What a beautiful dump
Vanuatu – October 8–28, 2025
Don’t worry, Vanuatu is anything but a “dump”—it’s definitely not a garbage dump. I’ll explain what this is really about later—it has to do with a very special, historic underwater site. But I can already reveal one thing: even aside from that, Vanuatu has plenty to offer. We’d already had some exciting weeks behind us—camping at the foot of a volcano, swimming with dugongs, festivals where we stuffed ourselves—and yet the adventure was far from over!
After leaving the Maskelyne Islands and saying goodbye to the fascinating sea creatures—especially the adorable dugongs—the next item on the agenda was something dry: hiking! On land! Preferably up a volcano! So it’s a good thing there are plenty of those in Vanuatu. Naturally, we chose the highest mountain furthest away on the hottest day: Mount Benbow on Ambrym. 1,157 meters high and 13 kilometers away. Keep in mind: We started almost at sea level (0 meters) and had to hike not only there but also back—a total of 26 kilometers on foot.
Two days earlier, we’d been building up our strength for the hike by stuffing ourselves at the food stands of a soccer tournament held to celebrate the anniversary of Malampa—the province to which Ambrym belongs. Happy Malampa Day!
Here, too, it became clear to us once again just how heavily this country relies on rice, cabbage, meat, taro, and cassava. The national dish, lap lap—a mushy cassava pudding with coconut milk and a piece of meat or fish—was the least appealing to us, even though it’s apparently THE Vanuatu dish for celebrations and festivals. Maybe “lap lap” just means “mushy”—I wouldn’t be surprised.
In Ambrym wurde am Malampa Day Fussball gespielt Nicht unser Lieblingsessen, dieses Laplap Die Vulkanwanderung auf Mt Benbow ging in die Knochen
The hike to Mount Benbow started at 4:30 a.m. at our tour guide Francis’s kava bar—not with a bowl of kava to wake us up, but with a round of waiting. Waiting for our driver and his truck, which was supposed to take us to the starting point. Francis was visibly nervous when no one showed up—it seemed as though not only had we fueled up on Malampa Day, but so had the driver we’d hired. The only difference was probably the type of fuel. For him, it was likely in liquid form—enough to fortify his body for the night, only to be completely drained afterward.
Still surprised at how quickly we’d managed to get a replacement vehicle despite the ungodly hour, our group of eight was dropped off somewhere in the jungle. “Please come back” was the only thing we—or, more precisely, Doris—told our driver before the tropical wilderness swallowed us up. Of course, the Sea Nomads weren’t about to miss out on this adventure.
Dense jungle, black sand plains, crumbling rock, gusts of wind, fog, sweat, and heat—that’s probably the best way to describe the next ten hours. At first, we walked for about an hour through the jungle, still damp with morning dew, until we reached a flat expanse of fine black sand that I mistakenly took for a road. It turned out to be an ancient lava flow from the volcano. We walked across this sort of “beach” for three hours, sinking a little with every step (brace yourself for sore muscles!). Only a few shadows from the nearby trees reached our path, and we walked most of the time in the blazing sun.
At least the white-and-pink orchids, which sprouted by the thousands from every crevice in the rocks, withstood the heat. We were sweating and glad to have enough water with us. The closer we got to the volcano, the bigger the rocks became. The fine sand gradually turned into small, shiny black-and-blue lava pebbles that clung to our clothes with their barbs. Like little, unwanted companions, they slipped between our socks and shoes, pricking our skin with every step and forcing us to empty our shoes every half hour. Still, hiking boots were a thousand times better than flip-flops. Even Mirko swapped his plastic sandals for hiking boots after just a few minutes! Anyone who reads our blog posts regularly knows what it takes for him to actually take off his favorite flip-flops.
When the rocks finally seemed to have reached their full size and we were winding our way along imposing, shimmering rock faces, the steep ascent began. It felt as though we had climbed only a few of the thousand meters in elevation up to that point—now we were making up for it. For the next hour, we focused more on the ground than on our surroundings so as not to step on loose scree. This made the moment all the more overwhelming when we finally reached the edge of a crevice and could take in the entire landscape and this volcanic wonderland.
Benbow Volcano, an active shield volcano, stretched out before us, while deep canyons crisscrossed by solidified lava lay beneath our feet. Vegetation has since taken over, overgrowing not only the edges of the canyons but also everything at the base of the volcano that hasn’t been buried by brittle volcanic rock. The lava landscapes shaped by the volcano are simply incredibly impressive and never cease to fascinate me with their diversity of colorful flora—formed over several thousand years.
Before we tackled the final and most strenuous stretch of the hike, we still had to climb down a few meters in elevation to reach the base of the volcano. Although exhaustion had already set in and we knew we’d have to hike all the way back, we finally set out on the ascent to the crater rim. After just the first two steps, it became clear that Francis’s “Only 10 minutes to the top!” was a massive understatement.
