Saturday 26^th November

We didn’t get to Whitehaven Beach – the wind is the wrong direction.  Nor did we power off to Bait Reef today, to go diving.  James is still unwell, with hideous stomach cramps.  His blinding headache has receded, so has his high temperature, so he is much happier.  But still not ready to have a 4 hour trip across the ocean to the Barrier Reef.  We are staying, very happily, in Waite Bay.

Sunday 27^th November

James was much better so we had a very nice time at our next destination – beautiful Cateran Bay.  Lovely snorkeling.

Monday 28^th November

Whitehaven Beach for lunch.  Lots of boats there, lots of tourists, all frolicking on the white sand.  James and I swam in to shore and walked along to the end of the beach to snorkel along the rocks.  Last year there had been lots of coral…this year, nothing… Cyclone Yasi, I reckon, has taken its toll.  James is very sunburnt.  Especially his feet, which are bright red and make me wince just to look at them… I knew he had socks tucked into his flippers, to protect his poor red feet from harsh plastic flippers.  He was slathered in sunblock (too late, she cried…) and I suggested he might like to put his socks on as we walked along the beach.  “No,” was the terse reply.  “I am already looking enough of a nerd, carrying my mask and flippers, with my bright white legs and bright red face, hair and feet.  We are about to walk through a bevy of bikini clad hot chicky babes.  I am NOT wearing my socks!”  Fair enough…

It wasn’t very far to go to Manta Ray Bay, on the top of Hook Island.  We were very lucky to get a mooring – a big dive boat was just leaving.  None of us had been there before and it was just wonderful.  As soon as we tied up to our mooring – the James and Marguerite team has this down to a fine art – we were surrounded by fish.  Jaunty little silver and blue fish with yellow tails, so thrilled to see us.  Hmmm…I strongly suspect that the dive boat people feed the fish, to impress the customers.  And we were impressed!  In amongst the myriad blue and yellow fish were big grey shapes – oh the thrill, what could they be!  James and I peered intently though the galley ahtch and saw some very big fish, large and rounded in shape – not sharklike at all. 

Weehee!  There were dozens of divers and snorkelers in the water around us, with other dive boats, so we didn’t really think the big fish could be menacing.  They certainly didn’t look scary.  And they weren’t!  Our biggest, best fish, named Alfred by James, was about as big as I am, if not the same shape – well I certainly hope I’m not the same shape as a Humphead Maori Wrasse (my Mary Who Bookshop Field Guide to Marine Fishes of Tropical Australia and South-East Asia comes to the fore!)  He was just gorgeous, a real Disney character of a fish, swimming ponderously around us, turning on his side to get a better view.  His body was a beautiful pale lemon yellow, with cross-hatching in delicate pale brown, and his face was bright blue.  Big bright blue lips, golden bulging stripey eyes – my Field Guide says the stripey eyes indicate a juvenile fish.  A very big juvenile fish!  James and I were entranced by him.  A few other very big fish came up to be admired, giant trevalley, adult and juvenile, but they didn’t hold as much charm as our darling Alfred.

We eventually wrenched ourselves away from the boat and swam around the little bay, which was full of gorgeous coral and big schools of fish.  Happy days!

Now James is better and doesn’t have to be put to bed full of medication and with a cold wet facewasher clamped to his forehead, we have been having Oh Hell tournaments every night.  Once again I am playing extremely well, with great skill but…I have only won one game.  In fact I have had almost record low scores…

Tuesday 29^th November

Snapshot:  We are moored in beautiful Blue Pearl Bay, at the top of Hayman Island.  James and Pete are staring intently at the computer, willing the internet connection to stay, well, connected, for long enough for them to put some accommodation up on the Stayz website.  They both look very hot and bothered.  I, on the other hand, am cool and happy because I have just had a big long swim and have gazed, yet again, at the fish and coral in this dear little bay.

I haven’t told you about Pete and his Precious.  A few days ago, I think in Waite Bay, Pete and I decided to have a go with the power snorkel.  I have probably said, many times, that I NEVER want to dive.  Not with tanks, not with the power snorkel, not with anything.  Goodness knows how/why I ever did my diving course, let alone completed it and passed the tests; I am SO reluctant to go below the surface.  I am always ready to snorkel, no matter the conditions, but diving fills me with dread.  Once I am in the water, mind you, I love it, and I am always thrilled to bits with the experience. 

So there we were, having a test dive down the anchor chain, with me steeling myself and Pete absolutely gung-ho.  I went down first, quite swiftly and competently, unblocking my ears very efficiently and breathing slowly in and out all the way down.  Success!  But once I was down there – oh dread – I couldn’t breathe.  No air coming through.  No panic; I was only about ten meters down and could just go straight back up.  Which I did, speedily.  Pete followed promptly, spluttering and saying, cheerfully “Oh Gawd, we were down too deep for both of us to get air!”  Indeed… Suddenly and unexpectedly the trusty little dive compressor…conked out!  We looked at each other in astonishment and some slight alarm – this would NOT have been fun had we been deep down under the water…how fortunate we were on the surface!  (The battery terminal had come unplugged; it was a bit dodgy and bodgy, had been McGuivered by Pete and Andrew in Port Vila.)  At almost the same moment, Pete’s snorkel detached itself from his mask and slid, silently, to the bottom of the sea…He was not a happy camper.

At one stage we had more snorkels than we would ever have needed.  I had my own good one, and had bought another (pink) snorkeling set in Lord Howe Island.  Steve Mason had left his (yellow) Lord Howe set on board for us.  And we had various other spares in the locker.  My pink snorkel never worked.  The first time I went swimming with it jauntily attached to my mask – all this new pink stuff was making me very happy – I got a mouthful of water at first breath.  Since then it has sat in the locker for many months.  Every now and then somebody unearths it and says, “What a lovely new snorkel!  I think I’ll try it out!”  Mouthful of water at first breath…it gets returned to the locker.  I should have thrown it out in June!  Because…now it is Pete’s Precious!  Ever since he lost his (sorry Steve; it was yours…) he has been on a mission to Fix The Pink Snorkel.  James and I disappear for hours, happily snorking around.  He is using a horrible ancient blue and brown snorkel with a split end (I don’t think it is meant to be brown…) and I am using my very own Precious, which has served me very well ever since my Southern Divers open water diving course.  We arrive back on 2XS to find Pete muttering darkly and cradling Precious in his hands.  He has applied many layers of glue and tape to it, and every time we test it, his face is alight with joy – Precious will work this time!  And every time the hapless tester puts her head in the water – snuffle cough, mouthful of sea.  We will be back in Hamilton Island, the World of Shops, tomorrow, and I will buy Pete, and Steve, a shiny new snorkel.  But I know Pete will keep muttering and gluing and taping Pink Precious unless I manage to chuck it out while his back is turned…

Friday 25^th November

We had a lovely afternoon and evening.  Lots of chat, catching up, laughter.  He and I had a lovely swim and saw some beautiful coral and big colourful fish scampering about.

And then this morning he woke up VERY sick.  Vomiting etc all night, and today he has spent most of the day lying on various couches and benches, trying to get out of the sun, with a violent, splitting headache.  I have plied him with strong painkillers - over the counter stuff available in good old Vanuatu.  This is making him sleep but he is still not well at all.

Snapshot: It is G & T time.  Pete is lying, drink-less, on one side of the couch, dozing intermittently, reading Peter Temple.  He too has a headache and has allowed me to give him Aspro Clear – he’s not up for the stronger Vanuatu stuff.  James is fast asleep, with a look of pain and misery, at the other end of the couch.  I am the only one with G & T…the only one with no headache.  (I have taken photos, on my iphone, of both of my snoozing male companions…)  We are anchored in a beautiful place, Waite Bay, I think, near Haselwood Island.  The sun is setting over the picturesque islands nestled around the bay; the tide is out and the sea is splashing over the reef.  Turtles occasionally swim by and raise their lovely, lazy heads to look at us.

This place is recommended, in our ever-reliable 100 Magic Miles book, as one of the best diving and snorkeling places in the Whitsundays.  Pete and I went straight in when we arrived at 3.00.  We saw some beautiful coral, some very lively fish, all squabbling away in a territorial manner.  Best of all we saw some very big clams.  Not our favourite colourful frilly ones.  These were big rounded shells, with pale interiors.  Pete thought they were dead but when I passed my flipper close by they – well, they clammed up!  (Not good to make comparisons…but I think the majority of the tropical fish in the world have migrated to the Solomons and to the Louisiades…)

The air is clear and we can see the outline of the islands very clearly.  This is wonderful, after many hazy days in Northern Queensland.

We had a few moments when phone reception was suddenly available.  I had a phone call from Lindy and John, in Townsville.  They said their son (my nephew) David had just got back from army exercises in Brisbane – the same exercises from which Michael was able to escape early, due to pressing domestic necessity ie a visit from his mother, Pete, and the very desirable 2XS…

David, after greeting his family, went for a relaxing swim in his backyard pool.  He was lolling about in the shallow end when he felt a strange sensation…over his shoulder was slithering – a large brown snake, going for his own refreshing relaxing swim in the pool.  See what I mean about Northern Queensland?  Pretty as can be, a hot tropical climate, a hot tropical lifestyle but…you can’t swim in the sea – crocs, stingers.  You can’t swim in the rivers – crocs, snakes.  And you can’t even swim in your own pool – brown snakes!  Brown snakes are a nasty combination of venomous and aggressive.  At least our own Tasmanian snakes: three species (whip, copperhead, tiger), while extremely venomous, also have the grace to be shy and retiring and not in the least aggressive!

In the late afternoon we saw a stranger creature speeding through the water near the boat.  A triangular white shape with a black tip – maybe a cormorant head?  A small speedy turtle?  The tip of a manta ray wing??  But no.  Pete (Attenborough) Headlam identified it on it second tour of the boat -a small and graceful black-tipped reef shark, out for a bit of an evening hunt amongst the quarrelsome fish of the nearby reef.

I am very much enjoying my Twitter moments- thank you Rachel!  And a few days ago, I had such a coincidental Twitter-inspired moment… (Possibly as a preface I have to say that most of the stuff that happens in the galley is – well it is performed by me.  Pete does all the weary–down-in-the-bilges stuff.  Fixing the engines, making sure we don’t sail into cyclones, McGuivering everything which breaks.  And I make food and drinks.  Not the G & Ts, but most other things.)

So.  I was reading a tweet which said that someone (ie some woman…I can forward you the article…) has discovered What Women Really Want.  And…What Women Really Want, you may possibly not be amazed to hear, is...a cup of tea.  The offer of a cup of tea, at times when she is tired, frazzled, stressed, or just idle.  I can’t quote, because we are, as usual. out of internet range, but as far as I can recall the writer said, slightly bitterly, “The thing is, he doesn’t even have to MAKE the stinkin' tea!  He just has to offer, and his woman will fall to the ground with gratitude and love.”  A cup of tea symbolises so much – comfort, support, concern, sympathy.  She wrote about a young woman who had a terrible bout of flu.  Her partner of a few years, grudgingly, asked if she wanted a cup of tea.  “Yes, yes,” she replied, faintly, from the couch.  “How lovely!”  He rattled around in the kitchen and shouted, “So, where are the teabags?  Do you want milk?  Sugar?”  She ended the relationship then and there…much to the MALE partner’s astonishment.  (I might copy this article, when I am back in cyberworld, and paste it into my blog…I think many of my readers will identify, most whole-heartedly.)

To continue…I was sitting at the table, having just scrubbed the deck or whatever watery task I felt needed to be completed, and was idly contemplating my computer, and the Twitter-introduced article on What Women Want.  Pete drifted by and said…MAGIC WORDS!!  “Would you like a cup of tea?”  Blink.  Blink.  I gazed at him and said, “Are you psychic?  Would you like me to read you an article on…What Women Want??  And YES please I would love a cup of tea”

And yes…he was VERY pleased with himself…

Wednesday 24th November

James Headlam on board - off to beautiful Whitehaven Beach!
How lucky are we...

And welcome to the world:
Electra Monique
To Mark and Leah, In Hobart, soon to return to Vanuatu

Tuesday 23^rd November

Yesterday – was it Monday??  Am I still in Island time?? – we left Townsville at dawn.  Sad to be leaving this nice little city, our friends and family.  But it was great, and yes it is time to move on; southern latitudes beckon.

We did about 65 nautical miles down the coast.  Not much wind, calm sea.  So we took turns lying on the couch.  Pete mostly read his book with occasional lapses into SnoozyWorld.  I listened to the first four of my new downloaded podcasts from Radio National.  Very interesting, they all were.  I heard the first few words and the last few words of each one… As soon as it would start getting interesting, I would completely lose consciousness and lie there, snuffling gently through my nose.  I would only wake as the talk about Aboriginal art, or solar power technology, or the French origin of English words was coming to a conclusion.  I would sit up briefly, turn the little ipod panel to the next podcast and…back to SnoozyWorld.  So tomorrow I can listen to them all again!

We anchored in Upstart Bay, which seems like a very pretty little shacky community.  The water didn’t look very inviting, but this is definitely not crocodile territory – too steep and rocky – and the stingers haven’t come this far south yet, so I went for a swim.  No hope of persuading Pete into the sea, he was very happily reading his book and sipping his anchoring beer.  The water temperature was just perfect, refreshing and revitalising.  But there was no visibility at all!  I swam in to shore and could only just see my fingertips.  Not so very interesting; I wanted to see clear blue water, coral, fish, giant clams.  Never mind; we will be in the Whitsundays in a day or so.  Pete’s son James is joining us for five days; he loves snorkeling and I am very much looking forward to swimming with him and hearing his enthusiastic chat as he powers along the reef.

23^rd November

Another early start – we left Upstart Bay, which Pete told me, after my swim, is also known as Shark Bay – at 5am and arrived in Woodwark Bay at 3.00, the perfect time to anchor.  Sea eagle in the sky, turtles in the water, all very lovely.

I went for a swim and had almost zero visibility.  I could have been holding hands with a turtle and neither of us would have known.  There was coral; I know this because I swam right into a bommie and hit my head.  The water was a lovely temperature but not being able to see is a bit daunting, so now I am on dry boat, with my computer and a cup of tea and a snoozing Pete.

Only 18 miles to Hamilton Island, where we will pick up James tomorrow.  I hope we have better visibility in the islands…poor Pete will be driven mad by the sound of James and me complaining…

Mission Beach Adventure

While we were waiting for Michael to return to Townsville from his mysterious army manouevres in Brisbane, we took the opportunity of hiring a car and driving up to Mission Beach, to visit Pete’s friends Peter Salmon and Maddie De Merxhausen.

Hiring a car was surprisingly difficult.  Either nobody answered the phone, or Computer Said No, as we made our way through the Yellow Pages for car rentals.  Eventually we got a car, from a small local company called AABA.  They picked us up at the marina and took us to Outer Woop-Woop near the airport to fill in the forms.  I thought we would be in the office for ever and EVER.  The manager was a wall of sound… He just didn’t stop talking.  He had many opinions, and told us all about his family history, how they escaped from the Communists in Poland, how he gave 4 years service to the Australian army, how some car rental companies try to rip off their customers…on and on it went.  I could feel my fillings start to throb and my attention start to wander, but, eventually, we got out with our sanity intact and a nice little yellow Getz to drive up the coast.

It is a long way – two and a half hours, by Queensland measurements – they don’t tell you how many kilometres here, just how many hours.  It is a very big state… We took a lot longer, because we stopped at Frosty Mango for an ice cream and loitered to look at cyclone damage here and there.  The devastation is still apparent, but this is Northern Queensland, the tropics, and everything grows back fast and green.  I saw a forlorn little fibro house on stilts on the side of the road.  At first I saw the sign attached said, HOUSE FOR RENT, but no…it said, HOUSE FOR REMOVAL.

Mission Beach, when we finally arrived there, is very lovely. But…once again, you can’t swim there, no matter how warm, sparkly, blue and inviting the sea might look.  It harbours all manner of dangerous beasties of the sea… So the water is just a scenic backdrop.

Pete and Maddie’s house is absolutely beautiful.  Maddie designed it – she is an architect, and very talented if not very good at blowing her own trumpet.  Here is a woman who really needs an agent to promote her!  The garden is glorious, lush and green and full of beauty, in spite of the ravages of cyclones and wild pigs.  The house was finished quite recently, and her design proved its worth in the cyclone, which hit Mission Beach, as we all know, with unbelievable ferocity.  Pete and Maddie hunkered down in their laundry-wardrobe area, with Baggins The Dog, opened the doors to let the wind rush through the breezeway, and waited it out.  The house had a few minor bits of damage, with trees crashing down on the roof, but basically it remained serene and intact.  The garden on the other hand, was whipped into a frenzy.  Maddie had lots of before and after photos, so we could see what had happened.  To us it all looked just beautiful, but Maddie is still mourning the big trees which toppled over, the thick vegetation which sheltered their house from the world.

We slept on land for the first time since August; it felt very strange, not being in our little 2XS cocoon.  Our bedroom was beautiful, with louvered windows and a nice cool breeze.  Our bathroom was absolutely lovely, all open to the garden.  So lovely to stand in the shower with Maddie’s beautiful leafy jungle-like garden close at hand.

