Manaro

For the last year or so, I’ve wanted to climb Ambae’s volcano, Manaro. If I hadn’t lived on Ambae for seven months I probably wouldn’t have cared at all about this particular geological feature, or maybe even the island itself, but I had and I did.
I was just waiting for an opportunity to go. A bunch of volunteers and I attended a Camp G.L.O.W. (Girls Leading Our World) training session on Ambae and we decided to hike the volcano after the workshop was finished. Dan arrived from Malekula on the last day of the workshop and planned to come with us.
While we were still on Maewo, Sheridan reserved a truck to take us to Ambanga, the last village on the road to Manaro. Turns out she has an uncle in the village. She called him several times before we left for Ambae to make sure he could take us. Each time he said he would be there. When he asked Sheridan to buy him phone credit, she happily obliged. As the workshop drew to a close, she called him again, and again he confirmed that he would come to get us.
On the morning of the climb, I awoke at 5 am and groggily packed my things, trudged out to get some breakfast and waited for the truck. My fellow would-be Manaro climbers and I sat around waiting. And then we waited a little more. Sheridan called her uncle repeatedly, but his phone was turned off. Around 7:30 we decided to give up and took a local truck into Saratamata, Penama’s provincial capital, to the house of a PCV who was nice enough to let us crash at her house while she was away. Realizing that it was already too late in the day to start our Manaro trip, we decided to set out for Ambanga in the afternoon on a local truck and get an early start up the volcano the next day. We later found out that Sheridan had the wrong number for her uncle and had actually been calling some random guy in Pentecost.
The ride was about an hour long. The first half of it was smooth and enjoyable. It was the kind of day that makes you wanna keep taking deep breaths, as if breathing in deeply would help you take in all the beauty that much more. Then the roads became the roads I remembered from my stay in South Ambae. Hilly and full of potholes. Still, there were stretches where the grass was thick, green, and trimmed short, almost like a golf course. I spent the rest of the ride wondering if someone had actually taken a lawnmower to the sides of the road or if the several cows I saw along the way were capable of keeping such a large plot of land looking so good.
We arrived in Ambanga, but had trouble finding anyone who knew the whereabouts of the Duviara Guest House. After no little amount of confusion, we saddled up and set off on a road of unknown length and hoped for the best. The road was a little tricky. Extremely narrow at some points, steep at others, and at once there was a 2x4 to cross over a small ravine. It was gorgeous though, and after only about five minutes, we had reached Duviara.
Huh. A large blue tent. And a huge white guy with a Broncos t-shirt. Vanuatu never ceases to amaze me. Turns out the Broncos fan was a missionary from Georgia or something. He lives in Vila but goes out to stay in Duviara every few years to preach the good word. Because he was using the main house, Justin and Sheridan got to sleep in the tent while the rest of us divvied up the remaining four beds. That night we drank kava. We hadn’t given the guys at the guest house much notice that we wanted to drink that night, so it came rather late. The lady who runs the guest house prepared a whole bunch of really delicious-smelling food, which made waiting for the kava even more difficult.
When the kava finally came, I thought that I might be able to handle one shell. I’d discovered that taking ibuprofen lessened the symptoms I usually feel after drinking kava. Shaking, fever, sleeplessness, itchiness, etc. I listened to the kava for a bit and even managed to take a few bites of food before the shaking started. I went to my room, swallowed some ibuprofen, and waited. I started to feel cold. Then I started to shiver. I put on my socks and got under the covers, the shivering coming on stronger now. I curled up into a ball and concentrated on relaxing my muscles by taking deep breaths. After about 15 minutes I finally succeeded, but I felt sore all over. For the third or fourth time since coming to Vanuatu, I vowed to never drink kava again.
We set out the next morning at 7 am. I was stoked because we got to eat gato, which are like doughnuts, and drink milo, which is like hot ovaltine, for breakfast. We chatted excitedly about the walk. How it wasn’t very difficult. Not too muddy, not too steep. We were surrounded by dense bush and the path became more narrow. About 90 minutes into the hike our guide informed us that we were about halfway there. Although I was incredulous (it’s often been my experience that Man Vanuatu grossly underestimate both distances and time) I couldn’t help but be excited to reach the top of Manaro in just another 90 minutes.
Two hours later, I felt my excitement begin to wane. The path was becoming tedious, lots of ducking under and climbing over fallen trees, avoiding large stones on the path, etc. We were muddy, sweaty and tired. On several occasions Justin joked that we were “halfway now.” The guide seemed intent on providing us all with walking sticks, though I felt like I got on better without one. Sheridan got the brunt of it as she was walking in the front. After another hour, we started to get silly. Sandy and Lauren took pictures of goop seeping out of plants, Sandy playfully whined the question on everyone’s minds: “Are we theeerrree yeeetttt?” We even began to sing what would later become, in our minds, the trip’s theme song: Living on A Prayer by Bon Jovi. Oh, we’re halfway there…Ohhhh livin’ on a prayer…Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear…Ohh, livin’ on a prayer.
