So, let’s start at the beginning.

We arrived in Port Resolution on Saturday, but because of the clearing-in procedures we weren’t able to leave the boat until Sunday afternoon. The officials have to travel from Lenakel, the next larger town, over what can only generously be described as a “road”. Needless to say, it took them a while to get here.

As soon as we had officially entered Vanuatu, we handed over a guitar to Werry, who runs the local Yacht Club and coordinates the arrival of visiting yachts. The “Yacht Club” is, in the purest sense of the phrase, simply a place where sailors happen to meet. It’s a beautiful open building made from palm and pandanus, decorated with flags left behind by visiting boats over the years. Honestly, I think it’s one of the nicest yacht clubs we’ve ever visited.

Werry was incredibly grateful for the guitar, and his wife surprised me with a beautiful little woven bag as a thank-you gift. A few weeks ago they had asked in one of the Fiji sailing groups whether anyone heading to Tanna could bring them a guitar. We simply answered the call.

Being back here also brought back so many memories from our visit 13 years ago. Then Mark pulled out photographs from our last visit.

Within minutes we had a crowd gathered around them. People recognised themselves, neighbours recognised each other, children had become adults, babies had somehow turned into fathers, and everyone kept pointing and laughing.

Seeing those familiar faces after all these years was one of the most heartwarming moments of our entire journey.

And somehow… it only got better.

The following day we climbed Mount Yasur, one of the world’s most accessible active volcanoes—and the star of a famous German children’s movie „Checker Tobi und das Geheimnis unseres Planeten“.

Our boys had known about it long before they ever knew where Tanna was. Whenever friends asked about our trip, Mount Yasur was always one of the first things they proudly mentioned.

We had booked our walk with Donovan from the village across the bay. 

When we arrived, Serah welcomed us with six local children and happily announced that Ivan—aged twelve—would be our guide for the next two and a half hours.

There was a brief moment where my European brain quietly whispered:

“…Is there perhaps… an adult coming as well?”

There wasn’t.

Turns out we didn’t need one.

Within about five minutes our boys each had a freshly carved spear, expertly made with a machete that Ivan handled with considerably more confidence than I use a kitchen knife. It was to practise their aim… something they sure needed!

Game over.

The pirates had found their people.

Then Janu casually climbed a coconut tree, picked us fresh coconuts and somehow managed to select the sweetest ones we’ve ever tasted.

At that point the boys started discussing whether we really needed to continue to Australia at all.

Reaching Mount Yasur was absolutely spectacular. It was breathtaking in every sense of the word. The volcanic gases were particularly strong, so every now and then we actually had to step away from the crater simply to catch our breath.

Combined with strong winds and surprisingly cold temperatures, our youngest pirate decided after a few minutes that he had seen enough volcano… and declared that the walk there had actually been the best part.

We returned to Akuna shortly after 8 p.m., tired, dusty and still trying to process what we had just experienced.

The next day we revisited Chez Lea’s, a little restaurant in Port Resolution that we had also visited 13 years ago. Back then, Lea was sitting outside weaving baskets. I had asked whether she could teach me.

At the time we somehow managed with my non existing French and her almost non-existent English.

Now her English is fantastic.

When I asked whether she could teach the boys and me to weave a basket from palm leaves once again, not only did she happily agree, but soon her daughters and grandchildren joined in as well and what was meant to be a quick lesson turned into one of those afternoons you wish you could bottle.

Meanwhile, our boys had already organised themselves a social calendar.

The next morning they headed over to the neighbouring village to make bows and arrows… and to go hunting for bats and birds – with the kids who had shown us up the volcano.

Mark and I stayed behind, sitting in the grass with Serah and her family and especially Donovan’s father, Jack. We simply talked while the afternoon drifted by.

Listening to Jack’s life story gave us a completely different perspective on what it means to provide for your family.

To give his children opportunities he himself never had, he left Tanna to work in American Samoa for twenty-two years.

He left his wife, his two-year-old son Donovan and his unborn second son to work in a country he didn’t know the language of. Not once could he come to visit. Only last year did he finally come back to Tanna.

His sacrifice is almost impossible to imagine.

Later that afternoon, Mark and I wandered off towards the hot springs, still thinking about everything Jack had shared.

Halfway through the forest we heard an explosion of laughter.

We knew those voices.

Sure enough, there were our three boys together with their new friends launching themselves off enormous jungle vines like tiny Tarzans into soft dirt below.

It seems that no matter where in the world you grow up, nearly killing yourself while getting absolutely filthy is universally recognised as excellent entertainment.

After proudly demonstrating several increasingly questionable stunts, the boys politely informed us that it would now be best if we left again. They had serious business to attend to: practising with their bows on some semi-domesticated pigs roaming the forest before continuing their bat hunt.

Parents apparently weren’t required for that part.

A few hours later we picked them up, only to discover they had already arranged another hunting date for the following morning.

This time the agenda included building bird traps.

It’s difficult to describe how it feels watching our children become such genuine friends with the kids here. The invitations keep coming, so clearly the feeling is mutual.

Oddly enough, that makes it much easier to suppress the tiny parental voice that’s slightly concerned about Nino confidently using a 50-centimetre machete, or Joe and Uki launching themselves off vines with several metres of fresh air underneath them.

There is something deeply grounding and humbling about this place.

And what I love is that there is none of the comparing that sometimes happens between cruising kids.

Nobody cares what boat we have.

Nobody asks what games they play.

Nobody compares bicycles, bedrooms or game consoles.

Because none of that means anything here. 

Instead, the local children teach our boys the skills that matter in their world: how to make bows and arrows, build traps, climb coconut trees and turn an entire forest into the greatest playground imaginable.

And maybe the most beautiful thing is watching how naturally our boys embrace it all.

It’s as though some ancient instinct that had been buried beneath screens, schedules and modern life has quietly woken up again.

And perhaps that’s the greatest gift Tanna has given all of us.

As parents, we’re learning too.

Sometimes the hardest part is simply stepping back.

When I asked Serah why children here already know how to use large machetes at such a young age, she looked at me with genuine surprise.

“You have to let them start early,” she said. “When they’re little they hurt themselves just enough to learn not to do it again.”

Strangely… I think there might be some truth in that.

And somehow our magical time here still isn’t over.

I can’t wait to see what else Tanna has hidden up its sleeve.