It was almost the perfect passage from Efate Island to Epi Island: A southeasterly breeze filled in early and soon all of Rutea's working sails (genoa, staysail, main and mizzen) where pulling like a team of mules. The seas were calm and although we could see squalls not too far away, none of them hit us. Just as we reached the south end of Epi Island the wind dropped (as we expected it to) and a 30-pound wahoo hit the brand new lure that we had been dragging the entire 60 miles. We dropped our anchor in Lamen Bay near the north end of the island, a wide, sandy-bottomed anchorage that gives excellent protection from the prevailing winds. Our friends on Sarah Jean II offered to be the host boat for dinner and the crews from Riada II and Merkava enjoyed a fabulous dinner of barbequed wahoo with all the fixings. Corie found a recipe for making pickled ginger (a must for sushi and sashimi) and I don't think we'll ever be able to enjoy the store-bought kind again.
As we made our way back to Rutea (way past Cruiser Midnight - about 9pm), we saw an orange glow in the northeastern sky. At first we thought it was the moon rising but later realized that it was the glow from the erupting volcano on Ambrym Island, less than 20 miles away. That's probably going to be our next stop but it remains to be seen whether we'll climb the volcano - our guide book says it's a six-hour hike through the jungle, each way.
Yesterday we went in pursuit of finding a dugong, also known as a sea cow, a mammal that is know to frequent these parts. We tried snorkeling in several different parts of the island, even traversing the pass in our dinghy to Lamen Island but with no luck. Beth from Sarah Jean II was back in the water with her snorkel gear on once we got back to where our boats are anchored and suddenly started to shout, "Dugong! Dugong!" Within seconds, all of us had our snorkel gear donned and were in the clear water, watching this 15-foot, one-ton, torpedo-shaped whale (we're not sure if it's a whale or not - can someone with internet access fill us in, please?) feed along the bottom, right under out boats. It was moving slowly, a wake of stirred-up sand flowing from it's head, as it vacuums the sea bed. It seemed to ignore our presence but definitely moved out of our range once I used my underwater camera's flash. Corie did get some great shots of it and even a spectacular video.
Corie also got some great shots of the sea turtles that frequent the bay. Some of these guys must be almost four-feet in diameter and they swim lazily all around our boats, occasionally sticking their noses out of the water and appear to be checking us out. For some reason they seem to like hanging around Rutea's anchor and chain. We're not sure if that's a compliment but we're delighted to have so many of them so close.
I'll try to post some pictures once we get to Luganville but I'm not optimistic that we'll have enough bandwidth there to do so. We should be there by the 18th or 19th.
-----
At 10/9/2012 9:06 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 16°35.74'S 168°09.81'E
----------
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for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Port Narvin on Erromango Island
 |
| Photo by Dick on Geramar |
It wasn’t easy to tear ourselves away from the wonderful
anchorage of Port Resolution on the island of Tanna but just after sunrise on
the morning of 30 September we pointed Rutea’s
bow almost due north to the east side of Erromango Island. Corie again crewed for Mark on Merkava and all of us enjoyed a pleasant
sail in the southeast trade winds. Our
destination was Port Narvin, a small village on the north side of Traitor’s
Point, where some friends had heard that the school there was in desperate need
of supplies for their schools. While we
were still in Fiji, we had stopped by a stationary store and stocked up on
pencils, paper, notebooks, etc in anticipation of our visit.
 |
| Ruthie with Chief Joe |
The anchorage there was far from ideal and the swells
wrapped around the point so Rutea
(and all the rest of the boats in our little flotilla) rolled badly while at
anchor. Sleep that night was hard to
come by and we were all looking forward to getting off the boat when morning
dawned. As we made our way into shore,
we could see a long line of school children excitedly watching us. Once we landed the dink, we were greeted by
the two chiefs, Joe and Andre (there’s actually two separate villages side by
side and each village has it’s own chief but by all appearances its one village
of about 800 people). Because the
anchorage is so poor, yachts rarely call on this port and now there were six
yachts anchored in front of their village.
This had never happened before, we were told.
