Honiara, Solomon Islands - Papua New Guinea, a passage of disease, engine trouble, fickle winds and a first 29th birthday.

We left Honiara, Solomon Islands where we had stayed for three days without ever clearing in. We left our status of illegal aliens behind and took off knowing that we're closing in on equator and that we can no longer rely on the tradewinds to supply us with steady sailing winds. We had therefore decided that we would be a bit more generous with the engine power. No more drifting around for 24 hours waiting for wind.

The first thing that happens is that Øyvind starts to develop symptoms of a cold or a flu or somewhat. Great thing to feel tired even before you've started doing four hour interrupted sleep-cycles.


The day after the wind dies down. Again. No problem, we fire up good old Yanmar 2GM20(F). This works fine for about 30 minutes. Then it dies. This is the first time ever we've had troubles with the engine. The day was spent inspecting fuel lines and pulling filters and generally despairing over our complete and utter lack of techno-knowledge. By sundown no fault was found and we wrapped up to continue the next day. Luckily we got some wind during the day, so at least we're moving and not rolling violently which for an hour or two contributed significantly to the general frustration.

The day after the engine breakdown Øyvind is just getting out of bed and we're trying to get motivated for more mechanicking when we hear a crashing noise. In itself nothing spectacular, sometimes things work themselves loose on deck and make crashing noises. However this time it's the cable for the centerboard that has snapped, and the noise was the centerboard crashing down, still hinged to the keel, but without the cable to keep it up. We know the cable is a weak point and that it will break occasionally, however it broke the last time less than a month ago, and it's not even supposed to break annually. What's more is that the last time it broke we were able to pull into a protected bay where we could anchor within the hour. Now we're offshore. And we used our last spare cable fixing it the last time it broke.


We work out a plan. We're gonna use one of the old cables and somehow work around the problem. However to change the cables we need to dive on the boat. Øyvind accepts the task, ties a line between himself and the boat such as not to lose the latter in mid ocean. Then he jumps in trying not to think of sharks and his resemblance of bait on the end of a line.
The plan seems to work fine, except that we of course run into trouble when the cable has been pinched between the keel and the centerboard and we use a couple of hours rigging a system with an anchor to help pull it loose which works in the end. We sigh with relief when we are finally able to raise the centerboard an hour later, 5-6 hours after it broke. We can now head on. Øyvinds state is detoriating, but Egil steps up and gallantly accepts the lions share of the tougher watches.


Then it's Øyvinds birthday. Egil has had the morning shift and the birthday baby wakes to the smell of frying eggs. Later he makes a bloody cake! That guy will for sure make someone an excellent wife someday. We fill the day with more engine work. As a birthday present Øyvind is able to, by pure luck and total lack of skill, of course-, stumble across the fault. The top of one of the dieselfilters is busted and we cannot get the compression right. We're able to fix it somehow, and we have a working engine yet again! ...However we are not too certain about the quality of the mend and decide not to use the engine before we're about to anchor, such as not to strain it unecessary before we need it. Later the same day we catch our first (!) fish. We have no idea what it is, but it looks scary with pointy teeth. Perhaps a barracuda or something. We take our chances of it not being overly poisonous and eat it for birthday supper.


The plan of not using the engine fails when we encounter absolutely crap winds the last 150 miles of the trip. Luckily the thing seems to work allright, but we never push it. We do however get plenty time to take in the view of the mountains at Irian Jaya, New Guinea's main island. The first proper mountains we've seen since NZ. Finally we're able to clear in to PNG at Madang. They seem a little curious about the fact that our visas are issued in Solomon Islands since we, according to our papers, have never been there, but hey, no trouble. We're free to rock on towards Indonesia.

