Wednesday 20th July
I think I managed to get many pages posted from the “town hall” (mairie) steps in Maré. Not comfy…but I discovered that when push comes to shove, my Tilley hat can be used as a mousepad… There was a sort of café, well a place where you could buy a drink, in a shed, just next to the mairie so I went and bought a coffee for Pete and me, to keep us in good cheer on the unyielding concrete steps. Oh goody…they gave me two big round cups (not polystyrene, which was a blessing,) and filled them with tepid water from a thermos. Then they gave me a big tin of Nescafé and a plastic spoon… I took Pete’s coffee to him with a flourish and said, “You will love this!” (He didn’t…)
We weren’t entirely left to our own devices, in our little WiFi area. Various people would come and sit companionably near us, just chillin’ out, which was fine. But some of them wanted to talk a lot… A tall thin man, slightly nervy, was particularly friendly, so I asked him about Maré. He said the population is just over 1,000 and that there are 11 villages, most of them with their own little local school. I asked if he has a boat, and he said, very proudly, “Oh no, I have A CAR. We all go everywhere in cars!” I asked why – the water is so beautiful, and not storm-tossed or cold. We have been constantly mystified by how few local people take to the water, to swim, fish or to zip around in a tinny. “Well,” he said, “a boat costs too much money.” When I said that in fact a boat would cost nowhere near as much as a car, and that fuel would hardly cost anything, for a tinny, he had to agree.
But I don’t think money is a problem, in New Caledonia. Nobody is hungry; most people are plump and well-fed. They go to the local OPT (the mail centre, where I foolishly tried to buy stamps in Noumea) and line up with little books, which are stamped and signed and then they are given quite a big wad of francs. I know this because I spent a very hot and nasty half hour in the very small humid OPT office in Maré, which, unusually, was in fact the one and only place on the island where one could buy stamps and post mail. There were about 8 people there with me, four ahead in the queue, four behind, and it all got very smelly in there. Each transaction took a very long time; each person wanted to chat and argue with the postmaster, who fortunately was a very stern and distant man, not encouraging of this behaviour.
We had planned to go to the north of Maré, to what looked like a sheltered anchorage and a good place to take off for Lifou the next day. But when we got there the wind had changed and we would have had to anchor far too close to a very sharp and pointy bit of coastline. (By the way – these islands – there are three Loyalty Islands, running along the north coast of New Caledonia – Maré, Lifou and Ouvéa. Apparently [info from Bill on Lord Howe Island] the latter, and smallest, island is the most fascinating, but we won’t be able to go there - we really aren’t supposed to be in New Caledonia any more; on Wednesday we got our clearance papers stamped to leave on Friday and we had until Monday to get out of the country…)
So…there was no choice but to press on to Lifou… It was a beautiful trip, not too rough, with a gorgeous sunset followed by a stunningly starry sky. Added to that, at dusk we were joined by a large pod of very lively dolphins, who leapt and twirled around us, clearing the water by a metre or more. They stayed with us for ages and made me very happy. Well NEARLY made me very happy… I don’t cope all that well with sailing in the dark… I wasn’t prepared and drugged-up because we were only supposed to be going to a nearby anchorage, so poor Pete had the great pleasure of having me droop miserably around the deck. Again!! It wasn’t too bad; no feeding the fish over the back of the boat. And I was able to rouse myself and go down below to cook up a reasonably appetising pot of fried rice.
When it is dark we always put our harnesses on and hook ourselves to various bits of strong strapping whenever we are on deck. Pete was very puzzled because he couldn’t find our lanyards (the essential bit of strap which connects the harness to the lifelines.) This turned out to be a blessing because his search took him to some unexpected places…and he discovered, to his horror, that the shower pump had been turned off – who knows when – and that many weeks of soapy water were slopping around under the decks, ready to sink the boat any minute now… (Now who could have turned it off? Not me surely?? Am I the sort of person who could do this?..Maybe the same sort of person who could put a hot chicken on top of a 250g block of butter and ride around all morning with it melting happily all through her backpack on Thursday in Lifou?) The lanyards turned out to be innocuously sitting in the window seat, in full view, so we were able to strap on and be safe.
