Log In


Reset Password
Southwest Life Health And the West is History Community Travel

Isles of highs and lows

Vanuatu a raw – but beautiful – vacation destination

PORT VILA, Vanuatu – The hotel phone buzzed at 5:54 a.m. Roused from a deep sleep, 40-year-old Australian lawyer Veronica Riding groggily answered the phone.

“Good morning, madam,” a friendly voice at the other end said. “I gave you my torch last night. Would you mind returning it?”

Riding, her husband, two children and my family of four had arrived late the night before at the Warwick Le Lagon Resort and Spa, one of the five big hotels on Vanuatu’s main island of Efate. The flashlight was a loaner from a porter. He wanted it back. Now.

Vanuatu is one of the South Pacific’s rawest vacation destinations. In an age in which travelers expect modern conveniences and fast service, the archipelago is a throwback to an era before free Wi-Fi, legal liability waivers and Taylor Swift. Its islands offer – and this is why we went – unspoiled tropical landscapes, friendly locals and a heritage that draws upon ancient Melanesian culture, colonial France and famed British explorer James Cook.

A former French and British protectorate, Vanuatu won independence in 1980. Eighty percent of its 250,000 citizens – known as Nivans – inhabit jungle villages spread across 65 islands. A form of pidgin English, Bislama, is the national language. Most families live in thatched huts; bows and arrows are still used to hunt game (including bats known as flying foxes), and children as young as 7 wield sharp machetes against the thick foliage.

Our plan for a weeklong tropical break from our home in Australia went wrong before it began. It’s supposed to be a 3½-hour flight from Sydney to Vanuatu’s capital of Port Vila. But Vanuatu’s international airport doesn’t have an instrument-landing system, which means even some large airlines struggle to land during rainy weather, which is common. Our Virgin pilots tried three times before giving up. We then flew to Fiji, refueled and returned to Brisbane, a round trip of some eight hours.

We got to Port Vila the next evening, exhausted. The early-morning flashlight call was, though polite, unwelcome. Later, Veronica’s husband, Alex, confronted the hotel employee.

“Why did you wake me up so early?” he asked.

“But it’s daytime,” the employee replied.

“Maybe I call you really early in the morning some time?”

“Yes, no problem,” he said, smiling and offering a friendly handshake.

“He was so nice I found it impossible to be angry,” Alex said later.

After breakfast, Alex checked his young boys into the resort’s child care center. We took up positions around the main pool, palm-tree-covered island positioned photogenically in the background.

After about half an hour, a 3-year-old wandered past. The child, who was unaccompanied, looked familiar. Our friends’ son had broken out of Kids Club.

We were barely a day into our vacation and already we were wondering what was going to go wrong next. The pattern for the week was set: It was gorgeous, exotic, occasionally scary and often farcical. And fun. Mostly.

Building a destination

Le Lagon is owned by Richard Chiu, a Cambridge University-educated entrepreneur now based in Paris who operates about 55 hotels across the world. The group is named after his first hotel, the Warwick New York on 54th Street, which he bought in 1980. Chiu has invested heavily in Le Lagon since he purchased it 11 years ago. He built a 12-hole golf course and a new pool and increased the number of rooms to 143.

The hotel’s general manager, Jeremy Walsh, a New Zealander who has worked in hotels for 25 years, is part of a group of industry leaders trying to improve standards and promote Vanuatu internationally. One of the biggest challenges: teaching Nivan staff – many of whom have never been off the island where they were born – how to meet the standards of Western tourists.

“It’s a very shy culture and it can get mistaken for rudeness,” Walsh said in an interview. “They hate conflict. They will disengage and not know what to do.”

Language is another barrier. French is Vanuatu’s second language, followed by English. Walsh recommends always asking for food and drinks orders to be read back as an accuracy check. Low expectations about promptness help, too. “If you want lunch at 1, order it at 12,” he said. Note: When the food finally arrives, it’s usually fresh, healthful and pretty good.