We were led into the school yard where the students ran
around as if there was the promise of ice cream or a long vacation waiting for
them. Gradually they began to file into
the small, cinderblock building which was way too small for the one hundred or
so students. The cruisers were given
chairs at the head of the classroom, as if on display, and the students gawked
and giggled at the collection of old, white people. Of course, Corie commanded the most attention, being pretty,
white and young. One of the teachers
spoke and the students became quiet as a line of older girls filed in with
garlands of flowers that they placed around each of our necks. We were asked to introduce ourselves. With a guitar, one of the teachers led the
students in a couple of songs where the students sang loudly and in beautiful harmony. The principal spoke, welcoming us and then
asked us to circulate through the classroom and grounds, talking to the
students. Corie was instantly mobbed by
the girls who were fascinated with her hair.
Ruthie and Beth attracted large groups of students as they read books to
them. I spoke with one of the teachers
who told me that there was no road that came into the village. There is no store, no phones, no power, no
doctor or nurse. The nearest village
that has some of these basic functions is a five-hour boat ride away.
After we had spent a couple of hours with the students,
Chief Joe and Chief Andre offered to take us on a hike up the mountain. Wearing only flip-flops, we started to climb
the sometimes steep terrain through the jungle. Chief Joe was barefoot.
The climb proved to be more strenuous than we had anticipated but after
about an hour-and-a-half we were at the top, soaked in sweat and looking over a
beautiful view of the bay where we were anchored and Cook’s Bay to the
south. Also we were looking over the
foundation for a cellular tower that is in the process of being built. Since there’s no construction equipment on
the island, all of the materials are carried up by both men and women of the
village. There were maybe 1,000 sacks
of crushed coral (that will be mixed with concrete), each sack weighing about
50 pounds. There were 55 gallons drums,
filled with water, which had also been carried up by hand in 5 gallon jugs, one
at a time. All of the framework and
rigging for the tower had also been carried up by the people of the village.
We had been poorly prepared to make the climb, not just in
terms of footwear but also we had no water or food with us. Chief Joe left us for a few moments and
returned with a half-dozen fresh coconuts tied to a stick that he carried over
his shoulder. With his machete, he
opened a small hole in each one and the cool coconut water quenched our thirst
and the coconut meat refreshed us. On
the way back down the mountain, Chief Joe said repeatedly, “Please don’t forget
us. Remember what we’re trying to do
here.” There was almost a pleading in
his voice.
I know all of you get more requests for donations than you
could ever attempt to grant and I’m very reluctant to add one more. Regardless, this village has very few
prospects – there’s no tourism on the island and yachts are few and far
between. For school supplies, someone
has to travel to Efate Island, almost 90 miles away and they have a pathetic
budget to work with. All of us were
very touched by this village and would like to help. They desperately need computers, school supplies and books and I
don’t think donations of cash would make it to the right people. I’m willing to pay for the freight to
Vanuatu if you’d be willing to donate anything else – a ream of paper, an old
computer that you no longer use, some children’s books or PC educational
software (they’d especially like a set of encyclopedias on CDs). If you can find it in your hearts to send
something, I’d be grateful. Please send
it to my home in San Diego and I’ll volunteer my daughter, Caity, to organize
the shipment.
 |
| Birthday Cheesecake from Tricia on Geramar |
We left Port Narvin later that day, my birthday, and
traveled overnight to the island of Efate and the capital of Vanuatu, Port
Vila. We once again have internet access,
stores, restaurants and traffic. From
here we’ll continue north before we have to decide whether to sail directly
west to Australia or south first to New Caledonia and then Australia. The weather will impact our final decision.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Sunday Sail
It's Sunday. We always go sailing on Sunday. Ever since Neal and I have had access to a boat, a Sunday sail has been our family tradition. We used to have to bribe the kids with candy to go out with us, then they started to suggest it. Now we just kind of crave a sail if it has been a while. As Charlie Schneider used to say, "it cleans out the cobwebs".
So today we are sailing, but it is a Sunday like no other before! Mt. Yasur is behind us belching smoke and ash. If it were dark we would be able to see the red glow of it's magma belly. Erromango (land of mango) Island is ahead and beckoning us forward. The ocean is a sapphire blue with a temp is 75 degrees. The sky is cornflower blue with wisps of white clouds, the air a delightful 71 degrees. We have 15 knots of breeze on the starboard quarter. Rutea balances between sea and sky as if she needs no advice from me or Neal.
