TRAVELLERWish you were hereAlice Galletly nips to Vanuatu for a mid-winter warm upTHREE DAYS IN Vanuatuis all I need. Just to get alittle colour back and givemy bones a break fromshivering. Yes, I’m awareit is a honeymoon destination and,no, my boyfriend will not be joiningme. Sometimes a girl just needs toget warm.As soon as I step off the planeand feel that blast of tropical air –wrapping around me like a warm,wet towel – I know this was a gooddecision. I’m surer still when I reachmy apartment, which has its ownprivate pool overlooking a lushgreen valley. I could happily spendthe entire day here, reclining on thelounger and ordering fruity cocktailsto the room, but first I’ve got apostcard to send.It’s a short walk down the hill to PortVila – the scruffy, bustling capital ofVanuatu – where I catch a water taxiacross to Hideaway Island.After buying a plastic postcard andscrawling a bad joke on it in pencil, Iwade backwards with flippered-feetinto the water. It’s the first swim inmonths, and a superior one. As theocean floor drops away, white sandbecomes a sun-speckled garden ofpastel corals, sponges and sea fans.Gaudy fish zigzag through the blue:the unwitting stars of my privatesnorkel show.At some point I spot a concretecapsule down below, with 'VanuatuPost' painted in faded blue letters.It’s usually manned by some bravesoul in a scuba suit (an odd job, ifever there was one), but today it’s justme and the fish out there. And I’mglad no one can see me because itturns out I don’t know how to duckdive.I kick and thrash and chokewater through my snorkel, but can’tget more than a few inches deep.Eventually I swim back to shore andask a kid, who did it earlier, for help.“It’s easy” she laughs, clearlydealing with an amateur. “You’ve justgot to kick your legs in the air.”There are 83 islands punctuatingthe warm waters of Vanuatu, and itis common for tourists to do a littlehopping. I meet an Australian couplewho have been gaping down thethroat of a volcano on Tanna, and aFrenchman on his way to dive thewreck of a converted luxury liner offEspiritu Santo. With just a few daysin the country, however, and no goalbeyond relaxation, I’m sticking withthe main island of Efate.The local 'buses' are the most funway to get around. These are reallyrattling shuttle vans which pickpassengers up from bus stops and,PHOTOGRAPHY: GETTY IMAGES70 AA Directions Winter 2013
TRAVELLERPHOTOGRAPHY: ALICE GALLETLYCLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: HideawayIsland, home of the world's first underwaterpost office; a pool on the way up to MeleCascades; stopping to admire the flowersin The Summit Gardens.for a few vatu, take them whereverthey’re headed. On several occasionswe take elaborate tiki tours around theisland, dropping locals off in villagesbuilt from corrugated iron sheds andthatched huts. Most Ni-Vanuatu peoplelive in simple communal villageslike this, farming pigs and chickens,growing greens in the family gardenand cooking without electricity orgas. I see billboards for iPads andcell phones around, but wonder whowould be buying them.One day I take a steep andwinding dirt road – aptly namedDevil’s Point – to visit a real-lifeGarden of Eden. Perched on agently sloping escarpment, TheSummit Gardens’ pathwaysmeander through tranquil bamboocorridors, terraces brimmingwith strange, juicy flowers, and aforest of sandalwood and vanillatrees. Throughout the walk thereare heart-stopping panoramas ofocean, which I run my camera flattrying to capture.At around five the sun sinks quicklyinto the Pacific, its brief orange glowsignalling cocktail and kava hour. Istroll along the seafront promenadeto scope out dinner options, passingwomen in long smocks playing cards,“As the ocean floordrops away, whitesand becomes a sunspeckledgarden ofpastel corals, spongesand sea fans.“canoodling couples and young menlazily tossing a rugby ball. Vila looksits prettiest at dusk.I'm nervous about dining alone,but it proves to be quite fun. I visit ahilarious Texas-style saloon – thinkElvis replicas, singing deer headsand cowboy movies – where I’mfussed over by staff in oversizedAmerican flag shirts. Unsurprisingly,they do a mean rack of ribs. Anothernight I tuck into a plate of oysters ata romantic spot on the water’s edge,and snort, giggle and guffaw my waythrough my David Sedaris book. I’dendured pitying glances from thehoneymooners on the way in, but Iswear after a while they look envious.The one experience I reallywant to share with someone is thetrip to Mele Cascades, a series ofwaterfalls tucked inside the jungle.To reach them I follow a dappled dirttrack alongside the river, trudgingdeterminedly uphill in midday heat.By the time I labour up the last stretch,I’m desperate for a swim.The falls are like something from ashampoo commercial: water plungingfrom a great height over a mossy rockface, filling terraces of clear greenpools surrounded by bush. Withinseconds I’m lying in the cool water,looking up at the trees and ponderinga riddle: if someone goes swimming ina jungle oasis, and no one is there totake a photo, did it really happen?At the end of three days the shortflight carries me back to winter, and itdoesn’t take long for my tan to fade orto forget what swimming in the warmocean felt like.But then, a reminder arrives.Slightly bent but miraculouslyunspoiled, it’s the postcard I sent myboyfriend from Hideaway.“I’m under the sea,” it says. “Fishyou were here!” And next time, I’llmake sure he is. ←Getting there:www.airvanuatu.comWhere to Stay:www.theterracesvanuatu.comIsland Tours:www.evergreenvanuatu.comwww.aadirections.co.nz 71