Tuesday 4th October

We are in Honiara at last...and I have two hours of internet access, WiFi, at the cool lovely lime cafe.  Bliss!  Here is my BlogNovel....

Wednesday 7^th September

I caught a taxi back from my final Luganville tasks, at the dispensary and at Victoria’s Café.  Taxis in Luganville are uniformly 200vatu ($2).  Some of our drivers have been almost totally silent, others very chatty.  They all admire Pete and ask him how old he is.  When he says “65,” they laugh and shout, “Big strong man!”  They are all amazed that he manages to sail his big boat with only me as crew; maybe I don’t project a very Big Strong image… My last driver, to the wharf, was older than the others – had seen more cyclones, as Steve would have said.  He asked me where I came from, and when I told him, he said, “Vanuatu and Australia are one.  We are South Pacific brothers.”

We finally left Luganville, after a productive little time at the fuelwharf, filling all the 2XS tanks – fuel and water – to the brim.  It was a beautiful day, clear, with flat, calm sea.  We didn’t; go very far, just around the corner to Surunda Bay, which was, apparently, the inspiration for James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific.  I think he might have lived there while he wrote them; must find out. 

It is a beautiful bay, with a white beach, crystal clear water, and…lots of sea grass, not much coral.  We had a wonderful swim nevertheless, from the boat to the beach.  Pete wanted to walk into the nearby village, but I put my foot down.  Or rather, I didn’t!  I said it would be very silly to walk into the village in bare feet; our feet are soft little white things, not big strong leather-like Ni-Van Man Feet.  So we walked along the beach instead.  We came across a solemn little boy, probably about 9 years old, swimming in the shallows.  Lemi talked to us very seriously, and told us he had three sisters and two brothers.  His mother, Mary, arrived at this point – she must have been keeping a wary eye on him from her hut.  “Actually no,” she said, “he has three sisters, and…no brothers.”  Maybe Lemi is like my Michael was, at the tail end of three big sisters – filling his family with big strong imaginary brothers…Michael’s, as I recall, were called G. Harrison, James Herriott, and Yornya.  They were all capable of prodigious feats of strength and could lift horses over fences if ever called upon to do so.   While Pete and Mary chatted, Lemi silently sank six inches under water, and stayed there…for ages!  He popped up and was thrilled to bits that I had observed this silent but impressive stunt, and from then one spent more and more time under water until I feared he would drown, showing off for us.

We kept walking to the end of the beach and up the little river for about ten metres; it culminated in a blue hole.  A very small blue hole… It was lovely, and blue-ish, and much colder than the warm shallow sea in Surunada Bay.  As we waded about, fascinated by some small shrimp-like creatures darting around the roots of the mangroves, three men came charging up to the river, full of HELLO, HELLO!  They were going to the village on the other side…and had to wade waist deep through the water.  Pete shouted something encouraging about it not being too cold for big brave men such as themselves, and they fell about laughing.  The younger one bringing up the rear was still snorting with laughter as he disappeared up the track.  Nothing funnier for a man than getting his nether regions soaked in cold water, apparently…

Pete’s clothes have become very dirty – all that black sand, and contact with the dirty anchor chain.  He had a sizable stash of washing to do, and sat on the deck with the big blue water container, getting rid of the grime.  I came up from my own domestic chores in the galley to observe and looked at the water in astonishment –“Goodness, Pete, are you making kava?”  He stared at the murky water and said, “And this is the rinse – you should have seen the washing water!” 

Thursday 8^th September

Last night I cooked a big pot of stir fry with an eclectic mixture of vegetables to go with the (very lean) beef strips I had bought in Vila – pumpkin, cabbage, some tropical nameless items, onion.  I thought it was not very yummy at all but Pete valiantly ate his way through his allotted portion.  Before dinner, we sat on the deck with a nice big G & T and looked for turtles in the dusk.  I had seen a few big ones, and I said, a bit sadly, “I think it is the same one bobbing again.”  Just then the big turtle obligingly popped up and I said, “See?  Her it is again!”  But…right behind it was another smaller one…so there is more than one turtle in Surunda Bay.  We were also looking for dugong.  Surungda Bay is definitely dugong habitat, with its large expanse of sea grass, warm shallow water.  What, for a dugong, is there NOT to like?  But dugongs are shy and elusive…also Pete doesn’t believe in them; he thinks they are akin to bunyips.

We left beautiful Surunda Bay at about eleven, when the tide was high enough for 2XS to get over the reef.  I went for another snorkel at lwo tide - more fish to be seen, and more bommies, but the coral was all very dead, apart from the odd flash of bright orange obstinately clinging on to life.

After a very pleasant and very short cruise we arrived at Oyster island, not an hour from Surunda Bay… We are not racing away from the Espiritu Santo region, are we??  Oyster Island is…you guessed it, just beautiful, total tropical paradise.  We found a mooring in a most beautiful little bay and immediately leapt into the water to go snorkeling on the prolific bommies.  It was just wonderful; lots of live coral formations, lots of fish, the water clear and warm.  Perfection!  But…Pete happened to swim up to the rope anchoring the mooring to the seabed and found, alarmingly, that 2XS was pulling it up from its setting.  Time to toss the mooring back into the water and scarper!  It’s not good practice to tie up to moorings and them uproot them...bad manners!

We found a place to anchor not far from this bay, with less coral, and enough sand to drop the anchor without doing any damage to the seabed.  After lunch (tropical fruit salad with bananas, pawpaw, and pamplemousse…) we went back into the sea, this time to try out Andrew’s power dive hookah contraption.  Pete had already had a go, with Andrew’s guidance, off Malekula Island, but this was my first time.  As usual when I am going down under the water, I am terrified and hope that something will happen to prevent me from going under – maybe a small tsunami??  But the sea remained calm, clear, turquoise and inviting so I had to go.  And…I loved it!  We went down the anchor chain very cleverly and then were on the sandy bottom, 6 metres down.  Great!  I had two weights on my belt but they obviously weren’t heavy enough and as soon as I let go of the chain I bobbed straight back up to the surfaced like a cork.  I tried over and again to get down and stay down but the surface won each time.  Pete did much better, stayed on the bottom and swam around like a big fish.  When we got back on board we looked around for something which would do to add weight on my belt.  The only thing Pete found was a VERY heavy lead chunk, designed to add weight to the anchor chain.  It certainly would keep me down but probably permanently…

Friday 9^th September

This morning we left beautiful Oyster Island and went to equally beautiful Champagne Beach.  Well stunningly beautiful gorgeous Champagne Beach.  With white sand – real sand.  And gorgeous coral along the shore, steeply forested with tangled jungle and huge trees.  (We have just discovered that in fact we weren’t at Oyster Island at all…not sure what the name of the island was…maybe Mavea…)

We leapt straight into the crystal clear water, with a happy party of ni-Van teenagers with their Youth Group leader, Marcel.  They were one big pack of laughter.  Pete swam around with them; I snorkeled straight off to look at the coral along the shore.  I was just getting really involved with a big school of yellow stripey fish when I heard a piercing whistle - Pete!  His farmerboy whistle can be heard underwater, apparently.  Marcel had invited us for lunch.  Well I wasn’t going to sit on the shore with a Sunday School Picnic in my bathers, so I swam back to 2XS and filled my daypack with a shirt, sarong, and some Butternut Snap biscuits.  Oh and very fortunately my sunglasses and plastic sandals.  (And yes everything did get wet; my backpack is not waterproof…as Pete can sadly attest – his video camera doesn’t seem to have survived the waves which got through the pack…)

Marcel and his group had prepared a laplap in the nearby village – Jean-Vincent was the handsome young chef.  We were presented with plates groaning with…the most indigestible and indelible food imaginable… Chicken wings, boiled rice, and a HUGE slab of plantain (and taro, I think, but Pete says no, only plantain.)  Pete manfully ate all of his, washed down with orange cordial.  I just…couldn’t.  I dropped one of my pale chicken wings on the sand – oh dear – and then put all of my slab of plantain/taro in my plastic bag and said, “This can be my dinner!”

My lunch friend was Sylvia, a sparkling girl from Mélé village.  She was thrilled to meet us – Uncle Mark!  Auntie Julia and Auntie Juliana (Marks sisters.)!  I said, “Are you sure they are your aunts?  You are the same age?”  “No we are not the same age!” she said firmly.  “I am 17!”  Yes well Julia is 16 and Juliana 19…not so very different… Sylvia is studying science subjects, about which she is wildly enthusiastic, at a big boarding school near Luganville.  I asked how the food was and she said, laughing, “Not so good…but we are all there for the knowledge, not for the food!”  She accompanied Pete and me for our walk on the beach.  I very fortunately had my sandals, Pete had bare feet… As did Sylvia; but she had big strong leathery ni-Van feet!  At the end of the beach she didn’t pause but plunged into the jungle for An Adventure!   We scampered along the coast under the huge shady trees, clambering over and under logs, through vines, over rocks.

