Day 6 of Our Very Flash and Totally Luxurious Pacific Island Cruise

Monday 30^th April – our Third Day at the Islands

This morning I was woken up by the worst earthquake I think I’ve ever felt (apologies to all my Christchurch family, but a 2.4 is massive in my books).  Ready to leap out of bed and run to the doorway, throwing caution to the fact that I was clad in nothing but my claddagh ring, I glanced over at Neil.  Sleeping like a baby.  Half furious at him for not being awake to freak out with me, and half in total awe of him and his ability to sleep through something like this, I stood around indecisively talking to myself. 

When common sense caught up with my sleep-addled brain, I tried to cast my mind back to the last time I’d heard of an earthquake at sea.  Like, actually AT sea and not Under-The-Sea-Tsunami-Causing-Earthquakes.  I rushed over to our faithful old window, ripped the curtains open, and there before me in all its glory was Port Vila, Vanuatu.   To be honest, at first glance it reminded me of Picton.  Then as I looked round, the beaches that we’d become familiar with over the last couple of days revealed themselves, and all thoughts of Picton similarities were immediately vanquished.  

The next thing to reveal itself was a little tug boat, which had been the instigator of my panic.  He was pushing us sideways into the dock, which, as it transpires, causes big ships to vibrate at a frequency designed to shed teeth.

Once again, I relentlessly nagged Neil to hurry up and get going, nearly going into cardiac arrest when he wanted to have a shower.  I mean, seriously - personal hygiene, when Port Vila is waiting to be explored??  Despite my protests, after a two-minute shower akin to my 30-second record at Isle of Pines, we ventured up to breakfast.  Sitting on the seaward side of the boat, we had a spectacular view of all that was waiting to be explored by us intrepid tourists.  Had we seen what was waiting for us Island-side, we may not have been so fearless…

Disembarking with a spring in our step, money in our wallets and naivety running through our veins, we stepped off the boat.  We had about 3.2 seconds warning before we heard the onslaught, and saw the position of the snipers.

“Hallo, Miss, how are you, Ma’am, you going to town, Miss, up here, you two, only two, you go to town, you want taxi, Miss, look here, hey you couple, Miss what your name, Ma’am, you two travel alone, Hello Ma’am Hello, we help you, you want taxi, Miss my name Sam, we help you, where you go, what you want?”

Times about 20 cause there was about 20 taxis and we were walking in a group of about 20 people.

We were assaulted from all angles, from the road above that passed the port which was their only access to passengers until they walked out the gates, the hunting ground for the locals.  I would have said “local taxi drivers” but not one of them was a taxi.  Or really, a driver.

By the time we got to the port gate, I felt completely violated and more than a little vulnerable.  Once we passed through the gates it got worse.  I felt like a 10 year old boy dropped off outside Michael Jackson’s house.  Without my shorts.      

People were coming at us from all angles, yelling prices, calling us this way and that, asking where we wanted to go, getting in our faces, pushing other competitors out of the way, bargaining prices, undercutting the last guy, talking over the next.  It was INSANE.

$3 per person into town seemed to be the going rate, so when one dude offered us $5 for the two of us, we followed him.  But alas, it wasn’t to be as simple as that.  He asked us where we wanted to go, we said “town, $5 both of us”, he smiled, said something in Bislama to another taxi driver, who then herded us his way.  He asked us where we wanted to go, we said “town, $5 both of us”, he smiled, nodded, said something in Bislama to another taxi driver, who then herded us his way.  He asked us where we wanted to go, we said “town, $5 both of us”, he smiled, nodded, said something in Bislama to another taxi driver, who bundled us into his taxi. 

Just as I dared to breathe a sigh of relief, what happened next must be what my girls refer to as “Opposite Day”.  Our trip wasn’t set in stone, and our negotiating wasn’t complete.

We were in a taxi with a broken windscreen; no door handles, seat belts, window controls or fresh air; and our journey started much like a scene from "Taken".  Not the fun bit when they're hopping on the plane.

