Elad’s blog

No, despite what you might have been lured to believe, waking up at 05:30am by the call of a rooster less than a meter from your ear is not a romantic way to begin your day. However, it is a very common one - at least in rural Vanuatu.

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(copied from notes I took on 25/9/05)

After waking up yesterday, I went with Willie to wash on the river. On the way I learnt a bit more about the lifestyle here: the family cell is very big, and “father” refers not only to one’s biological father, but also to all his brothers (an uncle is only the brother of one’s mother). By corollary, a “mother” is not only the biological mother, but all her sisters as well. You must obey all your parents, even if they’re actually smaller than you:
respecting the parents, and actually all elders, is very fundamental here.

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(Copied from notes I took on 24/9/05)

Willie, my host in the Natawa village (the name means “springwater”, although there are no springs around - it is a reminder of the family’s original location), is the same guy I met in the street in Luganville yesterday. It turns out that he’s from the family of the chief, and already started to take steps to acquire a social status: last month, in a special ceremony, he marked a pig which he intends to kill next year. The chief system here is extremely complex: the higher you get in the hierarchy, the less material assets you’re allowed to have; but in order to advance from one stage to the other you have to perform very expensive ceremonies - usually it involves killing pigs, in an amount that rises the higher you get in the hierarchy. There are also some inheritance elements involved, but I still don’t know exactly how it works.

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In spite of his good atitude, I decided to bet on Charles, the dive “chariot” guy, for the next part of my journey. I talked with him today, and indeed he was very helpful - talking with some locals and helping me arrange my plans for the next few days. In return, I invited him for kava and paid his cab back home - he was very grateful, and I’m still under the influence of the kava, so I write this post while feeling very happy and a bit dizzy.

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(Copied from notes taken on 22/9/05)

I usually consider myself a fairly good cook. I mean, I never studied it professionally and I’m not a chef or anything, but in the amateur level I’m certainly top-end, and I’m proud of it. Yesterday, when I arrived at Santo Island, it even proved useful.

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(copied from notes taken on 20/9/05)

At the dinner the day before yesterday I met a new couple: tourists from New-Zealand. After dinner, Carlson, the owner of the guesthouse, arranged a “kid coire”: 6 kids stood and sang some church-songs to anybody interested in listening, namely the NZ couple and me. It is obvious the kids are from Carlson’s family - all the business here is very familial. All the guides are Carlson’s sons or cousins; all the daughters cook; and the entrance fee to the volcanoe is collected by his brother - isn’t it cool, to be the owner of an active volcanoe?

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(This post is taken from notes dating 18/9/05)

- What is your name?
- Elad.
- Where do you come from?
-Israel. I live in the galille, in a small village near Nazareth.(The English language is so limited: desciribng my village and his in the same word is a real sin.)
- What is your religion?
- Jew.(here it starts again.)
- Who do you worship? (Tricky question. It is impossible not to worship someone in these countries).
- God.
- What god?
- The god of Abraham.(The politically correct way to say I don’t believe in Jesus)
- Is he a living god?
- Of course he is.
- Good. I know many Israelies. They all worship Budha.

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(This post is from notes taken on 17/9/05)

It took me less than an hour since landing in Vanuatu till I found myself drinking Kava at a local bar together with Len, the owner of the Lauren Guesthouse at Port-Villa.

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I am embaressed to admit, that it took me three full days to realize, that Vanuatu is the same archipelago formerly known as the New Hebrids.
This simplifies things: while I know almost nothing about Vanuatu (I only have some old stamps from there), I do know quite a few things about the New Hebrids: they are literally the middle of the so-called pacific famous “Ring of Fire”, with numerous active volcanoes both above and under the water; they stretch all the way from the equator to the tropics of capricorn; and they have a long colonial past, being ruled by both the british and the french.
The bell about the true identity of the islands rang only after I issued my visa there, at a Sydney suburb today’s morning.

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When I entered the car market, 2 days ago, there were 9 cars like mine over there. Today in the evening, there were 13. The market is practically dead, with no buyers. So I decided to do the logical thing, and not sell the car.

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