After 5 ½ hours we reached the top of the volcano. It was misty, rainy, and very Exorcism of Emily Rose-ish in general. We rested for about 30 minutes, eating lunch and admiring the beautiful view revealed whenever the mist cleared.
The crater lakes of Manaro are the highest lakes in the South Pacific. Apparently Ambae has five crater lakes, but only two on the very top of the volcano. A good hike down from where we stood was the lake, electric blue and wind-rippled. I know people who have gone down near the water, but the guide told me that we couldn’t and I was too tired to argue it any further. As I stared at the water, I remembered stories about how the lake on Manaro was special because the lake’s waves came to shore, but never pulled back. I studied the water for a good while, but didn’t really see waves at all.
We took off our shoes and socks, wearily admiring our wrinkly feet. We ate the lunches that the guest house prepared for us. Taro, rice, and macaroni (ramen noodles) wrapped in banana leaves. Food never tasted so good. We gobbled it down and snapped a few pictures. Inside the lake is the cone of Manaro, shaped like a semi-circle. We could see the other shores of the lake, covered in trees and mist.
I was glad that Justin and Sheridan were there to push us on because when it was time to start hiking back down, I did not want to move. But it was getting late and we all wanted to get back down before dark. As is usually the case, the walk back down seemed to take a lot longer than the walk up. Justin was at it again with the “halfway now” jokes. We unconsciously broke up into three groups: Justin and the guide chattering together way ahead, Dan and I working our way steadily down in the middle, then Sheridan, Lauren, and Sandy bringing up the rear. We had to stop occasionally to allow them to catch up, but I was always happy for the rest. I felt like a couple of the toes on my left foot were broken and my legs were getting shaky. Then it started to get dark.
Luckily we all brought flashlights with us. My light wasn’t very strong and I found it challenging to avoid every stone and root in the path. I was sortof worried about falling, but never did. When the trees began to thin, I all but got down on my hands and knees and rejoiced. Disclaimer: I am not a hiker and did not ever go on a long hike until coming to Vanuatu. Out of the group, I think I was the most inexperienced and out of shape, so sorry if this sounds whiney. Looking at my cell phone I realized that we probably still had another hour to walk. I went into robot mode and sortof just spaced out as my legs moved underneath me.
Eventually we made it back to the guesthouse. The lady had been pretty worried about us and the truck to take us back to Saratamata had been waiting for a good hour already. I feebly packed my things and suddenly felt nauseous. Everybody wolfed down the boiled bananas that were brought to us, but I couldn’t eat. It felt like I was walking on pins and needles. The walk back down to Ambanga where the truck was waiting was like a dream. I was just going through the motions and was soon ecstatic to be sitting in the bed of the truck, although that too was uncomfortable. All of us, save Dan, were flopped down in the bed of the truck moaning and groaning. Dan stood up the whole ride back to Saratamata, I couldn’t believe it! When the truck started moving, I immediately felt the motion sickness. I concentrated on breathing but, before long, threw up off the side of the truck. “Who’s unhappy?” Justin asked everybody. We all chuckled then groaned as it began to rain. Best trip ever.
On the sunnier side, I don’t think I’ve slept that well in a while. I woke up feeling sore, but refreshed and accomplished. I was proud and happy that I had finally done it. I felt like I had earned the kastom tattoo that Sandy, Lauren, and I had arranged for ourselves to get later that afternoon. Once upon a time there was a PCV who lived in Sakau, a village in South Ambae. Through this PCV other volunteers met Bob, a man from the village who is skilled in doing kastom tattoos. We paid for Bob’s transport up to Saratamata and talked with him for a bit about the kastom story behind the road to Manaro tattoo. The tattoo itself looks like two parallel lines, an equal sign, or the number eleven. It represents the road and it is said that, if you have this tattoo, upon your death your spirit will dance on Manaro for eternity. Kastom tattoos are done with needles from the orange tree, leaves, and soot. Juice from the leaves are squeezed out onto the soot, making a black paste that is put into skin broken by the orange needles. Bob informed us that he had given 17 tattoos to PCVs over the years. One might say that Bob is our official kastom tattoo artist. He’s a good guy and loves to talk about the U.S. We gave him some gifts, storied for a bit, and he went on his way.
I got the tattoo on the right side of my right foot. It was a little painful just because of the location, but Bob was professional and efficient. Over the next couple of months my tattoo healed and peeled just like any other tattoo and now it is glorious. Every Man Vanuatu who sees my tattoo is fascinated by it and happy that I shared in their kastom, but can’t understand why I got it on my foot. The women in my village have all sorts of ridiculous “kastom” tattoos on their arms. Mostly initials that look like they were scrawled on by a 3 year-old. Others are more funny. The Nike symbol is my favorite.
In short, I’d say that if you enjoy hiking and are in decent shape, Manaro would be fun for you. If you’re a beginner and/or out of shape, I’d seriously reconsider this one, or bring a tent to camp out and take your time with it. The view on top was spectacular when and if the fog clears. And then, of course, there’s always the bragging rights.
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A Day On Maewo

