Endings

I'm going back to work tomorrow. The trip ended roughly 2 weeks ago. It would be natural to close down this blog -maybe its title wasn't such a good idea.

At some point during my trip I started to think about a last post, some sort of conclusion summary. However, now that it is over, and to some extend because of the trip itself, I don't feel like writing that post. I don't really see the point.

Alongside the memories and the pictures, the trip has given me a real sense of the present, of how unnecessary is to live anywhere else but in the present. Hence, I'm not writing that post and I'm not sure whether I'll stop with this one.

This blog's title seemed briefly like a good one, it doesn't at all now that I have stopped travelling. As a matter of fact, I might not travel at all in the next months. I feel like spending my time in Madrid and, later, maybe, make a few trips around Madrid and in Spain. However, new and familiar doors are opening in front of me

This won't necessarily be the last post of this blog. Endings are beginnings. 

Hardest

I'm at odds with the post about Easter Island. I try and try, but it doesn't come out -neither here nor in Spanish. It's proving to be the hardest to write so far.

It's not that I don't have things to say. On the contrary, I have too many!

Easter Island is amazing and strange -and such a good excuse to talk about Polynesia. 

At times, I have burst into a happy laugh amazed at the actual, physical sight of the Moai -especially at the Ahu Tongariki, that I visited twice. 

At times, I was almost at the limits of my comprehension contemplating the isolation of the place: At the top of many of its hills, the modest remains of long ago extinct volcanoes, it is easy to see (almost) the whole island and nothing else than the vast ocean around it.

The Polynesians were the greatest navigators of all times. It took the Chinese and Europeans seventeen centuries to emulate them.

From somewhere in Samoa or Tonga, the descendant of the Lapita culture gave up their beautiful pottery in favour of the vast ocean. They explored the whole area of the so called Polynesian Triangle, its 3 angles being Aoratea (New Zealand), Hawaii and Easter Island. They settled on every island that could sustain human life, bringing with them chickens, pigs and dogs; taro, yam and manioc. They flourished. They maintained their ties across the ocean: trade, religion, warfare.

There was one exception: Easter Island. After having settled on the Island, those amazing seafare people lost any interest in crossing the ocean. It seems that they came to Easter Island fleeing the imminent destruction do their homeland, or even the known world. Most probable, they thought their island was the only remaining emerged inhabited land. For them, it was the navel of the world. That way, they were cut off from any outside influence for seventeen centuries -Not bad for a social experiment

You see: this is my problem with this post. Look how long it is already and I still haven't talked about Easter Island, the development and collapse of megalithic culture, the new religion, the almost total annihilation of the local population, the Tahitian influence, the Chilean element, the aliens, ... My experience.

I was captivated, bewildered by Easter Island -I still am, though have left already. I therefore find every angle interesting, intriguing and all of them relevant.

At the same time, from almost the moment I arrived, I felt there was something odd about Easter Island; something on which I can't totally put my finger, beyond the isolation and the unanswered questions.

As I was seating looking at the Moai of the Ahu Tongariki for a second time, the strangeness comes from the fact that Easter Island doesn't really exit. What those of us twice lucky enough to visit and leave see is some kind of mirage, a stage, a performance, an act of will.

The Polynesian, the Rapa Nui society that thrived on the island collapsed twice: first, in the XIV century, the megalithic society and culture developed during one thousand years apparently suddenly disintegrated. The new religion, social structure and power sharing arrangements that followed -those the Europeans found in their first visits in the XVIII century- almost disappeared when  the few survivors of the Peruvian guano mines (slave traders kidnapped about one thousand islanders) returned bringing with them new, unknown deceases. The total population of the Island was reduced to about one hundred, only 36 of reproductive age. A handful escaped the island to Tahiti, to come back years later with their Tahitian families.

This two big disruptions mean that a good part of the oral tradition was lost (their written system hasn't been decoded) and that the gaps were filled with Tahitian traditions.

The island is now populated by the descendants of those 36 survivors, the Tahitian families, and a growing number of continental Chileans. As a matter of fact, the Chilean element is rather strong -after visiting three other polynesian countries, Easter Island for doesn't feel very Polynesian. Much more than in Samoa and Tonga, and even in the so French French Polynesia, there is in Easter Island a clear willingness, maybe a form of resistance, to maintain and care for the old traditions. In the other three countries, in spite modernity, it's a given. The Rapa Nui (all I met had both islander and foreign fore parents) are engaged in doing so in a very earnest way, which is, at the same time, a very Chilean attitude. 

Martian

Are you from Spain?

Do you speak Spanish, then? was her next question. 

But, she paused, do you speak Spanish fluently? Finally asked, her eyes wide open, almost unbelieving it could be possible.

Latin? He asked, once I told him that the scientific name of that tree was written in Latin.

Oh yes! His face brightened up with a smile. Latin from Latin America!

