End of the Road

It smells like muddy water. It looks like muddy water. It tastes like muddy water. It’s called Kava and I drank it, gladly, for almost two years straight in the beautiful island nation of Vanuatu.

Where the paved road meets the dirt road, a small red light lures you down a flight of stone steps. At their base the ocean slaps gently against the stone wall that protects an array of tables and chairs alongside a small bamboo hut. In Vanuatu these kava selling huts are called Nakamals. Men stand near the hut, chug the contents of their half-filled coconut shells and then spit the taste out at their feet.

I walk up to the counter, plop down a 100 Vatu coin and wait for my shell of kava. The man behind the counter raises his eyebrows at me, a hello that’s given to familiar faces. I smile back in my western way and then take the shell of muddy water.

The harsh, earthy taste of the grinded root goes down easy enough until the last swig, which is embedded with grainy bits that had settled at the bottom of the shell. I add my own wad of kava muddled spit to the ground and then go find the table of small island foods being sold by “Mamas”. I buy a piece of papaya to wash the taste of the kava out of my mouth.

My friends are waiting for me in chairs propped up close to the water. One of them still has drops of kava hiding in his beard. The other, his red hair dulled in the setting sun, looks like he’s already stoned on the kava. His features are relaxed, his eyes tell me that he’s come to peace with the world.

Kavabeard motions for me to take a seat between them. After a few minutes the kava starts to work for me too. My body sinks into the chair, every hint of a tense muscle disappears, and my mind numbs, not with incapacity but with a sense of deep calm and satisfaction.
The stars are starting to come out and they glisten over the crystal surface of water below them. Another island frames the horizon and to the left of where we sit I can just make out the small city of Luganville glimmering on the water’s edge.

Looking out on this surreal scene only adds to the effect of the kava. It’s easy to understand how the drink is a direct reflection of the culture of Vanuatu, the only place in the world that it grows so potently. There are no worries here, there are no problems here. There is only calm. And for me that’s worth one coconut shell of dirty water at the edge of the world, where the paved road ends.