Sylvia told me about her family.  She only has one sister, but her mother (32!) is one of nine.  “All the same father, my grandfather, who is from Tonga.  But five different wives.  All of them died!”  I asked if he was married again and she said, “Yes, in New Zealand, to a Maori woman…and I hear she is pregnant so my mother will have a new baby brother or sister!”  I said, “Your grandfather must be a very attractive man,” and Sylvia laughed heartily.  “No he is not!” she said.  But…he must be!!

We were followed by some of the smaller children, Marcel’s offspring, from the youth group.  We had given them one of our green bouncy balls, middle sized, and they were very happy with it.  The little boy was particularly skilled, rushing up and down the beach doing clever soccer moves.  While we were all scrambling over the rocks together, I asked the older girl how old her little brother was.  “He is my sister.  And she is four,” she said, conclusively.  Oh.

Pete had meanwhile been talking to some nice people on the beach, Rae and Greg Wilson, retired (but younger than us…) teachers from Torquay, near Geelong.  We arranged to meet them for dinner at the Lonnoc Village Resort.  I had another beautiful snorkel along the coral edge of Champagne Beach bay and then we upped anchor and went around the corner to Lonnoc Bay, where we found a lovely, very relaxed, resort.  No electricity in the bungalows, only in the restaurant/common area, from 6-9.  Pete and Greg had chicken satay, with kumara chips, which they said was delicious.  Rae and I went for pawpaw curry which was – yes – unusual but very nice indeed.

A near disaster…I have the only Vanutau money (Vatu) on the boat; Pete has spent all of his.  So we took the tender in to the beach this evening, with me firmly in control of finances, with my Katmandu purse slung around my neck.  It was very wavy and splashy when we arrived, so in between hoots of laughter and waves going right up my skirt, I suddenly went pale with dread – the strap was still around my neck but where was my purse???  I shone the torch into the water and thought all was lost but…a shout from Pete, my purse had washed up right at his feet.  Thank goodness…  My money was very wet and about to disintegrate so it made an interesting centerpiece on our table, all spread out on the cloth to dry.  (The main panic was not for the $100 or so I might have lost but…the last ATM before we get to Honiara in the Solomons was in Luganville and it would have meant retracing our steps…we never do this!)

Saturday 10^th September

We got up early and went from Lonnoc Village to Santa Maria Island (aka Gaua, to a very different sort of anchorage, Lesalav Bay,facing the ocean.  It took from 6-3 to get there, and we cruised right around the island till we got to the anchorage.  Once again just beautiful – thickly forested, with steep hills falling to the sea.  Santa Maria has an inland lake, quite a big one, and a rumbling volcano.  It is possible to do a two-day trek but…it all sounds very grueling and it is so very hot we can barely summon the energy to slip into the sea for a swim… I can’t see us trekking up up up through the jungle, not matter how tempting the sight of another volcano might be.

Sunday 11^th September

We got up early again because Jif Robert had paddled over the previous evening in his dugout and had told us they have an Anglican church service at 7.30.  We had been wanting to go to church in the islands, and this was our opportunity.  The village is just beautiful, all clean and swept and tidy, with woven thatched huts to house about 300 people, all in the shade of huge jungle trees on the edge of the sea.

Did the service start at 7.30?  Ofcourse not; it was 8.  We had gone for a stroll up the track and were summoned back by a loud call on a conch shell.  Pete had already met Father Keith, a very energetic young priest, who had to walk one kilometre to the next village and then ten to the last one to do his two hour sessions.  He was a very lively preacher, with grand sweeping gestures.  It seemed much more like a Roman Catholic service than anything else to us…Pete knew all of the responses; I didn’t.  The church – a woven hall, very light and breezy, with a tin roof which Pete said was in imminent danger of collapse because someone had removed the trusses – was packed.  Women on the right, men on the left.  I didn’t realise and sat on the wrong side, but I suppose all is forgiven to “Margaret and her husband from a yacht from Australia.”  We were mentioned several times in the sermon, and at the end Pete stood and gave a brief speech which elicited a huge round of applause.  A few late arrivals – older ladies, large and regal in their island dresses - came and sat on our side so I felt a bit less conspicuous.  The service was half in English, half in Bislama, and I suppose we understood as much as anyone else… All of the songs were in English; so strange, because the people here hardly speak a word.  They can, however, read their hymn books and their well-worn Bibles!  The singing was unforgettable – the men and women all had beautiful voices, and they harmonised effortlessly.

I was astounded by how good and patient the children were.  Two hours was long for me; it must have been an eternity for them!  The toddlers toddled about, playing, eating Salada biscuits, strewing crumbs.  They were OK.  It was the older ones who impressed me with their forbearance.  I supposed they have been doing it since they themselves were babes in arms…  Towards the end of the service, one of the village dogs wandered in and strolled up and down the aisle, occasionally stopping to hoover up biscuit crumbs.  He provided a welcome distraction for the children and went and lay under a few different pews to be patted.  He ended up under the one in front of us, peering out at us with lazy interest.

On our way back to 2XS,Pete decided to pay a visit to a catamaran which arrived after us, causing quite a sensation.  Well a sensation on 2XS, anyway…because this was a two-masted cat, one mast on each hull – extraordinary!  Marilyn and Don were very welcoming and happy to talk about their amazing boat.  It is their only “house” so it is very comfortable and luxurious, with a huge fridge, freezer, washing-machine, the lot.  They built it themselves and it only took seven years from start to finish… I will get Pete to write about it; he took in the details more than I did.  They charter it out in the summertime in the Bay of Islands (NZ) and spend the other six months enjoying their retirement from farming.

Pete’s turn:

The catamaran is 54foot and built of fiberglass with carbon fibre masts.  These are 20m from the deck and elliptical in shape, like an aeroplane wing, sort of.  They can be rotated 180 degrees and carry a boom and mainsail each.  They have no spreaders or shrouds, so they are pretty awesome looking.

Don was a shearer/ farmer who decided to build the boat with his wife. A very long term project, but a great result; he got the concept for the design from Pete Goss’s huge 140ft (or thereabouts) double masted entry in the open slather , no restrictions, race around the world.  As it happened the Goss boat fell apart, but was capable of 40knots and planing.  Don and Marilyn’s has survived the test of time and is a beautiful boat with many innovations, including, for example, sliding windows in the cabin (that don’t leak).

Marilyn told me about a place they were going to visit later in the week, at the other end of Santa Maria.  They had named this place the Village of Wild Dogs.  Last year when they were in these waters, they anchored near a village which turned out to be totally, eerily, deserted.  Except for a pack of very thin dogs, which were pathetically grateful to see them.  They came rushing up to be patted as Don and Marilyn crept around uneasily looking in the huts for any sign of life.  Everything in the village had, seemingly, just been left.  A sudden mass disappearance of about 100 people!  They went back to Cool Change, and all night the dogs howled piteously…This upset them greatly; they are farmers through and through and love their dogs.  When they got to the next village, the one where we were anchored this year, they learned what had happened.  It had been a sudden forced evacuation by the Vanuatu government – the volcano might be about to erupt and they were taken to Lasalava village, where they stayed very unhappily for nine months.  Unhappily because they were away from their home, their things, their dogs, but also because they had no rights.  They weren’t permitted to fish on the reef, nor to use the village water supply.  They had to trek way up into the mountains to collect river water, and were very hungry, sad, bereft.  Marilyn and Don scrounged up all the empty plastic bottles they could find, to make it easier at least for the water collection.

At five they came for drinks on 2XS.  Pete unfurled the gin, and I constructed, once again, a passable dip out of found objects in the pantry and fridge.  We had a very pleasant evening.  Lots of stories to and fro.  A few days ago, they ferried a hundred ni-Van women from one end of Santa Maria to the other.  There had been a Mothers Union knees-up in one particular area.  Their options were to go in village boats, for which they had to pay fuel costs, and they have no money at all.  Or they could walk all the long weary way back home.  Cool Change had done the same kind deed last year.  The Mothers Union thing is to celebrate something; Marilyn wasn’t sure what.  The birth of Mary, maybe?  Apparently this is a moveable feast and from next year it will be celebrated, arbitrarily, in March, so the mummas won’t get their lovely free ride.  When I say one hundred women, it was actually ninety, but with ninety women, in Vanuatu, comes a whole gang of small children.  And... a string band, which set up jauntily on the foredeck.  I was very interested to hear how this trip went – surely the women would have been just fascinated with the boat, the scenery, the whole trip?  “Oh no!” said Marilyn.  “They are exhausted after three days of being shouted at through loudspeakers They slept!”  Apparently every single flat surface on the boat was covered with snoring bodies.  All except for the string band.

