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June 11-14, 2004

South Pacific Idyll

A Culture Without the Concept of Profit

Manfred P.

Keywords: Vanuatu, Efate Island, Iririki Island, Ifira Island, Erakor Island, Port Vila, Pango, tourist, travel trip report, travel log, travelogue.

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I must be crazy. I know that. If not crazy, at least I am a masochist. If I am not sweating and exhausted I can't be happy. So it seems. I am on Vanuatu, a small South Pacific island country. A gorgeous coast line surrounds me, there are dozens of small beaches and instead of relaxing with an umbrella drink what do I do? I am hiking around the island. I am sweating, everything sticks to my body. No surprise, it is hot and humidity is at 90%. On the plane I had high flying plans of hiking the island Efate's highest hill: Mt. Macdonald 647m, some 2000ft. Now that I am actually on the ground I became more realistic. The humidity is too draining and the terrain too difficult. I would never make it to the top, I would not even get close to the hill.

History

The history of Vanuatu is typical for this region. The local tribesmen occasionally, but infrequently, performed cannibalism. The Europeans who came next considered that to be barbarian. The Europeans decimated the 1,000,000 natives down to 100,000 in the first 100 years of the presence. This the Europeans did not call barbarian; this they called "bringing culture". For decades the French and English jointly rule the country. If you think one bureaucratic state is bad, think about having two. Two police forces, two prison systems, two of everything. Eventually in 1980 Vanuatu reached independence. Good for them.

Uncertainty and Indecisiveness

The island is laid back. I found that out right away at the airport. When I asked for a bus to town I got every possible response. Different people told me: Yes, No, Maybe, Later. Every single person on the plane was picked up by a prearranged hotel shuttle bus. Looks like I was the only non-package tourist on this Boeing 737. It was night time already and as the "maybe later" bus never showed I was the only one taking a taxi to town. The taxi driver raised his eye brows when I gave him the name of the guest house. He asked me, "Are you sure they are still in business?" "Yes I am. I called them a week ago to make a reservation." "Ok, let's go then." Fifteen minutes later he pulls up to a dark house in a poorly lit street. "Here it is," he says. It was too dark to see the whole building but the window closest to me was boarded up and tall piles of rubble were to the left and right. I didn't bother getting out of the cab; I just instructed the driver to take me to the next place. Silently I thought to myself "This is a great start. Why would the person take my reservation and my name?" Some low-level employee who does not know what she is doing and never makes any decisions would do that. At the second guest house a white guy, obviously a tourist, was talking to through the fence with a black guy, obviously a low level employee. They are discussing whether or not there are single rooms available. That is another case of "yes", "no", "maybe" and/or "possibly later". It took a while and many questions and answers to figure out what is going on here. There is a dorm room and it is all empty, but there is a reservation from a single girl and she never showed. Given that this is Vanuatu where only two planes arrive per day, where there are no trains, no freeways and no late night boats it was clear that the chances of anyone showing up past 10pm are slim. Anyway, I think, "So, where is the problem? You put the American and me in the dorm and if the woman should show she can join us." Apparently they had European missionaries for too long as a co-ed dorm was out of the question. I soon realized that these employees never take any decision and that everything is always referred back to the boss who is typically never around. As a short work around the American and I split a double. The next day the woman had not arrived and I still could not move into the dorm as she might or might not come today. And as always any decision taking was impossible as the boss was not around.

Giving Back

It was raining cats and dogs: A typical tropical downpour. I started the early morning with a trip to the market. It was beautiful, the people, their dresses, the veggies on display. The choices however are poor. Only a small selection is grown on the island: taro, yams, potatoes, peanuts and salad are the only veggies on sale. Bananas, mandarins, lemon, lime and coconuts are the only local fruit. The typical dish is rice mixed with junks of chicken or flying fox. The market is right on the water front in the center of the capital Port Vila. 100 meter offshore is the tiny island of Iririki. Half of the island is a hotel with two dozens of individual bungalows spread between palm trees and other vegetation. The second half of the island is readied to be sold off as lots for private residencies. It was too early and the hotel guests must have still been sleeping on this rainy day with dark low-hanging clouds covering the sky. I didn't meet a soul. The pool overlooking the ocean was calm except for the small ripples from the drizzle. It takes only 20 minutes to walk around the island. On the still empty side of the island I went for a morning swim. I was surprised by how warm the ocean was. On the tiny beach I met a woman from New Zealand. She and her husband live here on a boat and she works for a Kiwi governmental volunteer organization. Her job is teaching chemistry and training another teacher to take over her job. In return for this 2-years of volunteer work they get free housing, gas and electricity. I was amazed. I was on the island for about 12 hours out of which I slept 8 and I had met already three long term volunteers. The American with whom I shared last night's room was from the US Peace Corps, also a 2 year commitment. His job was to teach the locals some practical economics, as in "how to run a small business". On the way to the communal showers in the guest house I met a second US Peace Corps member. Food for thought.

