On Tuesday (8/5), we left Hog's Harbour, scene of the drive-by fruiting, and had a lovely 50 mile sail to the first of the more remote northern Vanuatu islands, Gaua.  We arrived about an hour before sunset and this time were greeted by an outrigger dugout canoe before we even had a chance to get the anchor down.  We spotted the canoe headed out from shore as we were approaching the anchorage area.  The call went out across Harmonie's decks, 'Outrigger Alert!'  Yes, there are just the two of us on board...but we like to be sure that the entire crew gets the word when a canoe is headed our way, so we've developed the 'Outrigger Alert!' call to ensure we are both paying attention and are on our best behavior when the ni-Vans arrive (not to mention appropriately covered up with shirts on and all).  Picture 1 is our view of the black sand shore of Lakona Bay.

 

Bruce, son of Chief Johnstar, officially welcomed us and asked if we would be coming in to the village.  We said yes, but not until the next morning.  He then asked if we had heard about the water music, and if so, did we want to see it?  Don and I looked at each other, at first misunderstanding.  'Water machine? Washing machine? You want us to come and look at the washing machine?'  (we didn't think these remote villages had washing machines).  Bruce just gave us a puzzled look and repeated himself, 'Do you want to see the water music?'  Aha! I remembered reading about water music in the Lonely Planet Guide.  At the time, it wasn't clear what exactly water music was, but I knew that it came highly recommended. 

 

'Oh! Water music!  Yes, we would like to come and see the water music.' I said.

Picking up on my cue and still not knowing what water music was, Don said, 'We will come in the morning about 11 o'clock.  Is that ok?'

'Yes, that is ok.  I will make the arrangements with the women from the village.'  With that, Bruce said good-bye and pushed off in his canoe.  Not knowing what exactly we had just committed ourselves to, we looked at each other, shrugged, smiled, and finished the process of anchoring the boat.

 

We spent a quiet night in the dark bay (again, no lights on shore and only a tiny moon overhead).  There was one other boat in the bay, but we didn't meet them and they left early in the morning before we got up (which, now that we are in slow retirement mode, is not typically until 8 o'clock).  As 11 o'clock neared, we could see activity on the beach, but couldn't tell what exactly was happening.  Promptly at 11, we got in the dinghy armed with the camera, some Vatu and a variety of items to use for trade (t-shirts, hats, school supplies).  We were greeted on the black sand beach by an enthusiastic group of naked little boys, a couple of Bruce's brothers, and Bruce's mom, Susan.  Susan explained that her husband, the chief, was not there and neither was Bruce.  She didn't spell it out, but essentially she was acting as our guide in place of her husband and her son.  As the Lonely Planet Guide puts it, 'Vanuatu is a bastion for male chauvinism.  The culture is very male oriented and women basically have no say and few rights.  So having Susan act as our guide was rather unusual.

 

Susan looked down the beach and seeing five women from the village approaching, motioned for us to walk over to the black sand banks of a stream that emptied into the bay from the surrounding hills.  The end of the stream formed a natural fresh water pool on the black sand beach - which, as we were to find out, is a perfect venue for making water music.  Susan, her sons and their children, plopped down on the black sand (naked boys doing the same and planting their naked little butts right in the sand).  We followed suit as the five women from the village waded into the fresh water pool up to their thighs (all fully clothed) and prepared to start.  Bent over from the waist, using their hands and arms, perfectly synchronized, the women splashed and pounded the water, creating a distinct rhythm with a variety of percussive sounds (picture 2).  We were immediately amazed and delighted.  The sound was so unexpectedly musical, and so perfectly 'played'.  If we didn't know any better, we would have thought we were listening to a drum band - base drums, cymbals and snare drums, snare drums being played with brushes as well as sticks.  It was incredible. And so hard to describe.  The women played five or six distinct 'songs' - each with their own sound and rhythm.  The range of different sounds they were able to evoke from the water was unbelievable.  The leader of the group signaled rhythm and sound changes to the other women with sharp calls - not unlike the calls that are used to signal step changes during the traditional dances.  All in all, an amazing experience for the senses.  The arm flailing and splashing we saw with our eyes seemed disconnected with the sweet, perfectly timed sound of the music.  It seemed incredible that one flowed from the other.

 

We learned from Susan that the water music was developed by the women of Gaua over the years and perfected.  The idea came as a result of the women swimming and washing in the water, and noticing that they could make certain sounds when they moved, splashed and pounded the water in a certain way.  This skill developed over time and is now handed down from women to girls in all of the villages around the island.  One particular group of women from one of the larger villages recently left Vanuatu and is traveling to Spain where they will perform their music for what we're sure will be extremely appreciative audiences.  People would go crazy over this in the States.  It reminds me of the 'Stomp' production that was popular a few years ago, except that this seems even more inventive and unique.

