Dear Readers, Thank you for your patience. Rob and I aboard Zoonie are now back in England and so I am bringing the text of our blog up to date as soon as I can for you. However as I am using my phone as a hotspot at the moment I cannot bring you the photos as well. I will add them when I have access to fast internet. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy the rest of our voyage.
One thing that has not changed since Nichola wrote her guide is the presence of turtles and dugong in the anchorages we visited, although their numbers are down but hopefully recovering. They are no longer caught for the eating we were told by Roger the young man who with his friends greeted us at the beach that fronts the first village we visited on the island of Pentecost, having sailed across the Patteson Strait under genoa instead of motor for a change.
The main government office has moved here from Ambae since the volcanic eruptions and can be seen nestling in the undergrowth half way up the hill, with a giant satellite dish on its roof.
To enter the anchorage we had to get two triangle topped marker poles in line with eachother and these were located next to the giant banyan tree. I hadn’t expected the further marker to be just behind the nearest one and located in a cave but we soon saw them and the reefs on either side of us between which we could safely pass.
Although the presence of the reefs broke up any swell such as had made life a little uncomfortable in other places, here the wind rushing down the hill from the Pacific beyond and to the east caused strong gusts in the anchorage, but as the holding was heavy sand we felt secure enough.
Roger told us there were three weddings in progress this being the first day of the two day ceremony and we were welcome to visit and watch the proceedings. On this island, part of the same mountain chain as Maewo and just 6 miles across the strait separating the two islands the marriage tradition is quite different and here couples can choose eachother, if the woman does not like her suitor she can reject him. I wondered if Shirley knew this and whether the difference has happened since her marriage a few years ago and if it will spread to Maewo. How two different sets of customs could exist so close together seemed strange and suggested little connection between these two islands.
When we arrived there was much fun and joviality ashore with crocodiles of people weaving around the Nakamal (communal house) in and out of the doors, a party in full swing. Bron was loading two swim boards onto their dinghy, “We haven’t used these for ages and the children will love them.”
She was not wrong there, a little lad grabbed one, delighted he had beaten his mates to this prize and soon two of the lads were whizzing around on them in the shallow water of the bay.
Young Roger came to meet us on the beach just as a supply ship arrived lowering its front ramp as it approached the hard flat sand. Villages escaped the excitement of the wedding to help unload the fuel drums and building materials, sacks of dried food and boxes of breakfast crackers. Ken wondered why they ate so many breakfast crackers when their fresh bread is so good. We bought a loaf that was still warm and smelled of the wood burning pizza oven it was cooked in.
It was a lovely, busy day for a walk through the village where panga loads of family visitors from other parts of the island were arriving for the celebrations. On the waters edge chunks of meat hung red and dripping from trees ready for the hangi ovens the next morning. Situated inside the big Nakamal hut these huge pits are lined with hot stones and the meat (beef and pork, we heard their final squeals that morning) wrapped in banana leaves laid in them and covered with more fronds and cooked for at least three hours.
We shook hands with a couple about our age and they turned out to be Roger’s parents, Mary and Solomon) “You met our son Roger on the beach,” Solomon said. News travels faster than the internet on these islands!
He explained that today meetings were being held to decide the dowry of the brides and tomorrow would be the ceremony to which he invited us.
Back on the beach another ship had arrived and two yachts. We had been the first in to the anchorage with Nichola following and now a yacht I recognised, the Mirabella had anchored near us. She was the yacht we called up as we approached NZ last October after that amazing 1000 mile beam reach and we chatted with Andre, his wife and two daughters while clinging on to his tow rail on our way back to Zoonie. They had a wonderful time in Opua NZ with the girls in school for a few months.
In the afternoon Bron and I went for a snorkel with Rob taking a break in the dinghy to keep an eye on us. The reef we circled was the one on our left as we came in and was teeming with life as you can see from the photos. Bron and I stayed close together to share the experience and at one point I spotted a turtle close by. In my excitement to tell her and taking off my breathing tube I managed to gulp a mouthful of seawater, splutter and make such a racket the turtle was long gone by the time Bron had a look.