Hey. It’s finally cooling down here and I’m feeling pretty good. What a day! Woke up and circuit trained with my sister Suzy. At least I think it was circuit training, I’m not entirely sure. We ran for a little while, then did pushups. We ran some more and did crunches. We ran some more and did squats, etc. We did some stretching then ate some of that delicious Weet-Bix that I love so much. With milk powder and a dash of cinnamon. Yum! I took a bucket bath, got my dirty clothes together along with the bag of powdered laundry detergent I purchased in bulk in Vila, and headed over to my family’s house.

We took the road by the ocean so as to avoid the church service that was going on. There’s an Anglican festival thingy happening here this week and there are services pretty much all day every day. I feel like such a sinner walking on the road that goes through the village whenever I pass a church service that I’m not attending.

I washed. Thankfully Suzy helped me because I had a lot to wash and the sun was pretty hot already. I hadn’t washed my clothes since before I left for the workshop on Ambae two weeks before. Throw in my bed sheets and a towel and pretty soon I had 2 hours worth of laundry on my hands.

I hung up my clothes to dry then prepared to rest a bit before heading home to relax and make lunch. My mama asked me to buy a kilo of rice for her to cook our lunch with, but because I had brought no money with me, she told me to go to the garden with Suzy and get some cabbage. She said the equivalent of “oh, it’s not far at all,” in Bislama, which means it’s a lot farther than it is closer. People in Vanuatu live very close together and grow most of their food in the bush, sometimes upwards of a 30 minute walk away, up hills and through mud. They are some tough people. I struggle to slip and slide down the hills as we come back from the garden only to see old women walking down confidently, carrying large loads of taro or firewood on their backs and on top of their heads.

Luckily there were no hills to climb. I had actually been to this particular garden before. It’s a nice walk through a small coconut plantation and a few clear, ice cold creeks to wade across. We got to the garden and picked watercress and Chinese cabbage then headed back.

By the time we got to the house, I was very hungry and suffering slightly from dehydration. Boy does this country make me feel like a princess. These days I get motion sickness just smelling gasoline. (In the last week or so, I’ve vomited once while riding in the bed of a pickup truck and then again taking a boat from Maewo to Ambae). I also get dehydrated basically everyday. Sigh. I asked my mom to send me some more Gatorade powder to mix with water though. I always hated Gatorade in the States, but it’s a real life saver for me here and I swear the powder has more sugar in it or something, it doesn’t taste like flavored sweat. Anyway, when lunch was served, I felt so nauseous I could barely choke it down, but I forced myself to eat small bites and soon felt a lot better. I also sipped my water. After I ate, I walked back to my house, took some Tylenol, and laid down for a bit. About an hour later, I was good as new. That’s the cool thing about it, if there is a cool thing about getting dehydrated daily: I know exactly how to fix it. Obviously drink more water, but, if you really wanna feel better quickly, eat a little bit (preferably something with salt), take a pain killer, and sleep. Taking a cold bucket bath never hurts either.

I woke up to somebody calling my name. Nicholson, the mechanics teacher, was at my door, asking for chalk. I had told him a week ago that there was no chalk, so I’m not sure if this was just him making sure I was sticking to my story or if he was hopeful or that forgetful. Once he left, I puttered about my house and talked on my phone for a bit.

I worked on my “field of interest” piece for a graduate school program I’m trying to apply to. I wrote “trying” because applying to grad schools without telecommunications is frustrating. Hopefully I can pull it off successfully, but part of me wonders if it might be better to just wait tables for a year back in the States while taking my time to research schools. But then I remember the nine months I worked at Barnes & Noble between college and Peace Corps and shudder. I loved my experience there, but going in 40 hours a week not knowing what my next step would be was difficult. I guess in this case I would have a plan and be researching schools so it might not be so bad. Maybe I’d even move to a different city. I’ve always thought about living in Boston, but the west coast sounds cool, as does Austin. It’d be easier to save money living with my parents back in Maryland, but I feel like trying something new.

Anyway, I really need to wash some dishes before I go back to my family’s house for dinner. There are so many people from Naviso, the sole village on East Maewo, here in my village for the Anglican thing that I feel like I just arrived in a new village all over again. People in Naviso rarely see white people, so many of them come up to me just to touch my hair or look at my nose ring. They’re fascinated when I take it out. They also love it when I get Stuey to sit and shake hands. But it’s weird walking around in my normally quiet village being greeted by people I’ve never met, who seem to know me.

I’ve been meaning to walk over to the East for some time now. They’ve invited me over there for Penama Day, which is Penama Province’s annual celebration. Each province has one, but ours is September 15. There’s going to be a big party in Naviso and they want me to come. I made the mistake of telling them I’d think about it, and have since had tell people (the same people) over and over that I would think about coming. I’d love to go, but I think I’ll wait until a non-holiday time when things aren’t so crazy. When there’s dancing and drinking, it’s nice to have your own house to go to and hide in if things get too crazy. Plus I’d like to go with the other Maewo volunteers, who also don’t want to go during a holiday. In fact, I think all three of them are coming to my house this weekend and staying through the 15th to celebrate here. Yay!

