Gizo: Decompression

Walking across the tarmac at Honiara Airport, my shirt was drenched in sweat. As someone who hates shopping, I was thankful for buying a cotton shirt during our short stay in Brisbane. 

After twenty long minutes of waiting at the carousel, there was no sign of our bags. We were told by Solomon Airlines staff to collect our bags in Honiara and to check them in again for our domestic flight to Gizo. 

Following some confused interactions with airline staff, we were directed back to the tarmac. With relief, our luggage was sitting on the tarmac. “Gizo,” said a man with a beaming betel nut smile. 

After a short, yet spectacular flight, we touched down in Gizo airport. Situated in the remote Western Province of the Solomon Islands, Gizo is one of the few islands that has anything that could resemble a tourism industry. 

We had organised a week with Oravae Cottage, a small, family-run resort northwest of Gizo Island. We were the only guests, so we had the entire island to ourselves, apart from the family. 

We were travelling with our mate from Alice Springs, “Adventure Dan”. He had stayed at Oravae before. When we arrived,  it was touching to see Dan reconnect with the family, especially their children, who had grown up since his last visit. 

The rooms were large wooden bungalows built over the water. In the true Solomon style,  separation between ourselves and nature felt non-existent. 

A myriad of bird calls came from the jungle across the water. Off our bungalow, large black-tip reef sharks circled giant clams. Over the week, I made friends with a crab. His name was Ian and he lived on our shower floor.   

Our main concern was mosquitoes. The Solomon Islands has some of the highest rates of Malaria in the world. Thankfully, a decent breeze seemed to keep the mosquitoes away. 

All the meals were provided and usually consisted of locally sourced fish or chicken and vegetables. Two ladies from the neighbouring island cooked the meals. Leisa and I would watch them row across the narrow stretch of water in a traditional dugout canoe. On one of the evenings, their canoe collided with a dugong, almost causing the boat to capsize. 

The owners, Patson and Naomi were hospitable and personable. After dinner, we had lengthy conversations about Solomon culture and politics. They also told us about their narrow escape from a tsunami in 2013 that destroyed Oravae and the rebuilding process. 

We crammed ten dives into five days because we only had a week in the Solomons. The dive sites were a combination of wreck and sloping reef dives. 

The area has several World War Two wrecks including the Tao Maru, a Japanese transport ship sunk by a US submarine. Inside the wreck, we saw ammunition, jars of condoms, vials of medicine and even a small tank. 

Between dives, our captain would pick a remote island to have lunch (there were plenty to choose from). Lunch consisted of fresh fish with rice. We were instructed to use large leaves as plates and eat with our hands.

After a week of diving, we spend our final day relaxing on Oravae Island. Being a Sunday, we watched large groups row their wooden canoes to church in the nearby village. Later that day, the family on our island took us out scurfing (water skiing on a surfboard). Allegedly, a crocodile frequented these waters, adding extra incentive not to fall off. 

At dusk, Patson and Naomi took us for a trek through the jungle. Patson told us the jungle is the Solomon shopping mall, a one-stop shop for food, medicine and construction materials. Eventually we came to a clearing that overlooked Gizo and the surrounding islands. 

In the distance, we could see Kennedy Island, an island where former President Kennedy swam to after his patrol boat was sunk by a Japanese destroyer in World War 2. I had read about this some years back but didn’t realise this occurred here, where I had been diving only a few days prior. 

A day later, we were sitting in the departure lounge in Honiara. It seemed half the flight were young local men. They were heading to Australia to work as part of the Pacific Australia Labour Mobility (PALM) scheme, to fill labour gaps in the Australian agricultural industry. 

As we walked up the tarmac onto the plane, we noticed a large crowd of the men’s families had gathered on top of the terminal. They were crying, singing and holding signs. Watching it was powerful and made me wish I had more time to experience this beautiful country.