Next morning I was up early making mini scones in the cool early dawn. Rob inflated the old tender ready for Ken to view. I could see he was delighted to be getting rid of it at last and I was pleased it was going to someone who would be able to use it. Ken came over and had go at sealing up one seam leak, he had to be on the right track because one could re-seal all the seams and have a good tender at the end! What with that and the fishing gear gone Zoonie should be up on her waterline soon.
We perched on a low form next to Jacob to watch the proceedings having handed the plate of scones to one of the brides. He told us that one of the brides was a widow another was pregnant and the other just ready to give it a go. They were sitting on their pandanus mats with their families and all their wordly possessions in a heap behind them. The brides looked pretty in their white and blue dresses in a style very common on the islands and I wondered where the design came from. The pattern has a square neckline, puff sleeves with a cuff, pleated bodices and skirts and flaps over the hips that make them look broader. The length is mid-calf and sometimes whole families are dressed in similar styles and the same fabric. Where had the traditional grass skirts gone I wondered?
The grooms wore Tshirts and shorts and stood holding the pig pole at the end of their row of squealing porkies. If one could bring back ancestors from the past just for this occasion what would they think. Not that there was any lack of colour, just the concept of locally sourced and made traditional clothing being absent was noticeable.
These were three rows of ten various size, colour and shaped pigs all in different moods ranging from snoring to disgruntled fighting, along with finely woven and purple dyed pandanus mats, gifts for the new homes. Many of yesterdays celebrants were looking a little the worse for wear after a lengthy session on the kava and today the atmosphere had taken on an almost solemn tone compared to yesterdays excitement. The brides don’t look very happy do they?
The old chief died a while back so a representative gave the grooms their talking to infront of the gathered audience about how to behave and the expectations a wife deserved and how they could no longer rely on their parents as they were now a family themselves. Then all the guests wove around the three rows of pigs and mats giving their blessings to the couples by touching each bristly hide and fine weave. All while the smell of cooking meat and taro came from the big hut.
Jacob came from a traditional village two kilometres away, Labultamata and explained how he had chosen his wife after falling in love with her, I didn’t ask where she was, probably sitting with the other ladies. Disputes between couple were settled by the chief and his council and he inferred that in non- arranged marriages divorce was not allowed. Does this mean that in arranged marriages it is allowed, I will ask at the Port Vila Museum?
By the time this lengthy procedure was over we were feeling the need for some sustenance and the four of us decided to leave the proceedings to the people. All was quiet ashore that night as the four of us tucked in to our supper on Zoonie and there were few lights on the shore so we gathered the custom dancing Jacob referred to was the blessing of the pigs and mats.
Southwards down the leeward western side of Pentecost
“We’ll catch you up, I’m going to try for fish now I have enough line.” Ken said as we moved out of Loltong bay, back down our black chartplotter line and into a silky smooth ocean. I was taking it steady and when Rob turned on the autopilot it functioned for a few seconds and then lost its drive connection a few times.
“Maybe we are going too slowly,” Rob suggested, so I upped the revs to 1500 and it appeared to engage the helm properly, so we hoped that was it.
“I’ve caught one, a nice big poulet for our tea,” Ken’s jubilant voice rang over the VHF, “Don’t know how much line went out but it was over 200 metres,” and that was just outside the bay!
It was a calm, almost cloudless day, a reprieve from the fresh trades, and behind every sandy beach along the coast were settlements and thin plumes of smoke ascending as the villagers cooked, baked and cool burned the shrubbery.
I watched flying fish as they spun away from us, the oceans mini fighter planes. They emerge from the water, tap it hard with their tails while their ‘wings’ are slanted and then when sufficiently elevated to fly they level their bodies and their ‘wings’ and they’re off. What we take as an amusing sight is in fact their escape from a predator, on this occasion ‘us’.
Big catholic churches and missions and a government guest house dominated the village huts in Namaran and a little further on past the next jungle headland we came into Batnavni Bay where a herd of six spinner dolphins showed us where it would be best to anchor.
An hour late Kena and Bron arrived and we went ashore to explore the sprawling village that was gearing up, actually tidying up ready for the Independence Day Celebrations on the 30th July.
