Moss meets the village chief on Espiritu Santo; ELPH 2009-02-03-0045

Squeek and Moss getting close to the land in Vanuatu; SqC 2009-02-04-1760

Vanuatu (formerly New Hebrides)


Day Fifteen (Tuesday, February 3, 2009)-- Land Ho! This morning as we awoke, we could see land on the horizon! We have arrived in the fabled South Pacific; specifically, the island of Espiritu Santo in the chain known as Vanuatu, formerly the New Hebrides. There are nearly 100 islands in this group, and some have had human habitation for as long as 4,000 years; others remain uninhabited to this day.

The early history of Vanuatu is obscure. Archaeological evidence suggests that peoples speaking Austronesian languages first came to the islands some 4,000 years ago. Pottery fragments have been found on Malo Island (just south of Espiritu Santo) dating back to 2000 B.C. What little is known of the pre-European contact history of Vanuatu comes from oral histories and legends which suggest that local history was characterized by inter-tribal warfare, occasionally interrupted by natural disasters that were attributed to gods and demons (djinns). Periodic festivals were held and sacrificial rites were performed in efforts to appease the spiritual forces believed responsible for them. One important early king was Roy Mata, who united several tribes, and was buried in a large mound with several retainers.

Espiritu Santo was the first island in the Vanuatu group to have been sighted by Europeans. In 1606, Pedro Fernandez de Quiros, a Portuguese explorer working for the Spanish monarchy, spied what he thought was a southern continent. He named the land “Nuestra Senora de Australia del Espiritu Santo,” and hoped to “save” the islanders he encountered by introducing them to Christianity. This initial effort at missionary activity soon failed, however, as the local chiefs opposed it. Europeans did not return until 1768, when Louis Antoine de Bougainville rediscovered the islands and claimed them for France. In 1774, Captain Cook claimed the islands for Great Britain and named them the New Hebrides, a name that lasted until independence in 1980.

In 1825, trader Peter Dillon's discovery of sandalwood on the Hebridean island of Erromango began a rush that ended in 1830 after a clash between immigrant Polynesian workers and indigenous Melanesians. Pacific whaling was the next activity to influence the islands; European sailors introduced previously unknown diseases, including influenza, measles, and venereal diseases. During the 1860s, planters in Australia, Fiji, New Caledonia, and the Samoan Islands, in need of labourers, encouraged a long-term indentured labour trade called “blackbirding;” at the height of the blackbirding, more than one-half the adult male population of several of the Islands worked abroad, but very few ever returned home.

British and French colonials disputed ownership of the islands in the late nineteenth century, and it was not until 1906 that a joint agreement was reached. I will write more about this unusual agreement tomorrow.

The next major event to influence Espiritu Santo and the Hebridean islands was World War Two. Although there was no fighting on Espiritu Santo, it became the home of a major American base early in 1942 and for the remainder of the war was an important forward supply base for American efforts to push the Japanese out of the Solomon Islands to the northwest. Famous American author James Mitchner was stationed here during the war, and the island provided subjects for several of his novels. The main city on the island, Luganville, where the Rotterdam docked this morning, still contains many structures remaining from the war—among the most common are quonset huts. In the narrow Segond Channel just off Luganville there lies a famous underwater relic of the war, the remains of the SS President Coolidge, an American Presidents Line luxury liner refitted for military service that sank after hitting “friendly” mines in August 1942. Another interesting wartime relic on the island is “Million Dollar Point,” where at the end of the war many tons of military supplies and equipment were just tossed over the cliff into the ocean water below in the belief that it was no longer needed. Even after nearly seventy years, rusting jeep and tank parts line the shore. I personally can think of no better example of the wastefulness of war.

