[Tuesday, November 2, 2010. And with apologies to Eugene O'Neill for plundering his title]
We arrived in Port Resolution Harbor yesterday around 10 am, fully expecting to have the rest of the day to clear in. Lonely Planet said it was only 41 kilometers to the customs and immigration offices in Lenakel (about 25.5 miles). Our passage from Fiji was only 4.5 days, so after a bit of tidying up, we thought we'd go ashore, dash over to Lenakel, and come back for dinner. No sooner were we anchored than a steady rain began. Neither Jon nor I felt much like leaving our boat and getting soaked, so we waited a few hours. By early afternoon, Jon rowed ashore to the Yacht Club, which our cruising guide indicated was the first point of contact for sailors wishing to clear in, and met Werry, the Club's manager. "Oh, no. It's too late to go to Lenakel today," he said. "Come back tomorrow morning around 6:30 (a.m.)."
OK. No worries. Except that we did not know that we did not know what time it was in Vanuatu. Despite charts, a time map, and electronic equipment out the wazoo, sometimes it's hard to know exactly what time it is in a new country when you're on a boat, given that daylight savings times are particular to each county ... some actually adjust their times in 30 and 15 minutes increments ... and given that being at sea probably addles my brain a bit. Needless to say, after thinking we were running late, we arose too early, arrived at the yacht club at 5:30 local time, and patiently waited for Werry to awaken. As you can see, the Yacht Club is sparse, but charming. Its open air walls let in a fresh breeze, we found familiar boats in the registry, and enjoyed checking out the various burgees from yachts and yacht clubs around the world.
We left the village of Ireupuow around 7 am in a small four wheel pick-up truck, driven by Robeson with Mr. John riding shotgun. Jon, Mark (a 17 year old who went to school in Lenakel) and I were in the back seat of the cab. And huddled together back in the bed of the truck were 10 more villagers hitching a ride into town. It quickly became apparent that this was not going to be as quick of a trip as we thought. The roads were unpaved, narrow, and full of deep, rain-riven gullies which had to be carefully navigated by Robeson----and we discovered that Mr. John's role on the passenger side was to let Robeson know exactly how much room he had to spare on the left hand side. We bounced from side to side into each other and held on tight as we listened to the laughter and screams from the passengers behind us, sitting on narrow wooden slats, and to the 1970s and 80s pop music coming out of the cab's CD player. Soon, there was no road at all as we crossed the ash plain created by the volcano at Mt. Yasur.
This non-road, led to a rain-swollen river with a non-bridge. Because of the rains from the day before, the river, -- a dry bed in the winter (our summer) -- was running about 2-2.5 feet deep. It was not to be crossed without the general agreement of Chief Stanley, Robeson and Mr John. After testing and consultation, we waited an hour and a half for the waters to recede a bit. This gave us time to meet our fellow travelers and to stare in awe at what a volcano can leave in its wake. The sky was overcast, from the precipitation as well as from the ash that spews daily from the nearby volcano's caldera. In addition, the landscape was filled with mini canyons, created by the river as well as from past lava flows. It felt otherworldly--a bit like a desolate moonscape.
We arrived in Lenakel around 11:30, averaging just over 5 and a half mph in what Jon referred to in his Sons and Daughters post as a "bone jarring" ride. It was clear that "going to town" was not easy and whatever business we planned to get done while in Vanuatu had to be done that day. First to the bank for Vatu (money) and then to lunch because customs and immigration were also out to lunch and we had to wait until one.
Lunch was chicken and rice in a small cafe on main street (see photo above) and Stanley joined us. I thought clearing customs and immigration was something Jon and I were doing on our own, as we've done everywhere else, but it began to dawn on me that Stanley was along for the ride as our escort. His father had helped get Port Resolution on the list of permissible places for cruisers to enter, but it's not really a port; it's a harbor with a village. Without confirming this, I suspect that he accompanied us to vouch to the officials that we were indeed in his harbor, had indeed just arrived, were who we said we were, and hadn't gone anywhere else before checking in.
