Tenant - potholes - kava - dinner
10th August 2011
Well I can start off the blog with good news – a tenant for my house, after nearly three and a half months… I am VERY relieved. The contract is only for a few months, but…it is income, at last!
Yesterday afternoon Pete and I walked up to Au Bon Marché Numba 2. Next to this very expansive supermarket is…a lovely and enticing… hardware store! I walked around kindly for about ten minutes, admiring this and that with Pete, and then…it all went on too long and got very hot and stuffy. So I leaned on an Aussie BBQ – SPECIAL PRICE - in the doorway where there was a nice cool breeze and waited. I had to go into a sort of Zen trance to survive; I had foolishly not brought a book, or even my ipod. I became quite a fixture in the entrance. The large security guard got used to me and kept me informed of Pete’s progress (slow and steady) around the shop, nodding in the direction of the top of Pete’s head as it appeared and disappeared between racks, and I was able to watch many transactions, in a variety of languages. At one stage there was the security guard (Nivan,) the store manager (Vietnamese), a large white man wearing a US t-shirt (?) and a willing boy with a trolley – all speaking…French! Pete finally wandered out to the cash register. He beamed when he saw me. “This is such a great shop! Come and see what they have, down the back!” I very firmly said “NO.” I knew what would happen… Pete would go back into slow-motion hardware-store bliss and I would have to go and lean on the Aussie BBQ again.
We bought ourselves an almond Magnum at Au Bon Marché and then walked back down the hill to the yacht club. We entertained ourselves very happily envisaging the ghastly accidents which would befall us were we foolish enough to walk this treacherous footpath in the dark, or even at speed in broad daylight. “Aha! You would break your leg in this big deep unexpected hole, and you would scrape it very badly on the rusty reo, pulling it back out!” And…”Oh look, a steep precipice falling away from the footpath, which itself is falling away from the road! You would undoubtedly tumble and fall right down there!” And – my very own nemesis – a short sharp (and surely unnecessary??) pole in the middle of the footpath – of course I had to walk into it and bruise my thigh, even though it was bright midday sunshine. (I have an inexplicable magnetic attraction to poles in the middle of footpaths, and rode my bike straight into several in Noumea, sometimes more than once running into the very same one.)
We had another bit of 2XS-Café time yesterday. We were expecting Leah and Mark between three and four; they know how nice the fresh lime juice and cold milkshakes are at Yachting World. We had also invited Ness, one of the waitresses at the Port Café, along the main road, where we sometimes had beer and often struggled to get internet connection. ( Owned by Australians…) Ness had given Pete a small Vanuatu flag on our first visit to the café, and would always say, “When are you going to show me your boat?” So when we moved to the marina, we went to tell her she should call in after her shift at 4pm. She never did turn up, but while I was sitting at the (real not 2XS) café with Leah and Mark, I caught a glimpse of Ness, with two other young women, moving swiftly past the boats, looking VERY anxious. I called her and she looked around very warily. But when she realised I was not about to kidnap her for whatever nefarious purposes she might have envisaged, and that she and her friends (chefs from the Port Café, as it turned out,) were safe she was thrilled to bits. The three girls were very cautious walking the plank – gasp blink gulp –but they got across without incident and then had a lively time inspecting the boat. Pete was working benignly on his computer, not looking like a kidnapper, so they soon relaxed and darted around taking in close-up photos of…the stove, especially of – the coffee pot, which seemed to exert a particular charm. Out on deck they took lots more photos, insisting on having Pete and me in most of them…we smiled obligingly.
I managed to get them to settle at our table and bought them all a lime juice – I don’t think they are accustomed to being at the receiving end after all their years working in hospitality. By then Barbara had arrived, and then Punctual Fred (he may look Rock & Roll but…he is Dutch!) And right at the last minute…Egills and Harry, who had been very doubtful about visiting a kava bar. Mark and Leah debated about joining us, but they had work to do and went off in their big back shiny ute. The rest of us loaded ourselves into Fred’s big 4WD. Egills squashed into a small prison-type seat in the back; Harry, Pete and Barbara squashed in the back and Princess Marguerite had the front passenger seat, with a seatbelt!
Robbie’s Nakamel wasn’t really in walking distance so we were glad of the ride. We spent an hour or so there, sitting at a table under a thatched roof with a disparate group of expats. (Locals kept more to the dark bushes...not sure why!) I drank lots of kava, which was a mistake… It is not, I can assure you, yummy, but the whole experience was great fun – getting a little bowl of putrid-looking liquid, skulling it down, rinsing out the bowl, having a big spit in the bushes – what was not to like? And the initial effects were, of course, very pleasant – kava is a drug, and this is what drugs do, make you feel good, to begin with. Very relaxing, that’s about it. My problem with it was I just couldn’t sleep properly when I finally got to bed. I lay like a zombie under the sheet; I am sure Pete thought I was dead to the world. But in fact I was only NEARLY asleep, with my head buzzing unpleasantly, till about 2.30. And NEARLY asleep is not really all that satisfying. So yes I will drink kava again, but…maybe not five helpings…
Egills, who very swiftly transferred from kava to beer, had the best time at the table because one of the expats, Kellie, turned out to have – a Latvian mother! They exchanged Bonegilla stories, and Latvian retirement home stories, and were very happy. (By another Vanuatu coincidence, it turns out Kellie is Leah’s landlady, at Island Princess – she works in the office upstairs, and has been in Vanuatu since the early 80s.) All of the long-term expats had stories about how to make a business work in Vanuatu – not easy… Fred said, “If you want to know how to make a small fortune in Vanuatu – come here with a big one.”
When we got back to Yachting World we left them all, and gave Fred Jessica Watson’s book, True Spirit, to read. Pete and I had further plans for the evening. We had a bet, before we arrived in Port Vila, about the availability of consumer items. I was sure, not certain why, that the supermarkets would have a bigger selection than the ones in Noumea, and Pete was equally certain the shelves would be bare. We made a list of our own KPIs (key performance indicators) and decided that the reward for winning the bet would be – dinner at a restaurant of the winner’s choice. Well – ahem – I won. Au bon Marché has everything you can imagine except, strangely, RyVita.
My choice was to go to La Tentation. When we had first arrived at our anchorage in Vila, we putt-putted in to shore in the tender and tied up to a floating jetty. It turned out to be a private dock, belonging to a very fancy and beautiful waterfront restaurant. Pete went and asked the manager, David, if we could leave the tender there while we wandered around forlornly trying to find Mark and Leah, and David could not have been more obliging. He even offered to have a security guard watch our humble little dinghy! After that auspicious beginning, we used La Tentation as a toilet-stop and beer or coffee stop, and to use their WiFi, but we never spent much money there at all. So it was a good choice to go there for a slap-up Tuesday meal. It was a wonderful meal, well worth the walk along the bumpy potholey footpaths. Pete had fillet steak stuffed with (a very generous bit of) lobster, and I had poulet fish, which is similar to mahi mahi, ie a local, large white fish, served with mashed potatoes and lots of steamed veggies – yummo.
Our waitress, Sylvia, was just beautiful. She has two young children and is saving up to get married. She lives in a vilej near the airport and works 3-11pm every day… Her grandmother lives with them and looks after the children; they do not have an easy life!
When Pete went up to pay, David said, very seriously, “We have an issue.” “Oh Gawd,” said Pete, “Isn’t my visacard working?” But no…the “issue,” David said, very seriously was, that people here have too many mobile phones. “They have no money,” he said, “and yet they have three or four phones each, which they don’t need and can’t afford.” The two men stood at the counter and contemplated this issue for a while, and then they parted amicably and we walked home to 2XS. Our friends were still at the café, drinking coffee. Barbara told us that David isn’t the owner of La Tentation; the owner is – what a surprise – an Australian called Nick.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Monday, 8 August 2011
Cafe life - dinner and dancing and chat - expats in Port Pila
Tuesday 9th August
It is fun living in the middle of a café, really. The only disadvantage of being moored in such a very public position is that you can’t just wander out onto deck in your bedclothes, scratching your head and yawning. The people sitting at the tables only a mere or two away are thrilled to catch glimpses of Life Aboard but…we really have to censor our public appearances.
