sv Watermelon's 1995 Christmas letter.

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DECEMBER 5, 1995
Several years ago Peter found a wonderful map of the world, about four feet wide, three feet high, which we have mounted on a bulkhead in the saloon of Yacht WATERMELON. Pacific-centered, our travels over the past nine and a half years are noted on it in a thin red line, and I studied it in the evenings, thinking of all the places I'd like to visit - sometimes to Peter's dismay, as an inch on the map is a thousand miles. Our route is a rather zig-zag line, relatively progressive, heading on around the world until this year, when we made a small loop, retracing our steps a bit, though again done in our own contrary fashion.

We spent the 1995 cyclone season in the Solomon islands, the center of so many terrible battles against the Japanese in World War II. The islands are still riddled with relics from the war, including a battery of Japanese cannons still standing where they were placed over 50 years ago. Bush walking is an experience, coming upon tons of abandoned equipment in the most unlikely places. Even now the islanders are still picking up bullets and dog-tags from those days.

In the Solomons, being an American is a distinct advantage. In a culture with a strong oral history tradition, we benefited from the good will the islanders hold towards Americans as a result of their war experiences. Quoting from the Lonely Planet Guide to the Solomons, "[the islanders] served as labourers and orderlies at the huge US supply base at Honiara [Guadalcanal]. The Americans treated them as equals, shared food with them and gave them presents - something their colonial masters had never done. Not surprisingly, islanders noticed the difference." We're sure those American GIs didn't realize just how important a gift of food was in the Solomon's culture, but nothing could have made a more favorable impression. And that cultural emphasis on a gift of food remains today.

Nothing is free in the Solomons. Each gift, however small, places an obligation on the recipient that must be repaid, quite similar to the Polynesian culture. It's the reason there is no tipping in the South Pacific islands - a tip is a gift that the recipient cannot repay, placing a burden on him. It was a difficult lesson for us to learn, but we were able to turn this into a rather enjoyable game. My balloons, which provide me with such pleasure to give, could have been a problem here in the Solomons, so we had to think of things the children could trade for them. We got a lot of limes - hundreds of them, in fact - no risk that we would get scurvy, anyway. In some places we were brought seashells, much to Peter's dismay - two or three aren't so bad, but in one village with several hundred children we were seriously at risk of being sunk by the quantity of shells being brought out.

One of our fondest memories of the Solomon Islanders' graciousness and my balloon fixation was in a seldom-visited village on the island of Makira (San Cristobal). We were beating our brains out trying to work our way east against the prevailing winds on our way to Vanuatu when we decided we just had to find shelter for the night. The south coast of the island is rarely visited, nothing written about it, so with some trepidation we tiptoed into Anganiwai Harbor, just a little indentation on our large-scale chart. Villagers in two canoes met us at the end of the bay and guided us to a secure anchorage between two reef extensions that was perfectly calm and safe. The villagers, who have seen perhaps three yachts in their lifetime, were so pleased to see us. Everyone in the village wanted to come visit, and everyone brought something, including corn on the cob, papayas, bananas, and crayfish. One fellow, whose English was minimal, brought his homemade ukelele and played and sang for us. And all the children were standing around on the reef, so excited to see this strange visitor to their village. I said that I would give each child who brought us bush limes a balloon - with much laughing and chatter they ran en masse into the bush to pick "lymons" - in this case sour oranges. We're not sure who was happiest - I or the children.

Another time, we offered a fellow a ride in the 'Melon to his village on another island as we were headed there that day and it would save him waiting for a ride on the ferry, whenever that arrived. Peter told him "but you will have to do a few things: guide us through the reef from here, steer the boat, and entertain us - tell us stories about the Solomons." He took Peter very seriously, standing on the bow of the 'Melon guiding us out through the reefs, then taking over the steering from me (oh, how proudly he sat behind the wheel!). Interesting old fellow, he asked us if we'd like to hear some custom songs. "Oh, yes" we replied. And so he sang: "Pistol Packing Mama", and "When The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You". Songs he'd learned as a boy from the American GIs! It was a lovely day. Even better was the day we returned to his village.

The evening we dropped anchor, a young man came by the boat and we asked him if he know our new friend Patrick. He said yes, Patrick was his father. We had brought with us copies of the pictures we'd taken of Patrick steering the boat and asked the young man if he could bring them to Patrick and tell him we were here. The next morning Patrick came out to visit us, loaded with gifts, delighted that we had indeed returned and asked for him. He brought fruits and vegetables, and some carvings. A wooden bowl, spoon, and a naked man that is one of our proudest possessions - because Patrick carved it. We wish you could see it; it's wonderful.

The Solomon Islanders, particularly those on New Georgia Island, are noted for their carvings. Although Peter is absolutely opposed to putting any more "stuff" on the boat, some of the carvings are just too wonderful for words. One of their best carvers is a fellow named John Wayne (trulyl). We spent a lot of time in their village, visiting with the people, taking a few of them diving, organizing cookouts. Had I had my 'druthers, the boat would have been loaded down with carvings. As it was, we got just a few very small items, but each was an example of their customary art rather than the commercial, for-tourist stuff seen too often. The best part, though, was the comfortable companionship they offered to us.