We arrived in the main town of Lifou, Wé, at about 10pm. Arriving anywhere in the dark is fraught with stress and danger, and this was even worse because our faithful modern electronic chart informed us, cheerily, that we were fast approaching a reef, even though we could see bright lights and a few red and green markers. We got out the big spotlight and shone it suspiciously at the “reef” – it was a big sea-wall, curving in a narrow S-bend into a small and welcoming marina. The whole operation was charged with difficulty. There were lead lights, nice, thank you, but only some of the red and green markers were illuminated. Some were unlit and hiding coyly at sea level. AAGHH! We knew, or rather we had been told by seemingly responsible sailors in Port Moselle that there was indeed a marina, but getting into it in the dark, past big coral bommies, was totally exhausting, especially when the chart continued to deny its existence. We found out later that the marina was built in 2003, incorporating the reef, so the chart had had plenty of time to absorb this information. (In case you are wondering why the bright lights didn’t help us – they never do. They are always behind the sea wall shining right into your eyes and effectively blinding you. Why… I do not know… We had a similar problem in Lakes Entrance in Victoria.)
We slept very soundly after all of this, and especially after discovering, thanks to a young French sailorhippy on a yellow trimaran, Peter Pan, that there was a very lovely little shower block, unlocked and ready for use. Bliss!
Thursday 21st July
The manager of the marina was, understandably, surprised to see us early the next morning, firmly tied up to his fuel wharf,, but quite happy to let us stay two nights – well we had already stayed one, nothing much he could do about that… It took him an eternity to calculate the rate – he had a steam-driven calculator and a tiny little chart, with different categories for different widths, lengths, maybe colour of hair, who would know? We told him we had a problem with water in the engines; he said otherwise we would have to go back to Noumea and re-enter the country (Do Not Pass Go.)
We were very happy to discover that the marina is an aquarium for tropical fish. There is a bit of coral, and many schools of fish, big and small, patrol happily around under the boats. And – no stinkpipe! The water is beautiful, clear and pale green, not putrid and smelly like it is at Port Moselle.
After breakfast we got out the bikes and set off to explore Wé. The cleaner at the marina, who was very friendly, told us proudly that we were right in the centre of town. If by “centre” you mean “five kilometres away” he was correct. Never mind, we enjoyed our Wé Day very much. Lifou is a beautiful island – well they all are, around here. The town stretches along the coast, just one long road dotted with houses, a small hospital, a school and many shops – food, and general stores full of floral smocks and gardening implements. There are some local markets selling mainly root vegetables (not yummy…) but there are also several large bright and sparkly supermarkets, heaving with people ka-ching ka-ching! All very prosperous.
Everything is very clean, neat, tidy. The lawns are mown and the gardens are well tended. Early on we passed a very old lady vigorously hacking away at her herbaceous border with a machete. She straightened up to wave at us with great delight – couldn’t have been more pleased to see us tootling past. We admired her work and she flexed her muscles at us – “It is good for me!” she shouted happily. Most of the houses are modern and reasonably modest, on big blocks of land, and most also have a buré (conical thatched hut) next to their house. Lots of chooks with chickens, happily foraging. And for the first time we saw children playing soccer on a big bit of flat ground. Mostly people in New Caledonia seem quite inactive, not prone to rushing about in boats or on land or in pursuit of a ball of any sort.
