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After a big dinner with all the new friends we had met we headed for the Sea Lion. This is a must if you ever find yourself on Isla Isabela wondering what the nightlife is like. It’s a tiny bar situated between a pier and a sandy beach break. It’s tables, chairs, and hammocks are in the sand and covered by a thatch roof. We pounded giant brown bottles of yellow labeled Ecuadorian Pilsner with a German, and Israeli, and two Irishmen. Just for the record, the German and the Israeli were out first and it was a draw between the Canadian and the Irish. We slept though the alarm and barely caught the fast boat back to Santa Cruz. Conspicuous in his absence was one of the Irish from the night previous who was supposed to be on the same boat. Complimented with hangovers, our ride was in fact far worse than it was on the way out. sunday june 29th 2008 (pacific ocean, day two) We blasted out of Academy bay like a cork out of a bottle. The wind was gusting up to 30 knots right on the beam and provided us with a wild, fast, wet, sometimes scary ride. We seemed to average about 8 or 9 knots with about 20 knots of wind. At this rate we will be able to make our turn to the southwest in a day or so, a lot sooner than expected. Once we do it should be a comfortable ride with following wind, seas, and current; the perfect sailing trifecta. tuesday july 1st 2008 (pacific ocean, day four) To our fellow countrymen and women: Happy Canada Day. We thought of you today and hope that you have enjoyed your picnics, your day at the beach, the potato salad and the fireworks. It is a day for temporary red maple leaf tattoos on rosy cheeks and domestic beer. That reminds me, the July long weekend kicks off Calgary stampede time. In Calgary Alberta right now men women and children everywhere will be wearing wranglers and crisp new cheapo cowboy hats. Businesses serve pancake breakfasts on styrofoam plates with flimsy plastic cutlery. They close early to gorge on free beans and beef on a bun which has been provided by some local financial institution or an oil and gas company. Sunburned tourists and local politicians alike pay an inflated cover charge so that they can crowd into bars to pay for overpriced Budweiser’s and ogle the tub tarts. Standard storefront decoration includes a bale (or more) of hay and a picket fence. Strange rituals take place; like hitching wagons covered with the logos of corporate sponsors to teams of horses and racing them around in a circle. Before any wagon circle racing can begin though, tent pegs and a fake camp stove must be thrown into the back of the wagon. Then they are chased around by men on horseback called outriders. Sometimes outriders fall off their horses to the amusement of the crowd. Drunken idiots pee on cars from the windows of party buses and self righteous pasty vegan do-gooders protest the rodeo. Good luck Calgary. wednesday july 2nd 2008 (pacific ocean, day five) A helicopter? Is this a mirage? Today a little helicopter buzzed us. It was bright red and had huge inflatable pontoons. It flew so close and low that I actually thought at one point that it was going to land just behind us. We could clearly see the faces of the two guys flying it. They waved. We waved back. They ascended and flew off over the horizon. Weird.
thursday july 3rd 2008 (pacific ocean, day six) We wake up to a watery 360 degree horizon every morning. The steady sound of our wake splashing away is our constant 24 hour a day companion. It sounds like a small waterfall or a creek rushing over a shallow rocky stretch. We love it because apart from our instruments it is the only sign of progress that we have. The louder it is, the faster we are going. Like action lines on a comic book. It’s the wind drawn behind the hero’s fist to demonstrate velocity and speed. It is the only sign other than the GPS that the boat is in fact moving. We have watched 5 sunsets and six sunrises, a whole work week for you. Think back to what you were doing 5 full nights ago. That’s how long that wake has been showing sounding our progress. Sometimes it’s roaring. The maximum speed we’ve attained was over 13 knots, a record for us. We’ve come a long way and are a great many miles from shore. Despite it all, we are still closer to our point of departure than we are to our destination. This is one hell of a big ocean. It’s a comfortable ride but we could do with a little more wind. Despite our rocket launch out of the archipelago, we have settled into a humble 100 mile a day average. Hundred mile days are not great but not bad. They kind of remind me of the annoying mediocre type employees that do the absolute bare minimum, just enough to keep themselves from getting fired. Where are these boisterous SE trades? We want progress! On the plus side, the smooth slow ride agrees with Jaime. She is up and about which is practically a miracle. She has even been clean and sober (off the seasick pills) for 3 days now. I spent my 32nd birthday in and around the 2.49 degrees south and 98.45 degrees west vicinity. Jaime made me pizza and smuggled ice cream onto the boat for the occasion. My wish was for 15-20 knots of wind.