Also, a Peace Corps Staff member called me today about hosting a few trainees here on Maewo next month. I’m really excited and I hope it works out. I’m hoping they’ll send my good friend Stephanie out here. I haven’t seen her in about a 18 months and I’d love her to see my site. Lots to look forward to, but I should really wash those dishes…

Trip to Tanna

When we got off the plane, it was clear that something was different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but we definitely weren’t on Maewo. There seemed to be more coniferous and less coconut/palm trees maybe. Also, despite Tanna housing one of the world’s most active volcanoes, there were no mountains looming anywhere. Dan, a volunteer on Malekula, and I hopped on a truck and pointed out the differences between Tanna and other islands we’d seen during the ten or fifteen minute ride into Lenakel.

We got off at the market, and were met by some other volunteers. The market was incredible. Not too much smaller than the one in Vila, but it had a lot of produce that I had yet to see outside of the supermarket monopoly here, Au Bon Marche. Tanna is one of Vanuatu’s southernmost islands and is farther from the equator than islands such as the one I live on. As a result, Tanna is able to grow produce that I, as an American, am more familiar with. Things like carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, apples, and fried dough.

We walked along the dusty dirt road towards the stadium. At the time, Tanna was hosting an “Arts Festival” and the festivities were taking place there in Lenakel. Upon discovering that my trip coincided with the festival, I was excited to see some local handicrafts. Unfortunately, it seemed as if “art” meant kava, lots of people, soccer, trash, dancing, and group of New Caledonians. The only art I really saw were at the market. Woven baskets, mats, and naios. Naios basically look like sticks covered in colorful feathers. I believe Tannese women, also known as Woman Tanna, wear these in their hair during kastom dances. Lacking any sort of foresight whatsoever, I purchased a large purply pink one, and had to figure out creative ways to transport it around with me over the next few days of my stay.

Home base ended up being a stall in which another volunteer’s host family was selling food, kava, and coffee. After putting our bags down, we sat and watched a soccer game, helped make dinner, and marveled at how strange tourists can be. Later that night, there was kava and dancing. Around midnight, we pitched a tent and shivered ourselves to sleep.

The next day, I’d decided that I’d had enough of Lenakel and the crowds. We wanted to go to Port Resolution, which is on Tanna’s east coast (Lenakel is on the west coast), but were told it might be difficult to find transport and that it was an impossible walk. Always up for a challenge, we started walking. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, no humidity to speak of, and a slight breeze. The hills were steep, but the views were worth the climb. There were plenty of trucks going our way, but they were all full of people and never stopped. Sometimes a truck going in the opposite direction would stop and ask the usual Vanuatu questions: “Where are you going? Where are you coming from?” The responses differed as we walked farther and farther. At first, truck drivers would basically tell us that what we were attempting was impossible. After a while, they would just apologize. Towards the top/middle of Tanna, they would shake their heads.

We encountered other people on the road during our walk. A little boy promised he’d get us on the truck that he was supposed to be taking later on in the day. A mama sent one of her sons to fetch us smoky-tasting water as her terrified youngest child cried and screamed. One kid simply gave me a high five.

When we reached the highest part of the walk, I was amazed by the view. We could see a few other islands from where we stood. The ocean glittered a deep blue color and


Yasur was dark in the distance. A tourist truck had stopped at the top as well and the driver, a Ni-Vanuatu, chatted with us. When he found out that we were trying to walk to Port Resolution, he all but pushed us into the back of his truck to drive us. After coming so far, we were reluctant to give up. We asked him how much farther it was to our destination. He pointed to Yasur and basically said, “See that? Port Resolution is on the other side.” The ride down the aptly named Snake Hill was bumpy and cramped, but glorious after walking for four hours. To the road’s, and perhaps the Japanese’s, credit, it was one of the best I’d seen outside of Port Vila and Luganville. A feat of engineering that other islands have yet to grasp, the road was constructed so that water ran into ditches on either side of it, rather than carving out potholes the size of a small vehicle. Nevertheless, we bounced along, and got a pretty amazing tour of Yasur’s ash plain. As the truck wove around the roadless sand, a light rain began to fall, creating small rainbows all over the place. I was so excited by the fact that I could see the beginning and end of the same rainbow that I struggled to keep myself from stopping the truck and begging the tourists to take a picture of me at one end and Dan at the other. It reminded me of my brother and how he always wanted to find the end of a rainbow.

The longer we drove on, the more grateful I was for the ride. So I was pretty dismayed when, after 30 minutes, the driver stopped at a bungalow and told us to keep following the road to Port Resolution. Turns out we were still about a two-hour walk away.

In the increasing darkness, we pressed onward, arriving at Sandra’s house around 7 pm. She boiled water for us to have warm bucket baths with, and prepared a very tasty meal. We set up our tent and went to sleep.