The volcano was nothing more than a gravel hill, consisting of sharp, tiny volcanic pebbles that had already piled up in our shoes. If you were to dig a hole, you’d probably never hit solid ground. With every step, we sank at least twenty centimeters, slid half a meter down, triggered small avalanches of gravel, and filled our shoes with another thousand pebbles. Even larger, solid-looking stones consisted only of clumps of baked-together earth that crumbled apart under our feet.
Francis’s 10 minutes eventually turned into an hour—but no one gave up; we were simply too close to our goal. Actually, we should have suspected earlier that Francis wasn’t entirely reliable with numbers, after he told us he’d worked as a tour guide in New Caledonia for five years and as a guide on Ambrym for 26 years—even though he was supposedly only 35 years old. Somehow, the math just doesn’t quite add up.
Completely exhausted, we reached the rim of Mount Benbow’s crater after a total of 5 hours and 42 minutes—in misty drizzle with no view. We couldn’t even catch a glimpse inside the crater; the fog was that thick, and the gusts were so cold that, at nearly 1,200 meters, they whipped our sweat-soaked hair into our faces. Well, at least homemade pasta salad and store-bought coconut cookies were waiting for us as a reward. We used to stand here above one of Ambrym’s famous lava lakes, which glowed for decades in the craters of Benbow and Marum, its neighboring volcano, attracting tourists from all over the world. However, after a violent eruption in December 2018, the lava lakes were filled in, and the glowing fire effect is no longer visible today, even though the volcano remains active.
The return trip followed the same route as the climb up. In contrast to the arduous ascent, sliding down the volcano was alarmingly fast, while the rest of the unspectacular path seemed to drag on all the longer. It wasn’t until we had taken our seats again in the open bed of the truck—it had actually come back!—that we learned from Francis that he had lost his smartphone along the way. Shortly afterward, one of our companions—one of the referees for the soccer tournament—admitted that he had nothing to drink except half a liter of water and was completely dehydrated. When we passed a rainwater tank, he seemed eager to drink the entire tank in one go. Things would definitely have turned out better for him if he’d simply asked us for water along the way.
Ab hierher ging es wieder ein Stück mit den Flip-Flops Überall wuchsen weiß-pinken Orchideen Unser Freund mit einem Liter Wasser unterwegs.
After this exciting visit to Ambrym, we continued on to Pentecost—a truly relaxing change of pace after our volcanic adventure. The island is known worldwide for the original form of bungee jumping, known as “land diving.” Although it was off-season and only a few cars were traveling along the long concrete road—carved through the island’s greenery by Chinese construction workers (it’s probably never very busy here anyway, and you could easily pitch a tent)—we were given a tour by a friendly lady. She invited us to visit one of the impressive towers, which stand year-round as a demonstration for tourists and cruisers who—like us—arrive at the wrong time of year.
The traditional land diving usually takes place in April and May, when the vines are still supple and not brittle. Today, young men jump from wooden towers that can be up to 30 meters high. Vines are attached to each foot, and their length is adjusted individually. As the jumper leaps, the platform is deliberately broken away; the jumper falls forward and is pulled back up by the vines just before hitting the ground. Originally, the ritual had deep spiritual significance: it marked the transition to adulthood and was intended to ensure a good yam harvest and the health of the village. Its origin lies in a legend: A woman named Tamala fled from her jealous husband, tied vines around her ankles, and jumped from a tree. Her husband jumped after her—without vines—and died. This story initially evolved into a test of courage, which was later adopted by the men and transformed into an important initiation ritual. Today, land diving is performed ritually in only a few traditional villages. In most cases, it takes place primarily for tourists—as an impressive, yet somewhat unsettling testament to a centuries-old tradition considered the foundation of modern bungee jumping.
On Pentecost, in addition to exciting cultural experiences, we treated ourselves to a fabulous culinary experience: a traditional Ni-Vanuatu 12-course meal! Our hosts, a lovely couple, had lost their yacht club in Loltong Bay to a hurricane a few years ago. Since then, they’ve been working on growing a new roof—so they can “harvest” it later (yes, you heard that right)—and starting to rebuild the club—all while treating cruisers like us to a meal.
The menu featured several variations of lap-lap made from cassava (manioc) and plantains, sometimes wrapped in island cabbage (more like spinach than cabbage), along with smoked papaya, sweet potatoes, and yams in all their forms, watercress, pumpkin leaves, and dishes featuring chopped or grated nangai, the typical nut from Vanuatu. Except for dessert—a fruit salad made with local fruit and nangai—everything was, of course, served with lolo (coconut milk). In hindsight, it was probably a small miracle that we made it back to the Yum Yum without sinking the dinghy under our extra weight.