OK ESN:0-7402902

Fra de seilende:
Egil og Øyvind seiler avgårde og har det bra!
Egil and Øyvind are sailing happily along and are OK
ESN:0-7402902
Latitude:-6.6975
Longitude:151.4997
Nearest Location:not known
Distance:not known
Time:07/16/2009 20:14:19 (GMT)
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=-6.6975,151.4997&ll=-6.6975,151.4997&ie=UTF8&z=12&om=1

Honiara, Solomon Islands

Anuta - Honiara

Vi heiser seil fra Anuta, glad for å være underveis igjen, på vei mot nye eventyr. Vi har omsider kommet fram til at vi må begynne å gi en del gass. Vårt tre måneders visum for Indonesia er allerede to uker gammelt, og vi regner med å bruke minimum et par uker frem dit. I tillegg har vi en del usikkerhetsmomenter foran oss. Vi har bestemt oss for å gå nord for Papua New Guinea, og vindene der skal være veldig usikre, vi kommer til å sveipe innom stillebeltet rundt ekvator og vi kan risikere at ting går tregt. I tillegg har vi en del usikkerhet rundt "papirarbeidet" vi har foran oss. Resultatet blir at vi antagelig blir å gi gass opp mot Vanimo, siste stopp før den indonesiske siden av Papua New Guinea (PNG). Det blir kanskje ikke mange stopp før vi kommer dit, kanskje ingen. Forhåpentligvis vil et slikt "skippertak" nå føre til at vi kan ta det litt rolig gjennom Indonesia, og ikke minst, at vi kan forlate Indonesia for Sri Lanka uten å bekymre oss for å havne i en kjedelig orkan. Disse festlig værfenomene kan visst være brysomme i det Indiske Hav etter september, og vi har ikke tid til slike orkangreier, vi har dessuten hørt de kan føre til sjøsyke.

Akkurat nå er vi ca. 100 NM fra Honiara, og vi har seilt non-stop i fire dager fra Anuta. Omsider har vi godvær. Sola skinner og vi har en lett vind i ryggen mens vi går for doble forseil. Båten ruller nesten ikke, og vi slapper av med musikk og bøker. Slik er det altså nå. De foregående dagene har vi hatt godt gammeldags dritvær. Regn hver dag. Om det ikke har kommet ned som tropiske regnskurer (såkalte "squalls") har det bare regnet. Vinden har vært ustabil. Nøyaktig hvor ustabil er litt vanskelig å si, ettersom vindmåleren vår har vært litt ute å sykle etter Anuta. Mulig all rullinga for anker tok knekken på den. Resultatet av den ustabile vinden har vært at vi har gått for redusert seilføring stort sett hele veien. Det har rett og slett vært for mye styr å tilpasse seilføringa til vinden som forandrer seg hele tiden.

Nattevaktene har vært desto kjedeligere, regnet har ofte tvunget oss inn i båten, istedetfor å kunne ligge på ryggen i cockpiten og telle stjerner. Men, nå skinner sola og vi er snart i Honiara. Vi kunne godt tenke oss å gå forbi, men vi må faktisk innom for å sende avgårde en del ting på epost og for å fylle opp lagrene med malariamedisin.

Jeppsi pepsi

The Banana Diaries

Day 1:
Today we left Anuta, well fed and ready to resume our diet of rice, homemade bread and canned vegetables. Luckily the anutans, in their endless kindness and hospitality, has provided us with no less than three stalks of green bananas and a cockpitful of coconuts. I'm gleaming, it must be about 400 bananas! Bananas are definitely my favourite fruit, and I always seem to run out of them, no chance of that this time!

Day 2:
Shitty weather again. I scrutinized the banana stalks today, and, lo and behold; I was able to find one banana that was almost yellow. It was just a little green, but it doesn't taste that bad with coconut. Can't wait for the rest of them to go ripe!

Day 3:
Egil pulls me out of bed at 0400 this morning. My shift. I put on my shorts, harness and inflatable lifejacket. I brave the rain and make my way up to the foredeck and the bananas. In the torchlight I can see several on one of the stalks gone ripe. Halelujah and christmas eve!! I pick half a dozen with me and enjoy them in the cockpit. Never mind the rain! I muse over the fact that we will be leaving a trail of bananapeels and cocohusks in our wake.

