Impressions of the Vava’u Experience

by Christine Martin

Blue and Nick are both similarly fine bodied, golden skinned and fat free, clear eyed, energetic, and with an undiminished vitality. They are closely matching, a result no doubt of sharing the last two years sailing. However, there remains a spirit of competition, expressed most notably during a handstand contest, from which Nick was disqualified for unbecoming conduct.

Onboard lifestyle included devouring a huge ‘welcome’ fruitcake, restful nights in a comfortable bed and not-too-early rising, Nick’s breakfast porridge with raisins and sliced banana, Blue’s yellowfin tuna lunch and dinner (fried, sushied and curried), cups of tea and milo and little coconut bowls of nibblies in the evenings. Nick got stuck into the swag of mail, and the business stuff that it engendered, and Blue sought perfection in her culinary and her coconut arts. Blue took great care to ensure that her mother was comfortable, sunscreened, shod appropriately, sleeping soundly, replete foodwise, and well hydrated.

There were wonderful swathes of time talking, and talking and talking, some of it while Blue concentrated on creating her exquisite pieces of art. Nick appeased his need for robust activity by kite-surfing (with attendant wad-punch injuries), equipping himself with a wooden spear and enacting a wild boar hunt (with synchronized pig vocals from Blue), vanishing into the watery depths while snorkeling (henceforth known as deep-sea snorkeling), and waging war with the resident billygoat monarch of Hunga Island, who reared to his two-legged, fully-six-foot height before each charge. (Bluey, the previous day, had discouraged this aggressive, masculine behavour by soccering coconuts in very accurate shots at the goat, but Nick relished the encounter). As an aside, it is a pity really, about the existence of King Billy and his subjects; differences in the vegetation of islands that are goat-ed and those that are goat-less are stark. Blue and Nick are an integral part of the cruising fraternity, and love exchanging sailing-type anecdotes with other yachties when they happen across fellow-members in the town, on the mooring or on an otherwise deserted island.

The young people who live on Vava’u and the surrounding islets are beautiful. They have café latte skin, broad faces, plump smiling lips and big brown eyes. The women dress modestly, generally in long skirts, and some men wear a black wrap-around sarong. Older men and women have much more generous bodies, and sometimes overlay their clothing with a large woven ‘mat’ that extends from their ankles to their armpits and is tied securely at the waist.

There is nothing frenetic in Vava’u. Traffic in the harbour town of Neiafu is quite heavy, but drivers are mindful of pedestrians, dogs, pigs and other road users. People laugh a lot. I was introduced to this phenomenon before I even arrived in Vava’u, at the airport in Nuku Olofa, where baggage handlers lazed on the baggage cart, laughing among themselves; the cheerful woman at customs chuckled as she confiscated a kilo of pistachio nuts; and the rotund fellow in the colourful shirt maintained a happy disposition even as he told me the airline I had booked with for Vava’u hadn’t been in the air for over a week. The 3am airport departure crowd, comprising in part little kids and some really old people in wheelchairs, was a jolly lot as well. In Vava’u itself the tendency to joviality continued. Sellers in the marketplace happily encouraged us to buy a carved humpback whale tooth, unfazed and smiling still as Blue attempted to acquaint them with cetacean anatomy. Young men preparing for a Sunday morning session under the trees on woven mats encircling an ancient kava bowl, did so with great risibility.

On that same Sunday morning, as we emerged from a jungle track traversing the tiniest of islands, we came upon a picturesque weatherboard church set amid lush, well tended gardens. We were stopped dead by the sounds of glorious singing – men and women belting out hymns in their own language in rich, beautiful harmony. The atmosphere was magical and unworldly, so we lingered awhile to soak it up. The missionaries have left other legacies including beachside avenues of enormous ficus with gnarled roots, and ancient citrus trees along pathways. But by far the most startling, however, are the churches. There is one in every village, apparently regardless of size, and, unlike the dwellings, are meticulously maintained. In contrast to the surrounding buildings, the cathedral in Neiafu is freshly painted - brilliant white, with intricate red detailing.

There are a host of small islands in the Vava’u group. Many have steep limestone rims interspersed with beaches of finely ground coral. The shoreline is littered with plastic objects of all colours and sizes, with previous functions as diverse as protecting body parts, keeping food and drink contained, starting fires, tying things up, directing liquids or gases, and stabilizing structures. A fringe of coconut palms lines the beach, then you are immediately plunged into dense green jungle. Soft tracks lead to a village, a small cemetery, or through a village garden where vanilla vines, banana and coconut palms, citrus trees and root vegetables with huge leaves flourish. Along the track there are also creepers with brilliant red berries, and others with backward facing thorns, causing you to pause for an inspection or an extrication. In the coconut plantations, the ground is covered with nuts whose luscious interiors have been devoured via surgically precise holes by crabs. Nick masterfully decapitated green coconuts direct from the palm tops to provide us with milky drinks, and ingredients for a cake that lodged in our stomachs like Besser blocks.

Sows, piglets and boars roam at will, foraging on the exposed reefs at low tide and in the tiny local cemeteries. They look fat and healthy (see photo 040.jpg). They also look pretty good when their honey-brown, roasted bodies form the table centerpiece at feasts. Such was the fate of perhaps thirty or forty piglets at a celebration at the Neiafu cathedral. Before I was shooed away by an old woman, obviously affronted by my sticky-beaking, I saw that the trestles were creaking under the weight of the nose-to-tail pork, plus a huge variety of unidentifiable foodstuffs. No goat, however, in any recognizable form. We stuck with the knowable; that is, Bluey’s Yellowfin, fresh white bread (supplies ran out early in the day – same quaint convention as in my own village back home) and fruit and vegetables from the market. Although there was a limited range of fruit and salad vegetables, and those that were available were quite pricey, large piles of starchy-looking tubers and roots seemed to be the staple food. Here in the markets we observed locals tucking into a banana-leaf wrapped confection - thumb-sized lumps of greyish stuff drowned in a glaucous slime.

It was on the first of our bis in die excursions to the nearest island that we discovered the dinghy would only get up on the plane if we crouched with our weight forward, caught a wave, traveled over shallow water, and/or sang the chorus from Indiana Jones. From then on fishing, snorkeling, exploring and scavenging destinations were quickly and easily reached.

The reefs are colourful with a fantastic array of coral types – fanlike structures, staghorns, solid bulky formations and fine, delicate lacy arrangements. Residing in the anemones are bold little clown fish that energetically guard their habitat against intrusive snorkellers. On the reef between our mooring at Port Maurelle and the beach, we saw metre-wide bouquets of peach-coloured coral rosebuds, ribboned with tiny leschenaultia-blue fish that sprouted out in a perfect frizz when they thought we were not looking. Colonies of black and white striped fish the size of a 20 cent piece, thrive within the sanctuary of miniature coral forests. There are fat, blimp-like starfish, pumped up and baby pink, together with their leaner, leggy, cobalt cousins. In the weed beds exposed during low tide, long, wormlike creatures with furry heads insinuate themselves between the rocks, and sea snakes with delicate ruffled collars swim by. Live shells, cowries and cones, numerous clam shells, dead and alive, large and small, litter the seabed and the beaches. By fortunate accident, we sailed close to a pod of whales, and even as we gaped, a marlin leapt into the air six or seven times. Although one or two shots at supplementing the Yellowfin failed, the irresistible impression is that the sea around the Vava’u islands is teeming with life.