The entire house is a work of art, and it is indeed full of works of art, books, beautiful comfortable furniture, all very casual.  Maddie and Pete have obviously been collecting beautiful objets for many years – old Chinese doors, picture frames, things which please the eye.  We were very happy staying there.

They had been invited to dinner that night, and we were very fortunate to be included.  We drove down the hill and up the hill, not very far away, to neighbors, who live in Mission beach six months of the year and the other six months in Marbella (Spain.)  Very nice, hospitable people, Chris and Georgie.  Georgie is an irrepressibly cheerful woman, full of joie de vivre.  And a most wonderful and accomplished cook.  She took a shine to me because when I went to help her with serving up the entrees – delicious stuffed mushrooms – I knew the reference Life is too short to stuff a mushroom.  She said nobody else has ever known what she was talking about.  We sat outside near the pool, and Georgie (seemingly) effortlessly fed her ten guests an absolute feast.  The stuffed mushrooms were perfect, and the main curse was extraordinary – rice cooked with raisins, with an amazing chicken and watermelon curry topped with almonds and mint.  And dessert – which I didn’t think I wanted – was a chocolate mousse cake, too yummy for words.

I sat next to a very nice old codger called Richard.  He and his wife Janet have been married for 17years. Neither of them had been married before, and they were, I think, very surprised to find each other when she was 50 and he was 57.  I asked where they had met, and he said it was during race week in Melbourne, and he met her at the races, and the following day at the polo.  As you do…(I would have been very impressed with Janet, Richard and Georgie when I was a little girl, because I was inordinately fascinated by poshness.  Not much poshness came our way, in Waddamana or Mt Nelson, but when it did, I was wide-eyed with wonder.)

We were, ofcourse, the last to leave.  Janet had fallen asleep at the table and had been ordered off to bed by her concerned hostess.  (Janet and Richard were house guests).  Steve and Vicky (local real estate agents) had caught a taxi home.  And Pete and Pete were happy as could be to sit outside with another bottle of red wine.  Chris, our host, was a very nice man, also very wide awake, and I don’t think Georgie ever gets tired.  Maddie and I sat quite silently, watching the dogs, Baggins and Bella, frolicking on the lawn.  Maddie, a gentle soul, is always silent in company; I am less so, but I had run out of energy and very much feared I would fall asleep with my head in the ashtray.  (Yes, very surprising, at least three of the people present were heavy smokers.)

Eventually we went home.  Maddie and I went straight to bed while Pete and Pete stayed up very happily till somewhere around 3am.  They were bright-eyed and cheery in the morning and we spent a very happy morning in the cool and breezy house. I went out at one stage to hang out the washing and found, as I stepped outside, that it was actually almost unbearably hot out there in the world.  I gave a startled cry or two as the sun beat down fiercely on my unprotected head.  It must have been twenty degrees cooler inside the beautifully designed house.

Pete cooked us a beautiful lunch – steak and salad and as soon as we had eaten, it was time to GO GO GO out into the hot hot hot world.  Pete and Maddie were going north to Cairns, to pick up Pete’s son Ollie, and we were going back to Townsville.  With another stop for icecream at Frosty Mango…

22^nd November 2011

Oh the joy of being able to get online anytime…My little Bigpond Elite NextG thingy glows joyously with two blue lines, any time I want it to.  Bliss!

Pete is doing his banking, and he has asked me to look up flights, from Brisbane to Bowen – he has A Plan in mind.  I am quite good with this sort of thing; Google is my friend and normally I would have had the answer within minutes.  But…Computer Says No!  One of the flight sites says there are no planes from Brisbane to Bowen (they are lying.)  And the other one insists that what I REALLY want is Melbourne to Brisbane, no matter what I type into the useful little boxes.  So I have resorted back to Google – flights Brisbane to Bowen, I typed into the space provided.  Aha!  We know exactly what you want, said Google.  Here is the address of a very nice, tastefully appointed brothel in Brisbane.  I have, for the moment, given up.

(By the way, is anyone out there??  I have had a few emails indicating that a few people have noticed our return and have caught up on our adventures, but mostly there is a resounding cybersilence… This is OK; I am, after all, really writing this blog for ME ME ME, but…I would love to get a few more emails or comments…The loneliness of the long distance writer…)

Last night after work Michael arrived, bearing big trays of most wonderful fish and chips.  He also had a cube of XXXX Gold beer for Pete, a toaster for the boat and, best of all, a fish filleting knife for me.  He stayed until quite late, for a school night, and disappeared, eventually, off into the balmy Townsville night to prepare for another army day tomorrow.  Sharon, my ex-Tasmanian niece, also came, and we had a very pleasant time chatting on the deck in the dusk.

While Michael was here, we got an email from Katy in Hobart, with lovely photos of my “grannies.” Michael replied to this - he calls Katy Kay - , and I asked if I could put his email up on my blog.  He was a bit puzzled – WHY??? – but gave his permission, so here it is… Michael has a very distinctive writing style… (By the way, Pete says I have never mentioned that Michael is my son.  I was a bit nonplussed – surely everyone who reads this knows me, and knows I have a Michael, dear to my heart, youngest of my 4, born in 1981??  But maybe not…)

Great photos Kay, Mum is up my way with Pete, has been good to see them.  Especially before all of you.  Went on the Boat to Magnetic Island on Sunday & me & one of my mates heard a sneeze & asked each other if it was the other person.  We then looked around & saw the mythical creature known as a mermaid in old sailor folk lore, it was a Dugong.  Pete didn't believe in them & he was com'n back in the boat & actually managed to catch a glimps.  Had a 2 second swim as I hate the ocean especially when I can't see, you couldn't even see an inch under the surface!!  When Nicky & the boys were up here we went to Magnetic Island & I braved the water to protect my nephews from the reasons I don't like the ocean.  I swam on the outside with the open water to my left, so that if something came it would go me & not one of the boys (Nicky's on her own).  I have since found out that the creatures I was protecting them from, actually hide in the shore bit & pop out to attack stuff swimming by, so without knowing it, the boys were unwillingly human shields for myself.  Mum is good & so is Pete.

Here's Mum, Ur favourite brother.

A tribute to Rachel

Rachel has flown back to Tasmania.  She will be back at work on Wednesday, in lovely Fullers Bookshop.  While she was with us, she taught me how to use Twitter – oh what fun! – and I have just seen that our new friend Kerrie, from Mary Who Bookshop, picked her up from the Magnetic Island ferry terminal and took her to the airport.  As Kerrie would say – Tweet Success!  (Kerrie quoted many instances of Twitter being helpful with book sales, connections, friendships, discoveries, when Rachel and I were lurking around her beautiful shop.)

We so enjoyed having Rachel on 2XS.  She was always helpful and cheerful, was able to entertain herself or entertain us (well me in particular…I do love talking about books etc etc…)  If she ever wants to crew on another boat, I know Pete will write her a most glowing reference.

She stayed on the boat while we were in Mission Beach, and then took herself off to a backpackers hostel on Magnetic Island.  She was a bit dubious about this; the advertisements for the hostel had lots of beach babes in bikinis frolicking on a giant plastic pillow.  Not really Rachel’s sort of thing…We came home to a sparklingly clean boat with a new bottle of gin, a big bottle of tonic, and two limes awaiting us in the galley.

On our last day together, Pete did some serious work re-connecting with his cyberspace obligations while Rachel and I played with water ie scrubbed the decks, galley, bathroom.  Great fun when fresh water is available through a hose and not out of our precious tank supply.  Rachel spent ages scrubbing the outdoors carpets, which were particularly horrid, covered with bird poo and bird vomit from a dear little hitchhiker bird who spent the night recuperating on deck before flying off into the moonlight, somewhere near Willis Island.  Rachel did such a good job, down on hands and knees with a scrubbing brush.  She hung the big heavy carpet over the rail to get more of a hosing, and then a bit of sunlight to dry it off.

Some hours later I wandered around the deck and said, “Rachel do you think we should put the carpets back down now?”  Well yes, great idea. But…where was the big mat?  She looked at me in some horror and said, “You are joking aren’t; you?  Not a funny joke, mind you.”  Well no this isn’t what I would consider a funny joke either… Our big carpet had slithered silently down into the muddy waters of the marina… We peered anxiously over the side, but visibility is nil.  Pete took it all very well and said that the next morning he would get the power dive thingy out and would go down to hunt for it.  He didn’t think we would find it; it could have floated around quite some distance before sinking out of sight.

The next morning, bright and early, there was Rachel, moving purposefully around the deck looking for my wetsuit, her mask, flippers.  She was going in, no matter what!  Yuckerella…not such a pleasant task.  She dived down a few times and felt her away around the surface of the mud, unable to see anything.  The mud is very deep here.  Some of the workmen on a boat in the marina told us, encouragingly, that usually things which fall overboard are gone forever, down down into the depths of the silt.

But Rachel was on a mission.  She went forwards and backwards, swimming blind and feeling the unpleasant mud with her dear little pink fingers until – Eureka! She came to the surfaced clutching a corner of the big, heavy, muddy carpet.  Success!  We were all thrilled to bits.  The carpet got another big scrub and clean and then was immediately put back where it belongs and where there is no danger of escape overboard.

Thank you Rachel!  You are welcome aboard 2XS any time.

Monday 21^st November

Townsville is a beautiful city, especially the city centre, which has gorgeous old buildings.  Big, elegant pubs with wide verandahs, nothing too badly desroyed or modernised.  The suburbs sprawl out for miles and are, well, suburban, but everyone we talk to is very enthusiastic about living here.  There are lots of parks, pools, free facilities.  And for us the best feature – welcoming and hospitable family and friends up and down the region!

The downside: it is very hot, there are beautiful beaches and waterways but…they are inaccessible because of beasties of the sea, big and small.  I am looking forward to getting further south away from the stingers and the crocs.

We have been able to spend a bit of time with Lindy, John and Sharon, my ex-Tasmanian in-laws.  They welcomed us very kindly and have lent us their big strong car.  We left Michael’s big strong but less useful ute (ie 2-seater) with them.  Michael was our chauffeur and guide.  We were particularly impressed with Castle Hill, a big rocky prominence in the centre of Townsville.  Normally I would have wanted to walk up there – how pathetic, driving, and not taking the opportunity for exercise.  But…it is, as I keep saying, VERY hot, and Castle Hill is a big bare rock, with no shady trees.  If I had tried to walk I probably would have had to be airlifted off the side of the hill, a tomato-faced puddle of a person.  Much easier to glide effortlessly up the steep road to the summit in airconditioned comfort.  The view from the top is breathtaking.  We were able to get our bearings and look 360 degrees around a big chunk of Northern Queensland.

Lindy and John have recently moved into a big residential facility in the outskirts of Townsville.  They are very happy there, and showed us around, before feeding us a delicious feast.  Their house is spacious and comfortable, one of 400 in the facility.  In the big amenities block there is a restaurant, gym, swimming pool, hairdresser, clubrooms, pool tables, bowling green.  John is going to join a bowls team; Lindy is going to do yoga and water aerobics.  The instructor for both of these activities, she says, is a very fit and lithe 82 year old resident…

Michael lives in his favourite suburb, Douglas.  He has a comfortable apartment there and says it is the best part of Townsville.  Close to the army base, the hospital and the university, it is a very pleasant leafy suburb with winding streets and lots of greenery.  Not as much as before the cyclone, apparently, but still – it is leafy!

Our boat guests took us out to dinner last night, in Palmer Street, which is The Restaurant Strip.  We had the option of eating crocodile steak but…I ate chicken.  The city centre, as I have said, is really beautiful, with big spacious pubs lining the streets, but there are very few shops.  There are a few clothes shops, and the very lovely Mary Who Book Shop, but otherwise the shops have been shunted out to shopping malls in the suburbs.

We aren’t sure when we are leaving; either this afternoon or tomorrow.  It depends on wind and weather.  I have no idea whether there will be internet access at our next few anchorages.  I have learned just to go with the flow re this sort of hiccup in my cyberlife, after so many months with intermittent and dodgy access in the islands. 

Sunday 20^th November

Snapshot: We are bobbing around at anchored in Horseshoe Bay on Magnetic Island (aka Maggie.)  I have just been for a refreshing if brief swim in the chartreuse green sea, visibility almost nil.  This was very brave; I have been told by more people than, as Pete would say, you could jump over, NOT to swim in this area.  Box jellyfish. Irukanji stingers, sharks, crocodiles await me.  Apparently.  The Townsville region is very beautiful but I would never live here – for six months of the year the warm, inviting sea is out of bounds to humans.  And for the other six months there is still a great likelihood of a close encounter with a very large saltwater croc.  They are everywhere; recently they found a three metre bigboy swimming around happily in a small lagoon on the army base, just behind the officers’ mess.  A similar sized one was removed from Magnetic Island just last week.  It had been spied, by some fascinated and startled tourists, cruising alongside the ferry into the dear little bay where people disembark for a nice relaxing tropical time.

On deck, and occasionally plunging into the bay, are Michael and his friends Luke and Adam.  Adam’s wife Jean is relaxing on the bench – she is a very hard-working chef and I think she is very much enjoying just sitting on the boat, not needing to do anything at all.  Pete is sitting at the helm, looking very happy with a beer in his hand.  He and Jean are dry; they haven’t felt the need to challenge the crocs and jellyfish.  In a while – no hurry – we are going to go in to shore and have lunch, but for the moment everyone is very happy and very mellow.

Our guests all stayed overnight – Luke slept on the couch, the others had cabins.  They were all up until 3.00am, eating chips and dips and drinking beer.  And occasionally thundering across the deck with big noisy feet.  Pete and I lost our powers and crept off to our cabin around midnight…

After a relaxing hour or so on deck, we went in to shore – two trips in the tender.  Jean, Luke and I went first, and sat happily in the shade waiting for the others.  They arrived looking very pleased with themselves – they had seen a dugong!  This was a very good moment for Pete; until this very moment, he hadn’t fully believed in dugongs.  To him they were akin to the bunyip and the Loch Ness Monster.

Friday 18th November

It seems very silly but...I am too tired and too busy to write, now we are back in Australia.

We have driven to and from Mission Beach, for  fabulous 24 hour vistit ... more anon.

And tomorrow my BigBoy Michael is coming to show us his us own Townsville Experience.
Lovely to be here, all is well....

Computer connection at last!  Here is another long blogpost; it includes a guestpost from our lovely Rachel, crew member extraordinaire...

Lovely to be back in Australia, safe and sound...

Wednesday 12^th October cont’d

We finally left Honiara, well after 1pm – so much for our early flying start to the Russell Islands, and glorious fabled Marovo Lagoon… It was nevertheless a beautiful cruise, to a beachy anchorage on Savo Island.  Pete and John retired to the couches for a while and left me very happily at the helm, steering for the western side of Savo Island.  I listened to almost the entire oeuvre of Donovan on my ipod and was very happy, singing Sunshine Superman very softly so as not to disturb the BigMen of 2XS..  Until – oh no – I found the boat surrounded, not by flying fish and gently splashing barracuda, but by big logs and rafts of debris, from the storms and floods last night.  I had to wake poor sleepy Pete to help keep watch for all of these dangerous obstacles.  I felt a bit like a lumberjack in the Rockies!

When we had anchored at our chosen site, Pete and I got straight into the water – it was swelteringly hot and still.  I always like to see what lies beneath, so I snorkeled in to shore, towing with me a nice green middle-sized ball in a convenient mesh bag.  When I arrived I was met by a small and very enthusiastic tribe of children, ranging in age from thirteen down to about three.  They wanted me to play some sort of gentle waterpolo game with them and we had a lovely time.  Pete swam in and then walked along the beach to talk to the BigMan (Chief) who had just arrived in an island (motor) boat, with a grim-looking posse.  NOT gentle friendly men at all.  They said, “You have to pay us $400.”  (This is about $60AUS – we didn’t pay a cent for our anchorage at Point Cruz Yacht Club, where we were able to use the shower and facilities as many times as we wanted every day!!  And yesterday a somnolent man in a canoe charged us only $25 each to dive on the fabulous wreck 5 miles from Honiara – about $4AUS.)  We were collectively outraged and all – John had joined us in the sparkling sea by then – swam back to 2XS in a state of high dudgeon.  Up and away away with rum by gum!  But – where to?  It was too late to go to another island – it gets dark very early in these latitudes, and it was about 5pm.  The children stood forlornly on the shore and waved… I had asked the oldest girl, Martha, if she would be in charge of the ball and she smiled happily.  But of course this was not to be – the oldest boy, Jeremiah, stepped up and said, firmly, “No.  I will be in charge.”  These were the most English words he had spoken that day…

We found a beautiful anchorage on a majestic and gorgeous coral reef a few miles from the bad BigMan and his cronies.  I hope far enough, I had a very bad feeling about these people.  Not the children; they were cheeky darlings one and all… This morning John bought me, at my request, a bush knife of my very own.  $50 ($7AUS) for the most lethal weapon I have every possessed!  I will be able to hack through jungle, mow grass, and defend 2XS from BadMen!!  Watch out evil sneaky fingers if you try to poke through the hatches!!  (He also bought himself one; John does love a weapon.)