The next morning we went exploring on our own. We meandered down the beach and observed some of Yasur’s geographical features. There were steam vents everywhere. We stopped at one that was larger than the others and smelled more sulfury. The warmth of the steam was difficult to abandon, but the smell wasn’t so pleasant. We continued on and came upon some colored clay. It was warm on the top, and piping hot just a tad farther down. There were reds, blues, and yellows making up all sorts of other shades as well. We painted each other’s faces with the clay, played a little bit in the muck, and continued on.

A little farther was a rickety ladder down to a couple of underwater vents, which made the ocean water bubble furiously. The water was very hot in some places and it was here that we carefully maneuvered and washed the dried clay off of our faces.

Heading down, we realized that we should’ve packed a lunch. We thought there might be a store or something in the village along the beach, but no such luck. Instead, we found a couple coconuts and struggled to open them with a stake. Dan was doing fine, but I couldn’t seem to get one open. Eventually a couple of older Ni-Van men came along and offered to open them with their bush knives. Saved us a lot of time and energy. Conversation didn’t seem to be on their minds, so they continued on as we went to sit on the beach and enjoy our spoils.

When we got back to Sandra’s, she was still gone and her kitchen was locked. There were a couple of stores in the village, but the ones that were open only sold random items such as toilet paper and rice. We bought a roll for Sandra and a bag of rice to cook. We were so hungry, but Sandra didn’t make it home for another hour or so, so we just had to sit there. Was the wait worth the cheese and crackers she gave us? Probably. We munched on the jarred cheesy goodness and, before long, a truck came along to transport us to the top of Yasur. For just 1000 vatu round trip for the both of us. We hopped gleefully in the back of the truck and took off.

The truck took us up a windy and bumpy path up the volcano. It was a little bit like Mordor, I have to admit. It dropped us off at the bottom of a steep sandy path lined with wooden guardrails. Panting, I worked my way up the sandy slope and was reminded how windy the tops of volcanoes can be. At times I felt like it would knock me over. We walked up to the rim and looked around, wondering which side of the rim would offer the best view. There was an area down in the caldera where it looked like you could get a much better view of actual lava flow down in the crater and we wondered if we could go down there. We were answered soon enough, when a burst of Yasur’s liquid insides sent molten rock showering down on the place we were just considering standing. So we stayed where we were. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. I liked the scenery: the large sandy volcano at sunset, but the descriptions of Yasur that I’d heard always involved people wishing they’d had hardhats, or fighting the urge to turn around and run away, or molten rocks falling behind you. I guess the volcano was just a little quieter than usual, so we stood there while, every now and then, Yasur would spit out a bit of lava. It was windy and cold enough where, after about an hour, we decided to go back to the truck.

We left early the next morning to catch a truck back to Lenakel. It was a long, crowded truck ride and my rear end felt it. We hung out at the stadium again and, at some point, walked up to the Air Vanuatu office to change our return tickets to the following day. We were worn out. The agent gave us two options: Morning or afternoon. Wishing to get a early start on the day, we chose morning, to which he calmly informed us that the morning flight was booked. So we chose the afternoon flight. This ended up being a fortuitous booking because I really enjoyed exploring Tim’s site.

After drinking a shell of kava and drinking Sprite as kale, I walked with the other volunteers down a long road in the moonlight. It was a cold, humidity-free night, and the kava was working its magic. Eventually we turned right and began our ascent to Tim’s site. About 45 minutes into the climb, the kava was kicking and I was shivering in spite of the fact that I was sweating. I began to wonder exactly how far away Tim’s site was. Almost as if in answer to my question, we rounded another corner and we were there. We worked for a couple hours preparing a creation that Dan had thought up, which was basically a steak salad with an orange soy sauce dressing. Not bad, but I was drunk on kava and very cold.

The next day we went to the third largest banyan tree in the world. Or so it claimed. It was rather large, maybe the size of a football field. We spent a little while climbing around in it, bringing back memories of climbing pine trees in my neighborhood as a kid. This was a little more challenging, as the branches of the banyan tree (known as nambanga here in Vanuatu) stood in the way on their paths down to the ground. I was almost jealous of the little kids swinging from vines, barking like monkeys. What an awesome jungle gym.

We caught a truck back to the airport and said our farewells. Tanna was fun, but I was glad to be back in Vila where it was a bit warmer and clean.

Walkabout

I've been in Vila for a week now, and I'm just now getting a chance to sit down and write a blog. I've been running lots of errands and buying lots of stuff to take back to site. I'm really excited because I just got a laptop and it's already making my life a lot easier.

School's been out for the entire month of July, so I decided to use that time to see more of Vanuatu. Malekula's volunteers are infamous for knowing how to throw a party, so naturally I decided to go there for the fourth of July. Santo's a stop along the way, so I stayed there for a night and did a bit of shopping. It's not easy finding transport from the Luganville airport into town that isn't really expensive, but I met a taxi driver named Samuel who was nice enough to give me a discount. He's now my driver, or so he claims. I'm not allowed to travel by a taxi owned by anybody else. It's a fair deal. He's getting business and I'm getting a lower price. It's win-win...win. It's a bit overwhelming to go from the island to a city, and this was no exception. LCM's the name of a huuuge Chinese store that can ship whatever you buy back to your island. How's that for convenient? There's not much to do in Luganville when you only have a few hours, so I ate dinner at the Deco Stop and called it a day. There's a place called the Chinese Restaurant, but I couldn't figure out what kind of restaurant it was so I opted for pizza.

