by W.S. McCallum
Part
1: History and Language
By the
first few years of the 20th century, in the days when the European powers'
colonial carve-up of the world was almost completed, there remained the issue of
what to do about a strange archipelago east of Papua New Guinea and north of
New Caledonia, called the New Hebrides.
A land of
cannibals, castaways, runaways and traders in the 19th century, by the early
twentieth century the New Hebrides had coalesced into a loose entity that might
start being considered a viable administrative concept if only France and Great
Britain could figure out what to do about it. The Europeans who lived there
were a motley bunch of French citizens predominantly from France, New Caledonia
and Indochina, and British subjects predominantly from the UK, Australia and
New Zealand. Neither the expatriate French nor English speakers were there in
sufficient numbers to outweigh their rival community, and the islands were not
of sufficient economic importance for either France or Britain to contemplate
annexing or even partitioning the archipelago.
So in 1906
the two empires arrived at a most peculiar compromise: the Franco-British
Condominium of the New Hebrides. Neither power would govern the islands - both
would. The result was two of everything: a government consisting of two
Resident governors with two rival colonial administrations, two justice systems
(not forgetting the Native Court system, whose presiding judge was appointed by
the King of Spain), two police forces, two prison systems, two currencies, two
official European languages, two school systems, and two rival brands of
Christianity (Catholicism for the French speakers and various brands of
Protestantism for the English speakers). There were even two sets of road
rules: on those islands administered by the British, they drove on the left
side of the road, and on those islands administered by the French, they drove
on the right. This enabled some strange situations to arise. If you were a
foreign immigrant to the New Hebrides, you could decide whether you wanted to
settle there under French or British law, and whether you wanted to set up your
business there under French or British companies law. If you were arrested for some
misdemeanour, you could decide whether you wanted to be tried in a French or
British court, or whether you wanted to do your jail time in a French or a
British jail (the British jail in Port Vila was tidier and better organised,
while the French jail had the best food...). Little wonder then that the
ethnically and linguistically varied Melanesians who found themselves ruled
over by this strange colonial aberration and who came to be educated in Western
ways, ended up referring to it caustically not as "the Condominium",
but as "Pandemonium".
Independence
came in 1980, after a minor contretemps instigated by French settlers and their
indigenous sympathisers that came to be known as the "Coconut War" ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coconut_War ),
resulting in the departure of many French settlers in the early 1980s. The new
nation, led by the English-speaking Vanua'aku Pati, made a name for itself in
the 1980s as a vigorous critic of France's South Pacific policies, but use of
the French language survived, and it is still one of the archipelago's two
official European languages, alongside English:
The third
official language is a variety of pidgin English that is called
"Bichelamar" by French-speakers, and "Bislama" by everyone
else. It originally started out in colonial times as a basic lingua franca used
by European traders and natives for doing business, and it has since become a
national language used for all sorts of things:
Many tourists
imagine that speaking Bislama only involves talking baby talk or speaking
English for dummies, and come up with phrases like "mi eatem
coconut", imagining that they are speaking correctly, when the correct way
of saying "I am eating a coconut" is "mi kakae coconus".
Similarly, "thank you very much" is actually "tangyu tu
mas", and when greeting someone in the street you do not say "good
evening", but rather "gud naet". Bislama, although it looks comical
to English speakers, is a proper language with its own pronunciation, spelling,
syntax and grammar:
Some of
this sign is a no brainer if you speak English, but you are not going to be
able to decipher all of it unless you know that "sapos" actually
means "should" or "if", and that "Pikinini blong
yu" actually means "your child".
Other
things only really make sense if you read them out aloud:
And even
linguists who have done a bit of study before arriving can get thrown. At my
hotel one morning I was asked:
"Yu
wanem poelem mo fraenem eh?"
To which I
replied: "Mi no harem save!" (I don't understand!)
I asked the
staff member to repeat the sentence a couple of times before I finally got it,
but it took a knowledge of 3 languages to crack what she was asking. What
really threw me was "eh" which I realised meant "eggs",
following which things fell into place: "poêle" is a pot or pan in
French, which I took to mean scrambled, "mo" is a Polynesian word
meaning "and/or", and "fraenem" means "fried".
An
assortment of useful expressions in Bislama:
Mi go long
bush - I am answering the call of nature
Mi no go
long bush - I am constipated
Mi sit sit
wara - I have diarrhea
No gud man
dog! - Bad dog! (useful for dealing with the many strays roaming around)
or
No gud
woman dog! - Bad dog (bitch)!