Cool Change, as I have said, is a very beautiful boat.  Top of the wazza, as Pete would say.  Last year it was chartered, Marilyn told us with a bit of embarrassment, to film the final episode of what she says is the world’s worst reality show – The Bachelor.  I hastened to assure her there are in fact many worse…and was delighted to hear all about their experience.  Apparently the Bachelor himself was a tosser, but the winning finalist was a delightful girl.  None of it was actually really real, you will be surprised to hear.  The final episode involved a gorgeous cruise on Cool Change, in balmy New Zealand waters.  Unfortunately it was October and really very cold.  The poor winnnergirl had to frolic in a tiny bikini on the nets at the front of the boat with her BachelorPrize.  The wind blew, the waves came up, and she was doused with freezing water as she lay flirting cutely… Don was watching all of this with eagle eyes; he left very sorry for her.  And when one of her boobs fell out of her bikini top – well he rushed to her assistance.  Of course! Marilyn said she has never seen him move so swiftly, while Grandma stood, she said, grimly at the helm.

Monday 12^th September

We left Lasalava village and Santa Maria at 6.30 this morning, heading for Sola, the main town on Vanua Lava, the northernmost inhabited island of Vanuatu. 

On the way we saw a few dolphins – not much marine life visible on these latest journeys.  But these dolphins, few though they might have been, made up for it with their spectacular acrobatic feats.  They leapt out of the water and twirled in the air, right out of the water.  Degree of difficulty – extreme!  Oh and I forgot to say we saw a very big splashy whale the other day, on our way to Santa Maria Island.  Not close but spectacularly leaping out of the water and thrashing its tail.

In Sola we wanted to buy some fruit, and maybe some other provisions, and we had to find out what the procedure will be on the 15^th, when we have to check out of Vanuatu Immigration and Customs.  Last Chance Saloon.  We also, naively, thought there might be WiFi so we lugged our computers in our backpacks for a futile little trip.  In between the police office and Customs and Immigration we found a delicate young English nurse, Lucy, who is working in the Banks Islands here on an AIDS awareness and prevention campaign.   (No there is very little AIDS here, in case you are wondering, unlike the other South Pacific islands where it has reached epidemic proportions, so she told us.)  We found out that nothing is working in the way of communication technology – phones are out, internet has been down for months.  And while there are two shops in tiny Sola, there are no fresh fruit or veggies to be bought. 

We made our way to the closest shops, only about ten minutes’ walk away, looking, on Lucy’s advice, for a lady called Lady.  We found her immediately, a lovely young woman, beautiful and self-possessed, who is the proud owner of Tombo’s Store.  She explained that everyone grows their own fruit and vegetables and if they have any left over they bring them to her shop to sell – but this rarely happens.  Lucy had told us that she grows as much as possible in her own garden.  Lady took pity on us and gave us a hand of the most beautiful fat little bananas from her own pantry - we were pathetically grateful and tried to find things to buy in her shop…Some fizzy drinks for Pete, some peanuts.  Her shop sells a few tins of this and that but mainly rice, flour, powdered milk, yellow school shirts, and a vast array of thongs (flipflop ones for your feet, not underwear.)

We made our way back happily enough to our tender.  Don and Marilyn had arrived not long after us – they had to check in or out with Immigration too.  We chatted idly then strolled back to the beached tender.  Just as we were about to clamber aboard, we were hailed by an imposing gentleman, who introduced himself, somewhat terrifyingly, as Inspector Judas, from the local police.  Could we come back to the office for a word.  “Well yes,” said Pete, “but why?”  Well Inspector Judas hedged around for a bit then said, “You have been reported as having taken a fourteen year old boy, Isaac, away from Santa Maria this morning.”  We were understandably startled and denied all knowledge of Isaac.  “But they said it was a white catamaran; you are the only white catamaran to have left there this morning.”  Oh damn; so much for my plan to dob in Cool Change which is unmistakably blue… We suggested that Inspector Judas go out to search 2XS with Pete while I waited on the beach.  I sat and buried my feet in black sand – they were burning, poor little things – and sat on a low-lying branch of an accommodating tree while they conducted the search.  I actually catastrophised a bit – well wouldn’t you??  We hadn’t locked, or even shut, the cockpit door last night and it was possible, though unlikely, that an enterprising 14 year-old could have stowed away and remained hidden in one of the unused cabins.  Or worse – what if Inspector Judas remained unconvinced and we had to prove that we hadn’t stolen Isaac and then tossed him overboard between Santa Maria and Vanua Lava??  Poor Don and Marilyn would have had to be witnesses, and they would have been obliged to say, “Well yes ofcourse we discussed ways of murdering people while at sea,” because Pete and I had told them the recent Hobart story of death on a yacht, which has resulted in Susan Neil-Fraser being imprisoned with no body ever found.  But Pete and Inspector Judas came back wreathed in smiles, the best of friends, after a thorough search of 2XS.  I said, “Well we certainly don’t want or need a 14 year old boy on the boat!  They eat too much!” and Inspector Judas laughed heartily.

(In case you are fretting, Isaac has been found.  He had a lovely few days on a beautiful yacht from Seattle, Delos.  Brian, the skipper, told us this on the radio when we passed each other on the coast.  He was a bit surprised at the hubbub – he had talked to Isaac’s father, Mark, who was perfectly happy about the trip…)

Our plan for the next few days was to follow, like puppies, Marilyn and Don, who are sailors extraordinaire.  Or, rather, like one big 2XS-shaped puppy.  Cool Change led the way to the Reef Islands, a most fabulous part of the world.  They steered expertly though a reef-maze and we anchored in a beautiful shallow lagoon lined with sea grass.  Warm clear water and dear little deserted islands fringed with white sandy beaches.  Coconut trees swaying in the breeze, the whole lot.  We had two nights there, and had a most lovely time.  During the day we dozed, read, swam, walked (very slowly – it was ferociously hot) on the beach then wallowed in the shallows.  I dipped in and out of the sea so many times I was totally salt-encrusted.  We are trying not to use up too much of our precious water because we don’t know when next we will get to a reliable supply to fill up the tanks, so it seemed capricious and wasteful to have a shower – after all I wasn’t dirty, only salty.  In the evenings we took turns having G & Ts and snacks on Cool Change and 2XS, with lots of chat and lots of laughter.  Don and Marilyn are particularly easy to be with, very pleasant people.  I worked out that – aha! – they were both born in 1949 – a very good year, no wonder we like them so much!

Tuesday 14^th September

This morning we left our beautiful anchorage in the reef-fringed lagoon and made out way back to Vanua Lava, to Waterfall Bay.  Will you be bored if I tell you how very beautiful it is here too??  Thickly forested, steeply sloping, with majestic waterfalls pouring out into the sea.  We anchored next to Cool Change and pottered around a bit.  It was once again very hot – probably mid 30s – so we leapt in and out of the sea and swam round and round the boat.  (I am trying to dry out my ears, which have developed a suspiciously nasty feeling inside, so I didn’t snorkel, but I did get an extra layer of salt encrustation.)  As soon as we arrived we were swarmed by people from the very small local villages in dugouts, wanting to say hello and to do some trading.  They recognised Cool Change with great affection because Marilyn and Don had taken just about the whole village out fishing on the boat last year.  What was different to every other place we have anchored was that three of the boats were paddled by women – we have never seen this before; it is always men, in the dugouts.  One of the women (later revealed to be 15 year old Janet, the babysitter, second daughter of Elizabeth…) had six – yes SIX – very small children lined up in the boat with her, all of them wreathed in smiles.  Another, Gwendoline, had a tiny girl, Norah, and a six year old boy, Jay, who paddled very capably at the front of the canoe.  Another young girl came out in her own canoe, by herself, and hung around wistfully.  She told us she was Melrose, the Jif’s daughter.  She has a one year old son so I gave her a ball; she then asked if we would like some eggs.  She had three of her precious chook eggs in her canoe…Well yes, please, and what would she like in return?  Ummm…not sure…but…some of my clothes would be very nice thank you.  She was wearing a very shabby old pink singlet, much stained and adorned with a nappy pin, so I gave her a new bright red one which I really don’t wear much.

