|
The duty-free Rum, Vodka, Bourbon, and Baileys nestled neatly up against the flippers, snorkels and other diving equipment. With images in our minds of dark skinned natives serving paper umbrella laden drinks to us under swaying palm trees, we boarded our Air Vanuatu flight. While it panned out that there are no palm trees on Boeing 737s and there is a chronic undersupply of paper umbrellas in Vanuatu, there is a fortunate oversupply of airline beverages and the duty-free alcohol remained stowed safely away. Communication with the locals was to prove no problem. The airline magazine conveniently provided a translation of the most widely used Bislama phrases (a Pidgin English dialect). \'Basket blong titi\' (bra) became the first running gag of the trip. The airport at Vanuatu\'s capital Port Vila (built by the Japanese) is surrounded by cattle properties (owned by the Japanese) and consists of one runway and two small terminals. Your welcome to Vanuatu consists of an immigration queue that moves at what can only be described as a \'relaxed\' pace. As if to get you in the swing of things, you are forced to slow down, contemplate life and enjoy the occasional thud of stamp hitting passport. We were there merely to transfer to the domestic terminal, a \'once was concrete\' structure that perhaps doubles as a cattle shed on weekends. The island-hopping VanAir aeroplane was a good old noisy twin prop flown by Captain Bill. No magazine this time, just the local paper that featured an advertisement for a Pt Vila nursery proclaiming \'Plants at Stupid Prices\' and an article on a Tribal Chief who had just died who was famous for killing 1000 pigs in one day and building his own grave 10 years earlier. The airport at our destination, the island of Santo, was little more than a shed that no doubt gets rebuilt after each cyclone. Luke (obviously the ni-Vanuatu (people of Vanuatu) aren\'t into multisyllabic names) collected us at the airport that night. Our resort (tourists stay at resorts - there is no such thing as a backpacker) was easy to find, just follow the only road through the island\'s capital of Luganville. By night Luganville seemed to be a typically decrepit and \'relaxed\' village of Chinese owned shops and petrol stations. By day it was the same only with more light. That night we enjoyed out first local beer - Tusker Bitter, an easy drinking Australian style pilsner. The curved pig tusk is the greatest traditional symbol of wealth in Vanuatu, although it\'s hard to get more than one in your wallet. I was also to try my first Coconut Crab. More lobster than crab and eaten with more nut cracker than fingers, they get their name from the fact they are baited with coconuts and the interesting aromatic affect this diet has on their taste. By the end of our first evening we had organised our diving programme with the omnipotently named Allan Power. Allan is a legend or a wanker around those parts depending on who you talk to. What cannot be denied however is his longevity and his diving style. Allan does not wear a wetsuit, he wears Speedos. Allan first came to Santo as part of a crew to recover the propellers of the wrecked troop carrier the President SS Coolidge, a converted cruise ship, in the 1950s. 15,000 dives later Allan still waxes lyrical by reputation (according to his book) if not in person. Indeed on our first dive on the wreck his only words to us were, "What\'s his problem?" in regard\'s to my friend\'s struggle with his rebellious fins. The dive, our first in years, was to be to the Coolidge\'s 5mm cannon at the cruisy depth of 35m with all the bloodied noses, nitrogen narcosis and bends risking antics that implies. Needless to say we all struggled, not with the depth but because none of us wanted to be the first in line to follow Allan\'s Speedos. As we descended the ship\'s bow loomed ominously out of the murk towards us. We proceeded over the bow and along the promenade deck and fooled around with coral encrusted rifles, helmets and other gear that thoughtful American soldiers had left behind for our enjoyment. Checked out what remains of the guns then ascended to our decompression stops. At the final stop at 3m we discovered that Allan Power has a strangely disconcerting relationship with a fish. Boris is a 200kg groper that has established an intimate relationship with Allan and his crew. Boris hangs around the decompression stop at 3m knowing he is the boss and that you mess with him you mess with Allan. Boris gets fed at the deco stop every morning while you bob around in the usual uncoordinated non fish-like fashion. Boris is so big he has his own eco-system of parasite feeders and other hangers-on that use his bulk for privacy, protection and shadow. He makes Allan look good. Our second dive was to the medicine rooms, our first \'full penetration\'. Inside the ship, amongst much fin in the face action, we played with syringes, bottles and jars of ointments and powders, crockery, cutlery and the usual detritus associated with ships that sink. On the ascent, my friend began his reputation for running out of air and could always be found \'sucking the pony\' tank of the dive master. The second day of diving began with a mind-numbing descent to the 20mm cannon and the crows nest at 45m. Admittedly a little absurd, 5 minutes to get there, 5 minutes to look around, 5 minutes to ascend and 30 minutes at decompression stops. The depth was frightening, but with all the nitrogen/laughing gas in our blood we were invincible. At one stage I looked up to see the whole immense ship on its side, a scene reminiscent of the opening scenes of any number of science fiction films. The more advanced dive computers beeped themselves silly during the ascent but still agreed the decompression stops were a little over cautious. Oh well, more chance to play with Boris, play fin-tennis, have torch shoot-outs and wrestle, anything to relieve the boredom. That afternoon we got to fully penetrate \'The Lady\'. The Lady is a stylish statuette of Rubenesque proportions in period costume at 37m. Allan originally found her in the first class lounge and the debate as to whether or not you can see her nipples has been raging ever since. The Lady has since been moved for safety reasons, quite possibly the nipple gazing was weakening her knees and she toppled over. Our dive to The Lady began through the door where a Great American Hero died while rescuing his colleagues. The next few minutes were a mad air wasting adrenaline rush as depth, danger and adventure combined, that and the fact my torch was not working. The Lady certainly is an impressive piece of work with impressive breasts to match. My suspicion is that a politically correct soldier coloured in the nipples so as not to get his naval buddies too
Artical Related: 
world
 
1.Copenhagen Culture Shock
2.War in South America 3.Package-Holiday Hell 4.Tokyo in a Day 5.Not-so-quiet Drink in the Philip.. 6.Immersion Spanish 7.Refugee Life in Europe 8.Canoeing the Tarn Gorge 9.Typhoon in Taiwan 10.Golfing - and More - at Gleneagles 11.A Ten-Year-Old in Mali 12.Tripping Over China's Great Wall 13.Dropping a Gear to the Slow Pace.. 14.Taking France Eze-y 15.Two Years By Bike
Latest Artical
1.·½Ô²Ö§³Ð
2."Element ’UpdateProgr.. 3.ASP.NET 2.0 Disclaimer Introduct.. 4.Rockets-Mavericks Preview With T.. 5.A Cigars and Insurance 6.The new tax law 7.The thing, The play! 8.The emperor’s new cloth 9.Perfect Trade 10.Understanding organizational cul.. 11.The snow, Heavy snow piles on th.. 12.The Organic Ethnologist of Alger.. 13.The politics of protest 14.Special screenings 15.Weekend channeling |
Food | Hobbies | House | Career | Family | Lifestyle | Travel | Usa Food | Author | Animal | Adsense Tips
| 中文站