Hemia wan
big pig! - That's a big pig! (pigs are a status symbol in Vanuatu's tribal
societies - this is the equivalent of admiring a man's car in the US)
Hemia wan
bigfala pig! - Man, that's a REALLY big pig! (this needs to be spoken in an
appropriate tone of wonderment)
And if you
want to start a conversation with a ni-Van (as the locals call themselves), you
do not talk about weather, but rather about family ties and tribal origins:
Yu kat
waef? Yu kat sista mo brata? Yu kam wea? - Are you married? Do you have a
sister or brother? Where are you from?
Such
questions are not at all nosy, and provide a nice lead-in to a long and
friendly chat ...
Part
2: Practicalities
Even if you
are staying largely in an urban setting whilst in Vanuatu, you do need to take
along a few special items, apart from the obvious things like a sun hat,
sunscreen and sunglasses.
When in the
South Pacific islands, I find it handy to take along 2 or 3 plastic kitchen
containers with a hermetic seal. Whether you are going for a picnic, or just
want to keep snack food in your hotel room, ants and cockroaches are a constant
problem, so an airtight barrier between them and your cookies, potato chips, or
whatever is the only solution. Likewise, when disposing of food waste in your
hotel room, a supply of plastic bags is essential: put your apple core or whatever
in the bag, tie a knot in the top, and then chuck it in the bin. The last thing
you want is food waste lying around your room: next thing you know there will
be a horde of ants or roaches all over everything.
Even if you
are only wandering around Port Vila or Luganville, a plastic drink bottle is
essential. Keep sipping it whether or not you think you are thirsty, as you
tend to sweat a lot due to the local humidity, and dehydration can really wipe
you out in Vanuatu's climate. Water is fine, but I like to take along a supply
of powdered fruit drink sachets (orange, mango, lemonade etc.) and mix them up
in a dilute solution in water. (Some people also like to add a little salt.)
Drinking full strength soda, soft drinks or fruit juice in that climate doesn't
really quench your thirst; you just end up wanting more sugar. And take it easy
when you are walking around - you can't rush about like you would when out
walking in a temperate climate. There's a reason why the locals walk slow...
You might also want to adopt the local practice of getting up at the crack of
dawn, getting most of your stuff done by 11am, and then taking it easy in a bar
or cafe for 3 or 4 hours until the worst of the day's heat is over. Or even for
the rest of the day...
The
characteristic odour of Vanuatu is rotting humus mixed with sweat. Everyone
sweats profusely. Extra strength deodorant is recommended, or failing that,
make sure you use a really fragrant shower gel. The humidity in Port Vila while
I was there in April was 80% to 100% every day. It wasn't that hot - mid to
high 20's (degrees Centigrade), but the sticky, clammy air was exhausting.
After just 15 to 20 minutes' walking, you will begin feeling the sweat
accumulating on your clothes. Bring lots of spare underwear - you will need it.
Speaking of
clothes - I took along the usual tee-shirts to wear, but by far the most comfortable
item is the venerable Hawaiian shirt (the thinner the better), or indeed any
other type of shirt. Tee-shirts just tend to stick to you in that humidity, and
leave you feeling sweaty and clammy.
When
booking your hotel or other accommodation, ask if the room has mosquito screens
on the windows, and whether it is air conditioned, or at least has a ceiling
fan. If you can't handle heat, then by all means go for aircon and stay
somewhere else. If there are no screens, take along a mosquito net, and a hook
to fasten it from, and learn how to rig it up before you go. In Port Vila,
malaria is not really a problem these days, but out in the islands, it is still
a risk. And don't forget to take a roll of toilet paper with you if you are
staying out in the bush - the locals just use leaves, but you won't necessarily
know which ones to use.
The
friendly gecko living in my room...
Vanuatu is pretty
safe when it comes to wildlife. As my guide John said to me: "Vanuatu -
friendly spiders, friendly snakes, friendly crocodiles and friendly
people!" There are no land creatures you need to worry about - the snakes
and spiders are non-poisonous (no matter how big and ugly they are) and even
the crocodiles (only found on some outer islands) tend not to eat people
because of the abundant marine life that enables them to stay fat and
contented. In the sea however, it is a different story - ask locals before
swimming at secluded empty beaches (shark risk), and watch what you're stepping
on underwater.
Now, having
completed the public service announcement, in the next instalment, we have the
travel photos....