Enough of the history lesson; here were today’s activities. The Rotterdam came in to Luganville, the primary port for the island of Espiritu Santo, and tied up at the British Petroleum dock. We were assulted by “tropical squalls” all day long, so this was a wet day. As a result we stayed aboard the ship until it was time to go on our tour. We signed up for a cultural activities tour; I would have liked to go on the World War Two tour, but we waited too long and there was no space left. The cultural tour was of real interest, too, however. The nine of us who had signed up boarded a minivan and were driven east out of Luganville. After about a mile the paving ended and we found ourselves—and our behinds—assulted by incessant potholes in the dirt road. It seems as though the Ni-Vanuati (the native people of Vanuatu) are casual about their driving; several times our driver had to contest the right of way with oncoming vehicles. Before too long we drove into the “Santo Cultural Centre.” (I have noticed that the islanders here refer to their island, which Westerners call Espiritu Santo, simply as “Santo.”) The Cultural Centre was located on the coast perhaps two or three miles east of Luganville in an area where much of the original flora remains; in other words, in an area which had not been clearcut for farming by Europeans. Our minivan drove down a very muddy (and bumpy) dirt road right into the undergrowth. At last we stopped, got out of the vehicle, and walked through the incessant drizzle toward a clearing fringed with decorative palm leaves. Standing in the middle of the path was an older man in traditional garb (a “grass skirt” and a vest-necklace of woven leaves), holding a sharp-pointed stick that clearly was a symbol of authority. He was introduced to us as the Chief of the local village, and he welcomed us to his community—in English. After this the guide who had joined us at the ship—Glen was his name—lead us on a tour of the floral resources on this land. He spoke about how various leaves and roots had important medicinal, cosmetic, or food uses. It was quite interesting, especially when he described one plant which could overcome diabetes. Of course, with my Western cultural training I tend to take these claims with some skepticism, but at the same time my cynical mind wondered if perhaps the rich and powerful pharmeceutical companies have supressed some of these native claims because they make more money supressing symptoms than by defeating the disease. I came to the conclusion that we would do well to listen to what others believe and should investigate these claims.

Walking through the forest we saw banyan trees—one was over 500 years old—and other tropical growths. It was fascinating even if the rain kept it very wet, although I must say that the jungle canopy overhead did shield us from the heaviest rainfall. Eventually we came out to the shore, where Glen told us about an event that had taken place in World War Two. In August of 1942, as Americans were moving in and converting Espiritu Santo into a forward air base and supply centre, the SS President Coolidge, carrying 5500 troops and crew, hit a mine and sank in the channel right where the Cultural Centre now lies. Fortunately, all but two persons were able to get off the ship and swim ashore. The survivors camped in the area that is now the cultural centre. They remained there for some time before they were moved on—some apparently went up north to Guadalcanal. The two men who died in the accident were buried at the camp, and Glen showed us their grave. A little further on, I turned aside to talk with the Chief while Squeekie and the others toured with Glen. I was deeply interested to hear what the Chief had to say about the problems of managing or leading a native community in the modern world. The Chief—I confess I cannot remember his name—said that independence did not protect traditional lifestyles in Vanuatu because the politicians of the independent republic have their own beliefs about how the Ni-Vanuati should be governed. He was concerned that, because the politicians do not listen to the Chiefs who are still close to the land and the people, much traditional culture will be lost. I was fascinated to hear that this man, so imbued with traditional values, understood the pros and cons of contemporary Western-style politics as well.

When the others returned, the community performed a series of traditional dances for us—the so-called “Snake Dance,” with intricate patterns like an interweaving line dance, was especially interesting. The adult men of the community provided the music, which was a pattern of sounds made by beating staffs on wood, and the women and children danced. It was quite fascinating to see all of this, and very new to me because of my life-long interest in things mechanical. All too soon this glimpse into the island past came to an end. We boarded the minivan and bounced our way back to the Rotterdam.

