Nothing can go wrong-a, Daniel WAS in Tonga

 

Today is my last full day in Tonga!  I'm packed and ready to go, with plans to see the beach one last time before my 9pm flight tomorrow evening.  It's a long trip home to Ottawa, with stopovers in Samoa, L.A., and Toronto.  While I sit here, drinking what will be one of the last hand-plucked coconuts I'll have, I figured I should write a bit of a retrospective.

After six months on a military base in Afghanistan in 2006, where I made heaps of money but saw little of the local culture, I knew that I wanted a true experience overseas in humanitarian development.  With my university debt paid, I figured the time was now.  Many organizations offered the opportunity to teach English, but I found only one that advertised an open position for History (my major).  That country was...Kiribati!  I interviewed for the position and was accepted, but just hours later I was asked if I would prefer another opening in Tonga.  Tonga I had actually heard of (in Fahrenheit 9/11's list of the "coalition of the willing"), and a quick Wikipedia search made up my mind.   I was Kingdom-bound!

Other "Europeans" (as I would be called) had settled in Tonga.  Could I?

 

Abel Tasman's landing point in Tonga.  He was the first European to visit (1643).  As curious Tongans approached his ship in canoes, Tasman (in succession) fired a gun, blew a trumpet, played the violin, then played the flute.  What fun!  He proceeded to trade pieces of iron and glass to Tongans for their pigs, fruit, and fresh water.  I'm sure he was the topic of many dinner conversations for generations before more Europeans arrived. 

In 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them (they're in Tonga), maybe you can hire... The A-Team.

Pushed out of the international spotlight by younger supersentations including the Powerpuff Girls and Bratz, Barbie re-located to Tonga where she could live out her dream as a stylist in relative anonymity.

I've lived in Tonga longer than I have in any other country (aside from Canada, obviously).  I've written about many of the experiences here, so there's no point in revisiting them.  But Tonga has been a very important part of my life for many reasons.

 
All throughout my time in University, whenever I was asked the question, "History?  Are you going to be a teacher?"  I'd always answer with a resounding "NO."  Yet to get to Tonga, I accepted a position as a teacher, and thoroughly enjoyed it.  So much so, that my only real regret in not staying for a third year is that I won't get the chance to teach my students next year.  I know I would consider teaching again, though probably not in a developed nation.  There was a lot of freedom here and a real respect for teachers, and I know I wouldn't find that in many other countries.

I learned a lot about all the things you'd expect from living in a third would country: other cultures, my own "culture" through the eyes of others, money, poverty, consumerism, fitness, religion...the list goes on.  It may be over-said by people in my situation, but I feel I learned a bit "about the things that really matter in life."  I hope my heart hasn't hardened, but I know that I'm less sensitive about some things, including shocking living conditions and the treatment of animals.  I imagine I'm much more skeptical then I once was.  I now question conventional wisdom, and am less willing to accept at face-value everything I'm told I need to have and need to do.

While adapting myself to local cuisine and the availability of foods on an island away from major trade, I made many changes to my diet.  Some foods were easy to find (pork, chicken, fish/seafood of all kinds, coconut, vegetables/fruit in season), some foods had limited availability and/or questionable quality (bread, pizza, sushi, baking ingredients), and some foods were near-impossible to find (particularly vegetables/fruit that weren't in season).  Slowly I abandoned many foods, settling for a diet that was mostly meat and plants and did not shy away from animal and coconut fat.  This was the traditional diet of Tongans, although many had since abandoned it in favour of the SAD (Standard American Diet).  I had never felt better, and saw a vast range of improvements in my health, temperament, appearance, energy, and sleep.  Eventually I stumbled across the name for my new eating habits, and completed the transition to a "primal/paleo" lifestyle (Maclean's Article, Video Link 1, Video Link 2).  Plants (vegetables, fruits, seeds and nuts) and animals (meat, fish, fowl, and eggs) now represent the entire composition of my diet, with some dairy (love yogurt and old cheese).  Gone are rice, corn, grains, refined sugar, white potatoes, and anything they're found in.  It's served me well in Tonga and is a lifestyle plan to carry on once home.

Hopefully I'll re-adjust quickly to western civilization without suffering the worst effects of "reverse culture shock."  I know that, during the month and a half that I was in New Zealand and Australia last year, I wasn't too comfortable in towns and cities, and chose to spend the majority of my time camping and driving open roads.  I don't know how my feelings will change once I return to Canada.

Travel remains high on my list of "Likes" in life.  During my time away from  home, I visited six countries, four of which were radically different from what's found in Europe/North America.  My experiences only increased my desire for more.  That feeling is something I think about when I consider "What's Next?"

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this blog, and my thanks to everyone who read it (and in particular, those who commented).  The positive experience of traveling and writing has encouraged me to do something similar in the future if (or when...) I go somewhere else.  But now, it's time for one last coconut.  Faka-Tonga!!

'Api Fo'ou...this is the name I'm proud of!

So begins our school's theme song, which I will gladly sing for you if you butter me up with copious amounts of wine.

Well, I'm coming home to Canada in three weeks. School's basically finished here, just external exams coming and little more then informal study sessions until then (which the students LOVE, because they don't have to wear their uniforms - take that conformity!). I'm just working through my "things to do before I leave Tonga" list, which is mostly eating various animal species that are illegal to eat in Canada but perfectly acceptable to consume here.

I've also got a new internet connection (long angry story) that is WAY more stable then what I used for the last year and a half. AND, I've got about a thousand photos of Tonga, thanks to the information sharing network put in place by the Patriot Act. As a result, until something really fancy happens, I figured I'd do a few photo posts.

I thought I'd start with something that I probably don't write about often enough, considering I go there and work for AT LEAST 50 minutes a day (at most, four hours): school! Some of the pictures were taken by a shutter-happy "shackle dragger" (Australian) who volunteers at the school with me.