We took off at a speed that just about dislodged my gall bladder, and didn't slow down until we hit a kerb. I glanced over at Neil two seconds into our journey and got the raised eyebrow.  He's been on the roads in Malaysia and Korea so anything that elicits less than a scream from him is probably a good indication that we're not going to die.  That didn't stop me planning a quick funeral in my head.

Our driver was very friendly.  He gave us the full run-down of the island as we streaked past it, pointing out buildings, telling us where to go, what to see and where to buy the cheapest duty free. 

Unfortunately, he was looking at us the whole time he spoke to us.

And we were both sitting in the back seat.

A terrifying five minutes later, as we coasted down a hill because I don't think we had brakes, he turned to tell us something he'd forgotten and we drove into a kerb.  Well, they don't quite have kerbs over there like we're accustomed to, but we definitely hit the side of the road.  And not the correct side.

I was about ready for a drink by the time we arrived in the town centre; so traumatised was I that I didn't notice the shady-looking street filled with shady-looking characters hanging around shady-looking buildings until we got robbed at knife point by the driver.

"Hello, hello, thank you, that's fideen dollar thank you"

"Um, sorry, pardon, $15?"

"Yah, thank you, fideen dollar"

"Um, we agreed to $5 for the both of us."

"No, no, that fideen please.  You must pay fideen.  That the rate"

"Uh, no... we said $5 for the both of us, and the man, Jimbob, agreed and brought us over to you.  We agreed $5 for both of us"

"No, no, you not pay figh dollar that not enough.  It cost you fideen, you come all way into town for figh dollar?  No!"  

The raised tone and volume of his voice coincided with the moment I chose to glance outside and spot The Shady Looking Characters all hanging around the car.  Who were probably this guy's relatives.  Or drinking buddies.  Or cell mates from the fallout of the last cruise hitting town.

I was starting to get a little freaked.  One was a little old lady with a shopping trolley trailing behind her, but you just can't be too careful.  I glanced over at Neil again, who had still not screamed.  Somehow his normally-excellent negotiating skills weren't working as they usually do, nor was his schoolboy charm.

Well, it was on me, but Taxi Man wasn't buying it.  Just when I thought we were destined to be kidnapped and driven to outback Port Vila to be dismembered for the organ black market, Neil firmly told Taxi Man we were only paying $5 and he got out of the car-that-is-in-no-way-a-taxi.  I jumped out quicker than I've moved on the entire cruise, and I ran across the road to escape the clutches of the old lady.  Looks can be very deceiving, you know.

I don't recall at which exact point the driver pulled the knife on us, or what kind of knife it was, and even if there's a slight chance it was an imaginary knife in only my imagination, it was still very scary.

After running a safe distance away from the Tourist-Mugger, we slowed down and strolled past all the shops.  Everywhere we looked there were tourists looking jubilant as they emerged from large stores, but none of them had duty free bags so I initially failed to comprehend the source of their delight.

Venturing into one such store, I vowed to keep my compulsiveness in check no matter how irresistible their wares were.  After crossing the threshold and giving my eyes a second to adjust to the light, I first saw the shelves; then I looked around for Marty McFly.  Somewhere nearby the DeLorean was parked, with 1981 shining brightly on the dash.

As far as the eye could see, shelves were laden with electronic products that were older than Neil.  The printable calculator would have been handy ten minutes ago to show Tourist-Mugger how $5 doesn't equal $15, but there was not much point buying it now.  Instead I turned my attention to a double tape deck, feverish at the thought of Boy George asking me if I really wanted to hurt him again.  

I reluctantly returned the tape deck to the shelf when I discovered the asking price would concurrently pay for an intimate wedding and make Boy George cry.

We wandered around for a bit noting the eclectic collection of goods, then it suddenly dawned on me that this must be the Port Vila Big W equivalent.  Except I don't think they'd probably consider using Eric Stonestreet for their advertising campaigns anytime soon.  

I noticed flashes of gaudiness from the corner of my eye, and realised there were loads of tourists in here.  Baffled as to why, I followed the scent of coconut oil and discovered off to the side an Aladdin's Cave full of duty free.

I thought there may have been a mistake with a) the price tags or b) my conversion of AUD to AUD because I saw before me a bottle of Jager for around $18.

