This small, verdant and friendly island’s main claim to fame is that it hosted a significant World War II victory in 1942, by a strong force of US Marines who comprehensively overcame the Japanese invaders that had occupied the place for some three months.
It has a population – to my surprise – of around 2,000 (it seemed considerably lower) and was our second and final stop in the Solomon Islands. There was supposed to be a third, but the dock blew away at short notice!
Organised tour
Once again I’d signed up for a tour organised by an indomitable 75 year old New Yorker who embarked at the same time as me, and, as a clearly frustrated travel agent, is already taking over excursion management for the whole ship! The tour was scheduled to last from 9am to 12 noon and take in the ‘highlights’ of the island.
As I sat, at 10.15am, on the refurbished Governor’s House’s balcony of this former British colony – boring destination three of the four destination tour – I speculated with a similarly frustrated companion as to how they were going to spin this out for another hour and three quarters. They didn’t.
We were back at the jetty for the tender to the ship – on anchorage some half a mile offshore – at 10.40. We had paid 50 quid each for this, but I didn’t for a moment begrudge the contribution to this incredibly poor island’s economy and can’t blame them for milking the cash cow cruise ship which was the first in a year that had visited their shores. However, my contribution was set to double that of my companions. Having woken up unfashionably late (any more pensioners out there who spent their whole working life relying on alarms to get them out of bed for work and now can’t sleep past 6.30?!) I had rushed off the ship and forgotten the carefully laid in local currency stored in my cabin safe to pay for the trip! A fellow tripee (made up word) had bailed me out, but now this meant that I still had 50 quid’s worth of local currency in my cabin, with no further Solomon Islands destinations to spend it on, and the unlikely prospect of ever returning. First world problems…
We had been ferried round our brief tour in three vehicles. I counted six on the whole island. I had climbed into the front seat of a 4X4 bearing the logo of the local water company, to be met by a smiling driver, William. Others were in a small minibus, and three were in the police truck. We had set off with a uniformed police officer sternly ensconced on the rear of each vehicle, no doubt to protect us from mosquitoes, as the locals didn’t have anything more offensive to offer than a smile. However, within five minutes of leaving the landing stage there was a torrential downpour, and the bizzies suddenly disappeared, no doubt remembering some urgent paperwork they needed to attend to.
As William drew up by the landing stage at the end of our truncated tour, I asked him if he had any urgent water business to be getting on with, and, if not, could he perhaps drive me around the island for a side bung, after I’d returned to the ship to get my currency. “No problem” he said, “It only take 20 minutes to drive around”. “How much?”, I enquired. “Up to you” he said. “Hundred?” (ten quid) said I, starting low. “Fine” said William. I retrieved my stash and off we went. I had envisaged climbing 4X4 wise to some glorious viewpoint and perhaps stopping to blow my wad on lunch and a bottle of Tempranillo at a pleasant, remote hillside restaurant. What we actually did was drive ten miles, through dense undergrowth, hugging the shore, on a mud track, at one point only being saved from a five mile trudge back to the landing stage by the 4-wheel drive and William’s dexterity. The only sites of note that we passed were the burial ground for about a dozen Brits from the days of colonial rule, and the cathedral church, about three miles from the ‘town’, where William informed me, the whole population attends to worship every Sunday. “How do they get there”, I asked. “They walk”, he said, regarding me rather as one does an idiot.
I still had 50 quid burning a hole in my pocket. Maybe 30, as my intention was to pay him double what we’d agreed. “Is there anywhere I can buy a bottle of whiskey?” I asked, defaulting to form. “The island store”, said William, and there we headed. No whiskey, nor booze of any description. How do they survive those cold winters? (Joke). I purchased a load of snacks – peanuts, crisps, etc. and a pair of flip flops that I knew I would never wear and have already given away to a shipmate (the bit between your toes is so uncomfortable!).
William drove me to the landing stage. I surveyed the 40 pounds worth of currency in my hand. “Listen, I said, you’re a good guy, I trust you. I’m going to give you this money, which I know is much more than you expect. Keep half of it for yourself and give the other half to someone on this island who really needs it. You have plenty of candidates.” We shook hands and I returned to my floating emporium of wealth.