Tomorrow is Neal's birthday.... I must admit I am a bit panicked because I have nothing, I do mean Nothing, for him! We will spend part of the day visiting the Port Navrin school that we are delivering school supplies to and then maybe snorkel the reef. I think I can pull enough stuff together for a dinner to which we can invite Sarah Jean II and Merkava and share our few remaining Fiji Bitter beers. I ask him one more time- what would you like to do for your birthday?
This. This is all I want for my birthday is Neal's reply. Just this beautiful Sunday sail.
Oh yeah.... Neal just caught a Yellow Tail!
R of Rutea
19.07.66 South
169.24.8 East
Vanuatu Archipelago
-----
At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
So today we are sailing, but it is a Sunday like no other before! Mt. Yasur is behind us belching smoke and ash. If it were dark we would be able to see the red glow of it's magma belly. Erromango (land of mango) Island is ahead and beckoning us forward. The ocean is a sapphire blue with a temp is 75 degrees. The sky is cornflower blue with wisps of white clouds, the air a delightful 71 degrees. We have 15 knots of breeze on the starboard quarter. Rutea balances between sea and sky as if she needs no advice from me or Neal.
Tomorrow is Neal's birthday.... I must admit I am a bit panicked because I have nothing, I do mean Nothing, for him! We will spend part of the day visiting the Port Navrin school that we are delivering school supplies to and then maybe snorkel the reef. I think I can pull enough stuff together for a dinner to which we can invite Sarah Jean II and Merkava and share our few remaining Fiji Bitter beers. I ask him one more time- what would you like to do for your birthday?
This. This is all I want for my birthday is Neal's reply. Just this beautiful Sunday sail.
Oh yeah.... Neal just caught a Yellow Tail!
R of Rutea
19.07.66 South
169.24.8 East
Vanuatu Archipelago
-----
At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Friday, September 28, 2012
Kava
Before we left Mexico, our friends, Ross and Julie McDonald, gave us t-shirts from their boat, Boppy's Star. "Wear this when you drink kava with a Fijian chief," Ross instructed me, "And take a picture." It didn't happen in Fiji but I did wear it this evening when three of us visited the local nakamal, what the locals in Vanuatu call a place where kava is drunk.
Kava is the root of a certain species of pepper tree and it seems as though each island group in the southwest Pacific has a slightly different method of preparing it. It wasn't out in the open in Samoa though we did see people drink it. We saw no evidence of it in Tonga (we assume it was still there) but Fiji was Kava Central, with large sections of the markets dedicated to selling kava - both the whole root and in powder form. Fijians also made a ceremony of drinking kava, with much hand-clapping and shouts of 'bula!'. Kava produces a mild euphoria and a numbness in the mouth. We tried it a couple of times in Fiji and thought it tasted terrible (some say it tastes like drinking dirty dishwater except it isn't soapy - to me, it tastes like bitter, muddy water) but we had been told that the best kava was in Vanuatu.
When we were in Anatom, some of the locals put on a 'cultural event' for the cruising fleet that include demonstrations of dance, costumes and culture. They also offered us kava, which again tasted terrible but was much stronger than the Fijian kava. I really liked the buzz - I had to be very careful when I spoke as I felt as though each word was a challenge to enunciate but it was also a pleasant, peaceful feeling. Corie and our friend, Mark, went to a nakamal at the village in Anelghowhat, where men lined up to purchase bowls of kava, much like a bar anywhere in the world - except that the nakamal was no more than a thatched hut with a dirt floor. Corie was the only woman there and the two of them were the only white people.
Today, as Ruthie and I were walking home from the White Sand Beach, we passed by the local nakamal (in this village, women are not allowed anywhere near the nakamal and there's a path that gives it a wide berth for them to use - nor is a woman allowed to watch a man drink kava. We're not sure what would happen to a tourist but if a local woman was to walk through the nakamal, she would be beaten with sticks or so we were told.). I stopped by to ask if there would be enough kava for my friends and me to have some. The man I talked to said there would and that they start making kava at 5pm.