I glanced over at my Introvert, and when I saw his reaction - pupils dilated, mouth ajar and fist pumping - I knew we'd struck a goldmine.

About an hour later, when we'd chosen 5 bottles of duty free and the cashier said "that's $84 thank you" I clapped my hands.  When she put them in a bag, stapled the top closed and said "these will be sent out to the ship for you to collection on disembarkation in Australia", I unclapped my hands.

It seems my BFIAB's status was not so precarious after all.

After all that browsing, we were famished, so scouted around for the nicest looking place to eat.  We found one on the waterfront with beautiful scenery, outdoor tables, clean toilets (one has to priortise) and reasonable prices.  We inadvertently had also found one of the only restaurants in Port Vila owned and run by Australians...

While enjoying our lunch we noticed a sign for scenic helicopter rides.  The devil on my shoulder convinced me that the pilot would probably let me have some stick-time if we paid for a flight, while the angel told me to remember back to the taxi ride.  When we saw one approach and realised it was a Robinson 22 I hissed at my devil and thanked my angel for giving me another day to drink wine.

After lunch we wandered back towards the cruise ship along the beach.  Not quite what I'd expected, especially when we passed loads of fishing boats and fishermen and smelly fish-looking things, but I knew it would get better.  

Sure enough, we approached a large park area and noticed there were several families seated for lunch. 

And loads of workmen too.  In fact, less families and more workmen.  Actually, no families.  These were all workmen and they were not eating delicious fresh island edibles like pineapples and lobster, like one would expect.  They were eating greasy chicken and stinky fish.

Venturing forth from the tropical picnic, we came across a supermarket and decided to pop inside and see what they had.  Wary of our budget, and limited cash, we vowed not to go too crazy.  However, once inside, it was hard not to.  Shelves and shelves of unexplored fodder lay before us, and before you knew it our little shopping basket was full.  Up to the checkout and as the young girl scanned our items, I asked if there was an EFTPOS minimum.

"Um, yes ma'am, ten dollar". 

Sweet, we'll definitely be EFTPOS-ing this.  

"Um, thank you, that's three dollar fifty".

I looked at Neil and thought my Iced Coffee had gone to my head.  Looked back at the girl.

"$3.50?  Um, for all this?"

"Yes, yes, $3.50".

"Righto.  We'll be back in a minute."

Off we went in search of more junk food and exotic items, remembering of course that whatever we bought had to be eaten this afternoon as we couldn't bring it back on the ship.

Adding up all that was in our little basket, I arrived at about $9.90.  Looking around for one last item, I spied a tiny packet of condoms.  With an ever-so-fetching photo on the packet, we couldn't resist.  Placing our items on the conveyor belt with the same young checkout girl, we grinned at each other.  At that moment, another young girl joined us to pack our stuff into bags.  

Beer, beep.

Beer, beep.

Beer, beep.

Beer, beep.

Chippies, beep.

Chippies, beep.

Chippies, beep.

Chippies, beep.

Twisties, beep.

Twisties, beep.

Biscuits, beep.

Biscuits, beep.

Energise drink, beep.

Nips lollies, beep.

Condoms… pause.  Look at bagging girl, beep, look at bagging girl, giggle, look down at counter, blush, pass to bagging girl, look at bagging girl, giggle and blush, look at counter.

I think she was thinking the same thing as the model.

*whispers*

"That's ten dollar 30 please..."

Winking at checkout girl just to send her into convulsions, I paid for our stuff and off we went.  We followed the waterline a bit further and found a nice place to sit under a palm tree and sample our goods.

The beer and chips, I mean.

I thought it was lovely how, when we'd finished our leisurely snack and relaxed in the sun for a while, then bothered to look around and realised we were in someone's private backyard, the occupants that had walked past us in the previous hour had all made us feel very welcome.

Deciding to leave before we had to help out with family chores, we headed off in search of an Internet Cafe.  Surely, being such a tourist mecca, there would be one.  There was indeed, much to my delight.  And only $1 AUD for 30 minutes! 

