry, a journey of approximately 300 km. There were two ferries to choose from: one nicknamed the "floating coffin" and the other known as "orange vomit." I opted for the "orange vomit", the M.S. Olovaha, which proved to be a seaworthy vessel. As I later learned, the Olovaha was launched in Bremen around 1980.
The M.S. Olovaha set sail a day later than scheduled; one certainly needs a bit of flexibility when embarking on trips like this!
The vastness of the Pacific, with a gentle swell amidst the rain! About an hour after departure, we crossed paths with a cargo ship heading toward Nuku'alofa; it would be the only other vessel we encountered on the open sea during the entire crossing. Occasionally, we encountered seagulls and other seabirds, sailing against the wind through the troughs of the waves.
I had a window seat, and a family had set up camp around me and the space in front of the rows of seats. The area all the way to the emergency exit was packed with crates, suitcases, plants, and other agricultural stock. The family consisted of an elderly gentleman, who suffered from elephantiasis in his right leg, a younger man, two women, a boy, and two girls (listed in the traditional order!). The old man lay down on a massive bed, the kind that brings to mind the command, "Rise, take up your bed, and walk!", wedged between two rows of seats. The women and girls slept on mats in front of a stair railing. Every now and then, they would wake up, turn their heads toward the stairs, and vomit downward. The boy, who was sleeping right in front of the stairs, also vomited down into the same space. In fact, everyone around me seemed to be vomiting from time to time, though there didn't really seem to be any good reason for it. I felt sorry that the descendants of one of the greatest seafarers were suffering so much from seasickness despite the only mild swell, but my own high spirits remained undampened.
By evening, we were anchored off Ha'afeva, an island in the Ha'apai group. The island’s embankment loomed high before us, illuminated by the ship’s spotlights. Small boats circled the “Olovaha” to take on cargo and passengers, though some, it seemed, had simply come out of idle curiosity.
Later that night, amidst a torrential downpour, we docked at Pangai (on the island of Lifuka in the Ha'apai group). Heavy items - tractors, most likely - were unloaded, making the “Olovaha” noticeably lighter. It seemed to me, at least, that this only made it even easier for everyone to vomit. Having experienced seasickness myself on the Irish Sea about 15 years before this trip, I could empathize with the people who were vomiting.
By this time, the people on the aft deck were completely soaked. The tarpaulin over the seating area, torn in places, barely held back the lashing rain. In some spots, the tarp sagged so low that 100 to 150 liters of water had pooled there, waiting to cascade down onto the people below all at once. The cardboard boxes containing goods purchased in Nuku'alofa had become so waterlogged that they tore at the slightest touch. I didn't see how they managed to transport their belongings any further. And actually I was glad, that I went down into the hull instead of staying on deck.
The following morning, we docked in Neiafu (Vava'u) just as the rain let up; I spotted some yachts, though I didn't have any interaction with the sailors. Only minutes after our arrival, another tropical downpour began. Drenched to the bone, I found a guesthouse on a small rise, near the Fangatonga royal residence and the primary school of the same name. As the saying goes, sunshine follows the rain, and that is exactly what happened: the small coral islands, lush with palm green and edged in white sand, floated in a turquoise sea beneath a deep blue sky filled with brilliant, sun-bright clouds.
I had decided to travel from Nuku'alofa to Vava'u by ferry, a journey of approximately 300 km. There were two ferries to choose from: one nicknamed the "floating coffin" and the other known as "orange vomit." I opted for the "orange vomit", the M.S. Olovaha, which proved to be a seaworthy vessel. As I later learned, the Olovaha was launched in Bremen around 1980.
The M.S. Olovaha set sail a day later than scheduled; one certainly needs a bit of flexibility when embarking on trips like this!
The vastness of the Pacific, with a gentle swell amidst the rain! About an hour after departure, we crossed paths with a cargo ship heading toward Nuku'alofa; it would be the only other vessel we encountered on the open sea during the entire crossing. Occasionally, we encountered seagulls and other seabirds, sailing against the wind through the troughs of the waves.