We stopped at most of the shops in search of a bit of pipe and a bit of hose which Pete needed for our water-pumping project. He managed to get some sort of connection thingy, which I carried in my pack and which was soon to become slathered in hot melted butter but…we won’t dwell on that. We decided to keep riding on and through the town – it was all so very pleasant – beautiful, interesting, warm. We followed signs which proclaimed “Le Bellevue Restaurant” very proudly. (I thought it should say La Bellevue but who am I to quibble ,and I am not always correct…) And indeed we did discover Le Bellevue, about a kilometer off the main road, right on a beautiful beach, stunning. But very firmly empty and closed. “Definitivement fermé!” said a shouty handwritten note. This is not a tourist-oriented country… We rode back and stopped at a roadside stall-type café and had a very nice cup of coffee. It was all very clean and tidy, with a proper chef in checked trousers and a pristine jacket. We were sure the food would have been totally delicious but…it was only 11.00, too early for osso bucco, the plat du jour. While we were sitting on our white plastic chairs, a big car rumbled to a halt, and a large, imposing man wearing a bright shirt with a totem pole emblem and a big wreath of woven leaves on his thick bouncy hair got out. He shook hands with us and asked us where we were from. He bought his take-aways, then came back to our table – he had obviously taken a fancy to Pete. “This is for you!” he said, placing the wreath on Pete’s head. He did look a treat! I suggested he place his decoration on top of his Tilley hat so he was able to keep it all day. This was fortunate, because his big black friend drove past us several times during the day, waving very happily – I don’t know what the consequences would have been if Pete had discarded his gift! Hurt feelings! Eviction back to Noumea!
On the way back down the long main street, we took a little track down to the glorious beach, just to paddle and admire and tell each other how lucky we are. Pete had bought a slab (24 cans) of Numero Un (local) beer and had tied it onto the bike with the belt which usually holds his belt up – Pete is McGuiver reincarnated, resourceful at all times. A car pulled up behind us with a screech – another big black man was leaning out the window, booming away at Pete: “Is very good! Your hat! Aha! Family of chief!!” I don’t know what made him happier; the sight of Pete beaming away under his festive wreath, or the fact that, in some surprise at the screech of brakes, Pete had dropped the bike and the whole slab of beer onto his toe…
By the time we were heading back to the marina, it was hungry time. We passed a small café in a most beautiful position, with white plastic chairs and little tables overlooking the pristine water and mushroom-shaped bommies protruding from the sea. How nice did it look, we couldn’t resist! We sat and admired the beauty and ordered not-very-cheap meals. I was able to eat some very nice wild spinach (called tou) and a bit of the boiled rice… Pete manfully ate everything – 6 years at boarding school has prepared him for anything! I am not sure how they managed to make a piece of perfectly nice meat so very dry and tough and tasteless all at once. It wasn’t fatty, which is my usual complaint (whinge whinge, oh no not for me…) but it was truly horrid. No I didn’t order something nicer because…other than that there wasn’t anything , really. There was quite a lot on the menu, but the waiter kept saying, Non, pas d’omelettes. Non pas de…whatever I thought I might like on the menu board. By the time we got back to the boat I was very hungry and had to make myself a baguette with hard boiled egg.
We went out of the marina into the bay and started trying to pump all the unwanted water out. Nick, while crewing on the boat, had very sensibly suggested that we flood some area of 2XS and practise pumping. Good idea. Nick is surely The Man!! Well we didn’t need to simulate this emergency; we had soapy water slopping around ready and waiting to be pumped. I won’t go into details but we did manage to get it all out, after a few false starts, with the wrong tap on or off. (In Pete’s defence, the correct tap was a shy little thing hiding behind some great big pipes.) Poor Pete was very hot and bothered by the time we had finished. I just had to scamper about doing whatever he told me to do – turn this on, that off, empty this bucket then the other one, find the hand pump, that sort of thing.
When we got back to base and had had our second shower for the day (oh the luxury of unlimited hot water in a marina!) we decided to try to find a WiFi connection. Nobody in Lifou seemed to have heard of WiFi, or indeed of the internet. There was a cybercafé way up the road towards the (Le!) Bellevue, and we had trundled our bikes in to check it out in the morning. Very strange…it was as if we were invisible! A French man was crouched over a computer, totally ignoring us. And all around him swirled a vicious domestic argument involving a very angry, thin, black-haired mother, a toddler, an eight year old boy and a broken bowl. We hopped from foot to foot in the doorway – I had discovered that by hopping from foot to foot I could make a bell ring, obviously indicating CUSTOMER WAITING. None of them was in the least interested in talking to, or even looking at, us so we rode away again. We got the vague idea that the computers were not up and running…
The nice ladies in the post office said that they strongly suspected that the library MIGHT have WiFi. So to the library we went, in the late afternoon. The stern and imposing librarian came out to question us very closely as to our motives for wanting WiFi. Well, we said, for safety – we need a recent weather forecast so that we are not overcome by storm and tempest on our way to Vanuatu. Hmmm…we could have 45 minutes, and we would each need a password, and a log-in code. Mine was – I kid you not – vehyxxl log-in and 9Ak3x8nD password. Pete’s was totally different but equally obscure. Oh for the days of DOUBLECHOCO, or MCFLURRYMAGNUM at Le Quick, and LUNCH, the never-changing password at Le Bout du Monde.… And did it work? No not really… I managed to look at my gmail in brief glimpses, but if I tried to send a reply, the whole system would come crashing down and I would have to start again and put in the entire log-in and password and wait for it all to load up. Soothing and pleasant? I think not! I gave up and did some deep-breathing exercises.