Ken brought ashore the coral trout with the massive eyes he had caught and as it was so big, too big for the four of us, he offered it to a young lad “Go on take this to your mum and tell her you caught it off the beach,” the lad understood the joke and dashed off with his prize in a carrier bag. We wish we’d been there!
Young Sarah came forward to greet us and introduced us to her mum who opened her shop, not the one in the photo which was at the other end of town. We gave our beer barrel to another lad because the top only rest on it so it isn’t ideal for the boat and he was delighted. Sarah sent her husband off to collect some coconuts and papayas which we loaded onto the dinghies.
Sarah’s family ran out of money so she was unable to finish her studies but her brother is at university in Beijing learning Chinese history and hopes to work in the diplomatic service in the Vanuatu Embassy there.
There was a nice clean looking river and some freshwater springs so Ken could top up their water supply on Nichola. Children accompanied us along the earth track towards the school and playing field and some men were erecting what appeared to be a stand by the side of the road for the celebrations. Numerous kava bars sat anonymous and empty, ready swept for the evenings session. We were on a mission to find another shop, the one in the picture, which belonged to very friendly Ben. He struggled with the use of the calculator to do a sum we had already worked out for four beers and we wondered if he had missed out on school altogether. He introduced us to his wife and friend Basil who was sitting in the shade of the shop veranda watching his mobile phone screen.
“Come and look at this,” he beckoned so Ben hastily brought together enough chairs and we sat and chatted while some young children watched. Basil had retired from a career in teaching followed by a government ministerial position and was very concerned about the growing Chinese presence in Vanuatu. Not the all-pervasive retail presence in the shopping areas of the big towns but the massive financial loans given to the corrupt Vanuatu government for the building of the vast new customs compound in Luganville that we visited and also the sports complex (headquarters?) in Port Vila where the government cannot even afford the cleaning and electricity bills.
He showed me an interview between a government minister and a British journalist who asked such questions as Why were these places built? (For future Chinese military use and to make Vanuatu indebted to China?) How is the government going to pay China back and could there be a strategic reason for the buildings? (In land and political control?) The Luganville customs compound and substantial wharf is adjacent to an area of water large enough for a fleet of ships. Basil suspected China had designs on taking over at least one island in the area for a military base and he feared for the future of the young children who were listening to our conversation. The government official could not, or would not answer any of the questions.
Worried in mind, we returned to the dinghy where we found some bananas from the family of the little boy who had presented them with ‘his catch’ and escaped back to Zoonie’s peaceful decks where I was satisfied her aft deck is now used for shucking coconuts instead of gutting fish. Reluctantly we decided against a snorkel as the sea in the bay was building and clouds gathering, so we sat a while and watched the dolphins, a dugong and two turtles around the boats.
A short while later we took buttered sweetcorn and minted peas to Nichola to go with Ken’s truly delicious breaded and fried poulet knowing it would be the only time we would taste it.
The night turned out to be the mother of roly nights and at 2.50am I had to break up the romance between the two wine bottle waltzing on the galley floor to the accompaniment of the sloshing soaking dried mushrooms. Then mop up where a half filled beaker of water had shed its load onto the saloon seat. The baking tins in the oven were clashing like culinary cymbals because I had bolted it earlier. A quick release and it was free to gimbal to the motion again.
At 6.50am we were relieved to get underway once more 17 miles down the coast to Homo Bay where 19 years ago Nichola of Miz Mae strongly recommended no cruising yacht should anchor anywhere near this bay. We will learn why and whether the disturbing situation still exists today.
Homo Bay – When the Cat’s Away and Where the Men remember Tamalie
Somewhere during the 19 miles to Homo Bay Bron called us up to tell us about the Naghol Tower where she and Ken had watched the ceremony of land-diving a few days before. It would be visible from the sea so we kept our eyes peeled and met with the sight of a tall tower built around a tree which had had its branches lopped off. The tower can be up to 35 metres tall and is built each year using wood and vines. This particular one stood on an open patch of steeply sloping ground so that if a diver touched the ground with more than his face he could roll to break the fall.
Young boys no more than three years old start to learn the courage needed for the jump by standing on their fathers’ shoulders and jumping off backwards with dad holding their ankles. Then they practice jumping backwards off rocks into the sea.