Auf Pentecost finden das berühmte Turmspringen (Land Diving) statt Ein kleiner, schmackhater Eindruck vom 12-Gänge-Menü Gruppenfoto mit unseren Gastgebern Matthew und Marie.
In Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu’s largest island, it was finally time to say a few goodbyes. But first, we wanted to visit the legendary Blue Hole that everyone raved about—a swimming hole in the middle of the mangroves, surrounded by tall trees. If the mosquitoes hadn’t chased us out of the turquoise-blue, natural freshwater pool after just an hour, we probably would have stayed longer in this idyllic spot—an enchanted place in the middle of the wilderness.
On top of that, there was this mysterious military junkyard that apparently you just had to see. Its official name is “One Million Dollar Point” or the U.S. Military’s “WWII Dumpground,” and at first glance it looks like a chaotic pile of old cars, jeeps, excavators, cannons, and all sorts of metal junk, now overgrown with coral. But there’s a real story behind it: At the end of World War II, the Americans faced a logistical problem. The troops had to go home, the equipment was massive—jeeps, trucks, excavators—and shipping it back to America was far too expensive. They tried to sell the material at a bargain price, but the colonial authorities refused. So a quick decision was made: dump it all into the sea. This is how the spectacular underwater wreck field came to be, which today, as an artificial reef, is a paradise for fish as well as for divers and snorkelers. Even the shore was littered with shards and broken glass bottles smoothed by the water. The owner of the local dive club hit the nail on the head with his remark: “What a beautiful dump.”
In fact, this was the first time we were ripped off here. A man named Simon demanded a toll for crossing his property. At first we believed him—after all, there was a sign listing the prices, and we’d heard beforehand that it cost just a little something. Later, we learned from the real Simon that the con artist had taken advantage of the Sunday church service to pose as the landowner and pocket money from unsuspecting tourists. Of course, he was long gone by then—probably even with the taxi driver who had taken us there earlier.
Daniela macht den Schnee- äähm Wasserengel im Blue Hole Dieses Fahrzeug liegt schon länger am One Million Dollar Point Die Umrisse des versunkenen Schiffes sind noch erkennbar
In Luganville, the largest city on Espiritu Santo, we finally had to say goodbye to our crew member Miri. The four weeks filled with laughter, adventure, and shared experiences flew by.
At the same time, we also parted ways with Doris and Wolf. Since Fiji, we’d been sailing together with our buddy boat; we’d experienced so much, laughed so much, and grown so close that saying goodbye was really hard for all of us. The Nomad is now sailing west toward Australia, while we’re heading further north to Micronesia. We’ll miss more than just the shared BBQs, dinners, papaya cake, and coffee breaks—always spiced up with their sailing stories from around the world and a little “ladies’ rum.” Their jokes, energy, and enthusiasm, as well as their care and willingness to help, leave a huge void that we won’t be able to fill anytime soon.
Although we come from the same corner of the world, it will probably be a while before our paths cross again. Until then, Mirko and I will do our best to carry on everything we’ve come to appreciate so much about the Sea Nomads—and what we’ve learned from the “sacred Geo 2000” 😉. A coconut kiss to beautiful Austria!
Fasziniert schauen wir dem Geschehen am Fussballplatz zu. Geduldig warten Mirko und Miri auf unser Essen. Über die Grösse der Portionen konnten wir uns nie beklagen Good Food = Happy Captain Auch Miri scheint es zu gefallen Lieber Holz vor der Nase als vor dem Kopf - Happy Malampa Day! Auf gings zur Vulkanwanderung nach Mt. Benbow, noch haben alle ein Lachen im Gesicht Zunächst ging es über die Ash Planes. Anschliessend ging es über den Grat weiter. und immer weiter... Unglaublich diese Aussicht! und noch bisschen weiter... In der Höhe kam langsam der Nebel auf... und es wurde immer steiler. Geschafft! Auch ohne Aussicht waren wir glücklich, endlich am Krater von Mt. Benbow zu stehen. Den Sand haben wir heute noch an Bord. Zusammen mit unserem Tourguide Francis stossen wir auf eine gelungene Wanderung an. Francis schenkt uns eine Staude Bananen. Die Mädels geniessen die Papaya nach einem Spaziergang au Ambrym. Hier in Loltong wird Kava angetrocknet und anschliessend verkauft. Busy life in Vanuatu. Diese Outrigger-Boote werden immer noch zum Fischen verwendet. In Loltong wurden wir von den Kids verabschiedet. Ach ja, gesegelt wurde auch zwischendurch Einer von vielen superschönen Ankerbuchten, Espiritu Santo Abschied von unserem Buddy Boat. Wir sehen uns, Doris & Wolf!