Friday 22/7/11
It poured with rain all (Thursday) night and our bikes, which were tethered on deck, got a very good rinse. When they were dry I gave them a good squirt with some anti-rust and then we folded them up and put them tenderly to bed on their very own bunk.
Our aim was to leave at midday and to get to Tanna, one of the southern Vanuatu islands, by the following morning. We had three hour shifts because it really is essential to have someone on watch. Not so much to avoid collisions – no yachts, no fishing boats, no liners, no cargo ships, just an empty sea, with a few beautiful blue flying fish and the very rare sighting of a bird or two – but to be there for when the autopilot decides it wants to turn the whole boat around and take us somewhere completely different – New Zealand, anyone? Maybe back to Ile des Pins? Or is the Southern Ocean beckoning?? Pete was just fine, ofcourse, and I was…well I was OK because I was drugged up (thank you Uncle Harry…And in case you are wondering, everything was totally LEGAL; our much-loved Uncle Harry is a paragon!) Night sailing just really isn’t my thing, although I very much enjoyed my three hours (midnight till 3am) at the helm, under a starry sky, with a half moon, a calm sea, the boat just cruisin’ along, and then my dawn shift, 6-9. My only real complaint is...it is very exhausting…Too much beauty, too much leisure and pleasure, I hear you cry…and well yes you are right…
I had Bill Bryson for company this time, although I still have Stephen Fry to fall back on in times of stress. And a whole lot of very interesting ABC podcasts - oh I do love communication technology!
[A couple of nice quotes for you, from my podcasts:
Woody Allen on death – “I am not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens!”
Elizabeth Taylor – well I so agree with her… “When you find someone who has no vices, they probably will turn out to have a whole lot of very annoying virtues.”]
Saturday 23/7/11
On our travels so far we have met many people who taken the oceans in their stride. A forty day passage?? Pfft, not a problem! Cruising around year after year, hardly ever in sight of land? Yawn. So I am a bit diffident in telling you that Pete and I are so very and totally pleased with ourselves that we have sailed – yes! To another country! And now to YET another one! WEEHEE!
We arrived at Tanna round midday – and what a beautiful island, sparkling in the sunshine, thickly wooden, steep mountains, a small administrative centre – oh dear and oh no, totally inaccessible! Big surf waves, nowhere to go, no harbour or shelter… well yes a big concrete wharf-ish thing but do we want to tie up to it, bash, crash, poor 2XS, poor Pete, poor me?
So we cruised on by, hoping to find shelter on the other side of the island at Port Resolution. Eventually we cruised into a most perfect, charming, beautiful and welcoming bay, by mid-afternoon. Oh the relief… We are amongst nine boats – the only catamaran, very unusual for this part of the world. All I can say is…we are almost speechless with delight. (I did say almost so there are more words to come, ofcourse!)
Our bay is as pretty as a picture, butter wouldn’t melt. But…we are already dirty and grimy, covered with volcanic ash from a fearsome neighbor, Yasur, a big and active volcano, spewing forth. Every now and then it makes a primal grumbling sound, like thunder only more fiery. We can’t wait to go up and look at it close up and personal!
We pootled into the nearby beach, looking for the grandly named Port Resolution Yacht Club. Some very shy young French people along the pathway told us, showing the whites of their eyes; we must be SO terrifying – that it was THAT way, yes, indeed. And it wasn’t. THAT way was a beautiful village, all thatched huts, children playing ball games, boys dressed in sulus (well sulus is what they call them in Fiji – short sarongs.) Everything all neat and tidy, with women mowing the lawns by bending down laboriously and thwacking the grass with a machete – oh their aching backs!!