Part
3: A Stroll Around Port Vila
First a
general aerial shot to get you oriented: The straight road you can see at the
top centre is the Walter Lini Highway (named after Vanuatu's first Prime
Minister, who was the leader of the Vanua'aku Pati), which is the main road
from the airport. The expanse of water to the left is Vila Bay, with Iririki
Island on the left edge of the photo. The expanse of water in the right bottom
hand corner is Erakor Lagoon. The large building complex with the red roofs in
the centre of the photo is the Parliament, and above it, on the other side of
the fields, is the downtown area.
Bauerfield
International Airport is one of Vanuatu's two international airports (the other
one is at Luganville, on the island of Espiritu Santo). It is named after
Lieutenant Commander Harry F. Bauer, a US Navy officer who died in the
Guadalcanal campaign in 1942 ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_F._Bauer ).
The
slightly blurry string band at the airport that greeted my flight from
Auckland.
The view
from the balcony of my hotel (Room With A View), a French colonial-style
building dating from the days of the New Hebrides:
My
"local": The Flaming Bull Steakhouse:
More
details here:
http://www.tikiroom.com/tikicentral/bb/viewtopic.php?topic=39866&forum=2&hilite=Flaming%20Bull
Another
drinking and dining option right downtown (although the Flaming Bull is
definitely more atmospheric):
Then there
is the Waterfront Bar & Grill:
Or, if you
like your drinking rough and ready, and you want to hang out with the locals,
you could try the Green Mango Kava Bar:
Let me know
how it goes, and I accept no liability for any losses or damage you may
sustain.
Any
foreigner wandering the streets of Port Vila will soon have a close encounter
of an unexpected kind. Mine occurred on Captain Cook Avenue on the afternoon of
my arrival, after having just scared off a racist stray dog (I assume he was
racist because he decided to try and bite me, and I was the only white fella in
the street at the time...), but that incident was merely coincidental. Having
just regained my composure, my heart skipped a beat when a minibus spotted me,
veered over to my side of the road and slammed on its brakes, missing me by a
few inches. The driver leaned out the window and asked: "You wanna
ride?" I refrained from requesting cardiac resuscitation, and instead
simply replied "No tankyu!". Any white person who walks more than 25
metres in a straight line on the streets of Vila will attract multitudinous
offers of rides, followed by looks of stunned disbelief when you wave them on
their way as you head off into the midday sun, sharing the street with the
local mad dogs...
Here is
what public transport looks like in Port Vila:
I don't know
about you, but taxi drivers who trust in God rather than relying on their own
skills make me very nervous...
Taxis are
relatively easy to spot, but not all of them have the familiar fittings on the
top of the roof. If in doubt, look for the "T" number plate - all
registered taxis must have these.
The other
common plate is "PT" which stands for "public transport".
If you see one of these buses, it works just like a taxi; hail the driver from
the curb, and the driver will take you wherever you want to go. There are no
bus routes in Vila. Downtown destinations cost 100 Vatu; further out of town
costs 200 Vatu.
Then there
are the black market operators. This vehicle is clearly operating as public
transport, but it has its number plate obscured:
New Yorkers
would love Port Vila - it is taxi heaven.
Some shots
of downtown:
The annual
waiters' race along the waterfront. It was only 9 am and it was already too hot
for running:
Most of the
downtown buildings are low-rise generic French colonial-style commercial
buildings from the 1950s to the 1970s, with apartments on the upper floor - the
sort of structures you can see anywhere in the French-speaking world from
Nouméa all the way to Dakar. Downtown buildings are typically two or three
storeys high at most, with the exception of a few more recent hotels and
apartments right on the waterfront.
The central
market:
Cassava
(manioc) in the foreground. There are set prices at the market - haggling is
frowned upon, but the prices are generally fair, so there is no real need to
bargain.
Locals
playing pétanque down near the waterfront:
The
buildings behind them are part of the crafts market - a good place to go if you
want fabrics, carvings or other handicrafts.
Waterfront
mobile phone kiosque with litter:
Ni-Vans
have no concept of litter - traditionally they are used to the unwanted organic
items that they discard simply biodegrading in the extremely moist environment,
and they indiscriminately try to apply the same approach to plastic bags,
bottles, etc. There is however a municipal waste disposal service in Port Vila:
These
platforms outside homes are used for leaving rubbish bags on for collection by
the rubbish trucks - they are raised to deter stray dogs and rats, but are
ineffectual against birds, cockroaches and ants.
