Stunning Savo

After about ten weeks in confined to an area no further than 30 minutes from the base at which I work, I was given permission to go away overnight. This was really exciting because although Honiara is quite exotic and interesting, its also filthy and noisy and fairly crowded. We decided to go to the island of Savo. An active volcano, Savo sits just 14km out from Honiara in Iron Bottom sound. Though close by, it was exactly the change we were looking for. No roads, no cars, no noise.

We were picked up first thing in the morning by a betel nut chewing local who drove us out to the western end of Guadalcanal, oposite Savo. From here two young guys took us by the ubiquitous outboard motor boat across the sound to the island. The Western end of Guadalcanal is where the mountains come right down tothe sea so the view back as we motored out was very impressive. Almost immediately the sea changed from a vivid turqoise to an inky blue as the sea floor plunged to a depth of 800m, shallow by Solomons standards where much of the seabed is at 5000m.

Cape Esperance, Western Guadalcanal

Preparing to go - Savo in the background

On the way across we were treated to one of natures true oddities, flying fish. I thought this was an exagerated name for fish that jumped out of the water, not so. Those little bad boys really fly! They're only about 15cm long and as you speed along at about 40km/h they leap a short distance out of the water and keep up with the boat, flying along with their little fins for at least 10 seconds before plunging back down. They're also almost impossible to photograph.

Savo is roughly round, about 5km across and comprises hundreds of monumentallt steep ridges and valleys all pointed towards the middle. Our destination was Sunset Lodge, nestled at the base of one of these hills. The "resort" is owned by Sir Alan Kemakeza, one of the Country's previous Prime Ministers who, in typical Solomons fashion, is having a short stay at Rove Prison for embezelment. It has an open leaf house for dining and 20 rooms set just behaind up the hill. As we were the only guests we chose an upstairs room overlooking the sea.

After putting our stuff in our room and soaking in the absolute serenity we got back in the boat to go around to the southern side of the island for a guided walk to the source of a thermal stream. On our way we went past a natural breeding ground for dolphins. As we motored around tens, if not hundreds of dolphins began leaping out of the water and following alongside the boat. They're also impossible to photograph.

Though active, the volcano hasn't erupted since the late 1800's (when it killed most of the inhabitants). It does, however, emit a constant stream of hot water and sulphurous gas. We walked inland from the beach up a dry riverbed which quickly became a gully completely enclosed by jungle. After a short while the stream, which soaks into the bed before it reaches the sea, became evident. Even here, some kilometers from its source it was luke warm. The walk got steeper and steeper and the gully narrower until we were climbing rather than walking. All the while the stream got hotter until I couldn't dip my fingers in it without it stinging (though of course I continued to do so regularly out of interest). By now the stream was steaming, which in 100 percent humidity is no mean feat. We sweated like we have never sweated before.

As we approached the top of the walk all vegetation disapeared in the gully, replaced by yellowy white sulphurous sand. This added another element of difficulty and interest because the ground was now so hot you couldn't touch it either for any length of time. Infact the local bury food in the earth here for a brief time to cook it. Vents spued revolting gas into the air and puddles of water bubbled. I'm sure the humidity had reached at least 120% (no, really!). It was like walking on the moon. A very hot, steep, stinky moon.

In the afternoon we wandered through the Sunset Lodge's neighbouring village. It was an idillic little community set just back from the shore. Almost all the houses were traditional leaf houses. The only industry appeared to be copra drying, fishing and sitting around. unfortunately, as is the case with many villages, a number of the houses were empty as people found it necessary to go to Honiara to find work. People we spoke to were really looking forward to christmas when everyone would return and the village would be whole again. Pigs, dogs and

Drying copra

children ran wild through the village. The children's playground (other than the beach) was a giant banyan tree in which they played a three dimensional version of hide and seek. It was possibly the largest tree I've ever seen.

The giant banyan tree with Rachael at its base

Several of the villagers work at the Sunset Lodge and as they all seem to have several children there was a constant little tribe of kids playing on the beach. They ran up and down and splashed and frolicked for every daylight hour without cease. It was a great floor show. We noticed after a while that, despite the use of sticks and consatnt jumping off rocks, in all that time not one of them got hurt and none of them bickered or fought for a moment. Regularly the older boys would take it in turns to come down to the beach and entertain them with canoe rides. Older children play a really central role in looking after their younger siblings in a way we seem to have forgotten. Children at play - today's toy a piece of foam ripped into pieces for everyone

In the evening we watched the sunset and it became obvious where Sir Alan got the Lodge's name.