This is from about a third into my first year in Tonga. I took my Form 6 students on a field trip to the Paepae 'o Tele'a monumental step pyramid. In true Tongan fashion, they all rode in the back of a pick-up truck. Of course it rained the whole way there and the whole way back, but they were just happy to get an afternoon off from school.

Basket weaving! Yes, it's on the curriculum, up there with other such useful classes as Communications, Art History, and Care of Magical Creatures.

Inter-College sports, where we DOMINATED on the field, though the other colleges ran circles around us in "school spirit." A boy's college made matching hats out of palm fronds, then some of them dressed up as girls and danced around like maniacs. No competition.

Proof that cyclone season is no deterrent to AFC's sports training program. the ball floats instead of rolls, and the game continues (the game being, thanks to massive Mormon influence, netball).

The yearly march downtown, for the opening of Parliament (such as it is). Our brass band lead the way. We had a week of marching practice that I knew would benefit from some intensity, but I didn't know how to say "drop and give me fifty, you maggots!" in Tongan.

Waiting for the reagent to drive by to open Parliament, the kids show how much they love to pose for the camera, with no fear that it may steal their souls.

The school's coolest girl (last year's head girl) naturally posing with the school's coolest boy (who asked me to stand in for him while he went to the toilet).

This photo was taken today! This is my Form 4 Gym class, the only intermediate class I taught in my whole time here (I'm a senior teacher). I typically joined in whatever sport I taught (including three weeks of Ultimate Frisbee!). Highlights included racing them all in a lap of the track, learning to skip double dutch (well, trying to learn), and playing about nine weeks of volleyball (can I blame Mormons for that?). It was MASSIVE fun.

Truly the highlight of my time in Tonga was the school, which is fortunate because it's the whole reason I was sent here! Teaching in Tonga is a joy, and for the students learning is a privilege, which made for a great combination.

UPDATE: Volcano video

With a new internet connection, I was finally able to upload a video I took at the mouth of Mt Yasur in Vanuatu. Video worked much better then pictures, further evidence that I could have had some good pictures if I had mastered the camera's settings.

 

https://tongadan.blogspot.com/2009/10/update-volcano-video.html

The Tonga Beard Experience

When I was in high school, as my smooth-as-a-baby's-bottom-faced friends jealously watched, I grew a beard through sheer force of will. And I never looked back.

Its been a decade since that first face fuzz, and it's suddenly occurred to me - through all the beard variations I've sported, never have I grown the full beard (the neck, face, and mustache, which some might call "the lazy man"). I blame social pressure to not look like a hobo. This style of beard requires a special combination of curiosity, patience, laziness.

But with three months left in my teaching contract in Tonga (in the South Pacific), I could think of no better time to grow a "Robinson Crusoe" before I left the island paradise. Making my location even more ideal for the experiment is the fact that there are no bearded hobos here! In fact, there are hardly any bearded men at all (or unbearded hobos, for that matter). Normally such an experiment would also require an ignorance of social conventions, or a willingness not to cave to social pressure. But I'm lucky enough to find myself in a culture that considers the beard a sign of virility and manliness. Although my cup overfloweth with these qualities already, I decided to risk the chance of overdose and grow a massive beard.

Thus on Friday 4 September, in anticipation of my return to Canada on Tuesday 1 December, I began the Tonga Dan Three Month Beard Experiment.

The blank slate

The experiment was off to a grand start. I shaved my face, to provide a fresh canvas for my hormones to do their thing on. By a week into the experiment, I had already grown what would take many "men" the full three months to accomplish. In fact, just two days after I started and announced the beard experiment, I already began to get comments and compliments.

The comments were usually "isn't your face itchy?" These comments came from women, who (hopefully) had no beard growing experience and instead bowed to the "conventional wisdom" on the subject. On this point, though, they were correct. It was like wearing itchy. I knew this stage would not last forever, though, and just focused on the rewards to get through it.

Compliments typically ran along the lines of "wow, you can grow a beard really FAST!" Now it's not quite the same as "wow, you can run really FAST!" or even "wow, you can eat really FAST!" This is a race that seemingly requires no practice, and can be run at any time (or even all the time). I like to do my hardest beard growing while asleep, but every athlete has their own particular preference.

And they were right, too. I'd probably have to shave twice a day if I ever wanted to be clean shaven. I imagine somewhere way back, there were a whole lot of hairy cavemen in my family tree. The kind who had lots of babies in Siberia thanks to their "super hairy" adaptation. In high school I just stopped fighting it and embraced it as a gift. If you have the ability to grow a ridiculously awesome beard, shouldn't you do so? To not would be like Mr. Fantastic saying "I could turn off the lights with my stretchy arm, but I think I'll just get out of bed and walk to the switch." Madness!

Two and a half weeks into the experiment, my beard was out of control. It was big, and thick, and it was still very itchy. Frankly, I looked like a hobo. And so, one day, after telling a friend that I would "never shave it off!" I shaved it off. If he knew, Mr. Fantastic would slap me with his super stretchy arm.

My Secret Volcano Lair

Alright, well that was about every major thing I did on my trip to Fiji and Vanuatu, which, because I'm so...lazy...took place about four months ago.  Which reminds me, I still haven't written about all the stuff I did in Tasmania almost a year ago!  Oh yeah, one more thing, on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu I also hiked up to the edge of an active volcano at night and starred into the monster's fiery maw.  But nobody wants to read about that...or DO THEY?

Well, here goes: Land in Vanuatu, or at least on the island of Tanna, is passed down from generation to generation.  So for many generations, some family in Tanna cursed their forefather who, when he got out of his boat, picked a piece of land with a volcano on it.  Nothing grew in the garden, the house always smelled like stink, and their swim suits melted in the river.  But then, one day in the 1774, the island's first tourists showed up and they were super excited to see a real live volcano.  Captain Cook and his crew paid their entrance fee in buttons and shiny beads, birthing the volcano tourism industry of Tanna.

