Life hands us remarkable opportunities to learn and grow. Sometimes the very thing that beckons for a blessing is the thing that fills our souls with dread. So, even if you find yourself near tears at the thought of it you must pack your bags (and fears), gather your courage (along with as many snacks as can fit in your
), put on your (sorta) smiley face and go. The opportunity? A four day, 3 night trek into a village called
. The blessing? Well, read for yourself:
My gut told me that Bart's last minute plan to take a guided tour into the mountain
rainforest to find the most primitive villages existing in the archipelago of Vanuatu was, though not altogether bad, going to be awful. I am not proud to say that the little voice in his head that whispers, "Go where no (or at least, the fewer the better) man has gone before" was nearly attacked by the little guy on my shoulder screaming, "Are you crazy?! What about a hot shower? Feeding the kids? Our safety? Drinking water? Malaria? A bed?!!"
Thankfully, my fearful cries were met with calm assurance that it would be a wonderful adventure of a lifetime. So inspite of the sure knowledge that the boys and I were doomed to suffer for 4 solid days (love that attitude, hee, hee) I climbed, of my own free will and choice, right into the truck while the boys and Bart jumped in the back for a long ride out on a pot holed road over washed out bridges to the starting point of our trek to Maracae at the village of Namoru.
There we met our 6 porters who would come to know as: Alexi, Our leader and "Namba one kide!", Vitu the Mt. Man and class clown, Maru, Pumpkin Man, who is originally from the village of Maracae and who would at one point on the last night show up in full "kastom" dress to make the kava for the evening like some warrior from the jungle (Did I detect a tinge of insecurity in my cute hubby when faced with such raw testosterone in his comment, "That Maru is quite the specimen."), Vira, who would become my quiet friend, always making an effort to translate, always there with a vice like grip supporting me across the rocks, Donald and Avo singers of silly songs (I like to move it, move it!)and shepherds to their two younger followers, Riley and Jeremy, always taking to the front.
After the intial awkward minutes of our first meeting, the shifting of gear to balance weight in the packs, hunting up a couple of extra packs for the village gifts of sugar, salt, tea, cigarettes and flour (basically our payment for staying the night) then trying to strap Bart's gigantic pack onto a little Vitu, we were off. Little did we know how key these 6 boys were to our successful completion of this endeavor.
For our barefoot locals it was a strenuous but typical effort leading to family and friends. For two less than perfectly fit, slightly overweight grown ups it was akin to a last minute, poorly planned Grand Teton summit. As for the solemn 14 year old it seemed another annoying yet tolerable life experience at the request of his parents which he would do his best to endure. Our 11 yr old had put up quite a fuss originally but ultimately was more or less contented to walk through the village, along the Wailapa river towards a world of mud, steamed bananas and naked ladies.
Why is that the title anyway? There were loads of options, Vanuatu Vacation, Roughin' It in the Rainforest, Kastom Kulture, Lost on Vanuatu, Bare Breasts and Penis Sheaths (forgive me, but, yes, it was an option). After the fact, am I that simple? Those are the 3 points of major interest? Hmmm, o.k.
After about 40 minutes it got dangerous. Seriously. The pleasant trail disappeared. I was like an ignorant beast of burden following my leader. Common sense told me we couldn't continue on. There was no path. And then there I was, clinging to the face of a wall of rock that appeared abruptly. The porter in front of me indicated the tiniest outcrops for placing 1/2 a foot or a toe tip. It was slick and wet. I worried about my children, for like, 2 whole minutes. To my surprise the job of self preservation was a nice distractioin. Plus, there was nothing I could do to help them. We were clearly at the mercy of these 6 new people in our lives, the weather, the elements, and the villagers we were yet to meet.
From there on out much of the trip was about survival. We gasped with each step up each mountain side (Who needs switchbacks? Let's just go straight up!) and slipped our way down the back of it. I found myself needing to reassure my knees and quads, "Don't worry. When we get back I promise not to MOVE for a month!!" I couldn't get enough water which was in short supply. I was sooo thirsty most of that first day. There were several places where we forged barefoot across the river. Where it was possible to keep shoes on we hopped from rock to rock with the aid of helpful hands for support.