Last night we invited Egills (from Panache IV) and his new crew member, Harry, for a drink at our floating café table – I was going to say after work at five but…oh bliss – I meant after not doing very much at all at five o’clock. Harry’s sister-in-law Barbara joined us. She is originally from Launceston but now is a property manager on the Gold Coast, with her husband. They also have built a hotel here, The Moorings, and they run a couple of nightclubs as well. Her son Justin and daughter-in-law Kate live here permanently with their little children and they enjoy it all very much. We have met a few Australians doing this sort of thing. The people running the bookshop, which only opened four weeks ago, after a few years of bureaucratic fumbling, are also here for the foreseeable future. The children all go to the International School and learn French as well as English, but possibly not any of the local dialects…
After our very delicious G & Ts we all walked the plank to the restaurant where we had beautiful meals. Harry had some sort of rack of lamb which was absolutely enormous; I think it stonkered him! Egills had beef curry which looked rich and wonderful, while Pete (yes Pete, the non-fish-lover!) had fresh mahi mahi with vegetables, cooked just perfectly. Barbara and I had the same and enjoyed it very much.
There was live music – a very pleasant low-key singer with a synthesizer. These local boys certainly sing beautifully. All middle-of-the-road stuff. Pete and I were inspired to get up and have a bit of mild dancing to Stand By Me, and later I had a whirl around the dance floor with Fred, who had joined us for after-dinner beer – (Smooth Operator – the song, not the man). We all then walked the plank (a bit more wobbly…) and sat around talking, ofcourse, about sailing. Egills, Harry and Pete can, as you can imagine, talk about sailing for hours on end, happily reminiscing or contemplating this or that adventure, this or that bit of gear. Fred, who must have sailing conversations with every single new lot of yachties who roll into Port Vila, got sick of this, and said, impatiently, “Let’s not talk about sailing! Let’s talk about sex!” This broke up the party instantly.
Fred has lived here for 22 years and has a very big boat (62’, I think,) called Drydock. He is from Arnhem and frequently speaks Dutch to me, which I do understand, mostly, but am incapable of reciprocating. Fred is totally rock & roll, a very Mick Jagger character, with wild grey hair and a very deep tan from many years on the water. He works as an engineer on big building projects here. Tonight he is going to take us to a kava bar. Egills and Harry recoiled at this but he said, firmly, “You don’t know what you are talking about. You will enjoy it very much!” The kava here is ground with some sort of pulverising implements; the kava on Tanna, on the other hand, is made by young boys’ spit…they sit around chewing it and spitting it into a bowl… NOT so attractive a prospect.
It is very hot today and Pete says we are going to WALK to hardware shops and Au Bon Marché Numba 2.
Yesterday we wandered long our new neigbourhood and had a chat to George From Tasmania who runs sunset tours on his ex-Hobart fishing boat. We had watched and admired this boat from our anchorage coming back at night, all lit up with neon blue partylights, looking fabulous. He has lived here (on board) for many years, has got used to the warmth. So many expats!
Tuesday 9th August
It is fun living in the middle of a café, really. The only disadvantage of being moored in such a very public position is that you can’t just wander out onto deck in your bedclothes, scratching your head and yawning. The people sitting at the tables only a mere or two away are thrilled to catch glimpses of Life Aboard but…we really have to censor our public appearances.
Last night we invited Egills (from Panache IV) and his new crew member, Harry, for a drink at our floating café table – I was going to say after work at five but…oh bliss – I meant after not doing very much at all at five o’clock. Harry’s sister-in-law Barbara joined us. She is originally from Launceston but now is a property manager on the Gold Coast, with her husband. They also have built a hotel here, The Moorings, and they run a couple of nightclubs as well. Her son Justin and daughter-in-law Kate live here permanently with their little children and they enjoy it all very much. We have met a few Australians doing this sort of thing. The people running the bookshop, which only opened four weeks ago, after a few years of bureaucratic fumbling, are also here for the foreseeable future. The children all go to the International School and learn French as well as English, but possibly not any of the local dialects…
After our very delicious G & Ts we all walked the plank to the restaurant where we had beautiful meals. Harry had some sort of rack of lamb which was absolutely enormous; I think it stonkered him! Egills had beef curry which looked rich and wonderful, while Pete (yes Pete, the non-fish-lover!) had fresh mahi mahi with vegetables, cooked just perfectly. Barbara and I had the same and enjoyed it very much.
There was live music – a very pleasant low-key singer with a synthesizer. These local boys certainly sing beautifully. All middle-of-the-road stuff. Pete and I were inspired to get up and have a bit of mild dancing to Stand By Me, and later I had a whirl around the dance floor with Fred, who had joined us for after-dinner beer – (Smooth Operator – the song, not the man). We all then walked the plank (a bit more wobbly…) and sat around talking, ofcourse, about sailing. Egills, Harry and Pete can, as you can imagine, talk about sailing for hours on end, happily reminiscing or contemplating this or that adventure, this or that bit of gear. Fred, who must have sailing conversations with every single new lot of yachties who roll into Port Vila, got sick of this, and said, impatiently, “Let’s not talk about sailing! Let’s talk about sex!” This broke up the party instantly.
Fred has lived here for 22 years and has a very big boat (62’, I think,) called Drydock. He is from Arnhem and frequently speaks Dutch to me, which I do understand, mostly, but am incapable of reciprocating. Fred is totally rock & roll, a very Mick Jagger character, with wild grey hair and a very deep tan from many years on the water. He works as an engineer on big building projects here. Tonight he is going to take us to a kava bar. Egills and Harry recoiled at this but he said, firmly, “You don’t know what you are talking about. You will enjoy it very much!” The kava here is ground with some sort of pulverising implements; the kava on Tanna, on the other hand, is made by young boys’ spit…they sit around chewing it and spitting it into a bowl… NOT so attractive a prospect.
It is very hot today and Pete says we are going to WALK to hardware shops and Au Bon Marché Numba 2.
Yesterday we wandered long our new neigbourhood and had a chat to George From Tasmania who runs sunset tours on his ex-Hobart fishing boat. We had watched and admired this boat from our anchorage coming back at night, all lit up with neon blue partylights, looking fabulous. He has lived here (on board) for many years, has got used to the warmth. So many expats!
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Betrayal in Sandy Bay – nickel mine upset – vilej school – comparisons with NC – move to marina
Sunday 7th August
Yesterday I got an email from Teresa, the poor beleaguered woman from Knight Frank who has been trying to find a tenant for my dear little Hobart House for the past three and a half months. Apparently she had been showing some people around for the SECOND time (so they must have been just a bit keen) when one of the ‘residents,’ ie. a neighbour (sadly, I thought the neighbors were my friends!!), popped up and started asking Teresa about a broken pipe in the garage and what was she going to DO about it. I am totally shocked by this. There are only nine of us ‘residents’ and we all know that the Body Corporate has a property manager, Armina, who is ready, willing and able to deal with this sort of issue. The prospective tenants probably won’t go ahead, having been alarmed both by the broken pipe issue and by the speedy proximity of whichever neighbour it was felt the need to pester Teresa, and I feel like lying on the floor and drumming my heels on the ground in frustration. Pete says, “If it makes you feel better,” in kindly tones… Oh deary me…
Betty, one of the women who works in Island Princess (the shop not the ute) owns property up the coast, where we went for our tour the other day. It is a beautiful bit of land, if overrun with the noxious strangly US vine. They are bravely battling this vine with machetes and, says Monique, are making progress. The land used to be the site of a big nickel mine, owned and run by a French company. There were houses, a little school, the mine itself. When Vanuatu claimed its independent 31 years ago, the French had to clear out. They were on excellent terms with the locals, especially Betty’s family, who owned the land. But…they were ordered to destroy everything. They bulldozed the houses, mine, school, and buried all of the trucks and equipment. Nobody here can afford to get it all up and running again; such a waste and a sadness.
