The overnight journey from Santo has been in moderate seas, but this morning we awake to a strong north-east wind and a threateningly dark sky, with Loh Island off the starboard bow. Our EL Tom is on the bridge, looking hard but finding no discernible sign of either a beach or a village until a welcome wisp of smoke rises to mark the spot. A huge downpour delays our shore party, and further showers follow, but once we are ashore the local people reassure us that as the tide recedes, so will the clouds – and they are right. Just as yesterday afternoon we saw evidence of rain-preventing magic having been used to fend off rain during our visit to a ‘cultural village’ on Santo, this morning a rite has no doubt been carried out with the same result in mind. As we approach the island, a beautiful curving passage through the coral reefs appears. Suddenly, a small, sheltered beach comes into view, and the scene is memorable. Standing under a canopy of huge trees is a crowd of islanders, all garlanded themselves and with paper tags declaring name and function. They have been waiting excitedly to greet us ceremonially, with a chiefly bestowal of gifts on our Expedition Leader, and are holding flower leis for all who come ashore.
But first, there is a big surprise in store for all our guests upon arrival, and it causes near hysteria among all assembled. Widespread in island Melanesia, this ritual is best described as a ‘threat welcome’: shortly before each Zodiac-load reaches the shore, four young bare-assed warriors, blackened and armed with terrifying weapons, come leaping out of hiding and into the water, where they menace and scream and perform a mock massacre on the surprised (a little frightened?) and, eventually, delighted tourists. In twenty years of acquaintance with this rite, I have never seen one done so well, though certainly I’ve seen local audiences as equally delighted with the ‘attack’ as our hosts are this morning. The local string-band quickly swings into action and has everyone swaying to its music. Delicious fruit and local foods are ready for us, too, as complimentary fare. On a lovely woven mat, women have laid out their locally made jewelry, and there are several interesting wooden objects for sale. Also on display are a tethered and rather ragged-looking ‘scrub-duck’ (megapode) and its large egg, and a fruit bat, for us to wonder at while we await the start of the kastom dance, known as Temet. This is a brief but colorful affair. Six boys, bare-chested and wearing grass skirts and brightly colored conical hats, circle the nawet, a small square bough-shed in which the ‘orchestra’ of male percussionists stand half-hidden, with one squatting drummer on each corner. The name of this dance suggests spirit-beings, but later no one is able to offer a narrative for the meaning of the dance, which suggests to me that it may have resulted long ago from someone’s dream experiences. Once the dancing is over, we are invited to explore the island.
The Loh Islanders prove to be wonderfully warm and very friendly once their initial reserve melts away, and as those of us who have opted not to snorkel set off across this well-forested but small island, they accompany us. Meantime, the birders, led by Richard, have set off up the steep mountainous slopes above the village, in search of the ‘scrub-duck’ and other winged wonders, while the rest of us walk through shady and neat Rinau village before heading out. We are delighted to find that the path is as wide as a road and roofed all the way by a dense canopy of intermingling branches. The rain has gone, but the humidity is massive so our pace is leisurely and the terrain proves pleasantly flat and easy, though dotted with puddles after the earlier downpours.
A very large cave, Lianwet (excellent shelter when hurricanes threaten), makes for an interesting stop en route, and the wing-beats of its batty inhabitants can be heard as we peer into the pitch-black recesses. Lunharigi, the large village and administrative centre, has a magnificent ‘sugar sand’ (very fine) beach nearby, and the plunge is taken by most of us, into the mini-surf, along with many of the kids, and no one is hurrying to get out again.
It was a perfect morning’s visit, and by the end, some firm friendships were evident. The Torres group is at the northernmost end of Vanuatu, an isolated part of the archipelago, and the locals tell us that there are only two trading vessels a year, which come up from Santo. Back at the landing, I talk for an hour with a group of men and women about life on Loh, this seeming paradise. Its 300 people have an elementary school serving two villages and a small hamlet, but no high school. Like most ni-Vanuatu who live remotely, they are used to running short of supplies and need to be highly self-sufficient. There are three small trade-stores and a couple of small ‘resorts’ for the odd tourist and government official, most of whom fly in. Yes, there is an airstrip, and a once weekly flight, but air travel is expensive for them, so when they send their children to high school in the nearby Banks Islands, the kids generally have to remain away the entire year. Still, the plane is an economic lifeline, since it carries their two main exports: lobsters and coconut crabs, highly desired delicacies that fetch good prices in the town centres to the south. Copra, the old export staple, has been for a long time not worth the effort to produce, so the battle for cash is a difficult one, yet the people have a strong appreciation of the good things about living where they are. It’s a peaceful place, they say, and a wonderful environment in which to raise their children.