I had a window seat, and a family had set up camp around me and the space in front of the rows of seats. The area all the way to the emergency exit was packed with crates, suitcases, plants, and other agricultural stock. The family consisted of an elderly gentleman, who suffered from elephantiasis in his right leg, a younger man, two women, a boy, and two girls (listed in the traditional order!). The old man lay down on a massive bed, the kind that brings to mind the command, "Rise, take up your bed, and walk!", wedged between two rows of seats. The women and girls slept on mats in front of a stair railing. Every now and then, they would wake up, turn their heads toward the stairs, and vomit downward. The boy, who was sleeping right in front of the stairs, also vomited down into the same space. In fact, everyone around me seemed to be vomiting from time to time, though there didn't really seem to be any good reason for it. I felt sorry that the descendants of one of the greatest seafarers were suffering so much from seasickness despite the only mild swell, but my own high spirits remained undampened.
By evening, we were anchored off Ha'afeva, an island in the Ha'apai group. The island’s embankment loomed high before us, illuminated by the ship’s spotlights. Small boats circled the “Olovaha” to take on cargo and passengers, though some, it seemed, had simply come out of idle curiosity.
Later that night, amidst a torrential downpour, we docked at Pangai (on the island of Lifuka in the Ha'apai group). Heavy items - tractors, most likely - were unloaded, making the “Olovaha” noticeably lighter. It seemed to me, at least, that this only made it even easier for everyone to vomit. Having experienced seasickness myself on the Irish Sea about 15 years before this trip, I could empathize with the people who were vomiting.
By this time, the people on the aft deck were completely soaked. The tarpaulin over the seating area, torn in places, barely held back the lashing rain. In some spots, the tarp sagged so low that 100 to 150 liters of water had pooled there, waiting to cascade down onto the people below all at once. The cardboard boxes containing goods purchased in Nuku'alofa had become so waterlogged that they tore at the slightest touch. I didn't see how they managed to transport their belongings any further. And actually I was glad, that I went down into the hull instead of staying on deck.
The following morning, we docked in Neiafu (Vava'u) just as the rain let up; I spotted some yachts, though I didn't have any interaction with the sailors. Only minutes after our arrival, another tropical downpour began. Drenched to the bone, I found a guesthouse on a small rise, near the Fangatonga royal residence and the primary school of the same name. As the saying goes, sunshine follows the rain, and that is exactly what happened: the small coral islands, lush with palm green and edged in white sand, floated in a turquoise sea beneath a deep blue sky filled with brilliant, sun-bright clouds.
The Procession
In Neiafu, the day before the King’s visit, I encountered a procession. The participants were heading toward Fangatonga Primary School, the very same route I needed to take to reach the Hamana Lake Guest House. Before I even saw them, I heard their singing and their joyful shouts. Then I saw them in their ceremonial attire, a black “lava-lava”, a white shirt or blouse (instead of a black one), the traditional mat, with fresh pandanus leaves layered over it, and garlands or “leis”, and flowers as further adornment.
The Catholic priest was also traditional in his appearance, though dressed entirely in black. The celebration was held to welcome the new chaplain. A pig and some kava were pulled along on two carts, attached by long ropes.
Early in the evening, from my guesthouse, I could listen to the singing—the school is located right next door. The vowel-rich languages of Polynesia sound particularly pleasant, and even beguilingly beautiful, when sung. The singing was accompanied by clapping, and I was fascinated by the sheer variety of sounds that can be produced just by clapping one’s hands. But then I had to tear myself away from these impressions, as I had already planned to attend another celebration that evening.
In Neiafu, the day before the King’s visit, I encountered a procession. The participants were heading toward Fangatonga Primary School, the very same route I needed to take to reach the Hamana Lake Guest House. Before I even saw them, I heard their singing and their joyful shouts. Then I saw them in their ceremonial attire, a black “lava-lava”, a white shirt or blouse (instead of a black one), the traditional mat, with fresh pandanus leaves layered over it, and garlands or “leis”, and flowers as further adornment.