We were on entirely the wrong track for the Port Resolution Yacht Club but it didn’t matter at all because our walk through the huge banyan trees was so very beautiful. This is an absolutely gorgeous island! When we finally got to our destination, we found an open shed, with a few dodgy couches, tables, chairs. One of the couches was colonised by Mummy Daddy and Baby Cat, all very contented (marmalade, tortoishell, tabby.) Eventually we came upon the owner of the club, Werry, and the dear little burés on the clifftop. He let us have a beer each, on the tab, because we don’t have any Vanuatuan money yet. He has also organised for us to have a late afternoon trip to the top of the volcano so we can see it in the dark – how fearsome will it be!! And on Monday at 7am he (or Stan the Man from the village) will take us by car across to the admin centre so we can check in through Immigration, Customs, Quarantine, the whole box and dice, kit and caboodle.
We asked Werry about the population of Tanna. He said there are 10,000 on the island and that there are about 18 different languages, most of them completely distinct from each other. In the yacht club there is a heartfelt handwritten notice, written very painstakingly. It suggests that visitors to the village, and to the club, should NOT bring their rubbish off their boats for the village people to dispose of it. The notice concludes: “Please do not let the story of your visit be – THEY ENJOYED AND WE SUFFERED.” We talked to him about this and he said it is a real problem, and pointed out a couple of big black garbage bags. What can people be thinking?? This is an isolated village; people live in thatched huts, there is no electricity, and there most certainly isn’t a nice little team of garbage trucks busily patrolling the island.
As we walked back down to the beach where we had tethered the tender, we found a little party from the big steel boat, Infinity, moored nearby. From Germany, Belgium, Wales, and including a very small new baby, Rhian, firmly attached to her mother and ignoring the world. Her mother is a slender delicate girl, Sage, with red curly hair and enormous blue eyes. Kate Headlam’s mother Jane would describe her thus: “alabaster skin, sapphire blue eyes, hair of spun gold.” (She has a poetic turn of phrase…) We talked on the cliff path, balancing precariously, and the Leader Of The Pack, Captain Clemence, invited us for dinner tomorrow night. We have to do a party piece, he said, looking at us with narrowed eyes. Aha! As if that would be a problem! Pete can sing Rock Island Line with vim and gusto and I can recite the Owl and the Pussycat. And if they want an encore, well Pete and I can do a beautiful duet of Wolverton Mountain. As one of the men in Lifou shouted at us, “no soucis!”
Sunday 24th July
We had a G & T and ate our dinner, read our books on the couches for a while and then went to bed, very pleased while our beautiful anchorage, and proud of ourselves for getting all the way to another country. The volcano, Yasur, rumbled away all night like a contented old lion, blowing out steady puffs of smoke. And we got up in the morning to find that 2XS had been transformed into Pompei de Vanuatu… Every surface was covered with heavy grey ash. Fortunately not much got inside – just a bit at the foot of the bed, and another bit on one of the cushions upstairs. But the whole deck was grimy and grey… We ignored it for a while and had a lovely swim in the tepid green water.
After breakfast and a very busy time on the couch with my book and a cup of coffee or two, I decided it was time to take action – out with the dustpan, brush, and big broom. Pete abandoned Roald Dahl and came out to help. We managed to sweep a lot of the grime into the sea but…within an hour or so, another coating of volcanic ash had gently settled on the deck. Never mind; when we leave on Tuesday, I will spend some very happy splashy hours with the sea water hose with the biggest of the brooms, and all will be shiny and white again.
To add to my Favourite Boat Things – of course, my Stormy Seas jacket (thank you Pete!) It is hanging in the wet-weather gear cupboard now, but for many weeks it was my shelter from the stormy blast, a whole little environment to keep me safe and warm.