Frankly I was more excited to see a cult that worshiped American DC-3s, but once I'd done that, climbing an active volcano was next on my list (right above riding a tornado).  A trip to the volcano was included in the tour package that had brought me to Tanna, and I knew that it was very accessible and very active.  I've since learned that the volcano has erupted many times per hour for at least 800 years.  I also knew about Captain Cook's visit to the volcano after reading his Journals (he claimed that the glow of the volcano, and not an internet deal, brought him to the island).  I was eager to follow his footsteps to yet another Pacific sight.

We stopped on the way there for some nice distance shots, before arriving at the ash-plain.  It was about as close as I imagine I'll get to the surface of the moon (in the future I won't have time to travel, as I'll be leading the human resistance after the robots rise up).

We parked at the base of the volcano and hiked up to see...a lot of smoke.  Basically during the day, the volcano is too smokey to get any good photos, and then at night you have to figure out how to use that Fireworks mode on the camera and I just gave up and took it all in with the camera of the eye.  The photo at the top of this entry I stole from some internet site, but the smokey pictures below are all mine!

The ground shook, the volcano was loud, and every few minutes it would throw enough liquid hot MAG-MA into the air to make you wonder how many people died doing this kind of tourism.  Loved it.

Ifira Primary/Secondary School

As part of some subconscious effort to break the mold of South Pacific tourism, I wanted to visit a school while I was in Vanuatu.  The Ni-Vanuatu were infinitely friendly, which made the desire very easy to fulfill.  A stranger I met introduced me to another stranger, who told me where I could catch a boat to a small island where I met another stranger who was the sister of the second stranger's mother's brother-in-law.  Despite the chain of unfamiliarity, every person I met treated me as if we'd been friends for years and years, and I soon found myself at Ifira Primary/Secondary School on Ifira island, about a ten-minute boat ride from the main island (Efate) in Vanuatu.

The teacher I met there said later that, as I crossed the field to the library, her students (10-11 years old in "class 5") were telling her, "a white man is coming!  a white man is coming!"  We were rare on this small island.  I quickly explained to her the chain of introductions that led me to her class, that I was a volunteer teacher in Tonga, and that I had hoped to visit a school in Vanuatu.  I was invited to join the class for the last two periods, library and maths.  At the library, the kids tried to catch my eye, then shyly showed me the books they'd chosen to take home for the weekend.

Returning to the classroom, the teacher told me that the kids were asking if I could teach them.  Maths is not my strong subject (which had caused much student giggling when I subbed a math class at my school in Tonga).  Instead, I offered to give a bit of a geography lesson by talking about Canada and Tonga.  At the end of my short lesson, the teacher asked if there were any questions.  Fifteen little hands shot up.  Was I really that bad at geography?  No, the kids were just that eager to practice or show off their English.

I answered dozens of questions, including, "What's your last name?" ("Post, like Post Office," which gets laughs no matter where in the world I am), "what's your favourite food?" (it's pizza, but to keep it interesting I tried to describe poutine), "what's your favourite sport?" (I already said I was Canadian!  Ice hockey!), "do you like rugby?" (only if it's Rugby League, having just recently learned the difference), and the ever popular without fail always asked wherever I go in the Pacific, "do you have a wife?" from a little girl who actually high-fived her friend after she asked, before all the girls burst into fits of giggling with their hands over their mouths.

Throughout the course of of the Q&A, I perpetuated such Canadian stereotypes as "endless winter," "all Canadians ski," "wearing toques," and of course, "the danger of polar bears" (which the kids knew as "white bears").  I think they were a little confused to begin with, though, because one line of questioning  focused on asking if there were kangaroos, koalas, kookaburras, or sharks, in Canada.

At the end, the kids belted out, "thank you Mr. Daniel" (having apaprently fogotten about Post Office).  I was ready for nap time, but maths was about to begin.  It was my answer to "what's your least-favourite subject?", but I said it was important to try hard at maths anyways, just to help the kids who now probably wanted to grow up to be me.

"Seek higher ground"? Ummmm, our island is flat.

I'm fine, no tsunami hit in Tonga. Businesses were closed and we were sent home from school this morning when the warning came though. Obviously there's panic here, "tsunami" is a pretty scary word in the Pacific after the 2007 tsunami in South East Asia and another in the Solomon Islands the same year.

On the radio we've heard that there were deaths from this tsunami in Samoa (our neighbour to the north) an hour or two ago. I think the tsunami that the quake generated was a "local" one, and it ashed away some villages on a Western Samoan island. We've heard some people, cars, and houses on the coast of other islands were swept out to sea.

There's concern on my island because it is supposed to be high tide right now but it's actually very low tide instead, but I imagine that's just some leftover effect and not a sign of an inbound tsunami. Pretty much all of this island is "coast, " but the tsunami was projected to reach Tonga and Fiji about 9 a.m. local time, and it's 10:45 a.m. now and believe me I am still alive!

UPDATE:  I'm still fine, though it seems a tsunami did in fact hit islands in Tonga.  Three tsunami waves were generated, hitting islands in Samoa, American Samoa, and Tonga.  The Niuas, Tonga's northern-most island group, was struck by a 4-meter high wave that killed at least ten people.

UPDATE2: My government cares!

Hello Daniel Post,

Given the recent earthquake in Samoa and the subsequent tsunami we just wish to ensure that you are safe and well?  I have taken your email address from your ROCA registration which states that you are currently in Tonga.  Please let us know if you are still there.
Sincerely,
 
Consular Officer | Agent Consulaire
NEW ZEALAND
High Commission of Canada | Haut-commissariat du Canada

Cargo Cults - The John Frum Movement

I first heard about "cargo cults" while reading Paul Theroux's Happy Isles of Oceania. Theroux had visited a "John Frum movement" village on the island of Tanna. I'd since read a bit more about this bizarre cult following, but a microserf I know encouraged me to personally check it out. And so, soon after arriving in Tonga, I was already making mental plans to visit the island of Tanna in Vanuatu.

My style of travel is a lot more laid back now then it used to be, and upon arriving in Vanuatu in July, I handed planned much of anything. I found a tourism agency who booked me a flight on a small plane to Tanna. That's "plane" in the most liberal sense; it was something that flew and could land, and they allowed me to be the co-pilot (limited seating). I spend an hour battling the constant urge to pulls leavers flip switches and press pedals.

