Get On, Clip In, Fall Off

Part 2 - Sydney to Port Vila

The Air Vanuatu flight to Port Vila (a 737 - the standard unit of air transport around the small South Pacific nations is the 737) left late, owing to engineering problems. We had window and centre seats, with the aisle seat being occupied by a doctor from the Solomon Islands. After a short flight by comparison with the long haul from London and some rather good in-flight service we touched down at Port Vila's Bauerfield airport just as it was starting to rain big, warm, tropical raindrops. More like rainsplats, really. The approach was over the sea - not surprising for a small island airport - and the bright lights of the airport fire station were the first lights we had seen since leaving Sydney. The 737 stopped outside the tiny terminal and we all trooped down the stairs, through the rain and into immigration at what must be one of the world's tiniest international airports.

There was a local string band (assorted guitars, banjos and the like accompanied by a tea-chest bass) entertaining the dazed new arrivals as they queued to have their passports inspected. We noticed that someone in front of us had an Explore Worldwide tag on his hand baggage and was most probably there for the same reason we were - being British, however, we let him get on with it, as there would be plenty of time for meeting people later on. This proved to be helpful, as like many countries, Vanuatu's immigration officials don't like tourists turning up without an onward air ticket, and he had to produce various bits of paper to try and explain why he would be going home from New Caledonia rather than Vanuatu. We, on the other hand, just had to say we were doing what that guy was doing, and were admitted for a month without any trouble.

Against all odds our bags had arrived, and after I'd stopped to change a travellers cheque for a wad of vatu (the local currency - there are about VUV200 to the pound sterling) at the bank office, we cleared customs and stepped out into Vanuatu. It was dark outside and the rain was just easing off. Scattered street lights broke the darkness, but it was still very obvious that we'd arrived in the third world. Luggage was being bundled into broken-down taxis with boots which didn't shut properly. A helpful passer-by roused a taxi driver for us who had been sleeping in his cab (we'd been some of the last people to leave the airport) and, once he'd woken up, we had a white-knuckle ride into Port Vila in a rattling microbus which smelled of sleep. The town was just like the airport - dark and damp with few people about as it was getting on for 0200, but when we pulled up outside the Kaiviti Village Motel, one of the staff had kindly stayed late to wait for us. After paying the driver we checked in, found our room, then decided that as we had been up for something like 50 hours, spent 30 hours on planes and in airports and crossed 11 time zones, it was probably time for a sleep. Despite the fact that I'd just arrived on a small speck of an island that was part of a Third World country in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I decided that all the excitement could wait for the morning and slept extremely well.