A few nights ago at the Yacht Club – one of the rugby nights – Patti (Hawaii) and I saw a beautiful woman walk in, with her Australian husband.  She was built on regal lines and walked accordingly, wearing a white sun dress which looked just wonderful with her very black skin.  Patty and I smiled at her enthusiastically, and later escaped from the rugby for a while to talk to her.  Lily and Jordan were very nice people.  Lily is an activist for women’s rights in the Solomons, and also for tribal and environmental rights on her island – so sorry…I have forgotten its name… I told her how we admired her black and white look, and she said, “Well when I walked in I thought how lovely you looked in your colourful dress – perfect for your skintone!”  (I was wearing one of my tropical Vanuatu dresses, the long one which I trot out now and again for a special occasion - like the rugby…and dinner at the Golden Crown!)  Today I ran into Lily and Jordan again, in the Lime Lounge, when I was doing my last rushed blogpost, and we had another nice time admiring each other’s clothes and exchanging email addresses. 

I forgot to say that when I was standing on the beach with little Mateo, singing I’m a great big tiger, we saw a most unexpected sight.  Out of the surging muddy waves hopped – a large frog!  It looked most perplexed and after a few moments contemplation, it hopped away purposefully inland.  I think it must have been washed out of a flooded drain into the sea.  A lucky frog!!

Thursday 13^th October

Snapshot: John is BBQ-ing chicken outside; Pete is finding onions etc to stuff them with.  We are in a lagoon between several exquisitely beautiful islands.  On one of them soft gentle doves bill and coo.  They are unaware that we have John the Hunter Gatherer on board, and if he had a shotgun….well they would be LUNCH.  All of the islands surrounding us are thickly forested with dense jungle and fringed with coconut palms.  Totally idyllic!  (Pete has just very kindly bombed the cabin with Mortein because I was threatening suicide – a million tiny flies were settling on every single exposed body part and driving me mad!)  Very soon we will experience another gorgeous tropical Technicolor sunset… Some men just went past in a canoe.  Pete and John got a bit of conversation from them – their names were, we swear, Ezekiel and Divynil.

Often when we are at sea we come across hitchhikers – sea-birds, sitting happily on a coconut, or a stray branch.  Very pleased with themselves they look, too.  This afternoon our boat has been swarmed by a cheery party of hitchhikers in much the same way – children, not birds.  We left Savo safe and sound and made our way across the sparkling sea to yet another group of gorgeous South Pacific islands - the Russell Island group.  Not sure exactly the name of our close island – Taina, I think.  (Our chart is not too sure and occasionally mutters Uncharted Territory.) 

We dropped anchor in a sheltered lagoon, carefully avoiding the coral beneath us.  It was – quelle surprise – extremely hot, and all I wanted to do was swim swim swim.  But before I could go in I had to find light refreshments for our hitchhikers, some very strange children – Janet, Muttiah, Ceci-Leah, and (I swear this is what she said…) Edge.  (Or maybe Hedge.).  Closely followed by a large teenage boy, Alphonse.  They did not like my light refreshments – very nice sweet cakey bread from the Hot Kitchen in Honiara, delicately drizzled with Tasmanian apricot jam, and red cordial.  (And in case you think this was not a yummy afternoon tea snack, let me tell you this particular combination has been very well received by Solomons Island children in the very recent past!)  And they were not at all responsive.  They perched on the boat, chatting and giggling – I think they found us most extraordinarily funny.  “Laura” was exceptionally amusing, as a name – “Well what about HEDGE??  Or Muttiah?”  I wanted to say.  But…I very politely disappeared from sight and snorked off into the beautiful blue.  I came back, sighing faintly, to a chorus of sniggering kiddiewinks. 

John swam around our closest little island – Turtle Dove Heaven – and reported back to me that there were some lovely sponge corals to be seen.  I put my gear back on and swam off…but not alone!  At my elbow, all the way, giggling faintly, was 12 year old Janet, with her long black ringlets trailing behind us.  I have no idea whether she was there to protect me, or to wait for me to drown so she could have my snorkel and mask!

News Flash – when Pete and John went on their Helicopter Adventure (pilot and owner Paul Hubbard from Tas…SMALL WORLD yet again!!) with James and Bruce, they came back to Honiara airport to find a portable fuel tank and pump, sold and serviced by Midlands Tractors, Longford Tasmania.  We were thrilled; Midlands Tractors is owned and run by our much loved James and Nicole Darcey.

Friday 14^th October

Our plan was to wake at 5.30am and leave the Village of the Damned bright and early.  Well…we didn’t need alarm clocks.  At about 4.30am – yes there was a full moon - there came a howling and yelling from the nearby village.  (Block your ears, you of tender sensibilities….)  Basically the theme was Fuck off you white motherfuckers.  Noice.  Pete and I lay in our little cocoon and contemplated this message for a while, then I went and made a soothing cup of tea.  As soon as there was any daylight, we scarpered.  (We were actually, at one level, quite impressed at this display – we had no idea anyone in the Russell Islands had such a command of – ummmm – colloquial English!)

We had a beautiful cruise to an absolutely heavenly place, where we found – yes! – Infinity!  We only had a few minutes to chat before they left, on their way to the Louisiades and then Cairns – no doubt we will see them again.  They told us to go around the island and behind and up and into a little bay.  Or words to that effect…

Oh the bliss of no longer being in the weirdo Russell Islands!  We are now in the New Georgia Sound (The Slot if you know your WWII history), and people are – back to normal!  We anchored in a most gorgeous spot, which looks very crocodile-y.  They tell me…it’s all ticketyboo but I’m not so sure…

We had only just anchored when up came a small canoe with a smiling young boy.  “Hello!” he said.  “Welcome, nice to see you!”  He was just lovely.  Pete thinks I showered upon him to mas (Pidgin for…ahem…too much…)  But…this lovely boy, Pepteen (oh dear…) did not ask for anything at all.  He just sat in his canoe, smiling pleasantly.  I noticed he had a half-sized deflated soccer ball in his boat, and said I could pump it up.  “No,” he said sadly.  “It broken.”  He was 12 and reminded me so very much of my darling (grandson) Hamish… I got John McGuiver Miedecke on the job (YES I have not one but TWO McGuivers at hand!) and we pumped the ball up and put some sort of superglue-ish solution on the leaky hole.  By then some other canoes had pulled up so I trotted out some light refreshments – red cordial and yellow sweet cakey bread from Honiara.  Hostess with The Mostest!!  Petpteen sat quietly, not interrupting, not asking, just smiling pleasantly.  I remembered that I had bought a sunhat just perfect for a Hamish-sized boy so I hunted it down and gave it to him.  He was quietly thrilled with it, and turned it into a perky new shape on his curly black head. 

Quite soon the deck was full of big black men, with beautiful carvings to unwrap and display.  John very swiftly did a whole lot of good for the economy of Billi Passage, while I just passed out the light refreshments and taught Pepteen a song – yes the San Andres one, re-vamped to

“Take me back to my island bay,

The lovely wave and the coral reef etc etc .”

One of the carvers had a small, pathetic child at his feet.  Looking at me with big sad eyes…oh deary me… I went back into the treasure cabin and found some marbles - one lot for Pepteen, one lot for PathosBoy.  Plus some more light refreshments…

The oldest of our visitors was Alex, born in 1944 and therefore senior even to Captain Pete and First Mate John.  He was very cross with Pepteen for hanging around making what he thought was a nuisance of himself.  “This man is no good!” he said, turning to shout at Pepteen.  I asked what he had said, and he replied, “I told him to go home and go to bed.”  It was still broad daylight and about 6pm; Pepteen, quite understandably, didn’t move from his perch.  He explained why Pepteen shouldn’t be on our boat… “His father is no good.  He is out from his family.  And his mother is no good.  She lives in Honiara and…” in ominous tones, “she does not work!”  I gather poor Pepteen and his three brothers live with an ancient granny (probably aged 44…) in the village, while his mother walks the hot hot streets of Honiara, not working in any honorable sense of the word… “And,” said Alex, working himself into quite a fury, “This man is very lazy at school!”  Small 12-year-old Pepteen looked at me with great embarrassment… I went to the Treasure Cabin (of course!) and found him a pair of swimming goggles (pink but never mind!)  I said, “If I give you these, will you work very hard at school?”  Well he probably won’t… But he beamed most joyfully.

Eventually we sent all of our visitors off.  I asked Alex if he would like some soap for his wife, then sank into mortified silence… But he didn’t take offence.  Thank goodness!  I also sent some soap for Pepteen’s poor beleaguered granny.  And he disappeared, in his little canoe, with a schoolbook and a pencil, the only things he had actually (reluctantly?) asked for… This was not the last we saw of Pepteen.  At dark he turned up with a large mudcrab, which he had speared for us.  He wanted $$s and Pete was very cross but John and I scurried around and gave him $20 (nearly $3 AUS.)

Saturday 15^th October

This morning we awoke in beautiful fabled Marovo Lagoon.  James Michener says it is the 8^th Wonder of the World and it is indeed exquisitely beautiful.  It is the world’s largest island-enclosed lagoon, and only 20 of the lagoon’s many (MANY!) islands are inhabited.  (I am loosely quoting from Lonely Planet.)  It was fiercely hot so John and I plunged straight in to explore Billi Passage.  John is big and strong so I (gulp) was NOT scared of crocodiles.  We swam in close to the little islands, under the shady trees, and it was so wonderful I think we stayed in for nearly two hours.  (I was VERY wrinkly when I got out.)  So much beautiful coral, so many fish, big (not too big…) and small.  We saw some more dear little anemone fish in their soft coral homes, darting in and out to glare at us (prototypes of Nemo.)  And very big batfish, my favourites, elegant and graceful, hanging around the exquisite coral.  Gush GUSH - I LOVED it! 

Poor hot Pete stayed and guarded the boat.  Another boat had arrived in the early morning – Delisle III, a very big white power cruiser, the one which had been loading up with fuel at the same time as us in Honiara..  Our new BFFs??  (Best Friends Forever??)  Probably not… I don’t imagine they are going to invite us on board to watch the World Cup Rugby Grand Final… We went up close to them for a chat on our way out of Billi Passage and we felt, well, unwelcome might be the appropriate word…They tried their very hardest to ignore us but…we were the only two boats on this bit of water, and 2XS was nudging at the back of the Delisle III tender, on which a man, back turned, was very obviously not able to pretend he couldn’t hear or see us.

Before leaving this beautiful anchorage, John and I went in for a stroll in the tiny village.  Only Alex’s family, really.  The others live across the bay.  It was the Seventh Day Adventist Sabbath so hardly anyone was at home.  Church Time!!  We chatted to Alex, and to young Paul, the master carver, and then out strolled Pepteen, smiling gently.  He followed us back to the tender and I realised he was singing “Take me back to my island bay…”  So…as we left I have him my red umbrella, which I had been using as a parasol… What I REALLY wanted to do was adopt him as a grandson and give him to Nicky and Gavin.

Our trip across the lagoon to Uepi Island was breathtaking.  Look it up on Google; I won’t go into any more gushy details.  Pete and I took the tender into the beautiful resort after we had anchored.  We were hoping to be able to have drinks and dinner there but…no room at the inn.  This lovely resort is run by Australians, Grant and Jill, who have been there for about 20 years.  There is a lot of red tape, a lot of rules and regulations, I mean RED TAPE surrounding any sort of business in the Solomons and they very sadly had to reject us from dinner, or even from drinks.  And no we can’t dive with them either…tribal rights…

I sat on the lovely shady deck, reading a book about South Pacific birds, while Pete tried to negotiate with Grant and Jill.  They told him that a few nights ago a yacht called in here to the resort and told them a horrifying story.  They had been attacked in the night by five fierce men, in the Sandfly Passage.  This made us very sad; we met lovely people, in the Sandfly Passage Willy and Billy et al…

So if you asked me whether or not I would recommend the Solomon Islands as a holiday destination I would probably very very sadly say…no.  The islands are extraordinarily beautiful, and I have met some of the very nicest people ever in my time here.  But…it is not safe!!

Sunday 16^th October

Hotter than hot today!!  We crept hotly up on the outside of the Morova/Marovo (take your pick re spelling) Lagoon from Uepi to Remata island, recommended most highly by our new Tasmanian friend, James Butler, who had been here recently on a wonderful fishing holiday with a group of friends including John’s son-in-law Chris – small small world… James had said that they would welcome us with open arms if we told them our connection to him, and to this group, and indeed this was so.

We are in a different world here.  Before we had even anchored a tribe of children had swarmed towards us, in a variety of canoes, some less seaworthy (ie completely submerged…) than others.  They clambered aboard, wreathed in smiles, and entertained us most mightily.  We just loved them.  Full of fun!  Bronny, Guvay and Reuben, Lynette, Marion, Zammy.  Countless others. 

John and I went for a snorkel – it was, as I said, fearsomely hot, about 39.  The water wasn’t much cooler than the air around us but it was just slightly refreshing.  I went first, and headed in towards the island.  I was waylaid by a canoeful of boys, led by Guvay.  “Excuse me,” he said, very politely.  “This place is for shitting.”  I took off my mask and blinked a bit.  “I mean, it is for POO POOS!”  Oh good…we were swimming in the village toilet!  John too had been waylaid and warned, so we made our way through the (oh dear…) soupy water and looked at a not very inspiring bit of reef some distance from Poo-Poo-Land.

When we got back to 2XS, Pete and John dropped the tender and went in to enquire about a fishing adventure with Curren and Co, James’s friends.   I was happy to be left on the boat and had…a cup of tea and a close encounter with my book on the couch.  As I put the kettle on I glanced out the window and saw…a flotilla of canoes speeding towards the boat!  So…I popped some more corn and diluted some more cordial and prepared for the onslaught.  The first wave was all boys, probably twenty of them, full of fun.  They ate and drank and…how beautiful… sang.  I heard, from under the boat, beautiful harmony – “Sailing away, come back one day…” to a haunting reggae rhythm.  (They had canoes under the boat and faces peering in all of the windows, above and below decks…) I complimented them on their singing and they told me they loved music and dancing – did I have any music??  So out came the ipod dock and Manu Chau… Within minutes I had a whole deckful of dancing boys.  Did I join in??  Well very sadly no…I was all sober and modest and just occasionally waved a finger in a dancing sort of way.

I found some spare masks in our diving kit and asked if they would like to try them out.  Stupid question!  They dived and splashed and swam, each of them in turn, for hour upon hour.  Guvay, who seemed to have appointed himself the leader of the pack, made sure that the masks were always within our reach.  An older boy arrived on board - this was John, a very handsome, pleasant young man, who told me he was their teacher.  I said what lovely boys they were and he said, firmly, “not always!”  I think I ended up making five pans of popcorn…oh dear I need more!  These children are so hungry!

After Manu Chau we had a bit of – quelle surprise – Bob Marley, then I taught them Waltzing Matilda, which they thought was hysterically funny.  One of the boys, Walter, stood very silently, staring in through the window above the helm.  WHAT was he looking at??  Things to steal? (Computers, phones, bits and pieces, cameras, the whole lot.)  No…his gaze was fixed. I asked Guvay and he said, “He looks at the children on the wall.  Who are they?  Your children?”  I said, no, they were my grandchildren.  Walter turned to me and said, very seriously, “They are very nice.”

In the late afternoon Pete and John returned – we are booked in for a fishing trip tomorrow.  A small wave of girls turned up; Marion and Linelle et al.  A bundle of giggles and very glad to get a share of yet another pan of popcorn… (Rachel if you are reading this please bring a big supply of popping corn in your backpack!)

Most of the children went by dusk – all except for a hyper exuberant young Bronny, all of five years, who bounced around 2XS and occasionally plunged off to rescue his sinking or disappearing canoe from the sunset waters, and Guvay and Reuben who had reappeared with a bunch of long beans and one single lime – “Now we are selling things!” they said, proudly.  We saw a lone canoe approaching, with a young woman, a girl, a toddler boy.  She was separate from the other Ramata people but came up to chat.  Pete had said, “Here is an opportunity to give away some of Rina’s bras and pants!”  (NO not her actual underwear; the sparkly gift sets she purchased so generously in Honiara!)  So I beckoned Emmalyn over and said, with some slight embarrassment, “I have something for you.”  She was very pleased with a pastel blue bejeweled bra and pale green pants… Her little toddler, Gordon, was horrified by the look of me, on the steps, inviting them aboard.  He was heartbroken!  But Emmalyn was firm in her resolve - she had never been on a yacht before, this was her opportunity!  She was a lovely young woman, very shy, but with quite good English.  Her 12 year old sister, Priscilla, blossomed and was quite happy once the ice had been broken with popcorn and red cordial.  Guvay and the other boys wanted another round of Waltzing Matilda, and I glanced at Emmalyn as we sang – she knew all of the words and mimed them all to me with big wide eyes…John produced a balloon on a string for little Gordon and when he left we were no longer monsters…he waved as far as we could see as the canoe disappeared into the fading light.