Must not...press...pull...flip...

I had a couple days to kill before my flight to Tanna, and no idea how I was going to find a cargo cult village once I had arrived. That was when drinking kava paid off. At a kava namakal on my first night in Port Vila, I met a ni-Vanuatu who had spent time in Tanna. When I told him I was interested in visiting a cargo cult village, he gave me a note to give to the principal of a school near the resort I would be staying at ("resort" in the most liberal sense). "Please help my friend to visit a John Frum movement village in Tanna," it read, and upon arriving, finding the school, and presenting the note, I was directed to a resident of a nearby village, who arranged for a friend to drive me to meet the chief of a large John Frum village. I brought a bundle of kava roots to give as a gift, and the next morning I was on my way.


During the hour and a half trip along Tanna's only road ("road" in the most liberal sense, as that 90min was needed to cover just twenty kilometers), locals who were headed our way piled into the truck. One such local, the cousin of the driver, was Thomas. Thomas claimed that he was the man to see for any John Frum information. He said he had interviewed everyone connected to the movement, and had cut through the BS to compile the one true history of "John Frum." Thomas proceeded to enlighten me with the details:

Thomas, a young and educated John Frum follower, and leader of a unity movement to patch a divide in the cult.

Isaak, the chief of a John Frum village of about two hundred residents. Isaak told me he was born in 1939, though he may be taking theatrical license as the history of the cult centers around the events of World War II. Isaak is the leader of the splinter group Thomas is working so hard to bring in.

In 1936, a spirit appeared to a village in South East Tanna. It appeared in the form of a white man, but would later take many shapes including that of a tiger and a pussy cat. the spirit called itself "John," speaking in the language of the villages (no small feat, considering most villages in Vanuatu had their own language and there are still more then 150 languages spoken in the islands today).

Most of what John told the villages was prophesy. Tanna was one of the islands furthest from the colonial capital Port Vila from which Britain and France governed Vanuatu. But John told the people that they would learn to drive, to speak English and French, and be blessed with great material wealth. His biggest prophesy, though, and the one around which the movement would center, was that America would come and be a friend to Vanuatu.

In 1941 Japan bombed the American naval base at Pearl Harbour, and in 1942 the USA made Vanuatu its main staging ground in the South Pacific. Thousands of American soldiers passed through Vanuatu every month on their way to the battlegrounds of the Solomon Islands and New Guinea. These soldiers had a major impact on every Pacific nation they spent time in. In Kiribati, their wealth and friendliness encouraged the locals to ask the US Naval Commander who they could switch from being a British colony to being a colony of America. In Tonga, hundreds of Americans took Tongan girlfriends in exchange for cigarettes, beer, and radios. But to the people of Tanna, who traveled to Port Vila to work for the Americans, these soldiers and their unending supply of cargo represented the fulfillment of prophesy.

The Tannans returned home to their island at the end of the war, expecting their own material wealth (and driving lessons!) to come at any time. They copied what they had seen in Port Vila - they built runways in their villages for cargo planes to land, constructed radio towers out of tin cans so the Americans could contact them, and raised the flags they had seen on the Americans bases - the Stars and Stripes, and the Red Cross - to help the cargo planes find their villages.

The British and French did their best to quash the "cargo cult villages" in Tanna, because the people there ignored the government and looked to America. A Pentecostal missionary even spread a rumour that the villages were practicing Devil worship. Time passed, and the "founders" who had seen the spirit of John (one was Isaak's father) died. People learned English, French, and how to drive, but they never received the great wealth they had witnessed in American military bases.
So what are the followers doing now? Are they still waiting for the cargo planes to come? Do they expect John to return, with more prophesies? Here is where the rift formed in the movement. When I met him, Isaak explained to me that they are indeed waiting for such things. However, for that to happen, he said the people needed to abandon western ways and return to their cultural beliefs. For this reason, Isaak does not allow his villages to attend school of Christian church services, the two biggest institutions of "western influence" in Tanna. Every Friday night, Isaak's village holds their own Church service, where they sing, perform custom dances, and raise the flags of (among others) America and the US Marine Corps.

No school, and a visit from a white man in an AMERICAN Ralph Lauren shirt? Hot dog!

But Thomas claims that Isaak and other elderly John Frum followers misunderstood John's original message. John never told the people to abandon "Westernism" and embrace custom. Instead, says Thomas, John was simply speaking about change. Thomas encourages his people to go to school and to church, while looking at John Frum as a kind of John the Baptist, readying the Tannan people for the coming of the West.

Arriving in the village, I spoke with Isaak but already had a pretty good idea of the movement's history. Isaak didn't speak much English or French, but his son was fluent i n French and interpreted my confusing Canadian French. I saw the meeting hall, the flag polls, and many many kids (Isaak himself has over a dozen). When my ride returned, I wished Isaak the best, and wished I had brought a Canadian flag for them to add to the ceremony. Whoever John Frum was (some claim Frum is a corruption of "From," and John was simply introducing himself as "John from America"), I thought about all I had learned first hand about a cult I'd only read about before. As I got in the 4WD, Isaak sent his son to get something. He handed me his business card, instantly shattering everything I thought I understood about his movement.

Kava

Kava is a staple drink in Tonga. Typically, anything and everything that has Tongan men in attendance will include the drinking of kava. Being a man in Tonga, I partake by default, and have had it dozens and dozens of times in the past year and eight months. The effects are similar to alcohol, which is why, in the Pacific, beer is sometimes called "European kava." However, while it slows physical coordination, it leaves the mind clear to think. You're physically sleepy, but mentally alert. There's also an increased sense of sense of calm, sociability, and camaraderie, which helps to explain why men here break out the kava bowl at every social event.

