Food we need food!

It has been only three days but we are already sick of taro, sweet potatoes, rice and bananas. The promise of eggs turned out to be a single hard boiled egg each. However we are impressed that we have this, the road side honesty boxes where the locals sell surplus vegetables are all bare. One meal we had was just a boiled sweet potatoe and rice, so they must be trying to find other vegetables - bless them. When you are in a dessert all you can think about is water, we are already thinking about pizzas and alcohol.

As mentioned there are two shops in Ambrym, the other is in Craig Cove. We have been speculating on what it might sell, so instead of torches out as expected we went on a fact gathering mission.

One of the persons I bumped into yesterday was Heinrick (the German) with the mad village chief. Trying to get somewhere before I died of old age I cut the conversation a bit short so Heinrick invited us to his place later.

I had ullteriar motives for suddenly deciding on going round to his place, perhaps he knew what the other shop sold.

His place looked like a world war II bunker lots of concrete and a metal door with no handles. The place did not improve when you got inside. A parafin light dimly lit the place and the concrete theme continued. We were invited to a long wooden bench that had partly collasped at the back making it more like a bucket bench.

We did not expect to be offered anything - like us there is only water - and rain water at that to drink here (excluding Karva but I found you also need Rennies to have this). Liz was straight in there with the polite conversation "How did the school visit go?". I thought of food and drink whilst Heinrick went on about the school being the only school that taught in the village language (the language does not have a name). In fact the next village spoke a different language. On an island with just one policeman they speak five different languages. Heinrich was a proffessor in languages and is long term at the village studying it. Apparently they have four different words for carrying something and no word for 's***'. Whilst we were putting up the dish the locals said what sounded like "s***" every time they dropped a small nut into the long grass. Heinrick said this meant something else and there is no word for s***.

Liz went on to ask what the policeman got involved in. Not a lot was the gist but he did get involved with a person digging up his grandmother to practise black magic on. The locals decided to ban black magic as some funny things kept happening. Incidently they also banned canibalism in the 60's (with the choice of food here I can see why it took so long).

Heinrick was also feeling the pinch, he just had his last tin of spaghetti and parmesan cheese. This was my cue (direct approach) "what does the shop at Craig Cove sell?". What do you want asked Heinrick. Alcohol, food I replied. No alcohol - the locals react badly to it.

Using the excuse that Heinrick was working on something, we made our excuses and went back to our place. Liz said something on the lines of "if the plane out is cancelled she is going to top herself" and went to bed. I wrote this blog to the chorus of the cockerals having a c*** a doodo do off before hitting the bed.

The next morning indicated that the bed blitz seemed to have an effect, there may have been a few more bites on Liz but it was no where near as bad as the previous night. To boost moral I set off the shop to have a really good look (incidently on the way the chief invited me to a Karva drinking night with him).

The shop is the type where everything is behind the counter. I got behind the counter and had a look. Apart from peanuts I could not see anything new. However asking for tea did produce a single almost empty box of tea from under the counter (normally out of sight). "How many tea bags do you want?" said the shop keeper, they sell teabags individually!

We went for the traditional afternoon exploration, this time along the road we came to Port Vatu on. You really feel that we are so remote and a long way from home. We stopped numerous times to have a chat with the locals, whilst watching the bored youngsters playing with their machettes.

I have learnt a lot about the island from these encounters. The now cooled lava river that we passed on the way to Port Vatu (and heading to now) was formed during the last big erruption in the 1940's. A grave next to where we are staying is the resting place of the first missionary to Ambrym in the 1980's. They also tell me what it is like living next to an active volcano. The people here do not have much communication with the outside world, fifty people out of two hundred fled the island for good on a rumour that the volcanos were going to errupt. How they sit out at night watching the volcano putting on a display and the poisonous fumes that occasionally hit the villages causing the trees to go brown. Mostly the people are keen to know what it is like beyond the island. They are rivited when I show them pictures of themselves (I have not seen a mirror here) or distant lands.