We are scaring up hundreds of flying fish today. I don’t know what it is but big schools of them have been taking flight in front of the boat all morning. They launch themselves out of the water and skim along just above the surface. Flying up and down waves they soar 50 yards or more but never more than an inch or two off the surface of the water. I work the 6-10AM shift, it has become a morning ritual for me to do a walk-around the boat to collect all of the squid and flying fish from the deck and toss them back into the ocean before they start to stink. The helicopter flew by again today. He didn’t get as close this time, just flew past and disappeared over the horizon. saturday july 5th 2008 (pacific ocean, day eight) A lazarette is a fancy boat name for a storage locker. Outside in our cockpit we have two lazarettes, one under each seat along the back bench. One lazarette contains our propane tanks; two 20 pound cylinders, probably the same kind that you have for your barbeque. The other houses our little Honda gas powered generator and a six gallon jerry can of gas. This morning it was also home to one dead flying fish approximately six inches long. As mentioned previously, I clean dead flying fish and squid off the deck of the boat every morning so the dead fish in itself is not unusual at all. A dead fish that has managed to find its way inside a closed and secure hatch on the other hand is quite a mystery. If you figure that one out please let me know. Supplementing our diet with fresh seafood has been a no-brainer. Each morning when I clean the carnage off the deck I get a good look at what the fishes here are eating. I can only assume that these little flying fishes and squids have chosen to hurl themselves onto the deck of our boat to escape yummy predators below, so all I have to do is find the lure that most closely resembles them to guarantee a catch. Every time I’ve put the lure in the water we’ve feasted on fresh tuna within a couple of hours. If you haven’t caught a fish and heard it sizzling away in a frying pan with some butter and garlic within a half hour of hauling it out of the sea you are missing out on one of life’s great pleasures. tuesday july 8th 2008 (pacific ocean, day eleven) We maintain a 24 hour watch. The daytime is fine. We are both up and about for the most part, so it doesn’t really feel like work, you are just hanging out and one of you happens to be responsible for scanning the horizon every 15 minutes or so. Night watch on the other hand is horrifying. My shift is 10PM to 2AM and Jaime takes the 2-6. Don’t get me wrong, there are enchanting moments; the falling star that resembles a roman candle on steroids, as colorful and three times as bright. Or the supernatural looking phosphorescence churned up by the boat, a glowing fluorescent green wake stretching back for a hundred meters, and the amount of stars visible defy belief. But once the novelty of all that wears off (and it does), you are just one tired sorry assed human trying anything to stay awake. We have both come to loathe the bastardly night shifts. The pox on all night shifts and their ancestors. We want sleep! thursday july 10th 2008 (pacific ocean, day thirteen) Somebody heard my birthday appeal. We have maintained a 150 mile average since the same afternoon that I complained about the lack of wind. This is a good thing and if it keeps up we will make the Marquises in far less than 30 days. At this point we are more than half way there but still have another 1200 NM’s to go (over 2000 kms). We caught a big fish, bummer. That means that the fridge and freezer will be full for a while. Now I have one less activity to occupy my time. friday july 11th 2008 (pacific ocean, day fourteen) I’m not going to lie; this ocean stuff can be scary as hell. For some reason the wind decides top pick up every evening. It’s nothing but fun and easy, sunny and happy all the day long until the last hour before sunset. Then you watch the wind come up which raises the sea to monstrous heights. The wind howls, the rigging shakes and screams, the hull creaks, waves slam into you with horrifying intensity and then it gets dark. At this point you should be getting some sleep before your night shift but are more likely to be found lying under the settee in the fetal position sucking your thumb imaging what lurks in the 6000 feet of water beneath you. saturday july 12th 2008 (pacific ocean, day fifteen) The Pacific is the world's largest ocean. Its area is greater than all of the world's dry land put together. It covers one third of the earth's surface and contains half the water on the planet. The average depth of the Pacific is just over 4,000m (13,200ft) but at its deepest is more than 11,000m, which means that it goes much further down than Mount Everest goes up. That’s deep. We are currently following the longest westerly running current in the world. The North Equatorial Current runs 9000 miles from Panama all the way to the Philippines. We’ve been at this for over two weeks now. Good lord what have we gotten ourselves into? Today I went for a skinny dip in the middle of the Pacific Ocean just so that I could say that I did. I was happily dragging myself behind the boat when something decided to have a nip at my, er… tackle. This is a true story. Nothing will ever scare you like having your pecker sampled by some unknown aquatic predator while you splash around in the middle of a deep dark ocean. I leaped out of the water like I was shot from a slingshot. Inspection revealed no damage, with the exception of suffering a nearly fatal heart attack. It will be a long time before I get in the water again. Fortunately Jaime was right there to laugh and capture this brilliant Kodak moment.
