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.