Lata

[Kyle]The two-night sail from Sola to Lata was another relatively unpleasant one. We were heavily reefed in beam seas that occasionally broke into the cockpit. There was also lots and lots of rain. That at least kept the salt from accumulating, and even rinsed the top of the mast of any remaining volcanic ash. Yay - I thought, as I peeled my clothes off at the end of my watches - free laundry!

A rough passage with a nice calm anchorage at the end

Then we rounded the northeastern corner of Nendo Island, of which Lata is the main population canter. The island blocked the waves, the wind straightened up behind us, and we were suddenly having a nice sail. A few hours later, we rounded the corner into Graciosa Bay and were in completely calm conditions.

Since Lata is on what is typically the leeward side of the bay, the anchorage for clearing in is actually two miles away on the windward, eastern side, at a little cove that is home to a vocational school (Luesalo Institute - Rural Training Centre). In the center of the cove is a ketch on a mooring that is owned by one of the school's teachers (an American that sailed in and never left). Other boats anchor here, the bottom was clearly mostly coral, with a few (small and deep) sand patches, but the only way we felt we would have enough room was if we made the assumption that it was going to be flat calm the whole time. While that seemed likely, we don't like taking chances, so we moved further south to a deeper spot with more room to swing, and alongside another boat that had arrived earlier.

Maryanne messaged George, at Customs. Within half an hour, he arrived to clear us into the Solomon Islands. Since most of the paperwork was done in advance and sent electronically, the whole process was finished within fifteen minutes, and the officers never ventured further into the boat than the cockpit. They did mention, however, that we might be better off in the school's anchorage, saying there was some opportunistic theft around and that we may get harassed where we were by locals demanding anchor fees. We decided to stay put and move if that turned out to be the case.

A few minutes later, Piko arrived in a dugout canoe, hoping to trade for some carvings. We told him we were more interested in local produce, which he promised to return with the next day. He never asked for a fee.

We are officially arrived in the Solomon Islands

Later, as were napping off our night watches, we were boarded by a teenaged boy. Maryanne was the first out of bed to confront him as he was coming up the steps. He told her he had brought us a papaya as a gift, which we suspected may be more of an excuse to get a good look at any of the goodies in the cockpit. Maryanne declined the papaya and explained that we would need to rest today. No one else visited.

In the morning, we rowed ashore to visit the school and introduce ourselves. Since we have read that there were factions arguing over who was supposed to be in charge of "caring" for the yachts, we were very careful about who we asked to see and in which order.

It turns out we need not have been. It was school holidays and none of the people whose names we knew were in attendance. Almost all the adults were in Lata for the day. Only a few boarding students remained who didn't have enough time to go home before classes resume again. Our tour of the area was given by a series of children from six to about fifteen years of age. All were very polite and very happy to be showing off their tidy little school/village. Maryanne even got to have some fun acting as goalkeeper against the local "team" on their soccer pitch.

We saw others in the distance and were surprised that no one else seemed to be too interested in what was going on, and instead just kept going about whatever they were doing. One of the kids in our expanding group yelled out, "Mom! I'm following the white man!" There it is again.

Ashore to check out the technical school

She didn't seem the least bit concerned. Solomon Islanders so far seem more reserved than their ni-Vanuatu counterparts. Once our lap of the grounds was complete, they seemed happy enough to go back to their lives as we rowed back home.

Later that afternoon, Junior, one of the older kids, came over in one of the school's three canoes with a gift of some of the best produce from their garden. He had remembered us saying how impressed we were with their skills earlier.

A few hours later, after the boat from Lata returned, we were visited by Dickson, the electrics instructor, and his son, Oswald. Oswald was one of the kids who had joined us on our tour earlier. Dickson added the biggest papaya Maryanne and I had ever seen to the big pile of fruits and veggies Junior had brought earlier.

Plenty of visitors aboard Begonia

When Dickson returned it to us the next morning, he was in the school launch with Oswald and six other children who all wanted to see the sailboat. We invited them aboard. I was a little worried about how the kids would react to the new jungle gym, but they were all well behaved, and I soon stopped worrying about one of them falling overboard or slicing their head open on something. They really liked stretching out on the trampoline and gobbling up the banana pancakes Maryanne had, coincidentally, just made for her and my breakfast from Emeth's recipe. Maryanne set up Toy Story on her laptop. That kept them entranced while Dickson told us more about the school, Nendo, and the Solomons in general. Maryanne gave Dickson a hard drive which might have been full of movies to entertain the kids for months to come.