We will indeed be fortunate if we manage to have another half-day’s visit as deeply satisfying as this one.
But first, there is a big surprise in store for all our guests upon arrival, and it causes near hysteria among all assembled. Widespread in island Melanesia, this ritual is best described as a ‘threat welcome’: shortly before each Zodiac-load reaches the shore, four young bare-assed warriors, blackened and armed with terrifying weapons, come leaping out of hiding and into the water, where they menace and scream and perform a mock massacre on the surprised (a little frightened?) and, eventually, delighted tourists. In twenty years of acquaintance with this rite, I have never seen one done so well, though certainly I’ve seen local audiences as equally delighted with the ‘attack’ as our hosts are this morning. The local string-band quickly swings into action and has everyone swaying to its music. Delicious fruit and local foods are ready for us, too, as complimentary fare. On a lovely woven mat, women have laid out their locally made jewelry, and there are several interesting wooden objects for sale. Also on display are a tethered and rather ragged-looking ‘scrub-duck’ (megapode) and its large egg, and a fruit bat, for us to wonder at while we await the start of the kastom dance, known as Temet. This is a brief but colorful affair. Six boys, bare-chested and wearing grass skirts and brightly colored conical hats, circle the nawet, a small square bough-shed in which the ‘orchestra’ of male percussionists stand half-hidden, with one squatting drummer on each corner. The name of this dance suggests spirit-beings, but later no one is able to offer a narrative for the meaning of the dance, which suggests to me that it may have resulted long ago from someone’s dream experiences. Once the dancing is over, we are invited to explore the island.
The Loh Islanders prove to be wonderfully warm and very friendly once their initial reserve melts away, and as those of us who have opted not to snorkel set off across this well-forested but small island, they accompany us. Meantime, the birders, led by Richard, have set off up the steep mountainous slopes above the village, in search of the ‘scrub-duck’ and other winged wonders, while the rest of us walk through shady and neat Rinau village before heading out. We are delighted to find that the path is as wide as a road and roofed all the way by a dense canopy of intermingling branches. The rain has gone, but the humidity is massive so our pace is leisurely and the terrain proves pleasantly flat and easy, though dotted with puddles after the earlier downpours.
A very large cave, Lianwet (excellent shelter when hurricanes threaten), makes for an interesting stop en route, and the wing-beats of its batty inhabitants can be heard as we peer into the pitch-black recesses. Lunharigi, the large village and administrative centre, has a magnificent ‘sugar sand’ (very fine) beach nearby, and the plunge is taken by most of us, into the mini-surf, along with many of the kids, and no one is hurrying to get out again.
It was a perfect morning’s visit, and by the end, some firm friendships were evident. The Torres group is at the northernmost end of Vanuatu, an isolated part of the archipelago, and the locals tell us that there are only two trading vessels a year, which come up from Santo. Back at the landing, I talk for an hour with a group of men and women about life on Loh, this seeming paradise. Its 300 people have an elementary school serving two villages and a small hamlet, but no high school. Like most ni-Vanuatu who live remotely, they are used to running short of supplies and need to be highly self-sufficient. There are three small trade-stores and a couple of small ‘resorts’ for the odd tourist and government official, most of whom fly in. Yes, there is an airstrip, and a once weekly flight, but air travel is expensive for them, so when they send their children to high school in the nearby Banks Islands, the kids generally have to remain away the entire year. Still, the plane is an economic lifeline, since it carries their two main exports: lobsters and coconut crabs, highly desired delicacies that fetch good prices in the town centres to the south. Copra, the old export staple, has been for a long time not worth the effort to produce, so the battle for cash is a difficult one, yet the people have a strong appreciation of the good things about living where they are. It’s a peaceful place, they say, and a wonderful environment in which to raise their children.
We will indeed be fortunate if we manage to have another half-day’s visit as deeply satisfying as this one.