I have had a few conversations like those during my trip. A mix of interest, curiosity and ignorance.

Europe is so small and most of the world so far from the South Pacific, and the presence of Australia, New Zealand, China and the US so prevalent, that just in French Polynesia and Easter Island "Europe" and "Spain" mean something concrete, for obvious reasons. 

Elsewhere, the only thing that could put Spain on the map seemed to be football (to some extend, as rugby dominates Polynesia), especially the World Cup, although most people would hurt my ears saying "soccer" and "World Championship". So much for diplomacy. 

But not always.

Although only once someone confessed he had no idea where Spain was (a very smiley 18 years old boy at a Tongan guesthouse), I could see on the face of many of my interlocutors that "Spain" didn't have much meaning to them. I might as well have said I was from Mars. 

Instead

I didn't make it to Moorea (another reason to come back). The bad weather, especially the strong wind closed the airport there.

Instead, I flew to Tahiti, where I was supposed to come anyway on Friday. I'm spending 5 days in Papeete, the ugly capital of French Polynesia. It's so chaotic that it seems bigger and dirtier than how it is in reality. I have spent some time walking around it, and haven't seen any nice corner, not even a nice building. The nicest thing I could say is that the views towards the mountains are fantastic and, sometimes, dusk over Moorea is truly beautiful -notwithstanding the ugly buildings, the cranes and the commercial port in the frame. 

Papeete feels much more French than Bora Bora or Huahine, which is not so bad: food is good, coffee albeit a tad too weak, is good too. There are bars. 

I arrived Wednesday night, without a hotel reservation. I made my way to the small place I had booked from Friday and was lucky enough to get a room there -it's nice to sleep in the same room for 5 nights in a row (it'll be the same in Rapa Nui).

I have already been out in the water catching waves and spent two evenings at the Heiva festival in Tahiti, the big one. Lots of shaking and swaying -and several changes of costume. I'm becoming an expert.

I'm getting a car over the weekend to tour the island. 

Mesmerising

Bora Bora is very different from Huahine. Tourism to the South Pacific started here, and in Fiji, after the II World War, when the airstrips built by the US military were opened to civilian aircrafts. It's busy, the Heiva is in full swing, much busier than Huahine, but it doesn't feel cramped or touristic. Maybe, thanks to the fact that most luxury resorts aren't on the main island, but on the "motu" (reef islands).

The island is just incredibly beautiful: the almost vertical walls, that millennia ago were part of the crater of a volcano, dominate the landscape; they're visible from anywhere in the island.

I'm staying a bit off the main town, Vaipete, a short stroll away from what functions as the centre.

Today, I spent most of the day cycling the 32 kilometres of the island's perimeter. I tried to climb some hill, but the last third of the path was covered by an overgrown stingy bush -my legs look as if I was attacked by a bunch of angry cats.

After dinner, I spent almost one hour watching a group's dance routines rehearsal. Mesmerising. Mesmerised. As if I were falling in love with these people.

I leave tomorrow for Moorea (still Tuesday night here). I'm staying at a surf B&B. The plan is to do some surfing, but who knows!

Slow

From Tonga, I flew to Auckland in the "earliest" morning of Thursday 27th (the crew kept saying "good morning", though it was just 2am).

I spent 36 very pleasant hours in Auckland: walked around, had a few proper coffees, ate well, visited the very good Auckland Museum to see the Polynesian and Maori rooms -enjoyed very much connecting the exhibition with my experience of the area.

It was a horrible winter day, grey and wet. I have to go back and spend sometime in New Zealand.

Friday, I flew to Tahiti. Crossed the date line and went back in time. I have now completely lost any notion of the day I'm living -even when I check the date, I still don't totally get it. Date line aside, Auckland and Papeete are just 2 solar, natural hours away. No real jet-lag. 

I'm spending about 11 days in the French Polynesia. I'm not being very adventurous and visiting 4 of the Society Islands: Huahine, Bora Bora, Moorea and Tahiti. There are infinite ways to combine the ocean, the reefs, the extinct volcanoes, the lush vegetation, the white sand and these so gentle Polynesian people. I've realised I'm not visiting any atolls during my trip. Next time, I guess, French Polynesia has plenty of them, or I could venture to more exotic places, like the islands of Kiribati (pronounced Ki-Ri-Bas, I recently learnt), before the rising seas engulf them. 

I write this on Bora Bora, where I arrived yesterday from Huahine. 

Huahine is not a very popular tourists destination -there are no luxury resorts. There's good surfing and hiking, decent snorkelling and diving, and the opportunity to see how the locals live.

I might have learnt the lesson and, instead of stubbornly keep with my plan, I allowed the circumstances decide what I was going to do. I slowed down a bit more and enjoyed being there.