Dickson traded/gifted us several big papaya (here is just one) and explained to us how the locals chew betel nut. It is a mild stimulant. Here it is as common as smoking was back in the UK in the 1970's. The nut is chewed with some slaked lime (made from burning seashells or coral and ground into a powder) and a bit of Pepper leaf or vine (here they used the catkin from the Piper betel plant). It stains the mouth and teeth red, and is known to cause various mouth and throat cancers, but most locals still partake. It is not swallowed but spat out when "done". Chewing betel nut conconctions is widespread among all of micronesia and south-east asia

We weren't expecting much but quite enjoyed our snorkel along the shoreline

Since we had told everybody we would be leaving the next afternoon, we were expecting more canoes to come calling. The extra distance and pouring rain seemed to keep everyone at bay. All except for Junior, who paddled out with a friend in the deluge to gift us some bush limes and bid us farewell. He said he didn't mind being wet. The rain was warm and there was no way to avoid it anyway. We saw a few people fishing from their canoes in the distance who seemed to have the same mindset. If you want fish for dinner, your stomach doesn't care if it's raining.

The concerns about our anchorage turned out to be unwarranted in the end. We were never harassed. No one came to shake us down for "fees". Everyone we met was very polite and respectful of our privacy, and nobody ever asked us for anything before we offered. So far all of the Solomon Islanders we have met have been quiet, friendly and polite.

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Sola, Vanua Lava Island, Banks Group

[Kyle]Since arriving at Matanda Bay, on Gaua, Begonia has been covered in dirty footprints. We had been hoping for enough rain to wash them off, but all we got was a light coating that made it worse. Eventually, to keep from tracking the mess inside, we resorted to using buckets of seawater to clean the decks. Hopefully the drizzle will wash off the salt.

It did, but after the next morning's first foray on deck, the dirty footprints were back. As we were admiring Lake Letas a couple of days later, we realized why: The ash plume from Mount Garet was being blown directly toward Matanda Bay.

As we were preparing to leave for Sola, Maryanne asked if I wanted her to throw a few buckets of seawater over the decks again to get rid of last night's accumulation.

"Nah, don't bother."

Our departure went pretty much like a mirror image of our arrival. We left the calm, windless bay, and within ten minutes, we were beating into twenty-knot headwinds and a two-and-a-half-meter swell. Within an hour, we had taken enough waves and spray over the deck, and the cabin top, and the bimini, to completely clear the accumulated ash.

Our arrival into Sola Bay passed through the Maseunar Channel. As we entered, within a few seconds, the waves completely disappeared and the wind halved. We turned downwind and slid the last mile to the anchorage in front of Sola town.

Around Sola

The anchorage here has a reputation for being uncomfortable. It is not undeserved. The generally high winds and big seas outside the bay arrived at the anchorage as a short swell that caused Begonia to surge back and forth on her anchor rode and roll just on the high side of comfortable. We put out extra scope and backed down hard on the anchor to make sure it was holding. Behind us was a big reef where the swell dissipated as loud, crashing breakers that ensured that we could never completely relax. Still, as the only catamaran, we had it way better than the poor monohulls, who rolled from gunwale to gunwale. During our brief two-night stay, we noticed that most of them got in and got out as quickly as they could, staying only a few hours, or at the very longest, a single night, with a first-thing departure.

We were here for the same reason as everybody else. Sola is the northernmost station in Vanuatu where it is possible to complete departure formalities for vessels heading that general direction. The town is very quiet, with far more really nice people ambling on foot down the middle of the main road than riding in vehicles. It has a handful of very basic shops, and lots of administration offices. With a more protected anchorage, they would surely have a lot more long-term visitors, but after spending a night getting rolled out of their bunks, the minds of the majority turn to finding the next place.

And so it was with us. Even though the motion in the anchorage wasn't terrible for us, the only way for us to get ashore was by doing a dicey beach landing through breaking waves. We did it the one time, because we had to, but casual visits ashore had little appeal after considering the risk of being drenched in sandy seawater for trying.

