Destinations, March 1999
Right Time, Right Place, Right Now
Fifty-odd years ago, a young guy’s visit to Vanuatu inspired the legend of Bali Hai. Thankfully, the good life’s still here. Why aren’t you?
By Bob Payne
How to make yourself heard on the islands that Berlitz forgot
I found it odd, despite how friendly the man was in the hardware store in Port Vila, that he would mistake me for a sales clerk. But I couldn’t imagine, at first, what else “yu gat hamas yia?” could mean, other than that he wanted to know if the store carried hammers. Only after a few more tries did I realize he was
actually asking me in Bislama, the mixture of English, French, and Melanesian that is the national language of Vanuatu, how old I was: “You got how much years?”
Bislama evolved from the “business” English, or pidgin, used by 19th-century Western traders and, later, missionaries. Eventually, because Melanesians have so many mutually unintelligible languages, Bislama also became a way for them to talk with one another. Today it is widespread, especially in the Solomon Islands, Papua New Guinea, and
Vanuatu, whose 115 tongues among 180,000 people give it the world’s highest concentration of languages.
During my stay in Vanuatu, I came to appreciate Bislama’s simplified grammar, syntax, and especially spelling. And though I suspect that mastering its nuances would be as difficult as passing myself off as a native Francophone, its basics proved rather, well basic: plis for “please,” tankyu for “thank you,” tata for “good-bye.” What I liked best, though, was an inventiveness that on occasion turns pedestrian phrases into a language of poetry that even the linguistically challenged can understand. Among my favorites:
- Frenchman: man wiwi (because he is always saying “yes, yes” in French.
- Saw: pulem i kam, pushem i go, wood fall down.
- Piano: black fala box we i gat black teeth, heni gat white teeth you faetem hard i sing out.
The last literally means, “black box with black and white teeth, which, if you strike hard, sing out.” If you got it on your own you can consider your progress in Bislama excellent, or nambawan.
Unlike its neighbor, Fiji, the pacific nation of Vanuatu, made up of 83 ruggedly forested, volcanically active islands, is a place hardly anyone in America knows. Which is odd, when you think about it. True, Vanuatu is so undeveloped that on the dozen or so larger islands where most of its people live you can still discuss the latest
stock report (somebody’s cows wandering through a neighbor’s garden patch again) with a man whose entire wardrobe consists of a woven grass namba, or penis sheath. And when they bungee-jump in Vanuatu, where the pastime was invented centuries ago, they don’t use sissy stuff like bungee cords. Instead, land divers, as they are called, tie jungle vines around their
ankles and plunge from towers, up to 100 feet high, that look as if they were constructed from sticks and branches by a nest-building bird who got into the fermented berries.
Yet Vanuatu, known as New Hebrides until it gained independence from England and France in 1980, has had a distinct effect on American culture, or at least on how we imagine paradise. It was among these coconut-palm-and-beach-fringed islands that Lieutenant James A. Michener was inspired to create the mystical heaven on earth known as Bali Hai.
Now, half a century later, other American travelers are discovering the archipelago too. Of Vanuatu’s 100,000 or so annual visitors, more than half come ashore via cruise ship or yacht. The rest fly in, either extending a visit to Fiji ù which boasts more than a decade’s head start on development and three times the tourists ù or skipping Fiji
While flying into Vanuatu is easy enough, getting around its mountainous interior ù in much-abused four-wheel-drive vehicles or on foot ù can be a challenge. And because tourism is new to the outer islands, lodgings at times consist of dirt-floored leaf houses where, as the tourism office so eloquently puts it, “running water is not common and the bath
is to be taken on the beach or in the river.” But for uncrowded diving, sea kayaking, and trekking, and for an adventurous look at a corner of the South Pacific that has changed little since Allied forces passed through, Vanuatu is among the most fascinating spots I’ve encountered in three decades of bumping around. It’s the kind of place where, if you harbor, as I do,
the fantasy of getting temporarily marooned on a tropical island, you’ll likely begin plotting your return soon after your arrival.
“Machetes, aisle three,” said the hardware store clerk in Port Vila, on Efate, the third-largest of Vanuatu’s islands and home to two-thirds of its mostly Melanesian population of 180,000. Port Vila, the capital, though faded and scruffy in a pleasant, Somerset Maughamish kind of way, is surprisingly cosmopolitan. At Le Meridien, I could order Melanesian dishes,
such as minced pork wrapped in manioc and taro leaves, in English, at Paris-steep prices. As I picked at my coconut crab at the Waterfront Bar & Grill, I eavesdropped on yachties whose timetable dictated cruising to New Zealand before December’s cyclone season began. I could have shopped for French cologne or Australian shiraz. But instead I walked to the hardware
store, because I’ve always wanted a machete and could find no souvenir in the duty-free shop that pleased me half as much, even though it turned out to be made in Brazil.
