More Tanna - III

The anchorage here has turned out to be very rolly. It was calm the first two days and then the winds clocked around to the east more and we get wrap around swell. Some boats have put out stern anchors but after our bad experience in Fiji we have not. So we are toughing it out rocking and rolling constantly. I wore ear plugs last night to block out the creaks and groans of Maggie in the rolls but slept well.

Tanna has turned out to be our best experience so far in our South Pacific cruise, and in truth, may be the best experience of our lives. I can't believe I am saying this but it may even top our fantastic time on Toau in the Tuamotos. The Fijians are more outwardly friendly (Bula, Bula!) but there is something magical and amazing about the whole deal here that more than takes care of the lack of bulas from the natives. They are very sincere and will take the time to talk to you in very direct manners. They are obviously proud of themselves and do not seem poor in spirit or life. It is without a doubt shorter than our lives in general (Chief Ronnie is 78 and very spry though) with malaria in the wet season, dengue fever, encephalitis and other nasties. They have plenty to eat though and it is easy to get fruit and vegetables. Their sources of protein are limited so they appreciate meat and fish when they can get it. They have beautiful cattle here - plump and sleek with good coats, but only eat beef for special feasts and occasions. The same for pigs and chickens. They feed beef, pork, fish and chicken to the tourists though but not huge portions.

This is still a very underdeveloped island. The one big town, Lenakel, is very poor looking, like many small Mexican towns. Lenakel is over 50km from Port Resolution (named for Capt. Cook's ship the Resolution when he stopped here) via a rough 4WD road that in some places is almost just a track near our anchorage. They have a bridge made of palm logs over one creek that keeps breaking. There was a detour around it which went along the beach but the beach sand is so soft it is hard on the trucks and they can get stuck. They fixed it last week but then another log broke but it is still useable (so far). The road is rough and the small Japanese trucks (mostly Mitsubishi) have to shift in to all wheel drive, low range over some of it. It is also terribly dusty if it has not rained. When we got back from Lenakel we were grinding sand in our teeth and looked like the Desert Rats of North Africa after a jeep patrol over the sand dunes.

As I said in a previous blog, we missed our first truck but made it the second day - a Friday. There were several yachts that needed to go in to town to check in so the truck was going to be full. The local soccer team also had to go to a meet outside of Lenakel but there really wasn't room for all. We ended up with over 20 people in the truck which had narrow bench seats along the sides and a cage welded over the back to hold a tarp in case of rain (which it did). Two locals hung on to the cage and stood on the bumper the whole way in and the rest of us hung on for dear life and to protect our backs and kidneys. The truck would go as fast as it could go wherever it could go and other places at a crawl. When it got steep going up the guys on the bumper had a hard time holding on but they had the best ride using their legs as shock absorbers.

About half way over we came to Mount Yasur, the life volcano that everyone comes to see here. It is not a big huge mountain but more like a little perfectly formed volcanic hill, a uniform grey from the ash and rock it has been spitting out. It may be about a thousand feet high or less from the higher plain it rises out of. During the day you see the billowing clouds of noxious gas it emits and occasionally here the boom of minor eruptions. At night you can see the glow of the lava and eruptions from 20 miles out to sea and even over the ridge where our anchorage is. Ominous for sure. The road goes over the plain at the bottom of the volcano. The surrounding countryside is completely covered in ash and small lightweight lava rock with clumps of hardy grasses sticking out in spots. Amazingly, there are many villages scattered around the volcano but not right at the base. People don't have vehicles here so they walk for miles and miles to trading posts and markets. We are so lucky to be able to hire a truck for the ride, even if we are packed in like sardines ala dust. P.S. It rained on us halfway there and we had to put the tarp over the cage so we were traveling blind along the bumpy road and sweltering in the humid air.

We stopped off at the bank first. It looks very much like pictures of banks in the small towns of the American west. Since it was Friday, a pay day, there were long lines and it took us about an hour to get to a teller to exchange dollars for vatu. The rate was 94.45 vatu/dollar. I was getting money for another boat and my total was 66,165 vatu which is a big bundle. I should have got more small bills but the bundle would have been huge but now I regret not doing so as no one ever has change (like Mexico). We went from the bank to the small general store and got a few essentials like Tanna coffee (superb!), ten pairs of cheap flip-flops for gifts, canned butter and some candy. Later we got stalks of mandarin oranges at the market along with unrefrigerated eggs and other things. We picked up some Tanna kava along the way back to the Port later. We ended up giving the kava to the village when they ran out the other day so have not tried it yet. It is supposed to be MUCH stronger than the Fijian kava. N.B. - read "Getting Stoned with Savages" by J. Maarten Troost for a hilarious and true account of his experiences in Vanuatu and Fiji.

We went to Customs (3000 vatu), Immigration (3000 vatu) and Quarantine (2000 vatu). Forms, forms, forms but all friendly except the Quarantine guy who seemed to be in need of a serious detox program. We kept losing the truck and at one point all 15 of us yachties had to walk about a kilometer looking for another truck after lunch (250 vatu for more than you could eat). The lunch restaurant was little more than a shack with some picnic tables but had a TV with DVDs (Kungfu!). Out back they drug a half a cow in to the kitchen later. I had beef and rice from the previous cow - yummy but not gourmet quality.