Monday 17^th October

Bronny was back early this morning, with his even smaller sister, Karina. We got back from our Numbawan fishing excursion at about 8.30 and I had made toast and tea for our fishing guides, Raymond and Tim.  So Bronny and Karina – who came out in her own tiny canoe - got some toast crusts with jam.  Bronny strutted around on deck, showing his little sister around the tricks and traps of 2XS.  Then they sat and looked at me expectantly… Well there were only the two of them so I gave them a small packet of colouring pencils and a little drawing pad each.  Then I went back inside and thought I might be able to sit down at my computer.  But no…Two pairs of eyes were still fixed upon me, through the window.  These little darlings didn’t want hand-outs…they wanted ATTENTION!  I went and sat next to them and made some encouraging noises.  And suddenly – huts, eggs, coconuts, dogs, cats and trees appeared, in rudimentary form on the pages.  We had a happy time, and I ran through Take me back to my island bay – a great success.

We had, as I may have intimated, been picked up at 5.30am (yes AM!) to go fishing, with men from the Mavo Eco Lodge.  We sped off in an island long boat, 23 feet, 40 horsepower 4 stroke Yamaha engine (I quote.)  We were on a trolling expedition.  Now our dear John is a very keen, and expert, fisherman.  I am not; Pete is not.  I caught, a bit reluctantly, one rainbow runner, possibly related to the very delicious mahi-mahi.  John caught: one medium sized blue-finned trevally.  And Pete caught, over the course of the day, two big and fierce barracuda and a large wahoo.

Snapshot: It is, blessedly, G & T time.  The deck of 2XS is thrumming with children in a high state of excitement because we have been away most of the day so 2XS has been out of bounds.  The sea is boiling with…children.  It is pouring with rain and there is much shrieking and falling in and out of canoes.  I have just taken photos of all of them – oh the posing, the giggling!  The hordes have eaten popcorn and drunk red cordial, heavily diluted.  One of the cheekier boys, paddling off in a sinking canoe containing about four boys, is wearing an armband made from one of Pete’s stubbie holders.  “Goodbye!  Goodbye!” he yells as he speeds away from 2XS.  And I am sitting, very intermittently, at the computer.  Pete and John are sitting on the deck with beer, looking very happy if slightly overwhelmed.

Raymond and Tim took us on a lovely fishing trip, on the outside of the Marovo Lagoon, with a side-trip into a beautiful cave.  The boat was just able to slither in, because it was low tide.  It was cool, dark and beautiful in there, with the water lapping gently at the boat and thousands of tiny bats flittering, too fast to be seen properly, overhead and out into the light.  We trolled until the sunlight got too bright and too fierce, then went back for breakfast, with Raymond and Tim, Bronny and Karina.

At ten we were off again, this time for a diving expedition up the outer coast of the lagoon area.  We stopped at the mouth of another cave – War Canoe Cave, this one – in the past it had successfully hidden and sheltered many canoe-loads of fearsome headhunters… John and I snorkeled in and swam around a bit, admiring the pink stone, green-ish lichen, cool shimmering water, while poor Pete struggled with his face mask, which seemed to be irremediably broken.  I swam back and gave him mine to use in the cave, while Raymond, who is McGuiver par excellence, completely dismantled the mask and re-assembled it into a workable object.  Tim, beaming from the bow of the boat, said, “He is the Moderating Local,” which John and I thought was very funny.   

The three of us swam along a steep coral wall, dropping away to unknown deep blue depths.  Raymond darted along ahead of us with a terrifying speargun.  Every now and then he would zip down into the depths to spear some poor harmless surgeon fish through the middle.  His skill at staying under water, just hanging about waiting for a fish to glide by, was amazing, but I would have preferred it if he had just, ummm, well, pointed at the fish instead of spearing them, only to cast them aside for a nearby cruising shark to gobble up.  No I didn’t see the nearby cruising shark although John bobbed up next to me, thrilled to bits, saying, “Come and see the shark, Marguerite!”  Well I tried to see it but my mask was a bit foggy so I missed this treat.

On the way back we went to the gorgeous Mavo Eco Lodge for a light lunch, which was absolutely lovely.  We had: wahoo, caught by Pete, green beans, grown by Raymond, sweet buns, baked by Solomon The Chef, and a selection of bananas, pawpaw, pineapple, and my beloved favourite pamplemousse.  John said something lighthearted about Pete, and I said, “Well yes, he’s no fun, he never takes me anywhere nice!” and poor John looked a bit taken aback… (Maybe sarcasm isn’t as funny to everyone else as it is to me…)

After lunch we had the option of going back to the boat, which we knew would be sizzling and sweltering in the midday sun, or of sitting around the lodge… We knew there were hammocks in a little pavilion down near the water so really, 2XS didn’t stand a chance of getting us back on board until much later.  John and Pete moved very swiftly down the hill to the pavilion while I sat dreamily on a chair overlooking the beach from the dining area.  Our lovely waitress, Gemma, said to me, in kindly tones, “Come with me, Aunty, and I will take you to the Honeymoon Cottage!”  Sadly the Honeymoon Cottage was all locked up, but she said I could use the nice little outside toilet and trickly cold water shower.  “But, Aunty,” she said, apologetically, there are only two hammocks.  Let me get you a chair.”  The two hammocks were occupied by two very relaxed soon-to-be-snoring friends of mine…

I sat on the pavilion steps chatting with Gemma, who is 20, and a lovely young girl.  She has been finishing school in Honiara over the past five years, but her Uncle Curren, who runs the Lodge, invited her back to work there, and she relished the opportunity.  She doesn’t have a boyfriend at the moment, so I asked her if there were any likely chaps in the village.  She sighed gently and said, “Well yes there are lots of very nice young men here.  But…we are all related!”

As well as chatting with Gemma I had amazing entertainment provided by the children.  There they were, all of the energetic, cheeky kids who spend as much time as possible swinging from the rigging of 2XS and gobbling up our food, toiling up and down the hill, lugging bags of sand up the pathways through the Lodge gardens.  I was fascinated!  Gemma and Solomon explained that this is expected of all of the village children, lots of hard communal work.  As soon as they finish school at 1pm, they march off down to the beach, fill sandbags, and lug them up the hill to a building site, where there soon will be – a new, non-leaky school!  They all seemed very happy and pleased with themselves, and were certainly thrilled that I was there to take photos of them, beaming under their heavy loads.  No they don’t get paid, not a penny, and they don’t even get a free drink of water.  It is just an expectation, in their community, and they regard it all as a challenge, and great fun.

Gemma told me about her years at boarding school, from 12-15, on the mainland of North Georgia Island.  “We were always so hungry!’ she said, “and homesick.”  Typical boarding school stories.  But this was not Fourth Form at Mallory Towers…the reason they were hungry is because these poor children had to lug their own food and firewood across to the mainland in their little canoes, enough to keep them fed for a week, and also had to prepare all of their own meals.  There was never enough!  Education, as I think I have said before, is neither free nor compulsory in the Solomons, and it is very hard for families, already living a subsistence lifestyle, to educate their children.  Gemma’s very handsome brother Cameron is a teacher at the Ramata primary school, and there are nine in her family altogether – I strongly suspect Uncle Curren, manager of the Mavo Eco Lodge, must have paid for their schooling over the years.

I asked her about one of my current obsessions – crocodiles – and she said yes, there are many in the Medicine River, on North Georgia.  She said some village people think it is right to kill them, but most of them make a deal with the crocodiles – they will leave the crocs alone if the crocs agree to guard them from pests.  For example, if wild pigs come in and ravage the vegetable gardens, the crocs can eat the pigs in revenge. 

In the late afternoon we went out trolling again – only one fish, another Headlam Wahoo.  This was part of our feast at the Eco Lodge that night.  We were heavily outnumbered by staff – Curren had wanted as many as possible to come and meet us.  We had wahoo deep fried, wahoo curry, green beans, rice, noodles, fruit, with fresh lime juice.  Just wonderful!  The Eco Lodge is gorgeous, very simple and basic.  John is planning on coming next year with Catherine, who will love it.  So when I said a few days ago, don’t go to the Solomons, I actually want to recant – do go to the Solomons!  Go to Uepi Island resort for a week diving, and go to Ramata island to Mavo Eco Lodge, to fish, relax, enjoy the village life, and go snorkeling (but not in the poo-poo area…)

18^th October

In the morning we planned to leave at about 8.00.  At 7.00 some of our canoe children came out to say goodbye, and at 8.00 Gemma arrived, wreathed in smiles – “Hello Aunty!” - with her older cousin, Mobilene.  She thought I would like to meet Mobilene because she is Bronny and Karina’s mother.  She wanted to thank me for the pencils and drawing pads and said the children were very happy with them.  They had brought us beautiful fresh bananas, and Gemma had a present for me – a lovely shell necklace, very delicately carved in the shape of a flower.  (I nearly cried…This girl earns about AUS$.50 cents an hour…)

I made our visitors cups of tea and took them into the treasure cabin to choose a new bra and pants set each (they exhibited great if dignified joy.)  Mobiline told me, a bit hesitantly, that she has five children – “And my husband left me four years ago.”  She, like Gemma, works at the Eco Lodge for Uncle Curren.  But oh dear it is all a struggle… I gave her some exercise books and biros, and a packet of (thanks Rina) textas for the older children and she was very happy.  A few minutes later up came another canoe, with beautiful teenage Marilyn paddling gracefully.  She hopped on board, very much at home – she and the littlest sibling, Donna had spent a lot of time on 2XS over our Ramata days.  (Yes, more siblings of Gemma’s.)  I asked her if she would like some underwear and she nodded nonchalantly.  She examined the remaining three bras carefully and rejected them saying, “I will just have the pants, thank you.  My breasts are too big for these bras.”  As indeed they were… I was very impressed; Marilyn could easily have said, “I’ll have this bright purple one thank you!”  It would have been a great swap & share item amongst her friends!

We were very sad to leave Ramata Island and these beautiful people.  The girls all hugged us and said, “Goodbye Aunty, goodbye Uncle Peter, Uncle John!”  I have taken lots of photos in this village and will send copies to the Eco Lodge as soon as I get to a place where such a thing as photo development and mail is possible.

Curren Rence, who is the manager and co-owner of the Eco Lodge, with an Australian from Queensland, Douglas Fry, is a wonderful man.  He is small and gently spoken and very passionate about green issues, and about educating the people of Ramata Island.  He wants to provide employment and some measure of prosperity for this island without resorting to forestry, which he sees very much as work of the devil, on nearby islands.  (I am inclined to agree with him…)

We are now anchored near a small town, Seghe, on North Georgia Island.  Town is a grand word to use…but it does have a sort of hospital (shed…), and three shops, and a market selling betel nut and eggplant.  In the Lonely Planet Guide to the Solomons Seghe is mentioned because of its WWII history.  The main tourist attraction in this region, other than an underwater P-38 Lightning fighter, coral encrusted, is “…night-time crocodile spotting.”  Oh goody… So the poor children here, as opposed to the Ramata Island children, who swim like fish and spend many hours every day in the warm balmy waters of their beautiful bay, are land-based.  They paddle around in canoes but I have not seen one child actually in the water. 

It is stinking hot and when we arrived at our anchorage, at 3.00, I was feeling very hot and bothered.  Literally.  I just had to get into the water to cool off.  Pete was horrified and said, “But you can’t!”  But…I had to!  I didn’t swim at all, just dangled from the ladder a couple of times until my core temperature had gone down and my disposition had improved.

Tomorrow we are leaving early, on our way to PNG!  I probably won’t be able to write again until we actually stop…

Oh dear I have forgotten to mention our Marovo Lagoon dolphins!  We have come across a few pods, very keen to swim in our bow wake.  The first lot were smaller and faster, the second lot bigger and very athletic.  One of them leapt out of the water, maybe 2 metres up into the air!  He didn’t do a twirly act, like our tricky Vanuatu dolphin on the way to the Reef Islands, but he certainly impressed us!

Snapshot: G & T time on 2XS…I have just rung Dad, an early birthday call because who knows when next we will be in any sort of phone reception area.  He sounded very well and is looking forward to a huge family gathering to see Circus Oz in Hobart on Saturday.  We will be with them all in spirit!  (Dad, Fleur, Pete, Andrea, Nicky, Gavin, Hamish, Angus, Claire, Stuart, Jemima (not Felix…), Katy, Jeff, Leo, Eva (not Zoe, not unborn baby,) (not Michael in Townsville, not Chris, Karen. Kate, Max in Sydney). But still – a massed flypast of Harmsen offspring!)  And I have to retract re the children of Seghe…some of them are swimming, very happily, in the sea.  We are surrounded by little round islands in the Morovo Lagoon.  They look just like pikelets, newly dropped in the pan and rising, with coconut trees atop.  A big sting ray has been leaping and slapping into the water.  And two young boys – Genji (12) and his cousin Ramsi (8) have paddled shyly out to see us, singing Praise The Lord very loudly.  I gave them some red cordial and some biscuits, and they admired 2XS from below.  I said, “Come aboard and have a look, I will look after your canoe.”  So I sat and splishysplashed the water out of the canoe while Pete and John gave the boys a swift catamaran tour.  They came back, climbed into their (dry) canoe and thanked me.  “It was SO beautiful!” they said, and paddled off singing Praise the Lord even more loudly – oh that red cordial… Mashed potatoes are in the pot; eggplant and snakebeans are ready to go and…my rainbow runner is about to be cooked on the BBQ…Life is good!!

Saturday 22^nd October

It is once again G & t time – yes, this happens every day… I haven’t been able to write for a few days – various reasons… Mostly, we have been busy busy BUSY with visitors…

We left the Solomons for an overnight cruise across to Budi-Budi (Laughland Islands), a far-flung outpost of Papua New Guinea.  It was a lovely trip.  When it got dark the moon shone, the stars twinkled, the boat powered along across the ocean wave.  And I sat miserably vomiting into a bucket when it was my turn to be on watch.  Yes I had one of my New Zealand scopatches in place.  No doubt I would have been a whole lot worse without it.  But I am, once again, very disappointed.  As soon as night falls…I am either lying on a couch, pale and wan, or leaning over the back of the boat, feeding the fish. 

Never mind!  We got to Budi-Budi, a series of small coral atolls in the middle of nowhere, inhabited by extraordinarily beautiful people.  James Michener writes: “…it is the native people who make an atoll so strange and yet so attractive.”  The Polynesian people who, for some arcane reasons, chose to settle on tiny atolls rather than the larger islands of PNG and the Solomons etc are different to all of the other people we have met along our way.  The older people have been battered a bit by wind, weather, and the lack of modern dentistry, but the young people – well just about every single child we met was gloriously good looking.

Our arrival at this anchorage is a bit of a blur to me… (I take a bit of time to recover from seasickness.)  I think we approached the main island and met an outrigger canoe, with a lovely young man called Abel aboard.  He hopped onto 2XS, and we towed his canoe behind us.  He had his little brother Isay with him.  Isay was about four years old and wore a pair of shorts which covered every part of his bottom other than...his penis.  (I was later to remove these shorts from his person.  He stared at me intently while I got out my needle and thread and carefully stitched them up so they would be shorts once again rather than rags.  I don’t think he cared or noticed, but it made me happy!  I might mention here that, while the people on Budi-Budi are extremely good-looking, they are also very VERY dirty.  Their clothes are raggedy, torn and filthy, and have obviously never been washed.  This is so unusual!  Everywhere else we have been in the islands women are sitting in puddles of water – under communal taps, in streams, in the sea itself, scrubbing away devotedly with big bars of soap.  On Budi-Budi nobody at all was washing, with the exception of beautiful young Dorcas, the headmaster’s wife, whose clothes were sparkly and who was indeed sitting under a tap with a soapy bucket.  I gave away quite a few bars of soap, usually a crowd-pleaser amongst the women, who like sitting in puddles of water with their friends and a ragtag of children gently frolicking in the shallows, but the soap was not received with any enthusiasm at all.  ) 

Abel showed us, in a casual manner, where we could anchor safely.  We admired his canoe, our first PNG one.  In New Caledonia the Kanaks don’t seem to have any boats at all – or none that we ever saw.  In Vanuatu they have dugouts with outriggers, sturdy and serviceable.  In the Solomons they again have dugout canoes, without outriggers but with  niftily rigged sails.  And in PNG – well the canoes are beautiful little boats!  They are carefully constructed, caulked with “glue from a tree,” said Abel, and decorated with carvings.  Some of them have sails, but poor Abel didn’t have the requisite bit of strong plastic.  (I wanted to ransack 2XS for something Abel could McGuiver into a sail but with no success.)

On our first day we had visits from about seven canoes.  The first one, I think, contained Jamie, Jason, Danny and (toddler) Damian.  The older boys were in their middle teens and full of smiles and laughter.  Jason was very smart; he was the leader of the pack and a great communicator.  The next day, Friday, we went into the village.  We had already met the Jif (another William) who had brought his visitors book for us to write in and he had sent us a list of things he might like us to donate to Budi-Budi, on his return to the village, via his daughter Trissa. 