I noted that being the "man" of our family Bart was more inclined to fall in the river. It wasn't until after several such spills that he was able to swallow his "tough" guy pride and take the help offered him. Who can blame him? He's climbed mountains in Peru, repelled massive drops in Kolob Canyon, summited the Grand Teton no less than 2 times, waded the Amazon river and forest (With his Mom, by the way! You go Girl!!) and ridden (with absolutely NO previous training) his bicycle 2500 miles from Vancouver, Canada to Anchorage, Alaska. Now he's supposed to allow himself to hold hands with a 24 year old Vanuatu boy (who is already carrying his backpack!) to cross a little river!!? Are you kidding? Nope. In the end the blisters, bad back, sore knees and ruined camera won out for the more humble approach. Good man Bart. I love you.
So where was I? This trip of all trips. The trip Bartman probably always dreamed of and I have certainly dreaded is now tucked deep in our hearts, tattooed on our muscles and bubbles away in our memory. You'll see. If you have time, keep reading.
Within 2 hours we arrived at the first of several villages we were yet to see, Jarakatui. We quickly learned that during daylight hours most people were out in the gardens deep in the hillsides. It is custom to leave one or two men and a woman with the young children. This is where we saw John. Dressed in traditional thick woven belt with finely woven apron, he stood like a tall, dark, muscled soldier of the forest. His hair was shorn except for one patch of 3 short braids at the crown. He would have been extremely intimidating except for the green blankie holding a sweetly sleeping baby in his arms. The gushy little smile he made looking down at her melted out hearts. Fortunately, Bart got a great picture! It's one we treasure.
Every bit as impressive, the Chief's Son acknowledged us then disappeared as we sat dripping in sweat, catching our breath and smiling and nodding while John and the woman and children in camp shyly eyed us. We heard a whack, whack sound and looked at Alexi. "He's cutting sticks for walking. For you." Within in 5 minutes he was back with a great walking stick for each of the 4 white people. Man was he good with that machete! I would have taken hours hacking away to make something much less useful. And it made all the difference. From that moment our sticks were our best friends.
The break was sweet but short. Amazingly we were back on the trail and moving up another mountain side. We passed the Natangora trees that are used for building the kastom houses. The boys pointed out the Kava plant and the many different kinds of banana trees. Maru climbed a gigantic Pomplemousse (a huge grapefruit) tree and dropped as many as he could reach or shake off. The boys cut them into juicy quarters. It was a deliciously refreshing treat. (One that we could come to crave right up to the last minute before leaving to catch our flight home.) The rainforest is thick with countless bushes, grasses, ground covers, trees and vines of all kinds. I loved the purple flowers and the tall red ginger plants. Once we stumbled on a mama goat and her twin kids. Another time a cow tied to a tree. There were a few pigs along the way as well. Fortunately, no snakes.
With the concentration on the work of climbing and dropping it was late in the hike on the first day before I took a moment to look back from the considerable elevation we had attained. Oh my word. It was incredible. My eyes followed the glimpses of river shining down in the valley to the edge of the ocean filling the distant floor. Floating in it but also somehow just above it was an island. There was a misty element that suspended this mass of earth just about 1/2 mile off shore. I hope there's a good pic of that. It was pretty cool.
Finally we stopped for the night at the village of Tabunbotari All I wanted was out of my shoes!! After a good scrub in the creek it was time to meet the Chief Chaunbose. He was tiny. So skinny and shy. He shook our hands, assigned us to a different hut and then mostly lay on his mat until time for the ceremony. Soon the guides were busy preparing the kava by putting the peeled branches and roots through a meat grinder then mixing it with water, straining it and mixing it again ( it took till the 3rd day to see the whole process). We were kept separate from the house where the the woman was cooking. I asked the boys to tell her I would help do anything but she didn't want help to the point of seeming nonplussed at my asking so I happily took my weary bones off to sit on a bench in front of the hut while the boys killed some time till dinner playing cards. We were awfully wet, tired, dirty and hungry.