sunday july 13th 2008 (pacific ocean, day sixteen) This morning I got up and relieved Jaime at 6AM. She has developed this morbid fear of flying fish for some reason and last night one actually managed to launch itself right through the door, into the cabin and land on the seat beside her. I would have written this off as some kind of sleep deprived hallucination but there were actually fish scales on the cushion. These flying fish never cease to amaze. It was one of those days. After driving the top if my head into the cabin top and nearly knocking myself unconscious I decided to fix myself a piece of toast and a cup of tea for breakfast. I’m a coffee drinker, but tea is easier to make so it’s become my early morning passage drink of choice. During an ocean passage seemingly benign activities can become life threatening. Taking a pee off the back deck for example, one wrong step and you are gone forever. Go for a dip and risk becoming a gelding. Fixing a pot of tea becomes a circus act; juggling a pot of boiling water, a flaming stove and balancing a cup while the boat pitches everything back and forth. That’s only the beginning, drinking your hot beverage is another matter. Try enjoying a scalding hot cup of tea or coffee the next time you are in a car or truck doing a little off-roading. After a few serious burns I had my tea safely on the table and turned around to butter my toast. Things were looking up. The throbbing from my head was beginning to subside, the sun was coming up, and a nice cup of tea was waiting for me on the table. Then all at once hell broke loose. I’m still not sure exactly how all of this unfolded, but one big wave and 4 seconds later my toast was in the sink and the tea was all over me, the floor, the wall, the roof… This sucks. monday july 14th 2008 (pacific ocean, day seventeen) This morning there were 12 squid on deck, a new slapdash record. They have become the bane of my existence. If you are lucky you only have to deal with their tacky corpse stuck to the deck. If you are unlucky they managed to get a death squirt of squid ink out all over the place before they succumb to the death they deserve. What a stinking awful mess. I have solved the mystery of the red shitting birds though. In the Galapagos we learned that the Pink Flamingo’s only turn pink after they’ve eaten enough pink critters. Well guess what? These squid have pink guts which explains the red shit from the shit birds. At least the flying fish have the decency to die cleanly and respectably, these squids with their pink guts and inky residue are a plague. The next chance I get I’m going to order an extra large plate of calamari. tuesday july 15th 2008 (pacific ocean, day eighteen) Forced inactivity. We pass the time by playing cards, watching a movie or two, playing chess, listening to music, staring out the window, cooking, sleeping, or fishing. That’s about it. For the past couple of days we’ve been cruising along with just our mainsail. The wind has been at this funny angle; not quite enough of an angle for a broad reach (the headsail keeps luffing) and just too much of an angle to run wing and wing. We could veer off to get a better angle but I really don’t think taking ourselves off course on a big tack just to get the headsail out will really gain us much. Right now we are right on the rhumb line and maintaining a 150 mile a day average so for the time being I guess we will continue to putter along with one sail up. The wake still lets us know that we are in fact moving. Otherwise it would be like a drive in the prairies. No point of reference, the landscape far too immense to register any progress. Each new day looks like the last, and the next day probably won’t be any different. Still waiting for a life altering experience.