Once back on the boat, I asked my friend, Norm, if he wanted to attend. "They make kava here the old fashioned way," Norm said. Yuck. That means they chew the kava root and then spit it out and make the kava from that. Yuck. When I told my friend, Mark, he said, "Oh, well . . . " and then asked if I was still interested in going. "I'll go if you go," I said. "Crazy fucker," was Mark's reply, but at a few minutes before 5, Mark showed up in his dinghy, ready to go. We picked up Randy from the sloop, Mystic, and made our way into the village.
The nakamal is just on the edge of the village and is nothing more than a clearing in the jungle with a few small thatched roofs around the edges. The dirt is packed hard from the thousands of feet that have attended the kava sessions there. There were a few men off in one corner and we approached them, asking if they had kava available. One man, who we would later learn is Thomas, was silent at first and then got up and extended his hand. We introduced ourselves and shook hands all around. A large pile of kava root was on a mat woven of palm frond and a large knife was being used to cut the root into pieces about the size of a fist. Several of the men had their mouths stuffed full of the kava root and were chewing away. They looked like chipmunks or Louis Armstrong while playing his trumpet except these men had drool coming out of the corners of their mouths. Once they had the root chewed to the consistency that they preferred, they would spit out the chewed root onto a round leaf and place it neatly on the woven mat. It looked like neat piles of vomit. We were invited to sit on a log and wait for the kava to finish being prepared. "Can I chew kava?" I asked of Thomas. He gave me a blank look and then handed me a small piece of root and a couple of leaves for me to spit the chewed kava onto. Different parts of the root had different textures - one part might be like a very tough carrot while other parts where so stringy that no matter how much I chewed I couldn't break it down to the fine vomit-like mash of our hosts. Besides, it tasted awful. Several times I had to stop chewing altogether and breath through my nose as I fought to control my gag reflex. Rather than stuff my mouth like everyone else, I chewed much more dainty portions and would pause in between chews. Sometimes we would talk with our hosts. Simon, one of the kava chewers, asked me something that I couldn't understand. "I can't understand you," I said, "Your mouth is full of kava." My pile of chewed kava was pathetically small and at one point Simon generously offered to supplant it with some of the kava that he was chewing. I quickly but politely refused his gracious offer.
Even though my pile of chewed kava was ridiculously small, I could nor force myself to chew anymore. I approached Thomas and asked if he could make me a bowl of kava from my chewed pieces. Thomas was sitting on a small stone facing another man who was also sitting on a small stone. There was a bucket of water to the side and between the two men were two coconut shell bowls. Putting the chewed kava in a long cloth, they would pour water over the chewed kava, letting it drain into the coconut shell bowls. Then they would twist the cloth, wringing out the liquid. Simon handed the bowl with the cloudy liquid kava to me and said, "Go stand over there and drink it all at once." I did as I was told and I could tell that my small pile of poorly-chewed kava had made a very weak bowl of drink.
Mark and Randy did not chew their own kava. They had bowls of kava that had been chewed for them but I don't know that it was that much stronger than what I had. It wasn't nearly as strong as the kava we had in Anelghowhat but that kava had been made by putting the root through a meat grinder. Regardless, our hosts here in Port Resolution were very hospitable and after we had drunk our kava they offered us baked taro root, bananas, papaya and coconut. As we were leaving, I offered to pay for our kava but they refused. Thomas and Simon invited us to come back tomorrow night.
-----
At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Kava is the root of a certain species of pepper tree and it seems as though each island group in the southwest Pacific has a slightly different method of preparing it. It wasn't out in the open in Samoa though we did see people drink it. We saw no evidence of it in Tonga (we assume it was still there) but Fiji was Kava Central, with large sections of the markets dedicated to selling kava - both the whole root and in powder form. Fijians also made a ceremony of drinking kava, with much hand-clapping and shouts of 'bula!'. Kava produces a mild euphoria and a numbness in the mouth. We tried it a couple of times in Fiji and thought it tasted terrible (some say it tastes like drinking dirty dishwater except it isn't soapy - to me, it tastes like bitter, muddy water) but we had been told that the best kava was in Vanuatu.
When we were in Anatom, some of the locals put on a 'cultural event' for the cruising fleet that include demonstrations of dance, costumes and culture. They also offered us kava, which again tasted terrible but was much stronger than the Fijian kava. I really liked the buzz - I had to be very careful when I spoke as I felt as though each word was a challenge to enunciate but it was also a pleasant, peaceful feeling. Corie and our friend, Mark, went to a nakamal at the village in Anelghowhat, where men lined up to purchase bowls of kava, much like a bar anywhere in the world - except that the nakamal was no more than a thatched hut with a dirt floor. Corie was the only woman there and the two of them were the only white people.