You may remember this all started when the young wife of tribesman Tamalie tried many times to escape his cruelty and finally coaxed him into a tree and saying they must jump together, if they survived they were meant to be united forever. She had tied vines to her ankles but poor old Tamalie realised this just a little too late. For a number of years the widow’s sisterhood re-enacted the ceremony but because the trees whistled with what the men decided was Tamalie’s unhappy spirit while the diving took place they then made the diving an all male preserve.
The island makes a lot of money out of these performances and they are dangerous. Bron was surprised at how far out from the tower the men leap and how close to the ground they get. During the Queen’s visit decades ago the season for Naghol was passed and the vines had hardened and become more brittle than when they are green and elastic earlier in the year. Consequently one land diver died on impact when his vine snapped while performing for Her Majesty.
Just a mile further on we entered Homo Bay and motored right across to the other side following Nichola in for a change as they had obviously been here before. In our Miz Mae guide that Nicola recommended anchoring near a little river mouth in mud and sand which looked do-able and where Ken was leading us was shown on Nicola’s chart to be foul ground with three reefs on it. So I was dubious about Ken’s route until I saw the water was a healthy mid-blue colour and the depth never less than 7 metres. So all was well.
Back in 1996 signs started to appear on the beach demanding a fee of 20,000vt per person (£143) must be paid to anchor, swim or dive on the reef. This was done by some young men of the village while their chief (the cat) was away. Two years later Miz Mae saw no improvement and plenty of conflict with cruising yachts including thefts and harassment. Hence the recommendation then that yachts stay away.
Bron and Ken had not come across any such issues and were treated with the usual kindness that typifies today’s Vanuatuans, so Ken went off happily to explore the beach and fill up with water.
The trades had by this time re-established themselves and gusts of 20 knots from nothing pushed us around waking us up at 2.00am with noise and motion. Rob was getting weary of the strong winds and they were affecting his enjoyment of the whole ‘V’ experience.
As we moved across the Selwyn Channel (through which we had passed on our way to clear in to Luganville) it was pleasant to be making progress under reefed genoa again, watching Nicola making strides ahead of us. The wind was gusting to 27 knots at times as it funnelled through the Strait, but it started to die down as we came into the lee of Ambrym Island at the beginning of a long day of testing out anchorages for comfort and secure holding.
Ken has had decades of severe back pain from sciatica and is hoping for an operation soon to put things right, so I wondered how he was faring pulling in his anchor chain by hand every time and on this particular day FOUR times.
We stopped first at Hot Water Bay that should have been a nice sheltered spot, but there was a big swell running, right along the north shore of the island as it turned out.
Despite that we trundled ashore for a lookie to try and find the hot spring where we could luxuriate for free. It must have been dry for the ‘dry season’ because it wasn’t where we were told it would be. Instead we met Millie and her daughters and their young lively bull on his many knotted rope. He is destined to be the main course at a wedding ceremony that is coming up soon.
I asked her why the children weren’t in school and she explained that a local child had died. A tragic irony as the banner that flew at the gate of the 300 pupil High School read Children’s Health Week. Millie asked if we had any rope and we could have provided some if it wasn’t for the fact Zoonie and Nichola were rolling about in the anchorage, keen to get on their way. She also offered to show us the carvings she had for sale but as we were almost skint we didn’t want to tease her, so we declined. An unfortunately negative visit.
We towed the dinghy behind to the next anchorage and it was in this passage it decided to shed its bung. Luckily a non-return valve prevented it from sinking! After yet another untrustworthy anchorage and the advancing hour we decided to try Craig Cove which one of our pilot books says is for daytime only, but then the author can be quite negative about places I have found. Nicola of Miz Mae was much more positive but her diagram was completely out and would have us anchor over a rock strewn bed with tiny patches of sand. It could have been altered in the last 20 years of course by cyclones and storms.
She was right about the black sand and Zoonie dug in well opposite the big market building, the bay was pretty, sheltered and very CALM!
