Luc, our grand master of ceremonies and event planner, billed the Labo event as the “small festival,” and now it was time to sail to Ambrym Island for the big festival. The big festival is called “Back to My Roots,” and it is done annually near the village of Olal. Visitors are welcome (we pay), but it happens regardless — to keep the traditions alive, and as a forum for chiefs to earn their way into higher degrees of chiefdom.

Getting there was no small task. We had to beat into a very stiff wind and choppy seas the first day. Put our repaired shroud to the test. We all anchored at the Maskalyne Islands, about half way there, with the pleasant prospect of the next day’s sail being downwind.

A canoe paddled by shortly after we anchored, and we had a chat. It was a bigger canoe than I had seen before, and the first I had seen that carried a sail. The gentleman had his garden nearby, but he lived on an island a couple miles upwind. Easy getting to the garden; hard work getting home. He mentioned that he had also caught some small fish for his dinner. Given how empty our cupboards were, I asked if he had caught enough to sell some to us. He stared at me and said, “You are serious!?”

Yes, we live on a boat and have sailed nearly half way around the world, but we don’t know how to feed ourselves. We catch pelagic fish occasionally at sea, but no little reef fish. Nor do we want to try, because only the locals know which reef fish are safe to eat. It varies from one reef to the next, and eating the wrong one will make you very sick. He sold us the only two fish he had, and turned around to paddle back to the reef to catch more for himself.

Next day we had some nice sailing half way to our destination. Then the wind and current came up against us, and it was slow going. Everyone else seemed to start motoring, but we kept sailing and were feeling a little superior about it. That is, until Tahawus set all four of their upwind sails, and proceeded to rocket past us, both pointing closer to the wind and sailing faster. Okay, they are a 54 foot monohull that would be expected to outpace a 42 foot catamaran upwind, but it put us back in our place. In fact, they sailed by to leeward, tacked in front of us and crossed our bow — in effect sailing a circle around us — and then proceeded to furl their sails and motor (faster still) to the anchorage. We continued to sail a while longer, but finally started our motors, and arrived in the back of the fleet just before dark.

In the morning we all meet ashore and set out for the festival, about two miles away, with a guide. Lots of people and some little shops along the way. Everyone smiles and says hello. If you look directly at the children and say hello, you get rewarded with a beautiful smile and a wave. We leave the road and follow our guide half a mile through the bush. We are told to wait in a clearing near two carved drums; Luc says we are close to the ceremonial grounds.

It’s a long wait and we don’t know what we are waiting for, but it’s not like something else is pressing — we just hang out for a while. Then we are told we will have a traditional welcome, and six volunteers are needed. Having no idea what I am volunteering for, I join five others. Ahead nearly-naked men and women appear. The six women have flower leis, and the six representatives of the group are welcomed with them. Not a bad volunteer job, though I was surprised and disappointed later when I realized the flowers were synthetic!

Our group is told to follow the men, one of whom begins beating a drum, and we are led into a clearing that is obviously the ceremonial grounds. Many large carved drums on the periphery; some improvised benches for us; some locals on their own mats.

The men dance. The women dance. Crafts are sold. We are taken to the “yacht club” (a bar/restaurant with no link to sailing other than yachties sometimes go there) for lunch. Back to the grounds, where the men dance, the women dance, and at the end there is a “public dance” where many of us join in.

After the walk “home” it feels like a long day, but it’s not over, because it is Janet’s birthday. Janet is on Chapter Two, and she has become the “mother” of the fleet. Her husband has arranged (with help from Luc) for a traditional pig roast feast in the home of Chief Johnson of the local village, and the entire fleet is invited! This was a fabulous meal. And followed by a movie — a DVD about Vanuatu, played on the battery powered (solar charged) TV. It didn’t make it through the whole movie (we also were using lights and had recorded music earlier), but it didn’t matter. We got to see the bit where Chief Johnson was in it! To cap it off there was the orange glow of the volcano, visible from the boat in the night sky.