Shirley, Abel’s beautiful mother, came out in her own canoe, with a tribe of small kiddie-winks.  We asked what sort of transport there was to get to Misima, the nearest “town.”  She said that they go in one of the larger canoes, with a sail (sailau). If there is wind, it takes all day; if there is no wind, it can take up to three days.  Three days in a small outrigger canoe with four adults and assorted small children…And here am I whining away on luxurious 2XS about one overnight sickety-sick episode…

Our first PNG village – and how beautiful!  Traditional woven huts, stretches of clear sand, gently dozing pigs and dogs.  (I am very glad to report that the dogs were pleasingly plump and healthy looking – the dogs in the Solomons were so thin and mangy I haven’t even been able to mention them…)  And the pigs were cheery creatures, scampering around the village, hanging out with their dog-friends.  They live on scraps, coconuts, and crabs, which they dig up for themselves on the beach.  By crabs I mean HUGE crabs!  Coconut crabs are immense; they have thwacking great claws, for cleaving coconuts, and I can’t imagine that even the biggest pig would be able to get the better of one of these giants.  But there is evidence of much digging and rootling on the Budi-Budi beach…and the pigs all look very fat and pleased with themselves.

We had taken some things to Jif William’s hut, in the middle of the village, and we left him and his cohorts eagerly scouring the pages of the Weekend Australian Magazine.  We had met up with the school principal, a delightful young bloke called David, who was from another PNG island.  It turned out he was closely related to Jason – no surprise at all… Jason was such a smart kid.  David, who can’t have been much past his mid-twenties, had adopted his brother’s son, and Jason is a very lively and valuable family member, very devoted to little Damien, Jensen and baby Dulcie.  David’s wife Dorcas is a beautiful young woman, sweet and pretty.  I asked David if Dorcas was a teacher too, and he said, “No.  She is a Grade 10 drop-out.  But she helps a lot at the school.”  (The next day I sent back to Dorcas, via Jason, one of the last remaining Rina-bras…I could see that Dorcas, poor darling, had a great need for such a garment…I do hope she wasn’t offended…)

David asked if we would like to talk to the children in their assembly area.  “Words of encouragement for their education would be good!” he said, happily.  The school motto, written large on a sign outside the two classrooms, was EDUCATION IS YOUR LIFE!  They hauled out three chairs for John, Pete and me and we sat, a teensy bit awkwardly, in front of 66 beautiful bright-eyed Budi-Budi children, ranging in age from 6-18.  David said, “Good afternoon, children,” and they immediately chanted, “Good afternoon Mr David, Mr Alonzo AND FRIENDS.”  David said, “How are you today?” and they chanted, “We are very well thank you and HOW ARE YOU!”  He then got them to do their “special clap” for us – ta ta tatatata ta! Pete launched out first, and said everything appropriate.  John and I followed and exhorted them to appreciate their beautiful islands and to learn as much as possible so they could have successful, happy lives.  Ahem.  The children then did another clap for us – this time, a rain clap.  And off we went, surrounded by a ragtag of admirers from the school. 

Pete had one particularly devoted little scrap of a kid in a ragged yellow-ish t-short, about five years old.  He wouldn’t speak to Pete, or really make eye contact, but he stuck close to his heels, most devotedly.  He later appeared on 2XS, in some bigger kid’s canoe, smiling hugely but still not speaking.  Pete went up close to him, and said, “Do you like this boat?” in kindly tones.  ScrapKid burst into tears and fled to the lower steps…we suspect that he couldn’t speak, poor little tacker.  I noticed the older children were giving him a hard time, shooing him away from the choice positions on the boat (ie close to Pete, John and Laura and in the Inner Sanctum.)  It reminded us of the small raggedy kid on the jetty at San Cristobal, where Kerry, Rina, Pete and I attracted so much attention during the North Star Bay Women’s Festival.  The older boys were tormenting this little one very unpleasantly.  Pete shouted at them and made them stop, just briefly.  A young man (Reuben) standing nearby stood in a protective position near the little boy, and said, “He can’t help it.  This boy is a little bit insane.”  Nature red in tooth and claw….

There was a bit of activity in the village.  A small group of men sat under a big shady tree at the water’s edge, laboriously scraping branches of special wood and then pounding the scrapings with smoothed logs, to make the “glue from the tree” to caulk the boat they were constructing.  Very labour intensive!  We also went and looked at the frugal little veggie gardens, which are in sturdy stockades to keep the pigs out.  The soil there is poor, not many things survive.  The islanders in Budi-Budi have quite a healthy, if limited diet, - fish, bananas and coconuts, mainly.

It was very busy on 2XS late Friday afternoon.  I’m not sure how many people we had on board – probably thirty?  More, coming and going?  They all brought things to trade – a handful of peppers, three small eggs, pawpaws. We gave away nearly all of our things – I had 36 biros, for example, and don’t have any left… I made sure every visitor had something to eat and drink, even if it was only a dry biscuit with a scraping of jam, and a drink of heavily diluted cordial – we finished the bottle of red and made great inroads into the green and orange.  Jason, our smart kid from the day before, was my assistant – he was in charge of handing out the food and making sure everyone got their fair share and not too much of it.  I asked if they would like some music and the boys (yes boys; very few girls were on the boat, they are second-class citizens on Budi-Budi I fear) were more than enthusiastic.  So I trotted out Bob Marley and they were totally enthralled. I asked Jason what he thought and he said, “Laura, it is THE BEST!”

Eventually it was time for the party to be over and the flotilla departed, reluctantly.  We were exhausted!  At 6am I heard happy laughter…oh no…the canoes were back! We didn’t stir from our bunks for another hour and a half.  At 8am I went out onto the deck and looked at the hopeful, smiling faces.  Jason wasn’t there, but Elijah, another of the brighter bigboys hopped on board to be my devoted assistant.  He had brought us each a wreath of flowers.  John wore his big garland all day and looked very fetching.  My garland was a wreath for my head and I must say I looked just a bit demented, with my extremely salty dry hair poking up through the beautiful flowers.  But in honour to dear Elijah I wore it all day.

There was a bit of unseemly squabbling and jostling for position amongst our visitors.  Two women, with tribes of little children on board, wanted to come aboard but the older children had prime position and weren’t budging.  The women eventually manoevred their way aboard.  We told them they were welcome to visit but that we weren’t trading; we had run out of everything and had no more swapsies.  This didn’t make them happy so I made cups of tea – a great luxury – and then put on some music.  John and Pete stayed resolutely in the cabin, reading and ignoring the swarm.  They were just a bit over Budi-Budi Party Time.  I was quite happy, with Elijah’s assistance, to sit outside with my ladies and the very well-behaved children, all listening to the ipod.  They loved the music – we did Manu Chau, Bob Marley, a bit of ABBA, and one or two Mumford and Sons, all very well received.  Oh and Michael Jackson, a great success.  My very old lady – many cyclones, Steve - sat right up close to me and copied my every move.  So I did a few dancey things with my hands and she followed enthusiastically.  Within a few songs, the whole deck was a disco!  Elijah and Raymond turned out to be great dancers, full of enthusiasm.  And my very ancient toothless lady, wrapped tastefully in the blue and green sarong I had given her after she had pawed eagerly at my Vanuatu sundress, was up and dancing like a GoGo dancer!

While I was boiling the kettle, my industrious female visitors had been rootling around under the outdoor table.  They had unearthed our last big football-shaped tropical pumpkin from Honiara.  Would it be possible, they asked, to get some seeds?  Well we cut that pumpkin open and within minutes it had been harvested of every last scrap of innards.  I gave them both a glass jar to put the seeds in and these were greeted with cries of joy as well.  They are hoping to get a bumper crop of pumpkins in their stockade garden, courtesy of 2XS.

It is an informal rule here in the islands not to give anything for nothing.  The islanders expect to trade; we shouldn’t make beggars of them.  But oh dear…one of the ladies who visited that morning had the dearest little girl, Jemima, with her.  A small serious scrap of a child, expecting nothing, just gazing around and eating the odd crumb which came her way.  When nearly all of the other children had gone I went into the Treasure Cabin and found a new pink Bananas in Pyjamas singlet (I had bought ten in a Chinese shop in Honiara, from a sale table) which I put on her.  She looked SO happy and just beamed.  I am sure she had never in her short life had a new article of clothing…

(It is possible there will be an internet connection here in Misima…who knows??  I am going to try…Am going into the little town with John and the quarantine officer…

Oh dear computer said no…I was able to send one email to one address, through the Misima bakery office system.  Keith, the manager, said that his system would crash if I tried to go into gmail, or, even worse, my blogsite…so I sent an email to Katy and asked her to let people know we are alive and well.)

Reluctantly we upped anchor and moved a few miles away, to a deserted Budi-Budi bay.  Too many people wanting too much attention…we were exhausted.  Our new anchorage, just outside the reef, wasn’t as comfortable.  It was rolly and polly, but the plan was to leave for Misima at 4am so there was no point in manoeuvering our way through the reef maze to find a more comfortable spot.

In the late afternoon we went in to shore in the tender to walk along the beach a bit.  The Budi-Budi islands are very low, no hills at all.  This particular island is lovely but uninhabitable because when the tide comes up, it is a swamp.  And I imagine if the sea level rises it will be a partially submerged reef with some dead coconut palms poking sadly out the top. 

We tied up to a rickety construction of driftwood out on the reef and all went for a bit of a snorkel along the spectacular steep deep coral wall.  I am very relieved to be able to report that I managed to clamber back into the tender after my swim.  Some of my most humiliating moments have involved trying to haul myself from the sea into boats.  Years ago in Fiji a small wiry man with the unlikely name of Paula heaved me out single handed and flopped me into the bottom of his boat; I felt like a large and wobbly whale… This time Pete pulled my hands and I kicked my legs and pushed and - miracle – I was up and over, not elegantly, but never mind!

Sunday 24^th October

Pete and John had very kindly decided that my only role for the early start was to wake everyone up at 4am with a cup of tea.  I did this very promptly and efficiently and went back to my rollypolly bunk while they battled the rollypolly sea.

At some stage, when it was still dark, I half woke to much banging and crashing.  I thought either Pete or John were on the deck and was a bit worried.  So…I opened the hatch to peer out into the darkness.  Nothing but darkness, nothing out of the ordinary, until King Neptune saw an opening, literally, and sent a very big wave with deadly accuracy right through the hatch.  I was drenched, the bed was sodden, all of the clothes tastefully arrayed on the bench instead of neatly folded in the cupboard were awash.  I leapt from my bed with a startled squawk or two and, muttering to myself, “Oh dear, oh no!” lurched into the toilet, where I banged my head with dizzying effect on the door frame.  Fun at sea!  It was so dark there wasn’t much I could do so I found some towels to try to mop up the worst of the damage and found a dry spot in the far corner of the bed, where I lay, a bit stunned, until daylight.

It has taken ages to dry the bed and the clothes, because it has been pouring most violently, in sudden drenching squalls.  Every time we open the hatches to let some nice drying air into the cabin, whoosh, down comes another fierce storm.  My bedwetting moment has not been a crowd pleaser…but Pete does know that wet incidents do happen on boats.

Snapshot: No not G & T time, coffee time!  It is 9.20 and gloriously sunny and warm.  We are anchored in a beautiful bay on Bagaman, a lovely island in the Louisiades, only about three hours from Misima.  John is lying on the couch with yet another book – he really does have to leave; he has read his way from one end of 2XS to the other and I fear for his mental health if suddenly he is bereft of reading matter!  He reads faster than I do, and is also blessed with the ability to read while the boat is in motion, whereas I can barely look at the log book…Pete is sitting on the deck with the big blue washing tub, laboriously scrubbing and bleaching the big white sheet.  Well it used to be a lovely big white sheet but we have misused it most shamelessly, tying it up to various rails and lines so that it can shade us from the sun.  It has brushed against the greasy BBQ and has rust and mould spots all over it.  I have given it a bit of a soak in warm soapy water, and have been trying to dry it on the rails, but really it was a disgrace.  Pete is doggedly White King-ing it with a scrubbing brush and a grim expression.  (I am trying not to feel guilty…)  When I got up at 6.30 there were already canoes surrounding the boat.  I told everyone to go away until The Men were awake and now…they are back in force.  I have given away a few little buckets to delighted little kiddywinks and have also administered first aid to a very yucky sore hand, belonging to Moses, who then asked if he can get a lift back to Misima with us at 1.00. Now it is snorkeltime!

And what a beautiful snorkel it was!  The coral here is glorious – like a storybook, all pink and violet and yellow.  The bommies are gorgeous, tall and twisty, with archways and caves, lots of places for startled little fish to dart away and hide, only to come out very swiftly to peer at us again.  Yesterday I saw a middle-sized stingray rushing away at high speed.  Today Pete and I saw a much smaller one, absolutely terrified at the sight of us.  It went very swiftly under a big patch of coral and was completely hidden.  Except for its long straight tail, poking out quite a long way… We didn’t get all Steve Irwin; we left it alone in its hideyhole.

It took about thirteen hours to get to Misima, through a big swell and many storms.  For the first time ever Pete felt ill!  He lay on the couch looking a bit pale; he swears it WASN’T seasickness, it was some OTHER sort of “upset tummy.”  Hmmm… I was, surprisingly, OK, probably because I got those two hours of extra sleep before the chilly wet awakening.

We didn’t know what to expect, re Misima.  We anchored in a sheltered bay in the middle of the town.  Very crocodile-y, it looked.  In fact it reminded me very much of an African township, with the brown water, the encroaching jungle.  (Africa I only know through movies and David Attenborough so you can ignore this comparison entirely.)  John the Great White Hunter had caught a few more fish along the way, some small-ish mackerel, and he prepared them in three different sorts of marinade for a most delicious meal of sashimi with leftover fried rice and veggies.  Another 2XS feast!  (In case you need to know, the best marinade was soy sauce and sesame wasabi; closely followed by fresh coconut milk and lime.)

Another cut-throat game or two of Oh Hell and off to bed.  We have been playing cards most nights.  I am extremely good at cards, particularly at this game, and it always astounds me that I never ever win.  Even Rina, who couldn’t really tell spades from clubs and who never understood the concept of trumps, beat me every time.  (maybe – oh no – I’m not QUITE as good as I like to think…)  But this night, fuelled by a warming late-night glass of John’s Scotch with ice, I beat both John and Pete, with a very high score.  Aha!  Vindicated at last!

The next morning I got up to find John, a man who does not waste words, sitting on the deck, looking a bit grim and a bit wet.  He pointed at the little tin shed on the end of the nearby jetty.  “I’ll give you three guesses what that shed is.”  I looked at it closely as he told me that people had been coming and going since dawn… Oh no…I guessed immediately – a toilet, with a long drop into the bay!  “Yes,” he said, shortly.  “And I have just been for a swim!”  Fortunately he had realised his error soon after getting out from his refreshing dip and had been able to have a nice soapy shower.  “Good thing we didn’t buy any mud crabs here last night, then!” I said.

We had our yellow Q flag (the Lord Howe Island t-shirt lives on!) hoisted, and we knew we had to go through some sort of quarantine rigmarole, so we decided to go and check- out downtown Misima and get the formalities over and done with.  The first place we stopped was a big shop.  We were dizzy with delight.  It was full of treasures!  No popping corn, no ground coffee, no tonic water but – butter!  Bread!  A gas lighter for the stove!  It was all light and bright and full of things I wanted to buy buy buy – dear little buckets which I knew the island children would love, nice bright balls, pretty and practical small clothes, all very cheap.  And – they told me they would take Westpac visacard!  Oh joy!  “But not today.  The lines are down.”  (Computer Says No…)  Pete had some money and left me with about 50 kina ($1 AUD = approx Kina$2.50) so I filled a basket with this and that while John and Pete crossed to the shop on the other side of the road.  I stood patiently at the checkout while – island time – my small basket was processed.  “62 kina,” said the lovely girl at the counter, with a big smile.  Oh dear… I gave her my 50 and said I would have to go and find Pete.  I found him and John in the other shop and managed to winkle a bit more money.  But as I was crossing back to the first shop, a beaming Misima woman stopped me.  “Don’t worry any more!” she said, lovingly.  “They made a mistake!  Your things are ready and you have money left over.”  We feel very safe and happy in this area.  We read in the visitors book in Budi Budi that a German yacht, Sy Moana, had been very happy to get to the Louisiades.  They had been attacked and robbed not far from Madang, one of the PNG mainland provinces, and they sounded delirious with joy to be in this safe, calm haven.

We wandered up the road for a kilometer or so – no rushing about, in the heat.  Along the way was a very nice building, the Misima Guest House.  There seemed to be a restaurant so we went to enquire – yes indeed, certainly we could book for dinner – would we like lobster, with local veggies??  Tonight is possibly our last night with John so we will live it up.  He is booked to fly out of here tomorrow, Wednesday 26^th, but the planes in PNG have been grounded for a few weeks because there was a very bad accident and it is all being investigated.  Nobody quite knows when the planes will fly again.  Nothing we can do.  We don’t particularly want John to go anyway, but presumably at some stage he has to get back to his real life, and his darling Catherine.

