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We had spent the previous cyclone season in New Zealand, where outdoor activities are
smoothly packaged and peddled. In Vanuatu, a minor tourist economy exists, but it's all in
local, amateur hands. Advertising consists of a guy named Colin in a dugout canoe, invit-
ing you to a roast pig feast. Which brings me to Lesson 2: There Is No Middleman. Doing
“business” is like drinking from a pure mountain stream: the water trickles, clear and cool,
straight from the source to the throat of the thirsty consumer. Delicious.
Call us slow learners, because it took us a while to catch on to this lesson, too. When
Colin first approached with an offer for an evening of feasting and dancing - no hype, no
hard sell - we nearly turned him down, feeling a little feasted-out after Polynesia. After
all, there is only so much roast pig one can partake of. Or so we thought. The feast / cul-
tural performance described in no-frills terms by Colin turned out to be one of the high-
lights of our stay. His extended family treated us to a delicious meal after explaining tradi-
tional (“Kastom”) dances and costumes. Part of the night was devoted to Kava Drinking
101 (in brief: down-in-one, then “listen” for the effects of the drink). The evening was
well worth the US$15 per person, money put toward paying school fees. The family eld-
ers see the program as a way of preserving traditional song and dance for the younger
generation. It's a win-win for cruisers and locals alike.
After a day of snorkeling in search of sea turtles and reef sharks off nearby Mystery Is-
land, it was time to weigh anchor and become sailors again. A quick afternoon's motorsail
in the lee of the hills took us to the northern side of Anatom, where we secured the cabin
for a brisk forty-three mile “passage” north to Tanna the next day. Even after a few days at
rest, our sloop gets the look of a gypsy camp; “sailing” mode is very different than “at an-
chor.” The trip north was a blustery beam reach in twenty knots and six foot seas. Naviga-
tion was easy, with a plume of “smoak” (as Captain Cook put it) from Tanna's volcano
guiding us like a beacon. We struck the sails and puttered into Port Resolution, where the
great Cook himself dropped anchor - on a bottom that has since been uplifted several feet
by tectonic activity. Our chartplotter showed us anchored firmly on land, a clear warning
as to the reliability of charts. Lucky for us, there are very few isolated dangers to mind.
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