Last weekend, was the beginning of the Heiva, the main cultural event of the year in French Polynesia, marked by a music and dance show and competition on Saturday morning. It wasn't the elaborate affair I saw last night (Monday 1st July) in Bora Bora, but a local, amateurs' show by people of the island for their friends and family. There were just a very small handful of tourist around. I enjoyed it very much. Maybe it wasn't as slick and well rehearsed as the events I hope to see in Papeete over the weekend, but it was fun and the dancing was magnetic: gracious and sensual. No wonder those XVIII century Europeans lost their heads over the beautiful scantly dressed locals swagging their hips (the women) and shaking their legs (the men). The moves taken from daily life (the women's) or war (the men).

After the show, I had some lunch at one of the nearby huts. The menu was a good expression of this mixed society: Polynesian classics, as raw fish in coconut milk, along side baguette sandwiches "jambon crudités" and crêpes, and heaps of sugar in every form (South Pacific Islanders consume incredible amounts of sugar). I had a chao mein (Sino-Polynesians are the biggest minority), that included some pieces of saucisson. Resisted the churros aux chocolat for dessert.

I spent the rest of my time in Huahine driving around the island (actually two islands separated by a very narrow strait), on the beach, visiting archeological sites (premonitions of Easter Island) and reading. There isn't much else to do (wanted to go hiking, but the guide I found had other plans for the weekend; couldn't find surfboards for rent -rented a car from a neighbour).

I stayed at a very cheap camping and pension, in the grounds of the owner's family house. Looking at the kids going along with their weekend (some chores, but time to play football, surfing and swimming), made me think Huahine, and probably all of French Polynesia, is a great place to grow up -though, you might outgrow it rather fast.

28th June

Today is the 44th anniversary of the Stonewall riots. The same amount of years I'll be at the end of September. 

It is just so appropriate that precisely today I'm crossing the date line that separates the days. I'll board a plane in Auckland at 5pm and will disembark in Papeete (Tahiti) right after midnight. I'll live today twice.

I laughed when I saw it on looking
my ticket, and I'm sort of happy and amused. I don't think that, given the chance, I would have chosen any other day to live twice. 

Happy LGTBIQ Pride Day to everyone!

Alive

Trips have a life of their own. Like parties. The best ones are those that come alive and develop on their own. 

It took me almost 3 months to realise that luck has nothing to do when things don't go as planned, for better or for worse.

We plan to keep our brains busy and to create the illusion of security and stability. However, each trip has its own logic (or karma, luck, destiny, soul), out of the reach of our understanding.

On a short trip, it's only one or two aspects that deviate from our plans and desires, but frequently those deviations set a new route for the trip. 

On a long trip, there are so many things beyond our pretence of an ability to control what happens around us -and the only possible approach is to let go and let the trip take you. 

I've come to that conclusion after almost 3 months of travel and Tonga. 

You might think I'm exaggerating if I say that hardly anything went according to my original plan in Tonga -and that some things went completely wrong. But it is almost true.

I don't exaggerate at all, however, saying that Tonga was one of the highlights of this trip.

Almost two hours after arriving, on Saturday night, I found myself knocking on the door of an empty guesthouse a bit in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, the guy who drove me there was still around, so I ended up at this other guesthouse where he worked. But I couldn't stay there for a second night. On Sunday, although the country comes to a stand-still (by tradition and law), I managed to find a ride to the "centre" of Nuku'alofa and a room at a very charming hotel, just across the street from the dive shop with which I had organised to dive on the inner reefs off Nuku'alofa and in the island of 'Eua. On top of that, that hotel has one of the only three restaurants in town open on Sunday evening -between breakfast and dinner, I survived on a package of crackers.

The dives off Nuku'alofa weren't anything special, save for the fact that I had to change once my BCD (jacket) and twice my regulator. 

Sunday night, the owner of the dive shop called me to tell me the ferry to 'Eua was leaving at 8am instead of 11am the following morning, destroying my plans of a lazy morning walking around Nuku'alofa to see the royal palace and send some postcards. She took the ferry as well, with 3 of her 5 sons and a friend of hers (a Canadian accountant working as a volunteer teaching English at a local school). We all stayed at their guesthouse, build with local cedar wood by Wolfgang the German dive instructor that doubles as the manager and cook of the place. A small affair of 5 log cabins and a communal lounge and dinning area, the only other guests were the visiting parents of an American "Peace Corps" volunteer. It felt like staying at a friend's house. a couple of times, the owner invited me to join them on their excursions around the island on her car.

Wolfgang is an amazing character: in his 50s, he has lived in half the world, and travelled the other half, since he left East Germany in 1990; almost a misanthropist, he seems to be happy leading the life of a modern Robinson Crusoe, as he himself told me, on an island of 5000 people. I went hiking with him to a beautiful beach at the bottom of a high cliff one afternoon. The way back, after trying my ability with the machete opening some coconuts, became a class on orientation and path finding, as he made me lead the way back up the rim of the cliffs. We made it -and I learnt a few ticks. 

