It has been a long journey. Five hours from Atlanta to the West Coast. Overnight stay. Then nearly twelve hours to Fiji. That was followed by an eight-hour wait at the airport before a much smaller plane carried me and a handful of fellow travelers to this remote Melanesian island nation.

As the plane finally descended through the clouds, I caught my first glimpse of Vanuatu.

I first learned about this country during my Covid project of memorizing every country and its capital. Vanuatu caught my attention for a rather odd reason. While neighboring capitals had wonderfully local names like Funafuti, Nuku’alofa, and Honiara, this one stood out. Why was it called Port Vila? It sounded as though the British had wandered by, run out of imagination, and simply named it after… well… a port.

That was the extent of my knowledge for quite some time.

Then I stumbled upon another fact. Vanuatu was one of the last places on Earth where cannibalism was practiced. They had incidents of cannibalism even after I was born!!

My immediate reaction?

“I have got to visit this place.”

To be clear, they do not practice cannibalism anymore. At least, that is what the local tourism brochure told me. I have decided to take them at their word.

I have also learned that Vanuatu is considered the birthplace of modern bungee jumping. Except their version is considerably less reassuring. Every year, men climb a tall wooden tower, tie vines around their ankles, and leap headfirst toward solid ground to usher in a great harvest (of yams). No elastic cords. No river below. Just vines, gravity, and what I assume is an extraordinary amount of confidence.

That particular cultural experience, I am perfectly happy to admire from a safe distance.

I cannot wait to discover what else this fascinating little country has in store. Somehow, I have a feeling that this is not going to be an ordinary trip.