Departure from Luganville was just before six o’clock in the evening. Squeekie and I watched from the forward deck on Deck Six as barefooted crews untied the Rotterdam from the dock and our great ship pulled away. Literally minutes after our ship untied a huge gale blew across our ship. Captain Olav later said that the winds blew at nearly 60 knots (quite literally “gale force” winds) across our bow, and rain poured down as well. We had to duck back inside the ship as the island of Espiritu Santo disappeared in the stormy weather and nightfall.


Day Sixteen (Wednesday, February 4, 2009)—As I woke up this morning the Rotterdam was quietly creeping in to Port Vila, the main port and capital city of the Republic of Vanuatu, on the island of Efate. It never ceases to amaze me how our big ship—all 59,000 tonnes of her—can move so quietly in and out of ports and anchorages. I went out on our verandah to watch our arrival; the town of Port Vila is much larger than Luganville, where we were yesterday. Of especial interest was the large Parliament House on a hillside overlooking the harbour, a symbol of the independence of this island group. OK, to today’s history lesson. . . .

In the mid-nineteenth century Roman Catholic and Protestant missionaries arrived in the island group then known as the “New Hebrides.” European settlers also came, looking for land on which to establish cotton plantations. When international cotton prices collapsed, they switched to coffee, cocoa, bananas, and, most successfully, coconuts. Initially, British subjects from Australia made up the majority of the settlers, but in 1882 the establishment of the French-owned “Caledonian Company of the New Hebrides” soon tipped the balance in favour of French citizens; by the start of the twentieth century, the French outnumbered the British two to one. It was during this period that the town (and port) of “Franceville” was established on the island of Efate; this is present-day Port Vila.

The issue of which European colonial power “owned” the New Hebrides islands was debated in European capitals in the late nineteenth century. In 1878 Britain and France declared all of the New Hebrides to be neutral territory, but the lack of a functional government led to rising discontent among British and French colonists. The mixture of French and British interests in the islands brought petitions for one or another of the two powers to annex the territory. In 1887 a joint Anglo-French naval commission was created to protect British and French citizens, but claimed no jurisdiction over internal native affairs. Finally, in 1906, Britain and France came to an unusual agreement to administer the islands jointly. Called the Anglo-French Condominium, it was a unique form of government, with separate governmental systems that came together only in a joint court. Melanesians (natives not of Polynesian birth) were barred from acquiring the citizenship of either power and were officially stateless; to travel abroad they needed an identity document signed by both the British and French resident commissioners. Many called the condominium the “Pandemonium” because of the duplication of laws, police forces, prisons, currencies, education and health systems.

The first challenge to this curious form of government came with the arrival of Americans in World War Two. The informal demeanour of the Americans and their great wealth is credited with the rise of nationalism in the islands. In the 1960s, the issue of land ownership gave political impetus toward independence. The ancient customs of the Ni-Vanuati (the native peoples of the islands) asserted that land was held in trust for future generations by the current custodians; Europeans viewed the land as a commodity. Europeans owned about 30% of the land area in the islands, most of which had been cleared for coconut production; as they began clearing more land protests began and a native-control movement began. Complicating the move toward independence was the reality in the 1960s that while Great Britain desired to “de-colonize” the New Hebrides south of the Solomon Islands, France did not wish to do anything that would jeapordize their mineral-rich colonial possession in nearby New Caledonia. In 1979 foreign land owners were dispossessed and received compensation from their own governments, and a date was set for full independence. The Republic of Vanuatu was created on July 30, 1980, but the French remained unhappy. As they departed, French officials (but NOT the British) tore out telephones, air-conditioners and all equipment and furnishings from administrative offices so as to burden the new republic and its budget. (This is something the French were notorious for having done in a number of their colonies at independence.) Fortunately, the new government received significant support from the British in replacing infrastructure. It is interesting to note that the most lingering echo of European colonialism in Vanuatu is the fact that both English and French remain the official languages and most all signs are in both.

