Out of this world

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This was published 15 years ago

Out of this world

The Solomon Islands, calm after recent civil unrest, moves at its own pace in its own time, writes James Woodford.

By James Woodford

As we dropped through thunder clouds, a jungle stretching as far as we could see in every direction filled the windows of our jet. Some of the trees looked as though they could cast shade over an entire football field. A few minutes later Honiara appeared.

Even from the air it looked like a dusty, rundown town that could have been transplanted from far-western Queensland. I was glad I would be there for only an hour.

Until recently, in spite of its beauty and proximity to Australia, the Solomons has been perceived as a no-go zone for tourists because of several years of civil strife. It is only in the past few months that the Department of Foreign Affairs lifted a travel advisory recommending that unless visitors had no choice it was a country best avoided.

Honiara, in particular, had developed a reputation as one of the Pacific's more dangerous capitals - a situation that has eased significantly since the intervention of a large contingent of Australian soldiers and police. While the civil unrest, called "the tension" by locals, is over, the Solomons is not a place for those in search of cocktail umbrellas and a benign paradise.

Having just left the chill of the Blue Mountains, however, I looked with satisfaction at the trail of vapour left by the turbulence of the plane's wings as it banked for its descent. As my wife and I were travelling with our four-year-old daughter, we had been advised to avoid Honiara and planned to fly immediately to a small village called Seghe.

An hour's flight to the north, on the shores of Marovo Lagoon, Seghe is one of the main towns serviced by the national airline. It is a gateway for both Malaysian loggers and a trickle of tourists (mostly divers) in search of gorgeous coral reefs. Our plan was to dash for the domestic flight, reach Seghe and then ride a canoe-shaped tinny across Marovo Lagoon to our ultimate destination, Uepi Island. We would be snorkelling by dusk. If only.

The moment I set foot on the tarmac I saw how wide the gulf was between the itinerary issued by our Sydney-based travel agents and the reality of travel in the Solomons. Only one aircraft was outside the domestic terminal and it looked as though it had no intention of waiting for us to clear Customs. Dozens of Solomon Islanders were on the roof of the international arrivals building and everywhere were signs of civic decay.

With only half an hour to go before our Seghe flight, we joined the diplomatic queue and were soon pushing our overloaded trolley across a betel-nut-splattered park and into the domestic terminal. "Your plane left four hours ago," the Solomon Airlines official informed us casually.

There followed a complicated story involving a pilot having to be sent to Papua New Guinea and rain rendering Seghe's grass runway unusable. There would not be another flight until the next day, but the official assured us we would be on it and until then we would be the guests of Solomon Airlines at a hotel in Honiara.

No one arriving for the first time could drive into Honiara and not be stunned at how a place just a couple of hours from Australia could be so different - as if the town's social life had been turned inside out. Everyone appeared to be out on the streets.

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We decided to explore it from the "buses" that track up and down the beachfront. They are mini-vans packed with people of all ages and thumping with reggae music, without seat belts and with a standard fare of $S2 (about 40 cents Australian). When a passenger lit a cigarette and a passing policeman paid no notice to the fact that our driver was veering to the middle of the road, I realised how many rules Australians accept unquestioningly. The idea that for an afternoon I could join the anarchy of Honiara was exhilarating.

We drank beer by the waterfront and walked around the perimeter of the Magicland circus, which had arrived from Samoa on a small freighter also called Magicland. Soon after dusk hundreds of people watched the circus from outside a wire fence, while at the nearby port piles of hessian sacks filled with vegetables were offloaded from huge wooden ferries.

The initial shock of Honiara passed quickly and by the time we were at the central market the next morning we felt that being stranded for the night had been a stroke of luck, giving us a better insight into the Solomons. After a morning of exploring the capital we were taken to the airport for the flight to Seghe, which this time was running two hours late.

From the air it is hard to believe that the country is in such terrible economic and social straits. Below us was an archipelago of jaw-dropping beauty that should be one of the most popular eco-tourism destinations in the world. As one stunning island group fell behind us another would appear, each carpeted in a shag pile of rainforest and fringed by reefs.

Every now and then, however, there was a great scar on a mountain or a poorly constructed red-dirt road gashing through the rainforest. They indicated a familiar conflict - between those who want to turn a quick buck by felling the forests and others who see conservation and sustainable forestry as crucial for tourism.

Seghe's airport terminal is a wooden hut sitting on the edge of Marovo Lagoon. From its grass runway some of the most fierce air battles of World War II's Pacific campaign were launched. Under the ocean, a stone's throw from the airfield, are two war planes - both of which I would later see when I went diving during my week at Marovo.

We were met at Seghe by a local and clambered into a boat for the last leg of our journey. Pounding across the lagoon, it felt as though we had gone back in time. Villagers fished from canoes carved from trees and along the shore were pole houses with roofs made of palm fronds. All around were rugged, mist-covered mountains that seemed impenetrable.

Although only a tiny speck on the Solomons map, all tourist roads seem to lead to Uepi Island. It is the spot where many overseas workers retreat for their holidays. It has been run since the 1980s by expatriate Queenslanders Grant and Jill Kelly, who pride themselves on training villagers to be involved in all aspects of the operation - from leading scuba dives to accompanying guests to nearby villages.

My goal was to learn how to scuba dive. I was a bit cynical about how seriously a dive course would be taken in such a crazy part of the world, but it turned out to be one of the best programs I could have done. The waters off Uepi are rich with life, especially schools of sharks, with the harmless reef shark the most common.

The Kellys do not claim to run a five-star operation and admit someone expecting a luxury resort is likely to be disappointed. But Uepi is well maintained and exactly in tune with the island's wild nature. It is one of those places moving to a daily rhythm involving scuba diving and snorkelling, masses of seafood, a hard-fought dusk volleyball competition with the islanders and then long nights drinking the local beer, Sol Brew.

As our week came to an end we studied our return itinerary with trepidation. We were supposed to fly from Seghe just before lunch and touch down in Sydney by 8pm. Despite pleas from the villager manning the Seghe radio to the flight team in Honiara - "You wait little bit time for them three fellas goin' to Australia" - we missed our international flight. Altogether the two hours we were supposed to spend in Honiara blew out to nearly two days.

To the relief of the Kellys, Solomon Airlines has since introduced a second plane to its domestic route and made some management changes, which are expected to ease the difficulties. It didn't really matter to us, however, and even weeks later I have flashbacks of an ocean filled with colourful fish, endless giant crab claws, joyous games of volleyball and a place where the world and all its pressures seem to be shut out.

MORE INFORMATION

www.uepi.com
www.kayaksolomons.com

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