I managed to sign on and get half of my gmail page loaded before my $1 ran out and the stench of body odour overwhelmed us.

Carrying on with our journey, we thought we'd walk back to the cruise ship.  We had plenty of time on our hands, a full buffet to work off, and it was a beautiful day.

Ten minutes into the walk up the biggest hill I've ever seen, the novelty had worn off.  We hailed down a taxi and I vowed to pay whatever the hell he wanted to charge us.  

"The ship?  That be two dollar".

I knew our Tourist-Mugger was shady.

After arriving back at the ship, having managed to dodge all the stall owners and hawkers and other taxi drivers, we thought we'd go for a walk around the other side of the bay, where in a photo the sand looked golden and the water looked crystal clear.

The picture lied and I thought we'd been transported to Mumbai.  As we made our way around the shores, we came across a local maritime specimen which seemed to follow the laws of taxis.  We decided to name this bay "Shipwreck Cove". 

Carrying on round, out of morbid curiosity rather than the expectation of finding a delightful tropical beach, the scenery got worse.  The shore was rocky, there were cheap huts littered along the beach and there were fishing lines complete with hooks cast out into the water.

But then there was Mumbai-Boy.  He sprung out of nowhere, and was on our trail like a top-selling used car dealer.  

"Hullo!  How are you doing today?"

I looked around expecting to see a middle aged man in business attire, but there's little Mumbai-Boy, about six years old and nearly naked.

"Oh... hey there little fella.  Um we're good thanks!  How about you?"

He's following us... no actually, he's passed us and he's leading us along the shoreline.  

"Where are you going?  What are you doing?  What's in that bag, is that food?"

Looking a bit despondent Neil reaches into the bag and hands Mumbai-Boy a packet of our chippies.  I'm about to giggle when I hear something that makes me nearly deposit my buffet right there on the Shipwreck Cove shoreline.

"Hey... you... you wanna try some Kava?"

Spinning around, we see a little tent-thing with a gnarled local sitting inside, fishing lines cast out to sea, and I'm pretty sure, some dehydrated tribal skulls just out of sight.

"Um, gosh, er... thank you for your kind offer.  Uh, we've got these beers here, and some other snacks.."

Mumbai-Boy looks back down at our bag accusingly.

"...and I think er, we'll probably be fine with them for the moment, thank you".

That's what went through my head.  I'm not entirely convinced it came out sounding like that but I think he got the message as we sprinted off down the beach in the exact opposite direction of our cruise ship.

Although, to be fair, sprinting is a bit of an exaggeration.  The beach was strewn with litter and jagged rocks so I was wary of cutting myself. It was bad enough that Mr Murphy and his legislation had deemed it hilarious to strike me down with a debilitating female affliction, making it a Not-At-All-Romantic Very Flash And Totally Luxurious Cruise;  I didn't want to add tetanus to the list and be totally useless down that end as well.

Once we reached the edge of the peninsula, we peered around the corner waiting to the sights to behold us.

A farmhouse and a wire fence. 

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment towards Neil.  Why on earth did he insist on letting me talk him into taking this walk even though he’d suggested taking a taxi to a well-known local lovely beach?  I decided to make him pay for this later; in the meantime we had to complete part two of The Incredible Journey to ensure we made it back to the ship in one piece.

Unsure whether to keep Mumbai Boy as insurance for getting past the Kava Hut we wavered on the spot for a moment, as I mentally calculated the time needed to circumnavigate the entire Efate island rather than walk back the way we’d come.  About seven days.  No option therefore but to HTFU and start walking.

“Hey, um, little boy…. so we’re going back now, are you walking this way with us just until we get safe then you can go back and tell your Mum she wants you?”

Walking like a suntan victim with an oncoming case of cryptosporidium, my tantalising flirt with tetanus went no further, and we made it back to the safety of our ship.

And the hawkers.

This time we knew what we were doing and we weren’t taking any prisoners. We wanted beautiful beach, and come hell or high water we were getting it.

“Hello, ma’am and sir, hello, my name is William, may I help you, where you want to go?”

