No travel experience ever started well with the words “There is an issue with the immigration office today”, particularly when they are received the day before you are due to fly out to Vanuatu. But in a way it was quietly comforting, as it demonstrated that things had not changed much in the five years since Maria and I had last been there. Now I was heading up for three months to assist in filling a gap before another two-year appointment could be made. It’s a terrible job but someone has to do it and those of you who know me well know that I’m always ready to take one for the team.
What was more concerning was the text I received from Air NZ at 3am, the day I was due to leave (which for those interested in detail and context was Saturday, January 28, 2023). It started well enough with a cheery “Kia ora” but quickly turned sinister when it told me that my flight was cancelled. But did I have their App? Because if so, I could refresh it to check for updated flight details. But you’ve bloody cancelled the flight! That parrot is dead! It’s nailed to the perch. So, it’s not going to be bloody refreshed is it! They didn’t even provide an alternative mode of transport. Thanks Air NZ. You’ve left in the dead of night without even kissing me goodbye or leaving a card on the bedside table letting me know it’s not me – it’s you. You’re bloody correct there, Air NZ (or at least you would have been if you’d left a card). I’m with Kim – our relationship is ovah, O-V-A-H, ovah.
Fortunately, Pete and Leanne Blackwell were heading up to Auckland for a romantic weekend. I knew that because Pete (aka Blackie) told me. I think he had plans. Anyway, they were staying at friends’ Parnell apartment. They very kindly agreed to drop me off at the airport – and even slow down as I got out. Most would be aware that Auckland had suffered catastrophic flooding the night before and the airport had literally been under water. When I got there it was chaotic. I was issued with a snorkel and some water wings and directed to counter 53. Okay – it wasn’t that bad. No electronics were working so you had no idea what counter to go to. But all I had to do was look out for people who looked like they were from Vanuatu or going there. Apart from Ni-vans who are easy to pick out, people who live in Vanuatu have a pretty easy-going vibe to them. I located them easily enough. They also have an easy-going vibe because they have had prior dealings with Air Vanuatu so they know that even in perfect conditions, things probably aren’t going to run smoothly. Sadly, Air Vanuatu has suffered from political interference and corruption for a very long time. It has never had the type of stability required for a successful business operation. Oddly enough, I couldn’t find that in their in-flight pamphlet. Anyway, after a few hours it became apparent that we weren’t going anywhere (even though they said there would be an update). It was a night in Auckland for me.
You could imagine the look on Pete and Leanne’s faces when I turned up on their doorstep. They were speechless – I think they were just so pleased to see me. Pete said it was like having your father-in-law with you on your honeymoon. I don’t know what that means but I think he was just saying it was really special. Anyway – that’s enough of my impersonation of Dale Kerrigan in The Castle (finest movie ever made behind Pulp Fiction). We had the whole weekend together going to see the Breakers, going to the movies (although they made me watch a different one from them) and playing cards. I even got them to go to some Parnell art galleries. They couldn’t have been more thrilled and said it was a weekend neither of them would ever forget. It was my pleasure guys. It was a tearful goodbye on Sunday night before I crept out of the house at 4.45am to get a taxi to the airport. Pete said he would have taken me to the airport but he couldn’t be fucked. I know what he really meant. Good on ya mate!
The flight to Vanuatu was uneventful except for the breakfast which consisted of baked beans and what appeared to be an egg. I couldn’t tell whether it was fried or poached and, more disturbingly, it had brown stuff over it which wasn’t Worcester Sauce and which gave the distinct impression that it had been cooked inside a live chicken and then passed by that same chicken directly onto the plastic container that passed for a plate without so much as a wipe. Then I recalled the wise words of my Mum who, when faced with a concerned look coming from the intended recipients of her latest culinary concoction, would say “An African child would be pleased to see it.” So, I ate it and I’m still here. Now that I think of it, I never thought of saying to Mum “Yes – they might be pleased to see it but would they eat it?” The reason for that is that I would have been at the wrong end of a frenzied (but loving) assault with a wooden spoon. The plight of African children was a very common topic of conversation in 1960’s South Auckland. Mind you – I didn’t like my breakfast as much as the man across the aisle. He had two! That took some queer type of desperation although looking at him it appeared that two breakfasts – at least – were mandatory in his house. It wasn’t until much later in the flight that I noticed that he had a travelling companion – a diminutive woman who had probably just managed to find her way out of his armpit.