Maryanne and I double-bagged all of our important paperwork and managed to get ashore with nothing more serious happening than Maryanne stepping off the dinghy and finding the seabed was further down than she expected. She maintained her balance and managed to escape with only one really wet leg.

We walked to Immigration, where a very nice young man cleared us out efficiently and with characteristic ni-Vanuatu good cheer. We then went to Customs for the rest and to pay our port and navigation fees. The Customs officer was also very nice. He told us the agency was trying to move away from the more aggressive policing-like stance some field offices have had in the past. I'll be happy when that memo makes it to the lower echelons in Port Vila.

We had a reminder to remember that everything isn't always about us. The Customs guy apologized for being a little slow with our paperwork as he hasn't been in the office for a while. Because so many yachts had called into Sola to clear out today, he had been called in from his bereavement leave, which he told us was not a problem at all and that we had no need to apologize for interrupting. Earlier in the week, an interisland ferry had capsized and gone down as it went between Ambrym and Santos Islands, in the next district south of us, with the loss of most of the people aboard. Many of them have still not been found. He told us that several of his family members had been on board. When he looked us in the eyes and wished us a safe journey, we could tell that he meant it as more than a standard nicety. All we could do was wish him the best in return. {Maryanne:MV Matui ferry disaster occurred on September 11, 2026, and has had a huge impact on the whole country where everyone seems to know someone that was involved. Just a handful of survivors made it, and the biggest frustration is that the boat was over 24 hours late to arrive before any alarms were raised and searches for survivors began. It also seems that the boat was not licenced to carry passengers after several prior infractions - but it was carring over 50 passengers - most of which died. }.

After being officially cleared out of Vanuatu, and since we were not planning on crossing the surf line in the dinghy any more times than necessary, Maryanne and I decided to walk the entire length of the village and see everything we could before it was time to return to Begonia and depart Sola ourselves.

We stopped at every single little hole-in-the-wall shop and purchased an eclectic variety of things: A giant bag of rice, flip-flops, matches, nails, some children's clothing, batteries. None of it was for our use. We intended to use it as trade, mostly in exchange for fresh produce, at villages along our travels. The guy that sold us the nails – three boxes of three-inch ones – had a pretty good laugh wondering aloud what anyone on a boat would need with such big nails. Obviously, it's to keep our cockpit cushions from flying away.

Rumor had it that one of the stores in town sold ice cream. We asked at every one and mostly they laughed at the absurdity of such a thing. Then we saw a kid on the street holding an ice cream cone, WITH ice cream on it, and pressed him for his source.

Apparently, there was another triple-secret store in the village, which we never would have found on our own, as it appeared to be just another house set WAY back from the road. Maryanne tended our wheelie cart with the stash while I was led along the garden path to the house.

Inside were two shelves of stock on one side of the house's front room, and a chest freezer on the other. I was told that, yes, they have ice cream, but only vanilla. I ordered one for me and one for Maryanne to hold while I eat my other one.

The process was a bit slow. I hadn't accounted for this. As I was waiting for Maryanne's to be prepared, the tropical heat quickly caused mine to reach that emergency melting stage where I had to slurp mine up fast before I dripped half my ice cream on their nice, clean floor mat. I barely made it.

While all this was going on, the proprietor was talking softly in a local language (there are seventeen distinct ones on Sola alone) to someone just around the corner. Eventually, he explained that the other person was his granddaughter, who looked maybe four or five years old. She said she wanted to meet me and shake my hand because she has never seen a white man before.

Aw, jeez! What do I do? This is a big moment. No pressure!

She presented her hand and sweetly said, "Hello."

"Hello, It's very nice to meet you" I said, "Your land is mine now. You work for me."

I didn't! I wouldn't! I'm kidding!! I only did the first part. She was very cute.

Still, the urge to crack such jokes is probably why it is not sensible to nominate me to be making any first impressions.