The Catholic priest was also traditional in his appearance, though dressed entirely in black. The celebration was held to welcome the new chaplain. A pig and some kava were pulled along on two carts, attached by long ropes.
Early in the evening, from my guesthouse, I could listen to the singing—the school is located right next door. The vowel-rich languages of Polynesia sound particularly pleasant, and even beguilingly beautiful, when sung. The singing was accompanied by clapping, and I was fascinated by the sheer variety of sounds that can be produced just by clapping one’s hands. But then I had to tear myself away from these impressions, as I had already planned to attend another celebration that evening.
Kava
A delightful evening unfolded when I went out to drink kava. The Free Wesleyan Church was hosting this Friday night a kava session to raise funds for a construction project; the end justifies the means. The new church is beautifully situated above the yacht anchorage. We held our gathering in the old church, which now serves as a hall for sports and meetings. The kava session lasted four to five hours.
Before I continue, I must say a few words about kava. Kava is the ritual beverage of the South Pacific. It is sometimes called "kava kava"; on Pohnpei (Micronesia) it is known as "sakau," and in the Fiji Islands, it is referred to as "yaqona." It consists of the root of the kava plant (Piper methysticum) - a type of pepper shrub - which is crushed and softened in water [6].
In the past, the root used to be chewed and then spat into a large communal bowl, but that is no longer done today. The reason for this practice was to create a slightly more potent drink, as the alkaloids are more effectively extracted from the root through the action of salivary enzymes (alpha-amylasis). The German name Rauschpfeffer ("intoxicating pepper") might suggest that Kava is an intoxicant, but that is not the case - unless one were to also classify coffee and tea as intoxicants. Drinking kava fosters a sense of contentment and sociability; it does not lead to aggression or the kind of hangover associated with alcoholic beverages.
Beyond its social role, the plant also has medicinal uses. In Polynesian folk medicine, kava has been employed to treat bronchitis, bladder ailments, rheumatic complaints, and various other conditions.
Returning to the story in Neiafu: I sat with a group gathered around the band. There, I met the school principal, Sayad; the vicar, Makisi; the pastor, Viseka; and others. I discovered that Makisi knew Reverend Jovili in Suva (Fiji), having once been his teacher, a man I had also met during a previous trip to the South Pacific.
We sat in a circle on pandanus mats. To one side stood the kava bowl, which was replenished from time to time from large vats. We passed coconut shells among ourselves, drinking the kava from them.
A three-man band played throughout the evening, with only brief pauses. The three elderly gentlemen played guitar and banjo while singing songs from the South Pacific, songs from Tonga, as well as English-language tracks and songs from Hawai'i, including "Drinking Rum and Coca-Cola" by the Andrews Sisters. It was indescribably beautiful.
As previously mentioned, these Friday gatherings are organized for the purpose of raising funds. Around 100 to 150 men sat together in various groups, talking, laughing, singing along, or simply drinking kava. Later, three or four spirited young women were permitted to join; they were allowed only to serve the kava, a role with which they seemed perfectly content. At the end, Viseka offered a Tongan prayer of thanksgiving, asking that "God bless the givers and the gifts" in reference to the 324 Pa'anga (T$) that had been collected. I still use those same words quite often in our church today, and sometimes, as I do, my thoughts drift back to Vava'u. Afterwards, I made my way through the dark lanes of the small town back to my guesthouse; above me the stars were twinkling and the Magellanic Clouds, and within myself, I felt a sense of joyful contentment. The festivities at the Fangatonga Primary School had also come to an end.
A delightful evening unfolded when I went out to drink kava. The Free Wesleyan Church was hosting this Friday night a kava session to raise funds for a construction project; the end justifies the means. The new church is beautifully situated above the yacht anchorage. We held our gathering in the old church, which now serves as a hall for sports and meetings. The kava session lasted four to five hours.