Wednesday's the day I caught the flight from Santo to the Kula, as it is known round these parts. Malekula's got a lot of coconuts. That's about all I can say about it. It's also flat, hot, and sunny. Norsup's airport was one of the first things I noticed. It's got no roof because it was fire bombed? It's dilapidated and there are papaya trees growing out of it. Dan's a volunteer on Malekula and I stayed with him during my stay there. He's got electricity, a blender, waterbed, computer, a fan, and, most importantly, seasons 1-4 of The Office. Dan's house is located close to Lakatoro, which is the provincial center for the Malampa Province. Lakatoro's amazing. It's got a huge mama's market, and there are stores where you can buy almost anything you could ever want. Dan's house is located at the school, however, so there are constantly children running around yelling, crying, and staring at us through his windows. That's a little awkward, but not as annoying as the school bell that rings at least ten times a day, or the rooster that likes to crow outside of the window, hehe.

Malekula's got a ton of PCVs. I've never been a huge sushi fan, but some of the other Malekula volunteers brought over several kilos of fresh tuna and mahi mahi that they had caught and we all made sushi. It's really weird to grab a chunk of fish flesh and put it in your mouth, but that's exactly what we did. Santo's got wassabe, so I picked up a tube of it and we made a good dipping sauce with that and some soy sauce (real soy sauce!).

What's a fourth of July party without burgers and beer? That'd be an Ambae fourth of July. Dan's friend actually sent him a small grill, so we all grabbed that and had a picnic on the beach, listening to classic rock songs. It's dark by 7 pm round here, so we packed up our stuff and headed back to Dan's. I've never had such a chill fourth of July.

Jameson's not a liquor to be trifled with, so the next day was filled with laying around and recovering. I'm not a big fan of whiskey, so luckily I was okay. Malekula's known for making a kind of lap lap called lap lap sursur. Dan's host family had us over for lunch and I got to try it. It's just regular laplap, but they put hot stones in the center and then meat on top. It's really tasty because not only is there meat on top of the laplap, a rarity in Maewo, but it's really tender and the juices seep down into the laplap, actually giving it some flavor. There's also coconut milk on top, which makes everything ten times better.

That's about all of the exciting things I did on Malekula, but I'm definitely not complaining. It's nice to just hang out and relax and not worry about social obligations in my community. I've finally caught up with everybody on watching The Office, managed to finish season one of Heroes, and even watched a few movies. Dan's got a lot of movies, and I got a chance to watch No Country for Old Men, The Cleaner, Mama Mia!, Across the Universe, and a few others that I can't remember right now.

There's some sort of unspoken rule between some PCVs that when there are two or more of them present in the vicinity, and it's mealtime, something spectacular must be prepared. You've gotta keep in mind the fact that our standards are considerably lower here, so "something spectacular" to us might not be quite so spectacular to you. I'm of the opinion that, as long as something has flavor, it's pretty amazing. Vanuatu's beef is really fresh and, if you know how to cook it right, you can't really go wrong with that. There's this grocery store in Lakatoro that sells cheese, potatoes, canned tomatoes, eggs, cold drinks, pasta, and more. I'm not a creative person, but the possibilities are sortof endless with those ingredients, especially because their mama's market sells a lot of good produce like eggplant, green beans, chinese cabbage and cucumber.

That's pretty much it for my stay in Malekula. It's difficult to leave a place of such relaxation, but, as my next stop was Vila, it wasn't too difficult :) Vila's such a trip for volunteers living on the outer islands. It's so busy and congested, which is funny because, compared to any city in the U.S., it's nothing special. I'm a big fan of cheese, so naturally the first food I turn to when I get to Vila is pizza. There's a hotel in Vila where PCVs always stay and they put me up for the meeting. Internet's free there if you have a laptop (which I now do--thanks Dad!) so I curled up with my hawaiian pizza and got online for the first time in months.

It's getting down to my last day here in Vila, so I'm going to wrap this up for now in case I don't get on again. I'm having a great time in Vanuatu, and, now that I have my laptop, I'll be able to type up blogs at site and then post them when I come back in October. I'll try to keep in touch, but take care until next time!

First months on Maewo

Just spent two months at my new site on Maewo. I didn't realize how bad my first site was until I realized how amazing my new site is. The move from Ambae to Maewo was a very stressful experience, but well worth the trouble. A Peace Corps staff member, Richard, flew with me to Ambae. We then took a truck to my village. Did I mention that I ride in the bed of pick-up trucks on a regular basis? Lots of fun. Anyway, we got to Lolovoli and I packed up my things while Richard talked with my village about what was going on. It was weird to be packing all of my things with everyone standing around watching. Occasionally someone would pick something up and ask if they could keep it. Pretty standard for Vanuatu. So I packed my things within two hours, giving some things away in the process, and leaving much behind. I walked over to the nakamal and drank a shell of kava with my host papa before getting onto the truck to go back down to Saratamata. Some tears were shed, but mine dried completely as soon as I saw everyone emptying my house of its furniture. I was feeling sorry about leaving, but when I saw that, I knew I had made the right decision.