To close,
some shots of Vila Bay:
I had to
include at least one clichéd tourist shot - the island in the background is
Iririki Island. In the days of the New Hebrides, the British Resident (see Part
1) lived there and used to be ferried across in a motorboat to the mainland
every morning to do his daily business of administering the islands with his
French counterpart. The island is now the site of a swanky tourist development.
A view from
Iririki Island, looking back at the mainland:
A view of
downtown and Iririki Island from Malpoa, a suburb north of Vila Bay:
Vila Bay at
dusk, looking towards Malpoa peninsula:
The ferry
heading off to Malpoa:
Part
4: Carvings
Water feature, Iririki Island Resort
As
mentioned above, carvings are to be seen all over the place in Port Vila. Here
are a couple that were at my hotel:
The
National Museum in Port Vila is a good starting point, and has a small but
interesting collection.
This is a
fairly characteristic tamtam or slit drum from Ambrym Island. Traditionally,
carving these ceremonial items was allowed only by carvers recognised by tribal
custom authority. On Ambrym, drums with three or more heads denote specific
chief and sub-chief rankings in society and are only carved with special
permission from the chief or other tribal authorities concerned. In the 19th
century, unauthorised carvers knocking these off on the side and selling them
as trade goods were punished with death. Even today, I was told, carvers in
Port Vila who try and sell 3-5-headed tamtams to tourists receive flying visits
from Ambrymese chiefs who fine them on the spot for infringing custom law,
although apparently no one is offended if they sell drums with only one or two
heads.
Tree fern
("blakpam") grade carvings from Ambrym:
These were
carved to celebrate Vanuatu's independence in 1980, and originally stood in
Independence Park, according to the Bislama notes at their base.
Traditionally
grade carvings were (and still are) placed outside individual men's huts to
show their status within tribal society. Different markings denote different
levels: a young man who has just reached manhood will have a grade carving that
is much starker and unadorned than a chief's grade carving. This one, from
North Ambrym, is for a man who has reached the level of
"Maghenehiver", which is the 11th level in the grade system
("Maghe") used in that area:
Most
carving in Vanuatu is done using either hardwoods or softwoods like fern;
carvings from stone, like the one in the bottom of the image above, are much
rarer.
On the
island of Malekula, fernwood is also used to carve elaborate masks:
The smaller
mask to the right is a funeral mask.
A good place
to buy authentic tamtams and grade carvings in Port Vila is the Gallery blong
Vanuatu/Café des Arts, on the Lini Highway:
These
fellas are the real thing. The tamtams all work (I gave them a free test drive ),
and stand about 2.4 metres tall:
Gallery
blong Vanuatu/Café des Arts ship carvings overseas by arrangement. Contact www.gbvanuatu.com
I have visions
of installing one of these beauties in my yard and letting rip with some tribal
drumming from time to time. I never really did care that much for what the
neighbours think of me...
In the next
instalment, we head off to visit an authentic Ambrymese village...
Part
5 - Black Island Village
View of Ambrym Island (note the lava
flows)
It was in
1913 that Ambrym Islanders first relocated to the island of Efate. One of the
two volcanoes on Ambrym, Mt Benbow, had erupted and wiped out several villages.
The Ambrymese displaced by this disaster ended up establishing their first
permanent settlement on the island of Efate, not far beyond the outskirts of
Port Vila. Called Mele Village, it is now the size of a small town, and is home
for thousands of Ambrym Islanders and their descendants.
Black
Island Village is a more recent Ambrymese settlement, not far from Erakor
Lagoon (see the first photo on page 1). It is on a 3-4 hectare block of land
granted by local custom authorities, and is home to 30 to 40 people. Life there
is pretty self-sufficient, and they grow an abundance of food.
5 o'clock -
coconut milk time
Behind the
village is a path that leads to a thickly forested area that conceals the
village meeting place.
It is here that
village meetings are held, along with celebrations and festivals, under the
branches of a huge banyan tree.
Such events
are not complete without tamtams, several of which are scattered around the
edge of the clearing.
Tamtams
traditionally provided villages in Ambrym with a means of long-distance communication.
For instance, if a group arrived in the village to trade and the chief was out
in the fields, he could be summoned via tamtam. Likewise, they were used to
warn villagers if a war party was spotted approaching.
There were
no written languages on Ambrym, and various tribes spoke different languages,
so inter-tribal communication could be a problem. They got over this by using
elaborate sand drawings, which would be left in mutually-recognised locations
where trading took place. If a tribe up in the hills wanted fish from a coastal
tribe, they would go to such a spot, and leave a drawing looking like this:
It may not
look much, but for those who can read it, it says who drew it, what sort of
fish they want and how many, how much they will trade for them, and when they
will return to do the deal.
