I drink on arrival, it is tradition. Whenever I arrive in a new country the first activity I cross off my list is to try the local delicacy. This usually involves me dropping by the nearest bar shortly after checking into my hostel. A glass of culture to sample whilst I read over my travel notes and think "what the hell am I doing here?".
I don’t normally research what the local drink is until I arrive, I like the surprise. However, I found out what I was going to drink in Vanuatu well before I arrived. During my research into Vanuatu, I frequently came across a drink known as "kava". A simple beverage made from water and the mashed root of the kava (Piper methysticum) plant, a staple crop native to the hot tropical south pacific.
The consumption of this drink seemed mandatory in Vanuatu, judging by the corresponding emails I had with my Vanuatu hosts. “We will drink kava together when you arrive" they each said after I confirmed my booking with them. Further reading informed me that kava was an old drink, prepared and consumed by the people of the South Pacific before the arrival of modern machinery. Traditional kava was prepared by young men who chewed the kava roots in their mouths and then spat out the soggy pulp onto a cloth which was strained and diluted with water. Today kava is mostly produced by metal teeth of machines, although oral chewing is still considered the “traditional method”.
I wondered which method of kava production they used where I was going.
Cup i
Freddie, my host on Tanna, led me through the jungle to a clearing in the centre of the local village. It was a dark cloud covered night on Tanna, the dense jungle a black silhouette against a darker purple sky. Tanna was one of the smaller and more remote islands of Vanuatu, home to an active volcano and a new local religion who worshiped an American G.I. called "John Frum". I had come to Tanna to experience both; I am fascinated by the forces of nature and culture. Despite my excitement of being here, I was finding it hard to settle into Tanna. Possibly because the neighbour of my accommodation was an active volcano that was in a steady state of eruption. Maybe a cup of kava would ease my troubled mind.
We arrived at the village centre under torch light to find a group of young boys sitting around a bucket of murky fluid. They looked exhausted, like they had been chewing roots all afternoon. Freddie filled two half coconut husks and offered one to me. I gathered this brown murky fluid was the infamous kava. They chewed this? I asked Freddie, glancing over at the exhausted boys. Yes, the traditional way replied Freddie in his usual relaxed manner. Oral mastication, they make kava the traditional way here in Tanna. I was about to drink something that had been in many other people's mouths. I looked at the husk in my hands and reconciled myself to consume its contents. As I brought the husk of murky brown fluid to my lips I tried not to think about how much of the drink was human saliva. The kava tasted like dirty water with a strange bitter aftertaste, like drinking a puddle with a small amount of mouthwash. I felt a bit queasy, but I steadied my stomach for fear of offending Freddie, or the tired young boys.
We had a few more rounds of kava before returning to Freddie's accommodation. Between rounds Freddie told me how he started his guest house business 10 years ago and that Cyclone Pam (2015) came and destroyed everything he had built. “This year we are back to before the storm arrived” he said with a smile. As I was the only guest staying in Freddie’s accommodation that week, he put me in his tree house which he built on a tall tree that overlooked the shores of the dried lava plain that covered a large area of the island. Mount Yasur was still erupting in the near distance, its dark orange glow dancing against the menacing mushroom cloud that lingered above. The rounds of kava made me very sleepy. This was a strange island I thought to myself as a nodded off into a kava induced sleep.
cup ii
I had come to Luganville to dive the SS President Coolidge, known locally as “the president”. In 1942 this large luxury liner turned military ship was attempting to dock at Luganville when it struck a friendly mine and slowly sank in the shallow harbour waters. The wreck is now a popular diving spot due to its large size and accessibility, most large wrecks settle in waters too deep for recreational diving.
Before I could swim through the murky oak and seaweed cladded hallways I had to endure another type of murky fluid, kava. Charly, my Luganville host informed me that we would drink kava together later tonight. “We do kava tonight, a welcome drink” he said with a smile on his face whilst he led me to my room. I am not sure if I am ready for more chewed root backwash, I thought to myself. The air was clearer that night in Luganville compared to the desperately claustrophobic humidity of Tanna. I left my small guesthouse and met Charly on the driveway of his family home. Charly was tall and very charismatic, he said he held a position in the Vanuatu government and I very much believed him. On the side he helped run a guesthouse with his wife. He produced a clear plastic bottle filled with the familiar dark muddy fluid that was kava. It looked even more unappetising in the plastic bottle, like Charly had just emptied the contents of his car radiator into the bottle.
“Has this been chewed?” I asked.
“No” Charly laughed. “We don't do that here”.
This helped settle my stomach as I took the plastic cup of kava offered to me. The kava was easier to drink knowing this time it wasn't filled with spit, but it strangely tasted harsher. Maybe those young boys were better at chewing roots than the machine, of perhaps it was the saliva that soften the harshness. I didn't want to dwell on this thought.
Charly and I drank most of the bottle that night as we chatted. I was beginning to think this kava drink wasn’t so bad.
cup iii
We arrived at the small wooden shack positioned between the dusty road and sandy beach. It was a perfect sunset evening on Pentecost Island. We had come to this island to witness the incredible and rather insane land diving festival, known locally as the Nagol. This spring ritual, unique to this small island, is performed by men who leap from tall wooden towers and fall towards the ground with only a pair of long vines wrapped tightly around their ankles to stop their fall. This ritual inspired the creation of the bungee jump.
After a day of lugging around heavy camera equipment in the sweltering heat up steep hills to capture priceless photos of the Nagol, I was for once looking forward to drinking some kava that evening. A young guy wearing a flowery shirt was stood inside a wooden shack, a large plastic bottle filled with kava beside him on the counter. This is the closest thing I have had to visiting a bar here in Vanuatu and this brought a sense of normality to me.
As a group of Nagol tourists, we drained husks together until the pacific sun had set, clanging the husks to cheers and talking about the rare spectacle we had been fortunate enough to witness that day.
By this point I was beginning to feel like a kava veteran, and I was starting to enjoy the puddle water. It wasn’t the strange bitter flavour that I had grew fond of, or the strange numb feeling that followed the third husk, but rather the time toasting with fellow drinkers, whether they were local Vanuatu hosts, or fellow travellers. We could always chat, exchange stories and connect over a cup of kava.