Languages

A language is a crucial but strange creation. Bislama is the main language on the islands. It is a strange mix of English and French with some local terms. Bislama is there to act as the lowest common denominator because there are more than 100 languages on Vanuatu. I am not sure what the difference is between a language and a dialect, but I can do the math: 100 languages for 200,000 people. That is an average of 2,000 people per language. That makes a world record in languages per capita. They have many languages but to me it appears that none of them contains the word "profit". While in other countries everyone wants to sell you something, here nobody wants to sell you anything. There is no price shouting in the market, no kids running after you begging for chewing gum and definitely no bargaining at shops or at the market. The US Peace Corps and their economy lessons will soon enough teach the locals the meaning of "profit" and life will not be the same anymore on this innocent island.

People

Vanuatu is a poor country. GDP per capita is $2,900. Outside the few towns people live in tin shacks or wooden huts. Most tourists spend their vacation in sheltered resorts which they never leave. Traveling is not easy in general. There are few roads and inter-island flights are expensive. This does not make it an ideal environment for budget travelers on the move. But on the other hand, this has the advantages that many places are not yet influenced by tourism and of guaranteeing a unique experience. People remain friendly, open, and warm. It is really easy to talk to people. It's funny that they act surprised when you tell them you are a tourist. What else could one be? One person asked if I am a journalist just because I had a camera. Since nearly all people speak some English it is easy to strike up a conversation. I met a store owner whose son is in Australia. He introduced me to his whole family. He had a tiny 15-square-yard shed that was his neighborhood store.

I met a couple of women waiting for a lift who spoke three languages: Bislama, English and their mother tongue which they did not know what it is called. Realizing that they didn't know the name of their mother tongue they both looked at each other and started laughing. Later I met three teenage girls aged 11 and 12. They started giggling hysterically whenever I took my camera into my hand. They had a lot of fun joking around for me. Eventually they headed off in their canoe, and about to set off they stopped, turned around, came back and asked me if I want to cross the ocean channel with them to go to the small island Ifira where they live with their parents. I had to decline the inviting offer because I was worried not being able to make it back after sunset.

On another occasion a 6-year old girl watched me collect shells. She joined me and collected shells with me, side by side, giving me her bounty as a present. At the end she said, "When will you come tomorrow?" A moving question.

Another Day in Paradise

The tropical warm rain and humidity slowly creeps everywhere. On my second day of excursions, everything was humid: my clothing, my socks, my map, even the money bills in my wallet. The starting point for today's day-long outing was Pango village. It is the typical Vanuatu village: close to the shore, a few dozen homes, a church, the home of the chief, and no shops or bars. Some people walk along the only street. Women wear their flower-print dresses. Leaving quiet Pango westwards the dirt road follows the coast for 10 more miles. Between coral rocks and mangrove rainforest vegetation are a few small desolate beaches. Eventually the dirt road partially built on coral turns into a dead end at a "tabu" sign.

Some stretches of this coast are miles of coral. Ton after ton of coral litter the beach. Most of it is white, occasionally it has some red or pink marks and on rare occasions a piece of blue coral can be found. From the white coral comes the white sand that fills the beaches.

Being Lazy

The last day I gave in. No more adventure, no more excursion, just a calm day of relaxation at the beach. I went to Erakor Island, another tiny 400 by 50 yard island that is home to a chain of bungalows from a resort hotel. But it is low key and down-to-earth. As you come over on the ferry, you can see hundreds of starfish scattered on the ocean floor of the shallow lagoon. As you walk into the water from the beach, red, white and a rare blue starfish are in knee-deep water. There are so many that one has to be careful not to step onto them. Far away from cars and any hustle and bustle, on a shady spot of this tranquil island I found myself a hammock. Resting in it, feeling the Pacific sea breeze in my face I looked at the sky and stared at cloud formations. A good way to "waste" the last hours on Vanuatu.

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