In the morning it is back to the festival. More people; more local food vendors; more dancing, plus demonstrations of flute playing and sand drawing. But the part that stood out was Chief Sekor going for higher rank. I expect this is all worked out prior to the festival, but it becomes part of the ceremonial event. During a portion of the dancing he, and also two lesser chiefs going for advancement, climb atop a bamboo structure in the middle of the area, where they wildly dance and shout, and the other dancers have the opportunity to hurl coconuts at them! Not many were thrown, and I got the impression the throwers were being careful to miss, but nevertheless I find this an interesting ritual that might have some useful applicability with our western leaders.

Having survived the trial by coconuts, Chief Sekor next gives gifts to the village and various families. There is a huge pig, which he is expected to publicly kill by the traditional method of bonking it on the head. There is a pile of yams. And there is cash. A man loudly announces each cash gift — how much is presented to whom. Hmm, what if our leaders earned the right to lead by gifting, and all transactions were made public…?

By the walk home I was feeling pretty “festivaled out.” But not so much that I didn’t walk back again in the evening to the Yacht Club to drink kava and have another island feast. Chief Sekor had looked pretty ferocious in his traditional role, but in a T-shirt and baseball cap he seemed to be just another guy at the bar drinking kava. While there I also met Tammy (sp?), a young lady with a very impressive resume of travel and adventure. Tammy, send me an email!

Luc assured us that the grand finale was coming the next morning, with the Rom Dance. I couldn’t get a satisfying explanation of what the Rom were, other than scary-but-good spirits, and “We do this because our ancestors did this.” We were warned not to get too close — anyone touching the Rom costume would be heavily fined (and I imagine that the traditional penalty was probably harsher). In any case, the photos tell the story. Lots of video for someday; just imagine jungle drumming in the meantime…

The event ended with another public dance, a little thank you speech by Chief Sekor (acknowledging Luc for returning after several years and bringing so many others with him), a thank you and presentation of a PBO plaque by Luc, and then the now-very-familiar walk back home.

Next morning brought the arrival of Chapter Two, Blue Wind and Maggie. Six BPO boats together — almost the entire fleet! Luc had arranged for a “festival” at the nearby village of Labo. The activities began with traditional dancing, as done in this area only. It had none of the masculine warrior spirit of the Marquesas or the sensuality of Tahiti or the grace of Tuvalu. In fact, its most distinguishing characteristic seemed to be that it was…different! Five ornately dressed/decorated men with…well, see the photos…snaking their way up from the beach, around the drummers in a field, and back from whence they came. They then did two more dances, where the only difference appeared to be the things that they carried. It did not make me want to get up and move my body, but it certainly was unique.

On to the fire-making demonstration. I had never actually seen someone start a fire without a match/lighter/spark. They did it by rubbing a hardwood stick against the inner wood of a coconut log. Something to file away for when I wash up empty-handed on an empty island. Or become a contestant on a TV “reality” show…

Next the feast. Almost all starch — taro, yams, sweet potato, mantioch, cassava — I don’t know all the variations, but there were all these and more. Some octopus, I think. No meat, and to my surprise no fish (even though we see lots of fishing going on around us). After we finished eating they showed us how some of the food was prepared. Much of it is rolled in leaves and stuffed into a length of green bamboo. The bamboo is then placed in the fire until it is charred, and then the food inside is done.

On to the tour of the village. About 150 people live there. I was once again impressed with the beauty and the cleanliness. It had falas/huts at the places with the best views, that were communal resting places. There were several water faucets, piped from a big tank up the hill. Some houses had water carried by bamboo sluices, directly from a stream. There were a few solar panels, but not many. I was told that everyone eats together in the dining hall, at least one meal per day, and sometimes three. The kids all look healthy and happy.

We followed a path up a hill, and then down to the local swimming hole. A stone dam had been built below a small waterfall to make a pool. Bob and I jumped in, along with several others.

There was a demonstration of pottery making. It seems that making pots had become a lost art, and one man was re-introducing the craft. And there was a group of women making “water music.” This is a challenge to describe. They use their hands in the water to make sounds like drumming, and by different motions they can make different sounds. It’s fun to watch and the sound is amazing. I have video, but the sound picked up by the video just isn’t the same as what you hear…

For all this we paid about $30 each, lunch included. A great value, as the village clearly spent days preparing for our visit. I have mixed feelings about the prepared presentation of the culture. It’s not that it isn’t real — it is. But it seems like it is taking the culture out of its natural context. I suppose it is like a “living museum.” Of course we would never have the opportunity to see and learn so much in one day, if it were not prepared/presented for us. And it is great that our money goes directly to the village, with no “agent” taking a cut. But I’m very glad that I got to see the village of Tisvel the other day, just as a friendly visit and not as a customer!

