Speedometer doesn’t work.
Nor does the gas gage.
And the roads makes Thailand look like the autobahn.What lies ahead of us is a road repair of a road repair, stitched together with a patchwork of pot hole fills. I focus on dodging 15cm deep potholes-of-doom. They are so deep they have eroded down to the pristine white sand, which lives under the chip sealed cement. From behind my scratched helmet visor they look like little sandy land mines.
Im so focused there is little time to think about anything else, accept for the occasional honk of the scooter horn to bands of barefoot kids, who stop on their long walks to wave and smile at us.
Like parrots the locals directed us to the same place they probably direct all foreigners. “Blue Lagoon” they said was the place to be. Im sure its nice but I was not stoked on a 1,000 Vatu ($12NZD) entrance fee, so we headed East out of the meager metropolis of Port Villa in search of something more radical.
What we found was a small park built by Anderson. The handmade sign was barely legible from the road. 300 Vatu, all you could swim. Anderson himself greeted us with a big smile “dis’ is the best beach in Vanuatu he proclaimed” with a big gap toothed smile. “Dont worry about your ‘tings” he said, “my friend will wach ‘dem.” A big man named Jon wearing nothing but a sarong waved but didnt smile. We parked, shook off our cloths of and jumped into a pristine coral inlet, only occupied by 3 rowdy ni-Vanuatu boys. We introduced ourselves by means of a full-on splash war.
Quickly, we found we where not out gunned, but out numbered. The little guys jabbering at us in Basmati, while they laughed and chased us. It doesnt take a linguist to understand a good time.
Occasionally, we would retreat to the deeper water’s reef or to the shade of one of Andersons amazing home made picnic benches. Too soon, the day ticked by and the shadows where getting long. We had to have the scooter back by 5. Not clocks, no watches. Everyone smiles.
Welcome to Vanuatu.