As we walked alongside the school, we could see decorations – balloons, wreaths, flowers.  They were having an open day.  Opportunity to poke our noses in!  It was a lovely big school.  We have been invited back, by Headmaster Larry and teachers Mrs Toby and Ms Didgidoya, for a visit on Wednesday, where we will be expected to address the primary school with words of encouragement.  I wish I could sing and play the guitar; I am sure they would rather learn Waltzing Matilda and be told to study, be good, work hard…

Wednesday 26^th October

John is supposed to be flying out today.  But…no planes.  The regional planes are still grounded, big investigations after the horrific fatal crash in the islands last week.  They might be a plane on Monday…

Pete spent the morning happily reading James Michener.  John and I went into town to see if we could get money from the Westpac bank.  Well…no.  Firstly Computer Said No, and secondly…the bank has no cash.  Not a penny, dollar or kina.  John went to the bakery where Keith and Lynette let him send some emails (YES, more than one!)  I went over to the biggest (sparkly!) shop and asked if I could buy things on my visacard.  Certainly, they said, with big smiles.  So I had a very happy ten minutes or so, without John and Pete telling me I didn’t NEED to buy this item or that one, and filled my basket with dear little toddler clothes, cheap as could be, small plastic buckets, rubber balls, biros, and some spoons and forks – very much prized, in the islands.  I queued up at the counter and found, to my horror, that…Computer Says No.  When they had told me I could use my card they were obviously having a jolly jest on my behalf.  So…I sadly left my basket of goodies on the counter and went back to 2XS with John.

I spent the day productively, applying Jif and Anti-Mould to various surfaces.  We had arranged to go back to the bank at 2pm; the local businesses might have boosted the coffers by then.  But guess what - NO.  There might be some tomorrow…but maybe not!

By the time we got to the school it was too late – the children had been sent home early.  (They – ie the teachers - are very keen for us to come back on Monday.)  John had already gone back to 2XS so Pete and I strolled out of the school to be met by a sudden downpour of torrential rain.  Time to take shelter!  We found a small – ummm – speakeasy along the road, having been directed there by the first shopkeeper, near the school.

We found a small thatched shelter, surrounded by big trucks and bulldozers belonging to the local council.  Three women were whiling away the day, one cooking veggies over a small fire, the other two lolling on a raised platform with a dear little toddler, Jordan.  Jordan’s mother Dilo was lovely, thin and shy and very pretty, like Jordan.  Mellay was a bolder girl, full of chat.  I had been watching, with some consternation, as she continued her afternoon occupation of picking at her teeth and gums with a long sharp knife.  “I am cleaning all the black off them.  PNG culture – betel nut stains,” she explained.  Lizzie, the older lady, who was cooking, was thrilled to see us.  She was very concerned that we had no money and said she would be more than happy to share dinner with us…dinner consisted of some boiled sweet potato and rice…so very generous and kind.  Now it may surprise you all, but in my many months away not one person has ever asked to see a photo of my grandchildren.  In fact only the one lovely young boy in Budi-Budi, who thought my “grannies” looked “nice,” has even really looked at the photo I have on the wall with any sort of interest.  But it so happened I had the photo in my backpack; I was going to use it as a talking point at the school – I was going to ask the children what sort of things they imagined these Seven Little Australians do with their school time and leisure activities, for example.  So I pulled it out and showed Lizzie.  She gazed at it, fascinated, and asked me what the children’s names were.  I was dumbstruck!  She cared!  She has five children and one granddaughter, Gina.  She was very happy when I told her that was my mothers’ name.  I asked her if Gina was beautiful and she said, “Yes, ofcourse,” so I told her my mother would be thrilled.  (Everyone in the islands calls grandchildren “your grannies,” it’s useful, isn’t it?)

Thursday 27^th October

So where are we??

Yes!  Misima, in the main town Bugoiya, anchored near the central city toilet.  The bank still has no money; the airline is still not up and running.  Or up and flying.  Every now or then one, two or three of us get into the tender for a hopeful little visit.  We tie up to some big tyres on the wharf, chat to the people who hang out all day every day on the waterfront, and go off to find out if any cash has been deposited yet, or if there is any news re Air PNG and the grounded fleet.  We spend a lot of time waiting outside whichever agency we are gracing with our presence, and then we have nice little chats with pleasant people who say, “So sorry, no cash/no planes/whatever.”

This morning we went for a walk a few kilometres up the road (mad dogs and Englishmen).  We found the forlorn airstrip, and talked to some men cheerfully weeding their veggie gardens or banana trees with long bush knives - a never-ending task, with the jungle forever pushing the boundaries.  Such nicely spoken people, so polite.  Pete admired the neat veggie garden, and the gardener said, “Thank you so much for your words of encouragement.”  On our way back, a rickety old school bus pulled up, with a dozen people onboard, bumping along the road.  Would we like a lift?  We said well yes but we have…no money… NOT a problem, said the driver cheerily.  None of the other passengers seem to mind three big white freeloaders so off we went.  For about a kilometre, when we slowly and gracefully ground to a halt.  No fuel… Driver and passengers sat gently contemplating this occurrence.  The general idea seemed to be that…fuel would arrive, somehow or another.  John, Pete and I got out, thanked everyone profusely, and walked the 300 or so metres left to get into town.  We got to the bank… Yes the bank yet again!  Since we arrived in Misima the bank has been greatly beautified.  It consists of a shipping container on stilts and is – or was – very shabby.  But workmen have been busily painting it brown, white and red, all very corporately Westpac.  All except for the…no money aspect… It was at this stage that I realized I didn’t have my backpack, had left it on the schoolbus.  Bye bye boys…off I went back up the long hot road.  The bus was still there, with most of the passengers aboard, gently contemplating.  The man who had been sitting in the back seat with a tribe of small children saw me.  He leapt out of the bus with the children in tow and ran down the road – “Here it is!”  Whatever bad things you hear about PNG – the thefts, assaults, general thuggery by the Raskols – well none of it applies on Misima.

I forgot to write about our dinner at the Guest House.  This was while we had, for one brief and glorious moment, PNG money!  We arrived to find the table set in a private room just for us.  Flowers garlands were draped across the table in intricate patterns, with small arrangements at each of our placemats.  So pretty!  We admired the table extravagantly and our young waiter beamed with joy – I think it had taken him all afternoon.  Our dinner arrived immediately – rice, island spinach plus plantain and taro, which John and I by now refuse to eat; we know that we REALLY don’t like these starchy veggies – as time goes by and we get hungrier…who knows!  We also had beautifully served lobster, the hero of the dish, as they said about 17 times an episode in My Kitchen Rules.

After dinner we were joined by some very friendly PNG-ers, Leanne and Phil, who had come over from the closest big town on the mainland, Alotau.  They were from the Education Department, conducting a leadership workshop.  It was very interesting talking to them; I felt very at home with the conversation, having had just one or two friends and relations involved in this sort of educational development project… Same issues, different sort of cultural variables, different levels of funding.  They were very tired because they had had to come by ferry instead of by plane – presumably they will have to go home the same way.  John has just come back from his latest hopeful jaunt to the airline agency-come-bakery…The ferry is NOT fun.  Well, not for pampered Third World grown-ups… It takes 24 hours and it is very crowded, smelly, hot, no bunks, no cabins.  We watched the ferry leave a few days ago and merrily took photos of it – people on the roof, all over the decks, clinging to the sides.

On one of our other visits to town this morning we ran into Marie, a thin, red-haired Belgian woman, who has been living in a village about an hour away for the past month.  She too is suffering from the lack of cash in the bank, and is being fed by kindly villagers.  She said she has lost five kilos already, and her arms are covered with tropical sores… She just loves PNG and has spent a lot of time on Yela (aka Rossel Island), one of the most remote of the PNG islands – we were going to go there but went to Budi-Budi instead.  It is an island of witchcraft and mystery.  Missionaries have been there, ofcourse, and the people there are nominally Christian now, but they still practise their old craft.  In fact, Marie, a non-believer herself, says the presence of Christian pastors on the island seems to be quite a good thing.  Her islander friends tell her that cannibalism is now a thing of the past – surely an improvement – and there is less domestic violence.  The different belief systems seem to blend in well.  Everyone goes to church on Sunday, and to Devotions two evenings of the week.  And the rest of the time…well they do spooky witchy magic stuff!

This afternoon Pete and I watched a canoe (sailau) sail into the bay.  It was just beautiful, with a big black and white sail billowing majestically.  It glided into the wharf very swiftly, and was suddenly tied up and being unpacked.  The people here are such good sailors.  They rig up a sail made out of a few bits of patched together tarpaulin, hoist it up on some poles and a big tall mast, and off they go, at a rate, literally, of knots.  A bit later, we went back into the wharf, for yet another jolly bank expedition.  One of the ladies who sits on the wharf, fishing, has become very friendly.  The first day I saw her, I asked her if she caught any fish.  “No not really,” she said, in her beautiful English.  “But I enjoy sitting here, and it is a nice way to pass the time.”  Today she called out to us, “Some of your wantoks have just arrived, in the big canoe.”  And indeed they had!  Four old Australian codgers and one young bloke, with five local crew members, had been on the sailau.  We went and talked to them.  They had been on the sailau for three weeks, travelling to different islands in the Louisiades.  Their last trip, back to this town, had taken thirty hours!  The sailaus are beautiful but…they are not built for comfort!  One of our “wantoks” was lying flat on the deck.  He had apparently hurt his back and was in serious agony, had been for a few days.  Poor old bugger!  While we were talking to the leader of the pack, Ian Urquhart, a truck pulled up – they were going to hurl the man with the back spasm, as carefully as possible, into the back of the truck and take him to the guest house… Poor old bugger indeed!  I asked Ian when they were leaving and he said, loftily, “We are flying out tomorrow.”  I smiled sweetly and said, “Oh are you?  We’ll probably see you over the next few days, then.”

I suppose you are desperate to know what wantok means.  So…here it is, from Lonely Planet:

“In Pijin wantok means simply ‘one talk’ and your wantok are those who speak your language, your clan and family.”

I am very impressed with the clothes the women wear here in Bugoiya.  I have already written about the dreary Mother Hubbard smocks the poor women have to wear in New Caledonia.  In Vanuatu they wear a different style of Mother Hubbard, with frills, furbelows, floating panels.  But…still daggy!  In the Solomons they wear whatever they can get their hands on, mostly t-shirts, singlets, skirts, shorts.  Here in Misima they look just great.  They mainly wear thigh-length smocks in bright, attractive materials, sparkly, or floral, over equally colourful skirts.  A bit like the clothes we pay a lot of money for in stylish Australian shops, like Flirt.  I talked to the cook at the guest house about this, and said how much I admired the style of clothing.  She said, “Well I think this is because of the mine.  We have more money here now, and can buy nice things.”  The gold mine did bring a lot of wealth to the island, until it closed down five years ago.  But the fact that it has now closed isn’t a disaster.  Australian Lynette, at the bakery, told us that the people who worked there were all trained to Australian standards, and they can, if they want, get jobs anywhere in the world.  So they fly in and fly out, or live away for months at a time and send money home.  (Well they USED TO fly in fly out…at the moment, if they want to come home, they have to come on the crowded Alotau ferry…)

Monday 31^st October

A few days have passed since I last wrote.

John has been able to fly away home.  At the very last minute on Friday morning he got confirmation that yes indeed a plane would be coming, and leaving!  He was very relieved.  He went on a truck with the other happy passengers, and Pete and I walked out to the airport to see the plane come and go.  Our PNG Education Department friends were also on the passenger list – very pleased they were, too, not to be travelling back on the ferry.

We left Bagaman Island with Moses on board.  He was a very undemanding passenger, and curled up on the nets on the foredeck for most of the trip.  He spent a few days in Bugoiya town, sleeping on a canoe with some of his wantoks, waiting for us to take him back.  We were all dependent on two things: the bank having some cash, and the planes flying.  All out of our control.  We quite enjoyed our Misima days.  It was very hot, and not possible to swim, but we managed to fill our days with futile little excursions into town to see the bank, the “travel agent” – in inverted commas because the travel agent was in fact the baker, whose role it was to put up notices on the board indicating if/when flights were coming or going.  We would also go and look in the shops and wander around, like the Little Match Girl, with our noses pressed against the displays, unable to buy a single thing.

Snapshot:  You might like to know how Pete and I are right this minute.  I can see out the door – the sea is sparkling, turquoise and green.  There is a lovely little beach not far from the boat, with a picturesque village of no more than twenty huts nestled right on the sand.  Children are playing in the shallows; adults are snoozing gently on their sleeping mats.  We are anchored in a little bay on Motorina Island, in the Louisiades, and it is as beautiful as anyone could imagine.  Steeply sloping hills surround the bay, covered with thick lush jungle.  I am sipping on fresh coconut juice and writing, obviously, on the computer.  Pete is cooking two crayfish, a big one and a small one.  They are gorgeous.  The small one is golden green, with black and white stripes and pink feelers.  One of the villagers, Matthew, caught them for us last night and delivered them to our doorstep some time around midnight.  They had a very peaceful death in the fridge overnight… Does it sound like bliss??  Well yes…so I will tell you some of the downside….

The cabin is heating up and I am no longer feeling the benefit of our early morning swim amongst the pretty coral.

Also, every few minutes we hear a cheery HELLO and there is another canoe-load of hopeful people want want wanting THINGS.  I have just about run out of tasty treats and have been doling out Salada biscuits.  We only have a few kilos of rice left, and quite a few islands to go to before we get back to a shop.  This makes me feel very sad, and guilty.  We traded generously for the crayfish – a beautiful spangly bra, a new t-shirt, my (nearly new) pink singlet, a toddler t-shirt – and we have traded  fairly for some other delicious produce – gorgeous little tomatoes, chillis, lemons and limes, passion fruit.  The people in this village seem to have the best gardens so far in our travels.  But…we are running out of things to trade.  They want fishing hooks and line, needles and cotton, soap, food…I would have stocked up, in Bugoiya, but, when the bank finally did let us have some money, it was only a limited amount.  Enough to buy fuel for the boat – a top priority – and a few hundred kina left over.  I found some marbles, bought in Luganville many moons ago, and gave them to a big canoe-load of boys, with strict instructions that they were for SHARING.  Fat chance… Several boatloads of hopeful boys have been here, looking for marbles, and the stricken look on their faces when I say there aren’t any indicates that…sharing is not a happening thing…We are going to another island close by this afternoon, and I sincerely hope it is…uninhabited!  I love these beautiful cheery children, and their hopeful parents, but…it is very wearing.

When John left we set off for Bagaman Island again, to return Moses to the family fold.  Moses, like John, is a very keen fisherman so within minutes we were trolling.  I so hoped he would catch a few fish for his village.  He exceeded expectations!  First he caught two reasonable sized tuna, the sort Pete doesn’t really like.  (I cooked one last night, with all the yucky dark stuff carefully cut off, coated in Cajun spices, and he didn’t hate it at all.  In fact, it was – yet again – a feast.  We have been so lucky, with our beautiful meals, on 2XS.  Not once have we had to resort to porridge, or even baked beans.)  And then the line snagged again – weehee!  Moses is very small; well very short, about 5’2”, but very strong and muscular.  He heaved the line in very easily, and at the end of it, to our astonishment, was a monster fish almost as big as Moses himself!  It was a Spanish mackerel, much prized amongst fishermen.  Pete and I don’t know how Moses managed to pull the thin line in so swiftly and seemingly effortlessly, without cutting his hands to shreds.  “That is how we do it, here,” he said, simply.  So Moses went home in triumph with a tuna and a monster from the deep. 

We were invited to dinner the following night, in the family home.  Moses’s father, Gulo, is the village chief, and their hut is substantial.  A big communal platform area, with several sleeping/family areas in the eaves.  We were to sit on the floor, cross-legged, but Pete knew I wouldn’t survive this sort of arrangement, and he indicated I should sit against one of the posts.  Moses realised he had a fragile foreigner in his house and found me – thank God – a cushion of sorts, so I was OK for the evening.  His mother, Sanity, was below, in the kitchen.  She didn’t emerge from the shadows until we had all eaten our fill of what was a very delicious meal.  Moses had smoked his huge mackerel, and we had tiny shreds of it cooked with native spinach, plus some other local veggies.  I had made a loaf of bread – somewhere deep in the recesses of my 1970s memory lurked the ability to do this.  Pete and Moses were stunned by my achievement.  And indeed so was I – my loaf rose nobly, and was fluffy, light, tasty.  Will I be able to do it again??  It isn’t all that easy; the oven on 2XS doesn’t really work at all.  In fact it doesn’t even stay alight unless you squat next to it and hold down the switch.  And even then it just fades away just when you lose concentration and think that your lasagna is safely cooking.  (It isn’t.)  So we cook all oven-needing things in the BBQ, which does NOT have temperature control.  (While I say my bread was perfect and gorgeous, it in fact had – a burnt black bottom…)

After we had eaten, Sanity, the mother of Moses and his nine siblings, came and sat with us.  She is very ancient – many cyclones, Steve.  And she has a big and painful abscess in her jaw – did we have any medication?  Oh dear…we sent her some painkillers with Moses, who had sped out after us in a canoe,, and I know she will have a few good nights’ sleep, but she really needs antibiotics, and how is she to get these?? 