Dara has told us lots of stories about her six week prac at the village school in Mélé. She had children in her class aged from about six to eleven; they don’t get to move up to the next class till they have passed certain tests. Lessons are supposed to be in English but for lots of the children, who come from many different islands, English is their umpteenth language. They speak their local village dialect, that of the neighbouring villages, the dominant language of the island, whatever variety of Pidgin English is around in their area. Oh and a lot of them speak some sort of French as well… The children all bring their big long bush knives (machetes) to school and they go off to sharpen their pencils through the day. None of them seem to slice off their fingers, or bits of each other, with these very sharp implements, but Dara decided to give each of them their very own pencil sharpener. Oh the joy! They loved their sharpeners so much they sat in class, riveted, sharpening their pencils right away to a long thin spiral… The school couldn’t afford to keep replacing pencils, so Dara had to confiscate sharpeners and let them go back to their lethal weapons in the corner…
The people here (Nivans) are amazingly vigorous and fit, especially compared to the people in New Caledonia. We hardly saw anyone swimming in NC; nobody other than Les Français or Les Touristes in a boat; nobody running other than Les Gendarmes on a training mission. It was also surprisingly – in fact astoundingly – rare to see children playing with a ball. Everywhere I have travelled in the world, children are playing some sort of football, generally soccer with a round ball, on any patch of land – boggy, rocky, sandy, slope-y. But here, happily, in Vanuatu – there are children splishy-splashing in the water, throwing balls, kicking balls, riding bikes in the villages, and, as soon as they are big enough, zipping around on any stretch of water in a tinny with an outboard.
People swim all around the harbour, right around 2XS, in fact. Every morning three very fit swimmers in speedos power across the bay, impressing me very much. The first time I saw them I thought, “Oh good; the lovely sparkly blue (warm!) water looks so inviting; these people are swimming, it must be safe!” I had visions of dipping off the back of the boat several times of day for a bit of exercise and coolness… Anyway, I watched these swimmers as they re-grouped around our anchor chain and swam off again. And then…RIGHT where they had been chatting, I saw, floating happily around, someone’s VERY big plump morning poo… Oh NO…. And yes I have swum in Ha Long Bay (Vietnam), which is, essentially, a large warm sewer… But I never actually set eyes on a floating poo so I could pretend I didn’t know. So now do I hop off the back of the boat? Well no, I sit with my legs dangling in the sea, peering suspiciously at the water through my polaroid glasses…
Another difference is – thank goodness – it is possible to find books. In Noumea there were two lovely bookshops, one selling very up-market children’s books as well as textbooks. But all of the books are in French – translations of English bestsellers, and I really don’t enjoy reading translations. One of the larger shops did have ten books in English – they were all vampire-type books, plus Keith Richard’s autobiography, which I was very keen to read except it was in big heavy hardback and cost nearly $100… And…no book exchange shops for travellers! Oh yes I forgot…I did find three (Jeffrey Archer and Patricia Cornwall, yuckety-yuck,) at the cathedral fete; I remember writing about this. But here there are several shops selling books; even Au Bon Marché (supermarket) has a reasonable selection. So…if you are thinking of going to live in New Caledonia, I guarantee a big money-spinner would be – a second hand book shop!
We were waiting to see the Vanuatu family yesterday, because it was Monique and Dara (and fast-growing baby Justin)’s last day. But they were all too busy so we just had a quick phone call. And we had a very lazy day… Pete worked on his accounts and I…read another book or two!
Monday 8th August
This morning we moored from our anchorage to the marina. Well it’s not really a marina; we are backed up to a wharf, tied on at the front to a big buoy and at the back to two ropes, port and starboard. And to get ashore we have to…walk the plank! But I love it; at our doorstep is a lovely shady café which sells delicious fresh lime juice full of crushed ice and access to two shady little showers, with warm-ish water. Bliss! And – connection to electricity! Just across a small stretch of water is Iririki, a resort with burés built out over the water. I might even swim over there this afternoon, if there aren’t too many people sitting at the café watching me clamber in and out of the water – never a dignified matter…(Oh dear…Egills just came for a chat and warned against a swim right here…too many boats discharging too much…ummm…crap…)
We had been given instructions on how to back the boat into the (very small) allocated space – go over the buoy, pick it up, thread it through two ropes, get two more ropes tied off at the stern, all while avoiding a collision with the boats on either side (very close by…) We were just a teensy bit nervous about this procedure…so much room for error, so many people sitting at the café right alongside the wharf, watching with idle fascination. Pete hailed Egills, who just happened to cruise past on Panache IV as we were approaching our goal, and his new crew mate, Harry, came running to help us. But as it turned out…we were just backing up to the wharf when a little tinny zoomed up, with three large, competent black men on it. They took charge – tied off the ropes, hooked up the buoy, whisked a plank into place – all part of the service!
Sunday 7th August
Yesterday I got an email from Teresa, the poor beleaguered woman from Knight Frank who has been trying to find a tenant for my dear little Hobart House for the past three and a half months. Apparently she had been showing some people around for the SECOND time (so they must have been just a bit keen) when one of the ‘residents,’ ie. a neighbour (sadly, I thought the neighbors were my friends!!), popped up and started asking Teresa about a broken pipe in the garage and what was she going to DO about it. I am totally shocked by this. There are only nine of us ‘residents’ and we all know that the Body Corporate has a property manager, Armina, who is ready, willing and able to deal with this sort of issue. The prospective tenants probably won’t go ahead, having been alarmed both by the broken pipe issue and by the speedy proximity of whichever neighbour it was felt the need to pester Teresa, and I feel like lying on the floor and drumming my heels on the ground in frustration. Pete says, “If it makes you feel better,” in kindly tones… Oh deary me…
Betty, one of the women who works in Island Princess (the shop not the ute) owns property up the coast, where we went for our tour the other day. It is a beautiful bit of land, if overrun with the noxious strangly US vine. They are bravely battling this vine with machetes and, says Monique, are making progress. The land used to be the site of a big nickel mine, owned and run by a French company. There were houses, a little school, the mine itself. When Vanuatu claimed its independent 31 years ago, the French had to clear out. They were on excellent terms with the locals, especially Betty’s family, who owned the land. But…they were ordered to destroy everything. They bulldozed the houses, mine, school, and buried all of the trucks and equipment. Nobody here can afford to get it all up and running again; such a waste and a sadness.
Dara has told us lots of stories about her six week prac at the village school in Mélé. She had children in her class aged from about six to eleven; they don’t get to move up to the next class till they have passed certain tests. Lessons are supposed to be in English but for lots of the children, who come from many different islands, English is their umpteenth language. They speak their local village dialect, that of the neighbouring villages, the dominant language of the island, whatever variety of Pidgin English is around in their area. Oh and a lot of them speak some sort of French as well… The children all bring their big long bush knives (machetes) to school and they go off to sharpen their pencils through the day. None of them seem to slice off their fingers, or bits of each other, with these very sharp implements, but Dara decided to give each of them their very own pencil sharpener. Oh the joy! They loved their sharpeners so much they sat in class, riveted, sharpening their pencils right away to a long thin spiral… The school couldn’t afford to keep replacing pencils, so Dara had to confiscate sharpeners and let them go back to their lethal weapons in the corner…
The people here (Nivans) are amazingly vigorous and fit, especially compared to the people in New Caledonia. We hardly saw anyone swimming in NC; nobody other than Les Français or Les Touristes in a boat; nobody running other than Les Gendarmes on a training mission. It was also surprisingly – in fact astoundingly – rare to see children playing with a ball. Everywhere I have travelled in the world, children are playing some sort of football, generally soccer with a round ball, on any patch of land – boggy, rocky, sandy, slope-y. But here, happily, in Vanuatu – there are children splishy-splashing in the water, throwing balls, kicking balls, riding bikes in the villages, and, as soon as they are big enough, zipping around on any stretch of water in a tinny with an outboard.