After lunch and needing a nap, Jon went to deal with the official clearing in, and I went to manage our affairs, check in with family and mail post cards. To the left of the internet cafe is the bank (it has no ATM) and inside the bank is the Post Office (the teller at the end) and next door to the right was the small grocery, sparsely stocked much like an old Soviet era store. Sitting on a bench outside the internet cafe (see left), watching the comings and goings of this small village, I was struck by how physically removed I felt from modernity and yet I was conducting wireless online banking and video chatting with our daughter Kate. When Jon arrived, he reminded me that we were required to send an email to Australian Customs and Quarantine prior to our arrival....so off the email went and then it was back in the truck for the return trip to Ireupuow.
While waiting for others who also were returning to Ireupuow, Jon took this photo of a sign in Bislama, more commonly known as pidgen English. You can figure it out. There were also signs regarding public health and HIV. It was fun to decipher and even more fun to hear. Vanuatu has over one hundred native languages spoken in its archipelago (due to the isolation of villages and islands from each other), but 3 languages are official: Bislama, English and French. This being the result of colonization and the rare Condominium of joint French and English rule.
The return trip did not entail a wait at the river, and only took us 2 and a half hours to go 25.5 miles. It was still bumpy, and the deeply muddy road that we slid down coming into Lenakel was much more difficult to ascend. We skidded all over the narrow road, wheels spinning, mud flying, women laughing in a recurring kind of joyous screaming. Robeson's skills were beyond doubt, but eventually his luck ran out and we got stuck at a place where the entire road seemed to veer right into a gully. Everyone got out, and out of the way, as he ground the gears, burned the clutch and rocked the truck free.
Interestingly, there was a group of people roasting bananas on the side of the road where we got stuck. Surely we, and the other trucks that had passed that way, were the afternoon's entertainment. In any event, they were not surprised at our predicament and did not seem too concerned that we wouldn't soon be back on our way. Along the way, Robeson delivered a package to a school, dropped a few people off early, and meandered back into Ireupuow as dusk was encroaching on the day. Our mission of clearing in had been accomplished. It had been an unexpectedly adventurous and wonderful day. But even a long passage at sea had not left us as completely exhausted as we were by the time we hiked back down the trail to our dinghy, puttered back to Grace, peeled our muddy clothes and shoes off in the cockpit and collapsed into bed.
Posts
We arrived in Port Resolution Harbor yesterday around 10 am, fully expecting to have the rest of the day to clear in. Lonely Planet said it was only 41 kilometers to the customs and immigration offices in Lenakel (about 25.5 miles). Our passage from Fiji was only 4.5 days, so after a bit of tidying up, we thought we'd go ashore, dash over to Lenakel, and come back for dinner. No sooner were we anchored than a steady rain began. Neither Jon nor I felt much like leaving our boat and getting soaked, so we waited a few hours. By early afternoon, Jon rowed ashore to the Yacht Club, which our cruising guide indicated was the first point of contact for sailors wishing to clear in, and met Werry, the Club's manager. "Oh, no. It's too late to go to Lenakel today," he said. "Come back tomorrow morning around 6:30 (a.m.)."
OK. No worries. Except that we did not know that we did not know what time it was in Vanuatu. Despite charts, a time map, and electronic equipment out the wazoo, sometimes it's hard to know exactly what time it is in a new country when you're on a boat, given that daylight savings times are particular to each county ... some actually adjust their times in 30 and 15 minutes increments ... and given that being at sea probably addles my brain a bit. Needless to say, after thinking we were running late, we arose too early, arrived at the yacht club at 5:30 local time, and patiently waited for Werry to awaken. As you can see, the Yacht Club is sparse, but charming. Its open air walls let in a fresh breeze, we found familiar boats in the registry, and enjoyed checking out the various burgees from yachts and yacht clubs around the world.
We left the village of Ireupuow around 7 am in a small four wheel pick-up truck, driven by Robeson with Mr. John riding shotgun. Jon, Mark (a 17 year old who went to school in Lenakel) and I were in the back seat of the cab. And huddled together back in the bed of the truck were 10 more villagers hitching a ride into town. It quickly became apparent that this was not going to be as quick of a trip as we thought. The roads were unpaved, narrow, and full of deep, rain-riven gullies which had to be carefully navigated by Robeson----and we discovered that Mr. John's role on the passenger side was to let Robeson know exactly how much room he had to spare on the left hand side. We bounced from side to side into each other and held on tight as we listened to the laughter and screams from the passengers behind us, sitting on narrow wooden slats, and to the 1970s and 80s pop music coming out of the cab's CD player. Soon, there was no road at all as we crossed the ash plain created by the volcano at Mt. Yasur.