In the late afternoon we did a little tour of the bay in the (filthy grey ashy) tender. Along the shore and all the way up the steep, forested cliffs we could see puffs of smoke – fumaroles? This is a word which slid into my mind from dim-distant geology classes at Launceston High – isn’t it amazing, the things we have filed away in our reptilian brainstem? Right down at sea level there were vigorous puffs of steam, and boiling salt water – we know it is salt, because Pete was determined to get a sample – I leaned precariously out the front of the tender and put the bailing bucket under the steamy scalding water. And yes it was salt – but why? Shouldn’t it be underground water?? Who knows…I can’t google it because (ofcourse) there is no WiFi connection anywhere within cooee. It was absolutely fascinating. And as we neared the black beach in the middle of the bay, we could see activity in the rock pools – women from the nearby village were doing their washing in the hot water. It must work very well, this washing system, because their white t-shirts were blinding; I can’t achieve anywhere near that level of cleanliness with all the modern technology and Preen and White King and Sard Wonder Soap in the world.
Egills, our compatriot from Port Moselle, has been one day behind us, on his lovely yacht Panache IV. He and his friend Colin had a most dreadful and strenuous trip over to Tanna – the sea was huge, wild wind, lots of tossing and rocking and rolling. How I would have hated it! Pete seems to be very good so far at avoiding all of this sort of nasty sea and wild weather. He spends ages gazing at meteorological charts, and talking to everyone who might have any information about weather patterns. We went over and had a drink with Egills and Colin and invited them (so hospitable, we are,) to the party on Infinity. They were far too tired to contemplate such a thing, which is sad because I think they would have enjoyed it very much.
Infinity is such a big boat! A small ship, really. I went into the Captain’s Quarters for a while, to talk to Sage and baby Rhian. All three of captain Clem’s older children are on board – I’m not sure what the oldest one’s name is, but I think he is 20 and a most charming and handsome young bloke. Reuben is ten and Ronia is twelve; Pete and I had a mini-argument about this. He thought she was extremely gorgeous, sophisticated and self-possessed for a sixteen year old and was dumbfounded when I told him she is about to start first year high school on Germany.
There are 25 people living on Infinity at present, which Clem says is about maximum capacity. There is a bed for everyone, and the Captain’s Quarters are very spacious and comfortable. People who come and live on the boat are mainly driven by a desire for adventure, but more for a need to be involved in environmental causes. Some stay for 4 weeks, others for 9 months. (It costs approx. $900Aus per person per month.) It is all very well organised, with shifts of 3 at a time doing the sailing, cleaning, cooking. There were at least 50 of us at the party, in the main common room, which seemed to me to be about the size of a high school gym. A team of willing workers were constructing plates and bowls out of banana leaves, and there were huge cauldrons of curry and an oven full of damper. We had brought a few small contributions – cheese, biscuits, wine, and these all were gobbled down very swiftly, but really, we wouldn’t have needed to bring anything – Clem is such a hospitable man, gentle and quiet but very much in control of his small floating world. I spent most of the evening with Rhian, who is two months old. Sage was so grateful to have someone to hold her baby. I asked Pete to swap sides with me on our couch so that I could lean my baby-carrying arm on his lap – Rhian is tiny but babies get very heavy after a whole – and I was very happy to spend time with this small sleepy bundle. Sage is a lovely girl. In fact, everyone we spent time with at the party was delightful in one way or another. As well as all the boat people – ie the denizens of Infinity and people off the other six yachts moored in this bay, we had the Port Resolution Soccer Club. They had a wonderful time too. There was more than enough curry in the cauldrons so that they could fill up their banana leaves several times – hungry boys; soccer is very competitive on Tanna and they had some big training games organised for the following day. They were great; they sang, a big massed choir of voices, played guitars and drums and were generally great company. As for other performances – well Ronia (12!) was the master of ceremonies, interviewing various people about their environmental credentials. Five people had prepared characters to be interviewed, in costumes. An enormous young Russian bloke stole the show as Conan in a grass skirt with much grunting. He was so terrifying I thought he was going to gobble up my baby Rhian, who fortunately slept through the moment of terror. They called for more performances after this – Pete did a very stirring rendition of Rock Island Line, which I think the soccer team enjoyed, especially the Woo Hoo at the end. And did I get up and perform? Well…no…
Monday 25th July
This was our day for going to Lenakel to do our entry to Vanuatu formalities. But someone at the infinity party told us that in fact it was a public holiday and that nothing would be open… So we didn’t show up at the pick-up area at 7am. Instead we had a leisurely day. Pete worked on his computer (mutter mutter under his breath) and I had a wonderful time with the salt water hose washing off every single bit of gritty grimy grey ash. So satisfying! I had feared that, when wet, it would turn into sticky sludge, but no, it responded very well to water pressure and slid off into the sea.