People swim all around the harbour, right around 2XS, in fact. Every morning three very fit swimmers in speedos power across the bay, impressing me very much. The first time I saw them I thought, “Oh good; the lovely sparkly blue (warm!) water looks so inviting; these people are swimming, it must be safe!” I had visions of dipping off the back of the boat several times of day for a bit of exercise and coolness… Anyway, I watched these swimmers as they re-grouped around our anchor chain and swam off again. And then…RIGHT where they had been chatting, I saw, floating happily around, someone’s VERY big plump morning poo… Oh NO…. And yes I have swum in Ha Long Bay (Vietnam), which is, essentially, a large warm sewer… But I never actually set eyes on a floating poo so I could pretend I didn’t know. So now do I hop off the back of the boat? Well no, I sit with my legs dangling in the sea, peering suspiciously at the water through my polaroid glasses…
Another difference is – thank goodness – it is possible to find books. In Noumea there were two lovely bookshops, one selling very up-market children’s books as well as textbooks. But all of the books are in French – translations of English bestsellers, and I really don’t enjoy reading translations. One of the larger shops did have ten books in English – they were all vampire-type books, plus Keith Richard’s autobiography, which I was very keen to read except it was in big heavy hardback and cost nearly $100… And…no book exchange shops for travellers! Oh yes I forgot…I did find three (Jeffrey Archer and Patricia Cornwall, yuckety-yuck,) at the cathedral fete; I remember writing about this. But here there are several shops selling books; even Au Bon Marché (supermarket) has a reasonable selection. So…if you are thinking of going to live in New Caledonia, I guarantee a big money-spinner would be – a second hand book shop!
We were waiting to see the Vanuatu family yesterday, because it was Monique and Dara (and fast-growing baby Justin)’s last day. But they were all too busy so we just had a quick phone call. And we had a very lazy day… Pete worked on his accounts and I…read another book or two!
Monday 8th August
This morning we moored from our anchorage to the marina. Well it’s not really a marina; we are backed up to a wharf, tied on at the front to a big buoy and at the back to two ropes, port and starboard. And to get ashore we have to…walk the plank! But I love it; at our doorstep is a lovely shady café which sells delicious fresh lime juice full of crushed ice and access to two shady little showers, with warm-ish water. Bliss! And – connection to electricity! Just across a small stretch of water is Iririki, a resort with burés built out over the water. I might even swim over there this afternoon, if there aren’t too many people sitting at the café watching me clamber in and out of the water – never a dignified matter…(Oh dear…Egills just came for a chat and warned against a swim right here…too many boats discharging too much…ummm…crap…)
We had been given instructions on how to back the boat into the (very small) allocated space – go over the buoy, pick it up, thread it through two ropes, get two more ropes tied off at the stern, all while avoiding a collision with the boats on either side (very close by…) We were just a teensy bit nervous about this procedure…so much room for error, so many people sitting at the café right alongside the wharf, watching with idle fascination. Pete hailed Egills, who just happened to cruise past on Panache IV as we were approaching our goal, and his new crew mate, Harry, came running to help us. But as it turned out…we were just backing up to the wharf when a little tinny zoomed up, with three large, competent black men on it. They took charge – tied off the ropes, hooked up the buoy, whisked a plank into place – all part of the service!
Saturday, 6 August 2011
Friday 5th August
Apology time!! I think in my last blogpost I might have just HINTED that the people who were so rude and unhelpful when I had DinghyProblems might have come from… Black Pearl, the big Glamour Yacht. Well this morning the tender from Black Pearl whizzed past 2XS while I was soaking my feet in the sea…and it was loaded with nice young people, wreathed in smiles, waving cheerily. Hmmmm… Out on the bay, when we came back last night, we saw the super maxi giant yacht, gorgeous shinyblack Eagle V, last glimpsed in Noumea harbour. Today we took Monique out for a short cruise. We went past Eagle V, and as we were admiring it, she said…oh no… “That’s it! There on the back is… the tender, with the people who were so rude and so unhelpful!” And yes indeed so it was…
Yesterday we met up with the Vanuatu family in the afternoon and had a lovely little trip to Mélé village (vilej…) It is the largest village in Vanuatu – about 4,000 people – and it is where most of Mark’s family live. He drove us up and down and around the narrow lanes between the huts. It felt a bit intrusive to be cruising in big black Island Princess (the ute not the shop…,) peering into everyone’s vilej life… but nobody seemed to mind. They all knew Mark and waved, smiled, rushed out to hug if possible. He has a very large extended family – so many aunts, cousins, adoptive mothers, sisters-of-cousins, his brother Patrick, the whole kit and caboodle. The others all got out to be enveloped and embraced while Pete and I stayed wedged in the ute tray.
We were very impressed with the vilej. All neat and tidy, with dear little thatched huts, chooks, pigs, dogs, children all roaming contentedly around. No the huts are not romantic and comfy; they are very stark; I would not last more than a day and a night in one - no mattress! No downy pillow! No table and chairs!! Oh woe! But I think the huts are only for night time; all of family life is conducted out on the street. Cooking, chatting, washing at the tap. People did look very happy. (Mind you I asked Monique if Mark misses vilej life, in the big house on the hill, with Leah and she said NO…he loves his new life, and only goes back to the village once in a while to hang out with the clan…)
We went to the Beach Bar and had a drink or two – margaritas for Monique and me, fruit cocktails for the girls, beer for Pete. We were waiting for the fire dance to start, at 7pm. So, it being Island Time, we had plenty of time to spare, and even managed to eat some dinner as well as drinking our drinks. (Mark’s dinner arrived about half an hour after we had all gobbled ours up but…never mind!) The Beach Bar was completely crowded out, with happy expats – it was, according to the blackboard, “Jared’s birthday.” The bar is owned by Australians, and most of the guests, with the birthday guests, all aged about ten, were also Australian – maybe all these children go to the international school? They were having the most wonderful time, playing on the beach, eating pizzas, rushing about.
The fire dancing is not a traditional Vanuatu thing. The theatre company, Wan Smol Bag, who work with young people, started it up about a year ago. And what fun it was! About a dozen local kids came out and twirled fire hoops and ropes, dancing to a lively sound track on the beach in front of us (I think I heard Beyoncé – Leo would have been thrilled!) Great fun. Towards the end lots of the guests went and joined in, twirling fire ropes quite expertly along with the performers. The entire birthday party went to join in the grand finale – a sort of happy conga linedance.
Saturday 6th August
We had planned to take the Vanuatu Family for a bit of a cruise and lunch on 2XS today. At 11-ish I went and picked up…Monique! (Were there issues with the tender? Well…I drive it in to the dock with great expertise and moored it like a pro. But…when I got Monique in and tried to start it for the trip back to 2XS…I couldn’t pull the starter cord…it had jammed. So…row row row your boat… Monique very kindly chose to be impressed with my rowing ability rather than unimpressed by my motor ability…
We had a five nautical mile sail around to Hideaway Island, opposite the Beach Bar, where we had arranged to meet Mark and the girls plus baby Justin. But…as I expected, they absolutely didn’t want to come onto 2XS. Dara was fearful of the trip in the tender with her delicate new little baby, and Leah knew she would be ill as soon as she stepped on deck. So we left them to have lunch back at the Beach Bar and we had a lovely little BBQ for just the three of us.