We got back down to Saratamata and, the next day, put my things on a motorboat and puttered across to Maewo. With all of my things, the trip took about 90 minutes.














The best part: I got to bring my dog, Stuey. He loved the boat ride. I, on the other hand, was pretty shaky and nauseous by the time we arrived. .
















My counterpart's family helped me carry all of my things to my house.
My house is absolutely incredible. Cement floors, hurricane-proof windows with screens, running water, my own personal rain tank, and a toilet just outside the house. There's a gas stove, food safe, and bamboo couch.



The food safe was rendered useless by rats, and I've been waging a war against them on a daily basis. So far, they're winning. The bamboo couch is nice to look at, but is a bit like sitting in a church pew; after a little while it's uncomfortable. That night we drank kava and I storied with some of the women. It was a very different experience from my first few nights in Lolovoli due to the fact that I was more experienced with integrating into a community. I knew what to say, what not to say, and how to act. It was great.

The next day, the school committee held a meeting to welcome me and find me a host family. I introduced myself and met my host mama, Erima. I was then taken back to my family's house to meet my papa and siblings. My papa's name is Henry. He reminds me a lot of John Goodman. He's very big, and yells a lot. But not in an angry way. I have eight brothers and sisters. The eldest, Hensley, lives here in Vila. He's 21. Then it's Suzy (20), Darin (17), Ronald (16), Larry (14), Lucy (10), Hendrix (8), and Hancy (2). My host mama fully believes that Hancy was a result of black magic. Apparently, someone was upset with my host papa and decided to curse my mama with the burden of another child. Don't you hate it when that happens? I certainly do.

I share a bedroom with my sister, Suzy. She's pretty cool and, because she doesn't go to school, is free to take me wherever I wanna go. We went to the gardens, other villages, wove mats, cooked, storied, etc. The first month was just kinda us hanging out. But it did start to get a little boring.

Luckily school started at the beginning of March.
I'm super busy all of the time now, writing lesson plans, teaching, and trying to find time in between to have some time by myself. I usually get up around 5:45 and eat breakfast with my family. Then I walk to my house to shower and get ready for the day. I chose to live with my host family rather than inside my own house for several reasons: 1) Integration into the community is exponentially easier, 2) My house is kinda on its own, outside of the village, hence not the safest place at night, 3) I can eat most of my meals with my family, which saves me time and money, and 4) The volunteer I replaced lived with her host family the whole time and I don't want my host family to feel like they're not as good a family as hers was. This way, I feel safer and less lonely. If I ever need some "me time," I just go over to my house and hang out. Anyway, I teach from 8-11:30, then eat lunch with Rinisa, the woman I'm training to be my replacement.
I teach again from 1:30-3:30 then work on lesson plans until sundown, at which time I go back to my family's house and eat dinner. We talk for a little while, and sometimes I help my brothers and sisters with their homework. My youngest sister, Hancy, has really grown on me. She cries about everything, but when she's in a good mood, she's sooo cute. She always greets me with a big hug and sits on my lap, where she does her best impersonations of the handclap games she sees her big sister play. Then I go to bed and do it all over again the next day. Time flies.

On Saturdays I wash my clothes and meet Sandy, my closest PCV neighbor, at my house to cook. Every week, we choose different things to cook. We've cooked food like spaghetti, flat bread, guacamole, hummus, shortbread, fudge, onion rings, etc. All amazingly unhealthy, but delicious. We eat and story and it's a nice break at the end of the week. Around sundown we make our own "walk of shame" to the edge of my village, moaning and groaning the whole way because we've eaten wayyy too much food. After leaving her at the first creek, I go back to my family's house.

Sunday is church. Anglican. Not so bad. At the end of service on my first Sunday there, the priest started talking about church punshishment. Basically, whoever does something bad is "punished" by the church, and cannot take communion for a certain amount of time. In the meantime, I think they have to visit with the priest and work for forgiveness. It was weird to hear people being called out on their scandals in front of everybody. It seems a bit Salem witch trialish to me, but keeps the villagers in line, for the most part. I've done a couple of bible readings, which earns me HUGE brownie points, hehe. There's some talk about why I don't take communion, but I feel like it might be a bad idea to tell them that I've never been baptised. So I just say that I respect their religion, but mine tells me that I can't take communion. They seem to be okay with that, but every now and then I do get asked about it. After church, I go back to my house to get ready for the next school week and at sundown I go back to my family.

So far, so good. I've got about another year to go. I feel really good about the place because, for one thing, I did more with my host family on Maewo in the first week there than I ever did in my seven months on Ambae. Weaving mats, pinning natangura, going to the garden, etc. They care about me and want me to be happy. Volunteers claim that the second year goes by much faster than the first. I think it's because our projects really start to get going during that second year and time flies.