I had planned 3 dives in 'Eua, but Monday the sea was too rough and the sky to cloudy. I instead only dived on Tuesday: we went down to the "Cathedral", a huge underwater cave, about 100 metres deep and 50 metres across at its widest. Its deepest sections almost at 30 metres below sea level, the height of its ceiling not far behind that. The water around 'Eua is incredibly clear and you can see through the three holes pieced on the ceiling, as well as through the entrance, the deepest of blues, and all around cave from any where you are. One of the holes is just at the break of the waves, which from below looks like a strange and ever changing stormy sky. Not an easy thing to see. 

There's a completely dark section in the cave, at less than 20 metres of depth, home of a species of luminescent fish. You enter into its absolute darkness, kneel down on the bottom and watch their lights dance around you. It's magical.

Tongans are extremely friendly, less used to tourists and very curious -most have relatives in New Zealand or Australia, but they don't know much about the world. I was asked which island and village I was from. They have the same beautiful smile I saw in Samoa, but they are more gentle and relaxed. They're beautiful people, very close to their traditions.

I left wishing I had more time to explore the country. I feel happy in Polynesia just by the mere fact of being there. I cannot explain why or how. I think I'm coining back.

After Tonga, and 36 hours in cold and grey Auckland, I'm flying to Tahiti tomorrow. A different face a Polynesia.

Stopover

It'l won't be a surprise if I say that I didn't like Fiji that much.

First, Manono was a hard act to follow. Secondly, I didn't make any efforts to like it. From the outset, my 4 nights in Fiji were planned as a long stopover (as hard as it might be to believe, I couldn't find a better connection between Samoa and Tonga). I used my time to do the laundry, a long walk on the beach, a massage, some surfing (practising my right-hand turning). 

On top of that, I stayed at a midrange resort on the outskirts of Nadi. Fiji's second city is ugly, full of people and devoted to the heaps of tourists that use it as a stepping stone to nicer parts of the main island and the rest of the country. The locals, after decades of mass tourism, seem to be bored of the tourists and have a rather aggressive commercial approach to them.

It reminded me of Magaluz or San Antonio. It doesn't look anything like that, but it felt like that kind of place. Even if the Melanesian-Indian mix is way too prude for wet T-shirts contests and foam parties.

I didn't want to stay at an exclusive, luxurious resort, I didn't have the time to go to more remote parts of the country -not if I wanted to do my laundry. So I went with no expectations, and made the most of it. 

Left for Tonga on Saturday. I'm staying in Polynesia for the reminder of my trip (little more than 3 weeks), save for 36 hours in Auckland (again, best way to connect). And Polynesia is what this trip is, at the end, about. 

Paradise

If I were to find a paradise in my trip, it would most possibly be Manono. But there are no paradise or, at the end, Manono is not more of a paradise than many other places and there are many types of paradise.

However, I doubt I'll find somewhere else the intense feeling of truly being in Polynesia I feel here. Truly, Polynesian bliss. 

This small island is very beautiful. It has all those things you would expect: small white sand beaches, volcanic rocks, a turquoise lagoon, big waves breaking on the off shore reef, the trade winds blowing gently on the trees (palm, breadfruit, frangipani, banana, starfruit). Lovely people, apparently going along happily with their daily lifes (fishing, weaving, cooking, tending their patches of land). Lovely people with smiles as luminous and bright as the tropical sun.

I don't fool myself, there are problems: very little health care, too much alcohol, drugs, domestic violence, teenage suicide, a very rigid and unequal social structure, plastic a bit everywhere on the ground alongside the fallen frangipani flowers and the crabs' holes. They are exposed to the modern world in ways not always apparent, especially when you see them leading a life so close to the traditional customs.

All of them have relatives in New Zealand and Australia, they have phone and radios and TV, tourist visit the island, and development cooperation experts and researches too.

There's another island a few kilometres to the west. It's called Apolima. It's a partially sunken volcano, the crater forming a internal lagoon and a village on its shore. It's hard to get there: the only way in is a narrow passage and you need an invitation. They might be more sheltered from the outside world. The local chief dominates the life of the island. There are no schools, not a resident doctor.

I stayed at some sort of a guesthouse. The rooms are small Fales perched a few metres up on the hill of the island. The meals are at a communal Fale, by the shore. The village -one of five in the island- is all around the place and there are always people around. I went to the village Congregational church (one of seven) on Sunday to here them singing -Samoans sing all the time.

Yesterday, as part of my walk around the island, the caretaker (a 88 years old Kiwi, a retired seaman that spends 7 months a year in Manono -the owners are in Melbourne visiting their daughter and newest grandchild) showed me the local school -the kids called Papalo, as Pablo is as hard to say as a riddle- and the first church, a rather cute Catholic church about to fall down in pieces -only one of its French windows still in one piece. 

Afterwards, I leisurely continue my walk by myself following the only path of the place (there are no cars). In all, it took me one hour and forty minutes. Most of the people I passed, after saying hello, asked me where I was going. They seemed to have a genuine interest on that. 