 

After the women finished, Susan indicated we should pay the leader of the group 100 Vatu for each woman ($1 each).  We gladly paid, the group dispersed and the women went back to the village.  At this point, the camera died (the battery tends to choose the most inconvenient moments at which to die), so we explained to Susan that we needed to go back to the boat to charge the battery, but that we would return to visit her village as well as the larger village next door (the home of the water music women).  Susan agreed that this plan was ok and would we please take her village's visitor book to the boat and write in it?  She handed us a ripped plastic Ziploc bag with a composition notebook that had seen many better days and a couple of broken pens in it.  'Yes, no problem, we'll write in the visitor's book and bring it when we come back.'  With that, she and many of the naked little boys helped us drag the dinghy back into the water and we zipped back to the boat.

 

Once back on the boat, we opened up the visitor's book to find many messages, 'boat cards' and pictures from other yachts that had come before us.  We noticed that the most recent entry was almost a month ago. Not many boats visit this bay.  There are no supply ships, no stores and no roads.  Losalava, the largest village on the island, is a day's hike through the bush.  The villagers survive on what they can grow in their gardens, what comes from the fruit trees, a few fish, some chickens, a few pigs and what the yachties that stop in their bay will trade or give them.

 

While we were charging the camera battery, writing in the visitor's book and replacing the plastic bag and pens with new ones, another canoe paid us a visit from the larger village.  This time our visitor's name was Robert and he insisted that we come to the village to see Patteson and his Kastom House.  Hmmmmm...ok.  Kastom House, from what we could remember from the guide book, a kastom house is a traditional meeting place for the men of a village.  Kind of a club house.  A place for the men to talk, discuss business and maybe drink some kava.  Ok, and Patteson wanted us to come and see his Kastom House.  Robert was very insistent and wanted to know how long it would be before we came to the village.  'Ten minutes.' Don said.  Satisfied, Robert paddled off while we packed up the camera and visitor's book and went back to see Susan.

 

We presented the visitor's book to Susan and she showed us her village - which was no more than a couple of thatch huts with mud floors with some chickens, the prized pig and a few cats and dogs running around with a variety of Susan's grandchildren (including the naked boys).  She took us to see some tree fern carvings - some that were old and some her sons had carved.  Tree ferns are exactly that...ferns with a tree base.  In Vanuatu, carving the trunks of tree ferns into intricate sculptures, usually depicting ancestors, is a very common art form.  The island of Gaua is especially known for its tree fern sculptures.  We took a picture of Susan's family's tree fern sculptures (for which she charged us 100 Vatu), traded two t-shirts for some potatoes and a couple of peppers, and then made our way to the beach where Robert was waiting to take us to the larger village.

 

After a trek across the black sand beach and through a couple of streams that flow into the bay from the hills, we arrived at the village.  We were immediately met by William, one of the elders of the village that seemed to be in charge of the 'mission house'.  We are not exactly sure what a mission house is, but William did take us inside of the thatch structure, which was filled with wood carvings of spears and other implements.  Perhaps they were for sale, but we didn't buy any.  Then it was on to the Kastom House where Patteson was waiting for us.

 

Patteson, an older gentleman with one bad eye and a couple of teeth, explained with the help of Robert that the Kastom House is a reproduction of the traditional meeting place for men in a village.  I asked if it was ok that I was there since I was a women.  'Oh yes.' said Patteson with a wave of the hand, 'You are white, so it is different for you.  You are not a black woman so you can come into the Kastom House.'  Yup, that's what he said.  Made me very glad that I wasn't a black woman living in one of these rural villages. 

 

Patteson taught Robert and another younger man how to properly build a kastom house and what tree fern sculptures to carve in order to recreate what their ancestors had.  The result is shown in pictures 3 and 4 (Patteson charged us 500 Vatu each to view the kastom house, take a picture, and go inside -about $10 total).  Both Robert and Patteson changed their clothes before posing for the pictures - Patteson went for the more traditional penis sheath style of dress (minus the leaves - as you can see he just used a couple of rags to cover up the important parts).  They then asked that we go back to the boat, print the pictures and paste them in their visitor's book for other yachties to see (Patteson is no dummy - he was just looking for a way to improve the marketing of his kastom house as a tourist attraction - it's a good source of income for the village).  The kastom house and particularly the tree fern carvings were impressive.  Robert did all the carving, and compared to other tree fern carvings we have seen, these were by far the best.  Incredible detail and extremely well preserved (they keep the large carvings that adorn the kastom house doorway covered up to protect them when no tourists are around).  Not shown in the pictures is an entire 'garden' of tree fern sculptures that line the front yard of the kastom house.  There must have been thirty sculptures that Robert completed all on his own.  Incredible work.