This non-road, led to a rain-swollen river with a non-bridge. Because of the rains from the day before, the river, -- a dry bed in the winter (our summer) -- was running about 2-2.5 feet deep. It was not to be crossed without the general agreement of Chief Stanley, Robeson and Mr John. After testing and consultation, we waited an hour and a half for the waters to recede a bit. This gave us time to meet our fellow travelers and to stare in awe at what a volcano can leave in its wake. The sky was overcast, from the precipitation as well as from the ash that spews daily from the nearby volcano's caldera. In addition, the landscape was filled with mini canyons, created by the river as well as from past lava flows. It felt otherworldly--a bit like a desolate moonscape.
We arrived in Lenakel around 11:30, averaging just over 5 and a half mph in what Jon referred to in his Sons and Daughters post as a "bone jarring" ride. It was clear that "going to town" was not easy and whatever business we planned to get done while in Vanuatu had to be done that day. First to the bank for Vatu (money) and then to lunch because customs and immigration were also out to lunch and we had to wait until one.
Lunch was chicken and rice in a small cafe on main street (see photo above) and Stanley joined us. I thought clearing customs and immigration was something Jon and I were doing on our own, as we've done everywhere else, but it began to dawn on me that Stanley was along for the ride as our escort. His father had helped get Port Resolution on the list of permissible places for cruisers to enter, but it's not really a port; it's a harbor with a village. Without confirming this, I suspect that he accompanied us to vouch to the officials that we were indeed in his harbor, had indeed just arrived, were who we said we were, and hadn't gone anywhere else before checking in.
After lunch and needing a nap, Jon went to deal with the official clearing in, and I went to manage our affairs, check in with family and mail post cards. To the left of the internet cafe is the bank (it has no ATM) and inside the bank is the Post Office (the teller at the end) and next door to the right was the small grocery, sparsely stocked much like an old Soviet era store. Sitting on a bench outside the internet cafe (see left), watching the comings and goings of this small village, I was struck by how physically removed I felt from modernity and yet I was conducting wireless online banking and video chatting with our daughter Kate. When Jon arrived, he reminded me that we were required to send an email to Australian Customs and Quarantine prior to our arrival....so off the email went and then it was back in the truck for the return trip to Ireupuow.
While waiting for others who also were returning to Ireupuow, Jon took this photo of a sign in Bislama, more commonly known as pidgen English. You can figure it out. There were also signs regarding public health and HIV. It was fun to decipher and even more fun to hear. Vanuatu has over one hundred native languages spoken in its archipelago (due to the isolation of villages and islands from each other), but 3 languages are official: Bislama, English and French. This being the result of colonization and the rare Condominium of joint French and English rule.
The return trip did not entail a wait at the river, and only took us 2 and a half hours to go 25.5 miles. It was still bumpy, and the deeply muddy road that we slid down coming into Lenakel was much more difficult to ascend. We skidded all over the narrow road, wheels spinning, mud flying, women laughing in a recurring kind of joyous screaming. Robeson's skills were beyond doubt, but eventually his luck ran out and we got stuck at a place where the entire road seemed to veer right into a gully. Everyone got out, and out of the way, as he ground the gears, burned the clutch and rocked the truck free.
Interestingly, there was a group of people roasting bananas on the side of the road where we got stuck. Surely we, and the other trucks that had passed that way, were the afternoon's entertainment. In any event, they were not surprised at our predicament and did not seem too concerned that we wouldn't soon be back on our way. Along the way, Robeson delivered a package to a school, dropped a few people off early, and meandered back into Ireupuow as dusk was encroaching on the day. Our mission of clearing in had been accomplished. It had been an unexpectedly adventurous and wonderful day. But even a long passage at sea had not left us as completely exhausted as we were by the time we hiked back down the trail to our dinghy, puttered back to Grace, peeled our muddy clothes and shoes off in the cockpit and collapsed into bed.
1 comment:
Kind of makes you appreciate the relative efficiency of the drivers licence offices back home.
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