Apology time!! I think in my last blogpost I might have just HINTED that the people who were so rude and unhelpful when I had DinghyProblems might have come from… Black Pearl, the big Glamour Yacht. Well this morning the tender from Black Pearl whizzed past 2XS while I was soaking my feet in the sea…and it was loaded with nice young people, wreathed in smiles, waving cheerily. Hmmmm… Out on the bay, when we came back last night, we saw the super maxi giant yacht, gorgeous shinyblack Eagle V, last glimpsed in Noumea harbour. Today we took Monique out for a short cruise. We went past Eagle V, and as we were admiring it, she said…oh no… “That’s it! There on the back is… the tender, with the people who were so rude and so unhelpful!” And yes indeed so it was…
Yesterday we met up with the Vanuatu family in the afternoon and had a lovely little trip to Mélé village (vilej…) It is the largest village in Vanuatu – about 4,000 people – and it is where most of Mark’s family live. He drove us up and down and around the narrow lanes between the huts. It felt a bit intrusive to be cruising in big black Island Princess (the ute not the shop…,) peering into everyone’s vilej life… but nobody seemed to mind. They all knew Mark and waved, smiled, rushed out to hug if possible. He has a very large extended family – so many aunts, cousins, adoptive mothers, sisters-of-cousins, his brother Patrick, the whole kit and caboodle. The others all got out to be enveloped and embraced while Pete and I stayed wedged in the ute tray.
We were very impressed with the vilej. All neat and tidy, with dear little thatched huts, chooks, pigs, dogs, children all roaming contentedly around. No the huts are not romantic and comfy; they are very stark; I would not last more than a day and a night in one - no mattress! No downy pillow! No table and chairs!! Oh woe! But I think the huts are only for night time; all of family life is conducted out on the street. Cooking, chatting, washing at the tap. People did look very happy. (Mind you I asked Monique if Mark misses vilej life, in the big house on the hill, with Leah and she said NO…he loves his new life, and only goes back to the village once in a while to hang out with the clan…)
We went to the Beach Bar and had a drink or two – margaritas for Monique and me, fruit cocktails for the girls, beer for Pete. We were waiting for the fire dance to start, at 7pm. So, it being Island Time, we had plenty of time to spare, and even managed to eat some dinner as well as drinking our drinks. (Mark’s dinner arrived about half an hour after we had all gobbled ours up but…never mind!) The Beach Bar was completely crowded out, with happy expats – it was, according to the blackboard, “Jared’s birthday.” The bar is owned by Australians, and most of the guests, with the birthday guests, all aged about ten, were also Australian – maybe all these children go to the international school? They were having the most wonderful time, playing on the beach, eating pizzas, rushing about.
The fire dancing is not a traditional Vanuatu thing. The theatre company, Wan Smol Bag, who work with young people, started it up about a year ago. And what fun it was! About a dozen local kids came out and twirled fire hoops and ropes, dancing to a lively sound track on the beach in front of us (I think I heard Beyoncé – Leo would have been thrilled!) Great fun. Towards the end lots of the guests went and joined in, twirling fire ropes quite expertly along with the performers. The entire birthday party went to join in the grand finale – a sort of happy conga linedance.
Saturday 6th August
We had planned to take the Vanuatu Family for a bit of a cruise and lunch on 2XS today. At 11-ish I went and picked up…Monique! (Were there issues with the tender? Well…I drive it in to the dock with great expertise and moored it like a pro. But…when I got Monique in and tried to start it for the trip back to 2XS…I couldn’t pull the starter cord…it had jammed. So…row row row your boat… Monique very kindly chose to be impressed with my rowing ability rather than unimpressed by my motor ability…
We had a five nautical mile sail around to Hideaway Island, opposite the Beach Bar, where we had arranged to meet Mark and the girls plus baby Justin. But…as I expected, they absolutely didn’t want to come onto 2XS. Dara was fearful of the trip in the tender with her delicate new little baby, and Leah knew she would be ill as soon as she stepped on deck. So we left them to have lunch back at the Beach Bar and we had a lovely little BBQ for just the three of us.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Thursday 4th August
Well I don’t suppose anyone has given much thought to the issue of whether or not I could drive the tender…or have you always assumed that yes OF COURSE I would have this skill?? Well I didn’t… I have always hopped in happily and let Pete do all the starting and stopping and steering while I go lalalala in my head and look at the scenery, holding the painter (the rope which ties the dinghy to whatever it needs to be tied to) delicately between my knees. Well today Pete channeled the Chinese Mother and told me I HAD to learn. News to me, I thought he liked being The Man while I sat delicately on the edge of the boat holding the painter… I don’t respond well to Chinese Mother Mode so I lay on the couch with my book, trembling a bit, until Pete modified his approach. I actually do want to be able to drive the tender; this means FREEDOM when we are on a mooring or anchorage and Pete wants to stay buried in his account work, or in MacGuivering things on the boat work.
So…after a brief and informative lecture and demo, off I putt-putted, in a slightly zigzag course, for the Port Vila wharf. I had just a bit of difficulty actually stopping in the right spot, but eventually there I was, shaking a bit, but…climbing the rusty rickety ladder with the painter clenched – no not between my teeth! – in my fist. I tethered the dear little boat to a bollardthingy and set off for my first solo Port Vila Experience. But...What was trickling out of my fingers and onto the ground? Could it be BLOOD? From a rusty ladder wound?? I was a bit horrified by this setback. Wounds in tropical Third World-ish countries are not funny; Pete and I have been reading our guide to Cruising Vanuatu and there are many chastening accounts and warnings. So I hotfooted it to the nearest pharmacy, disinfectant and bandaids in mind. When I walked in, the dreamy young chick looked at me vaguely and said, “Oh no…” as she watched the blood trickling. I said I needed antiseptic handwash, bandaids, and wipes, and she agreed. Now where might they be??? Lalalalalala… I found a large bottle of Aqium gel and bled all over it as we drifted towards bandaid territory. I ended up with everything I needed and then bled all over my little shoulder bag while I paid. Then what?? Well I took my first-aid items over to the icecream fridge (what else, in a pharmacy?) and washed the (not very life threatening) wounds and slapped on some bandaids. And yes I nicely disposed of the wrappings in a little bin under the cash register. My dreamy girl was fascinated.
Next stop was the Bookstop shop to get a few more thrillers for our 2XS library – I have completely run out of reading material and am feeling the failure of my Kindle very keenly. The nice (expat Australian) owner of the shop was very interested in my bloodspattered bag, especially as I was buying John Sandford and Michael Connolly. So appropriate!
After a restorative and delicious fresh lime juice at the Yacht Club I made my way back to the veggie market, which runs 24 hours most days of the week, and bought a whole backpack full of delicious items, including a big hand of darling little finger bananas for about 5o cents…
Then it was time to make my way back to the faithful tethered tender and brrrm brrm my way back to Pete… Some nice South Korean tourists stopped to giggle – surely I was not in charge of this very big motorboat?? (the 2XS tender is a small and delicate craft…) Monique was waiting for me at the rusty ladder. She had been talking to some of the ladies at the touristy market so I followed her in to the centre of the stalls. Most of the women – about twelve of them - had stopped for the day. They were sitting in a circle around a table, intent on…a card game!