Conversely,
if a party from a coastal village wanted to get some wood pigeons from a tribe
up in the hills, they would leave a drawing that looked like this:
This
picture says things like how many birds they want, what sort they want, and
when they will come back to trade for them.
In
pre-European times, getting around Ambrym was difficult, as there were only
rough dirt tracks across the volcanic island. If someone slipped and sprained
or hurt himself, carrying the injured man back to the village could be a
difficult job. To overcome this, they used to pick up the injured man and carry
him using a sling wrapped around his waist that they had made on the spot from
leaves:
Apart from tamtams,
for music, Ambrym Islanders also play the wooden flute, which is their other
main traditional instrument.
The high
point of my visit to the Black Island Village was the presentation of a Rom
dance:
This is a
grade-taking dance, performed only by men. When a man in the tribe wishes to
move up to a higher social grade, he asks someone who owns the design of a Rom
mask if he can buy it, meets with him at the local nakamal (men's hall) and
makes a formal offer (pigs, traditionally). Once he had purchased the mask and
has been familiarised with the colour coding and shape of the mask and its
accompanying costume, he invites various men from the tribe to enter the
nakamal and practice the Rom dance with him. This is done in the seclusion of
the hall, and anyone other than this select group who tries to see the dance
being practiced is fined a pig and is flogged. The dance preparation period can
take several days, during which the new owner of the mask pays for all the
dancers' food and drink, with a concluding feast for them on the final night
once the dance has been learnt. Then, the next morning, the dancers provide a
public performance.
Once this
is finished, the costumes are burnt, to ensure that the Rom spirit depicted by
them does not hang around to haunt the village and cause trouble.
No village
visit would be complete without hanging out at the local kava bar:
As well as
being drunk here, this is the hut where the kava is made:
For the
record, although bitter and muddy, I thought it tasked OK, and downed it in one
go. Western man has invented various nasty liquors that taste far worse than Ambrymese
kava. Once you have gulped it down, your lips and tongue go numb for quite a
while, and suddenly you start feeling exuberant, positive about all things, and
you exhibit warm feelings towards your fellow man and the world you live in.
For instance, you begin to notice the strange beauty of the trees at dusk:
The
positive effect lasted some hours, and I only had one cup. Powerful stuff!
In the next
instalment, we go off to Pentecost Island to see the Naghol...
Part
6 - Land Diving on Pentecost
About a thousand
years ago, a sexually dissatisfied husband on the island of Pentecost called
Tamalie used to beat his wife to the extent that she decided to run away.
Although she climbed a huge banyan tree to hide from him, he nonetheless found
her. As he climbed up the tree to get her, she kept climbing higher, until
there was nowhere to go but along a branch, where she tied liana vines to her
ankle. As Tamalie reached out to grab her, she jumped. Thinking she had killed
herself, he threw himself off the tree in despair at his maltreatment of her,
and plummeted to his death. Unfortunately for Tamalie however, the vines were
just long enough to have broken her fall, and although she hit the ground, she
lived. In response to this unprecedented event, shocked local men began taking
the precaution of practicing "naghol" (land diving) themselves,
whilst banning women from doing it. Nowadays, the ritual is multi-layered,
being a combination of a coming-of-age manhood ritual, an expression of freedom
and a defiance of the laws of nature, a masculine feat that is a mix of an act
of atonement and a "won't get fooled again" statement, and even an
opportunity for the men who perform it to discuss their marital difficulties
during a pre-jump speech, addressing their women standing below the tower.
The
land-diving tower itself is several storeys high. The one in the photo was the height
of a four-storey building. The centre of the tower is a living tree that is
stripped of its branches and foliage and has scaffolding built up around it.
The tower is cross-braced with liana vines attached to trees nearby to
stabilise it and increase its loading capacity. The area beneath the tower is
completely cleared of vegetation and is dug up to a depth of about 10 inches,
with any stones or rocks being removed. This provides the "landing
pad" for the divers. Unlike bungy jumpers, land divers hit the ground,
landing chest first on the soil, with the length of the vine providing the
braking force required to minimise the speed of impact immediately before
hitting the ground. With the assistance of a tribal elder, each jumper
carefully selects his own liana vines, and they have to be accurately measured
and securely fastened to the "sighol" (diving platform) in order to
ensure that their user does not plummet to his death.
While the
ritual is performed, a chorus of men, boys and women chant and sing, providing
encouragement and moral support.
