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AT MIDNIGHT on my last night in eastern Indonesia’s Spice Islands, I sat on a sea wall with my feet hanging over the waters of the Banda Sea. Behind me, the veranda of Hotel Maulana, on the island of Banda Neira, bubbled with the din of guests. Some had come from England as friends of the islands’ so-called princess, now a Londoner who grew up climbing mango and jambulang-fruit trees on these islands. It was the night of her wedding, and a dj’s beats fueled dancing in the street fronting the hotel.
I’d been living in…