I dumped my veggies in the boat and we towed it along to the nearby pontoon – easier than the rusty ladder… And then – I couldn’t get the motor to start – oh dear and oh no… Monique was very kind and supportive but she couldn’t help. I bobbled around pulling ineffectually on the cord and saying, “Bloody hell!” in slightly desperate tones. A couple of Australian women, attractive and nicely dressed, mid-forties, walked onto the pontoon and laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve heard worse language!” they trilled. Oh good – help at hand, I thought, as The Men made their way to their tender, which was tied up just next to me on the little pontoon. I didn’t say anything, but watched, mouth agape, as they just drove off. Monique said that one of the women said, “Aren’t you going to help her?” and the men just shook their heads and drove off. This is just appalling behavior; it doesn’t matter who I was, how important or not important; surely a Rule of the Sea is that you help everyone and everyone in any sort of trouble? Anyway, it was all too silly; Monique had to go, her girls needed her, so I said, “I can row!” She was inordinately impressed and took many photos of me making my way back to 2XS – they will be ghastly photos please nobody look at them if the opportunity presents! Pete was very pleased that I got back, one way or the other, and showed me what I had done wrong (flooding the engine, ofcourse… I think Monique and I knew this but we didn’t know how to UN-flood it…)
Some of our friends and not-so-friends from the recent past are in the harbor. Infinity has arrived; oh how lovely to see it, all big and impressive with its two big masts. Hippy Party Boat! And anchored right next to it – Black Pearl, the big Glamour Yacht which was next to us at Port Moselle marina (Noumea) with the most unfriendly, snooty (Australian…) cast and crew. We strongly suspect the rude and nasty tender people to be from Black Pearl…they most certainly were NOT from Infinity
Well I don’t suppose anyone has given much thought to the issue of whether or not I could drive the tender…or have you always assumed that yes OF COURSE I would have this skill?? Well I didn’t… I have always hopped in happily and let Pete do all the starting and stopping and steering while I go lalalala in my head and look at the scenery, holding the painter (the rope which ties the dinghy to whatever it needs to be tied to) delicately between my knees. Well today Pete channeled the Chinese Mother and told me I HAD to learn. News to me, I thought he liked being The Man while I sat delicately on the edge of the boat holding the painter… I don’t respond well to Chinese Mother Mode so I lay on the couch with my book, trembling a bit, until Pete modified his approach. I actually do want to be able to drive the tender; this means FREEDOM when we are on a mooring or anchorage and Pete wants to stay buried in his account work, or in MacGuivering things on the boat work.
So…after a brief and informative lecture and demo, off I putt-putted, in a slightly zigzag course, for the Port Vila wharf. I had just a bit of difficulty actually stopping in the right spot, but eventually there I was, shaking a bit, but…climbing the rusty rickety ladder with the painter clenched – no not between my teeth! – in my fist. I tethered the dear little boat to a bollardthingy and set off for my first solo Port Vila Experience. But...What was trickling out of my fingers and onto the ground? Could it be BLOOD? From a rusty ladder wound?? I was a bit horrified by this setback. Wounds in tropical Third World-ish countries are not funny; Pete and I have been reading our guide to Cruising Vanuatu and there are many chastening accounts and warnings. So I hotfooted it to the nearest pharmacy, disinfectant and bandaids in mind. When I walked in, the dreamy young chick looked at me vaguely and said, “Oh no…” as she watched the blood trickling. I said I needed antiseptic handwash, bandaids, and wipes, and she agreed. Now where might they be??? Lalalalalala… I found a large bottle of Aqium gel and bled all over it as we drifted towards bandaid territory. I ended up with everything I needed and then bled all over my little shoulder bag while I paid. Then what?? Well I took my first-aid items over to the icecream fridge (what else, in a pharmacy?) and washed the (not very life threatening) wounds and slapped on some bandaids. And yes I nicely disposed of the wrappings in a little bin under the cash register. My dreamy girl was fascinated.
Next stop was the Bookstop shop to get a few more thrillers for our 2XS library – I have completely run out of reading material and am feeling the failure of my Kindle very keenly. The nice (expat Australian) owner of the shop was very interested in my bloodspattered bag, especially as I was buying John Sandford and Michael Connolly. So appropriate!
After a restorative and delicious fresh lime juice at the Yacht Club I made my way back to the veggie market, which runs 24 hours most days of the week, and bought a whole backpack full of delicious items, including a big hand of darling little finger bananas for about 5o cents…
Then it was time to make my way back to the faithful tethered tender and brrrm brrm my way back to Pete… Some nice South Korean tourists stopped to giggle – surely I was not in charge of this very big motorboat?? (the 2XS tender is a small and delicate craft…) Monique was waiting for me at the rusty ladder. She had been talking to some of the ladies at the touristy market so I followed her in to the centre of the stalls. Most of the women – about twelve of them - had stopped for the day. They were sitting in a circle around a table, intent on…a card game!
I dumped my veggies in the boat and we towed it along to the nearby pontoon – easier than the rusty ladder… And then – I couldn’t get the motor to start – oh dear and oh no… Monique was very kind and supportive but she couldn’t help. I bobbled around pulling ineffectually on the cord and saying, “Bloody hell!” in slightly desperate tones. A couple of Australian women, attractive and nicely dressed, mid-forties, walked onto the pontoon and laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve heard worse language!” they trilled. Oh good – help at hand, I thought, as The Men made their way to their tender, which was tied up just next to me on the little pontoon. I didn’t say anything, but watched, mouth agape, as they just drove off. Monique said that one of the women said, “Aren’t you going to help her?” and the men just shook their heads and drove off. This is just appalling behavior; it doesn’t matter who I was, how important or not important; surely a Rule of the Sea is that you help everyone and everyone in any sort of trouble? Anyway, it was all too silly; Monique had to go, her girls needed her, so I said, “I can row!” She was inordinately impressed and took many photos of me making my way back to 2XS – they will be ghastly photos please nobody look at them if the opportunity presents! Pete was very pleased that I got back, one way or the other, and showed me what I had done wrong (flooding the engine, ofcourse… I think Monique and I knew this but we didn’t know how to UN-flood it…)
Some of our friends and not-so-friends from the recent past are in the harbor. Infinity has arrived; oh how lovely to see it, all big and impressive with its two big masts. Hippy Party Boat! And anchored right next to it – Black Pearl, the big Glamour Yacht which was next to us at Port Moselle marina (Noumea) with the most unfriendly, snooty (Australian…) cast and crew. We strongly suspect the rude and nasty tender people to be from Black Pearl…they most certainly were NOT from Infinity
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Wednesday 3rd August
We had a lovely excursion to Mele last night. Our Vanuatu Family picked us up in the big black twin cab ute and Pete and I, prepared for the ride, climbed into the tray with our cushions – luxury! It was a beautiful starry night, and only about 20 minutes drive to our destination. Dara (my niece) did a teaching prac session in this village in 2008; there is now a lovely little beachfront restaurant, selling curry (Pete) and woodfired pizzas (everyone else.) When she was there the village straggled all the way to the beach…now it is all prettified and urbanized. But…one hopes this brings income to the locals. We were very impressed. I was particularly taken with the toilets – they were truly glorious! Clean and beautiful, with stone water basins, liquid soap, paper towels. Posherama! I congratulated the staff and they beamed with well-found pride. Monique and I ordered margaritas… Pete’s G & T arrived swiftly, followed by large glasses of lime juice for Dara (Nursing Mother) and Leah (preggers), and for Mark (DriverMan). Monique warned me that last time her margarita had been nice enough….but warm!! This time…well it took ages for our waiter to scurry about (we could see him anxiously mixing and testing behind the bar). But…the margaritas were so cold and so delicious we had to have another one. Each!!