I've worked my coconut opening-time down to 10 minutes. Natures own soft-drink!

At lunch, eating fresh bread with banana and some banana for desert Egil says something about it being good we have the small type of banana as he always feel he struggles to finish off the big ones. I stare at him dumbfounded and reply "du må jo være domm i haue", which is adequately translated into "I have no idea what you are talking about mate. Whenever I have a banana I'm always wishing I could have one more"

I'm making dinner. Wok'ed veggies and green banana with tuna. Grilled honeybananas for dessert!

Day 4:
What can I say? I have polished off about 30 bananas today. Banana pancakes for dinner. Had three coconuts today. My body is craving for something salt, so I make myself some noodles. Feeling a bit funny.

Day 5;
We realize we're struggling to keep on top of the ripening process. We need to step up the consumption a bit. I was weeping blood as we had to throw a brown banana overboard. Made Egil promise we would not let it happen again. Feel a bit like having a coconut, but dunno if I can be bothered opening the bastard without using explosives.

Day 6:
When I get up in the morning after having slept after the 0000-0400 watch I realize Egil hasn't eaten any bananas during his watches last night. I notice when I go to fetch my compulsory morning-bananas. I give him a severe bollocking, and the mood is rather sullen for the rest of the day. A little after noon I try to make it up by getting Egil a couple of bananas, but he just looks at me a bit funny as he stuffs them into his mouth.

Day 7:
I dream about a blue woman insisting she is "Miss Chiquita" while some guy with a sombrero sings the Banana Boat Song over and over again. I wake up bathed in sweat with Egil's hand on my shoulder. He asks if I'm allright, says I've been screaming "go away, please, please!"
I get physically sick as I move to the foredeck and realize most of the bananas are ripe now. We need to eat more. I stuff down 4 bananas for breakfast while I throw the peels as far away from the boat as possible. Then I go wash my mouth.

I've been sleeping in the middle of day. When I wake up dinner is ready. I ask what it is. "Oven baked banana cakes" is the reply. A heated argument ensues, quickly reaches climax, then dies out as Egil grabs a banana from the stove-top and hold it in front of him as a knife. I'd rather it was a knife.

We're getting closer to Honiara now. During my night watch I creep up to the foredeck and rip loose two bananas while looking down into the deck. I deliberately avoid looking at the stalks. Back in the cockpit I start on the bananas. When Egil relieves me two hours later I'm still eating the second banana.

I don't go to sleep immediately. For a while I just lie on my bunk scratching the paint off the ceiling above my bunk. I hate the color. It's yellow.

Day 8:
Tonight I dreamt I was on the "Titanic". I was lowered in one of the lifeboats while people around me kept telling me how lucky I was. I sat in the lifeboat watching the rear end of the Titanic lifting high above the surface, then sinking. Everything was quiet, and in a weird way I felt happy, as if I'd escaped. Then I looked around me in the lifeboat and realize I'm alone, yet, in a way, not alone. I think it's a good thing. I look around for some oars so I can row away. I only find boxes. Square, paper boxes. The whole boat is full of them, everywhere. They are stacked five high, the stacks are higher than my head. Then I realize what they are. They are banana boxes.

I wake up panting in the cockpit. I'm just standing there looking out over the calm sea. Egil cocks an eyebrow from his rested position on the cockpitbench by the hatch. He wonders why I come running out from the cabin screaming like that.

"This is it" I think to myself. "It's you or the bananas Øyvind". When Egil goes to bed I stand for a while looking out over the sea again. I don't have a harness on this time. Then I move to the foredeck and start throwing bananas into the ocean.

