When Captain Cook sailed the vessel “Resolution” into this Port, I wonder if he saw whites of many eyes amongst the paradise of the New Hebrides. S.V. Condesa - Capt Humming, Pedro, I and our visiting crew –friends Larry and Gay were in awe as we sailed in through these pre historic headlands of Port Resolution with the billowing (...well puffing) volcano behind. We all thought, that the active volcano was going to be the highlight of this island stop.
That night, the smell sulphur and hot ash filled our noses as we dug deep for breath with each ascending step we took towards the luring glow in the sky. The friendly chatter ceased when the low guttural growl of the volcano built, it sends shivers up your spine that ignites another level of excitement enough to help you make it to the top. We all paused and looked to the sky for the orange lava globs to be thrown high. Once there, the massive gaping hole of broiling heat has a mesmerising effect on you. You feel the need to lean to see the monster labouring over this mammoth potion of molten rock. I wonder how many lives have been changed over the years and will continue to change by this phenomenon. It was hard to step away from the fiery pulse, despite urges from he who hums. It is like you are willing for some earth shattering finale to happen as your cue to leave. He, whose hum was no competition to the volcano’s heavy breathing, was wondering how he was going to explain my absence as I looked to edge closer to the open inferno, loving every ounce of the pent-up energy below. To feel the earth move under your feet literally is something else and not for the faint hearted. No barriers to be seen only the one your instincts create. We all took lots of photos; as if it was the last images you would see of us before we had to jump into the back of the open truck and return to the cool and invigorating safari home. This equally exhilarating ride an hour through the narrow bush track led us back to our latest cliff address where Condesa was chained firmly to the seabed below.
The next day was meant to be the general ritual of checking into Vanuatu and replenishing our fresh produce from the town markets. The only transport on Tanna was at 5.30am. A local’s truck will take you for the 2 hour jaunt across the island to the “town”. Lenakel is a one-bank; one-travel office and one coffee shop, dirt road that run beside many hidden and enticing villages. Once again, we took to standing in the back of the truck, gaining speed on the better tracks through the lushness, ducking low branches when required and dropping into 4xW when we hit rough terrain. We passed by the occasional school and clusters of people starting their day on foot as the sun rose... who knows how far they walk. Then, we drove out from a thick plantation and we all witnessed the astonishing ash basin of the volcano open up in front of us. In utter disbelief we flew across the dry grey spans of nothingness; yet everythingness that transformed this earth into a moonscape experience. With scarf and hair flowing behind and a firm monkey grip on the roll bars around - imperative if you wanted to live to tell the tale. We were all leaning into the breeze with our eager faces, inhaling the “ride” across this ancient island that has paused in time. The only sombre moment was viewing the mother with her sick baby in the front cabin, and I am sure she was willing the humble dwelling for a hospital to emerge every second of her journey. Once she and her family took their place in the early morning queue on the bench seat outside the basic structure, we then retraced our path to join the road to town, stopping to cram more families into the back of the truck (current record =28 people). The quick-to-smile little ones clamber in around you and happily take any treats you offer them. I could go on and on with the richer than volcanic experiences we shared with these beautifully happy people and their abounding island, but I’ll save it for another time.
By the time Larry and Gay departed they took away with them the “unexpected”, as the exciting “expected” became second to the everyday life here. Like us, I am sure the eventful 4 day passage aboard Condesa has been diluted by this primitive island encounter. But being anchored in their bay we got a view of this paradise from afar. We could see their incredibly rich soil and hutted villages dotted amongst the darkest of green trees. As we clambered up the cliff face to the nearest village to seek and find. We added our footprints to their dark trodden paths and made our way to the ancient Banyan tree that sat in the centre of the freshly groomed village clearing. We explore further and saw the humble Tanna Yacht Club hut that we could just make out from where we had anchored below and the little thatched huts dotted beside it that can be rented for minimal vatu. Not far from here, the school edged the sheer cliff face where we mingled with the kids in the bright sunshine (and absolutely no fear of anyone jumping off the 150ft drop here) - and why would you? We are lured along a track through lush thick grass and stopped at the cute one table Cafe hut and sipped tea, seeing the locals resting in the shade, little ones reclined in soft warmth. I am sure someone there had an eye on us but you never felt that. As the week flew by we were welcomed into every aspect of their lives and we have many more memories than we ever thought possible. Anyone and everyone would invite you into their lives from The Village Chief; The Fishermen, The School, The Church and the families for anything from a spit roast to a chat with the kids. Perfect hand-made gifts were forthcoming and we tried to reciprocate with items of use to them that we could easily replace in the next stop. Their easy flowing generosity seemed too much, as we got to enjoy their unique and traditional lives within their villages......and their hearts. But the 4 little sandy islanders who eagerly came out to see our boat and lifestyle after we had shared lunch in their village snuck into our hearts. We filled their afternoon with treats they had never witnessed, and without knowing it they filled ours with the same. When it came time to take them, their freshly patched knees and their teenage minder back to shore; she stated ...we lived in “paradise”, and then asked if she could come with us. I was surprised that she was so unwilling to leave our enclosed dark saloon for her fresh open space life! I thought how odd it is that the whole world over we look and see “paradise” elsewhere. They taught us a thing or two with their ready smiles, trusting natures, their firm traditions and not succumbing to the influence of the visiting outside world over the many years. However our 19yrs old guest eventually got up with a bag of girly magazines and some ridiculously bright nail polish that cured her teenage curiosity. But it seemed so wrong to spoil their raw beauty with these things when I looked at the hand woven basket of fresh off the tree fruit and vegetables she had left us. So, I watch the scene of our stark white dingy, he who hums, his 4 little dark shadows putting back to the whiter than white coral beach with great black boulders lapped by sparkling waters and the rich greenery jutting from the cool cliffs above. I am appreciative of the small part of our lives that were exchanged here in ‘Paradise’.