After nearly 12 months of dealing with the chaos that is life here in the Solomon Islands, I thought that maybe I had developed the skill of being able to pre-empt everything that could go wrong and hopefully troubleshoot it before it happened. Turns out I was living in La La land (literally). This country has a way of keeping me constantly flabbergasted that the wheels keep on turning despite the fact that all of the cogs are broken.
We were supposed to get on the Thursday morning boat to Honiara to catch a flight to Western Province that afternoon (1st mistake). At midday on Wednesday we were informed that the boat had not arrived in from Honiara and therefore, would not be leaving tomorrow. Que frantic phone calls to Solomon Airlines. There was a flight leaving tomorrow but it would land 15 minutes after our flight to the west, the plane today was just about to leave the runway and was fully booked. Damn it! I had booked to do my open water dive certificate and the course started on Friday morning (2nd mistake).
The saga ended with an expensive Thursday afternoon flight, a great night catching up with friends at trivia night in Honiara and a Friday morning plane. Not so bad. 
By Friday afternoon, I was partaking in my first dive and by Friday night, I was three sheets to the wind putting the world to rights with my mate Kate.
Thankfully, the dive course went by with only a few minor hitches. My dive instructor was Belinda from http://www.mundadive.com and I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. She was cool, calm and collected and I think with my spluttering and flailing around in the depths, this was not always easy to maintain. She made sure that it was an epic adventure I wouldn’t forget. I’m told the diving is among the best in the world in Munda. Although I have nothing to compare it to, I still feel able to say that it was pretty fantastic and definitely something I am eager to do again and again.
We spent four amazing nights at Agnes Lodge in Munda before heading off to “the world’s finest double-barrier-enclosed lagoon” (www.lonelyplanet.com/marovo-lagoon). This was a three hour and $3000 dollar trip by OBM so we decided, as intrepid pijin speaking travellers on a budget, that we would get the local passenger boat. We had done it a hundred times to and from Auki, surely this would be the same. We were so convinced in fact, that we even persuaded some fellow travellers that this was the best way to travel and they should come along too.
Getting on a boat in the Solomon Islands is one of the most disorganised, unruly, frenzied experiences I have ever had. As the ship pulls up alongside the jetty, we can already see that she is jammed to the rafters with every inch of deck space taken. I am hoping that this is because everyone is getting off or is outside enjoying the view. I am, again, wrong. Nobody wants to wait for the boat to properly dock. Nobody wants to wait for the gates to open and gangplank to be put down. Before the boat has even stopped people are climbing up the sides of the ship, or jumping the distance to shore. Babies, bags and cages are being passed across the fluctuating drop into the sea below. I can’t watch. After about half an hour we are on the boat and the only thing I can think of to compare it to is the London Underground at rush hour. Except we need to move. It is a big ship and every room, every step and every corridor is filled with bags and bodies. After a long fight we have stored our bags in a corner and have found standing room only on deck.
The boat is supposed to take five hours but due to the overloading she struggles in the water and takes eight. The trip is far from boring. At one point the loud speaker announces that the boat is dangerously tilting to one side and we are all made to squash into one half of the boat to even her up. At times, heavy rainfall causes us to all huddle under the small sheets of tarpaulin that cover the deck and a fellow traveller comments that she feels somewhat like a refugee. There is an atmosphere of camaraderie as we battle to keep the water from forming large puddles that threaten to pull our tiny shelter down.
We sit on the boat in the spitting rain in the doom and gloom, petrol fumes penetrate our nostrils but the engine does not roar into life. We both stare straight ahead, not speaking. Neither of us want to acknowledge what is blatantly obvious. The boats engine is not working.
Eventually, we arrive at our accommodation and I for one, am definitely ready for a strong drink. Except they don’t have any, nor do they have any soft drink or cold drink. We eat and then we collapse into bed. Tomorrow is another day.
And it is a beautiful day. I am up to see the sunrise over the lagoon. A spray of low cloud hugs the mountains opposite, their reflection clear as glass in the still waters as the fish chase each other under my feet and the birds sing to welcome the day. I am refreshed and ready for the day ahead. Today we are to set off on a kayaking adventure.
I hate kayaking. I don’t think that this is the first time I have come to this realisation but for some reason, I keep feeling the need to give it a go. I like the idea of it but the reality sucks. I am constantly about a km behind everyone else no matter how hard I try. Each stroke of the paddle seems to get me nowhere as I am buffeted around by the wind and the waves. I very rarely use my arms which means I am weak, I am sore and I am pathetic. 
We kayak for four whole, wearily long, boring hours and I hate Kate, I hate Dixon, I hate Kayaking, I hate Marovo Lagoon and I hate the Solomon Islands. But when we arrive at a private pristine white beach with clear blue seas I find that I am, again, friends with Kate, friends with Dixon and very happy to be here. I do, however, still hate Kayaking.
I try again on another two occasions. This is a kayaking trip after all. The first is down a jungle river and I find that because I am not battling against anything and I actually move when I paddle that I enjoy myself. It’s a small, winding river that cuts through dense thick green foliage. As the heavens open and the rain pelts down on us I feel free and slightly delirious.
The second time is again, hateful. We paddle the opposite way down the coast and as we pass over shallow reefs I become lodged having to jerk and thrust myself energetically and artfully around in my small Kayak to dislodge from the rocks. The shame. I am happy to hang up my paddle and proudly say that honestly, I gave it a good shot but I just do not like kayaking.
As I walk along the boardwalk back to our leaf hut, Kate is chatting to Dixon. She looks up at me, smiles and then informs me that Seghe airport shut yesterday for repair. I laugh. Great Joke, funny. Except it’s not and it’s true. We are due to fly back to Honiara the next morning. As I exclaim disbelief that we have not been informed, I remember where I am and all the crazy things that have happened over the last twelve months and I believe.
I make it back to Auki, eventually. We ended up getting a three hour boat transfer, at a huge cost, to another airport and we were back in Honiara by lunch the next day. I was supposed to get on the same boat we travelled on from Munda to Seghe but I hear that after a long and heavy journey back to Honiara she is need of some TLC having lost an engine along the way. I try to board another ship but it is fit to burst with people and I cannot face it again so I take a risk and book a flight for the next day.
I have another two weeks to go and I am ready to leave. The story I have just told is a travel story and the only real risk is to our personal enjoyment and to our bank balances. Unfortunately there are many similar stories that can be told about healthcare, teaching, policing, government, law, politics, economics and infrastructure. These stories are not as amusing as they strongly affect the Solomon Islanders health, wealth, wellbeing and happiness.
As I sit here, writing this, I am supposed to be running a full day workshop for 20 nurses, only nobody turned up. Kate is waiting for a flight back home because the ship she planned to catch was cancelled.
This is not the exception. This is the norm.
annamayventure 