Volcanic Ambrym- a Misnomer and First Hand Natural Art
Cargo comes to Craig Cove
Somewhere off this rocky bay in August 1774 on his second voyage of discovery Captain Cook ordered his men to drop the Resolution’s anchor having previously visited Erromango and Tanna to the south. He reportedly had a brief communication with a group of natives apparently from another race, (lighter skin and finer features typical of the Melanesian Race of Papua New Guinea) who came from the land in numerous outrigger canoes.
They offered him yams saying “am rem” meaning ‘your yams’ and as they ate theirs’ they said “ama rem” meaning ‘my yam’. Cook may have thought this was a good enough name for the island or thought they were saying the name of the island itself, either way that was how the name Ambrym came about.
His log tells of the scenery of the coast in both direction being ‘most luxuriant’ and it still is. Sandalwood trees have never grown on this island but the tropical jungle of mixed foliage looks magical as it sways in the breeze. Another thing we noticed as we cruised the northern shore is that there is very little mile a minute creeper so we were looking at native virgin jungle. Cook considered his survey of the group to be complete here and next headed towards New Zealand, but we decided to stay a little longer before heading south to Epi and then Port Vila.
We dropped Zoonie’s anchor in what appeared to be a clear area of black sand, although it is difficult to see the rocks when the sand is the same colour. When we took the dinghy ashore towards Miz Mae’s recommended anchoring spot the clear water revealed a rocky bottom hostile to any anchor hook apart from maybe a fisherman style anchor.
Nichola followed us in and Ken let go their anchor just inshore from us and we wondered if he had dropped it over our chain. So Bron gave a fine display of how to check anchor chains while snorkelling and all was good. In numerous of the anchorages we have visited the fishermen use their old outrigger canoes as tenders to get between the shore and their pangas with the big outboards on the back that are moored in deeper water.
The next morning we went ashore as a foursome for the last time knowing that Ken and Bron were planning to move on tomorrow and our company cruise would be at an end. We were already looking forward to seeing them again in Australia.
As you can see from the map most of the villages are coastal and away from the angry volcanoes in the centre. The few inland villages are built on ridges or hill tops to escape molten lava enveloping them when Mts Benbow and Marum erupt as they did in 1913, 1929, 1937, 1946, 1950, 1979, 1993 and a long term eruption that started in 2008 was reported earlier this year as having ended as there was no activity for three months. They did erupt the year Cook was there and their current status is “restless”.
The little anchor shapes on the north shore of the map are where Jeannie and Merv anchored Meridian Passage at the beginning of their 18 year cruise of the Pacific and where we found the swell too dangerous to do the same. You can see Craig Cove on the west end of the triangle which was a haven both then and now.
Small and pretty Craig Cove is frequently visited by small cargo ships that either anchor offshore or reach the beach and lower a wide ramp onto the shore. I don’t know if the male passengers on the ship in question were on a purpose or just there for the ride but it was with much joviality that bright, white smiles called to us and with pale palms waving the ship passed through the narrow gap between Nicola and Zoonie!
It is a short walk to the grass strip airport and the village centre has a guest house, numerous stores and a Vanuatu Bank. The architectural evidence of Melanesian origin (Papua New Guinea) is present in the colourfully painted bamboo woven huts.
A group of women were trying to unblock a water pipe, one lady was pushing the piston pump up and down while another had made a hole in the pipe (!) and was trying to extract the black rotted mass from inside. Ken went to the pump tray and started to push his palm down on the mesh over the drain outlet when suddenly clear water started gushing out of the hole. Cheers of jubilation soon stopped when it blocked again. The pipe must be broken where it went underground.
We spotted an elderly gentleman sitting in his wheelchair outside his hut and shook hands and had a chat. In amongst the village homes there was plenty of evidence of pre-independence occupation when cattle, copra and kava were big business, they still feed the economy with kava being readily available on supermarket shelves and much of the beef going for export. In a ruined warehouse/office overlooking the cove we found a safe on its side and a beautiful tamtam or slit gong made from a tree trunk. They always have one or two elongated faces with disc like eyes, a pronounced nose and protruding chin above the lower gong part. Erected they can reach three metres in height.