On our second day we spent quite a bit of time lazing around and reading. We did, however go for a paddle in a dugout canoe out over the coral just infront of the Lodge. We also paddled out further to some men from the village who were diving for fish. It was quite amazing. One man (and his son) would sit in a canoe while a couple of others free-dived down with home made spear guns. They must have been diving to at least 10 meters and staying down for over 2 minutes. Their canoe had the most colurful array of fish and giant clams I've ever seen.


All too soon it was time to get back in the boat and head back to Guadalcanal. I had been thinking that if we were to go on holiday in the Pacific again we would probably go to somewher like Fiji in preference to the Solomons. Tourism is still fairly embryonic here and franky, Honiara is not the greatest advertisement for the country. However, having now got out and seen a little bit of the real Solomons, and with Virgin Blue starting cheap flights next month I would seriously reconsider.

Moving again

Yesterday we moved out of our flat at the King Solomon Hotel. In an effort to secure more rooms, Aspen Medical gave up the two flats in favour of more hotel rooms. At first we were a bit worried about what this would mean, but once again we appear to have fallen on our feet.

The King Sol is at the back of the nearest Honiara gets to "down town", built up a precipitous slope into the hills. So steep is the hill that a cable car takes you up to the hotel rooms. The flat we were in was at the bottom of the hill. It had the advantage of being near the pool, but was stuck out the back of the hotel complex where there was no view and little in the way of access to the beautiful trade winds that blow at this time of year. Our new (two bedroom!) rooms are right at the top of the hotel complex and so have a fantastic view over Iron Bottom Sound to Savo island and the Ngella (Florida)group of islands. The trade winds up here blow across our balcony regularly. The balcony is Rachael's new favourite place in all of Honiara.

Another advantage of our new rooms is the layout. Without being too graphic, when its this humid you drink A LOT of water and when you drink that much you end up needing to get up in the night, sometimes several times. Our old flat was the downstairs one of two, however in a piece of Solomons architectural genius its actually a two storey flat. Up a long staircase on the first floor of the flat, somehow nestled in amongst the upstairs flat, is the toilet! This means nocturnal visits to the loo involve a long, dark, toe stubbing climb. Now Jenny, my sister in England will be thinking I'm a total sook because she lives in a two storey house, as do about a billion other poms, but I am not accustomed to what amounted to a small mountaneering expedition just to relieve myself. Now we simply walk across a corridor, bliss!

Our old flat is (mostly) the downstairs one pictured.

The interior of our old flat. I swear it wasn't this dark when I took it. The reason the curtains are closed is beacuse, in Solomons fashion, the staff often take their breaks on our verandah, reading our morning paper on our chairs. At first I thought they didn't know there was anyone in the flat so I went out and said hi to jst let them know we were in there. They just said hi back. The other day our front porch was used to strip and repair a washing machine. When it rains the verandah becomes clogged with wet dogs from the vacant lot next door. All in all we keep the curtains closed quite a lot.

Our veiw from the old flat (and even then olny if you go around the side and kick the wet dogs off the verandah) of the back of some shops, looking down Mud alley (I kid you not) towards the main road.

Ok this is getting weird. This photo should illustrate the abundant coconut trees and bright red flowered "christmas trees" but to me it looks all black. You can see iron bottom sound and the Ngella islands. Our balcony is about 15 meters above the ground. Its really really steep.

Again, if the computer had reproduced this photo correctly you would be looking across the hills behind Honiara from our front door to the Parliament house (the odd conical thing through the trees)

The modest kitchen in our new room. We love it. The old flat's kitchen was in a room built under the toilet. The bench was under the stairs which meant if you were concentrating on chopping onions and turned to the left you might accidentally wedge your head against the bench.

The view from our kitchen to the living room bit of the same room. Judging by Rachael's expression she has just come in from the balcony.

War Stuff

As I've mentioned several times you can't move on Guadalcanal without bumping into, digging up or being sold war stuff. Having read about the battles here it does seemonly logical. The battle for occupation went on for 6 months at the cost of about 50,000 lives. After that the US used the island as an air base. In addition another 2,000,000 (yes two million) troops passed through here between 1943-5 to practice landings for assaults on other islands heading towards Japan. Here are some of the relics we've seen on our travels. Part of what I think was a Japanese radio. If anyone knows what this says I'd love to know.

Every village has a trestle table covered with war relics which, for a small price you can look at and for a slightly larger price you can buy. Here Christian (surgeon) and myself show appropriate solemnity with US helmets and a mortar. I later discovered the most dangerous ordnance to stuff around with are mortars - way to go army reservist Christian!

