Get On, Clip In, Fall Off

Part 3 - Port Vila

I woke the next morning in one of those surreal hazes which tell you that you've just had a very weird couple of days, and was surprised to find that we were still in Port Vila and the whole journey thing hadn't been a dream at all. The room was slightly tatty but clean and perfectly serviceable, not air conditioned but with a ceiling fan which made us feel very colonial. Fortunately there were also teabags and milk (UHT, it's always bloody UHT in the Pacific) so were able to fortify ourselves before showering three continents-worth of gunk off and going to find some breakfast. Incidentally, contrary to the usual tourist paranoia the water in Port Vila is perfectly safe to drink.

The Kaiviti Village doesn't have a restaurant of its own as it's more of a self-catering arrangement with cooking stuff provided in the rooms. However, it does have a bar by the pool which does snacks and where they didn't seem at all fazed at being asked to provide burgers to a couple of jetlagged incomers at 11 in the morning. On the other hand, they did seem surprised when we realised how long it had been since we'd eaten properly and ordered another round. There were a number of plaques around the bar left by various visiting army units, and we both agreed with the assertion of a military band from New Zealand that the Kaiviti made the best burgers in the Pacific.

We were not due to join the ship until the next day, which meant we had a day to kill in Port Vila. It was also a Sunday before a public holiday, so the place was quiet to say the least. The Kaiviti is on a hill at the south end of town, but Vila is not a large place so it was easy enough to walk into the centre. We passed people fairly regularly, almost all of whom said "Hello", and got into the habit ourselves as well quickly - although when one surly white man responded with 'bon soir' in the evening we were reminded that French is also an official language in Vanuatu, albeit something of a minority one.

On the way down the hill we got a good view of Port Vila harbour and could see the reason for our being there - the brigantine Soren Larsen anchored out in the bay, looking distinctly out of place among all the visiting yachts from overseas.

Central Port Vila was sleepy, to say the least. The market's closed on Sunday (and anyway, it would all be just about finished by midday) and most people were at home, with the occasional group of people on the streets or passing in the communal taxi-minibuses that are most peoples' form of transport. That numberplates generally have three digits, or four at the most, is an indication that most ni-Vanuatu can only ever dream of having their own car. Vanuatu is quite religious, so Sundays are always going to be quiet - most people will be at church. Apart from one small supermarket, a snack bar and a van pumping out loud music on some ground next to the market, everything was closed and deserted.

It wasn't so quiet around the places frequented by yachties and expats. The usual sounds of braying came from the Yacht Club as the wealthy and yachty came out to play, and we found the Port Vila Pub to be open (the only proper pub in Vila, possibly in Vanuatu) and found it to be largely staffed by talkative Aussies. We also discovered that the people at the next table were also joining the Soren Larsen the next day . Later we'd know them as David and Wendy, but being British we agreed to leave proper introductions until the next day. Once we'd had our pints of Tusker (the local brew, a not at all bad Antipodean lager similiar to the many nearly identical amber nectars drunk in Australia) we paid up, finding the prices to be extremely Western, and headed back to the Kaiviti for a lie down. I picked up a copy of one of the local papers, the Port Vila Presse (published in English, French and Bislama, so it's a kind of Pacific Rosetta Stone) and read about the latest political scandal in Vanuatu. As the country's so small the politics read like local politics do here - everything is personal.

After dark we headed to another place catering largely to expats and visitors, the Waterfront Bar and Grill. It's a favourite hangout for visiting yachties too, so you can make reservations by calling on VHF channel 60 or phoning 23490 (Vanuatu has five digit phone numbers and no area codes!), then tie your dinghy up at their wharf while you come and visit. The locally-produced steaks were excellent - big chunks of fillet at prices which to ni-Vanuatu probably seem outlandish, but to Londoners were very reasonable. After a nice relaxed dinner we headed off for our final nights' sleep on land for almost a fortnight. The walk up from town to the Kaiviti was warm and pleasant, with a sky full of stars courtesy of the less-than-intensely-bright street lighting of Vanuatu's capital.