The trip back was long but easier without five guys from the soccer team along. I took my chance and hung off the back standing on the bumper. I had a great view and my back was happier. We had already also booked a trip to the volcano that night along with a visit to a Kastom village and the John Frum cargo cult village for music/dancing. This was destined to be a very LONG day and night. We were late getting back and even more people from the anchorage had signed up to go to the volcano so we needed three trucks. However, only two trucks were booked for sure and we would not know if the third truck would make it until it showed up, which it did, but very late, just before dark. You are supposed to go around 4pm so you can get to the volcano in daylight and watch the sun go down and then stay for the fireworks in the dark. Well, we were on the last truck and followed the second truck in the dark. Both trucks went at least twice as fast as they had earlier in the day because we were late. The dust was thick and choking. Our kidneys, already damaged from the earlier long ride, were destroyed. The drivers had no mercy. Thankfully it is not as long a ride but still about 25km each way.

We were absolutely beat by now but excited about seeing the volcano. You go up and up until you are at the very base of the cone on one side (the windward, safe side). There are rocks lying all around you that have obviously been spit out by the beast at some point or another. We were told it was at level One or Two which are relatively safe. One is nothing going on much and Two is spitting and snorting but no lava getting to the lookout. Three is dangerous with lava going up to or over the lookout and you can only stay at the base of the parking area. Mind you, this is not America. No lawyers, no fences, no hand rails. You are responsible for your own safety and tourists and guides have died where we were going. A Japanese tourist ignored her guide a few years ago and went down after the guide told her not to. The guide followed her to try and get her to leave and she said "I paid my money and I am going to get my money's worth". There was a big explosion and some lava rocks blew her head completely off. The guide died after a small piece of lava blew through his chest - melted through one side and out the other.

There is a steep and slippery trail up to the edge of the cone at the top. You are actually at the rim looking down at Hell. Lava is being spit up out of the one "small" vent you can see at the bottom. There are two more vents below a ridge between the lookout and the bottom. They are the most active ones but don't face you directly, which is probably a good thing. The guides tell you not to look away when a boom happens and lava is thrown out. You are supposed to watch the lava so you can duck or move out of the way as it falls!! For real. Yikes! What have we got ourselves in to? Cindy is way nervous but when we get to the top nothing much is going on. It is already dark so we see the little vent glowing malevolently at the bottom. Every few minutes in makes a roaring noise and shoots small pieces of lava up. The lava seems to float in the air in front of us as if the hot gases swirling out can hold them up. They glow hot red for quite a while and seem to violate the laws of gravity. What we could not see at night was that the lava was actually on the steep, steep slope of the inner cone which is like a funnel from which the pieces a constantly being funneled back down in to the forge from Hell at the bottom. The dark makes it look like it is floating on air since you cannot see the dark slope. Very eerie.

Okay, so far, no sweat. Then BOOM!!! out of no where, the larger vent opens up with a crack like the biggest, loudest fireworks you have ever heard. We were thinking this was not going to be much of a show. Then Wham! we were surprised out of our socks (no sandals up here) by the boom with no warning. This was immediately followed by showers of lava and sparks coming out of the hole we couldn't see below us. This happened over and over again with several minutes in between, still with no warning before the report followed by the lava. Some times the lava would be minimal but with huge clouds of sulfur gases billowing up and up, obscuring the little vent that we could see. It was awesome, it the true sense of the work. You knew that if it wanted to the volcano could wipe us out in two seconds before we could even react. Nonetheless, we stayed as long as the guides would let us and got show after show of big burps of lava, some of which landed on the little ridge just in front of us. We still felt somewhat safe though but still jumped with each boom. Some of the women actually went down the hill before the group left as it was more than some could handle.

We were awe struck and definitely thought we got our money's worth (2500 vatu per person plus 1000 vatu each for the driver). We had to go still to the John Frum village around the other side of the volcano base to hear the singing and music. We were now absolute walking zombies after the long ride to Lenakel, long walks there, the long ride back, waiting for trucks, the long ride to the volcano, a steep hike up and then the adrenaline spike at the volcano. We drove straight in to the John Frum village where the singers and musicians were already in the grass hut meeting area. We were led to bamboo pole benches along the sides where we sat with the singers in between us on grass woven mats on the floor. Each man had a guitar or ukelele with one drum and the women sat behind the men in the center on both ends.

Everyone was elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. The guitar players in the middle had the necks of each guitar reaching over the man next to him. They all sand and played as if we were not there, with almost no eye contact and no interaction. There were no announcements, no talks, nothing but music and singing. The men would start playing the guitars, then start singing and the women would come in a few beats after the men. This was repeated over and over again with each song. The music reminded me very much of Cajun/Creole style and Southern Gospel all wrapped up in one. Unfortunately, the words to each song were different but the chords and beat were almost always the same. With our tired bodies it became tedious after the second band, and unendurable after the third started. This was now about 9pm and we were beat. The people also did not seem very welcoming although the kids outside the hut were friendly and talkative.

The so-called "cargo cult" of the John Frum group is an odd one. Back in WWII there was a white man named John Frum who seemed like a god to the villagers. He had all kinds of amazing things - machines, jeeps, radios, etc. and they started worshipping this strange man who had endless wealth. Frum left and every since they have been waiting for him to return with his "cargo" of goods and they will then be in paradise. The missionaries have not had good luck in converting many of the other Ni-Van and certainly have not converted the John Frum group and it remains a strong group still. One thins is for certain, they are excellent singers and musicians, they just need a music writer who has more variety in the songs. They will sing and dance all night long every Friday and let tourists come and watch for a fee but they really do it for themselves and could care less if we were there.

We left then and drove back to the Port to get in our dinks and so back to the boats. I road shotgun on the bumper again dodging low trees branches along the way. What a great, if exhausting, day.

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