Complicating this is that the island of Efate has strict rules about departure times. Boats leaving for other islands have to be underway by 4pm or face heavy fines. This is to prevent the spread of the very destructive Coconut Rhinoceros Beetle, which has pretty much destroyed the coconut trees on Efate. Larval forms of the beetles are REALLY attracted to white and blue lights, particularly LEDs. Departing boats have to extinguish all exterior lights, including anchor lights, the night before departure, as well as covering all windows to prevent any interior lights from being seen as well. The 4pm departure is meant to allow boats to get far enough away from the island by nightfall that the beetles will not be able to use a vessel's navigation lights to chase and then hitch a ride to uninfected islands.
The 4pm rule meant that our target speed for the leg was achievable with only partial jib. All we had to do was sit patiently at the helm while the horizon scrolled toward us. As we left the protection of Efate, the swell gradually built to annoying levels through the night, so it was nice see the sky brighten to the point where we were able to pick our way into the flat water of Sangalai's tiny anchorage.
After a short nap to reset our circadian rhythms, we went ashore to find Phillip, who is in charge of all things yacht-related in Sangalai. We met him on our first visit here in 2019 and since then, he has been a busy man. He is in the slow process of turning his aspirational "yacht club" into a proper brick and mortar Yacht Club for visiting boaties. For now, he has a collection of traditional huts centered around a decorated communal area by the dinghy landing at the beach. After a bit of back and forth, we agreed to have him pick us up at Begonia for a dugong tour the next day.
Ashore we took a walk around the island, a loop that included the 3 villages, and found locals cooking, weaving, relaxing and playing
We were invited ashore later to witness a special traditional welcome ceremony for the crew of June, who had been especially generous with donations to the Sangalai village and school. Poor Kyle was exhausted and slept through it aboard Begonia, so Maryanne went ashore as Begonia's representative (and to partake in the traditional laplap that was being prepared earlier in the day (among other feast dishes)
Our first, nearest dugong area turned out to be a bust, so we pushed further into more distant seagrass areas to try to find them. At the second and third spots we found six to eight at each.
We were so happy to swim with some Dugong - a "sea cow" that is fast losing habitat (Classified as vulnerable to extinction)
Dugongs are one of those creatures that look slow, but are surprisingly agile in their home environment. They were a little wary of us, and it took a lot of patient waiting to get them to slowly tighten their laps around us to where we could see them as something more than featureless blobs in the distance.
Phillip was especially fun. Calving season was only a few months ago. He recognizes all the dugongs and their offspring, and was clearly happy to see how fast the little ones were growing. He would tell us about each one like he was a proud father boasting about his own exceptional children.
We had barely returned to Begonia before somehow promising that we might be coming ashore later for some kava if we could find any. Phillip seemed surprised and pleased by my apparent interest in the stuff, and he countered by insisting that he would definitely be making sure some would be available for me. Well, now I can't NOT go.
At the appointed time, Swiss-style, which was before dark, a few of the village's gentlemen started slowly edging toward the yacht club seating area. This continued until Island Time (after dark), when a handful of us finally spotted the young man heading our way who was clearly carrying a big bucket of kava.
Unlike in Fiji, where kava is surrounded by lots of ceremony, kava in Vanuatu is purchased much more like at a bar: You give the guy your money, he dispenses the ordered amount, and then you go off to enjoy the effects at your leisure.
Tonight's patrons were all watching me like hawks to see my reaction. They seemed to be assuming this was my first time and I was about to get a big surprise. Their disappointment at my fairly normal consumption of my first shell (it's traditionally served in coconut shells, although tonight, the kava guy was dispensing in small bowls) slowly turned to winks of "respek" at my second and third. Maybe us yachties aren't all a bunch of soft winos after all.
The next morning, feeling no ill effects, we joined Phillip again for an outrigger tour of the extensive mangroves surrounding the island. He had recently thought up the idea for the tour and told us we were his first takers.
It was brilliant! We helped Phillip launch the boat, which had a hull made of a single dugout log that was about the width of our bums and stabilized by a solid branch for an outrigger. Phillip pointed out the thwart that was to be my seat for the tour and then foraged for a piece of driftwood that Maryanne could use as a plank for hers.
Then Phillip handed me a paddle. I was hoping he would to that. I wanted to earn my keep.
The three of us launched the boat, took our assigned positions, and then picked up speed as Phillip directed us to our first point of interest: a shortcut through the mangroves to the adjacent islands. Phillip was kind enough to say many complimentary things about my paddling along the way. I was doing my best to emulate the technique of the va'a racers in Tahiti.