The best of Vanuatu lies beyond Efate. But stay a day or two to sea kayak to tiny offshore islands, snorkel among 300 species of coral, and visit the Ekasup Cultural Village. Located a few miles from Port Vila, the village is a scattering of traditional thatch houses, their pointed roofs extending almost to the ground to make them more secure during high winds.
Traditional too is the location, near a banyan tree with a huge, above-ground root system that provides sanctuary during cyclones. The show Ekasup puts on is a bit commercial, but it can provide some insight into the old survival skills, which could prove useful if you find yourself in the outer islands without lunch in hand and need to know how to trap a fish or spear
Santo, as it is usually called, is where Michener was based. No other place in all the vast Pacific, he later wrote, made as profound an impression on him. The largest of Vanuatu’s islands, it has a craggy interior that makes for rugged hiking through massive kauri trees, orchids, and moss-hung cloud forest. And Champagne Beach, with its sweep of white sand, is
arguably the best in the country. But like most visitors, I’d come here for the President Coolidge, a 654-foot luxury liner-turned-American troop carrier that is considered one of the world’s finest wreck dives.
The Coolidge went down so fast after striking a “friendly” mine in October 1942 that its decks are still strewn with the rifles and personal effects of the more than 5,000 men who were aboard. (Most walked ashore, and only one life was lost.) Now sitting in 60 to 200 feet of water, the ship lies on its side but is almost fully intact.
The dive, along the promenade deck, down long corridors, and into the staterooms themselves if you are experienced enough, is eerily similar to the underwater scenes in Titanic. (A few miles inland, both snorkelers and divers will also want to check out several spring-fed blue holes, where visibility is so great that as you look up, fish
appear to be swimming across the sky.)
I dove with Santo Dive Tours, whose owner, Alan Power, has been exploring the Coolidge for 29 years (see “Idyll Hopping,” page 129). A round-bellied Aussie locally known as Mr. President, Power is a classic Santo character ù at least that’s what I decided after spotting a hand-lettered memorial in his backyard eulogizing a cow
who was the only victim of Japan’s one wartime attack on the island’s airfield.
Eel-shaped Pentecost Island, so undeveloped that there are few places to stay other than traditional leaf houses in small villages, is proof that there were crazy people in the world long before 1988, when a New Zealand company opened the first commercial bungee-jumping operation. Land diving is so rooted in local culture, in fact, that the Vanuatu government is
allegedly trying to obtain compensation from international operators for “theft of the custom of Pentecost.” Though now strictly a male undertaking, done to ensure a successful yam crop, legend has it that the first jumper was a woman escaping an abusive husband who chased her up a banyan tree.
The jumps take place on Saturdays in April and May. Nowadays, many are put on just for tourists. But the most authentic ù ritual jumps in which 30 divers a day leap from the highest towers ù are held only once each month, in the village of Bunlap. Presumably the divers here have donned Western-style pants only once ù for the 1974 visit of Queen
One of the southernmost populated islands, Tanna is best known for its mysterious “cargo cult” religion, as well as its uniquely accessible, reliably active volcano, Mount Yasur.
Yasur’s personality is more simmering than violent, but it has been erupting, sometimes with fatal results, almost continuously since Captain James Cook first observed it in 1774. With a licensed guide, which is the only way to go, you drive across an ash plain, past a lifeless lake, to a parking lot scattered with boulders that ù though best not to ponder it
until you are a safe distance away ù were flung from the caldera during past eruptions.
From there, scramble 400 feet up the side of the cone until you come, abruptly, to the realization that there is no guardrail between you and a very big barbecue pit. It’s possible to visit Yasur on a day trip from Port Vila, but far better to stay on Tanna at least one night, which will allow you to make the climb just before sunset, when the sparkler-like display
is at its best. Activity is greater, and more spectacular, during the wet season, from December through March.
The day I visited, I was standing at the crater’s edge, snickering about a nearby Frenchman sporting a hard hat and ski goggles, when the ground shook with a sound as if whatever God was driving desperately needed a new muffler. A fiery array of molten rocks the size of big-screen TVs shot into the air, followed by a belch of black smoke that devoured the entire
crater but, thank goodness, was pushed away from us by a gust of wind.