The first
jumper I saw looked about 4 years old, and jumped from a height of 6 feet:
Those who
choose to dive are trained from a very early age. Small boys like this one
practice by jumping from their fathers' shoulders. The lad looked very keen,
and had a successful landing:
When the
jumper leaps and reaches the end of the vine, his falling weight causes the
sighol to break, which also helps to reduce his acceleration just before
hitting the ground chest first.
You can
just see the boy's legs at the moment of landing here, but this was an
exceptional shot. I decided from the outset to take no photos of the divers
hitting the ground. It seemed insulting to photograph them face down in the
mud, at their weakest moment, when what they were doing was about the freedom
of flying through the air.
The next
level was about 12 feet off the ground, and three boys, aged about 7 or 8,
attempted jumps.
The first
boy jumped successfully, but the next one was nervous, and backed out. He was
helped off his platform, and it was ceremoniously broken to make sure that no
one else used it. There was no jeering, no cries of "what are ya?",
and no macho bullshit from the elders or other members of the tribe. Jumping is
a personal decision, made by a select few. If you are tense or nervous, you
will misjudge your dive and will kill yourself. Unlike bungy jumping, where you
simply step off into the void and allow a giant elastic band to act as your
safety line, a naghol jump requires careful balancing, and the same graceful
launch as an Olympic high diver, except that there is no water to cushion your
impact. Quite simply, if you hit the ground at the wrong angle during the
naghol, you will break your neck.
The next
group of jumpers were late adolescents and jumped from a height of about 18
feet.
One of
their number had a bad landing. One of the support vines holding the tower up
snapped at the time of his jump, and the tower must have shifted as a result,
changing the jumping height slightly, because he had a hard landing. There was
hushed silence for about 45 seconds before he painfully stood up with a very
big grin on his face, thankful to be alive. The tower was very quickly
resecured. In spite of the danger involved in jumping, the elders who oversee
the naghol take every safety precaution, and know exactly what they are doing.
There has only been one naghol death in recent times. In 1974, Queen Elizabeth
II visited Pentecost out of season, when the liana vines were too brittle to
safely make a jump. Various bigwigs nonetheless insisted that the feat should
be staged for the Queen, and the result was that a man plummeted to his death.
There was
hushed silence as the final jumper readied himself to jump from the top level. Four
storeys may not sound like much, but when you are standing at the bottom, it
looks like a LONG way up
Before:
After:
The
land-diving ceremony had been immediately preceded that afternoon by a
cloudburst, followed by clear skies that lasted until just a few moments after
the final jumper walked away from the tower uninjured. Then it started pouring
down.
Part
7 - Tour of Efate
To close
the tour, here are some photos I took going around the island of Efate.
Monument to
the first 4 Samoan missionaries in the New Hebrides, who landed on Erakor
Island, in Erakor Lagoon (see the first photo in Part 3), in 1845.
Ladies
doing their washing down by the river (Rentapao River).
Coconut
plantation near Enam.
Eton Beach
(pronounced "ET-on", not "EE-ton", and nothing to do with
the English school of the same name).
A private
residence, Eton Village.
Piglets,
Eton Village.
Hunting/catching/shooting/killing
ban sign in Bislama.
Old hut
near Bethel Village.
Sara Beach,
with the island of Emao (an extinct volcano) in the background.
Beach mutt,
Sara Beach.
Lunch, Sara
Beach restaurant.
Sara Beach
restaurant.
The ring
road. Efate is the only island in Vanuatu with a sealed road running around it.
It was built with a combination of aid and engineering assistance from Japan,
the US, Australia and New Zealand.
The
location of the TV series "Survivor Vanuatu", now used as a picnic
spot. The protagonists in the TV series could not be said to have been
"roughing it". They were only about 25 minutes' drive away from Port
Vila by sealed road, and had running water, showers, toilets etc. The series
did however provide employment for 330 Ni-Vans whilst being filmed there.
John, the guide,
and a totally inauthentic leftover carving from the "Survivor"
series. Seconds before, I saw him scowling at it, but he spotted my camera
before I could take a shot of him in that mood.
Mele Falls,
a popular swimming and picnic spot just outside Port Vila.
That wraps it up. For me, John the guide summed up Vanuatu the best: "Vanuatu - friendly spiders, friendly snakes, friendly crocodiles and friendly people!"
© W.S. McCallum 3 June 2011 - 17 September 2011
Web site © Wayne Stuart McCallum 2003-2017