Into the wild

We found this fellow in the bland surrounds of a European Delegation office building, tipped off by a comment made on the Port Vila "cruiser net", a VHF swap-and-meet for yachts in the anchorage. He was made to be worn over a man's head, resting on the shoulders or supported by the arms. The curvy bits coming out of his cheeks are pig tusks, apparently the most prized ornaments in customary Vanuatu society where, I gather, men value their pigs more than their wives (whose chief job is to look after the pigs).
He's a crude piece of work in my eyes, but when he and others like him, are seen en masse, they start to work on you, even in sterile air-conditioned surrounds. We were mesmerised by the exhibition Vanuatu-Oceania, 45 years of collecting. The artefacts in it, said to be rare, belong to an intriguing individual called Paul Gardissat, who reportedly once studied under Albert Camus in Algeria, and went on to spend 35 years in Vanuatu as a school principal and broadcaster. In size and in diversity, M. Gardissat's private collection far outstrips what we saw in the public collection of the Vanuatu Cultural Centre.

We've been told by experienced Vanuatu cruisers that once we leave Port Vila we'll be meeting many tribal people. We'll need to ask their permission to anchor our yacht in their waters - land rights in Vanuatu extend out to coral reefs which are reasonably regarded as a source of food and income. And we'll be relying on them to offer us food to buy or trade. Beyond knowing that we will be cruising on their terms,  I have no idea of what our contacts with Ni-Vanuatu (as the people of Vanuatu are called) will be like. The people we've met in town - on the street, behind market stalls, driving a bus -  have been friendly enough. The team at the marina (Lemara in the office, Hilary who does odd jobs and laundry, and Moses who runs the fuel dock and helps yachts with their lines) hasn't had an off day. They smile broadly, and they're efficient. That's a nice package.
There's survey kicking around which claims that Vanuatu is the happiest country in the world. In Vila, you hear familiar talk about idle youth and crime, kids not attending school, and how hard for families to make ends meet. I saw a tee-shirt on a young man reading "Vanuatu - no sweat, no money". Sounds like everywhere else I know. But this is still a mysterious country to me, and we're going out to see more.

We leave early tomorrow morning, and don't expect to have an internet connection again until we call into Luganville, the other town, on the northern island of Santo. 

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