Anuta / The Liberty Escort Service II

We planned to stay at Anuta for a day or two, see the island, meet the people, and then take off again. We ended up staying a week. A week where we were to enjoy local customs and food, see the island, introduce the kids to slacklining and rockclimbing, develop an after-dinner-coconut-addiction, discover Egil's allergy towards the local drug, betelnut, meet the people and thoroughly enjoy ourselves.

After meeting the chiefs the first day we were ready for our first taste of the insane display of hospitality that were to be our reality for the next week. We soon realized that we would not be allowed to cook for ourselves as long as we stayed on the island. We were being fed three or four times every day. We feasted on local food; taro, yams, breadfruit, fish, chicken, turtle, seabirds. After every meal (and sometimes in between) some of the kids that were forever hanging around us would be sent away by our guide for the day to pick us some coconuts to drink. We probably averaged a daily consumption of six coconuts. Each.

The kids would watch our every move, growing a bit bolder every day, although even to the last day some of the younger ones would run and hide, screaming, at the sight of our white skin. ...And I thought I'd finally developed a tan. From the second we landed with the dinghy in the morning (after Joseph picked us up, god forbid we would have to paddle anywhere ourselves) the kids would be there to carry the dinghy away, carry our stuff, or generally just follow us around. The helpfulness were extreme. One of the more bizarre outcomes of this was that one day when I was carrying my backpack around I would constantly have one of the kids at my back lifting my backpack on extended hands, trying to take the strain of my shoulders.
Anuta is a small isolated island. About 1 km across with a small hill to one side, and beach around the rest of the island. There's about 300 inhabitants in two villages right next to one another by the sea. The hill is used for fields, and most of the flatland is cultivated jungle crisscrossed by a maze of tracks. (I still have no idea of how to get from one side of the island to the other without following the beach!). The Anutans are devout Anglican Christians, they have a church and twice a day someone will blow a conch to call to mass. There's no pressure to attend though, and not once during our stay did anyone try to make us go.

One of the things we "had" to go through before we left though, was enjoying one meal with the family of each of the crewmembers of "Lapita", the boat we escorted from Vanuatu. There were eight crew on the boat. One of these were the priest.

This is a good time for looking a bit closer at the "drug" habits of the pacific in general and Anuta in particular. From Vanuatu and eastwards the local drug is the "kava" that we have already mentioned. The kava is made from a crushed root, mixed with water and drunk. It makes your mouth go numb and your mind a little lightheaded and relaxed. Nothing more. On Anuta and the rest of the Solomons, the betelnut is the drug of choice. A bit stronger than the kava it has much of the same effect. However it doesn't last for more than 15-20 minutes. The funny thing, seen with blurry, western eyes, is however that very often alcohol is not used at all by the locals. Sola Bay in Vanuatu for instance has 8-10 Kava - bars (in a village of 500 people), but nowhere to buy alcohol. We were therefore not expecting to encounter any kind of alcohol on Anuta. Fair enough, probably good for us, we thought.

We were therefore a bit surprised when we were having lunch with the priest and his family. Sitting cross legged on the floor and eating our food with our hands the good Father Lamley suddenly pulled out a couple of plastic bottles of ready mixed whisky-coke. The Father Himself took a bottle of beer that he opened with his teeth.
A couple of days later we were back at the priests place for a thank - you feast. Unrealistically we were the ones being thanked, for escorting their boat and crew home from Vanuatu. We were again sitting on the floor of the Fathers house, this time in a big circle around the food. After the food the others started singing their traditional songs, and mysteriously, again the small, plastic bottles reappeared. Only this time it was one each for everyone gathered there. (and, yeah, two for the white guys). The anutans were singing, always the same tune, but different lyrics every time. Most of the songs about the sea. Songs about sailing, about fishing, about being caught out in a storm and being unsure whether you'll ever return, songs about standing on the beach waiting for someone who will never return.

However, after a while of singing, when most had finished their little plastic bottle Father Lamley got up and moved over to his chest by a wall. This caused some sort of excitement with our fellow party-goers. We soon discovered that this was due to Blessed Father pulling out his communal wine. A three-litre bottle of strong port wine. The party soon reached a higher state of party-ness, and the singing grew ever louder.