Today, as Ruthie and I were walking home from the White Sand Beach, we passed by the local nakamal (in this village, women are not allowed anywhere near the nakamal and there's a path that gives it a wide berth for them to use - nor is a woman allowed to watch a man drink kava. We're not sure what would happen to a tourist but if a local woman was to walk through the nakamal, she would be beaten with sticks or so we were told.). I stopped by to ask if there would be enough kava for my friends and me to have some. The man I talked to said there would and that they start making kava at 5pm.
Once back on the boat, I asked my friend, Norm, if he wanted to attend. "They make kava here the old fashioned way," Norm said. Yuck. That means they chew the kava root and then spit it out and make the kava from that. Yuck. When I told my friend, Mark, he said, "Oh, well . . . " and then asked if I was still interested in going. "I'll go if you go," I said. "Crazy fucker," was Mark's reply, but at a few minutes before 5, Mark showed up in his dinghy, ready to go. We picked up Randy from the sloop, Mystic, and made our way into the village.
The nakamal is just on the edge of the village and is nothing more than a clearing in the jungle with a few small thatched roofs around the edges. The dirt is packed hard from the thousands of feet that have attended the kava sessions there. There were a few men off in one corner and we approached them, asking if they had kava available. One man, who we would later learn is Thomas, was silent at first and then got up and extended his hand. We introduced ourselves and shook hands all around. A large pile of kava root was on a mat woven of palm frond and a large knife was being used to cut the root into pieces about the size of a fist. Several of the men had their mouths stuffed full of the kava root and were chewing away. They looked like chipmunks or Louis Armstrong while playing his trumpet except these men had drool coming out of the corners of their mouths. Once they had the root chewed to the consistency that they preferred, they would spit out the chewed root onto a round leaf and place it neatly on the woven mat. It looked like neat piles of vomit. We were invited to sit on a log and wait for the kava to finish being prepared. "Can I chew kava?" I asked of Thomas. He gave me a blank look and then handed me a small piece of root and a couple of leaves for me to spit the chewed kava onto. Different parts of the root had different textures - one part might be like a very tough carrot while other parts where so stringy that no matter how much I chewed I couldn't break it down to the fine vomit-like mash of our hosts. Besides, it tasted awful. Several times I had to stop chewing altogether and breath through my nose as I fought to control my gag reflex. Rather than stuff my mouth like everyone else, I chewed much more dainty portions and would pause in between chews. Sometimes we would talk with our hosts. Simon, one of the kava chewers, asked me something that I couldn't understand. "I can't understand you," I said, "Your mouth is full of kava." My pile of chewed kava was pathetically small and at one point Simon generously offered to supplant it with some of the kava that he was chewing. I quickly but politely refused his gracious offer.
Even though my pile of chewed kava was ridiculously small, I could nor force myself to chew anymore. I approached Thomas and asked if he could make me a bowl of kava from my chewed pieces. Thomas was sitting on a small stone facing another man who was also sitting on a small stone. There was a bucket of water to the side and between the two men were two coconut shell bowls. Putting the chewed kava in a long cloth, they would pour water over the chewed kava, letting it drain into the coconut shell bowls. Then they would twist the cloth, wringing out the liquid. Simon handed the bowl with the cloudy liquid kava to me and said, "Go stand over there and drink it all at once." I did as I was told and I could tell that my small pile of poorly-chewed kava had made a very weak bowl of drink.
Mark and Randy did not chew their own kava. They had bowls of kava that had been chewed for them but I don't know that it was that much stronger than what I had. It wasn't nearly as strong as the kava we had in Anelghowhat but that kava had been made by putting the root through a meat grinder. Regardless, our hosts here in Port Resolution were very hospitable and after we had drunk our kava they offered us baked taro root, bananas, papaya and coconut. As we were leaving, I offered to pay for our kava but they refused. Thomas and Simon invited us to come back tomorrow night.