I swam to the offshore reef yesterday too. I wanted to see the break of the waves. It's about 1 kilometres away. I hadn't swum that much in a long time. The first third of the way back was hard, as it took me a while to figure out the current.

On Tuesday, the swim was shorter. I went to a small volcanic islet about 400 metres from the shore. This time, I had the current in my favour on the way back -I'm learning. It was still hard work, though. 

The rest of my time here, I didn't do much. There's time to watch the change of the tides at the dock in front the communal Fale, or the people walking by on the path, or to look at the waves breaking at the reef and the evolution of the clouds, or to chat with whomever is around at that moment. And there's time to watch the sunset every night, just around the time we have dinner. It's then when it is so easy to feel in paradise.

I'm going to Fiji in the early hours of Wednesday 19th. I have now less than a month of travel left.

Bliss

Hold on. This is very long, I'm sorry to say. I don't have much access to the Internet in Samoa. I do now and I don't think I'll have again until I'm in Fiji on Tuesday night. Don't read this post in one go. Take your time. 

First day in Samoa. My mood has been improving during the day. Now, while the sun sinks, behind some clouds, on the Pacific, I feel happier to be here. It's a "big sunny spells" sky. Above my head, golden clouds against a bright blue sky. There's no wind. It's very hard to see any movement up there. 

I arrived last night (Tuesday 11th June) rather late. In staying at a guesthouse, sharing the bathroom with a shy German guy and a Japanese guy who talks a lot in a broken English rather hard to understand. This morning, we shared breakfast with the family that owns the house, the children getting ready to go to school.

I've spent the day hiking. It wasn't great. My guide is a guy in his late 50s who seems bored with his job. I'm not sure we did the walk we agreed -or maybe I misunderstood what we were doing. On the positive side, he took me to the lava cliffs of the south coast, big waves dramatically crashing into them.

On top of that, he took me to the R. L. Stevenson museum. I walked up to his grave. Took the short, steep, harder path. Indeed, harder: the last cyclone (December 2012) caused a major landslide that obliterated the upper half of the path. That didn't deter me to continue -one of those rather stupid things men generally can't help doing. I arrived drenched in sweat, covered in dirt and happy. The grave is nothing special. It commands great views of Apia and its bay. I went back the long path, which nicely winds down following the slope of the hill. The museum, former house of Stevenson, is a beautiful colonial house.

This doesn't feel like Haiti at all. It feels very far away. I'm 11 hours ahead of the CET, 16 of Buenos Aires, 17 of the US East Coast. People are nice, and would talk to me on the street, but they don't seem to be not very warm. 

There are lots of Christian churches everywhere (and a Baha'i temple), and most house outside town seem to have big open halls where people go along there daily chores. Even the school I've seen today follow that open hall structure. It's the modern take on the traditional Fale. The other thing in people's gardens are their relatives tombs, sometimes very simple, other times big and enclosed and roofed. 

Second day. 

More hiking. We went to the Lake Lanoto'o. The walk was very nice:  hundreds of small white butterflies flying around, a beautiful fern forest, no sight of the killing vine.

The lake is nice, the crater of an extinct volcano. Famous for its gold fish, the grey variety now outnumbers the red ones, as overfishing for selling them in the market unnaturally favoured them. There is tilapia too -someone defied it was a good idea to let a few free in the lake. 

On the way back, after seeing some amazing views of the north and south coast from a hill, we found ourselves stranded as our motocross bike broke down. We got a lift on a local truck. 

I should be more empathic or sympathetic to my guide, Eddie, but I just can't. Tomorrow we hike again. Last one. 

Spent some more time in Apia. Visited the very small Museum of Samoa. Learnt about their woven matts and painted bark sheets, their tattoos and traditional dress (still very widely used). They seem to maintain a very strong and proud national identity, in the country and abroad. Modernity hasn't made much dent -yet. 

The best thing about my accommodation is the kids of the family. They're all very nice and smiley. Had a chat with the oldest boy in the morning. He wants to be an actor "in America", but accepts his father's decision and will try to get an scholarship to study Law in Australia or New Zealand. He'll still wants to pursue his dream, though. Will Hollywood be ready for a Polynesian leading man?

The best of the day came with and after dinner. Had a beer and a pizza at a very popular place (judging from all the take-aways). I listened to the band playing -out of my iTunes- at the ba next door. After dinner, went to the bar, ordered another Vailima and seat in front of the soulful singer, the drum player and the laptop. Next song was a fabulous "Boy From Ipanema" that would have made Ella proud -so much swing in her staccato. 

After a while, the two Kiwi lesbians (friends of the singer) and her fa'afafine sister invited me to join them at their table. We were the only audience -the rest of the patrons, all men, were too busy playing pool, drinking, talking and smoking. The singer would nevertheless talk to the public every now and then, with almost the camp irony of a drag queen. 

