The Tanna Kastom Volcano Experience

Soon the men returned from Nakamal, each with a fresh kava-induced glaze over their eyes, and we were presented with a dinner of butter greens, slow cooked manioc root, fried bananas, and tomato salad with coconut cream. Everything was delicious and the food was plentiful; the chief said we couldn’t hike the volcano until we finished anything but thankfully he let us slide as we were stuffed before the plates were cleaned. So with that we put on our sneakers and followed our guides into the jungle. The barefoot kids and teens who led the way cleared the path with machetes and their dogs bounded up the trail missing the blades by millimeters. As the foliage thinned out we turned off our headlamps and lowered our voices to avoid any detection by the tour company. Headlamps weren’t needed anyways, the sky glowed an ever brighter shade of red with each step closer to the churning mountain ahead. We emerged onto the barren ash plain, and with no sign of security guards we started our ascent, scaling straight up the loose volcanic rock. 20 minutes later we were at the crater rim, smoke billowing out of Mt. Yasur’s mouth. You couldn’t clearly see the cauldron of boiling lava below, but periodically booming explosions would sound, followed by spurts of red hot liquid flying through the depths below us. We sat, waited and watched as the performance repeated itself time and time again. This was the second time in my life that I’d seen molten lava up close there’s really nothing that compares to seeing the flowing or explosive display of liquid earth with your own eyes. I could have sat there all night, but our guides didn’t want to risk us getting sick from the presence of the sulphuric gasses. We were treated to one last explosive display which I was lucky enough to catch on video (shown below), then we started clamouring down the rocky expanse (still in the pitch black mind you) back to the ash plain below. We made our way back through the jungle and eventually met the welcome site of the hut they’d made up for us for the night, and we slept. In the morning we emerged to find breakfast waiting, and the chief filled us in on the plan for the day. We’d hike over to Port Resolution, through jungle and past other neighboring villages, down to the black sand beach, through the woods and emerge at white sands. Although slightly overcast with intermittant rain (they don’t call it a rainforest for nothing), the scenery was stunning. We all played in the waves in crystal clear waters on an empty beach. We stopped in at the chief’s cousin’s restaurant for a lunch of chicken & vegetables, some of the most delicious rice I’ve ever eaten, and “tusker OB”, the local beer that is 7.5% ABV and pretty damn good. There was then the unfortunate incident of me reaching into my bag and slicing my finger on the cover of the peanut jar I’d “responsibly” picked up to avoid littering, but with the help of a friend’s first aid kit and some patience we had it wrapped up and I held it above my head while we hiked on to control the bleeding. With scars come good stories :-p We made our way back to the village, the men had their daily Makanal session, we enjoyed dinner and packed up to spend the night in another neighboring town where we’d be guests a the weekly John Frum dance.
John Frum is the highest power of the religion followed by many cargo cults across Tanna. Story goes that in the early 1900’s a man in a western military style jacket appeared to Vanuatuans promising goods and transport if they remained true to their traditional village life (kastom) and rescinded money, western education and christianity. Once a week on Friday nights there’s a gathering where musical groups from all the area John Frum villages take turns playing songs and girls in grass skirts dance from sundown to sunrise. We were provided with grass skirts to participate, however I found the traditional “dance” of walking forward, spinning 180 degrees and walking backwards again and again a tad repetitive so I was good after a few songs. We were all pretty beat and although appreciative of the invite none of us were overly enthralled by the music so we let them continue their festivities and retreated to our hut for bed. In the morning we packed up, were again presented with breakfast (these guys take hosing seriously), and were met by the chief to pick up our taxi ride to return to the other side of the island and our boat. Problem was that the taxi wasn’t there, and we’d soon determine that the constant rain the night before had washed out the road up at the ash field. So we sat for about an hour at the base of Mt. Yasur’s persistant groans and smoky bellows as we organized a backup ride. Not the worst place to wait for a cab. A ride came, we piled in the back, and I gladly stood in the truck bed with the others for the rainy trek across undulating mounds of ash, up through the rough jungle roads, and back down to Lenekel where the sun was shining and our boat awaits. We shared our stories with Captain Clemens who had stayed behind to spend some much needed alone time “at home” with his family, and only a few hours later we raised the anchor and left the magical land of Tanna for the bustling city of Port Vila. Yasur may have been behind in our wake, but the volcano and the warmth of Philoman’s village will burn bright for a lifetime…