Despite all this, I didn't feel that kava deserved more then a mention here (until now). That's because Tongan make it weak. Want to try some yourself? Mix one part dirt to twenty parts water, dissolve in a couple of those cough drops that numb your tongue, and drink a cup every ten minutes for four hours. I've had as many as fifteen shells full (that's right, actual coconut shells, cause I'm cool) yet felt only a mild effect.

Kava has always been a part of Pacific culture, but the use of kava has changed in recent times. In a large way, it's become nationalizing. I don't want to get into a whole thing here about colonization and decolonization and the reason there are so many coups in the South Pacific. The main point of all that is that people and culture vary widely island to island within the borders set by a bunch of European map makers. So many islanders today are trying to look to the things that unite them rather then divide them, and the consumption of kava is one such unifier. In Micronesia, the kava shell even appears on the state’s flag!

So in Vanuatu, kava drinking has become part of the national identity, and kava bars (called nakamal) there are more popular then alcohol bars. And in Vanuatu, kava is different. I'm not clear on if its the age of the roots, or the way it's prepared, but kava in Vanuatu is potent. Troost, one of the authors I mentioned last post, was knocked near-unconscious in Vanuatu by two shells of kava. A friend of a Japanese teacher at my college was temporarily paralyzed by the same amount. So you can appreciate it when I tell you that I had six shells.

In hindsight, five would have been enough. But despite it's weakness, Tongan kava seems to have built up my tolerance. So, after two shells and a wait of twenty minutes with no apparent effect, I was ready for more (with no risk to my wallet, since each drink cost about 50 cents Canadian). And twenty minutes was also more then enough time to make some new Ni-Vanuatu friends who were happy to learn that I was not (as I appeared) Australian. Those darn Australians! My Ni-Vanuatu friends had a much higher tolerance then I, and they had a truck, with which we went bar hopping Vanuatu-style.

Neighbourhood to neighbourhood, sometimes across the street from each other or even four to a corner like gas stations in Canada, were nakamal in Vanuatu's capital Port Vila. Each evening, when it begins to get dark, the owners light red lamps to show patrons that they're open for business. Some that we visited were actual bar-like structures with tables, tin roofs, and food for sale. Others were little more then a woman sitting in her yard mixing a plastic bucket full of kava. But somehow my new friends knew which nakamal in each neighbourhood was the best (measured by the kava's strength, I think), and when it was time to move on to another.

To prove your manhood, you're supposed to drink the entire shell in one go, not sip it like an expensive beer in a dance club. That was never a problem for me, much to the delight of the serving girls. Oh yeah, in Tonga, it's still taboo (oooo) for women to drink kava, but its slowly becoming accepted for women in Vanuatu (though I never saw any who were drinking instead of serving). I downed a third and a fourth in quick succession. but held off on my fifth until late in the evening. Finally I downed it, and was surprised to find that I was still conscious and not paralyzed. So much so that, after being dropped off at my room at the end of the night, I decided to take one more "for the road" at the nakamal across from my hostel. Big. Mistake.

Somehow, I made it back to my room, and even took a bite of some Chinese takeaway I got. I turned on the TV, and lay down for a wide-eyed hour of French television. I vaguely remember a fear-factor type show that included two "little people" as helpers, a master samurai jail keeper, and Merlin (the sorcerer of King Arthur's court). I spent six more nights in Vanuatu, but never had more then five shells of kava again!

And if you're looking to try some kava, these days it's available from Amazon.com.  This one, from Tonga, is quite potent kava of the "vanuatu" variety.  Gather some friends, a pair of pantyhose, a bucket, and you're good to go!

Vanuatu

Fiji was alright, but I went to Fiji mostly because, before coming to Tonga, everyone I had to talked to in Canada said (once we had established where Tonga was) "the Pacific? My [any family member] went to Fiji!" That and then in Tonga, most Tongans told me something to the effect of, "yeah our country is OK...but you should really go see Fiji!" So I felt like I had no choice but to check it out. But the country I was REALLY looking forward to visiting was Vanuatu. Where!? I've met British here in Tonga who had never heard of Vanuatu, and it was in THEIR empire! Some background:

Two of my favourite travel writers, Paul Theroux and J. Maaten Troost, visited Vanuatu during their time in the South Pacific. And a new favourite explorer of mine, Captain Cook, had also visited and written extensively about what were then called the "New Hebrides." After reading the accounts of these three men, I was determined to see the islands with my own eyes.

When Cook visited the New Hebrides, he wrote, "the people of this country are in general the most ugly and ill-proportioned of any I ever saw." What a jerk! But what really interested Europeans was Cook's description of the people's paganism, barbarism, and cannibalism. John Williams was the first missionary there. He had played a major role in bringing the Wesleyan faith to Polynesia, but as he stepped off his boat in the New Hebrides he was promptly clubbed and eaten. The competition was on - Cannibals 1, Christianity 0. Soon missionaries from both the English Presbyterian Church the French Catholic Church and were flooding in to the islands. They were followed by British and French settlers, who became frustrated by the lawlessness in a country that neither Britain nor France was willing to adopt as a colony. Finally, after a series of attacks and murders in the New Hebrides committed by both natives and Europeans, and an increasing German presence in the South Pacific, Britain and France agreed to jointly rule the colony. In 1906 the New Hebrides became the first and only place where these two worked together in one colony, and the result was about as awkward as you can imagine.

Ni-Vanuatu (citizens of Vanuatu) I talked with, who lived through this condominium government, said it was all extremely confusing. Instead of actually working together, the British and French competed and doubled up on everything. There were two school systems - one British and one French. Two hospitals, two police forces, two sets of laws, two courts, two postal systems! At one time, the height of flag poles was measured, to make sure the French weren't flying their flag higher then the British or vise-versa. Real confusion came when British insisted on driving on the left while the French drove on the right! I made that last one up (or did I...).

Things finally came to a head in the 1970s when the British were determined to unload the last of their colonies while the French were determined to keep all of theirs. In the end, the British convinced France to pull out of the New Hebrides and the country became independent "Vanuatu" in 1980. The British promptly disappeared, as if they had never been there, leaving a lot of Ni-Vanuatu wondering if the fight for independence had really been a good idea. While France gives some aid to the former colony, things appear much better for nearby New Caledonia which remains a part of the French empire.

