Dining out in Vanuatu
As we raised Vanuatu on the horizon after a difficult four-day sail from Fiji, my partner Les and I heaved a sigh of relief. We were looking forward to hot showers and cold beer, and meeting up with fellow cruisers we had met along the way. It wasn’t as simple as that. We dropped our hook in Port Vila at 2pm, and called quarantine to come and clear us. Yes, they would be out shortly. That turned out to be an understatement. As we waited impatiently, 4pm turned into 5pm, our hope faded with the daylight of getting cleared in today. After a few more VHF conversations it became clear officialdom works frustratingly slowly no matter where you are. We resigned ourselves to the fact that we weren’t going to get that hot shower and cold beer after all.
Friends rallied and brought us fresh bread, butter, a couple of pork chops and veggies. And the most important ingredient to any landfall, a bottle of rum and cold cokes. At least we didn’t have to eat out of the cupboard yet again. With tunes cranked, we enjoyed our sundowners, then dug into our well earned meal. With cover of darkness, we dinghied over to join our friends on Quintar Valkyrie were also aboard, and well onto their way too big hangovers!
The next morning ran smoothly, and we were cleared in by polite and efficient officials. We met up with the Valkyries on the street, and they invited us over to their yacht for dinner. So, after checking emails, going to the open-air market for terrific fresh produce, and doing clean up after-passage chores for the rest of the day, we headed over for what was to become a marathon moveable feast between neighbouring boats. The next two weeks were a blur of feasting, each boat coming up with incredible treats, trying to outdo the others in the culinary skills department. We might have eaten alone aboard once over the two-week period we spent in Port Vila. We all took turns and had some beautiful meals. The beef from Vanuatu is superior, tender and lean. We ate it BBQ’d, kebabed with sate, marinated in a wine broth and roasted. This was such a contrast to our offshore meals, and thoroughly enjoyable. But all good things must come to an end, and the fleet were splitting up and moving off in their own directions. Valkyrie was off to New Caledonia. Nikita was sailing direct to Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Quintar and ourselves were cruising north through the Vanuatu chain of islands before heading offshore to Australia. We were keeping up the tradition by continuing our moveable feast.
Our first anchorage, once departing Port Vila, was Esoma Bay at the top of Havannah Harbour. We were greeted by a Dugong, a local version of a Manatee, pushing his pig like snout just above the surface of the water to catch his next breath. They are very shy creatures, and we would hear him snorting every once in awhile, his breath breaking the stillness. The other greeter was the local in his dugout outrigger canoe. A procession ensued, with farmers passing by on their way back home to their village across the bay. They were all polite, curious, and willing to trade produce for whatever we were able to dig out of our cupboard. Rice, canned meats, and a few treats for the kids.
They still live by the simple code. Early to bed, early to rise. Grow what you eat, and live off the land and sea. By 6AM, I could hear the chatter of villagers as they paddled by on their way to work in their fields. Les joined the fishermen to study local methods. They strung a net across a river entrance, and the son dived belly flop fashion upstream to drive the unsuspecting fish down into the old man’s nets. This was to catch bait fish to use later on a hand line, used to catch the bigger prey.
We were invited to Tasirki Village on Moso Island by Philip, the Chief’s brother. The four of use piled into Quintar’sdinghy for the ride across the bay. Philip was waiting on the shore for us, and escorted us through the village, showing us the wreck of the World War 11 fighter plane enshrined in jungle vines. We found remnants of the radio, landing gear, wing sections, and a bunch of other unidentifiable bits and pieces. Philip then showed us through the village, introducing us to the locals as we went. The Chief’s wife Elizabeth was happy to have a picture taken in front of the outdoor kitchen of their thatched home. We had a look at the local version of a phone box, a phone on a pole surrounded by a satellite dish, and solar panels. The new church was almost finished, and I walked into the cool interior to check out the acoustics. Dugout canoes lined the shore, and the shy kids would flash us a quick smile before hiding. By the end of our mini tour, a small crowd had gathered on the beach to see us off.