Which brings me to what I'm doing here in Vila. But because I don't want this posting to be too long, I'll stop here and write about my stay in Vila some other time. Hope everyone back home is seeing warmer days and sunnier skies. Miss you guys!

Trip to Ambrym Part II January 18, 2009

The next day, we found out that we were being charged the equivalent of $50/night to stay in this dirty guesthouse and receive meals we didn't ask for. When we said we were gonna camp instead of pay that rate for another night, the owner quickly revised the price to $25. Oh Vanuatu.

Our first day there, we walked up to the kastom village where Steve's parents had spent some time during their Peace Corps service. The walk was short, but took us up several steep climbs through gardens. We ran into a family working in the garden who was happy to tell us about what they were growing, then offered us a green coconut to drink. It was so hot, we were very grateful for the hydration.

The village was probably the most kastom village I've ever seen. Men were making carvings, and we were taken on a walking tour and got to see the taboo nakamal (for men only), the chief's burial grounds, and a nasara, or sacred ground.
We also saw the chief's house, which was built high up on stilts so no one could come into his house at night to kill him or put nakaimas (a curse) on him while he slept. I'm not sure how the village believes that the chief died, but it was his death that had brought us to Ambrym to pay our respects. We heard some interesting stories about how a man becomes a chief, including one where he must stand on a balcony-type of structure, while people throw stones at him. We also heard about how, if something bad happens in the village, it usually means that someone has stolen bones from the chief's burial grounds, and that a team must be assembled to investigate and recover the missing bones. Crazy.

We realized that because the ship had taken so long to deposit us on Ambrym, we had missed the boat that would've taken us to the West. So we decided, in our infinite wisdom, that we would just walk. But first we wanted to see another village called Ranvetlam. At this point, Steve was feeling pretty ill, so instead of walking, we took a 10 minute speed boat ride and climbed up to the village. People stared a lot, but once they realized who Steve was, welcomed us with open arms. Isaiah has a guest house and let us camp there for the night. It was a beautiful setting looking out over the ocean and sunset. Although he and his wife were busy caring for Isaiah's ailing brother, they still found time to bring us food.

Steve shivered and sweat all night long, but the next morning was ready to go. We packed up our stuff, collected our supplies, and set off to meet our guide. The chief had put a taboo on going to the summit of the volcano because it was time to plant the yams, a very important crop on Ambrym. Sometimes, they have kastom yams up to ten feet long! Maybe even longer! So we decided that we would climb over the volcano, then go back on top from the west, where the taboo wasn't in place.

Chief Louie was our guide, and man, was he fit. Because Steve was still a little weak, the chief carried our heaviest pack (about 60 pounds). Steve carried one that was about 30-40 pounds, and mine was only 10-20. We climbed and descended, walked, and rested for about six hours, covering about 10 miles. Steve and I each went through at least a couple of liters of water and Powerade, but Chief Louie had barely touched the liter that he had brought. He charged ahead, stopping every now and again to light a cigarette and wait for us to catch up.

It was my first day of backpacking, and it kicked my ass. I was starting to hear ringing in my ears. We were running out of water and the afternoon was quickly running away from us. When we got to the Western side of the volcanos, we convinced the chief that we would be fine from here on out. We wanted to camp and walk around a bit. He was reluctant to leave us, but eventually did, and we set up camp. It was deafeningly quiet. I never understood that expression before that day. I'm talking about total silence. We were on the ash plain. No birds, no nothing. Here and there were tiny flying insects and small shrubs growing in the cracks of rocks where water had collected, but for the most part this place looked like Mars. We were the only people around for miles...

To Be Continued...

Peace Corps Does Care! (Sometimes) January 18, 2009

Hey All-

So I've been pretty quiet about what's been going on the last week because I wasn't exactly sure what actually was going on. But I guess I'll go ahead and throw another post out here.

Peace Corps decided to remove me from my site for safety and security issues. If anybody wants the gritty details, I'll be happy to email you, but it's just a lot of drama and craziness so I won't bore you all here.

The point is, I'm back in Port Vila just kinda twiddling my thumbs. They're actually trying to find me a new site, which is really cool because I didn't think that would be a possibility. Right now they're talking about this island called Maewo, and it's supposedly one of the most beautiful islands in Vanuatu, with waterfalls and nice roads and even a lazy river! I would be teaching at a Rural Training Center RTC, which would be great because I would have something constructive to do with my time. There have been a lot of volunteers there before me, including Gwen, a volunteer who completed her service there and had a great time. She was replaced by a new volunteer last month, who quickly decided that it wasn't for her and is already Stateside again. That worries me slightly, but not enough to deter me. But alas, it is only a possibility at this point. The phones on Maewo are down, and PC can't seem to get a hold of the village. So I'm here waiting. It's not so bad. I have a hotel room and a modest allowance and plenty of people to hang out with. My birthday is coming up and it looks like I'll be here for that too.

So things are a little sketchy right now but it looks like PC is doing all they can to help me work it all out. I'll keep you all posted.

Miss you!