We gave each canoe-load a ball for the children, and a butternut snap, one per person.  Our ball supply is rapidly diminishing… Esau, an older man, came out by himself and said he would bring us some fruit and vegetables – we gave him a bag of rice.  He asked if Pete could spare some sandpaper and Pete turned 2XS upside down but didn’t have a spare bit anywhere.  When he returned in the afternoon, Esau brought a very generous supply of pawpaw, pamplemousse, plantain, tiny capsicum, and…two small children.  He said, very firmly, “The children saw the balls you gave the others, and they want one too.”  Fair enough!  Another canoe, bearing two younger men, talkative Reuben and silent Joshua, asked us if we had playing cards.  Well it so happened we had a lovely new pack – we have just been too busy (or too idle) to think of playing games at all.  They brought us some very nice fruit and veggies later in the day, and Pete gave them a bonus – he sang Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho for them.

Gwendoline returned, with only tiny Norah in her boat, with some passion fruit, and some susu – we love susu, and have been calling it “the weirdo vegetable” for want of another name.  It is possibly choko…but we aren’t sure.  She asked if I had a backpack surplus to requirements…well no.  I had given her my white singlet top in the morning; I find it almost impossible to keep white things clean in these conditions and so never wear it – I can buy another one in Supré when I get back to SupréWorld… And what about some underwear?  A bra, some pants.  Looking me straight in the eye, she said, “Marilyn told me you would have a bra for me.”  Poor Gwendoline…at that very moment Marilyn and Don chuffed up in their tender and her lie was exposed – Marilyn was very startled to hear that she had recommended me as a supplier of underwear.  Gwendoline looked so defeated I went and rootled around in my underwear basket and found some perfectly good unworn underpants which I had forgotten I had, and a very nice white lace bra Nicky passed on to me a few years ago.  I do like it but I have three other newer ones – surely I could spare one for Gwendoline??

After lunch and before my underwear trading we went into the village in the tender, weaving our way perilously through rocks and reef and waves.  A sturdy woman on the shore waved directions at us – Matriarch Elizabeth, wife of the Jif, mother of Melrose and three younger ones, grandmother of Melrose’s toddler, the grandly named Benizul Victor Malal.  Elizabeth is aged, I soon discovered, all of 32.... (In case you want to know, her other two daughters are Evelyn and Janet – Pete and I are just fascinated by the names in the Banks Island group.) 

Elizabeth took us to the Sasara Twin Waterfalls Yacht Club, which is a long woven, thatched hut decorated with donations from yachts – flags, posters, photos.  We have booked for dinner at 6.30 and will go there with Don and Marilyn.  Goodness knows what dinner will be…I strongly suspect I could hear it cock-a-doodling anxiously an hour or so ago… Elizabeth showed us the book of rules and information for this yacht club.  Two pages, all very interesting, although some of the yachties who call into this bay take exception to being told what they can and can’t do.  We, unusually for us, I suppose, didn’t find anything to object to, and we are now card-carrying life members, which brings all sorts of benefits, if we ever return to Sasara Vilej.

Pete read the instructions aloud to Elizabeth and me, and then had a very funny conversation with Elizabeth about the buoys described therein which are supposed to indicate the channel into the bay through the tricky rocks and bommies.  “So where are the buoys, Elizabeth?”  “The boys?” she said, “They have all gone hunting for wild pigs in the mountains.”  He blinked a bit and then said, “No, the buoys in the water.”  She laughed merrily and said, “No they were all washed away in the last cyclone.  And we haven’t replaced them.  Sorry.”

We wanted to go and look at the twin waterfalls, so Elizabeth and a straggle of children led the way.  It was just around the corner from the village, a breathtaking sight – two powerful cascades hurtling down a cliff into a large pool, then out through the rocks to the sea.  Elizabeth explained that this pool is for bathing and for drinking; the shallow pools on the edge of the sea are for washing.  “Go and bathe!” she told me.  “Nobody can see you, only us!”  I told her I was very shy but…I would love to bathe in her pool!  So in I went, in my blue flowery Port Vila sundress… It was just heaven.  I swam as close as I could get to the cascades – they were very strong and splashy – and then lay on my back, floating back out towards the rocks and under the tall shady trees.  All of the salt encrustation melted away, my hair floated free, I felt wonderful!  I even let the water go into my ears, it felt as if it had special healing properties.  We will see…

Dinner at the Sasara Twin Waterfalls Yacht Club was great fun.  Marilyn and Don came and picked us up in their bigger tender, and stopped for a drink before we left – no alcohol, in tiny Sasara Vilej.  Somebody has recently given Elizabeth a solar powered light, so we were able to see our food, which appeared in dauntingly huge portions as soon as we sat down.  The table was set with a cloth, a water jug and glasses, and enough cutlery for us all – a big achievement.  We had some sort of stewed chicken, some tiny freshwater prawns, and some island spinach cooked in a very delicious way.  I ate all of these very happily, and also made good inroads into my mountain of rice.  But also on our plates, and nasty beyond description, were big serves of…plantain, and taro.  Yes I know they are vegetables and All Vegetables Are Good, but these starchy horrors are not good.  They are dry and dense and tasteless and, as far as I am concerned, impossible to swallow. I moved them purposefully around my plate and hid them cunningly under leftover clumps of rice.  Pete came to my rescue, because for some miraculous reason, he was not as averse to plantain as I was.  He heroically ate two rounds off my plate, so Elizabeth’s cooking was not scorned.

Wednesday 15^th September

We were very sad to say goodbye to our cheery new friends, Marilyn and Don.  We swapped books, and Don gave me some weights so that next time I use Andrew’s power snorkel I have a better chance of staying under water.  As we left Marilyn was energetically miming different useful exercises I could do with the weighs – up, down, twirl to the left, twirl to the right.  I do hope we see these people again!  They were great company and great fun, as well as being a fount of useful information and advice.

On the other hand, we were quite glad to get away from our friends-in-dugouts, who realised we were leaving and came around a bit mournfully to see if they could extract any more items from us.  Reuben got a towel and some rice in exchange for a huge branch of green bananas (NOT plantains) and Melrose bobbed around in her canoe hoping I might give her some underwear – she had obviously exchanged notes with Gwendoline.  I gave her a Woman’s Day magazine – this will not do her poor yearning soul any good at all, I know… “We’d better get going,” said Pete, “before they start trying to extract our teeth!”

It was a hard bash around the island to get back to Sola, where we had to clear Customs and Immigration.  The wind was in precisely the wrong direction all of the time, and the waves were big and bad enough to go bash bash crash. 

We arrived in Sola at midday and were very keen to get everything done so we could rush off and find an anchorage before dark.  We were forgetting that on islands, especially sparsely populated islands like Vanua Lava, on the outskirts of Vanuatu, things go –s-l-o-w…Island Time!  The offices were all firmly locked up, so we couldn’t rush our procedures.  Time to trudge up the road to Lady’s shop.  We had traded for so many things in Sasara Vilej that we had an overflow, and I knew she would be very happy to have fresh things to sell in Tombo’s Store.  She was actually waiting for us in the street – maybe she had small children as a lookout – and she moved towards us in her calm and dignified manner.  “Hello, Peter and Laura, from the yacht.  Welcome back!”  We gave her our load of plantains, green bananas, chillis, and she was delighted.  I had nearly $90 worth of Vatu which I had to spend – we were leaving Vanuatu shores that day – and Pete was very keen to buy some beer.  Lady took us further down the street to a locked hut, which she said was the only place on the island where Tusker beer is sold.  She rustled up the owner, Molly, who was very happy to sell Pete 12 lovely cold bottles.  I discussed with Lady what to do with my remaining $70 – I wanted to buy things to give to people in island villages – well not give, trade for bananas and the like.  I had nearly run out of the very popular bouncy balls… “And how much do you intend to spend in my shop, Laura?” she asked politely.  When I said all of it she whirled into motion.  Pete in the meantime had a very interesting discussion with Lady’s father on the shop porch.  Hutchin had spent a lot of time in other countries, working in American Samoa, and in Australia.  He is very proud of Lady, as indeed he should be.  I loaded up my pack with items Lady said would bring joy to islanders – laundry soap, in a variety of lurid colours, personal soap, toothbrushes, raw sugar, matches, t-shirts.  She wanted to give me a discount but I knew her profit margin was very small and really didn’t need to make a killing on this deal.

We staggered back to the offices and found Harold, our lovely Customs official, ready and waiting.  He was a very interesting person, calm and serious and wanting to know all about Tasmania, and our relationship with the mainland.  We were amazed – how did we know we refer to the Big Island as the Mainland??  We couldn’t possibly rush our procedures in this office.  Nor in the next one, when our police officer/army officer/immigration official rolled into one big energetic man turned up.  Emanuous also wanted to know everything there was to know – what sort of jobs do we have, how many children, etc etc.  He asked Pete about his farming days - how many sheep?  When Pete told him, he jumped out of his chair and shouted, “Jesus Christ!!”  We were very amused.

