Untouched and Unassuming: The "Solo" Way
SOLOMON ISLANDS
I somehow selected the Solomon Islands without securing much - including an outbound flight! Initially, I envisioned it as ‘the spot’ within the sequencing of sites and cities to be the place of peace and play (after all, it’s ranked as one of the world’s top dive sites). When I couldn’t confirm ongoing transport or a roof over my head though, the smatterings of islands made me rethink the realities and logistics of living (and exploring) rural and remote regions.
As it turned out, the congestion was caused by the South Pacific Games. Thousands from nearby islands were coming to Solo at the same tie as my random schedule and so, I quickly clicked on the second to last hotel room available at $200/night, a price that seemed like a steal compared to the next available one ringing in at $2.5k/night.
Housing 24 countries and showcasing traditional and mainstream sports over one week, this festival altered my plans and perspectives - a classic scenario where Life launches its liberties to lead us into its own labyrinth of outcomes.
The tiny airport had signage for athletes and coaches, but we were all at the same standstill while one immigration officer scrutinized the first passenger off the plane.
The silver lining of the bottleneck and the two hour arrival process was that I met two lovely ladies from Papua New Guinea. My intro into the genuine friendliness was when they welcomed me to hop in with them for a 30 minute ride into town in their brother’s pick up truck.
Many of these mainland islands have one major road. On Guadalcanal, there was only a smiley face half crescent road hugging the southern edge. In fact, many slices of streets were just sealed and completed a few weeks before the Games. Also with China’s support, an awkwardly large sport complex dotted the drive.
We whizzed by what was becoming a usual scene: random shops smattered street-side, like frosh who’ve arrived at welcome week, wondering where (and whether) they belong.
The clouds loomed overhead and the shoreline to my right seemed stifled. Body odour permeated the air, but luckily, so did music. It turned out that my hotel, equipped with its very own tram that’d transport me to my ocean facing room, was on the main drag.
Venturing out moments after checking in, I was elated that the daily cultural shows were happening in my hood! I roamed through the market, marveling at the carving caliber of the Islanders. In fact, the wood was so beautiful and the soft curves so silky, I carried a snail-style serving bowl and accompanying salad spoons for the rest of my travels, just to be able to bring home this quality of craftsmanship. The National Art Gallery was small but versatile, showcasing jewelry, paintings, weavings and also the infamous statue most gifted as an offering and wish for peace.
The nightly shows took place on a stage erected in what was likely a parking lot. Dirt was all around. Interestingly, cars and trucks drove across the stage-front intermittently and though we were all outside, the MC requested “smokers light up in designated areas only”, marrying that call out with his routine reminder that “Solo was the known to be the happy isles”. So far, it seemed so true.
Folks were genuinely curious, hospitable, polite, friendly and kind, en masse. It actually wasn’t even the kind that needed soliciting or seeking. And with that (re)exposure, my insides warmed (and wished for our world to have more of such spaces).
In fact, I’d messed up my knee a few days ago, so as I shifted from stand to squat, a lovely local noticed me cringing and brought over a plastic chair - one of the few to be found amongst the standing crowd. What would have happened if I was in my own country or yours instead I wondered … In fact, how could we contribute to the Charter for Compassion?
The talent on display was a huge highlight of the trip to Oceania! Such diverse traditions highlighting how peoples of these isles dance, dress, sing and celebrate today, likely with little departure from days gone by. Enroute to the performance area, I stumbled upon a rehearsal in another parking lot. As peeked through the gate, I saw smiling sweeties practicing their sequence ahead of their show down.
Growing up at a time where we would enroll and prep in ‘variety shows’, I saw a different slant: the South Pacific shined light and respect on their past without remixing or assimilating. So in spite my short stay in Solo, I saw lots of legit and local culture in motion. A site that will stay stamped in my memory with great fondness and appreciation indeed.
Fortunately, one of the yummiest places to splurge and satiate my stomach was situated splendidly in prime viewing of these shows. Though I usually taste-test my way in new territories, I was a frequent flyer at Palm Sugar. In my defense, securing local currency (to eat, play, sit, go anywhere else) turned out to be a gong show. Banks an the Main Western Union branches ran out of cash, actually. They somehow seemed surprised of the increase demand for local currency during this massive influx into Honiara. While I literally seemed to be the only tourist for days and miles, the very many others here for the games, or the Mercy Ship (the US Marine ship here to support the games) also seemed shock to spend several hours trying to secure some cash.
I made friends with the local Western Union security guard who (left his post while on duty there then) escorted me to a Chinese man’s store to make a slightly suboptimal yet swifter exchange. This same guy also helped me navigate the local minibus, pausing to do his own shady swaps streetside with the local mamas selling little illicit packets via transactions that showcased lessons in ‘how to be nonchalant’.
Including its eccentricities, Solo’s vibe has been authentic and legit off the beaten path. The country and people offer a refresher of compassionate communities, what life was, is and might likely still be like … maybe even till the time you get to visit!
May heartfelt connections be ours amongst strangers and soulmates alike,