Port Vila, Vanuatu

The waterfront now and the waterfront then.  
​      Even though the walkway has been re-engineered with new railings and a surface smooth enough to drag a wheelie case, the view is the same. Iririki Island and its iconic row of resort bungalows and more often than not, a cruise ship anchored nearby.
      The colours are the same too. Lagoon blues in the morning, sunset pinks and oranges at the end of the day. 
      It's not a return to the past or a nostalgic remembering of then, I realise, but a continuum. First a tourist in 2004 at Iririki Island Resort. Then a volunteer from 2010 to 2016 living here enjoying this view on a daily basis. And now a tourist again in 2024. Twenty years on I keep walking this walkway into the future.

Getting there
We booked with Air Vanuatu but flew in a Solomon Island Airlines aircraft, small and only a quarter full. Getting to Vanuatu is not straight forward from Auckland since Air New Zealand suspended their service after Cyclone Pam in 2015. 
Where we stayed
We hotel-hopped around Port Vila from Moorings and The Melanesian to Breakas Beach Resort in Pango and Vanuatu Beachfront Apartments in Mele Bay.
Fave sunset spot
Nagotambo Nakamal (pictured above) Hannington's kava bar next to the lagoon for a shell and a Tusker.

Pilioko, 'Picasso of the Pacific'

We met Aloï Pilioko only once to talk to at his art gallery in Pango, but saw his brightly painted car around town often. It was hard to miss, an artwork in itself. So was he. Everything about him was painted, including his hair.
​      I remember he didn't say much. He seemed shy and humble, letting his appearance and his art and (when he was alive) Michoutouchkine, do the talking.
      I'm happy to see Pilioko's presence in Vila still, brighter than ever. The ubiquitous tropical mould cleaned from the mural outside the old post office, Pilioko House spruced and shiny atop the Vila Bottleshop. It's said he drank a shot of vodka every day in memory of his long-time partner. 

Michoutouchkine & Pilioko Foundation Art Gallery
I really wish we'd bought one of Pilioko's paintings. As volunteers we couldn't afford them. Instead, inspired by an architect friend who took a wildly painted Michoutouchkine shirt home and hung it on his wall as an art piece, we managed to stretch our budget to two pillowcases covered with crazy coloured cats (Pilioko had a thing about cats). I unstitched the cases, inserted dowel top and bottom, and they're a happy reminder of Port Vila wherever we hang them.  
Back Story
Obituary and Someone who actually bought a painting

Breakas, guilt-free

Breakas was our guilty secret. After a rough day at work or on a warm Sunday afternoon, we'd catch a bus down to Pango, slip into the resort and snag ourselves a beach lounger. Lime juice in hand, sunglasses on and sunhats pulled down low, we'd pretend to be tourists. Just for a while, oh-so relaxing.
​      Now we really are tourists, brazenly sipping cocktails on loungers at Breakas for all the world to see. It's long enough since we were volunteers in Vila for us not to feel out-of-place here, like we're imposters or worse: defectors. We get to actually sleep in a cutesy garden bungalow, eat tropical breakfasts on the terrace and float around in the infinity pool for so long we fear our fingers and toes will never un-shrivel. All guilt-free. If we get any more relaxed we'll slip into a coma. 

Getting there
If you're a true-blue tourist, the chances are your travel agent or Breakas will have organised an airport transfer to the resort. We came from Vila town and flagged a bus, local-style, speaking Bislama so as not to be mistaken for tourists (and over-charged accordingly). Then we morphed back into tourists, trundling our wheelie cases through to reception to be greeted with wide ni-Vanuatu smiles, shell necklaces and welcome cocktails.
Things to do
When you tire of floating on pool noodles (not sure that's possible) wander around Pango Village, along to the Surf Club or across the road to Sano's Nakamal for kava.

Malowia, a good and nice place

We tell the bus driver that we're going to stay with a woman called Janet who has a guesthouse in Paunangisu Village, and he nods. 'Come,' he says. Easy as that.
​      About an hour later and without any further instruction, we're deposited - suitcase, backpack, bags and boxes of produce from the market - on Janet's front lawn. She's waiting for us in the shade of her veranda with a big smile and her bouncy new dog called Brownie.
      Janet calls her guesthouse 'Malowia', which, in Nakanamanga, the local language of North Efate, means a good or nice place. I love the understatement of it. Tucked alongside the main house, in tropical gardens that run to the edge of the sea, I can't imagine a nicer place. Salt-air thick and heady with frangipani, Nguna Island beckoning from across Undine Bay... it's so good to be back.

Getting there
This worried me. A lot. We had too much luggage and three buses to catch. Hailing one in Port Vila is done by lifting a hand or raising an eyebrow. There are no routes or timetables, you just wait on the side of the road for one to come along. Today we're in luck. We check out of our resort at the same time as a French couple who offer to squish us and all our stuff into their tiny hire car. They drop us at Manples on their way to the airport. It's a hub for buses going north and we soon find one heading our way. We're getting good at squishing. Somehow we manage to fit onto the back seat - and we're off. Hurrah! 
​Blogs
​Getting to North Efate: Travelling like a local
Malowia Guesthouse: In our local language