Some time later, after Father Lamley had been digging into his chest for the third time, the party were over for us. We had been served double servings of holy wine the whole night, due to the general understanding that we, in power of our norwegianness, should be more used to the alcohol. However we have been low-budget cruising for quite a while, and have totally lost touch with our north-norwegian drinking habits (we will catch up again when/if we get to Norway, promise!). Getting back to the boat was out of the question. We couldn't have anyone drive us out as everyone had been drinking, and swimming would probably see us missing the boat altogether and ending up in Australia - a night on the beach was called for.

The Anutans are very conscious about preserving their culture, and, probably due to their isolation, they seem to be succeeding quite well. Anuta is visited twice every year by a supply-ship and 0-2 times by yachts. They talk their own local language, and they take care of their traditions. The kids get sent to the Solomon' capital Honiara to continue their schooling around the age of 12, however they all seem to return. A part of their culture, which is not distinct for Anuta, is the betelnut-chewing. As the would-be anthropologists we are we tried to blend in in every way possible. However when Egil tried for local drug habits he discovered he reacts to betelnut by excessive sweating, dizziness and extreme loss of coordination. No chance of developing an unhealthy betelnut-habit.

After a week we had been through the initiation-seremony. We'd been dressed up in traditional clothing, painted orange (!) and paraded/given the complete tour across the whole island. It was again time for us to leave. We have quite a few unknown factors ahead of us, and we need to cross the indian ocean over to Sri Lanka by the end of september, and we are unsure of how long we need to get in position. In addition we have spent some more time than we expected getting to where we are now (flying twin headsails over calm seas in 8 knots of fair wind, about 100 miles from Honiara, in sunshine). In other words: We need to start hauling ass!

We parted with Anuta just after dark on the beach. Joseph the Elder held a good-bye speech and ALL the kids sang one of the traditional Anuta farewell - songs. We swallowed hard a couple of times, thankful for it being dark, said goodbye to everyone with the traditional greeting; the nose kiss. you go close up to the person, then you shake hands as you do a deep sniff of the other persons neck, right by their ear. The singing continued as we boarded the dinghy for Joseph the Younger to drive us out to Liberty. There we raised anchor, waved goodbye and raised sail for Honiara. Almost. Almost that easy.

As we tried to raise the anchor we discovered that the chain had snagged on some coral. We tried pulling it out manouvering in all different kinds of ways, but with no luck. In the end I had to freedive again, but in the dark, with only a small torch and just over 20 metres of water over my head I wasn't comfortable man-handling a 15 kg anchor with chain attached to it. We decided to wait it out until first light. Anuta wouldn't let us go.

Next morning we got up right after 0500. One hour later the anchor and chain was loose, and the Anuta trip had ended as it begun: with forced free-diving to 20+ msw. Only this time it wasn't a problem. The daylight took much of the fear-factor out of the diving, and the chain came off easily, and I had enough air for both aligning the pressure in my ears and returning safely to the surface.

We then waved goodbye and raised sail for Honiara.

Now is the hour
for us to say goodbye
you will go sailing
far across the sea
While you're away
can you remember us?

The Liberty Escort Service / Anuta Island

We are anchored off Sola in Vanuatu. The name belies the place. First of all it rains most of the time due to the place being situated on a tiny mountainous island in the middle of sea. Secondly it doesn't at all look like the area around one of Norways main airports. Thirdly the 500 inhabitants in the village are way kinder and more hospitable than anywhere in western Norway.