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Anchorage location >> On google maps

Gaua, Banks Islands

[Kyle]Our next push after Sangalai was a 256nm passage to the Banks Islands, in Vanuatu's far north. The twenty-eight-hour sail was much like the one to Sangalai before, with plenty of wind from far enough aft that we didn't even need to bother with the mainsail. As we sailed up the inside of eastern arm of the Y that makes up the island chain (and is reflected in the country's flag), we alternately got smooth water or rough seas, depending on whether or not we were crossing a gap. The most interesting thing was when Maryanne got a notification about a volcanic eruption of Marum, one of the two volcanoes on the island of Ambae. We were sailing right by it then and, sure enough, a big cloud of ash was billowing from the furthest cone. I was just starting to wonder how concerned we should be when the whole event ceased as quickly as it had started.

Ash cloud from Marum as we pass

At the far end of our sail, we rounded the north end of Gaua island (also a volcano), with twenty-five knot winds pushing us along in two-and-a-half-meter swells. As we approached the teeny, tiny anchorage at Matanda Bay, we were worried the conditions would be too rough to get in and we would have to go somewhere else or even skip the stop altogether. Same if someone else already beat us to it.

By the time we rounded the adjacent headland and picked our way through the extensive reefs into Matanda/Vatles Bay, we were on flat water in wind that had been attenuated by the hills to just four knots. We were on a millpond.

As we were inching our way deep into the shallows over the only patch of sand in the bay, a man with a big, bushy beard paddled out to us in a dugout canoe. He introduced himself as Michele, told us he was the chief, and welcomed us to his bay. He then positioned his canoe at the exact spot he said was best to drop our anchor, then backed away a couple of meters so it wouldn't hit him on the way to the sand below.

This is the point where I can be a little bit tetchy about visitors who want to pile on while we're still in a high workload phase, but Michele was very patient as he waited for us to properly finish our faffing and welcome him aboard properly.

Maryanne explained that we were tired from the overnight sail, so we would be taking the rest of the day aboard, but that we would definitely come ashore and catch up with him tomorrow. He left us to enjoy our privacy in this beautiful place and we left him to his.

The next morning, we came ashore for a tour of the village and to meet Michele's wife, Emeth. Her English is not as good as Michele's, so we communicated with her mostly through body language and gestures. She was funny because she came across as two-thirds gracious host and one-third harried spouse at all Michele's requests to bring us something or show us something.

A lovely welcome ashore with a presentation table of fruit and vegetables just for us. Cats, pigs, and chickens wander about. Kyle helps fix an electrical issue, and Maryanne watches and helps Emeth prepare laplap (which we will get to share) and freshly caught bat is being prepared for dinner too. With no grocery store for miles, the locals manage on what they can catch/harvest/grow themselves for the most part.

One thing that Maryanne has expressed an interest in was cooking laplap. Laplap is probably Vanuatu's most traditional dish (It is their national dish). It is essentially a big starchy cake, filled with any ingredients you like, and traditionally cooked in an underground oven constructed on the spot from the cooking fire. Maryanne had been given vague instructions from a few people, but she's Maryanne, she wants details she can write down.

As we arrived at the beach, Emeth was just in up the middle of grating vegetables. Any starch can be used for the dough, like taro, cassava or breadfruit. Today's dough, she explained, was made from potatoes and carrots. Once it was in place, on a bed of banana leaves, she sprinkled it liberally with coconut cream and then decorated it with tomatoes and spring onions. The end result looked like a giant Margherita pizza.

Emeth then wrapped the whole thing up in several more layers of banana leaves, then tied the bundle up with some stripped banana leaf stalks, like the whole thing was a big, eco-friendly package ready to go to the post office.

Next comes preparation of the oven. For an hour or so, the fire has been burning, with several fist-sized stones nestled among the embers. Using a pair of big tongs fashioned from a stalk of bamboo, Emeth carefully decamped all the burning wood to a second fire pit to use for boiling pots, etc. Then she and Michelle removed most of the stones from the pit. After leveling the remainder with bamboo poles, they each grabbed one end of the laplap package and carefully conveyed it to the pit. Then the rest of the stones were replaced on top, plus judicious layers of banana leaves, palm fronds, and even a couple of burlap sacks for insulation, with a few regular rocks on top to weigh it all down.

An hour and a half later, timing we are told is much more art than science, depending on the size of the laplap and what types of food are inside, it was time to dig out today's meal.