Before I continue, I must say a few words about kava. Kava is the ritual beverage of the South Pacific. It is sometimes called "kava kava"; on Pohnpei (Micronesia) it is known as "sakau," and in the Fiji Islands, it is referred to as "yaqona." It consists of the root of the kava plant (Piper methysticum) - a type of pepper shrub - which is crushed and softened in water [6].
In the past, the root used to be chewed and then spat into a large communal bowl, but that is no longer done today. The reason for this practice was to create a slightly more potent drink, as the alkaloids are more effectively extracted from the root through the action of salivary enzymes (alpha-amylasis). The German name Rauschpfeffer ("intoxicating pepper") might suggest that Kava is an intoxicant, but that is not the case - unless one were to also classify coffee and tea as intoxicants. Drinking kava fosters a sense of contentment and sociability; it does not lead to aggression or the kind of hangover associated with alcoholic beverages.
Beyond its social role, the plant also has medicinal uses. In Polynesian folk medicine, kava has been employed to treat bronchitis, bladder ailments, rheumatic complaints, and various other conditions.
Returning to the story in Neiafu: I sat with a group gathered around the band. There, I met the school principal, Sayad; the vicar, Makisi; the pastor, Viseka; and others. I discovered that Makisi knew Reverend Jovili in Suva (Fiji), having once been his teacher, a man I had also met during a previous trip to the South Pacific.
We sat in a circle on pandanus mats. To one side stood the kava bowl, which was replenished from time to time from large vats. We passed coconut shells among ourselves, drinking the kava from them.
A three-man band played throughout the evening, with only brief pauses. The three elderly gentlemen played guitar and banjo while singing songs from the South Pacific, songs from Tonga, as well as English-language tracks and songs from Hawai'i, including "Drinking Rum and Coca-Cola" by the Andrews Sisters. It was indescribably beautiful.
As previously mentioned, these Friday gatherings are organized for the purpose of raising funds. Around 100 to 150 men sat together in various groups, talking, laughing, singing along, or simply drinking kava. Later, three or four spirited young women were permitted to join; they were allowed only to serve the kava, a role with which they seemed perfectly content. At the end, Viseka offered a Tongan prayer of thanksgiving, asking that "God bless the givers and the gifts" in reference to the 324 Pa'anga (T$) that had been collected. I still use those same words quite often in our church today, and sometimes, as I do, my thoughts drift back to Vava'u. Afterwards, I made my way through the dark lanes of the small town back to my guesthouse; above me the stars were twinkling and the Magellanic Clouds, and within myself, I felt a sense of joyful contentment. The festivities at the Fangatonga Primary School had also come to an end.
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The following day, I flew from Lupepau'u Airport, passing over the small islands and atolls, back to Tongatapu, and a few days later, I continued my journey to Samoa.
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Links and Annotations:
[1] The original had been printed in TAU (Magazin der Franziskanerinnen von Münster-St. Mauritz) 1995 and republished with other pictures on my blog:
https://rheumatologe.blogspot.com/2021/10/polynesische-impressionen-eine-reise-in.html
[2] I forgot -: WLG isn't Weilaghiri [1a], a fictious location, in fact the city of hell, but Wellington, which is hard for airplanes to land because of heavy gales.
[2a] „Wehe uns! Wir sind verloren; denn dies ist Weilaghiri, die Höllenstadt!“ Arno Schmidt [“Woe betide us! We are lost; for this is Weilaghiri, the city of hell!”]
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonga
[4] Tāufaʻāhau Tupou IV [Siaosi Tāufaʻāhau Tupoulahi] (1918-2006) was King of Tonga from 1965 until his death in 2006. He was previously Prime Minister of Tonga from 1949 to 1965.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T%C4%81ufa%CA%BB%C4%81hau_Tupou_IV
[5] William Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) was an English writer.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._Somerset_Maugham
[6] „Kava or kava kava (Piper methysticum: Latin 'pepper' and Latinized Greek 'intoxicating') is a plant in the pepper family, native to the Pacific Islands. The name kava is from Tongan and Marquesan, meaning 'bitter'.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kava
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