I didn't want to drink too much, as I suspect Eddie is going to be implacable with me tomorrow, so I left after my second beer and after her "Smooth Operator", her "Every Breath You Take" (that made me like the song again) and a playful "Feel Like Making Love" that would have made George Benson happy. 

Third day. 

The hike was great. We walked by the beautiful northeast coastline to the Bay of Fagaloa -so deep inland that looks like a fiord. 

The day didn't start very well. Eddie and my host sooner more than 40 minutes discussing how and from where to do the walk. Nothing was organised. So I told them I wasn't happy. Maybe I was a tad to hard on them, but as a result, in less than 5 minutes we were on our way.

However, I have to say, I feel happy and relax. There's something in the air that makes me take things easy and don't stress. Polynesian bliss? 

This is my last night in Apia. Tomorrow, I go to the island of Manono until Tuesday night (I fly to Fiji).

Port-Vila

I leave Port-Vila today, after two days licking my hiking wounds. Haven't done much, really. Didn't feel like doing much. It's a bittersweet goodbye.

It was down time. I had a massage, visited the National Museum (random display of artefacts and stuffed animals, but some beautiful drums and wood masks and sculptures), and went to the beach. A nice place protected by a reef, but not the nicest of days for the beach, a tad too windy and not that hot. Had a delicious beef curry for lunch, and a chat with the waiter who brought it, as he seat to my table for a while. I was the only costumer. As every time I say I'm from Spain, we talked about football. 

Same thing happened with the driver who took me to the beach. He had been to Barcelona, participating in some athletics international championship -or maybe the Olympic Games. He was Vanuatu's 150 metres hurdles national champion, he told me.

People here are very nice and curious about the outside world. They walk around with serious faces, that bright up with a smile and a hello when you cross them on the street. There's a sort of ritualised Q&A when you first meet someone: you'd be asked your name and country, age and whether you're married -"not yet", you'd answer if your single. Then, it's about your parents and whether you go to church.

Port-Vila is a nice little town. The bay is beautiful and very scenic.

There's a quite big expat community from Australia. People setting up businesses here, working on real estate, settling in Port-Vila. I met a few of them. 

The other big foreign community is the Chinese, that seem to own every shop in town. 

I wasn't expecting that Vanuatu would remind me so much of Haiti. It's different. Port-Vila is more developed that Port-au-Prince, there's much less people, it's very green. There's still a very strong local culture, dominant outside Vila, but the country is changing fast -today the papers talk about the granting of 148 licences to explore the seabed for oil and minerals.

However the differences, there is something in the air that takes me back 15 years. I'm surprised to be so far away and find so many things that remind me of the Caribbean.

Maybe it's me. Haiti is my main point of reference when it comes to tropical, exotic destinations.

I wonder if the same thing will happen with Samoa. 

Ambryn

It's not easy to write about my 4 days in Ambryn, as it's a story of disappointment.

The plan was to make the 2-day hike to the two active volcanoes of the island, sleeping 1 night at a refuge.

Ambryn is amazing. A volcanic island covered by the rainforest. The boat ride from the airport, at Craig's Cove, the island main human settlement, to Ranon, the tiny village where I stayed, was along a coastline devoid of indications of human presence, in a succession of black cliffs and black sand beaches by a deep blue sea. Well, at least that is how it was during the brief moments when the sun shone -this current rather wet dry season means that a thick blanket of clouds covers everything most of the time. Reflecting a sky at times milky blue and at times dark grey, the sea had a metallic quality, at times midnight blue, at times a very dark grey.

I spent the night, after sharing a dinner of yam, taro, rice, island cabbage (chard) and some minced meat for flavour, in a room that reminded me so, so very much of the room I had in the hut I rented out with some friends at Kavik beach on the south coast of Haiti. A very basic affair with no electricity or running water, a net covering the bed. There are so many things here that remind me of my time in Haiti and I feel so much back home, that at times I switch to my almost forgotten Kreole -my Bislama is poor but can make simple sentences: "mi blong nam Pablo", "mi tok tok small Bislama".

The night was extremely windy and I hoped the wind would take the clouds away. It did, but only partially. In the morning, the sky above the beach was blue but there remained a white crown on top of the volcanoes.

Nevertheless, "yumi", we -my plastic sandals wearing guide and my special extreme pronation and weak heel correction hiking booted self- started the hike up, through a communal pathway. It was good for the first two hours through the rainforest -managed rainforest, as almost every inch as an owner (there is a very clear notion of private property in the South Seas) and it is exploited for its fruits and roots and wood. After those two hours, at around 1000 metres, we reached the ash plain (a combination of volcanic ash, solidified lava rivers and volcanic rocks). The ash plain as no owners and the wild cows and wild pigs that live there are hunted -with guns- by the villagers. 

