Travel Blog: Mbabanga Island

I had booked a village stay on the internet. To be honest, I was amazed that you could. Previous experiences of booking village stays had been somewhat entertaining. First time,  I had been told of a nice place by a work colleague, who had given me the number of a man named Terry. Terry lived in Honiara and it was his cousin’s mother’s brother who ran the place. Terry’s cousin’s mother’s brother, David, did not have phone reception as he lived on an island. So, Terry had to call a guy he knew, Mickey, who would paddle over in a canoe to bring David back to the main land so we could arrange a stay. To arrange a stay, you also had to arrange a truck and a boat. To arrange a truck, you had to first find one to hire, then you had to find a driver to drive it and finally buy fuel to make it go. Terry, who lives in Honiara, has a brother in Auki who has a truck (thank the lord). Terry’s brother, Richard, can also put us in touch with a man who maybe has a boat, we just need to take enough fuel from Auki to get us over to the Island and back. Que a second call to Terry, who rang Mickey, who paddled over to the island to ask David how much fuel we would need to bring so that that Richard’s mate can get us there. And the saga continued…..

Solomon Islands travel tip 1: Make sure you have a contact number for someone who lives in, or near by the village you plan to visit.

Before I left Malaita I had emailed to confirm my booking and made a payment, on line, with my visa card. This, in itself, is a small miracle and possibly only the second time I have used my card this year. It may have contributed to luring me in to a false sense of security. There was something niggling that was telling me it was all too easy but I decided to trust in the system. Fool.

Solomon Islands travel tip 2: Never arrive on a Sunday morning during prayer. Especially if that Sunday is Easter Sunday.

So, it is 11 am on Easter Sunday and Obed is skill-fully navigating the boat through the shallow, tropical reefs as we make our way along the shores of Mbabanga Island. This is probably one of the most visited islands in Western Province as it has two of the country’s most famous resorts, Fatboys at one end and Sandbis at the other. 

We are staying at a homestay in Mbabanga Village which is slap bang in the middle. The place is deserted, the shutters are down. We spy a boy, sitting on a jetty and a young girl taking a swim below. Nobody is expecting us and everyone is at church.

The village is beautiful. The leaf huts are spaced out around a large central stage which is used for dancing and markets, everywhere bright sarongs hang fresh on the washing lines. The green leaves and bright flowers of the gardens are vibrant against the powder white sand that covers the floor. A lady pulls up a bucket of fresh water from the well and washes the sand off her pikinini who is running around in bright pink thongs, laughing and squealing.
We sit and stori with a young girl who comes from Auki and married a man from this village. She is very young and already has two children. Before long, a small, panicked looking man comes blustering through the village. He is sorry, but he had no idea we were coming. The house is not ready and has not been stayed in for some time. There is no food, no water, no gas, no power and no chef. There are village celebrations all day for Easter and he’s not sure what to do.

The house is amazing, right on the beach front with a veranda all the way round, the waves lapping only meters away from the from steps. We are lucky, Fatboy’s is only a short stroll and before too long we are washing fresh bug’s tails down with ice cold beers, gazing out across the reef to the paradise islands beyond. 

This is the stuff travel sites are awash with: yachts floating off the shore, speed boats, champagne and lobster. Despite the obvious luxury we are revelling in, the resort is chilled out and relaxed. I can think of worse way to recover from our accommodation disaster.

We return to the homestay to find it transformed. There is still no water, no gas, no electricity but we have a bed and a rainwater tank so we are happy. We spend the afternoon snorkelling and reading before (oh woe is me), heading up to Sandbis for another meal.
As we stroll through the village I am surprised at how different it feels from the ones in Malaita. I cannot quite pinpoint what it is until Emma starts to tell me about the Gilbertese. The Gilbert Islands (Part of Kiribati) are a chain of sixteen atolls and coral islands in the Pacific Ocean about halfway between Papua New Guinea and Hawaii. 

I am amazed at the difference in not only physical appearance but the whole atmosphere of a Micronesian village is different. A young girl sitting on the ground says hello. She is beautiful. She has long wavy silky black hair, a far cry from the tight black afros or blond curly hair of the Melanesians we see here. Her eyes are big bright ovals against her black skin and even though she is sitting you can tell she is tall and slender. I think she is taken by surprise when we start to chat with her in Pijin. We ask her if she would like to walk with us to Sandbis as we are unsure of the way. She is keen, but her friend is not. We take directions and carry on, trying to pretend that we have not seen the giant turtle on the shore, obviously there for the Easter feast that evening. Reflecting on the day as we stroll, I get the distinct impression that both resorts here are tolerated, not welcomed and that the two worlds remain entirely separated: the reality and the rich.
We don’t enjoy sandbis so much. On the outside it is picture postcard perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I often enjoy a night hanging out with the lads at the sports bar, rock music turned up, beers flowing as fast as the testosterone but here, in paradise, I’d like to listen to the ocean and look at the stars.

The next day, we meet up with the local expat community. A few of them are working at Gizo hospital (a different world to my shack in Auki) and we are able to hire one of the local “ambulances” for a day out island hopping on the ocean.

It’s a great day. We eat, we gossip, we snorkel, we fish and we snooze. This is the Solomon Islands we all hear about and I’m not surprised, it’s bloody lovely.

We return back to our homestay and are treated to a meal cooked by one of the chefs from Sandbis, who lives here, in Mbabanga village. We are lucky, we get to spend our last night eating the most amazing meal of fresh tuna and cray fish cooked in a delicious salty garlic butter, a creamy mash and a salad with, somebody pinch me, salad dressing! 

Tomorrow it is back to Auki for me but I will always remember sitting on the veranda, looking out as the moon shone over the coral reef, the waves lapped out our feet, satiated, drinking fine wine with great company.

For Emma, The end of an era.