Now with a history like that, I knew I'd enjoy myself. But just in case, I also planned to go to the rim of an active volcano, visit to a remote island that all but worships Americans, and take plenty of powerful yet legal narcotics (true story). How could Vanuatu be anything but awesome?

Britain and France, united only by their fear of der German Kaiser Wilhelm II!

Fiji

I know you're supposed to take time to form an educated opinion about a new country, but I was only in Fiji for a week. So, here's what I immediately noticed on my first day in its capital, Suva:

• There are lots of Indians! So many, in fact, that I considered the possibility that Suva was in fact a gateway in space and having visited Suva, I could now claim I've been to India. Sari shops, curry stands, Hindi music, and Bollywood films are everywhere. The tension between Indo-Fijians and Ethnic Fijians is palpable (and the cause of four political coups since Fiji's independence).

• There are no dogs. As I write this in Tonga, there's a dog fight going on in my back yard. In Tonga, livestock, in the form of dog, wanders the street. Hungry? Got a rock and a match? Hunger solved. But then Fiji has something Tonga doesn't: McDonald's...coincidence?

• The people aren't that friendly. But then, it's all relative. Tonga has kept true to its nickname "the Friendly Islands" ever since Captain Cook bestowed it on them in the 1770s. You'd be hard pressed to pass any Tongan on the street without exchanging some form of pleasantry. (as a bonus, I also can't pass a Tongan child who doesn't want to practice/show off his/her English). It's so much the norm that I'm in the habit of saying "hello," waving, or at least nodding my head and raising my eyebrows (Tongan custom) to every person I pass. All's well in Tonga, but in Suva that habit got me treated like an escaped mental patient.

I spent half my week in and around Suva, before heading to the opposite side of the main island and Fiji's second-biggest city, Nadi (pronounced Nan-dee). I bought some snacks for the four-hour bus ride to Nadi, wandering through an actual grocery store in a stunned daze. In Tonga, if I wanted strawberry jam, I would go to the shop that sold strawberry jam and buy the brand of jam they carried. In Suva, I was confronted by half an aisle devoted to jams of all kinds. I wasn't buying jam for the bus, but I still stared at five different brands of strawberry jam and wondered if stepping into a Superstore in Canada would put me into a coma.

And then, in the milk section, I saw something I never though I would. You see, in Tonga, every shop carries the exact same brand of ultra-heat treated ANCHOR regular milk. Many shops put up the free poster that I assume the receive when they order their millionth case of ANCHOR milk. The poster reads "ANCHOR Milk, Which Would You Choose?" With check boxes next to the flavours Chocolate, Strawberry, and Hokey Pokey (and in a cunning display of advertising genius, an additional and checked box labeled "All of them!"). This poster is made of false hope, and is a cruel tease to every Tongan child. "Regular" is the only flavour of milk sold in Tonga.

Now I already know what chocolate and strawberry taste like. But "Hokey Pokey"? Whenever I saw a poster and tried to imagine it, I imagined some flavourful mix of skipping school and playing Twister. And there, in Suva, sat juicebox sized portions of Hokey Pokey milk. I didn't even wait for the bus; I guzzled it as I left the cash register. I wish I could say it tasted like I imagined it would, but it turned out to just be caramel.

Bula bula

So much for finishing Tasmania, that's on hold now that I've arrived in Fiji! It's my first full day in Suva, coincidentally also my birthday (though none of the airport and customs officials noticed). But all I care about is that it's "town day," woo hoo!

I'm staying with a friend from Papua New Guinea at the Marist College. Ashton and I taught together last year, before he returned to Fiji to finish his training to become a priest. He invited me to stay at the college, which has been fantastic and I haven't even been here a day yet. There are about 30 seminarians here, and they're from all over the Pacific. This morning I ate breakfast and spoke French with two seminarians from Vanuatu, one from Wallis, one from New Caladonia, and a visiting priest from Africa. Thank you colonialism!

I came at just the right time - last night, being Friday, was "social night," and I was adopted by the Tongan seminarians to join them for what Tongans do best - eating, and drinking kava. And then, as I mentioned, today is "town day." The first Saturday of every month the seminarians are given $30 each to go wild in Suva. Wild with a 10:30pm curfew, that is. Now I know what you're thinking - how crazy can it get when everyone is training to be a priest? Well I'll have you know, we're going to see Transformers 2, and there's even talk of ice cream. So Fijian mothers, lock up your Fijian daughters! Fifteen minutes and seventy cents from now, the bus will be dropping us off in Suva!

Tasmania

Everything I knew about Tasmania

I knew little about Tasmania, or "Tassie" as the locals called it, before I arrived. But on arriving, the license plate slogans told me everything I needed to know. "Tasmania, Your Natural State," "Tasmania, Your Holiday Isle," "Tasmania, Discover the Possibilities," and "Tasmania, Taste the Rainbow."

Tasmania had been discovered by a Dutch explorer named, big surprise, Abel Tasman. But Tasman wasn't greedy - he had named the island "Van Diemen's Land" to honour Dutch East Indies Governor Anthony van Diemen . I was already familiar with Tasman - he was the first European to set foot on Tonga, where he traded the locals nails and shiny mirrors for all the yams and hogs his ship could hold. He named Tonga "New Amsterdam," a name that might bring Tonga more tourists today had it stuck.

Tasman thought that Van Diemen's Land was part of mainland Australia instead of a massive island. Cook thought the same thing when he visited Tasmania years later and wrote about the native people who would later be hunted down and wiped out by British colonials. But none of this was known to me when my plane landed in the provincial capital city, Hobart.


Hobart was COLD. It was around +eighteen or twenty degrees Celsius, and I was shivering. It was more conformation that, when I step out of the airport in December 2009 in Ottawa, I'll probably drop dead of hypothermia. The harbour city was small and clean, and reminded me a lot of Victoria BC. By coincidence I had arrived the weekend of a big music festival. I had the chance to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in concert, an Australian artist a friend had introduced me to a few months earlier. Nick composed the music for The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a film I really enjoyed. But the tickets cost more then I could justify, and I stuck with the free events.