 

On the way back through the village we were met by Robert's extremely soft spoken wife, Sheila, who quietly offered to trade us some baskets.  With a naked 13-month old on her hip, she shyly showed us about ten baskets she had made.  All nicely done in the traditional Vanuatu style (very similar to the one we received in Tanna).  We traded a t-shirt and a kid-sized notebook for one of the small baskets and Sheila seemed extremely pleased. Picture 5 is the village with Sheila and baby standing near one of the huts.  In general, this place makes Dillon's Bay on Erromango Island seem extremely prosperous in comparison.

 

We passed by William of the mission house on our way out of the village and he asked that we sign his visitor's book as well.  Armed with two visitor's books, potatoes, peppers, and a basket, we trekked back to the dinghy.  Along the way we ran into the gaggle of naked boys again, who were playing in the water.  They stood to attention as we got closer and when I asked if I could take their picture, they giggled and nodded yes.  I indicated that they should give me a giant smile and as you can tell from picture 6, they did.  One of their smaller cousins was admiring our dinghy as we approached (all the kids were completely enthralled with our dinghy) and unknowingly posed for picture 7.

 

Susan met us by the dinghy and asked if we would deliver her son Jonathan's soccer shoes and shorts/t-shirt to the primary boarding school he attends in Losalava (we had told her we were going to Losalava next).  'No problem.' we said, 'Did he forget them when he went back to school on Sunday?' 

'No.' answered Susan, 'It's just that he has to hike through the bush for one day to get from here to the school and he didn't have room in his pack for these things.' 

 

Oh.  Maybe we should have guessed as much - how else was he going to get to school?  There are no boats and no roads.  A hike through the bush is the only way.

 

We added the plastic bag full of soccer shoes and clothes to the pile in the dinghy and headed back to the boat again.  Susan had written a note with delivery instructions for us and put it in with her son's things (picture 8).  You'll see that she addressed the note to 'Our Friends People' (meaning us).  A second boat had joined us in the bay, and after chatting with them (Australians), we noticed that Robert was waiting patiently in his canoe for us to give him the visitor's books (William's and Patteson's).  We hurried back to the boat where Robert met us an asked if he could come aboard. He came on deck and watched as I wrote in the books and Don printed out the pictures.  We felt badly for not inviting him into the cabin, but we noticed that the kids and perhaps some of the adults were not only a bit on the dirty side, but some of the moms were openly picking bugs out of their kid's hair.  Incredibly nice people, but we decided it was better to be on the safe side and keep our distance as much as we could without being rude.  Pictures and books done, with an English dictionary thrown in for good measure (Patteson had asked for a dictionary and I relinquished the one and only dictionary we own - one that was given to me as a high school graduation gift.  We decided it was time for a new one anyway - the word 'internet' doesn't even exist in that old dictionary) as well as some rope for Robert, we said good-bye.

 

We spent another quiet night in the bay.  It seems silly to say it, but we both feel visits to rural villages like these are incredibly stressful.  The people are so friendly and wonderful, but so needy - it makes us feel helpless - the little bit we give them seems but a drop in the bucket compared to what they really need.  We decided to cut our time in the northern Vanuatu islands down and not visit one particular island that we had originally planned to go to, Ureparapara.  The Australians had been there and said the chief was very selfish and did not share with the villagers.  When they were there, they were besieged by seven or eight canoes full of villagers - all asking for things and offering what they could for trade.  The Australians were so overwhelmed by the people that they didn't even go in to shore and just gave them as much as they felt they could and left the next day.  We plan to go to Losalava on Gaua, then to Sola and Waterfall Bay on the island of Vanua Lava.  After that we will probably sail a couple of overnighters to get back south to Port Vila and civilization fairly quickly.  We don't regret the time we will spend in these northern islands - the experience is incredible - but next time we will come more prepared with more things to trade and give away.

 

Thursday morning (8/7), as we prepared to leave Lakona Bay, we were visited by one more canoe.  This time it was Chief Richard from the larger village.  He chatted for a little while, asked Don to look at a broken flashlight he had brought with him, gave us an entire stalk of bananas and asked us for a t-shirt and some matches in return.  Don filled the flashlight with batteries (it was empty) and explained that to make it work without the plastic switch cover, Richard would have to hold the metal switch down with his finger.  We handed over the t-shirt and matches, thanked him for the bananas and said good-bye.  After Chief Richard paddled away, Don turned to me and said, 'We've got to get out of here!  We're running out of things to give away!'  He's right.  Our supply of spare t-shirts is dwindling and we don't have that many batteries, matches, school supplies or spare rope left.  Again, next time we'll come more prepared.

 

We scooted out of Lakona Bay by 9am before any other canoes could find us and motored into the wind the eighteen miles to the north side of Gaua Island and into Losalava Bay.

Anne