A Sherman tank, actually brought to the island just after the battle for target practice (would not cardboard cutouts sufficed?)

A couple of Amtraks, or amphibious tractors, or LVT1's (Landing Vehicle Tracked- for the ultra war geeks, you know who you are). These are two of about 99 just parked around a beach out of town. They were used in the initial landings and then afterwards for invasion practices. When the British took over administartion of the islands after the war they thought they could make good use of them, so the Americans sabotaged the engines. Allies?

Even schools have war museums. This is the best one at the Betikama Seventh Day Adventist school just outside Honiara. The next few pictures are from the school's museum. I know for certain members of my family will not sleep until they have identified this large radial aircraft engine.

A P39 Airacobra. The engine was mounted behind the pilot with a large angry drive shaft running between his tiny petrified legs. Apologies for the darkness of the pictures they are darker than when they were taken.

They're called Jerry cans because the Germans invented them (but you knew that).

And here's the answer to the radial engine question. Correct it was a Wright Cyclone.

Not your average war relic. This is Bruno. As a 14 year old boy in 1942 Bruno was told by the Japanese he had volunteered to help build their runway (which is why the Americans wanted the island, and is now the International airport). The Japanese came and got him from his village every day for work and even paid him a small amount of money he had no use for. One day his friend told him he had seen a huge armada of American ships coming. Bruno decided not to go to work that day and consequently is alive today to toothlessly recount his story. With us is F15 fighter pilot John who kindly invited us on the private war sites tour he bought.

Solomon Islanders are not taught anything in school about their war history. Consequently all they know about the wreckage scattered everywhere is that it can be sold for a profit, and even that has only started in the last 20 years. One enterprising local man in the 70's thoguht the relics should be preserved and so got on his tractor and dragged everything he could find into a paddock and started the Vilu open air war museum. Much of it was ruined in the tensions but the following photos are a small smaple of what remains. I can't remember what this plane is, perhaps a Douglas SBD "Dauntless" divebomber.

A Vought Corsair. The story goes this bad boy was on the other side of town so it was dragged behind the tractor down the main street of Honiara.

A P38 Lightning that lived under the sea for 30 years.

John sitting in the P38 just as he realised how many barnacles grow on seat during 30 years of submersion.

Me in a Grumman F4F Wildcat.

Rachael and me in what remains of a Japanese tank. I am driving.
You will have to trust me on this one. This is one end of a 1.6km long bomber runway used by B17 Flying Fortresses. We drove the length of it which was weird. you can drive through the grass and its as smooth as a freeway. Some of us wanted to get to takeoff speed, some of us said that was stupid.

This was the end of another runway. Industrious nuns couldn't see it go to waste after the war and so built a school on it. One of the most extensive paved playgrounds in the world boasting an 800m long netball court. (most of that was true)

Well that ends my little insight into odd war stuff. This was just a small sample of weird stuff to see. If you're not bored yet come and see me when we get home for many more pics.

Envy

I've read Wooden Boat magazine for most of my adult life and, like most of its readership, dreamed of sailing the worlds oceans but never got much beyond dreaming. Since arriving in the Solomons we have been eating at the Honiara Yacht club occasionally, not so much to further our yachting interests but because they have cheap meals, cheap beer and you eat right on the beach watching the amazing sunsets. It being a yacht club you do also have the opportunity to meet genuine ocean going Yachties. At times they can seem a bit intimidating with their long unkempt hair, salt bleached clothes and habit of mumbling to themselves while staring into the middle distance.

The other day we saw a yachtie with his dog outside the club filling up some jerry cans with fuel. To be honest it was the dog we saw first because he was fully twice the size of any other dog we'd seen in the Solomons (ie full sized). Solomon islanders don't like dogs at the best of times so it was a little hilarious to see them giving such an old harmless pooch a wide berth.

Back at the club later we got chatting with Gerald, from Germany, and his ancient dog Boomer. It turns out Gerald has been sailing the Pacific for the last 12 years, mostly just with Boomer. He actually wants to settle down in New Zealand for a while but because of the strict quarantine rules prohibiting Boomer's entry he told us he will just keep sailing around until old Boomer sets his final sail (or hoists his anchor, or what ever metaphor you would like for dies).

Gerald generously invited us out to look over his 46ft cutter, the Momo which we gladly accepted. It has certainly inspired us to do more than just read about sailing.

As we approached the Momo looked enormous. Once on board it seemed a lot smaller, and that was at anchor in sheltered water. I can't imagine what it must be like on boats we have seen at least 10ft shorter than this.

Boomer kindly showing us around, salivating madly all the while.

