Solo Adventurer's Guide to Luganville: Finding Yourself in Remote Vanuatu

My fascination with research facilities led me straight to the unlikely treasure trove of WWII archives housed in a modest building near the town center. Y'all, I wasn't prepared for what I found. The caretaker – a gentleman named Joseph with stories etched into the lines of his face – unlocked cabinets containing original maps, photographs, and handwritten accounts from both Allied forces and local ni-Vanuatu who lived through the occupation.

What struck me most was the meticulous preservation despite the challenging tropical climate. Joseph explained they use a specialized dehumidifier in each cabinet to protect the paper documents – a simple solution I've since recommended to several archive facilities back home.

I spent three full days sketching and photographing (with permission) these artifacts, completely losing track of time. The facility welcomes researchers by appointment, but casual visitors can stop by on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The modest 1000 vatu entry fee (about $8.50 USD) goes directly to preservation efforts.

Nothing prepared me for the surreal experience of snorkeling at Million Dollar Point. After the war ended, the American military dumped millions of dollars worth of equipment into these waters rather than ship it home or leave it for others. The result? An underwater museum of jeeps, bulldozers, and machinery slowly being reclaimed by coral and marine life.

I'm a decent swimmer, but the currents here can be tricky. I rented gear from Aquamarine Santo near the main wharf (1500 vatu for a half-day) and hired a local guide named Tao who pointed out features I would've completely missed – like the fully intact Coca-Cola bottling machine half-buried in sand at 15 feet depth.

Bring your own underwater camera if you have one. The rental options in town are limited and pricey. I used my waterproof phone pouch for shallow water shots, but wish I'd had something more substantial for the deeper areas. The visibility here is exceptional – often 30+ meters on clear days.

Y'all know my weakness for markets, and Luganville's central market is a sensory feast that had me filling sketchbooks faster than I could buy them. Unlike the more tourist-oriented markets in Port Vila, this is where locals shop, gossip, and conduct the business of daily life.

The textiles section alone kept me occupied for hours. Local women create stunning hand-printed fabrics using traditional methods that remind me of my printmaking days – but with techniques I'd never encountered. One woman named Marta uses banana tree stems carved into relief blocks, while another creates intricate patterns using pandanus leaves as stencils.

I couldn't resist buying several yards of indigo-dyed cloth that now hang in my New Orleans studio. The most unique souvenir? A set of natural pigments – vibrant reds from volcanic soil, blues from crushed shells, and yellows from turmeric – carefully wrapped in banana leaves. These now feature prominently in my own work.

My travel journal became invaluable here, as I collected recipes, techniques, and stories alongside my sketches. If you're even remotely artistic, bring twice as many sketchbooks as you think you'll need.

If my usual haunts are human archives, then Vanuatu's blue holes are nature's own research facilities – living records of geological and biological history. Espiritu Santo boasts several of these limestone sinkholes filled with crystal-clear freshwater, each with its own distinct ecosystem.

Matevulu Blue Hole, about 30 minutes from Luganville, became my regular morning pilgrimage. I'd arrive just after sunrise with my dry bag packed with sketching materials and spend hours observing the interplay of light, water, and the ancient banyan trees that stand sentinel around the edges.

Renting a bicycle from my guesthouse (1000 vatu/day) gave me the freedom to explore multiple blue holes at my own pace. The ride itself becomes part of the experience – passing through small villages where children call out "hello!" and occasionally join you for portions of the journey.

The most magical moment came at Nanda Blue Hole (sometimes called Jacquie's Blue Hole), when I arrived to find it completely empty of other visitors. I spent three hours swimming, floating, and watching dragonflies skim across water so clear it seemed like an optical illusion. The property owners have built a simple bamboo platform for jumping, and the 10-meter plunge into cool water became my daily meditation.

When archive-diving and market-sketching left me craving pure solitude, I'd hop on a local bus (really just a van with 'B' on the license plate) and head to Lonnoc Beach on the eastern coast. This crescent of white sand facing Turtle Island offers the kind of quiet that's becoming endangered in our hyperconnected world.

I stayed two nights in a simple bungalow at Lonnoc Beach Bungalows (3000 vatu/night) with no electricity except for solar-powered lights from 6-9pm. The first night, I nearly panicked at the disconnect – my solar charger barely keeping my devices alive. By the second night, I'd surrendered to the rhythm of the place, falling asleep to the sound of waves and waking with the roosters.

The beach itself offers excellent snorkeling directly from shore. The coral begins just 10 meters out and extends in a vibrant garden that rivals many dedicated dive sites I've visited. Pack your own mask and snorkel if possible – the rentals are limited and well-loved (read: leaky).

The beach's resident dog – a sweet mutt named Captain – adopted me immediately and became my companion for long walks along the shore. We'd collect interesting shells and driftwood that I later incorporated into temporary sculptures, photographing them before letting the tide reclaim the materials.