Sola Bay is the last place in Vanuatu you can clear out before heading north towards the Solomon Islands, which is exactly what we're planning to do. Clear out and head north. Quick and easy.
Alas, as with most of our undertakings it takes us a bit longer than planned to clear out. We have to pay a fee which someone had forgotten to collect when we cleared in and we were just too happy not to pay. This means we have to wait for the bank to open the next day. We are happy the place has got a bank at all. As we're waiting we take up someones offer to do a tour of the kava-bars after dark. Kava is the slightly narcotic custom drink that substitutes alcohol through most of the Pacific. We enjoy the company of Francis who owns one of the local Kava-bars. He guides us through the protocol of enjoying kava the proper, down-key way that the local men (no women!) do, and when our funds run out he is more than happy to buy us a couple of more rounds. "You are guests, and should be treated as such!"

Next morning we awake at the boat, at anchor, ten points! The bank is (of course) not as straightforward as we were hoping, and again it takes more time than planned. As Egil is sorting out our economics I'm loitering around and run into Captain Ian, an Australian expat who runs a bar&restaurant&accomodation kind of thing. We chat a bit and he invites us to his place for tea.
When Egil has sorted out the money and cleared us out, we meet up and I inform him of our tea-invitation. Having cleared out we are supposed to leave the country immediately without delay, but a simple chat to the immigration-guy explaining that we'd like to enjoy a cuppa before we leave sorts that out. Who said bureaucracy needs to be difficult?

At Captain Ian's beautiful place (really the place to be should you find yourself in need of accomodation in Vanua Lava Island) we enjoy our tea and the company of the Captain, his wife and his two guests, the retired professor and his wife, the librarian. We end up spending several interesting hours talking about travels, photography, arts, sports and our respective countries. In the end Captain Ian even gives us lunch. Some of the best food we've had so far, and even free of charge!

Back at the boat decide to leave just after dark. Just as we're getting ready to get ready to start getting ready to think about getting ready to make the boat ready to leave, we are approached by the customs officer and the police guy in a motor boat. "Maybe we actually should have left after we cleared out" we have time to think before they open up by saying they need our help.
Happy that we are not about to be charged as the illegal immigrants we in fact are, we are happy to oblige once we hear what it's about. Apparantly some Solomon Islanders in a boat sailing in the Solomons have got into a storm and broken their rudder. Thus they have lost both steering and track of where they were and ended up in Mota Lava, Vanuatu, some 200 miles from where they were planning to go. Furthermore they are navigating by the traditional Polynesian way of travelling by the stars at night and the sun at day. This is a centuries old art and scaringly precise at times. However its one weakness is that it is based on dead reckoning and the navigator needs to know where he is at all times and know the area to be able to navigate. Now these 8 Solomon Islanders are a long way from home with a strong desire not to be, and with no way of finding their way home unless we are willing to guide them.

It doesn't take us long to decide to go along with the request. After all we are anyway going to the Solomons, and the grateful islanders will probably give us a few bananas to show some gratitude. The funny thing is how we, a couple of scruffy norwegians who, until a few months ago, had never sailed before, are able to help these people that grow up sailing and navigating, just because we have a GPS. We humbly accept the mission and decide to raise anchor at three in the morning in order to hook up with the guys at first light.

The next morning we find the Solomon Islanders and their craft. One of them, a handsome young guy, comes over in a dinghy. He introduces himself in excellent english as Joseph. Joseph explains that their craft is a 13 metre fibreglass catamaran; "Lapita Anuta" inspired by traditional design and donated to his island by the BBC after they made a documentary there. The BBC wanted the boat to continue in keeping the traditional navigation alive. When we bring out the laptop so that Joseph can point out his island and our destination he points at some open ocean some 180 miles east of us. When we zoom in on the map about half a dozen times we can see that yes, indeed there is an island there: Anuta. We measure it to be about one kilometre across. It is so small that the map doesn't show any real features, it just shows it as a small brown pentagram 50 miles from the nearest island (which is uninhabited, the closest inhabited island is some 70 miles away).

We didn't realize that the Solomons had any islands to the east of us at all. We were planning on going west, and going east means going against the tradewinds all the way, but what the hell, we're going with it anyway.