“Hey William.  We want to go to the beach.  That beach over there…” as I point over a hill in the general direction of some sand I saw on a map.  “That nice beach for tourists, the one that’s only like five minutes away, just over there.  That’s it.  How much? We’ve got $10 cash nothing else, no more”.

“OK, that be no problem at all, $10 to nice beach, I take you there!  Please hop in!”

This time I the first thing I noticed was the electrician’s tape holding the door handle on. 

Wait, door handle?  We’ve gone up in the world.  We’re good to go.

After about ten minutes of driving, and listening to William tell us all about his lovely home town and the lovely people and his lovely missus who is not, in fact, his wife, but his lover because they make lots of love and she cooks him meals AND does his washing so he might just marry her one day, I notice we’re no closer to a beach.  In fact, we’re no closer to a town either.  We just drove right through it.

“Uh, William… beach?  Sand?  We don’t look like we’re anywhere near the ship or the little hill I wanted you to go over and we have to be back at our ship at 4pm at the latest” as I glance at my watch and notice it’s already 2.45pm.

“Yes, yes, beach.  This lovely beach!  Beautiful.  It has bar, and sun loungers and even toys to play with!”

Scenes from “Hostel” flit through my mind.

“A beach?  A like, beach with sand and stuff, like just over the little hill beach William?”

“Yes yes!  Lovely beach!  And it be only twenty dollar!  For you both, only that!  Bargain!”

My heart sinks.  Neil still hasn’t screamed.

“William…” he says.  “We said $10 for both of us to take us to the beach.  The tourist beach over the hill, we need to be back by 4pm.  We have no extra money, we made a deal”.

I’m trying to recall how many kidneys I have and whether I really need my spleen to survive.  If we pull up to the beach and I see a bath filled with ice, William is off my Xmas card list.

“William, we TOLD you we had no extra money, and we don’t.  We can’t pay for this!” I try in my most authoritative I’m-Keeping-My-Corneas tone.

“Well….”  big sigh… “ok, ok.  You just be careful then.  This very nice beach, we bring boat people here and they pay usually.  You must hide towels.  The see your towels they know you are from boat.  I say you are my family, you be ok”.

That was uncanny.  I had just that moment been contemplating the similarities between him and Neil.

We finally pull up to one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever laid my eyes on, complete with a bar, sun loungers, and inflatable water toys.

And about twenty local children swimming all over them.

I look around nervously wondering what would happen if they DID find out we were from the boat.  I tried my hardest to look unboaty and like a native Vanuatian, and took a spot on a lounger.  Reaching into our grocery bag, I pull out a beer each whilst briefly wondering if I’m going to need the condoms for any medicinal purposes.  Then I remembered we were at a bar. 

I wandered inside with a view to purchasing some exotic and extremely delicious cocktails.  A barman looking much like Crocodile Dundee wanders over.

“Hi, um, I was just wondering…” shit, foreign accent… I try my Jamacian tone “if you do be havin EFTPOS here, mon?”

They didn’t and I slunk back to my lounger to drink my contraband.  William came over to assure us we’d fooled them and we asked if he’d like a beer.  Only a split second later did we remember that a) he was our taxi driver and b) he was already driving like he was at 0.8mg and c) I needed the alcohol on board to have the courage to stay at this beach.  Fortunately, he turned us down; it seems warm 30c beer is not to his taste.

After watching the kids for a while, taking the mandatory 27 photos of the same thing from a slightly different angle, and avoiding the gaze of Paul Hogan while I used his bathroom four times, it was time to get going.

William was fabulously entertaining on the way home, so much so that I felt guilty for taking his time and dilapidated vehicle for only $10.  Trying to whisper to Neil while only 60cm away from William’s head proved more difficult than anticipated, so I tried sign language to convey that we should give him all of our change as a tip.  He wasn't looking convinced and kept shaking his head at me.  Now, I thought, is not the time to be sticking to a budget.  

Not until I’d scrounged every bit and scooped it into William's hands like candies on Halloween, and exited the not-taxi, did Neil remind me.

“We told him we had no more money, remember?”

I patted myself down for surgical wounds and thanked the world that I hadn’t remember that mid-deposit.