In the picture the tamtam lies on its side. To get it all in the shot I used panoramic setting, it is not really bent. When erected into a vertical position a wooden stick strikes the slit at the bottom making a resonant drumming sound that covers long distances; they are used to beat out the rhythm for singing and dancing during ceremonial rituals and are commonly found around dance clearings. One of Ambrym’s natural arts.
Another is their beautiful sand drawings which stylistically depict human faces, objects and creatures from the stories, legends, songs and dances in 180 different designs. Today such drawings can be the equivalent of texting a message and traditionally a skilled artist will not lift the hand once while creating the whole design. We didn’t see any in the process of being made unfortunately and it is a particularly elegant transient art-form I think.
Ken’s back was hurting after his strenuous day of anchoring the day before so he sat on handy logs while we explored. Happy trucks of local youngsters bounced along the earth tracks and smiled and waved at us as they passed.
Back on Zoonie I made a chili con TVP (Textured Vegetable Protein instead of beef mince) for the four of us and we tried some of the elderflower beer I had made from Martin’s kit he gave us and it was strong with a relaxing effect, I hoped it would ease Ken’s pain.
At Ken o’clock (6.35am) the next morning we watched as Ken and Beth had to work together to clear the anchor from around a rock and make their way west towards Malekula Island. They were heading in the long term to Luganville to clear out and then to Cairns on the east coast of Aussie.
Two hours later a big Vanuatu Cargo ship arrived and provided some entertainment and Rob made a start on repairs to the dinghy. Two spots on the seams were re-glued and Rob fitted U bolts to the lifting points so some new rope could be threaded down the sides. He drilled a hole through a big black rubber bung for a thin line to be attached to the dinghy and trimmed the bung to fit. Later we discovered the bung was a bit too long and was pushing open the non-return valve in the bung hole. Since the new bung was not a perfect fit this was causing a leak, so the repair process is on-going.
We had been watching the weather and decided that tomorrow we would leave if only to make progress south but before we go from Ambrym I have to tell you about an extraordinary custom dance called the Rom Dance which is unique to this island, as are the sand drawings. The Rom is a spirit from the past and legend tells us that a young girl from the Olal area on the northern tip of the island created the first Rom costume to gain the love of a young man from the village.
The costume consists of a tall, conical, brightly painted, banana fibre mask, with a face that resembles a baboon and a thick costume of banana leaves that cover the wearer’s body. She certainly had a good imagination, but once again we see how a male took over the original idea from a woman as in the land-diving.
She donned the Rom outfit and enticed him into the forest where she revealed to him who she was and fatefully told him how she had made the costume. Yes you guessed it, he then killed her so he could sell the rights to make copies of the costume to fellow tribesmen in return for pigs, which, when you think about it he could then use to gain the next grade and improve his status.
The Rom dance was traditionally an all-male preserve and if a woman, for example watched any process in the making of the costume then she too would be killed. As soon as the dancing is over the costumes are destroyed because the power of the spirit from the past might still be within.
In our old tourist book it says the dance is being revived in south west Ambrym to entertain tourists but in the up to date brochure we have the dance is said to be still a male only event and kept very secret?! We’re off to the National Museum here in Port Vila today (5th August) so I will find out. These islands are full of mysteries and happy children enjoying their childhood. Not a bad image eh!
East South East to Epi
Well it was nearer ‘South to Epi’ but that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it does it? We did another Ken and left Ambrym at 6.20am out into the Trade Winds once more, but this time they maxed at 20 knots according to the log. Unfortunately, because of the easting in our direction we were close winded and Zoonie could not sail and since the autopilot clearly was on strike we took turns at the helm. Mercifully for us lazy helmsfolk the journey was only 26 miles and the experience was pleasant with warm winds, blue skies and a bluer sea beneath.
I relaxed back leaning against the cockpit coaming and sitting on a comfy cushion, while my right foot rested at the bottom of the wheel and occasionally made a little steering correction. I watched the confused sea state, that activity never becomes tedious and took the odd photo. The beautiful volcano island you see is Ulveah sometimes known as Lopevi which is also the name of the volcano. It is the most dangerous live volcano in Vanuatu and the island is now permanently deserted after major eruptions between 1958 and ’59 and it finally sent human folk running for their lives with its most powerful eruption in 1970.