saturday july 19th 2008 (pacific ocean, day twenty one) Land-ho! Lonely Planet calls Fatu Hiva the “Island of superlatives”. We can see why. Our first sight of land in 3 weeks leaves us speechless. All we can do is gawk, and fill our lungs with the smells of land. Our sense of smell has apparently been sharpened by our time at sea. We can detect the separate aromas of soil, lush vegetation, smoke, sandalwood, blooming flowers and vanilla while still miles from land. Finally something on our horizon has changed. Nothing like sighting land to snap you out of hibernation. Filled with the sense of accomplishment we went about cleaning the boat for arrival. I don’t know what it is that inspires this activity, but for some reason we always feel the need to straighten things up before we make landfall. With the sails down for the first time in weeks we motor the last couple of miles behind the shelter of Fatu Hiva and have time to reflect on some of the trip statistics: - Total duration: 21 days - Distance traveled: 2900 nautical miles (5371 kilometers) - Fuel used: 8 gallons (30 liters) of diesel - Squalls encountered: 2 (our flag seems to have taken the brunt of them) - Amount of fresh water used: 45 gallons (170 liters) - Bags of Ramen noodles consumed: 12 - Squids and flying fish killed: dozens - Ships sighted: 2 - Maximum wind speed encountered: 36 knots (67 kph) - Maximum boat speed over ground: 16.1 knots (29.8 kph) - Average cruising speed: 5.75 knots (10.6 kph) - Domestic disputes: 1.5 I can’t wait to get to shore and shave off this stupid beard. That and find out if civilized world has come to an end. Maybe bolstered by their overwhelming success in Iraq the US has decided to invade Canada to bring us democracy and occupy our tar sands. Or maybe, just maybe we’ll find ourselves in starring roles of a real life version of that movie where the guy wakes up from a coma and finds out that everyone’s been infected with some rage virus and has turned into crazed zombies! I know. We are more likely to be met with a bunch of news about the upcoming US election, the latest Britney scandal and find out that oil is trading at 957 dollars and twelve cents a barrel or something… but we can dream right? Here’s a thought; we scan the horizon for ships every 15 minutes 24 hours a day. It’s an accepted cycle of watch keeping employed by most yachts at sea. That means we carefully scanned the horizon 2016 times over the past 21 days. We sighted two ships during the passage (which both happened to be on the same night) which means that not even on one tenth of one percent of all those watch cycles did we actually see another ship. Or put another way; over 99.99 percent of the time we saw nothing. Are you beginning to understand why we were so giddy to spot Fatu Hiva?
sunday july 20th 2008 (fatu hiva, marquesas islands) The Marquesas. Described as “the far and few” by Paul Theroux in his book The Happy Isles of Oceana. He sailed here aboard the Aranui, a large seaworthy commercial vessel which regularly plies these waters carrying passengers and cargo to and from the various islands throughout French Polynesia. Fatu Hiva is one of the dozen rugged little islands that comprise this chain. Only six of the islands are populated, and only by 7000 people in total. They are descendants of Polynesian tribes whose pre-Cook population may have been more than 10 times the current number. The islands were claimed by France in 1842 so it’s a good thing that Jaime has been studying so hard, French is still the primary language in these here parts. I speak about three words of French so have little to contribute. Resorting to elaborate gestures, imaginary French sounding words, and Spanish phrases I invariably wind up shooting Jaime a blank look, my signal that I am way over my head and have absolutely no idea what is being said. Herman Melville was here and wrote Typee. A self labeled “savage”, the hard drinking syphilis ridden French pedophile named Gauguin did a little painting here and is buried on Hiva Oa. We are anchored in the Bay of Dicks, or if you prefer Penis’s. Historic, rugged, awe inspiring and staggeringly beautiful, the Bay of Dicks lives up to every superlative used to describe it. A row of natural stone pillars, exceedingly dick-like in their appearance inspired the original name for this bay which was “Baie des Verges”. Fair translations of the word Verges could be dick, cock or wang. The missionaries were not amused by penis jokes though and so decided to sneak an “i” in there. This is how the Baie des Verges became Baie des Vierges, or virgins. As everyone knows virgins are way holier than giant volcanically created basalt schlongs.