The laplap being prepared. Grated starch vegetables (in this case sweet potato and carrots, but it can be anything: casava, bananas, yams, potatoes, etc) combine with coconut cream to make the dough/paste which is then pressed into shape, and toppings of your choice added (in our case tomatoes and sliced spring onions). The cats, chickens and pigs all seem happy to eat the coconut pulp left over from making the coconut cream.

We leave the laplap cooking while we get a tour of the family village

The dark green parcel was now a crisp blonde. As Emeth unwrapped it and started slicing the laplap into square pieces, curiosity got the best of me and I snuck over to poke one of the stones to see how hot it was. It was still pretty hot two hours after the fire was removed. I didn't burn myself or anything, but I wouldn't have been able to pick one up.

Laplap cooked and made ready to serve

I was really surprised when it came time to collect our proffered portions. We could barely stand to touch the pieces, and then only by the corners by alternating hands rapidly. Then there was lots of mad blowing to get it cool enough to even think about bringing to our lips. I had not expected that. For some reason, I had thought the food would be a little on the north side of lukewarm, not crispy and steaming.

It soon became apparent that, rather than observing the normal daily laplap preparation, this one seems had been prepared especially for us as an extra mid-day one.

Uh oh. Our only other experience with laplap, during our 2019 visit to the Norsup company town on Malakula, was not a good one. That one was probably made from cassava flour and was filled with whole, unboned fish. To say it was revolting doesn't do it justice. We could pick at a piece offered for us to share a taste, but how were we going to deal with politely refusing half a laplap if we don't like it? {Maryanne, I'd had some plain laplap back in Sangalai and liked it, it is pretty bland really, think dumpling, but that one we tried at Norsup was impossible to finish}.

We'll never know, we didn't have to refuse anything after the first taste. Emeth's laplap was delicious. It turned out to taste nothing like a Margherita pizza. Instead, it was like eating a savory muffin, right out of the oven. Right out... Yow! After eating our half, Emeth wrapped up the rest in new banana leaves for us to take home. Brilliant! Dinner is sorted and I can do the dishes by chucking them off the back. At some point Maryanne plans to experiment with cooking it in a pressure cooker and possibly with some healthier substitute to the coconut cream.

The next morning, we presented ourselves at the beach at 06:00 for Michele to guide us on a hike up the volcano. With him ahead and his nephew Tony behind, the four of us started the climb.

Since the elevation gain from sea level was going to be more than we have done in one day for months now, Maryanne and I were a little nervous about how we'd fare being led by the much younger men.

It wasn't bad at all. The slope above the village is so moderate and so consistent that after a while, it just felt like walking. We came across another man from the next village, who decided that hiking with was as good as whatever else he was going to do, so he joined us. I was surprised how easily every kilometer and every hundred meter gain (which tended to be at about the same time) passed.

At the top, we were finally able to see over the rim of the crater beyond to Lake Letas, the largest in Vanuatu, and the still-smoking central cone of Mt. Garet. Between us and the lake were several intervening ridges. Michele told us the best view of the lake was on the other side and asked us if we wanted to continue. Oh, yes, please!

Oof! Looking at the altitude profile, it seems like the hard work would be that initial long climb to the high point. Not so! The flat bit at the top between there and the lake is actually a series of lots of really steep climbs and descents through rough terrain.

We had just started a half walking, half skidding descent into the undergrowth when Michele told us to sit and rest a while. Then he and the other two men forged ahead, hacking a tunnel through for us with their machetes. Apparently, we were the first group to use the trail for a while and it needed a little tidying up. At spots where the tunnel opened up into a narrow canyon, like a lane between tall hedgerows, we had amusing moments where we could not see the men ahead and would be following the sound of the whacking. Everything from leaves to whole boughs would briefly appear over the top of the shrubbery, slowly tumbling against a backdrop of blue sky like slain enemy henchmen in a kung fu movie.

After the initial difficult patch stretched into pretty much the whole trail, Maryanne and I started to get a little uncomfortable at the optics of brown natives going to great effort to clear a trail so that she and I could enjoy a stroll in the countryside. At one point, Maryanne said she felt like we should be wearing pith helmets to comply with the uncomfortable stereotype.