"Number one rule. You must have ceremony with Chief." Once the kava was prepared they brought it in a bucket with old mugs. The chief gives a welcome speech (very short in order to get to the best part, gifts and kava). Bart (I guess he would be considered our chief, hee, hee) then handed him the plastic bag loaded with goods. Next, Chief Chaunbose gives Bart a mug of kava. Bart drinks it. Everyone claps. Then the boys each get one. They drink it one by one and everyone claps. Then Bart hands a mug to the Chief. He drinks it. Everyone claps. Last, the boys and Bart hand out mugs to the guides. They drink, one by one. Everyone claps. Got it? Drink, clap. Drink, clap. That's a kastom kava ceremony. Very romantic. It happened similarly without fail every night. After a couple of rounds we would be welcomed to stay or ushered to a hut for sleeping. At one point I learned that Alexi typically drinks 35 shells of kava when he's working as a guide. He told me, "I feel soo happy when I drink kava". The boys said it tastes like dirty water and gives you a tinny taste in your mouth. Later I confirmed my suspicions with a ward member that kava is completely off limits for Mormons. Ooops. Just between you and me, I am glad I didn't know for sure. One morning I was the only one sick while the boys and Bart were healthy as ever. We wondered if a shell of kava would have done me good!
Actually, a valium probably would have been more suitable for the first night. All I remember of the sleeping part (o.k. the WISHING you were asleep part) was the hard dirt floor, a pervasive dampness, acrid smoke from 4 fires burning through the night and the quiet talk of the guides in Bislama as they lay cherishing the last puffs on their rationed cigarettes. All night we woke from the pain of joints screaming for relief from the weight of our bodies. I felt like a pig being roasted on a spit as made half turns that brought comfort for a moment and then the pain again. It was a very looong night.
But let's not skip dinner shall we. Here I take my hat off to our two boys. When our meal arrived in a big metal pot and the lid was removed to reveal soggy steamed bananas and cooked cabbage leaves they dug right in! My boys ate bananas wrapped in wilted lettuce. It was unnatural and wrong but they acted as if it was a weekly occurrence. I heard not one complaint. We all ate what we could and commented on the fact that it wasn't too bad. No problem. Thank you very much. There may also have been some cooked taro. I don't remember. Just think bland and starchy and you'll have it. I am happy to say that although the kastom village cuisine we encountered wasn't all extremely delicious (except for the Su Sut (squash with ginger and coconut milk) and the Lap Lap (crushed yams, taro or manioc steamed in leaves), oh, and the Naura (crayfish) which I was too ill to eat on that particular morning) it was all edible.
So you may be wondering about the naked ladies. If you don't mind, I'll stop here for awhile and download a few pics. How about Part II tomorrow? Same time? Same place?
My that's a big turtle you have there. What do you do with that? Eat? Are you kidding? Oh, the whole village eats off it. For ceremonies? Ah, I see. Good idea. Maybe we'll just throw a gigantic wooden turtle on the table at the next family reunion to cut down on clean up. Brilliant!
Kava, freshly picked, dried and ready to grind. Add water and you have the most popular drink in all the islands of Vanuatu. Each island has a kava plant different than all the others. They ship heaps of it to Fiji, Samoa, The Solomon Islands, New Caledonia and Hawaii. It acts as a mucle relaxer and something else I can't remember. It was a major part of each nightly ritual. 
Our little pyro's dream life, fires (four in one room!) in the house!! They were exceptional at building long lasting hot fires and they keep them going all night long. The smoke works it's way out the woven ceilings. Yes, it's hard to breath, but you're so darn tired sleep does come.
Big scary warrior! This is John and his little boy. Too gorgeous. Or as they might say in Bislama, Gorgus tomas!
Jeremy was the only one to get this kind of VIP treatment!
This is our guide family. Bart and boys with Vira, Mura, Donald (forward), Vitu (in blue), Alexi (Namba 1 Guide Leader) and Avo. They were extremely helpful and carried ridiculous quantities of our stuff (most of it unnecessary!) up that trail. Could not have done it without them. 
This was taken from the road looking up towards our destination. Maracae is nestled somewhere behing those clouds on that furthest mountain top. Boy was I excited! (whatever!)