Before stepping on the plain, Sandy, my ever smiling guide, made a spear from a cane and told me to throw it to the ash plain -later, the following day, I learnt it is done to chase the bad weather away. My throwing didn't please the yam gods or wasn't powerful enough. A few minutes into the ash plain, we entered the clouds and it started to rain. It wasn't going to stop for the rest of the journey: the two hours up the crater of the first volcano, the hour back to the refuge and the following day. Walking up was mainly an act of will, the rain getting stronger and the visibility smaller. At the rim of the crater it was of about 5 metres. We looked down -I was then hoping, settling, for the glow of the lava against the clouds- and could only see the same thick white cloud that was around us. It was windy and wet. We could feel the volcano: we could hear its roar, we could smell the sulphur and feel it in our itchy eyes, but we couldn't see anything at all. After a few minutes, we went down to the refuge, where we met another unfortunate two-men expedition, and settled in for an early dinner of rice and tuna and an early night, while it kept raining outside.

Early the following morning, after a noodles breakfast, the weather having not at all improved, we decided to cut our loses, abort the ascend to the second volcano, and come back.

The rest of my time there was a repetition of the previous evening with some improvements: a glorious sunset over the Pacific, a flying fox (fruit bat) flying over my head, a dugong coming up for air, and dinner included, alongside the rice and yam and taro and chard, some papaya cooked in coconut milk. Before dinner, Solomon, my host, talked about some old taboos on climbing the volcanoes and around the yam season.

The following morning, I almost missed my flight to Port-Vila, as they couldn't find the boat's driver (lots of kava the previous night, he told me later on the boar). Trying at first to hide the problem from myself, they kept insisting that I had my breakfast of crackers and milked instant coffee. the first morning I was more lucky and had fresh papaya and sweet grapefruit and yam fritters and fired bananas. I didn't miss the plane at the end. 

I am disappointed, almost sad. I will probably never come back to Vanuatu and will then never have the opportunity to climb up Ambryn's volcanoes. The silver lining is that I did climb up. It didn't work out because of the weather, not because I couldn't do it.  

I'm now in Port-Vila until Tuesday. Not sure how I'm spending my days. I feel like going to the beach and maybe driving around the island of Efate. I write this at a restaurant, surrounded by mainly Australian expats bluntly ignoring a keyboard, bass and singer band that tiredly sings a soulless and naff repertoire -at this very moment they are playing the saddest salsa I've heard in my whole life. But Port-Vila is for the next post. 

Santo

I wrote the following last evening. I'm now in Port-Vila. Flying to Ambryn to hike up some volcanoes tomorrow morning. 

I have just had a small glass of kava, which is not a funny sparkling, but the powdered dry root of a bush mixed with water. It's traditionally the drink of choice of the men of the South Seas. It's bitter -you would normally wash your mouth with some water, and spit it out, after every glass. It's non-alcoholic, but surely alters your senses: it numbs your mouth and tickles your nose. Supposedly, it induces a mellow state of mind -I'd say I'm high, but maybe I'm just tired. Someone should export this to the Muslim world, there's no alcohol, it's surely halal.

I arrived to Luganville, Vanuatu's second "city", in the island of (Espiritu) Santo, its biggest island, on Saturday evening. Flew from Brisbane to Port-Vila, the capital, in the island of Efate, where I made the domestic flight connection.

Even before landing, when I first saw the island group of Efate through the clouds, this place reminded me of Haiti. This is how Haiti would be if there wasn't for the deforestation and overpopulation. The landscape is almost fluorescent green, in a succession of cultivated lands, forest, ravines, creeks and rivers.

A few other things increase the familiarity I feel: the answers are always affirmative, but that doesn't guarantee that you have been understood or that you will get the coffee and piece of cake you wanted, but you are guaranteed a big smile. Most of the music I hear on the streets, in the shops or coming from cars is a surprising mix of merengue and reggeaton, mostly sung in Spanish (how, why, who?) and some R&B and French chanson.

On top of that, I'm enjoying finding myself in what should be stressful or annoying situations but feeling calm and amused by them. Of course, I'm on holidays and don't live here, and I'm 15 years older.

Sunday, I dived the wreck of the SS. President Coolidge. A luxury cruise liner, requisitioned for transport in the II World War, that hit a mine about 2 kilometres east of Luganville and just a few metres off the shore -the soldiers and crew were able to walk to safety. It's was absolutely great. Dived probably beyond my certification limits to about 43 metres and into the wreck, to the old smoking room of the ship. It was awesome, and a little bit scary as we went into the hull.

Monday, the adventure was on land. I hiked to the Millennium Cave. Not at all what I was expecting -not at all a few hours hike plus a shorter walk through the cave. Instead of that, after a one hour drive on a track that could qualify as off-road, we walked up and down for about two hours, with mud up to our ankles, to the entrance of the cave to find (me, as the others do the tour every day) that a river, a creek maybe, runs all along it. I changed into my reef boots and followed my barefoot guide into the cave. Two or three cascades, rapids (tackled nimbly with hands and feet) iand deeper areas. At the other end, we seat down and had lunch by a small natural pool.