Leaving Tisvel we beat into the wind (with triple reefed mainsail, since we still don’t have the materials to fix our broken shroud), to Southwest Bay. Tahawus and Drina were there ahead of us. Just the three of us in a huge protected anchorage. Doina had already met with the Chiefs ashore, and arranged for a guided tour of the tidal lagoon by the village. Bob and I joined the tour.

Taking two dinghies to the beach, we met Principal Chief James. Each tribe, which I believe equates to an extended family, has a chief. A Principal Chief is elected for a four year term to oversee the entire village. Or in this case it is a collection of four neighboring villages. To visit the lagoon (or to snorkel at the reef) you must get permission from the chief. But you wouldn’t want to do it without a guide anyway, because what’s cool is not the lagoon itself, but the culture of the people living around it. We negotiated a fee for our two guides for the two dinghies. James came with us. The second guide was Chief Esrom, who many years ago became Luc’s blood brother.

Up the little tidal river we went, James sitting in the bow and pointing which way to go to avoid the shallows, and telling us about the villages and the customs. Past a field with a small heard of goats. Past a large canoe heavily loaded with firewood, paddled by two women. Past men working on building a guest house atop the steep bank, who hooted and shouted at us in fun, but I never saw them in the dense growth. Past endless mangroves at the water’s edge, with paths cut through every so often just wide enough for a canoe (with its outrigger) to get to the muddy shore, so a family can tend their garden there.

We stopped for a short walk through the bush to a watering hole, where James demonstrated that you could drip the sap of a certain vine into the water, and it would “clean the water.” That is, whatever stuff was floating on the surface would move away from the sap, leaving a clear surface for drinking. As we walked out, James told us about a custom, that if you kill someone in the bush (not clear to us if this referred to slaying an enemy or other forms of manslaughter), you place a certain leaf on your head when you are returning to the village. This announces that you have killed someone, and you are expected to go to the chief to tell the story. Dan volunteered to wear such a leaf into the village — James assured us he would explain that this was merely a demonstration.

The village was up a well made set of steps to a plain above the water. We met the local chief (later we learned that he was James’ father), and after explaining the leaf on Dan’s head we were properly welcomed. That is, the children gave us each a flower, and we each received a young coconut with a reed-like straw to drink the juice.

We walked through the little village and into the bush, to see a canoe being built. Before the first missionaries in 1895, canoes (and drums) were hollowed out by burning the inside wood. That approach gave way to the adze. Now more often than not the tool of choice is the chain saw — even for the inside. But our canoe builder was using an axe to strip the bark of the “blue water tree” log. The name does not refer to the distance the canoe will travel. Rather, it is what happens when you put the bark of the tree in the water. If you wait a few minutes, the water begins to turn blue. They demonstrated this for us. The blue water tree is the best wood for canoes – they will last 15 to 20 years. Canoes are also built from the “white wood tree,” but these they say last maybe 3 years. It takes a month for a man to build a canoe. Many men are capable of making a canoe, but (this said with a knowing look) only a few can make a special canoe.

Walking through the bush we saw several flying foxes. Also known as fruit bats, these are ungainly looking bats that belong in a Tolkien story, that don’t look like they should really be able to fly. A young man had a slingshot, and attempted to bring one down (which we were assured he would eat), but with no luck.

Chief James is the Principal Chief for a dozen tribes. People come to him for conflict resolution. Many disputes have to do with land rights. When this happens he has to review the history of the families involved, sometimes back many generations, to make his ruling. Asked if people always listened to him, he said, “Yes, they have to listen to me. If they didn’t I would refer them to the police!” There are higher level Chiefs, though — for the whole island of Malakula, for example — so I don’t know how the appeals process really works.

The land is owned by the villagers, which is not always the case in other South Pacific countries. Women can own land, but only if a family has no boys. Women move to the villages of their husbands. I imagine that this is a difficult transition, because the neighboring village is likely to speak a different language. There are over 200 local languages within Vanuatu! The village on the east side of this bay speaks a different language than the village on the west side.