A guided tour around the mangroves and island, paddling in a traditional canoe
Va'a racers sit in the middle of their boats, with one outrigger beam ahead and one behind. Since there were three of us in Phillip's boat, Maryanne had that position, while Phillip and I were each on a beam. Phillip and I did the paddling, Maryanne felt like the Queen on tour. The paddling became a problem later for me when, after a good, long, respectable push, I went to switch sides to give my muscles a break, except that you can't do that. The beam is in the way. I had no choice but to keep paddling on my left. Also, the paddle, which maybe only weighs five kilos, starts to feel pretty heavy after the thousandth stroke. I'm huge on that side now.
At the shortcut, a channel just as wide as the outrigger canoe (or was it the other way around) cut through the mangroves to the bay on the other side. Phillip told me to take a break while he silently paddled us over glassy water through a tunnel of green with a soundtrack of birdsong. It was supremely peaceful. Normally, such places are teeming with ravenous insects but, at least this time of year, there were none to be found.
At the other side, it was time to dig in for another upwind leg to the next island, Khuneveo. It was here where the villagers escaped after a storm levelled Sangalai. They lived here for several generations before rising sea levels contaminated their fresh water supply, necessitating a move back to the original Sangalai site. Phillip says he remembers visiting his grandparents here when he was a young toddler.
Maryanne and I were planning to return to Begonia for an early night in preparation for the next morning's departure when several people informed us that the school had moved a planned traditional dance recital from tomorrow to today, so that us visitors from the now five boats in the anchorage could see it too. Each grade would be doing dances of a different Pacific Island nation.
Well, it was great fun. Not because the dancing was particularly good – it was pretty much what you would expect from a bunch of kids who had to learn their dance moves in gym class – some good, some trying hard to participate as little as possible, and most about a beat behind the teacher setting the tempo.
The fun part was just being there. When he saw us coming, the principal ordered a group of children to fetch us some chairs from the one of the classrooms and bring them to the stage so we could sit with him in the shade without having to sit on the floor or the ground, like everybody else; we were feeling like royalty! When other boaties started to arrive, he changed the plan to providing us all a front row of seats on the grass, right at center stage.
The school Pacific dance performances were fun, and students and the spectators so colourful; we were so happy we were able to see it
The day had much more of the feel of a family reunion in the park than a formal recital. Only the order of presentation was fixed. When it was time for each class to take their turn, they would do their dance while the rest of the crowd joked around with each other. Younger kids would play football on the perimeter while older ones would occasionally set their whole group laughing in riotous waves over some joke we never quite caught. We were only reminded this was supposed to be an actual school function when the principal got on the PA during a particularly unenthusiastic performance, told the students off for not practicing enough, and then assigned them to do a make-up performance in two weeks' time, warning them that he had better see some improvement. This caused giggles all around and plenty of good-natured ribbing from nearby friends.
At one point, during what I think was the Year Eight dance, half the spectators grew curious looking out to the bay, then excited, and then ran en masse toward the edge of the grounds. It was like someone had spotted the ice cream truck. The mood spread through the crowd like wildfire and soon the whole place was emptying out. The Year Eight kids tried soldiering on with their performance, but eventually, curiosity got the best of them. Half broke ranks and ran to join the others, who were now starting to climb the big mango trees at the water's edge.
The principal got on the PA and tried to regain control of the situation. "Students, stuDENTS! Where are you going? Come back ia! StuDENTS!!"
This only served to add to the general hilarity and caused order to break down even faster. It was pretty funny. Eventually, even I couldn't take it anymore. I left Maryanne and trotted over to see what was the hubbub.
Most of the kids were climbing trees and generally engaging in what looked like normal unfocused playground behavior. A few of the adults were standing at the shore, looking pensively at the anchorage. I joined them, and soon it became apparent that a gust had swept through the anchorage and one of the boats was dragging anchor toward one of the others. I had to study the scene for a minute to be sure – it was all unfolding slowly, but there was definitely a boat dragging. How the kids saw that going on from behind the trees that were also behind the building, I'll never know.
Begonia was not dragging. That was the good news. The bad news was that all the other boats were upwind of her.
Sangalai's anchorage has the irritating combination of being both small and deep. It is difficult to find a place to put the anchor that will allow for adequate swinging room with all that chain out. We had arrived before the others and had very carefully measured everything just so before dropping our anchor exactly where we wanted it. Then we backed down hard, because you never know when an unplanned squall might go through. Later arrivals, if they were really determined to stay, had little choice but to use too little chain, or risk swinging into others as they fill the remaining space.
Now four high-speed tenders could be seen racing toward the boats. They all arrived with plenty of time to start engines and weigh their anchors before any damage was done. As long as none of them trawled up ours in the process, there would be no need for us to do a mad row to Begonia in our much slower dinghy.
We returned to the recital, where Year One was due for their second performance.
The principal again: "Year One! Where is Year One? Can someone find Year One? StuDENTS! StuDENTS!"
The Cat Circus was not going as planned.
"StuDENTS!!"
All Maryanne or I have to do to make the other one giggle at the memory is to suddenly yell, "StuDENTS!!"
Anchorage location >> On google maps
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