Before then its height was 1413 metres but no one has been back to re-measure since then! Just imagine it hurling out masses of molten rock and regurgitating rivers of flaming and sparking lava down its slopes that hiss into the seawater, bringing it to the boil like a million kettles. It is not often that you can see the top of the volcano, we were fortunate.
Motoring Zoonie gently through the channel and reefs between Lamen Bay and Lamen Island just off Epi we could see three moored yachts in the distance in what turned out to be an expansive bay with a very gently shelving seabed for a change. A familiar shape caught my eye as a manta ray leapt from the water to our right and did a spectacular flip and as soon as we were at anchor two turtles came to inspect us. I liked this place already.
Numerous fires smoked in and around the village. Like the aborigines these people do cool burns everyday to keep the undergrowth around the trees clean and short and to destroy the mosquito population that carries malaria and denghi fever. Despite visiting many villages in our tour we only came across mosquitos and their bites in Port Vila.
Epi is like an aging debutante and co-incidentally her demise took place at about the same time the debutante culture died out during the global depression of the 1930’s, followed by a number of catastrophic cyclones and then finally with Vanuatu’s independence in 1980.
Let’s go back in time to the late nineteenth century when many Europeans especially the French arrived and the fight for land started. Cattle stations and coconut plantations were set up pushing locals off their land and Australia became fearful that Epi would become an annex of France making their access limited. So in 1878 and Anglo-French agreement that lasted for a century was established to prevent this happening.
The settlers thrived at the expense of the ni Vanuatuans who died from diseases, blackbirding and the effects of the introduced alcohol. Their chances of working on the home plantations were limited when many French plantation owners imported cheap labour from their colonies in Vietnam and local villagers shipped to the sugar plantations in Australia and Fiji as slaves.
I never did see one but the island is scattered with mansions built on the plantations and race courses frequent race days were held; the present day Epi folk still enjoy horse racing at one nearby course.
I have mentioned blackbirding before, taking villagers by force to work as slaves but one of the worst incidents of this cruelty happened at the hands of an Epi resident, Dr Murray who owned the labour ship, The Carl. You will see from the photos how big native canoes used to be used for inter-island travel. Well about 90 villagers in canoes were enticed alongside the Carl with the offer of trading goods. Dr Murray ordered their canoes to be sunk beneath them and the survivors brought aboard his ship and locked below.
For two nights a battle raged as the captives tried to escape using their bunks as battering rams only to be met with pistol fire from Murray and his men. On the fourth morning the survivors were ordered to the deck and miraculously five were uninjured, nine slightly wounded but the remaining 60 were dead. Then a historic cover up quickly took place with the whitewashing of the ship and an inspecting officer from HMS Rosario failed to notice the injuries on the remaining captives and the bullet damaged quarters.
Despite this hideous secret eventually reaching Sydney justice was not done when Murray and his two fellow murderers were acquitted following a public outcry over them being charged, let alone convicted. Morale among the islanders at that time must have been at an all-time low.
The village at Lamen Bay is called Vaemali and the island is the first and last stop out of Port Vila on Efate for cruising yachts travelling north and south respectively. We would go ashore in the morning but for now we watched the blue smoke blowing through the foliage and right across the village and wondered how healthy are the lungs of the villagers with smoke inhalation being a commonplace thing? Death from malaria or lung cancer seems a cruel choice.
The sunset over Lamen Bay was beautiful and small outrigger canoes were a long way out to sea as darkness fell, catching fish on lines. Each day islanders come across the bay from Little Lamen Island for work and school and in the olden days they would sail home in the evenings in their dugouts using banana leaves to catch the island-filtered trade wind. That must have been a pretty sight.
Thomas took our dinghy painter and introduced himself as chief and then we met his wife who brought us the most beautiful hand of perfect bananas that would put M & S to shame in exchange for our coil of rope. He showed us the shop and gave us freedom to wander where we wanted.
A little further along we chatted with Charlie, a retired teacher whose tottering grandchild clung to his trousers for support. Charlie also is worried about the ulterior motive of the massive Chinese investments in the region. He commented how his fellow islanders have struggled since the British left. “The French they took from us, but the British gave us a way to live.”
