Walking the plank in Port Vila

Don't get me wrong. We are not a bunch of drunks or druggies on board, but we are sailors after a fashion, and lets face it, a sailors reputation for drink in port is well earned. In our case, I am not sure, but I would guess it's a combination of relief from making it safely to shore after one passage at sea together with the dread for heading off on the next. Drinking folly starts on board with the aforementioned cases and cases of beer put on board by Al Shultz's earlier described magnificence.
And the liquor cabinet is reasonably stocked with a tantalizing array of Scotch, Rye, Gin, Rum, Baileys, my favorite, jack Daniels Sour Mash Whiskey, and few other odd concoctions that I steer well clear of. Afterall, what self respecting sailor would ever find him or her self sipping sweet vermouth? Oh well, I guess our liquor cabinet proves that it takes all kinds to sail a boat. But the on board supply is not the problem, really, the problem lies ashore and to all the temptations there on. And
here in Vanuatu in particular, there is the legal drug of choice that adds to the mix - kava.

At this point I should explain that in our present space in Port Vila Harbour we are tied stern to the dock, in the Mediterranean style. This means we have taken the considerable trouble to back the boat up to the concrete sea wall, tie our bow to a mooring buoy out front and then tie our stern in reasonable proximity to the sea wall with our stoutest mooring lines. Because the sea goes up and down quite significantly with the tides, the span between the end of the boat is kept a safe distance from
the dock for the sake of preserving the boat's back end. The span is more than a sober man can leap, and only a little less than sober man would attempt to leap. The whole configuration is complicated by the fact of the tide. We are either leaping up for the boat, or down quite a distance for the boat.

The time honored solution for this treacherous condition is to have a "plank" span the divide. In this case, the plank is supplied by the Marina operator. I guess lumber is in short supply in Vanuatu, because, though our plank is about 16 feet long, it only 6 inches wide and less than 2 inches thick. It has a nice bounce to it too, enough to temp the rash into diving board antics, or scare the more cautious crew into a quick tiptoe down its length - as in - "the faster I go, the less time I have
to fall in". True enough, but it also depends on one's sobriety. Which is the point exactly - going to town across the plank is one thing, coming home later is another. One last point about the plank: It is an easy path for rats, cockroaches and other vermin to make their way aboard, as are the mooring lines. We could elevate the plank and put cones on the mooring lines, but we are not that organized.

I should also say a word about -- kava. Here in Vanuatu, kava is reputed to be strongest in the world, including Fiji. And there is lots of it around, all legally served up in "kava cafes". Located in darkly lit streets and lanes, the kava café's are to be found here and there in the city's neighborhoods. They are found wedged the between the simple one room houses, built from cinder block walls and tin roofs. A red or green or blue light marks the spot where the cafe shack and dark dispensary squats
out back. Out front, men hang around on the dark streets, speaking in hushed tones while draped over an assortment of old cars and trucks. All around the cafe, men slouch silently in chairs and stools. From within the café shack, a silent man or woman dispenses dose after dose of kava in unwashed bowls to an endless string of returning, silent customers. It is dispensed for the equivalent of 50 Vatu (about 50 cents) for a half bowl and 100 Vatu for a full bowl. There is a kind of hush surrounding
the cafe, except for the dreadful hawking and spitting sounds patrons make as they do their best to cope with the bitter after taste. Tonight for our visit, I was glad it was dark, because the trampled dirt under foot is a mess. It would be a dreadful place to be without shoes.

Some say drinking Kava is like drinking water from a mud puddle. I think it's far worse. But tonight the second bowl of brown liquid went down more easily than the first and the reward was a lovely body buzz. The first bowl numbed my throat and mouth, anesthetizing my taste buds. The second bowl (both were whole bowls or doubles if your are curious) pretty much did to my brain and whole body what the first did to my mouth. By the end of the second bowl I was starting to the see a whole new world
of textures and colors - "gee I never noticed how beautiful that old broken down truck is". I haven't yet taken on a third bowl but I would imagine I would look a lot more like the majority of patrons - lying about in chairs, silently, some pain in their lives temporarily forgotten, the world at bay for an hour or so.

It used to be this mild narcotic was a ceremonial drink, offered by the chief, in the round or square house to assembled villagers. Men would sit alone in a circle drinking it, because the women were forbidden to drink kava. The men were instructed to sit in silence and listen to the kava. Then, they would speak with perspective on a community issue. But today kava café's seem to be the main source for a fix of the potent drug without the benefit of ceremony, contact or context. What a shame. The
cafes seem illicit, somehow like a place for lost souls, without any signs of joy. Even the usual friendliness of these wonderful people is subdued. But kava is a lovely private experience and kind of fun for the tourist when mixed with alcohol.

But I digress. Last night, I fell into an exhausted sleep on the boat settee around 8 pm. When I awoke around 10pm, I toyed with the idea of going down the plank to find the rest of the crew. But as I lay there in the dark and deserted boat, I thought of my freshly laundered bed sheets and how wonderful they would feel without the usual crust of salt. The decision was made. I crawled into my berth and went instantly back to sleep. Around 3:30 I awoke and darted into the head, noting there was no
sign of Matt in his berth - not at all and usual thing in port. As I was coming out I heard a commotion on the dock and poked my head out the companionway just in time to watch Matt approach the plank. He was saying good night to his party companion - the skipper from the boat next door - and then he turned his attention to the considerable task of getting back on board over the plank. Like a novice pilot he lined up his approach to the plank, but was off on his alignment. He tipped to the left
and fell off the plank, making a missed approach, but mercifully, he fell only onto the dock, having only made the first few feet of the plank. Unhurt and un-phased he made a second attempt, this time on his bum, his legs straddling the plank and his hands humping him up the plank and few inches at a time. That's the thing about Matt, he has an egoless way of getting the job done - there would be no tipsy bravado in a walk up the plank in his unstable state. Instead, he crabbed his way up the plank
mumbling something about "I am nasty old cockroach and I'm climbing onto your boat".
And so it goes in Port Vila as we wind down our short stay here. It has been heaps of fun, far too much beer and kava but we must move on if we are to cover the distance to Darwin before cyclone season draws too near. We will leave behind the cold shore side beer, the kava and Matt will undoubtedly leave behind some broken hearts. Now that we have all the crew safely aboard, tomorrow we will toss off our plank and set sail for the north on our first leg to Darwin.
Wish us god's speed!
C. Cresswell