At five we had drinks on 2XS – Egills and Colin, from Panache IV, and Derek and Bella from Pandana, who we had met on Infinity. Derek (Australian) and Bella (Austrian) have been cruising constantly for the past 16 years. They go home to Brisbane for the cyclone season, but other than that, they are wandering around the Pacific Islands very happily. I was very proud of myself because I managed to create a perfectly delicious dip out of what we had in our cupboards – our cupboards are almost bare… It comprised: one hardboiled egg, some soy mayonnaise, a small tin of curried tuna and – secret ingredient – a spoonful of cup-a-coup laksa.) Everyone sat around and chatted heartily about The Sailing Life etc and then at eight they all bolted for home (ie their own little boats.)
Tuesday 26th July
So we did indeed take the trip to Lenakel, in a 4WD ute, with a very young and very skillful driver, Doua. We waiting in the waiting area for nearly two hours, from 7am, until – why? Suddenly, mysteriously, it was Time To Go! It isn’t very far, from Port Resolution to Lenakel. As the crow flies… But as a 4WD labours it is a long long way… It took us about three hours on slithery, slippery, steep rutted tracks. A very beautiful trip, however, through the gorgeous Tanna forest, with magical banyan trees to delight and amaze us at every turn. In some of the villages along the way they had built lovely little tree houses in the trees – how lovely would that be! Egills and Colin were with us – they too had to go thorough Immigration, Customs, Quarantine. And three of the Infinity crew were on the trip – Swiss Tom, US Kelly, French Delphine. All very pleasant company. We also acquired a constant stream of hitchhikers hopping on and off the ute tray. Occasionally we would stop and acquire some taro, a few chickens on a woven basket, bunches of veggies, the odd large dried fish. People would get on and off at different villages along the way, but we always seemed to have at least two large and cheery chaps clinging to the back of the ute. Pete and I sat in the cab on the way to Lenakel because he thought it would be better for my back (poor old crock that I am…) But it wasn’t all that comfortable inside, and we exhausted poor Doua’s comprehension of English within half an hour – he surely needed to use his mental powers to keep us on the road! On the way back he had some of his own cheery friends in the cab and Pete and I were able to get a fabulous view of the forest and the villages from our hard wooden benches in the tray, with our friends and a whole new lot of people hopping on and off.
Once we got to Lenakel it took many hours, ofcourse, to complete our paperwork and go from one office to the other. And..no way of getting any Vanuatu money… We had about $100Aus with us in cash, and the bank did change that for us, but we needed quite a lot more to pay for this and that official; bit of paper. (All of this cost nothing in New Caledonia.) Pete went off in the ute with trusty Doua to a nearby resort, White Grass, and managed to get a bit more money using his visacard. At Werry’s request I have dutifully written an official letter to the National Bank of Vanuatu outlining exactly why they should install an ATM in Lenakel – how beneficial it would be to the community, and to weary travellers arriving from all over the place! I think Werry is heartily sick of penniless (I mean batu-less) people turning up wanting a beer at the Port Resolution Yacht Club.
While Pete zipped around in the ute, I went to the local internet office and bought a $5 card to connect to the WiFi – yes I had brought my trusty computer all the way over the bumpy Tanna mountains. And guess what – the connection didn’t work… I managed to get into one of the office computers and to catch a tantalising glimpse of my emails – Telstra would like me to pay my bill; Michael has written something or another…I think I wrote a word or two to Mum, and to Katy…and then it all vanished. Breathe…breathe… I left all of the stress behind me and went to find The Others, who were sitting on benches outside the Immigration office waiting for the Quarantine man to take us to his beautiful little house/office a few kilometres away.