Our next sail was an overnighter up to Lamen Bay on Epi. We arrived early on a Sunday morning in squall conditions. The next day we dinghied ashore for a look around, and to meet Chief Tasso. His wife Lekon, and daughter make beautiful pandanus mats and baskets which they sell at terrific prices to people passing through. The village is a prosperous looking place, with very neatly kept thatch houses and yards lined by foliage. The local school has about 140 students who come from other villages and board for the term. The supply ship comes into the Harbour and picks up villagers and their produce, and transports them to Port Vila for market day. Pontas, the resident Dugong, was being shy, but the turtles were far from it, popping up all over the bay to catch a breath before going back down to mow the turtle grass. Les went snorkeling to look for the dugong, but he was nowhere to be found.
Our next port of call was Crab Bay. We were anxious to get here as we had heard that it lives up to its name. Murf had caught another beautiful Mahi Mahi on the way up, and Les threw it into the smoker for another treat of a meal, using Manuka wood chips for flavour. The boys took the fish head in a net bag into the mangroves, in hopes of luring some crabs. No such luck. So Les got into his great white hunter mode, and went seeking lobster. After a fruitless search of a couple of hours, he came home with one that would do for an appetizer. This wasn’t like him at all, to bring home such a small catch, and he was demoralized-being beaten by a bunch of crays. The next day, he went off again in determination, and wasn’t coming home until he had dinner in hand! Well, he was out for about three hours, and came home shivering but triumphant. Three beautiful crays. We had another incredible feast. Chili Cray’s, Cajun Etouffe, and Grilled Cray’s with garlic butter to dip. And the next day being Sunday, we had to do another round of Eggs Benedict.
We hauled anchor early the next morning to continue on to Luganville, Espiritu Santo. We found a number of other yachts anchored out in front of the Beachfront Resort, owned and run by Fay and Mike Windle. This is a very yachtsmen friendly place who supply showers, water fill up, happy hour, and reasonably priced meals. It is a 100 Vatu taxi ride to a fair sized town featuring a fresh produce market, a couple of butcher shops and bakeries, restaurants, banks, post, as well as the requisite Chinese shops who sell just about everything imaginable. There are a number of small motels who cater to visitors, a large number being divers come to see some of the spectacular wrecks. I went on a dive to see the President Coolidge, world famous as the most accessible wartime wreck of this magnitude. The President Coolidge is 654’ long, lying on her side just off the shore in 65’ at her bow to 240’ at the stern where the two 20’ propellers were salvaged. This once proud luxury liner was commandeered to become a troopship, and upon entering the channel hit friendly mines that blew a huge hole in the hull. She was driven straight onto the shore, where her troops were able to disembark and walk ashore. As the tide dropped she gradually rolled seaward and slid down the shelf on which she had come to rest.
I opted to join a group of sailors who had just been certified by Alan Power Dive Center. We were picked up and driven to the site. The dive originates on shore, where divers suit up, and walk out through the shallows, and start their descent gradually, going through the coral gardens, before flying out over the drop off into the deep blue. Divers follow a guide line down, down, down, until up out of the gloom looms the sunken hulk. Myself and Rob were led by a local Vanuatuan diver through the promenade deck where relics of the war were scattered. He donned a coral encrusted helmet and picked up the carbine rifle and mimicked a soldier firing his weapon. Hilarious at 100’. He showed us shells from anti-aircraft guns mounted on turrets, and the incongruous sight of porcelain toilets mounted in a row and relatively coral free. And as you swim along and gaze off into the depths beyond, large schools of fish hover. The highlight was a 6’ long turtle resting on a turret, who didn’t mind when we approached him, and even let us touch him before he finned up to the surface 100’ above. Awesome!
A few nights later, we caught a ride out to the sports complex where an evening of music and dance was being held. We arrived at sundown, and the ladies were setting up the food table. It was laden with skewers of chicken, beef, fried fish, plantain, taro all served on banana leaves, accompanied by drinking coconuts and, of course, the requisite Kava. Group after group of Kangkwai String Band, Ambaean Bue Dancers and Custom Show entertained us through the night, culminating in the final act. The whole audience participates, singing and circling the central dancers at a slow jog, to the beat of bamboo poles set up as drums.
After one more Sunday Brunch, we provisioned, filled with water and cleared out for our final destination of Cairns Australia, and The Great Barrier Reef.
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