I took some pictures, but they are a very pale reflexion of the original -the lush rainforest, the misty air, the water, the overcast almost white sky (the current dry season is proving as wet as the wet season). I loved the misty air, even if it at times turned into a proper drizzle. I'm sure that the landscape looks amazing in the sun; in the mist, it was magical, reinforcing my impression of being an explorer on a virgin land (not at all, of course).

After lunch, we canyoned downstream, surrounded by 20 metres high vertical walls, with a dozen cascades falling into the river. This was amazing, fantastic, stunning -don't have enough adjectives.

After maybe 40 minutes, we left the river and climbed up a rather steep stony hill, following a very small brook, to the hamlet that was our base. Had coffee (instant coffee) and some fruit, before walking back the half an hour to the van -and then back to my hotel in Luganville (a 1970s modern hotel, now an old and lacklustre place, but with local charm, and cheap).

The pristine and virgin forest is nevertheless under threat. A foreign vine, introduced during the II War Wold, slowly expands everywhere, covering the forest, suffocating and killing the trees. It looks unstoppable. There are big track of cleared forest, covered just by the vine. It's unsettling. A real-life horror sci-fi movie.

I still have 8 days in Vanuatu, that I'm spending in Ambryn and Efate. If they are half as amazing as this first days in Santo, I'm up for a fabulous time.

I upload a bunch of random pictures: me, at the airport, with the welcome conch necklace I got; bilingual signage; bismala sings; Luganville. 

Silence

I haven't written in what seems to be a long time. There is not a particular reason for this period of silence, other than my trip itself. Since my last post, I spent a morning hiking The Olgas, left for Cairns, spent time in the Daintree and scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, made my war south to the Gold Coast, where I am at the moment. I only have 2 more nights in Australia before I start travelling the South Pacific.

The Olgas, Kata Tjuta ("many heads"), are as amazing as Uluru, Ayers Rock, but in a different way. They are not majestic and powerfully isolated, they are inviting and protective. The many heads, made of the same almost Martian sandstone as Uluru, the depressions between them are lush and fresh -at east at this time of the years, after some rains- and open up into beautiful flatlands.

I went there very early to watch the sun rising besides Uluru and, then, spent a couple hours hiking The Olgas by myself. I was the first one and didn't cross anyone else until I got to the end of my walk.

I really liked Cairns. It's a shame I didn't spent longer there, but there are so many things to see and do. I spent 3 days in the Daintree and Cape Tribulation National Parks -a tropical rainforest by the sea. And to the sea I went afterwards. 5 days on a diving boat. It was intense and tiring, but most of all it was fantastic and I enjoyed it a lot. I met some very nice, interesting people on the boat, which made the whole thing even better. Maybe the only negative element was that the sea got rougher after the first two days andirons got a little bit sick at night. The ground was still rocking for a couple of days after disembarking.

From Cairns, I made my way to Surfers Paradise. The weather isn't great. It's raining on and off and the temperature hasn't gone beyond 23°. I feel I'm not in the Australian Gold Coast but somewhere in Europe, suffering the current wintery spring (I don't think anyone is going to complain this year about the weather being to hot in the summer).

Surfers Paradise has been a surprised. I haven't done too much surfing. Not very good waves at the moment. On top of that, after the first morning surfing I felt rather tired and sort of decided to use my last days in Australia to relax and prepare for the rest of my trip -I had to do some laundry.

Surfers is a bit like Miami and like Benirdorm and we are in the low season, so it's half awake and the rythm is melow, if not melancholic. In some respects, it's the perfect setting for a couple of relaxing days.

Also in the plus side, I have met some interesting people here.

On my trip from Cairns to Surfers, I realised that contrary to what I was expecting when I started this trip, I won't miraculously find a reason, an idea, a feeling that would allow me to understand the last few months. There is not such thing, nothing is going to click, there is no a whole picture, a clearer view. There is nothing more than what happened and the way it happened.

I'm midway my trip. This is the 8th week out of 15. I'm still excited -I'm very excited about going to the South Seas-, but in a relaxed way. I now truly feel I have time and come to realise that I can do and organise what I'm doing along the way. As a matter of fact, I make the way as I travel.

It'll be sad to leave Australia. I wish I had more time. I will come back, in some form or other. There are places I want to see again and so many I haven't seen. I leave full of good memories, happy I had the chance to see my friends in Melbourne and Sydney and the new friends I've made along the way. And I have discovered the Australian aboriginal contemporary art, which I still find mesmerising and amazing, intriguing and much more vital than most of the contemporary art I know.

How frequently I will update from Saturday will depend on how easily I can access the Internet. How knows, maybe I won't be able at all in Vanuatu or will find a free wifi network in every town. I'll let you know as I go along.