This morning we struggled away trying to get internet connection – ho hum, samesame… And then at 10-ish we putt-putted into the wharf to buy picnic supplies at Au Bon Marché and to wait for Island Princess (the twin cab ute) to arrive with our Vanuatu family. Monique had brought her own cushion and joined Pete and me in the back for our private tour of the island. Recently – and how lucky for us – the government decided that Efate (the main island, where the capital, Port Vila, is,) would benefit greatly from having a proper bitumen ring road, 160 kilometres around the whole island. Until then the only sealed bit of road was a thirty metre strip built by the Americans during World War II and never mended since then… So our trip would have been a whole world of hurt and discomfort. Mark drove us most expertly, and it was just gorgeous. My only issue (yes ofcourse it is all about ME ME ME…) was that sitting facing backwards made me feel – yes! – sick sick sickedy sick!! Sigh sigh never mind; it wasn’t that bad and I greatly enjoyed the tour. When we got back to 2XS I peeled a few potatoes for dinner, in a fairly lackluster fashion, and then Pete took over and whisked up a very nice meal – lots of veggies from the market, and some local steak.
We stopped at Eton Beach for our lunch, and for a swim. What a beautiful place! Monique and I were the only ones brave enough to face the chill – it was only about 27, and the water was probably about 23… There is a sheltered little lagoon area, with a deep blue hole fed by the nearby stream. We swam into this and bobbed about, enjoying the peace and calm while the ocean roared away just across the rocks. Mark swam in the stream; he doesn’t like salt water. We walked over and threw breadcrumbs to him, and to the tiny fish swirling about hoping for a feed.
The US Army in Vanuatu? Did I hear your ears prick up?? No it wasn’t a great scene of carnage or part of the masterplan, and I gather the soldiers based here got heartily bored. They contributed a few things to this country:
Some additions to the gene pool…
A pesty vine which is growing all over the island, smothering everything very thoroughly. They planted it to camouflage their army vehicles from…nobody at all…
A very ugly swimming pool, labeled as “The American Pool,” by the side of the road, right next to a gorgeous beach with crystal clear azure water. The pool is a square concrete box…
A whole lot of coke bottles, which had been hurled into the sea. Locals dive for them and sell them at a roadside stall. They must have drunk LOTS of coke – how long is it since WWII??? 1945 is a long long time ago….
Possibly the highlight of our trip was a visit to Mark’s mother, Taushi. She teaches at a village school in Ekipe, about halfway around the island. She lives in a little hut in the village and was waiting for us with the most huge white smile in the world. She is a small, neat woman, warm and kind, and she just adores her Tasmanian family. She regards Dara as another daughter; she had been teaching at the school in Mele when Dara was doing her prac there, and she is also delighted beyond words to have beautiful Leah as her daughter-in-law.
Richard and the volcano:
I am glad you went to Port Resolution.
After my last sailing trip to Vanuatu I flew down to Tanna from Lugganville on Santo to have a look at the Yasur volcano.
I phoned ahead and was to meet Wherry from the Port Resolution Yacht Club at the Airport for a three day stay.
When I arrived (about 4 pm) there was no one there but after half an hour or so and being reassured by some local people, he arrived.
The only problem was he could not locate his ute. He took off again in someone else's ute leaving me patiently waiting until he arrived after another half hour - some one had driven it into Lenakel!
Next came the ride across the island. It was dark when we started and just like your ride we stopped and started, picking up and dropping off people and stuff along the way.
It got very cold about midnight in the back of the ute but fortunately I was able to reach into my pack and get my warm sailing jacket - not so good for the others though who were freezing.
We went north and then onto the east coast and a pitch black Jon Frum cargo cult village then over the moonscape, coughing and spluttering in the ash from the unseen volcano arriving at Port Resolution at 1.1.00 am.
Quite a place ha?
The next morning I went around the bay to the boiling sand that you described and looked around the school near the Yacht Club.
When I came back Wherry said he needed my hut for a BBC film crew and I could stay with his brother in law Kelsen at Jungle Oasis near the volcano.
Back into the ute I went, passing the incoming film crew on the way, and getting a bit annoyed by now.
My stay at the Jungle Oasis was amazing. It was a bit like the Yacht Club but not so grand? and I was awakened several times in the night by the sound of the volcano which is about 1.5 ks away and by earthquakes which shook and swayed the slightly built hut on its wooden stilts.
Next day Kelsen organised a guide who (very cheaply) walked me up to the rim for the evening fireworks display. Amazing, awesome, wonderful spectacle as you said.
Monique, Dara, Leah and Mark at the volcano:
They all took a trip to Tanna in 2008, and, like Richard, stayed at the Jungle Oasis. (I don’t think I mentioned that Pete and I met the owner of this little establishment when we were on our long walk to Yasur. He appeared out of the bushes, as people do, all along any road or track in Vanuatu, and introduced himself. A very nicely spoken man, maybe in his fifties. He asked us if we had heard of Jungle Oasis and was a bit perplexed when we apologetically said no… “But…we are in Lonely Planet Guide!”)
Our Tasmanian Vanuatu girls unwisely wore white… They breathed, swallowed and endured many waves of volcanic ash on the ride there and all through their stay. Everything inside and outside their hut was lined with ash – the wind must have been blowing just the wrong way that day. When they were sitting having their dinner, Dara was in an interesting kava-induced state of mind. “Woohoo!’ she said, vaguely, looking at the rippling curtains. Monique, kava-less, looked at them more sharply. “Rats!” And yes a whole family of rats were running around behind the curtain. They leapt out onto a beam and galloped across the ceiling to indulge in a bit of fighting right above their heads. (Apparently there are lots of rats in Vanuatu; so far we haven’t seen a single one. A treat in store!)
Their trip up the volcano was very dramatic – how could it be otherwise? They had a guide, who was very frightened and wouldn’t go anywhere near the crater edge. Apparently someone was killed there recently – a thwacking great lump molten lava flew out of the volcano and hit them on the head. They remained safe from such threats and enjoyed it all very much and were mightily impressed as they gulped in great lungs-ful of ash and surveyed their once-white clothes with some dismay.
We had a lovely excursion to Mele last night. Our Vanuatu Family picked us up in the big black twin cab ute and Pete and I, prepared for the ride, climbed into the tray with our cushions – luxury! It was a beautiful starry night, and only about 20 minutes drive to our destination. Dara (my niece) did a teaching prac session in this village in 2008; there is now a lovely little beachfront restaurant, selling curry (Pete) and woodfired pizzas (everyone else.) When she was there the village straggled all the way to the beach…now it is all prettified and urbanized. But…one hopes this brings income to the locals. We were very impressed. I was particularly taken with the toilets – they were truly glorious! Clean and beautiful, with stone water basins, liquid soap, paper towels. Posherama! I congratulated the staff and they beamed with well-found pride. Monique and I ordered margaritas… Pete’s G & T arrived swiftly, followed by large glasses of lime juice for Dara (Nursing Mother) and Leah (preggers), and for Mark (DriverMan). Monique warned me that last time her margarita had been nice enough….but warm!! This time…well it took ages for our waiter to scurry about (we could see him anxiously mixing and testing behind the bar). But…the margaritas were so cold and so delicious we had to have another one. Each!!
This morning we struggled away trying to get internet connection – ho hum, samesame… And then at 10-ish we putt-putted into the wharf to buy picnic supplies at Au Bon Marché and to wait for Island Princess (the twin cab ute) to arrive with our Vanuatu family. Monique had brought her own cushion and joined Pete and me in the back for our private tour of the island. Recently – and how lucky for us – the government decided that Efate (the main island, where the capital, Port Vila, is,) would benefit greatly from having a proper bitumen ring road, 160 kilometres around the whole island. Until then the only sealed bit of road was a thirty metre strip built by the Americans during World War II and never mended since then… So our trip would have been a whole world of hurt and discomfort. Mark drove us most expertly, and it was just gorgeous. My only issue (yes ofcourse it is all about ME ME ME…) was that sitting facing backwards made me feel – yes! – sick sick sickedy sick!! Sigh sigh never mind; it wasn’t that bad and I greatly enjoyed the tour. When we got back to 2XS I peeled a few potatoes for dinner, in a fairly lackluster fashion, and then Pete took over and whisked up a very nice meal – lots of veggies from the market, and some local steak.