Below decks was spacious but absolutely full of, well stuff you accumulate after living in a relatively small space for 12 years. About the size of a generous caravan.

Farewell Ant

It's jokingly said that expats working in places such as the Solomons are one of three M's. Missionaries, Mercenaries or Mad (I'll let you decide, dear reader, which one I am). I hope not too many of my colleagues read this because on the whole I would have to say this seems about right, and I haven't met too many missionaries. Despite, or perhaps because of this, every now and then you meet someone with whom you click.

Last time I met and worked with an ICU nurse, Antony, with whom I had some really interesting conversations and spent some very amusing evenings. The fact that we were born six months apart may have had a little to do with this, but looking somewhat similar just made it odd. On more than one occasion we were confused for each other by locals (who are happy to admit that "all whiteys look the same to us.") Fortunately he was here again when Rachael and I returned this year and despite my bizzare roster we managed to catch up a few times again. (It was through a friend of Ant's that we were invited to the traditional dancing afternoon at the Sikianan village that I wrote about several blogs ago.)

I won't dissect Ant too much because I know he will eventually read this, but he is an interesting character. Ant has lived mostly in the Solomons for the last two or three years, and unlike most, has socialised a lot with local people who have come to be true firends. As a result he speaks pidjin like a local (don't deny it Ant) and was my inspiration for starting to learn the language, and in turn gaining a better insight into the people and their culture. Amongst other things he is also a philosopher, theologian, and occasional karaoke singer when disabled by the local delicacy Saratoga.

After a pretty good innings Ant has bravely decided, with a little help from a mildly retarded bureacracy, to leave his comfort zone in the Solomons and return to his Buddist studies in Kathmandu before moving on to the next phase of his life, possibly at the direction of his long time Buddist teachers. So without further ado Rachael and I thank you for some great times, wish you all the best in your reflection and look forward to seeing what is next for you after that.

Ant at his farewell by the locally employed contractors. I'll upload their farewell song when I work out how.

One of Ant's legacies is a Monday morning village clinic. These were originally instituted by the Australian Federal Police (AFP) about a year ago as a community outreach program. Ironically it seems that instituting the idea was the bulk of the AFP's involvement because it is volunteers and donations from Aspen Medical (the organisation for whom I'm working) that make it happen. Very early on Ant took on the responsability of organising the equipment, volunteers and much of the way in which it runs.

Initially it was aimed at a community just on the edge of town called Burns Creek. I don't pretend to fully understand the situation there but it seems to be a community of outcast Malaitans. Almost everyone in Honiara is from the neighbouring island of Malaita and despite the cessation of the ethnic tensions officially there is still limited contact between the Malaitans from Honiara and the Gwales from Guadalcanal who live in the surrounding countryside. Stuck on the edge of town are the Malaitans of Burns Creek who are not very welcome by either ethnic group. As a result this is one of the first places where violence breaks out when local tensions are high, thus the AFP's need to show some interest and involvement.

Although I had only been able to attend one clinic as a result of the previously mentioned bizzare roster I could immediately see what Ant meant about the rewards that one got by helping at these clinics. The help provided is only basic wound care and infection control, but the living conditions are so much more basic that every little bit is a bit help. There are conditions that clinicians would just never see in Australia. Simple fungal infections run unchecked until they take on monumental proportions. Wounds, which are common from every day activities, are left open and become infected very easily in fairly unsanitary conditions. I should warn you that some of the pictures that follow are a little unsettling.

When Ant left there was a bit of an underwhelming response to the question of who would take over. I must admit that mine was one of the hands that didn't go up when we were asked who would like to assume responsability, mostly beacuse I had no idea what to do. My policy as a Paramedic is I am in my element if your condition threatens to kill you in the next hour. Thankfully Ant later took me aside and gently suggested I was bloody well taking over. After a brief handover and with generous help from much more knowledgable nursing staff than myself we have now completed the first of the on-going clinics in Ant's absence. Thankyou again Ant, this getting out of your comfort zone thing really has its rewards.

The Burns Creek village clinic in action

Local Burns Creek Housing. Much of day to day life occurs under the houses in the dirt.

Nurse Colleen cleaning a wound. Very entertaining for all concerned.

Dr.George checks a case of respiratory illness.

Happy despite the scabies around the mouth.

What happens when a small fungal infection is allowed to fester, for years.

A simple cut on a foot from a fallen branch. These are very common with no shoes.

Both of us having a go at "tough" and disproving, once and for all, that we look anything alike. PS I am deliberately pushing my gut out just to match Ants. Really.