The guys, for their part, seemed happy to have something more interesting to do than just boring walking, and spent the whole day smiling and chatting. Everyone in Vanuatu is so good-natured, apart from those two guys in Port Vila. Also, to be fair, we did pay Michele to be our guide for the day, which we definitely needed, because we would never have found the trail without him (in fact he lost the trail himself a few times).

When we finally got to the ridge overlooking the lake, we all plopped down on the grassy slope to enjoy the view and have a well-earned rest. Maryanne and I divided up the last of our store-bought granola bars to the guys, which they seemed to appreciate. Then Michelle dug into his bag and pulled out a container full of banana pancakes that Emeth had made for us earlier, using flour that we had gifted and never expected to be returned in such a delicious way. They only have two ingredients, you'll never guess which ones, and they are delicious. They are definitely going on the regular rotation now, especially since we're in the land of giant bunches of bananas being handed out at each stop.

First view of the lake in the far distance

To get further the guys have hack through this long untended stretch of "trail"

A closer view of the caldera lake - Lake Letas. Next year they are planning to do hikes with camping overnight to allow people to actually reach and swim in the lake, at a more relaxing pace than any attempt to do it all in one day.

And the stroll back down to the bay

The trip back down to the village went much more quickly, with only the occasional need to trim less tidy parts of the trail that were overlooked on the way up. The long descent back to sea level was practically a refreshing stroll, at least until we lost the cooling trade winds as we reentered the steamy jungle.

On the way up, Michele had pointed out the gardens both his and his brother Nelson keep at appropriate altitude zones for each crop. There were zones for vegetables, kava, bamboo, and various woods used for construction. At the last of these, he showed us a big pile of logs he and Nelson had felled and stripped to build a house. Now, on the way down, since they weren't doing much other than walking anyway, each man shouldered a long roof pole to take with them.

I couldn't take it. I insisted that Michele let me help out by giving me one to carry as well. He waved it off as unnecessary, but eventually conceded and allowed me to carry one of the shorter wall posts. Maryanne got him to agree to let her carry a bamboo pole so that he could demonstrate to her how to make a new set of fire tongs for Emeth.

Back at the village, we all added our lumber to the pile there and then returned to Begonia for a quick freshening up before returning to the beach again for kava. As soon as Michele learned I wasn't opposed to the stuff, he had been promising all day to have a batch prepared for us all, to wind down with after our hike.

What a perfect spot for it, too. Their shady beach, with steep, green mountains on each side, and a view of distant Sola Island on the horizon, is a great place to chill while watching shadows bordered by the orange light of sunset slowly crawl up to the canopy above. They even have a litter of adorable kittens who will climb onto your lap and break out in fits of loud purring if given the slightest attention.

After a freshen-up we returned ashore for some kava and good company

The next day, with an aim to working some different muscles, we spent the bulk of our time snorkeling the extensive reefs in the bay. When we were done, we once again returned to the beach to bid farewell to Michele, Emeth, and whoever else might be in attendance at the time. Emeth had spread out a feast of tropical fruit slices for our refreshment. Michele showed us how to cook unripe bananas on the fire for a snack. How did we not know about this before? They taste exactly like baked potatoes. We found a kitten or two to scratch between the ears and even managed to briefly catch one of their chickens, who don't like to cuddle nearly as much as the cats. Then it was time for us to part with hugs for the humans as well and row back to Begonia for a last night in the placid bay.

The nearby snorkelling was much nicer than expected (the close up is of a crown-of-thorns starfish (an unwelcome predator)

We snorkel a LOT - but this was the first time we'd seen coral brooding (protecting their fertalized eggs in arm's reach) - A Clavularia species of coral

On our last night at Gaua we were treated to a couple of kustom magic tricks performed by Michel; the vanishing coconut water, and the sticky seeds "tricks"

Maryanne and I had just finished dinner and were getting ready to turn in when Nelson arrived at Begonia. We had not yet had the pleasure of meeting him, other than through Michele's stories. He had paddled over in his canoe from his village, around the headland, to gift us some laplap made earlier by his wife, as well as a selection of produce from his garden. Word had clearly spread around that we LOVED the laplap. Oh, if you had only come thirty minutes earlier, Nelson, we wouldn't have needed to make dinner after all!

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Anchorage location >> On google maps