We stopped at Eton Beach for our lunch, and for a swim. What a beautiful place! Monique and I were the only ones brave enough to face the chill – it was only about 27, and the water was probably about 23… There is a sheltered little lagoon area, with a deep blue hole fed by the nearby stream. We swam into this and bobbed about, enjoying the peace and calm while the ocean roared away just across the rocks. Mark swam in the stream; he doesn’t like salt water. We walked over and threw breadcrumbs to him, and to the tiny fish swirling about hoping for a feed.
The US Army in Vanuatu? Did I hear your ears prick up?? No it wasn’t a great scene of carnage or part of the masterplan, and I gather the soldiers based here got heartily bored. They contributed a few things to this country:
Some additions to the gene pool…
A pesty vine which is growing all over the island, smothering everything very thoroughly. They planted it to camouflage their army vehicles from…nobody at all…
A very ugly swimming pool, labeled as “The American Pool,” by the side of the road, right next to a gorgeous beach with crystal clear azure water. The pool is a square concrete box…
A whole lot of coke bottles, which had been hurled into the sea. Locals dive for them and sell them at a roadside stall. They must have drunk LOTS of coke – how long is it since WWII??? 1945 is a long long time ago….
Possibly the highlight of our trip was a visit to Mark’s mother, Taushi. She teaches at a village school in Ekipe, about halfway around the island. She lives in a little hut in the village and was waiting for us with the most huge white smile in the world. She is a small, neat woman, warm and kind, and she just adores her Tasmanian family. She regards Dara as another daughter; she had been teaching at the school in Mele when Dara was doing her prac there, and she is also delighted beyond words to have beautiful Leah as her daughter-in-law.
Richard and the volcano:
I am glad you went to Port Resolution.
After my last sailing trip to Vanuatu I flew down to Tanna from Lugganville on Santo to have a look at the Yasur volcano.
I phoned ahead and was to meet Wherry from the Port Resolution Yacht Club at the Airport for a three day stay.
When I arrived (about 4 pm) there was no one there but after half an hour or so and being reassured by some local people, he arrived.
The only problem was he could not locate his ute. He took off again in someone else's ute leaving me patiently waiting until he arrived after another half hour - some one had driven it into Lenakel!
Next came the ride across the island. It was dark when we started and just like your ride we stopped and started, picking up and dropping off people and stuff along the way.
It got very cold about midnight in the back of the ute but fortunately I was able to reach into my pack and get my warm sailing jacket - not so good for the others though who were freezing.
We went north and then onto the east coast and a pitch black Jon Frum cargo cult village then over the moonscape, coughing and spluttering in the ash from the unseen volcano arriving at Port Resolution at 1.1.00 am.
Quite a place ha?
The next morning I went around the bay to the boiling sand that you described and looked around the school near the Yacht Club.
When I came back Wherry said he needed my hut for a BBC film crew and I could stay with his brother in law Kelsen at Jungle Oasis near the volcano.
Back into the ute I went, passing the incoming film crew on the way, and getting a bit annoyed by now.
My stay at the Jungle Oasis was amazing. It was a bit like the Yacht Club but not so grand? and I was awakened several times in the night by the sound of the volcano which is about 1.5 ks away and by earthquakes which shook and swayed the slightly built hut on its wooden stilts.
Next day Kelsen organised a guide who (very cheaply) walked me up to the rim for the evening fireworks display. Amazing, awesome, wonderful spectacle as you said.
Monique, Dara, Leah and Mark at the volcano:
They all took a trip to Tanna in 2008, and, like Richard, stayed at the Jungle Oasis. (I don’t think I mentioned that Pete and I met the owner of this little establishment when we were on our long walk to Yasur. He appeared out of the bushes, as people do, all along any road or track in Vanuatu, and introduced himself. A very nicely spoken man, maybe in his fifties. He asked us if we had heard of Jungle Oasis and was a bit perplexed when we apologetically said no… “But…we are in Lonely Planet Guide!”)
Our Tasmanian Vanuatu girls unwisely wore white… They breathed, swallowed and endured many waves of volcanic ash on the ride there and all through their stay. Everything inside and outside their hut was lined with ash – the wind must have been blowing just the wrong way that day. When they were sitting having their dinner, Dara was in an interesting kava-induced state of mind. “Woohoo!’ she said, vaguely, looking at the rippling curtains. Monique, kava-less, looked at them more sharply. “Rats!” And yes a whole family of rats were running around behind the curtain. They leapt out onto a beam and galloped across the ceiling to indulge in a bit of fighting right above their heads. (Apparently there are lots of rats in Vanuatu; so far we haven’t seen a single one. A treat in store!)
Their trip up the volcano was very dramatic – how could it be otherwise? They had a guide, who was very frightened and wouldn’t go anywhere near the crater edge. Apparently someone was killed there recently – a thwacking great lump molten lava flew out of the volcano and hit them on the head. They remained safe from such threats and enjoyed it all very much and were mightily impressed as they gulped in great lungs-ful of ash and surveyed their once-white clothes with some dismay.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Well for some arcane reason I can(just) get into this blogsite...
And I am allowed to read the first line of my emails on gmail...but I can't open them. Well only one, and from then on, COMPUTER SAYS NO.
So I have a whole lot of tantalising bits...and no way of reading the whole messages...
Other than that - all is well!
Today it is NOT raining!! Well golly and gosh!
Kate H - Pete is able to read your whole message - yes I agree re swimming with sharks (NEVER AGAIN), and FYI - today we ate cheeseburgers at a cafe called Au Peche Mignon (Sweet Sin). And I had VERY sour lime juice...
We met up with my Vanuatu family - Mark from Mele, Leah now from Vanuatu, Monique, Dara and Tiny Baby Justin (growing rapidly, what a thriving boy!) from Tasmania.
Tonight we are going to Mark's village for half price pizza night - Mele here we come, in the back of the ute!
And no my fringe has not yet grown...My kind family, with their long flowing hair, all three of them, say I look fine; in fact I look like A Traveller. They also think Pete and I look "wiry"...which I THINK means lean and mean and fit...well I hope so...
Pete spent the whole morning being McGuiver, fixing water-catching hoses and rain-preventing hoods. He was very happy. I scrubbed down the kitchen benches with Vim then lay on the couches reading...also very happy...
And I am allowed to read the first line of my emails on gmail...but I can't open them. Well only one, and from then on, COMPUTER SAYS NO.
So I have a whole lot of tantalising bits...and no way of reading the whole messages...
Other than that - all is well!
Today it is NOT raining!! Well golly and gosh!
Kate H - Pete is able to read your whole message - yes I agree re swimming with sharks (NEVER AGAIN), and FYI - today we ate cheeseburgers at a cafe called Au Peche Mignon (Sweet Sin). And I had VERY sour lime juice...
We met up with my Vanuatu family - Mark from Mele, Leah now from Vanuatu, Monique, Dara and Tiny Baby Justin (growing rapidly, what a thriving boy!) from Tasmania.
Tonight we are going to Mark's village for half price pizza night - Mele here we come, in the back of the ute!
And no my fringe has not yet grown...My kind family, with their long flowing hair, all three of them, say I look fine; in fact I look like A Traveller. They also think Pete and I look "wiry"...which I THINK means lean and mean and fit...well I hope so...
Pete spent the whole morning being McGuiver, fixing water-catching hoses and rain-preventing hoods. He was very happy. I scrubbed down the kitchen benches with Vim then lay on the couches reading...also very happy...
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