Joseph explains that if we are in a rush we can just lead them a bit over half-way, to Tikopia, and they'll find the way from there. Between Tikopia and the flat, 1 sq.km Anuta is 70 miles (130 km) of open ocean! Having no doubt about their ability to find their way home from there we still accept Josephs offer of taking them all the way home and visiting their little island paradise.
But before the seven guys and one girl can leave Vanuatu they must attend a farewell party at the village where they've landed. We jump on the chance to catch up on some sleep while the rest of them are ashore. After some hours they return, along with the entire village. OK, we get the idea of a farewell party now.

We decide to paddle over in our dinghy to take some photo's of the craziness. As I'm boarding the dinghy my camera slips from my pocket and into the water. I make no attempt of diving after it, it is after all waterproof and I can see the bottom and it doesn't appear to be more than five metres deep. Easy freediving. After donning a diving mask and jumping into the water I discover to my dismay that the water is super-clear. Thus the bottom is more like 25 metres below instead of 5. I never find out exactly how deep down the camera is since i'm pushing myself to hard to look at the depth-gauge the last few metres. After some heavy freediving with sinuses and eardrums screaming for mercy we're finally able to retrieve the camera which is supposed to be waterproof to 10 metres. It has worked (almost) flawlessly ever since!

After an amazing display of farewelling we're off. It is funny to actually sail together with someone for a change. "Lapita" is quite a bit faster than us and they reduce sails in order to stay behind us. Sometimes they are veering off to the horizon-line just to spend some time. At night they stay behind and to our right. It is difficult to judge how far away they are from their little deck light. Sometimes we will think they are a bit off, only to see the light colours of their hull drift eerily into sight some 20 metres away, as if appearing out of nowhere.

The third night, just before sunset, we catch sight of Anuta. Lapita immediately zooms off, and we do our best to keep up. When we're finally there we realise there's no protected anchorages, and our maps for the area are close to useless. We decide to spend the night hove to and drifting slowly away. In the morning we raise the sails again and sail back up to the Island. Shortly after our arrival We're boarded by Joseph in the dinghy. This time he's brought with him his adoptive father, Joseph, and Lazarus. They show us the best anchorage on the island. Incidentally the best anchorage on the island is our worst anchorage so far on the trip! It is over 20 metres deep (we only have 45 metres of anchor-chain), full of coral that the chain snags on, making a gnawing sound at night which constantly reminds us of the sorry, rusty state of our chain and we get swell from two separate directions making our nights feel like sleeping on a rollercoaster. ...But seriously, it IS the best anchorage on the island! No wonder this place is hardly ever visited by yachts. Too bad, for the beauty and hospitality that we experienced were way beyond anything we could expect! We found ourselves a little piece in the middle of the Pacific.

The Blue Hole, Vanuatu

We'd heard talk of "The Blue Hole". It was supposed to be a bit up a river and be blue, that's all we knew, that's all we were expecting. We were by no means disappointed

Million Dollar Point, Vanuatu

The Americans used Santo in Vanuatu as a forward operating base during the war. They lined up personnell and equipment for the fighting on nearby Guadalcanal in the Solomons. When they considered themselves finished with the warring in '45 they offered the Vanuatu government to buy a bunch of gear cheap since it would cost them more to ship home than leave behind. The Vanuatans didn't, assuming the yanks would probably leave it all anyway.

They did. Sort of. Not feeling in the mood for charity the americans drove, hauled, and threw it all off a point right by the city of Luganville, thus creating the M$.

OK ESN:0-7402902

Fra de seilende:
Egil og Øyvind seiler avgårde og har det bra!
Egil and Øyvind are sailing happily along and are OK
ESN:0-7402902
Latitude:-9.4244
Longitude:159.9558
Nearest Location:not known
Distance:not known
Time:07/07/2009 19:17:57 (GMT)
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=-9.4244,159.9558&ll=-9.4244,159.9558&ie=UTF8&z=12&om=1