WORST. BOAT-RIDE. EVER.

Turns out that ferry/cargo ships are really not even close to a desirable form of human transport - at least not on the open seas. At first, it seemed like a fun idea: take an 8-10 hour boat ride down to our new island home. We would bring our dinner on board and after eating take a valium and read until we fall asleep and then wake the next morning. Perfect plan. The added benefit was that we would be able to supervise the loading and un-loading of all our packages.

So the boat was scheduled to depart Vila at 6pm. We arrived at 3:30 with all our luggage, which included everything we brought from the U.S., plus all the stuff given to us by the Peace Corps (blanket, foam mattress, pillow, bucket, lantern, tons of paperwork...), plus all the things we purchased in Vila to outfit our new homes (pots, pans, dishes, tools, alcohol, and so on). We each (Matt and I) had about 10 large pieces. By 4:30 the wharf, as you might imagine, was just slightly organized chaos. There didn't seem to be anyone in charge, people were milling about all over the place, pick-up trucks kept arriving and dumping more cargo onto the dock - and yet somehow we were able to get our stuff secured onto the boat before anyone else. White man advantage, I suppose. Or maybe the Peace Corps advantage. Same thing either way. But then, with little warning, and with half the cargo still sitting on the dock, the boat pulls away! Turns out they needed to get fuel.

But of course!!

Load half the ship then take off to get fuel on the other side of the harbor. Nevermind that the fuel station is in the same direction we would soon be traveling, nevermind that the ship came in that same morning and could have fueled as it passed the station to the wharf. Imagine the most ridiculous way to do something and often that's the way it happens.

Anyway... the boat eventually came back and we were able to get going around 7:30pm - not too bad for island time, I suppose. I had with me some motion-sickness pills, but never having had a problem with that before I decided not to take any. In any event, the directions say to take them one hour before sailing. So as we pulled away from the dock, cheerily seated in the much smaller, open-air upper deck (main deck seats about 200 with clear plastic tarps covering the window areas), I began to eat my dinner. I had brought a fresh baquette with what would be my last wedge of brie (amazing that i could even get that in Vila, but definitely not available in Tanna), a small container of coleslaw and another of greek salad. Smooth sailing so far. As soon as I finished eating, I flipped open a magazine and tried to read the every-five-years story of how General Motors is once again on the road to success (despite losing $10 billion last year), but before the second paragraph the sea swells started rocking the boat to the point of making reading a bit like reading in a car - you can do it, but after a while it gives you headache or makes you queasy. Then the swells got bigger and I realized I had better pop those pills. I took one dramamine, and one valium.

Far too little, far too late.

I closed the magazine and settled into my seat hoping for the best. About 20 minutes laters, rocking and rolling in just the most ridiculous manner, I decided I should head for a lower, and hopefully more stable, seat. Climbing down the ladder was a chore, and then stumbling amongst the lower deck was even harder - people were laying all over the floor, presumably trying to sleep. Mostly the area was quiet, but it was an uncomfortable quiet - like when an airplane has a bout of turbulance and everyone finds god for the first time since their last flight. As for me, my stomach told me to quickly head to the bathroom - two standard issue port-a-pottys bolted to the floor in the back of the ship. I made it back just in time. As I opened the door the brie I never thought I'd see again came flying out (along with my pills) - and as the ship violently swayed back and forth my arms flung out to the walls struggling to keep me stable and standing. It was tricky to say the least. I briefly marvelled at my output, since I really didn't think I had eaten that much. But it wasn't over yet.

I came flying - yes, flying - out of the bathroom and stumbled full force into the other port-a-potty about 2 yards opposite. I made a feeble attempt at composing myself before my body, and the movement of the ship, decided it best to just collapse exactly where i was standing. Two Ni-vans standing at the back of the ship showed no surprise and payed me little attention.

And so it was for the next 8 hours - me curled up in the fetal position on the floor immediately outside the bathroom door, my head coming to rest next to some greasy propane tanks. Every hour I would stumble back into the bathroom, vomit violently (and at this point it was just bile) and then the next 55 minutes I would pray to god to take my soul or at least make the ship stop for even 15 minutes. Sleep never happened. It was unimaginable to me, during those moments, to consider that we were not even close to our destination and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Going back upstairs was not an option. Getting off the floor was not an option - thank god it was normal for people to just lay wherever. And I wasn't the only one puking. Oh, no... not by a long shot. In fact, in-between my own vomiting I enjoyed the pleasure of hearing many, many others wretching their guts. The difference was that I was the ONLY one using the bathroom. Where did all the other vomit go? I don't know. I don't care.

At 4 am my prayers were answered. The ship stopped offshore Erromango island, just north of Tanna. We weren't at a dock so I guess some boats came out to grab some cargo. During this time (30 minutes or so) I made my way back up top and quickly took a dramamine. I learned that Matt had been sleeping like a baby - only woken occasionally by the sounds of others vomiting off the upper deck. I was able to lay down accross a row of seats, threw a blanket over myself, and held on for the next 6 hours until we came to the Lenekal wharf, built by the Chinnese, in Tanna. I continued to feel crazy nausea for the duration, but managed to keep it together and even got 15 minutes of sleep here and there.

There was already a "true" cargo ship at the single-dock wharf (4 times bigger than the boat we were in), so we pulled alongside that, and unloaded our boat by walking across the deck of the other ship and then onto the dock. The cargo ship, of course, was also in the process of being unloaded. The concrete wharf is wide enough for one pick-up going in one direction, yet everything that came off both boats needed to be picked up by a multitude of trucks. Chaos ensued. Luckily we were met by Jeff, the Peace Corps volunteer who I'm replacing, and Sam (Matts Ni-Van counterpart). They helped coordinate through the mess. Thank god we were able to pull the old white man magic to get our packages off the boat first. I cringe at the idea of preferential treatment in this manner, but goddamn if I wasn't the saddest sack of sorry shit that ever stumbled onto that dock. I needed solid ground. Jeff just laughed at me - he knew what was gonna happen the minute he heard we were taking the boat. I wish someone had warned me. I later learned that Matt had taken not one, but three motion-sickness pills.

We were able to get everything off the dock and to my bungalow with amazing effeciency and then I just crashed. After a short spell we went to lunch, and then I headed back home where I slept from 8pm to 8am. Even now, after all that sleep, when I hold still and close my eyes I still feel like I'm going up and down. Sooooo glad that's over. And you can bet your ass I called the Peace Corps this morning and "thanked" them for the lovely transport.

Today, July 5th in Vanuatu, is actually July 4th - Independence Day - in the U.S.A. Matt and I had planned on celebrating with some cocktails on the beach, but it's been raining all day and we have no way of communicating with each other (he's 45 minutes away by foot). I doubt he will be coming down to visit so you can just picture me alone on the rainy beach, wine glass in hand, toasting America.