Eventually got back to 2XS and set off as speedily as possibly for Ureparapa Island.  On the map you can see this island looks exactly like Pacman – a big round C with a big wide mouth.  This bay is described in one of our cruising guides as an absolutely beautiful anchorage, unforgettable, stunning.  Basically, it waxes eloquent – breathtaking mountains, charming little villages, the native dances and the charming songs but wait a minute – something’s wrong!  And it’s not Mambo Italiano, in case you recognised my quote from this Andrews Sisters song.  What’s wrong is – howling wind, which, says the guide, will make you even happier to leave this bay than you were to arrive.

We arrived quite late; it was just getting dark.  Keen canoe-ists were on their way home; we could see them paddling away from the other three yachts anchored in the bay.  Oh good; I was very tired and really not wanting to start another lot of relationship with another lot of people wanting my underwear.  The trouble is, these ni-Vans are all so nice, so friendly and courteous.  They were all men this time, in speedy dugout canoes, not an outrigger in sight.  One of the canoes was very small, with what looked like a five year old boy paddling it expertly around the deep dark bay.  And yes ofcourse we did some trading; Pete asked if they had fresh bananas, and island cabbage, and we made up some delightful little parcels of soap, matches, rice in exchange.  Nicholson and Riley arrived early the next morning with the cabbage, and also with a big branch of the most glorious bananas we have ever seen.  They are a beautiful blush pink, fat and juicy and just wonderful.  Our fruit salad lunches are so lovely it will be very hard to go back to normal food which doesn’t include pawpaw, fresh limes, pamplemousse, pink bananas…

And was the cruising guide correct?  Yes ofcourse!  We had a long and weary night as wind gusts up to 40 knots buffeted all of the yachts in the bay.  Pete got up and scampered around checking on everything, and I followed him around for a few minutes and then lay on the couch very helpfully dozing and fretting.

Friday 16^th September

We left our beautiful but terrifying Pacman Bay, with the strangely named Leserplag Vilej, and are now anchored in a very nice anchorage on a beautiful Torres Island, one of the last outposts of Vanuatu.  There doesn’t seem to be a village in sight, nor any boats.  Bliss!

Saturday 17^th September

We had a very nice private barebum swim – you may be surprised to hear how infrequently these opportunities arise.  There is ALWAYS another yacht nearby, or a canoe sneaking around the corner of the boat.  Gorgeous crystal clear turquoise water, cool enough to be refreshing but warm enough to be just – ummm – lovely.  We had just clambered out when, around the point, came - Pandana!  I recognised this lovely yacht immediately, from our early Vanuatu days in Port Resolution, Tanna.  It has a very distinctive canoe stern – oh yes, I now know this sort of thing!  I waved enthusiastically and went inside to sweep the floor – you may or may not be surprised to hear how crumby the floor is ALL THE TIME.  Pete and I then breathed deeply and went into the guest cabin to make the bed for Kerry and Rina.  Breathing deeply because it was so very hot…we had cooled down from our swim but even so, making a bunk bed is a major exertion, when the temperature is way above 30.  We had turned a nice shade of tomato red when I heard HELLO HELLO!  And there was beautiful Bella, her long silver hair flowing in the waves.  She had swum over to see us.  I said, proudly, “I recognised Pandana!  Canoe stern!  How lovely to see you!”  Austrian Bella is great; a very straight-talking chick, full of a very strong life force.  “Well you didn’t recognise us last night, in the bay at Ureparapa Island.  We were right next to you!”  Oh dear… I apologized profusely and told her I had been so tired when we arrived here, and so overwhelmed by the seven canoeists desperate to acquire goods from us that I had retired to the depths of 2XS to cook and to avoid extraneous human contact.

We had a lovely morning; Derek hopped off Pandana and cruised past gently with his snorkel and mask, to say a shy hello, and Bella and I bobbed around companionably in the water for a long chat – it was too hot to do anything else, really.  (Yes I did go and put my bathers on…)   At midday we set off for – another country! 

Just before we left, a small island motor boat whizzed up, with some cheery chaps wanting to chat.  They were very keen to know how we liked Vanuatu – “We LOVE it!” we shouted.  One of them introduced himself, and wanted to know our names (Laura and Peter.)  “And I am Jeffrey!” he shouted.  “Jeffrey Harmsen!”  I beamed at him across the water and said, “well we must be cousins!”

Saturday 17^th September

I was very confident, facing this overnight trip.  Pete asked if I had taken any drugs and I said, “Not necessary, I am sure.  I feel great!”  Oh hubris… It was a beautiful trip, perfect cruising conditions.  Night fell… stars came out, the sea was rolling gently beneath us, the wind blowing in the perfect direction.  And I descended into…hell.  I had prepared a meal the night before, enough for two or three dinners, and Pete brought me my serving at the helm.  Yuckety yuck… I picked at it in a desultory fashion and sent it back to be fed to the fishies.  As if I wasn’t already feeding the fishies very well from the deck… Poor Pete…he had a very unsatisfactory cruising companion.  I did everything I was supposed to do, I discovered the next day.  I remember very little, which is a good thing, because what I do remember is NOT GOOD.  I managed to vomit into all three of our lovely new buckets.  Why not just one???  Good question…there must have been a reason!  I do remember, alarmingly, an episode where Pete was needing me to do this or that.  We had both sails up, and the wind had come up to about 30 knots (or am I dreaming??)  I had to stay on the helm and turn into the wind, go upwind, downwind, twirling 2XS like an athletic dolphin, whatever Pete said, all the while clutching a bucket by the handle and hurling breakfast, lunch, dinner into its depths…  The rest of the night is even more of a blur but…please don’t think I was too useless; I did my shifts, and even managed to do the requisite hourly logs neatly and accurately.

Eventually it was morning, daylight, relief…  WHY am I so sick when night falls?  I am bitterly disappointed with myself.  During my midnight to 3am shift, as I sat at the helm with my bucket, I could see how very beautiful and wonderful it was, with the moon shinning on the gently undulating sea, the stars twinkling gaily around.  But all I wanted was to die… I seriously contemplated removing my harness and slipping quietly into the sea to end it all.  Insanity!  From now on I can only ever do overnights with a gutful of drugs…

We cruised into our first Solomons Islands destination, Utupua, Sabben Bay, and found – our friend Infinity!  Poor Infinity was all too pleased to see us because it was, ignominiously, stuck on a reef… Yes they had lookouts – three of them - but maybe three are worse than one because every single one of them was distracted by something or another and then crash crunch… Poor Captain Clemence was mortified; well they all were…  We hooked 2XS up with ropes and heaved and ho-ed but couldn’t budge this big boat.  In the meantime every single canoe had come out of the local villages to gaze upon this spectacle - nothing so entertaining had ever happened, in Sabben Bay!

Pete and I gave up our towing attempt and went to anchor at the end of the bay, near the mangroves.  It was extremely hot - way into the 30s – and I thought I would die if I didn’t go in the water.  Nobody around… I crept down onto the steps, and was just about to slip off my clothes and slither into the cool depths when…HELLO HELLO! around the corner of 2XS came a canoe, with two toothless Islanders, Isaiah and Malachi, wanting to sell us this and that.  “Are you going for a swim?” they asked, with great interest.  “Well…not now…”  (They weren’t really toothless; I got a good look at the other islanders a bit later and they all have horrid red gums and rotting teeth from chewing betel nut.  Beautiful Sage, from Infinity, shudders and says, “This is a drug I will never try!”   I agree!!  Even if betel nut were certain to cure seasickness!!)

We bought some veggies and the canoeists went on their way.  Pete and I then bobbed around in the water to cool off, chastely dressed, and then we got into the tender and went to visit our becalmed and be-reefed friends.

I sat inside with Sage and Darling Baby Rhian (Rhian was gratifyingly thrilled with my rendition of the Banana Boat Song and laughed so much at Six Foot Seven Foot Eight Foot BUNCH that she nearly choked) while Pete helped tirelessly on the deck.  We had a big violent rainstorm and everyone got very wet – time to rush around with soap and shampoo and shrieks!  The villagers on the seventeen or so canoes bobbing around the boat huddled under their sails – yes they have sails on their canoes, and also little lanterns, under cover in the bows of their boats – and marveled at the antics on Infinity.  And yes they did get off the reef, with a huff and a puff and a blow the man down…

Pete’s bit:

The whole process of extracting Infinity from the coral reef is worth telling.  They had gone aground only one hour before we arrived.  We received a “Pan Pan”, a distress signal (somewhat lesser than “Mayday”, which is used only when life is at risk), to which we replied.  Attached to a 150 tonne steel 140ft yacht with a long rope and 2XS pulling was somewhat akin to David and Goliath.  No effect.

