kava kastom

"what happens at this place?" we wondered as the buses we were on, went on by.
Fran had seen some cars and utes parked out the front of the joint down the Pango Point road there towards town in the No.3 district about a hundred yards from where we were staying.
On inquiry, a random barman tipped me into it.
There was nothing on it that said what it was, just cyclone fencing about ten feet high which was covered in dense vines and creepers which made it impossible to see what was going on inside, so at the end of a long day it was about 5:30pm, right on sunset, when we were told kava should always be drunk.
So there was nothing for it but to pull up the hire car and after some fiddling about managed to squeeze the car in to find a park near the start of the dirt track up the hill.
In a corner of this small block of land surrounded by this fencing, was a narrow entrance, and we sort of stumbled in knowing that it was some kind of kava bar [some have poor reputations], but having very little clue as what to do when you got there and what the kastom was.
In a shack with a single light bulb hanging from a strand of electrical wire - which had cage-like meshing on the front of it - was a small middle-aged woman who appeared to be serving kava.
There were no other lights, and twilight never lasts long in the tropics and by now it was fast approaching darkness.
Clueless, I was lucky enough to spy a couple of old westerners who were clearly hippies in their past lives [and still were], and it looked like they were here to stay in Vanuatu, so they should know what's the go.
I wandered up to one and chanced my luck "how much is it"?
"what do you want? a 50 or a 100?"
Quickly put two and two together and realised somehow that, as it turned out, half a 'shell' of kava cost 50vt, but a full serve was 100vt.
There was a line of half a dozen blokes waiting to be served, and even though the queue was moving quickly, I presumed that they saw in me an unusual white cripple, so they motioned me to the front of the line.
I shook and nodded my head to mean "no, no"...but without me saying anything a couple of blokes motioned towards my walking stick and said "no, you go first".
Realising I was now obliged, I went to the counter and put my 100vt gold hexagonal coin down and said "I'll have a hundred", and the woman served me what looked like a plastic miso-style bowl full of kava.
She took the bowl from a big stack of bowls and first gave it a quick rinse in a 44 gallon drum of water, and then with her small soup ladle, ladled two ladles of kava from another drum next to it, and gave it to me.
I took a sniff and it smelled, excuse the cliche, very earthy [ever tried grating a fresh horseradish or ginger?], with a distinctly sweet peppery aroma, which I found quite pleasant.
But I had made a faux par and should have immediately moved on to allow the next person in the queue to get their shot, but I was laughingly dismissed as a newby.
It was pretty clear to them that this was my first time, so allowances could be made for me - they already had been.
Stepping back from the bar not knowing what to do, except that I had gleaned that it was best but not compulsory to drink kava in one shot, I looked to my right and saw a row of taps above what looked like a long tub which was made of concrete painted with now chipped white enamel, it may have been a urinal or communal washing tub in its former life - and another half a dozen blokes were standing along it, sculling their kava and then spitting the taste out into the tub, expectorating loudly several times.
You are not there for savoring the taste of kava.
Here goes nothing I thought, but lucky it was dark, because there was too much kava in the bowl for me to take it all in one gulp, so I did two embarrassing slurps, and finished the bowl.
That's where the reality of the day stopped for me, right there.
The effect was instantaneous; a spin of the head, increased heart-rate and some shortness of breath for just a minute or two before a quite easy sense of intense calmness - if that makes sense - begins to set in.
Around the bar were benches arranged in three sided rectangles on which people were sitting, smoking, maybe drinking VB which was being sold at another hut on the block, along with some local snacks, eating, and talking in murmurous hushed tones.
And there were lots of dogs.
Fran had decided not to partake.
With one shell down, my lips tingling and my tongue numb, my old alcoholic brain said to me "that was so good - I'll have another one of those!"
A dreamy-like clarity had taken over my head and it suddenly dawned on me that folk were simply taking their turn - ponying up, drinking their kava, and then rejoining the back of the queue and getting another in quick succession until you know you've had just enough.
So I stood in the queue - now feeling supremely confident with a full shell in me, that I knew exactly what I was doing, slapped down another 100vt coin, and repeated the process.
This stuff was certainly the goods - strong gear.
Two shells was enough.
Another evening I was too late, just after 6pm, and got just one shell away, before they put up the handwritten notice on a piece of cardboard reading "sorri kava finis".
One night I was walking back to where we were staying [which took twice as long than getting to the kava bar] and I looked up.
Most nights in Vila are humid and cloudy, but tonight it was a cloudless sky and it was true what they say about kava! - it certainly makes the stars shine brighter.
Coming from the light pollution created by a city of five million, I never see stars.
But I sort of swiveled to look up towards the north, orientated myself again, found the pointers and the Southern Cross and the Milky Way stood out like dogs balls.
I stopped and stared for a while, and could have begun to contemplate the meaning of the universe, but didn't, and pressed on.
I floated through the entrance to the joint we were at, everyone from the security guard to the kitchen hand seemed to have the broadest smiles on their faces, even if they didn't.
Made my way to out to our little faré bungalow in the bush behind the beach, and collapsed into my usual chair on the veranda.
We had some baguettes and cheese, [we lucked into the only boulangerie in town out in the back blocks in our hire car], Fran had some French wine.
Talk, and there wasn't much, turned to things philosophical such as "what is the purpose?", "why are we here?", " why is 42 the answer to life, the universe, and everything?" - the sort of things that have no answer, but don't bother me.
Especially on kava.
You can Google "kava" and find out all about its botanical properties, the laborious process by which it is prepared, why it is never drunk before 5pm except at ceremony, the complex different kastom surrounding its use, how it became a drink that women could, were "allowed" to imbibe, after it being exclusively reserved, probably for centuries, for the men alone, as well as its intoxifying/hallucinogenic effects, but it later became apparent there is an ongoing fierce debate about which island has the best.
Is it Tanna? Or does the best kava come from the gardens of east Pentecost?
Even the tourist brochures can't agree on that one.
It's down to the last two, but it will be an argument with no end.
I didn't know what I was drinking, so I'm in no position to join the debate.
All I know now is why it is so highly revered, and why it is so much an integral part of everyday life
They brochures laughingly refer to kava as "the anti-energy drink".
But it is much much more than that.
Nambawan.