There was a nice feel to circling Port Vila and landing at Bauerfield Airport almost five years after leaving. Not surprisingly, the heat hit me in the face as soon as we got out. I emerged from Immigration to find my suitcase intact and walked out to be met by the Chief Registrar of the Court and Alana Messent from the NZHC. Very nice. It then occurred to me that I had just wandered right through customs without stopping to get me form checked. Never mind – I’ll queue up twice next time.
From there it was straight into the car and back to driving on the right. I managed to make it without causing an accident so all good. I have a relatively new diesel Kia. I was quickly reminded that driving in Vanuatu is like reading braille. There are massive potholes everywhere so if you see a car driving towards you on the same side of the road it is likely that they are just trying to avoid potholes. Or they are horrendously drunk – your call. In fact, the potholes are so bad you could be driving in – New Zealand. Come on Waka Kotahi – get your act together and give us some decent roads. Or is this some cunning plan to dissuade Kiwis from driving on the roads as part of your ridiculous “Road to Zero” campaign? I’ll tell you what – if you just let the potholes get bigger, we can eventually marry up the road accident and drowning statistics. There has to be a saving there – right? Anyway, back to Vanuatu. There are intersections where there are no signs so you have to work out the local rules. There are roundabouts the size of car tyres so it’s impossible to tell how you manoeuvre around them. But the real trap is the judder bars that are cunningly designed to blend in with the road so that you don’t realise they are there until you hit them and your false teeth shoot out onto the dashboard of your vehicle. Then there are the one way streets which have no signs at all so you only realise you are going the wrong way when it is too late. But there is hope. In a substantial project to improve road safety in Vanuatu, Waka Vanuatu have, in the last few days, cut the undergrowth engulfing a no entry sign to a road at the top of my street. In my two previous years here, I had never seen it. There are none of your girly Teslas up here. For a start there are no charging stations but more importantly any low slung car risks having the bottom of its chassis ripped off. The road to work involves a particularly tricky concrete strip of road which at one end has a precipitous drop which would have any low-slung car simply balancing on the edge like something out of a cartoon. Landcruisers, truck and SUV’s are the soup de jour.
This brings to mind the “Pango Road” incident of 2017 involving me, Maria and Paul and Deirdre McGuinness. We had been out to Paradise Cove restaurant on the Pango peninsula to celebrate their 150th wedding anniversary (“they got married as infants” as the Irish would say). Actually, it may not have been their anniversary but stay with me on this. We had had a fabulous night and we were driving back battling the usual problems of darkness, potholes, judder bars and lots of locals on the side of the narrow road wearing dark clothing (the locals – not the road). Little did we know there was one further impediment. At that time, I had cataracts in both eyes. Probably legally blind. Anyway, after having had some very helpful, constructive and always appreciated feedback from my co-driver, I stopped in the middle of an intersection where a “discussion” on the merits of my driving took place. It was hilarious (actually – it was), and Maria drove the rest of the way home where we then danced on the terrace sharing Billy Joel with the neighbors. A great time. It took me back to the time when Brian, Conor and I were in the car with Mum and Dad and Mum was also giving helpful feedback. Dad pulled the car to the footpath and told her to get out. Being incredibly stubborn she did. She then told us to get out too! Before I could claim to be a prisoner of war with rights under the Geneva Convention, we were out and walking home! And we knew that Dad wouldn’t come back and pick us up – and he didn’t. Boy, I miss those two. I would have tried to pull that one off in Vanuatu that time but I would have been the one who ended up walking (although I know that you would have walked side by side with me Paul).
I’m staying at The Terraces, an apartment complex tied in with a resort called Mangoes. It’s very nice and I have a main one-bedroom apartment and an adjoining one-bedroom apartment for visitors. It’s very nice and has a plunge pool on the deck which overlooks the lagoon whare I hope to resurrect my miserable rowing career. It also has a main pool and a gym and tennis court. Come on up – I’ve got plenty of room. The apartment is serviced three times a week, including your washing. The kitchen is adequate for my non-existent cooking skills.
I met one of the housekeepers just after I had checked into my apartment. There was a knock on the door. I answered it and there she was – Dora. She said “halo – I’m Dora” and I said “Dora – just when I thought I was out they pull me back in” doing my best Al Pacino impression. I did the hand gestures too. It was pretty good. She looked puzzled to say the least, so I said “Al Pacino – The Godfather”. She looked at me and said “Nice to meet you Mr Pacino – I am godmother too.” She’s going to be super puzzled when I do my Michael Caine impression – “Dora – get the maintenance man – someone’s blown the bloody doors off!”