Clemence has vast experience and directed the operation in a calm, dignified way (despite the fact that he was somewhat miffed by the mistake).  A stern anchor was transported out on a dingy and dropped; the bow anchors were dropped to remove weight from the boat and we waited for an increased tide.  Ultimately the tide, the help of Solomon Islanders diving to lift anchors, much bouncing on the stern and pressure applied to the stern anchor and engine reverse allowed the boat to free.

Clem free dived to check damage and was surprised to find very little, except for the coral reef which had a severe indentation.

Oh dear…Pete told Clemence we had been swimming off 2XS and Clem was horrified – “But that is the exact place where the French yachtsman was eaten by a crocodile five years ago!!”

Oh goody!!

Monday 19^th September

We are now in a beautiful anchorage on Ndende Island, exactly where we are supposed to be, to pick up Rina and Kerry tomorrow.  We arrived in Lata, the main “town” at about 4pm, after a beautiful, overcast cruise – overcast is good – no sunburn!  There is a concrete jetty, and leaning heavily against the jetty is…a fresh and startling wreck!  Quite a large white boat, leaning heavily on its side, expiring gracelessy into the sea!  We looked at the jetty and the wreck with a fairly jaundiced eye and then hotfooted it across the bay to a lovely anchorage, presumably crocodile-free…

We had a lovely late afternoon anchored at the other end of beautiful Grandioca Bay, away from the rocky jetty and the rickety wreck.  I swam around under the boat looking at the propellers – Pete thought something was caught around one of them and I had to flit from one to the other, popping up occasionally to say, “All is well!  No entanglements!”  Not sure if he really believed me at all… While I was in the sea, a canoe turned up – quelle surprise – with our first new Santa Cruz friends – Paul and Dudley.  They had some fruit, vegetables and information to trade, and also some carvings and bark paintings.  This never happened in Vanuatu – it was only food, not handcrafts there.  Dudley was just lovely, a dear old man chuckling away at the back of the boat while Paul did all the talking.  Dudley didn’t speak much English at all but he echoed everything Paul or I said.  When Paul revealed some beautiful eggplants, I said, “I love them!” and Dudley repeated, with exactly the same intonation, “I love them!” and so the conversation went on.  We bought a beautiful bark wall hanging and – a betel nut crusher!  Paul hastened to point out that this beautiful little implement could be used, if we so wished, to crush garlic rather than the dreaded betel nut.

Tuesday 20^th September

In the morning we took 2XS back into Lata township.  We tied up to the concrete wharf, with many ropes connecting us to this and that ramshackle construction.  Once tethered, we got the bikes off and rode off up the dusty road in the stifling heat, under many admiring eyes – “Nice bike, mon!” shouted one enthusiastic young man as I whizzed past.

We went to the “airport” to check it out, and – gollygosh – a plane started to land.  We had no idea what them they were arriving – maybe 8.30, 9.30 or 12.00.  There was a tin shelter and some benches, full of people waiting to go to Honiara, and a man in plastic sandals and an orange visibility vest directing the plane with lively hand signals.  The plane landed, and out came Rina and Kerry, into the splendour of Lata Airport!  We were very happy to see them and transported their luggage carefully back to the boat balanced on our trusty bikes.  (Well their beautiful cases only fell off once…or twice…)  We unloaded them and their belongings onto 2XS then set off once again into the midst of Lata.

We spent an hour or so – Island Time – in the police station, under a big whirling fan, with Marion, Helen and Jeffrey, young police officers who were trying to get us legally entered into the Solomons.  But…computer says no… There used to be a customs officer based in Lata, Lionel, but he has gone back to Honiara.  Blah blah blah many forms blah blah much waiting… Marion heard us asking about shops and said she would take us to shops and the market.  Her children, she told me, are very young – Jerusalem, Christina, and Scott, named after visiting colleagues from various provinces, all except Scott who was named for an Australian advisor - and she finds it very hard, she told me, to give her all to the police force and to her little ones.  We meandered down the road and found the market – a few stalls, selling only taro, eggplants and capsicum.  Hmmmm… The shops, to our dismay, don’t sell much more.  Lots of tinned meat, tinned chicken, tinned tuna, but nothing like our beautiful Australian tuna.  The tinned tuna here looks and tastes worse than Whiskas… We had planned to stock up big time but…there was nothing to stock up with.  We can buy vegetables and fruit off canoes and from villages, but there is no such thing as cheese, meat, chicken, fish…

Never mind!  We will not starve!

We came back to 2XS, where Kerry and Rina had attracted a large crowd of admirers, hanging around on the wharf staring at them as they sat on the deck.  I managed to make fruit salad for (late…) lunch – the last of our pamplemousse, oh tragedy…then we all went for a swim, back at our beautiful anchorage.

Pete and I snorkeled in to look at some lovely coral near the shore.  When we popped our heads up, a woman was waving us to come towards her.  She was looking after a large group of children, all swimming and splashing in a small river mouth pool.  “There are poisonous shells on the reef; they will give you a very bad rash!” she said.  It was amazing, swimming into the river mouth.  The water became very cold, and opaque.  It was like trying to look through thick glass.  We were in the middle of a big school of fish, only just discernible as vague shapes whirling past.  When we stood up to chat to our new friend Margaret (she was, she told me, the local infant teacher,) she said that this little river provides all of the water supply for Lata and the villages along the bay.  Yes there was a pump but…it is broken – once again, quelle surprise… I cautiously tasted the water and - it was fresh, even metres out in the sea where we were standing!

While we were drinking our celebratory Sydney champagne with Kerrie and Rina, a canoe load of children came wobbling out to see us.  It was paddled by a boy who would have been ten years old at the most.  There were seven little children, and not a supervising adult in sight.  Pete found a big beach ball and popped it in their canoe, and I divided up our remaining two muesli bars into seven morsels.  They were speechless with joy but when they went back into the river mouth (I was the supervising adult from the deck of 2XS…) I could hear them saying, “We got a Ball! A BALL!”

Wednesday 21^st September

It is my birthday and I am very sad not to be able to get to any internet connection – I am expecting vast lists of congratulatory messages; not quite one from the queen, not just yet, but still…

Saturday 24^th September

We are back in Sabben Bay, Utupua, in Crocodile World, anchored amongst the mangroves.  And no I won’t go into the water, no matter how hot I am…

On the 22^nd, Pete and I once again loaded the bikes into the tender and set off for a long ride to hunt down the elusive Internet Café.  We had been told, helpfully, that it was “just down the road,” and that there is no sign at all.  “Just ask for Kati’s School.”  So we rode and stopped and asked until, eventually, we found Kati’s School, up above the village.  And yes…we were able to access the internet on some ancient wobbly computers and I was very happy to get my birthday messages. 

I had to go to the toilet, and Kennedy, our very silent internet operator, directed me to a house down below the school, where, he said, a man would unlock a cubicle for me.  Pete stayed in the internet hut and then…it started to pour!  Great gushing sheets of water.  The man who owned the toilet cubicle, Wilfred, invited me to sit and shelter under his verandah.  His baby, Mark-Winston, was fast asleep on a mat on the floor.  I was quite happy sitting on the steps, watching a group of children rushing about in the rain with a soccer ball.  The flat ground had become a vast puddle and they were having the very best time, falling in the water, splashing, sliding.  Occasionally they would rush up to the next door verandah and grab a bar of soap, with which they lavishly lathered their hair.  Then back out into the monsoon to rinse it all off and slide around in the mud some more.  They realised I was watching, and showed off something shocking.  My conversation with Wilfred dragged o just a bit…  And hour and a half is a long time, with language limitations… He told me all about his wife, Priscilla, who is a teacher at the school, and then he went off to his kitchen hut to prepare Mark-Winston’s lunch.  Pete hd similarly exhausted his conversational moments with Kennedy in the internet hut above.  He suddenly appeared, with his bike, as wet as could be, and said, “Well it’s never going to stop, we might as well get going!” 

So get going we did, through huge puddles and sheets of water.  The trusty bikes never faltered, and our Tilley hats kept our eyes, at least, clear of water.  We got back to the tender, which had fortunately not filled with water and sunk, as we had feared, and loaded up.  Farewell to James and Lonsdale, who are building, with great expectations, a small hut with a bar, for tourist, on the beachfront.  (I am putting all of these local names in because Pete and I are so fascinated by them.  Wilfred, Priscilla, Lonsdale, Freeman, Kennedy…and I met a little girl showering in the rain whose name was – so unlikely! – Sinead!)