We take free public education for everyone so much for granted in the United States, it's quite a surprise to learn that in the Solomon Islands all children who go to school have to pay, even when it is a "public" school (in a country where the annual per capita income is about $600, school tuition for each child is about $100 per year). Many male children, though few female children, go to school through grade 6, but to continue their education after the age of twelve the children must take exams and apply to the few secondary schools scattered around the islands. They're boarding schools because the children go wherever they're accepted, not necessarily to the school on their own island (if there is one on the island). As a result, on some islands such as Santa Isabel, many of the children don't go on to secondary school because the children are afraid to go to another island. It must be tough for a twelve-year old, who has possibly never seen more than two or three people from outside their small village, to travel to another island and live with strangers, most of whom don't even speak his language, for ten months of the year. These schools are demanding. In addition to their school work, the children must grow their own food, harvest and cook it themselves, do their own laundry, housecleaning, maintain the school grounds and do the maintenance work on the school as well.

The schools that we visited were immaculate. Old buildings, some of which are simply large palm thatch huts, but everything was neat, clean, lovely well-tended gardens, flowers everywhere. The Peace Corps volunteer we met says that the students are a delight to teach. They are respectful, well behaved, work hard, work even when the teacher isn't there to watch them do their homework, and were all the things that teachers in the States wish their students were like. With no common national language except pidgin - "baby talk" as some people call it - secondary education is conducted in English.

In total, we spent seven months in the Solomon Islands and were very reluctant to leave. Every place we stopped was such a pleasure. Even though I came down with malaria, we look back on this past year in the Solomons and Papua New Guinea as some of the best times we have spent cruising.
Next, we had to work our way East, against the prevailing winds, to reach Vanuatu and ultimately Fiji, so regretfully we set sail for Vanuatu. The trip to Vanuatu stunk; suffice to say that we hove to for the first time in nine years of cruising, and we blew out our mainsail on the trip. But no drama, we made it okay, and Vanuatu is such a pleasure to visit. An harmonious combination of the French and English colonialism.

From what we've seen, the French are by far the best colonialists, and definitely have the best food, though to say anything complimentary about the French in this year of their nuclear testing in French Polynesia did not endear us to the rest of the South Pacific residents. Interesting that when talking with Australian friends who were in Santo, Vanuatu with us, and we mentioned that the French do a far better job in their overseas colonies and possessions than the English, Americans, or Australian/NZ'ers, they seemed to resent it. Their comment was that the French destroyed the indigenous culture and wanted everyone to be little Frenchmen. Of course, they haven't seen the French islands, just heard about them, so their attitude might change. But they have seen the cultural disaster that Australia has wreaked on Papua New Guinea, and the mess the U.S. has made of the Federated States of Micronesia, and our accounts of American Samoa, so it's the typical knee-jerk parroting of a common criticism of the French without acknowledging how awful the English, Americans and Australians have been as colonialists (we Anglophones teach only in English, want to turn these islanders into little Englishmen). ·

Again, we spent less time revisiting Vanuatu than we would have liked, because we were anxious to get to Fiji, where Peter's daughter was going to spend her honeymoon with us. The trip to Fiji, against the prevailing winds, should have been dreadful. The day before we left, I commented to a French cruiser moored alongside us that we weren't looking forward to the beat across to Fiji, but she said not to worry, westerlies should be coming in around the 15th of July, as they did every year. "Right", we thought as we set out on the 12th of the July, beating our way south to get a better angle on the wind over to Fiji. 24 hours of lumpy and uncomfortable seas and we were thinking of seeking shelter for a night to rest, but lo and behold, just as we were approaching the only sheltered harbor in the area, the winds shifted to westerlies, we turned due east and had a blessedly easy trip to Suva, Fiji. The wind turned on us, and turned foul about two hours before we dropped our anchor. We can't claim any outstanding seamanship or weather knowledge, just blind luck. But so lucky it was - a month later several yachts who tried to sail from Vanuatu to Fiji were blown back several times and had to give up the idea. And it was worth the effort. We had a lovely time with Elizabeth and her husband Soren. Wonder of wonders, we finally have a real sailor in the family, and a nice fellow to boot. An artist, he designed our new letterhead which we are delighted with.

After seeing Elizabeth and Soren off we joined the Musket Cove Port Vila Regatta again. For the week before the regatta we had too much wind, and we were expecting a lively downhill run, but just as in '93 the wind pretty much died the day of the regatta, so the fleet of 47 yachts took an orderly and dignified leave of Fiji. Vila was better than two years ago - more good food, lovely weather, nice people. Unfortunately I had hurt my back several months earlier and by the time we reached Vila from Fiji I was getting worse and so decided to fly to Australia to seek competent medical help while Peter brought the 'Melon to Australia with pick up crew.

We are fortunate to have been in Australia before and met many wonderful people, so when Peter couldn't find any crew willing to leave Vanuatu before the very end of the season, an Australian friend kindly offered to fly to Vanuatu and crew with Peter. Poor fellow, the weather was awful - and I had spoken so glowingly about our wonderful passages two years earlier from Vanuatu to Australia that this year's nasty conditions must have been a terrible disappointment to him. They even had to heave to one night - the second time in one season and in our cruising career - this has to have been the all-time worst weather year we've encountered.

The map on our bulkhead reminds us of just how big this world is, and our little red line emphasizes how little we've really seen of it. While we have our health and our enthusiasm, though, we will continue trying to see it all.