-----
At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Mt. Yasur on Tanna Island
Sorry, folks, but you're going to have to read this post twice. Once now and again when we get some photographs uploaded. My poor command of the English language will prevent me from adequate describing our trip yesterday to Mt. Yasur and besides, a picture is worth a thousand words and I don't think any of you are patient enough to read that many.
At 1600 hours, we had locked up Rutea and took the dinghy into shore where we rendezvoused with ten other cruisers who are anchored in the delightful Port Resolution on the island of Tanna, one of the smaller islands in the Vanuatu archipelago. Believe it or not, there is a Port Resolution Yacht Club although it's nothing more than a tin roof held up by sturdy poles, no walls; flags and burgees from around the world hang from it's rafters. It was our gathering point where twelve of us plus the driver piled into a small Toyota pickup truck. Crude wood benches in the back were the economy seats while four in our group got the business class seats of the crew cab. The road itself was two deep ruts carved through the tropical jungle and our top speed was never more than a few miles per hour. Often the driver had to come to a complete stop and inch his way over a particularly rough patch of 'road'. Since our speed was so slow, the dust from the wheels would often float back over the bed of the truck, covering us with a thick layer of fine volcanic sand. In many places the road was very steep and I felt that my position, against the tailgate, was somewhat precarious for if the battered tailgate were to suddenly jar open, I would be the first one to be ejected. But after an hour of driving, the landscape shifted suddenly from thick forest to the moon-scape of a volcanic crater.
As we had been approaching Tanna Island from the ocean, we could occasionally see clouds of steam and ash being belched forth from Mt. Yasur and now, here we were, standing on the rim of this active volcano. The sun was just setting and the people formed silhouettes as they stood on the narrow rim of the crater. Looking down, the bottom of the crater was only a hundred meters or so away and thick streams of steam swirled on the crater floor. There was a continuous hissing and often the strong stench of sulfur would send people into coughing and sneezing fits. Maybe it would go quiet for a few moments but it was still mesmerizing and then suddenly, as if thunder was following an underground bolt of lightning, an explosion would shake the ground and a fountain of molten lava would shoot high into the air. The bright orange-red lava seemed to almost float and drift but the center of the fountain would be yellow with the intense heat. On other occasions, a similar explosion would expel a thick, billowing cloud of dark grey ash, which looked mean and angry.
I can only imagine what the early residents of Tanna thought of this geological phenomena. The name, Yasur, means 'god' in the local language and there's no doubt that it must have struck them as something supernatural. According to geologists, it's been at this level of activity for the last 800 years. In our guide book, it says that this is the closest a person can get to an active, erupting volcano anywhere in the world.
It was dark when we finally decided to climb down from the precarious lip but the nearly-full moon and our bright flashlights lit up the stark landscape so we could see our way back to the little Toyota truck. The ride back felt longer than the ride in but as we were going downhill most of the way back, at least I didn't feel like I was going to fall out if the tailgate gave way. Once back at the 'yacht club' we all had a round of Tusker beer, the local beer of Vanuatu. We passed our cameras around, sharing the pictures we had just taken. It had been a unique shared experience.
-----
At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
----------
radio email processed by SailMail
for information see: http://www.sailmail.com
At 1600 hours, we had locked up Rutea and took the dinghy into shore where we rendezvoused with ten other cruisers who are anchored in the delightful Port Resolution on the island of Tanna, one of the smaller islands in the Vanuatu archipelago. Believe it or not, there is a Port Resolution Yacht Club although it's nothing more than a tin roof held up by sturdy poles, no walls; flags and burgees from around the world hang from it's rafters. It was our gathering point where twelve of us plus the driver piled into a small Toyota pickup truck. Crude wood benches in the back were the economy seats while four in our group got the business class seats of the crew cab. The road itself was two deep ruts carved through the tropical jungle and our top speed was never more than a few miles per hour. Often the driver had to come to a complete stop and inch his way over a particularly rough patch of 'road'. Since our speed was so slow, the dust from the wheels would often float back over the bed of the truck, covering us with a thick layer of fine volcanic sand. In many places the road was very steep and I felt that my position, against the tailgate, was somewhat precarious for if the battered tailgate were to suddenly jar open, I would be the first one to be ejected. But after an hour of driving, the landscape shifted suddenly from thick forest to the moon-scape of a volcanic crater.