Rina and Kerry had bought a pile of fish, which they were planning on cooking for dinner.  I stood in the doorway of the cabin in the background, muttering darkly.  I very much thought this was a very bad idea, and had made a pact not to eat reef fish in the Pacific Islands, ever, for fear of ciguatera, a fearsome disease which potentially destroys one’s liver, and one’s life.  The other three thought I was mad, and Kerry said, “You have to trust somebody sometime, and these people say the fish will not make us sick.”  He was, as it turned out, quite right, and I was catastrophising unnecessarily.  But…I didn’t eat any, and I still won’t eat reef fish, no matter how delicious they smell.  Pete cooked them on the BBQ, and Rina cooked veggies and rice, which I ate very happily.  (And yes it is most unlike me to be the suspicious one muttering darkly in the background…I am usually the one saying, “Yay!  Let’s do it!  The sharks won’t bite!” or whatever Pollyanna-ish thing might be apt in the circumstances.)

Yesterday morning we got up early and tied up to the wharf in Lata for one last provisioning run.  We bought another 20kilos of rice, for trading, and some biscuits, soy sauce, lemon squash and soap.  Slim pickings, in Lata… I carried the rice, in Pete’s big backpack, triumphantly balanced on darling Bike, to the admiration of the crowd which had gathered silently on the jetty to stare at 2XS. 

And then we were off, heating back to Utupua…into the wind… Oh dear and oh no…

Let me describe to you how lovely Rina is.  She is a beautiful woman, and an absolute domestic goddess.  In her few days on the boat she has cooked, cleaned, washed copious amounts of clothes and generally been a delightful presence.  She is bright and cheerful and full of enthusiasm for life and for her adventures on 2XS.  A joy to have around.

And in the course of one long long day at sea…we broke our darling Rina!  She lasted till midday, getting paler by the minute, and then she spent the rest of the trip hunched over a bucket.  It was a very uncomfortable trip, lots of rolling and lurching.  Rina was so brave and uncomplaining it nearly broke my heart.  At last and finally we arrived at our anchorage in Sabben Bay, at 7.30pm, and we immediately got Rina into a hot shower and poured cups of tea into her.  By eight she was sitting up looking beautiful again, but today she is still squirmy and drained.  Not sure how we are going to get the poor girl to Honiara…And yes she had seasickness medication, the best possible, prescription only…

25^th September

The next day was R & R in Sabben Bay.  We had many canoe visits and in the late afternoon had 21 people sitting on the steps and spilling out onto the deck.  They were so lovely, friendly, keen on social interaction.  I thought a stirring rendition of Waltzing Matilda would go down well, and they just loved it and joined in the chorus with gusto.  Then it was time for them to get their very own song – an adaptation of the song Katy, Jeff and I learned in the Caribbean on San Andres Island:

Take me back to my Sabben Bay

The lovely wave and the coral reef

I want to be where the sun shines bright

And the sea changes colour day and night

They liked it so much, and sang it so beautifully, I had to write down the lyrics.  They all said they would sing it to us when we come back… The older women were very pleased to talk to Rina and me.  They said, “Often the women who come here on yachts are very unkind.”  Well Rina certainly was not unkind!  We fear she is going to fly back to Australia chastely wrapped in an old towel, having given away all of her clothes and all of her underwear… For example, we towed a family canoe back to an outpost of the village, way out in the mangrove swamp.  The woman had two dear little tots, and was wearing a shabby singlet with a scrap of bra, totally faded and lacking in elasticity.  “Oh no!” cried Rina, rushing to her cabin.  She returned with a neatly folded lacy white top and a beautiful pristine bra…The woman looked very startled, and thrilled to bits, as she disappeared up a tiny gap in the mangroves.  (My contribution to this little family was to sing Twinkle Twinkle from the back steps…the tiny children were fascinated and made careful twinkling movements with their fingers, eyes wide.)

We learned a bit more about the fabled Frenchman, partially eaten by a crocodile in the exact same sport where we were anchored, and where we had so heedlessly swum on our last visit a few days earlier.  His remains are buried in the village cemetery, and his legacy continues in the form of a pair of reading glasses, many times patched and repaired, and passed around, with great pomp and ceremony, amongst the elders in the village.

At first we thought nobody at all was going to trade veggies with us, but suddenly we were deluged, and we have huge great branches of bananas waiting to ripen, bags of island cabbage (slippery slimy and delicious), pumpkins, and, best of all, beautiful eggplant.  And a whole village of New Best Friends Forever!

Once again we were delighted with the variety of names amongst out new friends, Isaiah, Hilda, Linelle, Junior, Samson, Esther, Gabriel, Alistair, Daisy, Naomi, Sophia, and, our very favourite, the aptly named 12 year-old Lovely, who went out of her way to be helpful, and swam energetically out to the boat with her sister Evaline.  They were all desperate for notebooks, biros, and, yes balls…but I only have one or two left and have to eke them out.  I am so very sorry I didn’t bring more things for these isolated villagers.  They see a supply ship once every three months, and the odd yacht calls in, but they just love a bit of contact and a bit of cargo from the outside world.

26^th September

We set off in the very early morning for our long trip to Santa Ana.  Pete looked at me in wonder at about midday – “King Neptune is being kind to Rina, thank God!” And indeed the sea was calm and smooth, hardly a swell at all, and there was no wind – we were in the Doldrums!  I was all drugged up and suffered very bad side effects – won’t go into it, but I did have to think very seriously about whether being seasick is better or worse than the medication side effects.  No question, really; seasickness is THE DEVIL!  Rina slept like an angel part of the way; Kerry stayed up all night and did shifts with both Pete and me.  And early in the morning, I smelled something strange in the kitchen – onions, garlic, tomatoes… And here was Rina, all pink and pretty, making a pasta sauce for that night’s dinner.  Not a hint of seasickness!  In fact she was a whole lot better than I was.

Sanga Ana Island – oh once again, what a surprise – a very beautiful island.  Pete found us a fabulous anchorage in a sheltered little lagoon in Mary Bay.

It was fearsomely hot when we arrived so I got straight in the water and stayed there for ages, snorkeling along the reef (TOO sad, a big infestation of crown of thorns starfish eating away at the coral slowly and remorselessly.)  When I got out I was hardly refreshed at all; the water was just about bath temperature.  Yes just beautiful, crystal clear, welcoming.

When I had left 2XS there was already a horde of children swimming around the boat.  When I came back I had to fight my way on!  They were everywhere; in the water under the boat, climbing the anchor chain, sitting on the steps, diving energetically off the deck into the sea.  Some of the smaller ones had improvised floaties made out of fishing buoys or pieces of polystyrene foam; I swear one of them was barely able to walk, but there she was, floating fearlessly around 2XS, wreathed in smiles keeping up.

Pete and I lowered the tender and left Kerry and Rina with their boatload of cheery children.  We had a wonderful visit in the beautiful village, Gutupa.  The first person we spoke to was a middle aged woman preparing island cabbage outside her hut.  Pete asked her about this slippery slimy vegetable, and she replied in beautiful English.  We asked her where she had learned English so well and she said, “Well I lived in Honiara for a long time, and I had a German grandfather.  I am Sarah Kuper.”  Well this didn’t really answer the question but we nodded and moved on through the village.  “Hello!  Welcome!  Do come in!”  Another beautifully spoken, dignified woman, Greta Kuper, who had been lying on her daybed inside her spacious hut, was inviting us in.  We stayed with Greta for an hour or so.  She disappeared for a very long time to prepare a drink for us, and returned, carefully bearing two glasses of fresh lime juice.  We solved the mystery of the German grandfather – Sarah and Greta are cousins.  Greta had some lovely photos on the wall, and we stared in amazement at the one of her grandparents.  There stood Herr Heinrich Kuper, tall, blond, German, in a shirt and tie, long trousers, next to his bride, short and totally tribal, dressed in feathers and skins and grass skirts.  Mr Kuper the plantation owner!  He was born in 1888 and died when Greta was only a toddler – she was born in 1948.  She brought out an engraved stone tablet, on which was a brief history of the original Kuper family.  Apparently one of the German family members of the great-grandchildren generation found out about their South Pacific relative and did some investigation, corresponding with one of the younger family members in Mary Bay.  They organised for this stone tablet to be engraved and presented to the Kuper elders; such a good idea.  Paper records would get mouldy and rotten

Greta has moved back to the island from Honiara to look after her mother, who needs care, and she loves her peaceful island life.  We looked out into the bay and saw all of the children shrieking and frolicking on 2XS, and she said, “Oh dear I am sorry… I try to tell them to let people on yachts have a bit of peace; I know how tired you must be after a long trip!”  She took us further down the village path to meet her brother, Henry who runs the “shop,” a small shed where you can buy soap, matches, tinned chicken from China, and corned beef.  Oh and rice, ofcourse.  Henry also spoke excellent English, as did Cousin Oscar Kuper along the way.  (We found out later that Henry had been the assistant Police Commissioner in Honiara before retiring to beautiful Mary Bay to be with the Kuper Clan.)