After a few hours of wandering and standing, I went in search of a non-crowded pub for a Guinness and supper. In keeping with my navigation style, I was soon completely clueless as to where I was, and that's when I found Knife. Knife, also lost, was from Saudi Arabia, and probably spelled his name different from how it sounded. Ironically I ended up helping him find the homestay he was about to move in to, and I met his new roommates who assumed Knife and I were old friends. Afterward, we went for pizza, picked out gifts for his new homestay family and roommates, and then grabbed some coffee before I called it a night. All in all, a very satisfying first day down under Down Under.


(I got sidetracked with midyear exams and haven't updated this in awhile. But next week I'm taking off for a couple weeks of midyear break to the island countries of Fiji and Vanuatu. I'll try to catch up on Tasmania, which happened about 5 months ago, so I can get back to what's now).

Sydney, the last part

I knew there were more things in Australia that could kill me then anywhere else on earth, and I wanted to know what they were. But not, you know, up close and personal...unless they were dead. Sydney's Australia Museum presented me with just the opportunity I was looking for. The place was packed with dead and mounted horror, and the info to go with it. Here's what I learned:

• Twenty of the world's twenty-five most venomous snakes are located in Australia.
  
• There's a fish that looks like a rock. It's called the stone fish. It has highly venomous spines that can pierce the bottom of a flip-flop (Aussies call the "thongs"). It results in immediate paralysis, and the only treatment is CPR for as long as 24 hours to keep the body breathing and circulating blood until the poison works through the system.
  
• Wombat poo is cube-shaped. Some wombats like to pick it up and place it on rocks and logs to serve as "I pooped here" signs to other wombats.
  
• Predatory salt water crocodiles can swim 30 km/h without causing a ripple. They watch you and learn your routines before they strike.
• Australia has a predatory sea snail (that's right, a snail) that shoots (yes, shoots) little harpoons with enough venom to immobilize a human. There's no anti-venom.
• The biggest marsupial that even lived was called the "Diprotodon." These freaky two-meter tall hippo-koalas were around when the Aborigines arrived in Australia and probably made them pee their pants.

I spent a total of five days in Sydney, and armed with a public transit pass that gave me access to trains, ferries, and buses, I saw just about everything I wanted to. But the last day I was there, the temperature reached 42 degrees. I'd had enough of the heat. Greedy, I know - there were snowstorms in Canada, tropical heat in Tonga...but I wanted something in between. The daily weather report pointed me in the right direction - Tasmania!

the horror

Sydney, Part 2

In wasn't even lunch time yet, and it was HOT. The zoo was all concrete and asphalt, which didn't help. On the ferry ride back to Sydney Cove, I started to think about how nice a swim would be. The only problem was that Australia featured more things in the water that could kill you then anywhere else. That morning's paper read like the script for JAWS V: "Hammerhead sharks sighted at Bronte, Bondi, and Tamarama beaches," read one 4 Jan 08 headline. One shark was 1.8m long! They had all been chased off, but the biggest returned within a few hours. "Record level of sightings, 10,000+ in 15 months" another headline said. In the sports section was an article about a female pro surfer who was returning to the waves after losing an arm to a shark attack. A few weeks later, I read my personal favourite, the story of Syb Mundy: "Diver tells of escape after third attack in two days," was the byline, but nothing could top the headline, " 'I beat off a shark with my fists.' " The guy saved his cousin who was being thrown around "like a rag doll" by a 5-meter long "ocean monster."

For those who don't know, I have a healthy fear of sharks. In fact, I occasionally think of my life as the time between birth and when I get attacked by a shark. Healthy decisions extend that that time, which made a swim at one of Australia's beaches seem to be just about the worst decision I could make. Hot...swim...sharks...hot...swim...then the map lead me to an alternative: the Sydney Aquatic Centre. A swim in the shark-free pool from the 2000 Summer Olympics and an opportunity to see the rest of the Olympic Park sounded perfect.

On my way back to the hotel to get my suit & towel, I decided to stop at the library. Since arriving in Tonga, I had developed a little fascination with James Cook. My visit to New Zealand had doubled that interest, and I had heard that Cook's original journals were housed at Sydney's main public library. On the way in, I was greeted by another famous figure in Australia's history: Captain Matthew Flinders. His bravery, though, was nothing compared to that of his cat. " 'To Trim,' " read the iron cat's plaque, " 'the best and most illustrious of his race, the most affectionate of friends, faithful of servants and best of creatures. He made the tour of the globe, and a voyage to Australia, which he circumnavigated, and was ever the delight and pleasure of his fellow voyagers.' Written my Matthew Flinders in memory of his cat."

Cook's actual journals weren't on display...or so I was told...but a friendly librarian led me to a photocopy. The first page was an account of the journal itself, describing the proceedings of H.M. Bark Endeavour's voyage "round the world" 25 May 1768-23 Oct 1770 (Cook's first voyage), written by the ship's clerk and signed by Cook. I flipped the page with great anticipation that quickly became great disappointment. Whoever had written this - Orton, the ship's clerk, or Cook himself - had horrible handwriting! If I squinted, I could make out the large titles such as "Description of King George's Island" and "Remarkable Occurrence in the South Seas," but the actual descriptions and occurrences were indecipherable. A copy of Bligh's account of the mutiny on the bounty was also there, and was much easier on the eyes. Abel Tasman's journal presented the problem of being in Dutch. I decided I had been lucky enough to see Cook's signature and some eighteenth century handwriting, and made a mental note to find a print version later.

Cook, frowning because he can't make out his own handwriting. "New Zealand or Zeeland...? I'll just alternate between them and let history decide."

