The vast majority of the press clippings I pulled on Vanuatu before I came here related to a season of Survivor that was shot here a couple of years ago. I didn’t see any of it, but it strikes me that that show must be the least interesting thing to write about this country. It is wildly odd and beautiful and--at this risk of sounding like a travel brochure--seems to bring out the best in the people who visit here. I’ve met some great tourists and expats (mostly Australian, but not exclusively).
Granted, I have restricted my trip to just one island and have focused on the world-class reef and wreck diving here*, but there is all kind of wonderful strangeness going on here and on other islands. Here are a couple of things I've come across.
-- Let’s start with kava, the local narcotic drink made from a bitter and horrible-tasting root. Drinking kava (which is also drunk in other countries, but people here swear Vanuatu kava is the best) is something of a national pastime. You get a coconut shell full of the bitter, peppery, dirty-tasting gunk for around $1, rinse your mouth out in the spittoon next to the bar and then sit outside under a hut. Your lips and mouth go numb but beyond that the reaction can be an intensely personal thing, ranging from nausea and a headache to a floating euphoria to a complete inability to use your limbs to religious visions. If you feel up to it after 20 minutes, you give it another go. Word is that kava has 14 different analgesics and anesthetics in it and has anti-bacterial, diuretic and decongestant effects. And it can get you nice and toasty.
Traditionally, the drink is made by crushing the root with a coral mortar and straining it through a leaf mesh. For another variety, people chew it and spit it out and then strain it and serve it (this is supposed to make a smoother kava). But now most places run it through a meat grinder and strain it through panty hose. I gave it a go a couple of nights ago with a mixed group including the manager of a local dive shop, some expats in the logging and coconut oil business, a handful of Australian medical school students and divers, and a globe-trotting Belgian air guitar champion. Strange experience, but its effect on me was not much unlike alcohol except with a worse taste in my mouth and a strong sensitivity to light. I may give it another try, but not when I plan to dive the next day. Not again, that is.
-- I’m spending almost all of my time on the island of Santo. Southeast of here is the long, thin, mountainous island of Pentecost, which features a ritual that made up one of the classic National Geographic specials that make people marvel at how big and weird the world is: N’gol, or land-diving. In southern Pentecost, to celebrate the local yam harvest, the men build 50-foot-tall towers of sticks and vines and tree stumps and leap off the top of them with nothing but a vine tied to their ankles. They clear the ground in front of the tower of rocks because they are going to hit it. Then the divers select their vines. If the vines are too long, the diver will break his neck on the ground below. If they are too short, and the diver will swing back into the tower and break bones. The idea is to have only the hair touch the ground when they dive to make the soil fertile for the yam harvest. Before each dive, the man yells his innermost thoughts to the crowd below and then tips off the edge. The ritual is said to have inspired A.J. Hackett to invent the bungie jump, but bungie jumping is nothing compared to this. I won’t be able to see it--I’m on the wrong island and it's the wrong time of year--but those must be some seriously great yams.
* I did a night dive on the Coolidge the other night. Kava is interesting and all, but this was the real mind-bending, consciousness-raising, utterly terrifying and exhilarating experience. It’s taken two days to wipe the dumb, quivering smile off my face.
Granted, I have restricted my trip to just one island and have focused on the world-class reef and wreck diving here*, but there is all kind of wonderful strangeness going on here and on other islands. Here are a couple of things I've come across.
-- Let’s start with kava, the local narcotic drink made from a bitter and horrible-tasting root. Drinking kava (which is also drunk in other countries, but people here swear Vanuatu kava is the best) is something of a national pastime. You get a coconut shell full of the bitter, peppery, dirty-tasting gunk for around $1, rinse your mouth out in the spittoon next to the bar and then sit outside under a hut. Your lips and mouth go numb but beyond that the reaction can be an intensely personal thing, ranging from nausea and a headache to a floating euphoria to a complete inability to use your limbs to religious visions. If you feel up to it after 20 minutes, you give it another go. Word is that kava has 14 different analgesics and anesthetics in it and has anti-bacterial, diuretic and decongestant effects. And it can get you nice and toasty.
Traditionally, the drink is made by crushing the root with a coral mortar and straining it through a leaf mesh. For another variety, people chew it and spit it out and then strain it and serve it (this is supposed to make a smoother kava). But now most places run it through a meat grinder and strain it through panty hose. I gave it a go a couple of nights ago with a mixed group including the manager of a local dive shop, some expats in the logging and coconut oil business, a handful of Australian medical school students and divers, and a globe-trotting Belgian air guitar champion. Strange experience, but its effect on me was not much unlike alcohol except with a worse taste in my mouth and a strong sensitivity to light. I may give it another try, but not when I plan to dive the next day. Not again, that is.
-- I’m spending almost all of my time on the island of Santo. Southeast of here is the long, thin, mountainous island of Pentecost, which features a ritual that made up one of the classic National Geographic specials that make people marvel at how big and weird the world is: N’gol, or land-diving. In southern Pentecost, to celebrate the local yam harvest, the men build 50-foot-tall towers of sticks and vines and tree stumps and leap off the top of them with nothing but a vine tied to their ankles. They clear the ground in front of the tower of rocks because they are going to hit it. Then the divers select their vines. If the vines are too long, the diver will break his neck on the ground below. If they are too short, and the diver will swing back into the tower and break bones. The idea is to have only the hair touch the ground when they dive to make the soil fertile for the yam harvest. Before each dive, the man yells his innermost thoughts to the crowd below and then tips off the edge. The ritual is said to have inspired A.J. Hackett to invent the bungie jump, but bungie jumping is nothing compared to this. I won’t be able to see it--I’m on the wrong island and it's the wrong time of year--but those must be some seriously great yams.
* I did a night dive on the Coolidge the other night. Kava is interesting and all, but this was the real mind-bending, consciousness-raising, utterly terrifying and exhilarating experience. It’s taken two days to wipe the dumb, quivering smile off my face.
posted by Samir S. Patel at 5:36 PM
5 Comments:
hmmm. kava sounds like bathtub gin.
It has to be drunk fresh, so I will not bring back any liquid kava. But rumor has it the dried version is not that far off the mark, so I'll see what I can do.
The image isn't that far off the mark, except that when you're drinking kava, you typically don't have enough energy to smile.
Sweet daddy I want in on this schizzle!!
Better living through chemistry.
Folino
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