I left Pete talking to Henry, who has a little sailing boat, about anchorages, and went around to the back garden with Greta to watch a pregnant woman picking tiny blades of grass out of the sand, accompanied by her little four year old girl, who was one big cheesy smile.  (This weeding of the open areas around the huts is constant; in Graciosa Bay all of the open areas were made of crushed coral, here they are sand.  And if they aren’t weeded constantly, the jungle takes over, remorselessly.)  Anna was very shy so we didn’t; pester her, but I did talk to her little girl, and sang Twinkle Twinkle with her (a great hit as always…)  I asked her name and she said, “Morela,” very proudly.  Greta said, laconically, “Her name is Muriel but she can’t pronounce it.”

(As I write – just a snapshot of life on 2XS – Pete is sitting, furrowed brow, drafting another itinerary and plotting a course on the chart.  Kerry is sitting on the deck making strange noises to entertain the crowd.  Rina is washing any cloth item which is not nailed down.  And I am sitting at the table typing; in my computer screen I can see, reflected, bare brown bottoms dashing hither and thither on the deck.  My contribution to the festivities has been to mix up a big bottle of lime cordial to be passed around amongst the shrieking children, and I have played music for the crowd on my ipod dock – Manu Chau, Bob Marley.)

In the late afternoon, Kerry ventured in for a swim.  I will let him tell his story:

Oh well…a gap…Kerry sat and stared at the keyboard for quite some time, sighing deeply.  He wants me to write the story of how he, single-handed, set out to destroy the Mystique of The White Man in this little section of the South Pacific.

He swam idly towards the beach, and then some little kids in a canoe came and gave him a lift, by towing him in.  All ticketyboo.  He wandered along the beach, chatting to people and admiring the beauty around him.  And then it was time to swim back… He looked at the distance long and hard, then decided he would accept the help of Albert and co, in their canoe.  Albert is about eight years old… Rina and I were watching, with great interest, from the bow of 2XS.  When I say Rina was watching, maybe she couldn’t really see properly for the tears of laughter streaming down her face.  “Oh look at that darling man!  He is going to capsize the canoe!  Yes!  Oh look, he is floundering around and the tiny children are trying to get him up!!”  I don’t think she had enjoyed herself as much as this for many a year.  Eventually the children got Kerry into the canoe, lying on his back, waving his arms at us as he progressed regally thought the water.  Albert valiantly swam along, towing the canoe behind him, but eventually it all got too difficult and Kerry was once again capsized into the sea.  He arrived back, clinging to the upside-down canoe, and surrounded by a flotilla of gleeful children.  We were very happy to have him back on board. Kerry and the children and everyone on 2XS were belly laughing all the way.

On our way back to the beached tender, Pete and I met a tall, thin white man, holding hands with two very small black children.  This was Andrew Sorensen, from New Zealand, originally.  He is the principal of the island school, and is married to a local woman, from Gutupa Village.  The small very black boy, Danny, is their adopted son.  We really liked Andrew, a gentle, kindly and very intelligent man.  He laughed a bit ruefully, about his role as an educator.  “So much of what we teach them is totally irrelevant to their lives… In the ‘developed countries’ we work for forty years to get to a point where we can sit on the beach, enjoy the sun, cease worrying about tomorrow.  These kids are born into a world where this is their given lifestyle.”  There are 500 children at the school, only a fraction of the island’s huge babyboom.  Re life in the village, on Santa Ana, he said you just have to forget about food.  For many months he dreamed of cheese; now cheese is but a distant memory.  In fact, he says, you basically have to forget about food, and just be thankful there is enough to eat each day.  What he concentrates on is the myriad benefits and joys of this very beautiful, peaceful island life.  As to the result of this babyboom in the Solomons – he is a bit alarmed.  There are no jobs for these children to go to, in adolescence, educated or not.  And the village properties are being divided up into smaller and smaller units…There literally is not enough, food or land, to go around… But a solution is not all that easy to find.

28^th September

A Mary Bay day.  Some of the children paddled out to the boat on the early dawn light and bobbed about hoping we would get up and entertain them.  I was the first one up, at 6.45, and I heard hopeful little voices saying, “Hello?  Me likim lolly!”  I had to confess we had no lollies but gave them a biscuit instead.  Soon the boat was once again throbbing and thronging with kids.  Pete got up and told them, in a stern voice, to go away till nine.  With much giggling and falling about in the water, they decamped.  Briefly…

It was so very hot…over 38.  I spent a lot of the day in the water, or drooping around languidly.  Pete made bread for lunch, baked in the BBQ, and a great, if surprising, success.  Not to be outdone, Kerry made focaccia, which was also very delicious, if burnt on the bottom because he left it to my tender care while he and Rina did a village walk.  (They didn’t actually walk very far; they were welcomed by the Kuper Clan and spent all of their time talking to Henry at the shop, and then had fresh lime juice with wonderful Greta.

Pete and Kerry had told the older village boys that we would like to buy some crayfish.  We had no great hope of obtaining any, but in the late afternoon, up came a canoe containing about six gorgeous green and gold crayfish (some too young to leave their mothers…I don’t think there are size limits, in the Solomons…)  They were, mercifully, well and truly dead – the boys had dived and speared them under the rocks on the reef.  Kerry was on a cooking mission and he braved the heated depths of the galley and boiled up a vast pot.  After dark up came another canoe, with another set of bright-eyed boys, this time with four big ones and a myriad smaller ones, some not much bigger than king prawns.  We had twenty four altogether…a real labour of love, for Kerry to stand over a boiling pot in the (almost) unbearable heat.  We didn’t trade for these delicacies; we paid cold hard cash – about $3 each for the big ones, $1-2 for the tiny ones.  This was the going price – we didn’t try to negotiate any sort of discount, how unfair would that have been!  The boys were thrilled to bits with their new-found wealth.  Goodness knows what they were going to do with their cash, but we know that Henry’s little shop was going to get a boost!

Our dinner was absolutely stunning.  Kerry had created an onion salad, plus a green salad with tomatoes.  A huge platter of crayfish was the centerpiece, and we feasted with great joy and gratitude.  After dinner we sat on the steps and watched, with torches, the feeding frenzy created by the crayfish remains…big fish, little fish, swooping bats attracted to the commotion.  Another David Attenborough moment! 

Rina is actually turning into the most Attenborough of us all.  On our way to Santa Ana, she was sitting on the back steps rinsing out something or another (Rina is never still; she is always involved in some domestic task or other.  A marvelous houseguest, I can assure you!)  She suddenly gave a shriek – an enormous killer whale had come up right beneath her feet, just under the tender!  We all sprang to attention and looked – there, just next to the boat, was a big swishy tail, and then suddenly there were three killer whales, leaping out of the water in unison.  We were all delighted beyond words to see these gorgeous creatures, but my blood still goes cold when I think about it – I have no doubt Rina had a very close encounter with a very intelligent creature which was checking her out with a view to – lunch!

Thursday 29^th September

Kerry has an eye problem – quite common in the tropics.  We were all a bit worried about this, and early in the morning Pete dropped the tender again and went into the village to ask the Kupers if there was a medical clinic on the island.  Before he could explore this option, Greta said, “Oh dear yes, I noticed Kerry’s eyes yesterday.  I meant to give him this ointment.”  And off she went, to find a perfectly new, pristine tube of appropriate eye ointment.  What a treasure she is!

Rina administered treatment to poor Kerry, and we set off, very regretfully leaving the paradise which is Mary Bay.  We were headed for San Cristobal Island, about twelve nautical miles away. 

We found our way into the harbour, and there, in Namugha, we tied up to a big concrete jetty.  All very surprising.  Even more surprising…there was a welcoming committee!  Women in colourful costumes –well matching team skirts and t-shirts – holding banners, singing.  And a big lineup of eager boys thronging on the edge of the jetty –oh the joy of watching 2XS tie up!  The crowd of boys got bigger and bigger…it was just a bit disconcerting, to be the focus of so many eyes. 

I am actually sitting in the main cabin writing, with a horde of wide-eyed boys peering through every window.  I took my computer out to show them what I was doing and they gazed at it most intently.  Apparently everything we do is fascinating.  I have prudently disappeared into our cabin to change from my Vanuatu sundress – modesty is my theme for the day…a long skirt, a chaste t-shirt.  The boys absolutely dominate.  At the far end of the jetty is a small giggling gaggle of girls; they are excluded from the main action of staring at 2XS.