In fairness the French also left a legacy of cuisine, church and costume. The older generation ladies still wear the Mother Hubbard dress style brought to the islands by the French Missionaries. The women like the patterned material that they can use to make matching garments for the whole family, shirts for the men. The dresses are very full with many pleats to allow a draft to fill them and keep the wearer cool. They usually have a square neckline and short puff sleeves with frills and much lace trim. Flaps over the hips allow the ladies to fling the skirt around as they dance.
Today the young female generation favours blouses and skirts and the traditional costumes of grass skirts are reserved for ceremonies and formal gatherings like conferences.
Also the presence of grapefruit as a crop brought by the French, referred to here by the French name pamplemousse and the delicious light white French bread and croissants add to the enjoyment of food for modern ni Vanuatuans.
Further along the well-worn double track we met Andy who introduced us to his widowed mother who lives with them, she was busy with her pandanus mat weaving. While we sat chatting in his neat home he offered us fruit and bread which he could arrange for us to collect later, so we placed a small order as we knew we’d be ashore again.
We knew these would be our last meetings with local villagers and we were savouring each one. In fact this would be our final encounter with the unsophisticated Pacific islands that we have enjoyed so much from the Marquesas to Vanuatu over the past three years.
Andy helped run the small resort next door which as you can see is now on Tripadvisor and the old photos on the poster give an insight into their means of transport before the advent of the generic panga which we have seen throughout the south west pacific.
In the afternoon we snorkelled all over this wide bay. There were dense gardens of healthy coral, lots of familiar and unfamiliar fish but the unexpected high light was a swim with a very relaxed turtle who watched us as we watched him/her.
Back ashore holding the bag of still warm, smoky bread I probed Andy’s thoughts on the shelves of tinned fish and freezers of tuna that can be found in these fishing communities all over Vanuatu. We concluded it was trade to benefit mostly China and if he hasn’t caught fish for a few days his wife might buy a tin on her way back from school with their three children, and left it at that.
Towards the other end of the village we passed perfectly manicured gardens, high hedges bordering narrow paths and in one of the photos you will see what reminded me of a typical English cottage garden complete with thatch. Eleanor owned the guesthouse and explained that she had just had a cancellation. I said I hoped she’d kept the deposit as I did with my guesthouse in Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight with no guarantee I’d re-book that room at full price.
She would like more business and says she will advertise when some friends had set up jungle walks and tours to encourage visitors. She recently had a British professor with his Spanish wife stay for five days to study the reef and Rob and I wouldn’t mind staying there ourselves. There are delightful guesthouse all over these islands, with basic rooms and shared bathrooms and local food prepared with loving care by their owners. Hmm, a thought for the future with family maybe.
Doris was born and bred on Ambae, in the village we visited; she was on her way home with her daughter and niece who was named after her. I wondered if her new family did this to help her feel at home on this island where she came to marry.
The High School is very modern looking and sits inshore from the substantial jetty where cattle were driven years ago onto ships, or possibly their meat was loaded ready for export. It is no longer used and the locals have reverted to landing goods from ships directly onto the beach.
The next day saw us sitting out a blow with five other yachts, our plans for a ‘Ken’ departure blown to the winds. I worked on my Ambae blog and baked a cake. The constant pressure of the Trade Winds and the messy sea state they produce is getting to Rob. They certainly are a challenge for the cruising yacht. Perfect if the vessel is shooting through south to north but a different story if a cruising circuit is involved.
We turned off the wind generator at night to avoid the moaning noise it makes. The wind started easing to gusts and I once again broached the subject of a night crossing over the 80 or so miles to Port Vila, the capital on Efate. Rob prefers to avoid night watches at sea but for me to arrive tired at a new port with falling light after a day sailing is not a sound idea whereas arriving at first light in the morning having had at least a few hours of sleep makes better sense. Also cool night time sailing avoids the heat of the sun and allows for the potential at least of some rest.
Fortunately he agreed so we decided to leave at 5.00pm that day to arrive the day before the Independence Day Celebrations, but not before I had drawn up the scariest set of words on my Android phone Wordscapes Game!