Once again let me turn away from the history of the islands to share our activities today. Squeekie and I had signed up for a tour entitled “Buggy Fun.” We debarked from the Rotterdam at 8:30 am, very greatful that the rain was holding off this day despite many clouds overhead. Once again we boarded a minivan to be driven to our destination. Our driver took us right through the heart of Port Vila, a fairly big town (perhaps 30,000 residents) and the capital city of the Republic of Vanuatu. We drove right by the Parliament House, which is on a hillside overlooking the harbour. Eventually our drive brought us to a small industrial building in front of which were a gaggle of small dune buggy-type vehicles. We transferred from minivan to mini-buggy (and I must tell you that it was a tight fit for a football player-sized person such as myself); Squeekie squeezed in the seat next to me and we were ready for our adventure in the interior of Efate.

Led by a young expatriate Frenchman, our caravan of buggies putt-putted off, at first on the paved road, but after a kilometer on to a dirt road. In no time at all we were out in the countryside, on a poor-quality dirt road with water-filled potholes that made the driving of our vehicles a challenging, dodging dance. After two kilometers or so we turned in to an area of pasture land with some cattle running on it. The heavy rain of the previous day (this is the rainy season here in Vanuatu) meant that the trails were muddy in the extreme. We were the third buggy in our caravan, and, despite my years of experience with off-road driving, it quickly became impossible to avoid being splashed by water and mud. After the first inundation with muddy water, the drive stopped being an effort to dodge the dirt and became a contest to get as dirty as possible. Oh, I didn’t try to hit every muddy, water-filled pothole, but before long Squeekie and myself bore with pride the spatters, splashes, and gobs of mud and water that were hurled at us. The buggy in front of us hurled a rain of mud chunks that splashed down on us if we followed too close. Oh, it was grand fun!

At one place we stopped so that Squeekie could get a picture of the cattle on the land, adding to our collection of pictures of cattle taken on our travels around the globe these many years. At another place we stopped for a short break and Squeekie took a picture of muddy me squeezed into the equally muddy buggy. Oh, what fun! In one place we squished through a sea of mud that reminded me of that day so many years ago on Hollister Ranch when I got my Land Rover stuck up to the floorboards in mud—and took six hours to dig out. Squeekie, who was in charge of pictures for this event because I was busy driving, got mud splashes on her lens filter, but still took some wonderful pictures of the event we came to call “getting close to the land.” On our way back to our starting point we drove over some back roads and passed a number of homes where little kids stood out in front watching us as our caravan passed by, waving at us or in some cases high-fiving us as we drove by.

When we returned the buggies to their stable we reboarded the minivan and again drove through Port Vila. On a different route this time, we passed by some interesting landmarks, such as the Tusker Brewery, where Vanuatu’s own beer is made, and the open public market, where huge quantities of fruits (mainly bananas from what I could see) were displayed for sale. It was a good look at this interesting South Pacific town, which began life over a century ago as a colonial administrative centre and has become the capital of an independent nation with one foot in the past and the other in the twenty-first century.

Upon our return to the dock where the Rotterdam was secured, we debarked from the minivan. Squeekie and I decided that we would walk through the many craft displays located on the dock before reboarding the ship. All the while people stared at us, not unsurprisingly, as we were covered in mud splashes quite literally from head to toe. We had to endure many comments, but our response was a smiling, “we have been getting close to the land.” Back on board the ship, we went straight to our stateroom where we commenced a cleanup which included long showers and a trip to the laundromat down the hall from our room. We had had a wonderful time on our “Buggy Fun” adventure, but it did feel good to be clean again!

The rain, which had held off in the morning, returned in the afternoon as the ship was about to depart. Squeekie and I went out on the forward deck again to experience our departure from Port Vila. As we headed out the main channel I noticed in the hills on our starboard side a line of wind turbines spinning to generate electricity; yes, indeed, this South Pacific island is in touch with the modern world. The Rotterdam headed out to sea into nightfall, going south toward our next destination, New Caledonia.