As for the escaped 3-year-old, Walsh promised to raise it with his executive team. “That’s not something that happens or should happen at all,” he said. “Nivans are very, very good with kids.” The resort turned out to be safe enough that our kids, a bit older than the Ridings’, had free rein and loved it.

Like other South Pacific island nations, Vanuatu specializes in water sports: snorkeling, scuba diving, fishing, sailing and kayaking. It also has a live volcano.

Flying to a volcano

Mount Yasur is on the island of Tanna, 130 miles south of Port Vila. Four or five tour companies offer trips, and Le Lagon arranged a tour for us through Air Taxi Vanuatu, which describes itself as offering the “best prices” and “strictest safety standards.”

After waiting an hour in the run-down domestic departure terminal, we were shown to our aircraft. The 1969 single-engine Cessna six-seater was painted yellow in the style of a New York cab. The plane was so old it had a label on the control panel that said: “Smoking is permitted except during takeoff, landing, refueling operations and in emergencies.”

The French pilot climbed to 7,500 feet and headed south over the Pacific Ocean through drizzling rain and cloud. Only the pilot had a headset. The rest of us had to shout to communicate above the din. It was so cramped that I, sitting beside the pilot, inadvertently unlocked the door when I bumped it turning around to say something. (It did not unlatch.)

Tanna came into view after an hour, a thick mass of green jungle ringed by cliffs. The runway was paved but not level – we hit a large bump right at the touchdown point.

A couple of SUVs were waiting. We set off into the jungle. The potholed, single-lane dirt track would have done justice to a Guadalcanal supply route during World War II. Two French guys in their 20s sat on the floor of the cargo area of one of the vehicles, clinging to the edge. I don’t know how their spines survived.

After an hour and a half, the dense green opened up to a field of gray. We had hit the lava plain on Yasur’s western edge. Liberated from the jungle track, the vehicles accelerated around the base of the 1,000-foot-tall volcano, cutting fresh tracks into the virgin ash. A dry creek bed snaked through the terrain. Orange clumps of lava, long cooled and solidified, emerged from the ash, adding color to the landscape as we sped gleefully along.

Then, frustratingly, we returned to the jungle again. The walk up the steep side would have taken an hour, our guides said, so they intended to take us to an easy access point on the other side. We also passed a tollbooth run by the local tribe that owned the volcano site.

Finally, we arrived. An official Vanuatu post box and a “Think Safety!” sign marked the start of a short path to the rim. Our guide merely said: “If you hear an explosion, don’t run. Pull your camera out and look up at the sky.”

On cue, there was an explosion. Rocks were flung up into the sky and fell back into the crater. A shudder of fear raced through our group.

From the SUVs, it was a short walk to the rim. At the top, there were no restrictions on movement – no fences or even warning signs.

From the initial vantage point, it was impossible to see the bottom of the volcano’s two craters. Our “guide” sat playing with his cellphone (there was coverage) and offered no advice. A cloud of sulphur wafted over the group, choking my 9-year-old. “Am I going to die?” he asked. (He was fine.)

Frustrating, endearing

All in all, Vanuatu felt like a first date in high school. Both sides were eager, but the experience was challenged by awkwardness and inexperience.

That said, we had a good time. The children, oblivious to the adults’ frustrations, couldn’t have been happier with their freedom, both physical and economic: They set up a coconut stand and raised enough money for a nonalcoholic cocktail.

The resort wasn’t expensive. We didn’t have that horrible feeling of being overcharged. And what’s not to enjoy about sitting around a tropical pool with friends, eating tasty and plentiful meals, drinking and reading?

On our last night in Le Lagon, we got a call from the front desk at 4:30 a.m. “Your flight for Sydney leaves at 7 a.m.” the friendly voice said.

“Thanks, but we’re on the 3:20 p.m. to Brisbane,” my wife replied. We rolled over and went back to sleep. They’ll get it right someday.



Reader Comments