We passed very close to Yasur on the way to and from Lenakel, driving over a weird lunar landscape of grey ash, so strange in the midst of the lush Tanna forest. On the way back as we were approaching the volcano, it gave a loud rumble and then a huge puff of black smoke erupted – so spectacular! A few other even larger ones followed and then the wind changed and it all fell on top of us in the ute tray – cough splutter!!
We got back to 2XS at 7pm so tired we could barely wipe the ash out from our eyes and ears…
Wednesday 27th July
We had a peaceful morning on the boat then met Colin and Egills, from Panache IV, for lunch at the Port Resolution Yacht Club. Oh how posh it sounds and oh how posh it isn’t…
More or less on the spur of the moment we decided that we would walk up to Yasur, the local volcano. A walk would surely do us good, and Stanley, the Man in the village would pick us up, along with a party of New Zealanders who had just arrived on a small yacht (Independence). Seasickness had been a major issue… They all had scopatches but…they apparently didn’t work for some of the benighted crew… They started ahead of us on the 3 hour walk because we had to go back to 2XS and get equipped for the expedition – warm clothes for the top of the mountain, head torches, bottle of water etc etc.
It was a most beautiful walk, through the thick lush forest. Magic, as Vin Patel would surely have said. We met lots of people along the way, walking to and from the soccer ground where celebrations were taking place for Independence Day. Most of the players play in bare feet, and very nifty and vigorous they are! We were very pleased with ourselves because we overtook the New Zealanders (YES!) and we got to the top in less than the three hours we had expected. But…it was a long hard walk to the top… Lots of people passed us, from resorts, in comfy 4WD vehicles as we trudged our way up from sea level to the rim of the volcano. The guide books say Yasur is the most accessible active volcano in the world, and indeed, the cars parked at the bottom of the track, and it was only a 10 minute walk up the hill from there. Amazing!
I don’t think I can do justice to the experience. It was absolutely breathtaking, terrifying, wonderful. We met up with some of our young friends from Infinity, who were equally enthralled and fascinated. The volcano roared and rumbled and bellowed and produced the most spectacular fireworks imaginable, right over our heads. We stayed until it was nearly dark; it was very cold there, and started to rain, so we tore ourselves away from the spectacle and walked back down to the car park. Stanley wasn’t there yet so Pete and I walked back down the track for about an hour until he caught up with us. This was a strategic error; we should have kept on walking. The ride back, wedged into a twin-cab ute tray, was excruciating. There were ten of us jolting along together with nothing to hold on to… the man next to me, one of the nicer new Zealanders, was pleasant and polite and I really didn’t want to say to him, “Ummm…is that knife in your pocket…” He had some sort of large Leatherman system on his hip and it dug mercilessly into my thigh… I think I am branded for life…
All whingeing aside…it was one of the most extraordinary things I ever expect to see, Mighty Yasur!!
28th July 2011
We left Port Resolution, which was starting to feel like home, at 6am and had a beautiful cruise to the next island, Erromango. It is – are you surprised – just beautiful, gorgeous forest right down to the water’s edge. Erromango is much less populated than Tanna – between 1000 and 1500; Tanna has ten times that number. We could see mobile phone towers on the hills so I optimistically took my computer into the village…maybe there would be WiFi!! Well…there wasn’t…
But it was a lovely little village, with a fresh water river, children playing, women washing clothes on the rocks, others fishing. And everyone wreathed in smiles of delight at our arrival… One of the men, Frank, asked if he could come to Port Vila with us tomorrow, with a few buckets of wood. (??) Ofcourse we said yes. We will see if he clambers aboard at 6pm…
We were happy to meet the former chief (Jif) on the island, William Mete, and his wife, Martha, who plied us with bananas and pawpaw and a big root vegetable which I am sure will take all the gas on the boat to cook… They have a little guesthouse behind their own little house, and showed us very proudly.
Friday 29th July
(Frank the hitchhiker didn’t show at 6am…)
We have arrived – finally – in Port Vila. All very pretty but…no marina (sob) and I can’t get internet connection (double sob…)
Also I can’t find Leah (my niece) or Mark (her boyfriend (sigh sigh…)