The Olympic pool was PACKED, this being summer holidays (in January!? Truly I was Down Under). Sadly, the pool where several Olympic records were set had been reduced to a children's water park. Waterslides, climbing gyms...it was Australia's Crododile Island and Hook's Lagoon. I swam, ate sushi (not at the pool), and called it a night.

P.S. - When I was trying to find a lick for Crocodile Island, I found out Warner Bros. SOLD Six Flags Darian Lake! The Superman Ride is there, but it's not the "Superman Ride" anymore! They took out the Batman Thrill Spectacular show!! Oh, cruel world.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, which is why they give girly names to cyclones

Ours was given the Chinese girl's name "Lin," and even though she was just a category two (one being pretty stormy, five being the quickest way to Oz), she was incredible.

It started Thursday afternoon, and Thursday, Friday, and Saturday were dark, rainy, and windy. But the real show started early Sunday morning. Howling winds and "walls" of water, a raw fury ripped across this tiny island. It carried on for hours until Sunday evening.

Category two cyclones, I soon learned, result in minor house damage, significant damage to signs and trees, heavy damage to some crops, and risk of power failure. We got a little of everything, along with major flooding, but no casualties. That makes a 7.9 earthquake, a volcanic eruption ten km from my house, and a cyclone, in less than a month!

I broke cyclone rule #1: Don't leave your wash on the line. But then, they were washed with the force of a cyclone, which is a power even Maytag can't capture.

Just getting started

The lagoon flooded my front yard, making for some very confused puppies

Oops

No harm done, just throw in some goldfish and say it always looked like that

There used to be a billboard here advertising Australian milk...

The school's football field. Looks like I won't be teaching my PE class tomorrow (unless I change the soccer unit to water polo)

Sydney - Part 1

The rest of the visit with my family in New Zealand was fantastic. During another week and a bit, we traveled on from Mount Doom to Wellington, across the strait to the South Island, spent a few days in Abel Tasman National Park, saw the seals in Kaikoura, and finished up with some time in Christchurch. But now that my family is back in Canada and full of stories, people are asking what I did for the rest of the break. Prepare to be regaled with weeks and weeks worth of my experiences in the Land Down Under.

After a fantastic time in New Zealand, my family had to go back to Canada (claiming to have lives outside of paradise). I was on my own again, but with another month before school started. I had no idea when I'd be back in the area, and with New Zealand crossed off my travel list, I had plans to see some of Australia as well. On the 5th of January, I landed in Sydney, New South Wales. In my opinion, Australia is known for two things things primarily: the outback and convicts. One gets shoved down your throat (Kangaroos! Ayers Rock! Bushwalking!), but the other isn't mentioned all that much in Australia itself.

After the Boston Tea Party, the British needed some other place to store their less-desirables. A companion of Captain Cook remembered how nice Botany Bay (KHAN!) in Australia had looked, and with France and Russia showing interest in the South Pacific, the British liked the idea of a permanent claim in the region. By the way, No one knows why Cook named the area New South Wales. He had originally named it "New Wales," which he corrected in his journal by adding "South." He had never personally been to any part of Wales, what did he have against the North?

Unfortunately, Cook had glimpsed Botany Bay in the very very...very short time of the year during which it appears to be a paradise. When Britain's "First Fleet" of convicts and soldiers arrived, they weren't too pleased with what they found. Thus in 1788, Arthur Phillip changed their plans, and they all settled at Sydney Cove instead.

When I got there, I wasn't sure how Sydney Harbour was any better. It was hot! I know, brr everyone is cold in Canada and I'm whining about how hot it was. But it was pushing 40 degrees, so I'm not a complete baby. Gum trees, naturally packed with oil, were just bursting into flames. It was the beginning of "forest fire season." Dragons had returned to rule the earth. It was HOT!

To begin to pay off the haircut debt I had racked up in ten months without a snip, I got another haircut to accompany the one I got in New Zealand, then I began to wander. As Lisa can attest to from the list of European cities we traveled through together, it takes me about a day to orient myself. After that, my sense of direction leads me through every street and subway junction a city can throw at me.

It's OK to be jealous about how cool I look

I wandered to the ferry junction, and saw a sign for the zoo. Now I had seen Australian animals before, but never IN Australia. Technically, this was my chance. I figured, just in case I didn't see any kangaroos, wombats, koala, or platypie (yum) later, I should stack my deck by checking out Sydney's zoo. And, now an expert in the quirks of NZ's freak animal the kiwi, I was hoping to learn what made the platypus so wierd.

The Zoo is on a hill, and you can take a bus ride to the top and then work your way through the exhibits downhill to the exit. This sounded like a brilliant idea, but after the bus dropped my off I wandered up and down staring clueless at the map trying to find the wombat house (takes me a day to directionalize, no less). At least the Taronga Zoo had it all. I entered the kangaroo pen, then immediately panicked. Evidently I had made a wrong turn and entered the "keepers area," because there were no fences separating me from the person-tall monsters. There was me, a couple feet of air, and then a lazy kangaroo. And then there was an emu approaching from the other side. But no, this was the set up, fenceless. I worked my way through, fighting a mental battle to not abuse the zoo's trust by trying to find out just how good kangaroos were at boxing/hugging.

Do the emus have large talons?

In this picture, it looks like I actually shouldn't be in here, but I swear it was allowed! No fences!!

There was everything I was looking for, plus wallabies, penguins, echidnas, and crocodiles. A very informative poster a little ways away from a seven metre crocodile (surrounded by so-clean-I-was-afraid-it-wasn't-there glass) taught me everything I needed to know about underwater death. I learned to: Check the water for crocodiles carefully - they can look like floating logs. If in doubt, do not swim or use small boats. Crocodiles can leap out of the water; to be safe, do not lean over the edge of a boat when fishing. Crocodiles learn the movements of their prey; do not return to the same spot repeatably. Life lessons, all.

I even got a little video of the platypus, the squirmiest swimmer in the animal kingdom, dazed after accidentally swimming into the oh so hot sun.

And of course all that other stuff - the usual African and Asian animals, and ice cream. Then I was back on the ferry to wander Sydney some more.