Want to do something more than laze in the sun in Vanuatu ?……….

A Sun-Herald and Reuters report asks if you want to do something more than laze in the sun in Vanuatu – how about an open ocean swim?

Ocean racing is a stroke of hard work, as Michelle Singer discovers in Vanuatu.

As someone mad enough to consider ocean swimming as a potentially fun way to pass the time, going to Vanuatu to frolic somewhat competitively in the clear tropical waters of the South Pacific seemed like a must.

So my partner and I decided to throw financial caution to the wind and splurged on a seven-day quest that would involve a large dose of relaxation with a sprinkling of competitive ocean swims.

The weather was as expected – a sunny 28 degrees. The water was equally good – a clear 26 degrees.

Having packed more bikinis than Speedos and indulged in more cocktails and French food than bottled water and pasta, it was easy to get swept up in the excitement and pleasures of the holiday rather than the looming races.

At the starting line of the 2.6-kilometre swim from Espiritu Santo to Aore Island, the heat was energy-sapping and it was clear I’d eaten one too many croissants at breakfast.

Of the 60 competitors – a mix of New South Welshmen, Victorians and a few Australian expats who donned swimming caps and sun cream – a handful of adventurous Vanuatuans had also turned out to swim.

As we waded into waist-deep water our destination was barely visible, with only a couple of luxury yachts lolling off shore to keep us on track.

Our safety crew, dozens of locals in homemade boats and canoes, were already in the water, waiting to follow and guide individual swimmers across the deep channel to the other island.

Careful not to stub a toe on the rocks, I scrambled with my goggles, only to hear the starting gun fire without warning. Unprepared, I threw myself into the water.

Thrashing about rather than swimming got me past the first buoy as a body pulled up beside me and matched me stroke for stroke.

“No worries,” I thought. “I can match this,” as I focused on keeping up with my swimming buddy.

The burning in my shoulders wasn’t so much of a concern as the pain in my chest that started about halfway across.

There was little time to daydream; instead I wondered if, at 27, I was able to die of a heart attack and whether the Vanuatuans paddling their wooden boat next to me knew CPR.

As I kept half an eye on the finish, the moored yachts never seemed to get closer, no matter how hard I swam, and my rival, now half a body-length in front of me, wasn’t letting up.

And then the unthinkable happened – my goggles came off.

As I trod water with the finish line in sight, my hopes of winning – OK, not winning, but beating my arch nemesis – faded.

But having swum at least two kilometres side-by-side, my rival graciously turned and said: “Come on, we’re almost there,” before continuing.

It was all the motivation I needed. With my goggles firmly back in place and the pain in my arms now numbing my entire body, I realised the yachts and the beach were finally within reach.

Tropical fish swam oblivious below me and colourful beds of coral served as a frustrating reminder of how slow my progress was.

But I swam until my hands could touch the sand, then hauled myself out of the water and stumbled, out of breath, as other swimmers cheered me, and other finishers, across the line.

Dazed and confused, or possibly deliriously happy, my arch-rival sprinted across the line. With a grin and a handshake we compared experiences, and it turned out swimming from one island to another was as tough for him as it was for me.

Report by The Mole