logo Harmonie
Date: 24 Sep 2009 05:22:46
Title: Ezekiel and the Mad Cow - Port Sandwich, Malakula Island, Vanuatu
[<< Prev Post] | [Next Post >>]
[Back to Index/Map]

16:26.449S  167:46.976E
 
On September 8th, we left Asanvari Bay just after first light and sailed 65 miles south to Port Sandwich on Malakula Island.  This was the rough, hard-on-the-wind sail we had warned Billy and Tracy about.  Of course it didn't happen until two weeks after they left, but still, it happened.  The apparent wind gusted to 30 knots consistently over the course of the nine hours it took us to make the trip.  Not so bad except that it stirred up a whole lot of those short choppy waves that we hate.  The ride wasn't all that rough, it's just that as we bashed into the waves, the angle of impact was positively perfect for massive sprays of salt water to arc up into the air, and then in slow motion, rain down on the bow, the windscreen, the top of the dodger, the side of the dodger, the back of the cockpit and the back deck.  It's true that we love the ocean.  We love sailing on it, gazing at it, swimming in it, snorkeling in it, staring down into it's depths, etc., but we really don't love it when the entire boat gets coated with it.  We call this phenomenon 'getting salted'.  For us long time Lake Ontario fresh water boaters, the sticky-feeling, rust-causing salt residue that results from a good salt water soaking drives us insane.  It gets on our feet, we track it down into the cabin.  It's on our hands, we touch the tables, the walls, the doors.  Days later we'll still have to peel our feet off the cabin floor when we walk on it.  Step, stick, peel, step, stick, peel.  It's like when you were a kid and couldn't eat your ice cream cone fast enough on a hot day and all the ice cream melted down the side of the mushy cone and all over your hands.  If you were one of those kids that couldn't wash your hands fast enough to get rid of the sticky feel, then you know exactly how we feel about getting salted.  Lucky for us, there is an answer.  Vinegar.  Yup, that same marvelous stuff that cures jellyfish stings, cleans the carpet, clears out the toilet and marinates the fish.  We keep at least one industrial sized container of it on board at all times.  A little of that mixed with water and like magic (not black magic in this case) the sticky is gone.
 
Storyteller, on the other hand, had a rough ride.  Contrary to popular belief, when traveling through the water at the same or similar speed, and especially with swell coming in from the side, a motor boat is much more likely to, as Sue puts it, 'roll like a pig'.  Which is what Storyteller did for a good bit of the trip to Port Sandwich.  While we were getting showered with salt water, Storyteller was busy rolling one way, then the other.  One way, then the other.  One way then the other.  Makes you feel kind of sick just reading about it, doesn't it?  And these weren't gentle rolls.  They were more of a violent jolt  - rocketing one way, then the other.  It wasn't the most enjoyable trip Sue and John have ever taken.  The answer for Storyteller?  Stabilizers.  Storyteller will be equipped with stabilizers in the off-season.  It will be a mini-version of the system a cruise ship has in place to help minimize motion in a rough sea.  A little more expensive than the vinegar solution is for us, but sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.
 
We aimed for Port Sandwich because we knew it would be nice and calm once we got through the entrance.  And it was.  The only trouble with Port Sandwich is that swimming is not recommended.  Too many sharks.  No need to tell us twice. 
 
We stayed in Port Sandwich only two nights.  Just long enough to take a walk along the coastal road.  The fact that there was a road at all was exciting enough.  What made it even more fun was running into Ezekiel.
 
Picture 1 - This is Ezekiel as we first saw him.  Trudging slowly along the road, woven palm frond basket in one hand and well-used, golf-sized, rainbow-colored umbrella in the other to keep the hot sun off.  John and Don completely startled him as he didn't hear them coming up from behind.  'Ooh!' he squawked when he realized the two of them were there.  He stopped, collapsed the well-used, golf-sized, rainbow-colored umbrella, set down his basket and sighed.  'I am Ezekiel!' he yelled.  'From the Bible!  My name.  Ezekiel!  It's from the Bible!'  more yelling.  It was clear that his hearing wasn't what it probably used to be.  Neither was his eyesight.  We could tell by the way he peered at us through rheumy-looking eyes that all was not well in that department.  We introduced ourselves and shook his hand.  What followed was the usual rural-Vanuatu conversation.  'What's your name?'  Followed by, 'Where are you from?  Where are you going?  Where were you yesterday?  And always ending with, 'Come to my home'.  It was a little difficult to decipher what it was exactly that Ezekiel was saying in that it seemed to be a mix of English and Bislama, 'Bisglish' if you will.  He still had a long way to walk to get to his home, so he apologized several hundred times that today was not a good day for us to come and visit.  'Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.'  he repeated.  'Tomorrow you come to my home.'  Or at least that's sort of what we thought he was saying.  We chatted for a little while and said good-bye, which involved another round of introductions and proclamations about the source of his name (his wife's too, 'Wife's name Sara!  Come from Bible!').  After we left him, we weren't sure if we had agreed to come see him at his home the next day or not.  We ended up leaving Port Sandwich the next day anyway, so hopefully Ezekiel and Sara (from the Bible!) weren't waiting for us.
 
Picture 2 - Shortly after we left Ezekiel, we ran into this herd of cows.  One particular bull took what we felt was far too much interest in us.  He followed ten paces behind and eyed us unapologetically - a hostile gaze, really.  It was completely unnerving.  Even the steadfast Don bent down to pick up a good sized rock just in case the bull decided to charge.  In the end we steered ourselves well off the road and stopped.  The bull finally moved slowly by, still not convinced we weren't a threat.  We're not sure whether it would be more embarrassing to meet our demise by getting bonked in the head by a falling coconut (a real threat, by the way) or mauled by an island-wandering cow.  Either way, we lived to tell the story this time, so that's always a good thing.
Anne

JPEG image

JPEG image

[<< Prev Post] | [Next Post >>]
[Back to Index/Map]

Diary Entries