As we had been approaching Tanna Island from the ocean, we could occasionally see clouds of steam and ash being belched forth from Mt. Yasur and now, here we were, standing on the rim of this active volcano. The sun was just setting and the people formed silhouettes as they stood on the narrow rim of the crater. Looking down, the bottom of the crater was only a hundred meters or so away and thick streams of steam swirled on the crater floor. There was a continuous hissing and often the strong stench of sulfur would send people into coughing and sneezing fits. Maybe it would go quiet for a few moments but it was still mesmerizing and then suddenly, as if thunder was following an underground bolt of lightning, an explosion would shake the ground and a fountain of molten lava would shoot high into the air. The bright orange-red lava seemed to almost float and drift but the center of the fountain would be yellow with the intense heat. On other occasions, a similar explosion would expel a thick, billowing cloud of dark grey ash, which looked mean and angry.
I can only imagine what the early residents of Tanna thought of this geological phenomena. The name, Yasur, means 'god' in the local language and there's no doubt that it must have struck them as something supernatural. According to geologists, it's been at this level of activity for the last 800 years. In our guide book, it says that this is the closest a person can get to an active, erupting volcano anywhere in the world.
It was dark when we finally decided to climb down from the precarious lip but the nearly-full moon and our bright flashlights lit up the stark landscape so we could see our way back to the little Toyota truck. The ride back felt longer than the ride in but as we were going downhill most of the way back, at least I didn't feel like I was going to fall out if the tailgate gave way. Once back at the 'yacht club' we all had a round of Tusker beer, the local beer of Vanuatu. We passed our cameras around, sharing the pictures we had just taken. It had been a unique shared experience.
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At 9/27/2012 9:29 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 19°31.48'S 169°29.79'E
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Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Leaving Anatom Island
After almost a week in this idyllic paradise, we have finally forced ourselves to make the decision to leave this delightful bay and continue north. Our Vanuatu clock is ticking as we were only able to get 30-day visas when we checked in and there is so much we want to see.
Anatom Island was once populated with as many as 12,000 natives but diseases brought by Europeans in the seventeen- and eighteen-hundreds decimated the population to less than 10% of that. The climate is cooler here than the rest of Vanuatu but the thick forest completely covers the island. An abundance of fish and lobster provides the local people with plenty of food and drought conditions are almost unheard of - it rains a lot here. The junior high school attracts students from the neighboring island of Tanna and the students live in very simple thatched dormitories. The students get to return home about every three months or so. High school is only offered in Port Vila, the capital, on the island of Efate, almost 200 miles away.
There are a couple of ironies on Anatom Island, though. The first one is that cruise ships now call on Anatom Island frequently and the influx of wealthy passengers has had an impact on this primitive island. When I say primitive, I mean that it has no electricity and running water is only available from a few strategically-placed spigots throughout the village. Homes are small single-room, thatched affairs. Sure, a few homes have gasoline-powered generators but from our view in the bay, no village exists at all when its dark. Many of the residents are ferried out to the nearby Inyeug Islet (Mystery Island) when the cruise ship calls and they set up stalls to sell trinkets as the passengers never actually visit the village itself. Mystery Island is a low-lying, coconut palm-cover islet that's well groomed and it's protected lagoon is an ideal place to swim and snorkel. Its been well developed with modern restrooms, picnic tables and thatched roofs to provide shade. Once the cruise ship leaves, the islet is deserted. Regardless, the contact between the local people and the ship's passengers is having a dramatic impact.
The other irony is the fact that the island now has cell phone service. You can't buy a cell phone here (the nearest place to buy one is the island of Tanna, almost 50 miles away) but a sturdy steel tower provides service to the entire island. When I asked Kenneth, who is married to Natu, one of the teachers at the primary school, how this has affected the island, he shook his head sadly. "All the children want to do is play with their cell phones now. They no longer have any interest in school. It is very bad," he said. Later that same evening, Ruthie was talking with Natu when her eleven-year-old daughter walked up and said something in Bislama. Ruthie said that Natu replied somewhat crossly. When Ruthie asked what her daughter had said, Natu replied, "She wants a cell phone."
I wish I could post some photographs but we still have no broadband access. This post must be pretty boring to read without photos. We have beautiful pictures of the clear water, the dark green island and the kind, friendly people. Once we get to Tanna we'll be able to buy SIMs for our iPads and computer. And our cell phones.