Moses told us that he had another brother who died, as a young adult.  Pete asked how he died and Moses said, baldly.  “I don’t know.  Black power!”  This startled us, Moses believing in black magic so readily, when he is a devout member of the Church of Christ congregation on Bagaman and plays the guitar faithfully at every service.  Christianity seems to blend in very well with all of the ancient beliefs, as we have seen before.

The next morning we went for another beautiful swim – such lovely coral, so many fish.  At eleven we set off for church.  Moses had invited us, and said the service began at eleven.  Well ofcourse it didn’t… Not sure what time it did start, but we had plenty of time to wander around the village with a gaggle of gigglers.  These children had a big rugby ball and they were thrilled when I started throwing it back and forth to them.  GIGGLE!  SHRIEK!  The funniest thing of all was when Pete read the owner’s name on the rugby ball – PONGO.  Apparently nothing could have been funnier than Pete’s and my pronunciation of his name.  “Pongo!” they guffawed, doubled over in mirth.  (We thought Pongo was a pretty funny name in and of itself but kept our amusement, more politely, to ourselves.)

Snapshot 4.30pm 31^st October

So we were aiming for an uninhabited area… We chose to go to Brooker Island, which isn’t uninhabited but…we found a little bay with no village in evidence.  Quiet and peaceful…Drop the anchor!  I went in for a swim, Pete had his anchoring beer.  And suddenly…the foreshore was alive with a parade of people goggling at 2XS in delight.  Within minutes young men had swum out, led by brothers, Robson and Gibson.  There are now about seven teenage boys on deck, with a whole crowd more on shore gazing longingly, too timid to swim out.  A larger, older man called

Sam has appeared on a wave ski, with a tribe of kids, including a tough little toddler called Bradley.  Sam recognised us from Misima; he was one of the sailau crew who took the five Australians on their three week tour of the Louisiades, led by Ian Urquhart.  Sam speaks no English so I can’t get any goss from him re proceedings on board…it must have been interesting, to say the least.  I have just looked out at the shore…three women are standing there, with shopping baskets… maybe any minute now they will swim out to us, baskets aloft, with pawpaws and bananas for us to buy…(if we buy/trade any more we are going to burst.)

I have been polite and have sat out on deck in the blazing sun with Robson, Gibson and Sam, but…we have exhausted conversation; it is fiercely sunny; I have given them the last of our popcorn and some bright orange cordial.  And now I have retreated to the cabin, where Pete is lying, speechless, on the couch, reading and occasionally rolling his eyes.

Re my lovely refreshing swim, by the way… I have to mention here that the waters of the Louisiades are absolutely perfect.  A refreshing temperature, a silky texture, beautiful, turquoise, full of darling fish and coral.  Lovely!  When we arrived here I decided to swim towards some quaint little huts on stilts, built quite a long way out over the water on the point.  The huts were quite a long way along the shore so every now and then I looked up to get my bearings.  Then I realised I was swimming over a bit of a rubbish tip and I stopped dead, so to speaking my tracks… The huts were for the very salubrious purpose of…ablutions, yet again.  So I swam back swiftly the way I had come.

Eventually Moses led us to a shady tree on the beach front.  The pastor, a very pleasant tall thin man called Eustace, got out his guitar and started strumming gently, accompanied by Moses.  He welcomed us quietly and sang quite a few songs, all Hosanna and Hallelujah and Jesus, sometimes in English, sometimes in the local language. All very pleasant.  The congregation consisted of: a young woman, a middle aged woman and an ancient woman (many MANY cyclones,) a couple of very thin, tired dogs, and a family of piglets with a large watchful mother.  As well as this, ofcourse, a tribe of kiddiewinks.  Some of them clung to their mothers, others dangled in the low branches of some pink frangipani trees.  As the service went on, a few more people came and went, including a man of indeterminate age who may or may not have been speaking, very quietly, in tongues.  I found something reasonably comfortable to sit on – a large fishing float, possibly – and it was all very pleasant and low-key.  (But yes, Pauline, it did go on too long…)

As soon as the service was over, we went back to 2XS to get ready to move.  We had arranged to take Moses with us.  He has an island motorboat, but he didn’t have enough fuel to get himself over to Motorina Island, to pick up his wife and his own small kiddiewink, Markie.  Pete gave him enough fuel to get him home, and agreed to tow the island boat across to Motorina. 

Moses appeared in good time, with his brother Simon.  Moses just loves Pete.  He gazes at him with great admiration and says, Hello Peter, Goodbye Peter, Thank you Peter, completely ignoring me even though I keep up a steady supply of sandwiches and soft drinks and the odd bowl of leftover pasta.  (NO I don’t mind; I am quite happy to be in the background!  Much less exhausting.  And I know that Moses’s own mother, Sanity, is very much in the background of her family’s life.)  Moses has, by the way, very swiftly, carved a 2XS sign, to be displayed in the cabin, as a thank you gesture for Captain Pete. 

I was very much hoping our boys would catch some fish on the way over to Motorina.  They put out both lines and – thank you King Neptune! – they caught two respectable-sized tuna.  So they arrived at the village where Mrs Moses and Markie were waiting, resplendent on the deck of 2XS with two large fish held aloft. 

Motorina Island I have already described.  Heaven on earth, really.  I had decided not to engage with anyone at all; we had made LOTS of new friends on Bagaman; I was going to keep my distance on Motorina.  But oh dear…there was 14 year old Elsie, in filthy clothes, with two little siblings, Dorothy and Peter, sweet as could be.  And she had a hideously gashed heel.  She showed us, wordlessly, and Pete and I got out the first aid kit.  Elsie had a very high pain threshold.  We cleaned the wound with a bleach solution, put disinfectant stuff in it, and bandaged it up.  Elsie was completely stoical and silent through the whole procedure.  Ouchy ouch!

That night we played backgammon, which Pete thinks is a stupid game (so far) and then canasta (ditto.)  It was still the Sabbath and oh dear they go into it with gusto on Motorina!  Two choirs sang, at each end of the beach – obviously opposing denominations.  They were still going strong at midnight.  Praise the Lord at one end, Hosananna Hallelujah and the other.  We think they are so enthusiastic about church because…they just love to sing!

This morning we had visitors...oh dear and oh no… Mr and Mrs from a nearby village – Peter and Sarah, with their darling daughters Elba and Rose.  “Can we please come onto your boat?”  Well how could I say no?  (Distant rumbling and grumbling from inside the cabin indicated that I should have said no…poor Pete was OVER it.)  I gave them a tour of the boat, cordial, a biscuit, a small drawing book and three crayons.  And they sat there very happily.  For ages!  Eventually they left, with our blessing.

And next thing – Pete was lying on the couch with Jeffrey Archer, and I peered out over the side of 2XS to see, literally, a flotilla of children!  Some on canoes, some swimming, some on lumps of wood, flotsam and jetsam.  AAGGHH!  Elsie, beaming, was in the lead, with darling little Dorothy and Peter smiling happily from her leaky little boat.  She confidently tied up to the steps and sat on the boat, displaying to me her fingers and toes, beautifully adorned with the pink nailpolish I had slipped into her medication bag.  Dorothy and Peter were equally beautified, and very happy.

So what to do??  I didn’t have enough food for the throng.  No; they had come to play!  So I went to the Treasure Cabin and found one of the last balls.  In it went, to shrieks of joy, and in I went, after it.  I stayed in the water with the giggling masses for about an hour, discovering a slight, if unsuspected, talent for rough water polo.  They were so lovely, these children.  Bertie and Florentina and Hobbie and…goodness knows!  They could all swim like fish.  There were no rules, and in fact Hobbie, until she tied her canoe loosely to Elsie’s and could get into the water, joined in, with gusto, by thwacking anyone who came near her boat with her paddle, whackbang on the fingers, on the head.  Tough kids, all of them!  Every now and then I could feel myself being swept away by the very strong current.  Humiliation loomed…they would have come to my rescue, these kiddiewinks, in their canoes, but this would have diminished the Mystique of the White Woman in PNG!  I am proud to say I managed to swim strongly back, to cling to Elsie’s canoe like a limpet. 

Eventually I did get tired (yes Hamish and Angus, Bardy is a grown-up after all…)  I hauled myself out and said, “It is time to go.  I have to cook!  BYE BYE!”  Elsie took over and shouted at them a bit, and yes, they went!  But, most amazingly, they gave me back my ball!  Threw it onto the deck, smiled happily, and paddled off! 

(You may infer from all of our activity that Pete and I are very well and happy.  Indeed we are very fit.  And happy!!  Pete has lost lots of weight; I haven’t.  I am still exactly 62, but would prefer to be 58.  Pete is 78 and can’t believe it – this is a weight from his teenage years!)

It is now evening.  We have watched the sun disappear into the sea – no green flash, but otherwise picture perfect  We listened to some singing from the bushes – naughty children, hiding in the trees, so happy that we couldn’t see them but very happy to have our applause.  And then up came a swift wave ski – Gibson, Robson and Sam.  With SEVEN big crayfish for us!  I had lent them our spare mask, snorkel and flippers, and back they came, not a problem.  We scouted about and gave them what we hope is a fair trade – rice, sugar, batteries, a surplus-to-requirement knife, a pack of playing cards, this and that…

Tuesday 2^nd November

So where are we now?  In yet another gloriously beautiful little tropical paradise, anchored off a tiny village on Panasia Island, which I think is the westernmost of the Louisiade Archipelago.  Robson and Gibson turned up this morning, as we had arranged, at 10am, for a cup of tea.  They brought with them a couple of very silent young men and a dear little eight year old sister, Veronica, who was radiantly happy to be on the boat.  Their parents, we discovered, are called - Edward and Wendy.  So not what you expect in far-flung PNG!  Gibson asked if we could take him with us from Brooker to Panasia; not a problem.  An island motor boat suddenly powered alongside and about six very tough young blokes clambered aboard, wanting “a cold drink.”  I made them orange cordial and gave it to them in our wine bottles – these are greatly prized, so they got a bonus.  They were much more what I expected from PNG-ers, more like the Raskols you see running riot on the news, in Port Moresby.  I had been about to go for a swim but I decided to stay on deck, to protect Pete, if necessary.  (Yes I would be a great help, against six big strong toughboys, wouldn’t I??)  We later decided they weren’t ever any sort of threat.  After all, we had local boys on board, and Uncle Graham (pronounced Gray-Ham) watching benignly from the hillside, where he works in the veggie gardens every day, in the blazing sun.  (I had met Graham when I first swam in to shore yesterday.)

Our trip from Brooker to Panasia took less than an hour.  We had the fishing lines out so that Gibson could arrive at Uncle John’s village with a contribution for dinner.  He was very pleased to catch a (not very large…) tuna. 

Panasia is nothing like the other islands we have been to so far.  Except maybe Deal Island, in Bass Strait!  It is just beautiful, this goes without saying, in this archipelago.  We are in a little bay surrounded by vertical cliffs of grey stone, with trees and bushes clinging to the crevices in the stone.  Uncle John’s village is nestled on a tiny beach, surrounded by cliffs.  There is one house, with another one under construction, and there seem to be a lot of people living here.  We took Gibson into shore in the tender and were welcomed by John.  His wife Gwen and two other younger women were lolling on the grass with a little boy, Manuel, and his (gorgeous!) baby sister Evalina.  John found a chair for me – yes, a chair, the first one I have seen in a village!  John was very quick to ascertain what use we could be to him and his small tribe.  No we had no sugar, it is all gone, traded for crayfish.  Ditto rice, fishing lines and hooks – all gone like the snows of yesteryear.  Hmmm…well did we have any movies?  The family hut, which is very small, has a name painted on it in big white letters JKids IMAX.  All very strange…We thought this might mean they had a solar powered DVD player, but no…John said they would all be on board 2XS tomorrow at 5pm to watch it.  I have no idea how many people will arrive.  We walked along the beach and found the building site, with two men hard at work and one passed out, fast asleep, on the ground with an equally comatose toddler.  The main builder clambered down to stride purposefully around the huts.  He was another fearsome looking young man, tall and strong with rippling muscles, totally unsmiling.  This was until we discovered his name was Rodney (not a particularly savage name…) and that he was capable of dissolving into girly giggle when Pete quizzed him on his little wisp of ponytail sprouting from his otherwise shaven head.

The good thing is that we are going to be undisturbed here.  We have met everyone in the village and they know we have nuthin’.  Only movies and a TV screen, and we don’t have to do this for another 24 hours.  Bliss!

On our way into the little bay we saw a white shape moving rapidly away from shore.  A shark…about as big as me, said Pete, happily.  Gibson said the sharks are nothing to fear at all.  If you see one, just swim fast TOWARDS it and it will flee.  Hmmm…Anyway…I have decided not to be sooky about small white reef sharks.  It was very VERY hot and the water so inviting I just had to go for a swim, shark or no.  There isn’t much coral here, just one big impressive bommie close to the boat.  But right on the shore line, in shallow water, I found a most extraordinary sight – a whole family of giant clams, maybe a dozen or more, in glorious technicolour.  Clams, in case you don’t know, are absolutely beautiful.  Many of them are purple and blue, striped, in a graceful, pretty frill; most these were green ones, and black and white striped arrangements.  I tried to find them again on my way back from shore but had moved with the current.  I will have to show Pete tomorrow; he will be so impressed.  The only other giant clams we have seen have been way down deep; still a fabulous sight, but these were close enough that I could have touched them.

Oh and what is for dinner tonight??  Could it be..ummm…crayfish?  Pete produced a spectacular feast last night.  He cooked some of the crayfish in chilli and garlic and made salads, with our fresh local veggies – tomato, shallot and chilli, bean and garlic.  (No baked beans and porridge for us…yet!!)

2^nd November

Re movies on Panasia…

Pete and I got up in good time – ie not too early – and went for a beautiful swim.  Many fish, much coral, much beauty.  But I couldn’t find my magical giant clam family!  They surely could NOT have moved; clams are, well, clamped to the sea bed!

We got back, dried off, and I made toasted cheese with tomatoes – my second loaf of bread was fine.  Maybe not as gorgeous as the first one but still very fabulous to people deprived of bread, on and off, for many months.  We had just swallowed our last mouthful when HELLO HELLO!  There was Gibson, with a small tribe of Panasia-ites.  Movie time Episode #1.  I unfurled The Selection, and they chose…Braveheart!

I took to the downstairs area.  It was very nice, propped up with my kindle, with a breeze blowing through the cabin.  Pete sat on deck, with Jeffrey Archer.  I particularly hate Braveheart; find it very hard to watch a movie with torture, such a delicate flower… And it turns out the young women on board shared my view; within half an hour a plaintive cry from Gibson; “Peter!  Laura!  Can we have another movie?”  I decided the best option (we have limited selection, have given away quite a few DVDs along the way,) was… Kath and Kim.  They watched two episodes and were all very happy. Too strange!  I have no idea what they must have made of it!

After they went, I had another lovely long swim, and found yet more Treasures of the Shallows.  But…not my Giant Clam Family.  After lunch (curried egg sandwiches) we took the tender off for an exploratory adventure.  Panasia is famous for a huge cave, on the other side of the island from our anchorage.  Fifty metres high, impressive and fabulous.  But...we couldn’t get there.  The waves on the other side were too big for the little tender.  We did, however, enjoy our excursion past the towering limestone cliffs, and were rewarded with the sight of a very big and beautiful PNG sea eagle.

We were very hot when we got back to 2XS and I persuaded Pete back into the sea, to snorkel along the cliff edge.  He didn’t really enjoy it this time.  Every now and then, on our snorkeling swims, we get a Bad Mask Day.  Leaking, drowning, fogging up – take your pick.  I had a perfect day, three times running, no problems.  But Pete’s mask filled with water and by the time he got back to the boat he had very clean sinuses and was nearly full to pussy’s bow with sea water.

Snapshot:  6pm - Yes G & T time!  Except…we have no T!  Our tonic supply is finally at an end – and there is no such thing to be had, on Misima.  Pete has concocted beautiful anti-scurvy gin drinks for us, full of lime.  Pete is making some more tomato, chilli, garlic, bean salads to go with our – yes it never ends! - crayfish.  But before we can eat we have to entertain our Panasia-ites with – Dances With Wolves!  Gibson has just been out to 2XS, with a very silent and handsome cousin, Sonny, and they very carefully selected this movie, with our assistance.  In a few minutes the boat will be full of movie watchers… And when they go we can eat our dinner.  Pete sent the boys off with the tender – BRRM BRRRRM!  I think this will have been the proudest moment of young Gibson’s life!  He can ferry the Panasia Family back out to us when they have eaten their meal.  No we can’t feed them…our stocks are low and we are not going to share our hard-won crayfish.  MEAN AND CRUEL are my mots du jour…

The movie night was a great success.  Eight adults came, and two darling small boys, totally overwhelmed.  One of them slept through the entire proceedings, the other one, Imanuel, sat on the deck with me, in the dark, and we looked at books and sang songs.  Pete and John, the grandfather of the clan (aged about 42…) had a beer or two.  Our audience, ensconced on couches, drinking orange cordial and eating an entire packet of Country Cheese biscuits in nanoseconds, were all dressed up in their very finest.  They just loved Dances With Wolves; we couldn’t have found a better movie.  Lots of action, not too much dialogue…

(I found out why John’s sailau and hut are called JKIDS.  Initials, ofcourse… John, Kanon (son) Imanuel (grandson; I thought he was Manuel until I was corrected…), Dorothy (daughter) and…Sevelina, who I thought was named Evelina… Live and learn!)

