In 1987, my parents took my sister and me travelling off-the-beaten path. This included a visit to Vanuatu. We flew into Port Vila then took a small plane on to Lunganville, Espiritu Santo. The plane was worryingly dilapidated, so much so, I could see the sky below us through the rusted fuselage. At the rear, there was the cluck of chooks and the odd oink. I’m pretty sure we exceeded the maximum person and freight limit given the aisle was stacked with various boxes of supplies and cages with livestock.
Upon arrival, we took a taxi from the airport, negotiating roads that would rival the 309 from Coromandel to Whitianga. Near to our destination, we stopped at a wide, fast flowing river. The taxi could go no further. We would have to make the final push on foot.
We arrived at a missionary village where my sister and I would stay for a few days while my parents travelled further into the dense rainforest, up into the highlands. While we were reasonably fit, it was deemed too arduous for us to attempt the walk.
We were hosted by a family, escorted everywhere by a beautiful, young Ni-Van woman, Angelique. Some of the younger people spoke a little French (compliments of the missionaries ….), but no English. We learned to communicate with expressions, signs – swimming was a popular one. We slept on raised wooden beds covered in flax mats in a small hut. There was one long-drop toilet. Using the toilet took courage as we always had an audience, such was the fascination with these strange young women with long blonde hair. We met a young boy who had contracted malaria. We had brought many supplies with us to gift to the village including tins of mackerel, blankets and mozzie-nets – but for him, it was probably too little too late. My father said it was likely he would die, given how advanced the disease was.
As was custom, we entered the long hut for meals through the separate women’s entrance. We wore long, bright, oversized ‘Mother Hubbard’ dresses to cover our sinful bodies (thank you again French missionaries). Church was somewhat of a priority in the village, education was not. The children worked hard in the gardens all day while we were sat in the shade and were brought coconuts to drink and papaya to eat. Children, some as young as 3, wielded huge bush knives, preparing fruit and vegetables to eat and to sell. After a week, my parents returned to the village, my father wearing only a loin cloth and my mother, a string of leaves draped modestly around her waist (obviously the missionaries had also found the bush trek a bit tough, gave up and stayed on the lower lying areas … sparing the highlands the word of Jisas).
First rule about Vanuatu
Don’t tell anyone about Vanuatu. It is too good.
Patience
The woman next to me on the flight gave me the heads up that the airport was basic. Be prepared for a long wait. Upon arrival, we entered a tin shed with no air con. Joined a (kind of) queue at immigration. The queue split into 5, 6 loose, random lines. I quickly noticed the (loud, bearded, over-dressed, ex-pat) white men were stepping forward promptly, no regard for others or order. After a quiet whisper in my ear from a woman behind and a jolt of courage, as soon as I heard the stamp hit the ink pad, I stepped out from behind the line and plonked myself behind the people at the window giving the next entitled white guy no chance to move forward. I should note there was only one immigration officer, for a 140+ passengers.
The colour of the water
It is real. The blues of the ocean, swimming holes are beyond anything in a Pantone colour chart. No photo can do it justice. The clarity of the water is exquisite, fish abound in both sea and fresh water. Every day is jaw-droppingly beautiful.
Chaffing
Bring pawpaw cream or similar. Those thighs – even with boardies on – will get a workout.
Wine
You can bring in 3 bottles each (adults that is). You can buy booze on the island (though not on weekends). The local ‘Tusker’ beer is brill. Tip: if you choose to bring wine, bring bottles with boring labels. We had our bottles inspected and though they were <$12AUD, the Customs guy thought the wine looked ‘fancy’ and was considering whether some duty might be payable …
Modesty
Give the hungry-bum bikinis a miss unless you’re staying in a western-style resort. The Ni-Vanuatu are modest people. Plus it hurts my eyes.
Give Million Dollar Point a miss
During WWII, the Yanks established a major supply and logistics hub on Espiritu Santo including airfields, hospitals and a large base housing up to 40,000 personnel. War ends, time to return home to the US of A. But what to do this all this shit we’ve brought here? To cut a long story short, the greedy, stubborn turds decided to bulldoze the whole lot into Luganville Harbour. Tanks, jeeps, tyres, bottles of soft drink (and the bulldozers). Poisoning the water with fuel, oil, rubber and coca cola. Then buggered off. In a fortunate twist, 80 years later an ecosystem has built itself around the decaying metal and debris. Classified as a “wreckage turning to reef” site, the snorkelling is a curious experience, bubbling your way through schools of vibrant fish, glass bottles and rusted drive shafts. I would like to think nature is slowly winning.
Cash, Cars, Cows
Take cash (vatu) with you everywhere. In small denominations. There is an ATM at the airport and more in Luganville. Resorts will often swap AUD-VAT for you. You will be expected to pay the local village when you visit swimming holes, remote beaches, waterfalls. It is a means of income for them. And no, they don’t generally have eftpost machines or apple-pay handy.
Cars (kind of) drive on the right side of the road (another legacy the French colonialists ‘gifted’ the Pacific …). Other points of interest: there is no limit to the amount of people you can get onto the back of a ute and the horn is used to politely invite the chickens to move to the verge or alert people “I’m coming through” – not to communicate your irritation, wrath, die-in-hell-motherfucker-vibes at a driver who may have stopped in the middle of the road to have a chat with his mate. You’re on island-time, chillax.
The cattle here are beautiful beasts. They are also very very delicious.