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At 9/24/2012 9:40 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 20°08.36'S 169°48.29'E
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Anatom Island was once populated with as many as 12,000 natives but diseases brought by Europeans in the seventeen- and eighteen-hundreds decimated the population to less than 10% of that. The climate is cooler here than the rest of Vanuatu but the thick forest completely covers the island. An abundance of fish and lobster provides the local people with plenty of food and drought conditions are almost unheard of - it rains a lot here. The junior high school attracts students from the neighboring island of Tanna and the students live in very simple thatched dormitories. The students get to return home about every three months or so. High school is only offered in Port Vila, the capital, on the island of Efate, almost 200 miles away.
There are a couple of ironies on Anatom Island, though. The first one is that cruise ships now call on Anatom Island frequently and the influx of wealthy passengers has had an impact on this primitive island. When I say primitive, I mean that it has no electricity and running water is only available from a few strategically-placed spigots throughout the village. Homes are small single-room, thatched affairs. Sure, a few homes have gasoline-powered generators but from our view in the bay, no village exists at all when its dark. Many of the residents are ferried out to the nearby Inyeug Islet (Mystery Island) when the cruise ship calls and they set up stalls to sell trinkets as the passengers never actually visit the village itself. Mystery Island is a low-lying, coconut palm-cover islet that's well groomed and it's protected lagoon is an ideal place to swim and snorkel. Its been well developed with modern restrooms, picnic tables and thatched roofs to provide shade. Once the cruise ship leaves, the islet is deserted. Regardless, the contact between the local people and the ship's passengers is having a dramatic impact.
The other irony is the fact that the island now has cell phone service. You can't buy a cell phone here (the nearest place to buy one is the island of Tanna, almost 50 miles away) but a sturdy steel tower provides service to the entire island. When I asked Kenneth, who is married to Natu, one of the teachers at the primary school, how this has affected the island, he shook his head sadly. "All the children want to do is play with their cell phones now. They no longer have any interest in school. It is very bad," he said. Later that same evening, Ruthie was talking with Natu when her eleven-year-old daughter walked up and said something in Bislama. Ruthie said that Natu replied somewhat crossly. When Ruthie asked what her daughter had said, Natu replied, "She wants a cell phone."
I wish I could post some photographs but we still have no broadband access. This post must be pretty boring to read without photos. We have beautiful pictures of the clear water, the dark green island and the kind, friendly people. Once we get to Tanna we'll be able to buy SIMs for our iPads and computer. And our cell phones.
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At 9/24/2012 9:40 PM (utc) Rutea's position was 20°08.36'S 169°48.29'E
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Friday, September 21, 2012
Olsem Wanem?
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| Daniel and Caitlin Woodruff |
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| Norm and Mark |
Now we're in Anelghowhat Bay on Anatom Island, the furthest south in the Vanuatu archipelago. The small village here is populated with about 900 Ni-Vanuatu (that's how you refer to the people of Vanuatu) and their homes are very simple one-room thatched huts. The only building that resembles something more modern is the branch of the National Bank of Vanuatu and it's probably not 12-feet long and about 8-feet wide but it does have a tin roof. It's open on Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays. They speak Bislama here but many people also know French and English. In case you were wondering, Olsem wanen is asking 'How are you?' whereas to say good-bye you say 'Bae/mi likem yu.' So far, everyone has been very friendly.
Rutea has been doing exceptionally well. True, her transom is in bad need of cleaning (she gets a dirty bum if we motor for too long) but all of her systems are working as they should. Our plan is to stay here for a few more days and then head to the next island north, Tanna, where there's an active volcano that you can hike right up to its edge and see the fountains of lava. From there we'll continue north and probably stop at Port Vila, which is the capital and a good place to provision. We've heard that the best islands for cruising are still north of that but we only have 30-day visas and we want to see New Caledonia before we head to Australia. Cyclone season starts on November 1 so we want to be someplace safe not too long after that.
Once we get to someplace with internet service I'll try to post some pictures. Right now we're using our satellite phone to post these reports. The adventure continues . . .
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At 9/22/2012 2:32 AM (utc) Rutea's position was 20°08.36'S 169°48.29'E
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