Friday 4^th October

We had a lovely long snorkel in our Bagaman Bay, and left for an anchorage in Blue Lagoon around lunch time.  It is lovely here – we have only had two visitors!  The first one, a man in a small outrigger canoe, Banyan, wanted to trade.  I sighed deeply, because we hardly had anything left on the boat. And we didn’t want anything AT ALL.  Too many pawpaws already!  But what he revealed was…two very lovely newly speared (and therefore, mercifully, dead) crayfish.  Yummo! And what would he like, for these delicacies?  Some rice, and a cake of soap.  I accidentally gave him a bucket as well, and he went off well pleased with himself.  I said to Pete, as we sat down to yet another feast, that if he came home one day in Hobart and said, “Well Marguerite, I had two lovely crayfish for our dinner, but I swapped them for an old plastic bucket, a cake of laundry soap, bright blue, and a kilo of rice, I would not be thrilled to bits…

A bit later our second visitor appeared – handsome Warren, with beautiful white teeth (a rarity in BetelNutLand).  He had his gorgeous young children, Grace and Charlie, in his canoe, which was leaking and filling rapidly with water.  Grace and Charlie were very busy bailing the water out.

Our other visitor was Inosi, the local teacher, who wanted a ride to Misima.  We said we would pick him up in Hoba Bay at 11.00 the following day, and that we were then going to pick up Moses from Bagaman.  Warren said he wanted to come too, to buy sealant for his boat.  We stayed another night in lovely peaceful Blue Lagoon, and went off to pick up our passengers the following morning.  Warren wasn’t there, but Inosi hopped on very happily, leaving his school to fend for itself for a day or two.  He said, “We live in a maritime province.  It is very hard to get the opportunity to go to town to see the Education Department; they will understand.”

Sunday 6^th November

We anchored in our very own bay on Bagaman Island and waited for Moses, and possibly Simon, to turn up.  I went for a swim while waiting – well I couldn’t let all that lovely coral and refreshing turquoise water go to waste, could I??  In the meantime Moses turned up…with Simon…and Sam, Gulo, Gilbert and Emanon!  Party time on 2XS.  I made a big pot of two minute noodles with a can of tuna tastefully stirred in, and gave them all a drink of orange cordial – I do know how to cater with panache, don’t I?  They had both fishing lines out and for a while the decks were awash with blood.  They caught one middle-sized tuna, and two enormous great fish of the ocean – a wahoo, and a Spanish mackerel, one of them almost as big as Moses himself.  They were thrilled with their efforts and left us with the tuna, which I cooked, again in Cajun spices.  I particularly love this but Pete isn’t all that enamoured…

At first the men were all very diffident and shy but within an hour or so they were sleeping on the couches, playing cards, and taking turns to read my last remaining Woman’s Day.  They all spent ages gazing intently at the royal wedding photos – what they can have made of these I have no idea.  Gilbert, the shyest of the men, stayed on deck, guarding a fishing line, and reading, with great concentration, a little yellow cartoon Grommets Bible tract…

We eventually got to Bugoiya and dropped everyone off at the wharf.  We had things to discuss with Moses, so he came back to 2Xs for a chat.  At about 7.00 I said, “So where are you staying, Moses?  At your cousin Laty’s place?”  He winced and said, “Well I COULD go there but she has a dog, and I am very scared of it, in the dark.”  So, ofcourse, he stayed for dinner (yum yum Cajun spiced tuna!)  We taught him to play Oh Hell, and I showed him Solitaire on the computer.  Eventually Pete and I went to bed, leaving Moses, entranced, with my computer until the battery ran flat.  He slept very happily in the spare cabin, with John’s Solomon Islands carvings and my PNG baskets, and was up bright and early for breakfast.  (We weren’t…we heard him, and ignored the sounds.)

Monday 7^th November

This was a VERY busy day.  We had so much to do – we had to stand in queue at the bank for a-g-e-s, we had to buy provisions, get fuel for the boat from Mr Lee the Korean, and, best of all, I had to go to the airport to meet Rachel.

I went out in the back of the airport truck, bouncy bounce, sitting on a small wooden box.  I had my iphone with me so I was able to play lots of games of Boggle while I waited for the plane, which was due to come some time between 11.30 and 12.30.  By the time it did come, I was very hot and very calm.  I sat, phone poised, ready to take a photo of Rachel’s Arrival.  The plane landed…and nobody got off!  Only some luggage.  Then out popped Rachel, from another door – I had been watching the departure area. 

My bumpety bump truck had, inexplicably, left without us.  Rachel’s bag was heavy – full of coffee, cheese, popping corn, and tonic water for us – wee hee!  And it was far too hot to walk anyway.  I looked at the trucks and heard a cheery voice - Mr Lee the Korean!  “Hop in,” he said.  So we sat on his boxes, marked FRAGILE, in the back of his truck and off we went, back into town to find Pete, and 2XS still tied up at the fuel wharf, with our men ready to take off back to Bagaman.

Rachel and I went and spent all of our remaining kina in the shops – a new bucket, lemonade, corned beef for trading, sundry items.  I assured her she wouldn’t need any money at all until we got back to Australia, but ofcourse I was wrong; she should have kept some to buy some baskets, and some carvings…bad advice, she should NOT have listened to me!

Our trip home was once again full of card games and fishing, but this time – not one fish!  Very disappointing – what were we going to have for dinner?  Also, I liked to think of the men returning to their village triumphant, with enormous fish held aloft to delight their wives and kiddiewinks.

Tuesday 8^th November

Snapshot: It has just rained so the air is a bit cooler.  Pete is lying on the couch with yet another book – he has nearly read his way through the whole catalogue on 2XS.  Rachel has disappeared into her room; I am more than certain she needs just a bit of a nap; she did not have a peaceful welcome to the Louisiades!  It is very peaceful and quiet.  We have made a big bowl of popcorn and I have put cordial in the fridge because…we are expecting 8 people to arrive to watch… Dances With Wolves!  Moses is going to bring them in the tender…so this is the lull before the storm.  He is going to bring us a chook, which I strongly suspect was one I saw contentedly strolling around the village this morning…

This morning we have been for lots of swims, lots of snorkels.  Moses and his brothers, Emanon and Keith, plus Inosi, still on enforced leave because we haven’t taken back him to Hoba Bay yet, turned up bright and early to clean the bottom of the boat.  They took all available masks and flippers and dived around very efficiently, scrubbing all of the greenery and crapola off the hulls.  I had asked Moses what he wanted in return for this, and he said, succinctly, “kai-kai’ – FOOD.  I had bought a slab of lemonade in preparation for this event, and they each got two cans – a big treat, because they never have cold drinks here.  Halfway through the cleaning I called them all on deck for toasted cheese and tomato – another rare treat because they have no cheese here at all.  I hope this satisfied their desire for kai-kai.

Rachel and I went for a walk around the village with Moses after the cleaning was finished.  It was all very quiet.  Sanity was sitting under her house, on a platform, making baskets.  I very much wanted to see how she did it, so deftly and speedily, but she is very shy and sat with her back to us, occasionally to turn and smile, with agonising self-consciousness.

Our film night was very successful.  But…we hadn’t realised how horribly violent Dances With Wolves is… They were entranced, but didn’t make it through to the end.  Moses came out and asked us if we could play a CD for them instead – jolly HappyClapping Christian songs.  I was very pleased that they brought women out – usually the women miss out on social treats.  Sanity came, all dressed up in a bright yellow polo shirt, with Moses’s shy wife, Leila, some little boys, another young woman, and a posse of Moses’s brothers.  I made a swift but satisfying big pot of fried rice – oh yummo, with a big tin of Spam mixed through it… They gobbled it down happily; so did Pete and I – hunger prevailed.

While we were playing the CD, Sanity came out on deck.  I asked if she wanted to look around the boat, and she took my hand.  Sanity, as I said before, is very shy.  But she came happily enough to the foredeck, and settled down on the nets with me.  We lay back and looked at the stars, holding hands.  It was a very happy moment.  Sanity seems so very ancient – many many cyclones have come and gone.  But…her youngest son, Keith, is only 12 so she can’t be quite as old as she seems…

Wednesday 9^th November

Our second last PNG day involved taking Inosi back to Hoba Bay.  We were just going past Bobo Island, when he asked me if we could stop off and pickup his family.  I was a bit startled and said, “Well, maybe you should ask Captain Pete!”  Pete veered off and we anchored off shore and gazed at yet another gorgeous little island.  Inosi shouted at people on shore and soon enough out came a canoe with Inosi’s wife and young son, plus baby, with his teenage girl swimming along behind the canoe fully dressed.  We took them back to their beautiful village in Hoba Bay.  As we sailed off, they all stood on the shore and jumped around, waving madly – I thought this was very funny, because they had barely said a word of farewell or thanks as they got off the boat.

We anchored overnight off Wanim Island, and found the most amazing bit of reef for snorkeling.  The topography was extraordinary – a big steep drop-off, with caves and valleys, crevices and crevasses, and so many fish it was quite bewildering.  Rachel and I swam around in a state of bliss.  And then, a bit of movement in my peripheral vision – a shark, coming quietly out of one of the narrow passages.  It took one look at us and made off silently and gracefully.  I was able to take Rachel’s hand and point it out to her, and we both gazed in wonder at this beautiful creature.  It was probably about the same size as us, and had nothing menacing about its appearance or demeanor at all, so neither of us got a big adrenaline rush.  We had another swim on this beautiful reef the following day, with Pete, and it was very lovely yet again but…no more sharks.

Thursday 10^th November

Our last anchorage was at Sudest Island.  We didn’t really swim, only dipped in and out, because it looked very crocodile-y.  A couple of canoes came our way, and I think the people were very surprised to have largesse thrust upon them – we were giving away the last of our treats from the Treasure Cabin.  One of the canoes contained four women.  We invited them on board for a cup of coffee and some kai-kai (popcorn, swiftly made by Rachel.)  Georgina, Claire, Geraldine and Sandra enjoyed their treat very much.  They were lovely women, all with rotten teeth and red gums – oh the horror of the betel nut… One of them, aged 29, was a newly bereaved widow – her husband had died of “getting very hot,” which we interpreted as malaria, such a scourge.  They all took a great fancy to Rachel and shrieked with laughter when she showed them her red sunburnt legs – she couldn’t have made them happier!  When they left, they called out, “RACHELLE!  RACHELLE!” and she had to stand on deck waving until they were out of sight.

Friday 11^th November

We left for our ocean crossing at 5am.  I will draw a veil; I really hate passages… I used one of my Scopatches, and took Avil every four hours, and drooped around being a misery to myself and poor Rachel and Pete.  It was actually a lovely crossing.  The moon shone brightly, we had both sails up and could turn the engines off.  We sped across the sea at an average of 9 knots, making great progress.  But still I drooped…

In the middle of the night – well actually, in the early dawn light, we arrived at Willis Island, a tiny atoll surrounded by a big surging reef.  Bliss!  We stopped and anchored and I started feeling human again.

Sunday 13^th November

We have spent the day anchored off Willis Island.  We all slept in until very late – ocean passages are exhausting.  I don’t know how people do 3-4 weeks; I would probably have to be carried off in a bodybag after this length of time.  Rachel was wonderful; not a word of complaint, no drooping, and she was very handy on deck at all times.

I thought we would have a lovely snorkel but…no.  We all got in very cautiously for a brief refreshing dip and rushed back up the ladder.  It feels very wild out here, very BIGshark-y.  Willis Island isn’t on most maps; it is very tiny.  But it does have a big meteorological station, with a huge satellite dish.  We got in the tender and sloshed our way ashore early this afternoon, only to be met with a firm COMPUTER SAYS NO at the water’s edge.  Two extremely goodlooking people, from Central Casting I am sure, were there to greet us.  Nobody is allowed to set foot on the island.  This is a blanket rule.  Even the construction workers, doing renovations to the station, aren’t allowed to walk on the beach or swim in the sea.  Willis Island is a major bird breeding area, and also a turtle nesting place.  Fair enough!  I asked if they minded not being able to swim, and our beautiful blonde biologist girl, Laurel, said, thoughtfully, “No we don’t really mind…there are LOTS of tiger sharks here.”

I am so happy to see so many seabirds here!  Great big ones, boobies and noddies and cormorants and terns.  They have been circling the boat, looking at it with great interest, and some of them have been perching on the rails for a squawking session.

Tomorrow we are setting off very early for another overnight trip, ending, we hope, in Townsville.  A city!  With footpaths and shops and bright lights…how will we cope??

Guest contribution:

It’s rather lovely to be asked to be a guest contributor on this blog after five or so days on the gorgeous boat 2XS with Pete and Marguerite.

The rather strangely named Flamingo Bay, a former Belgian government’s icebreaker, picked up by owner and skipper, David Tomlinson, in the Caribbean a few years ago is sitting slightly up from up from us, contracted to the company­­­ that are doing renos to the house/meteorological station on the tiny cay, Willis Islet.

As I type Pete is yarning with both David, the skipper and with Laurel, the biologist on shore on channel 11.  We attempted to go ashore a few hours ago – and were met by Laurel and another fellow who strolled down the beach to tell us to turn the dinghy around as we weren’t allowed to land on Willis (OH&S as well as a certain kind of Federal Government wildlife protection mechanism).

We flew through the Coral Sea, leaving Sudest Island at 0500 a few days ago (somehow time has conflated and expanded as it does in this watery  world) and arrived here at 0400 this morning, to be greeted by a huge turtle cavorting to starboard.  Laurel has just said that there were four more turtle nests overnight – and that this is fabulous news considering that a lot of the population was wiped out with last year’s storms.

The birds abound and this morning I spent a bit of time with my head through the hatch watching various types of birds quarrelling and squawking along the bow.

I got on board on Monday 7^th, after two days of feet up, nose in book at a rather swanky hotel in Port Moresby.  The somewhat foreign feeling of relaxation was seeping in – but I was also bracing for what could have been a few hairy days at sea when I met 2XS.

Flying from Port Moresby to Misima, the outpost of all outposts, replete with croc infested estuary, betel chewing women, toilets over the water was an adventure in itself.  I wasn’t on island time at all, sitting in the semi-airconditioned foyer of the hotel waiting and waiting for the airport shuttle to collect a number of increasingly agitated foreigners.  I played the role of pushy gringo to perfection when I negotiated with security to jump the queue – only to cringe with embarrassment when a number of the people I ‘jumped’ were on the same flight.  As I said, not on Island time yet….mmmm.

Marguerite met me at the airport in Misima.  I’d flown over the mainland and then a number of Islands that seemed to be the NE edge of the Louisiades – everything you imagine when you think about traveling over tropical islands in the air – the sea slowly bleaching to white sand

We got a lift on the back of the local entrepreneur, Mr Lee’s truck into the town of Bugoiya, the capital of Misima, a good ten minutes away and we went straight over to the boat – where it was good to meet Pete! – despite the fact that I have known Marguerite for over 30 years (on and off!) I’d never met Pete.

Then – off to the shops.  Two shops, packed with everything, archetypal general stores, though all customers were asked to leave their bags at the door – quite a contrast to the laid back and extremely local feel of the township.

That afternoon we took off, carrying with us Moses, who M and P had befriended on Bagaman Island and 6 of his friends and family.

So, headsail unfurled and mainsail up, motor going we headed for Bagaman – and – fresh from Hobart Spring, white as a lily, as fish out of water as you get – I fell in love.  It is hard to describe a tropical idyll without falling in to clichés – so I’ll leave the rest up to your imaginations.

It was a Very Good Introduction – Pete and Marguerite a gorgeous dynamic, the boat spacious, eminently livable and my very own cabin with a basin!

We had a few more days around islands, we dropped a local school teacher Inosi back at home, snorkeled some gorgeous reefs.  I saw my first shark in the water at Wanim a 5 foot beauty and I surprised myself with no fear response, just a slow observation of the shark swimming off in the opposite direction.

Now – to the passage: (via a new game of cards, that kills me with its seeming reliance on luck, the odd g&t, more snorkels, and at least two books down) –

We left Sudest at 0500 and Pete helmed us through the reef – to the brilliant blue of the Coral Sea.  The Passage was a different kettle of flying fish – three hours on, three hours second watch and three hours sleeping.  The wind moved from 20 -30 knots and varied the from South East to pretty much South East.  An amazing experience, a gorgeous autopilot, and such a beautiful boat.

This has been a very special experience for me, I have such gratitude for Marguerite and Pete letting me on board, I can only hope I have been a good crew member.  We’re off to Townsville in the morning, I’ll find out whether my little sister Soph is still pregnant - or whether she is now a mother.

15^th November 2011

We are in Townsville!  Arrived on a lovely hot sunny day, no problems, all is well!  We are all exhausted and looking forward to a shower after we have been processed by Customs, Immigration, Quarantine…this is not a speedy process…