“Good thing I brought a clean pair of knickers,” said an Australian woman standing next to me, whose initial shriek had fortunately covered my own. Our guide shrugged. “Not to worry,” he said. “The activity is only Level Two.”
I didn’t find his reassurance all that comforting, since Level One means no activity, and Level Three that the island is in imminent danger of being vaporized. The grading scale needed refinement. Still, I stayed and watched the Roman-candle-like vents spew for another hour, and would have stayed longer if I’d had a hard hat and ski goggles.
Not far from the volcano is Sulphur Bay, or Ipeukel, the main village of the cargo cult known as John Frum. Another World War II legacy that has nearly disappeared, cargo cults once flourished all over the Southwest Pacific, with locals convinced that if they pleased the gods ù by clearing jungle airstrips and building bamboo models of such unimaginable
wealth as radios, refrigerators, and jeeps ù they would once again be showered with the real things. Who John Frum was is something of a mystery, but he may have been an American medical corpsman, “John from America,” whose red-cross insignia has become the cult’s symbol.
Every Friday at their church in Sulphur Bay, the worshipers ù whose ceremonial garb includes cast-off U.S. military uniforms ù hold services that consist mostly of singing, dancing, and for the men, drinking an intoxicating kava-root brew. Visitors are welcome year-round, but the big blowout is on February 15, John Frum Day, when 100 barefoot
“soldiers” carrying bamboo rifles drill solemnly before a tattered 48-star American flag in expectation of their messiah’s return. It’s likely the most flattering, if surreal, reception an American could receive so far from home. Perhaps, if I’m ever marooned on this particular tropical island, these troops would consider defending me against misguided would-be
A regular Outside contributor, Bob Payne travels often to the Pacific.
Some tips for your tour of paradise
Vanuatu is reliably balmy from May through September. During the December-to-March rainy season, cyclones can seriously rearrange the landscape, though Yasur’s lava show is at its best. For more information on when to go or how to arrange your own trip, call Vanuatu Tourism’s L.A. branch (800-677-4277).
Getting There: From the United Sates, resign yourself (poor thing) to a stopover in Fiji. Round-trip flights between Los Angeles and Nadi range from $700 to $1,300 on Air Pacific (800-227-4446). Air Vanuatu (011-61-29-807-4222) flies between Nadi and Port Vila three times a week for $391 round-trip. for island-hops to Santo,
Tanna, and Pentecost, buy Vanair’s Discover Vanuatu Pass ($236 for four flights; 011-67-8-25045).
Lodging: Of Efate, stay at the Iririki Island resort (doubles, $168; 011-67-8-23388), with good views and a 24-hour ferry to the nearby waterfront. After diving in Santo, unwind on the veranda of Bougainville Resort (doubles, $87-$120; 011-67-8-36257). At Tanna Beach Resort (011-67-8-68626; firstname.lastname@example.org), $70 a
night rents your own thatch-roof bungalow. For more basic accommodations, including leaf huts with woven-mat floors, contact the Vanuatu Cultural Centre (011-67-8-22129).
Guides & Outfitters: Walking is a good way to see Vanuatu’s nearly roadless interior, but afoot on your own, you’re likely to unknowingly break some rule of Melanesian social conduct, such as entering a village without being invited, picking fruit along the trail, or (if you’re a woman) addressing the chief as an equal.
Contact Vanuatu Cultural Centre to arrange an English-speaking trekking guide for about $20 per day, plus food and accommodations.
Santo Dive Tours (011-67-8-36822) charges $25 for a one-tank shore dive of the President Coolidge (it’s an easy entry with only about 100 feet of swimming to the wreck), plus $12.50 for equipment. To explore Santo’s fresh-water blue holes and newly discovered caves, contact Aquamarine (email@example.com).
On Efate, Cutting Edge Adventures (011-67-8-22176) offers inflatable sea-kayak trips at prices from $50 per day to $675 per week. Adventure Centre Tours (011-67-8-25155) offers a three-day Pentecost visit for $445 per person, including airfare from Port Vila and entrance fees for the ritual jumps. for dates, E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org. Most of
Tanna’s few lodges can arrange a visit to Yasur of to a John Frum village; Tanna Beach Resort charges $34 for the volcano tour, not including the $16 entrance fee.