tuesday july 22nd 2008 (fatu hiva, marquesas islands) We’ve bathed, shaved, and found old friends (not necessarily in that order). Blue Jay, the South African boat that we seem to have the uncanny ability to find anywhere in the world, the same one that was beside us in a Cuban marina and tied next to us throughout our Panama canal passage is now anchored right here beside us in the Bay of Dicks. All the luxuries of land and a few familiar faces, tres bien! We set off on foot today intending to find the waterfall rumored to be hidden in one of the lush tropical valleys behind Hanavave. We chatted with a few locals along the way. Teresa took us into her home to tempt us with her handcrafts. The only conventional currencies of any interest to the locals here are the CFP (Pacific Franc) or Euros, since we have neither the discussion turned to a more traditional form of currency, one that has been in use since the first European set foot here; trade. Tinned food, .22 caliber bullets, alcohol, cosmetics, sunglasses and earrings were among the things we were consistently asked for. In fact, before the day was out we received no less than 4 different requests for ammunition. If only we had known. All of these things are readily available and dirt cheap in Panama. We did manage to do a little business, or “changez” as the locals say. Teresa’s tapa and hair pins weren’t of interest to us but a little later we met up with Chris the 300 pound tattooed carver who took us into his home and showed us his beautiful work. By the end of our stay here a little Marquesan art in the mediums of wood and ink would leave the island with us. A bottle of Rum, 5 life jackets, and some strands of rope will stay behind. wednesday july 23rd 2008 (fatu hiva, marquesas islands) We never did find that waterfall. Our walk into the hills was well worth it though. We met a few smiling locals, and unlike our home and native land the wild woods here are heavy with fruit bearing trees. The hills are steep and the going was tough for our atrophied limbs but here mangos rot on the ground before you. All you have to do is reach up to pluck varieties of fruit that would leave your local grocer green with envy. We filled our bag with fresh vine ripened lemons, grapefruit, papaya, mango, guava, and oranges. It was literally a walk in the park, and only the pesky oranges proved themselves a prey worthy of our sword. In this case our sword was actually a big stick. I used it to bat away at the clusters of delicious looking oranges from a precarious perch high up in the limbs of a tall orange tree. To my consternation the stubborn oranges managed to resist the first of several blows but by the time Jaime managed to get the camera out I had them raining down on top of her. Resisting capture the oranges then made a hasty retreat down the steep hill we had just climbed. With great effort the fleeting fruit had to be tracked and apprehended one by one before they would finally succumb to the sack with the rest of our days catch. Sweaty and burdened down with the
literal fruits of our labor we made our way back to the wharf. Every corner seemed to reveal some little scene that together
with the rest painted a picture of paradise. The small babbling clear fresh water streams, the perfume and color of tropical
flowers, friendly locals, the way shades of purple come out of the green valley at sunset, perfectly kept houses gardens and
lawns… it’s easy to see why so many poets, writers and painters came here to find their inspiration.
friday july 25th 2008 (fatu hiva, marquesas islands) Reluctantly we pulled ourselves away from paradise, it would have been easy to stay for a month or for a year. We are up at 4AM so that we can be sure to reach our objective before sunset. If all goes well we will be anchored comfortably in Hapatoni Bay near the small island of Tahuata 43 nautical miles to our northwest. For the first time since leaving Myrtle Beach over 10 months ago I wish for a windlass. A windlass is an electronic winch used to retrieve your anchor and to save your spleen from rupturing, your discs from slipping, and the veins on your forehead from exploding. These steep volcanic islands have unforgiving steep and deep anchorages. I don’t know exactly how much our 70 feet of chain with an anchor attached to the end of it weighs, but I do know that it is about one tenth of an ounce less than the weight that it would take to actually kill me from the exertion of retrieving it hand over hand. Later Mark, our friend from Blue Jay, would show me how to rig a cheater line to a deck winch to save me the pain of death but for now I was limited to muscle and stupidity, a painful combination. With hands bloody and torn, discs slipped, veins popped we were happily on our way. A day trip here is unlike those we were spoiled with in the Caribbean. Our destination may not be far, but it is a passage through a deep blue ocean with nothing to break the wind or waves for thousands of miles. As soon as we left the shelter of Fatu Hiva the unobstructed wind and sea pounded us for 8 hours until we found shelter behind Tahuata. It was a tough day but supplied us with a lesson we will not soon forget: only leave an anchorage once you are prepared for the worst. The dramatic ragged cliffs on the southern tip of this island were every bit as impressive as those on Fatu Hiva. Craggy razor sharp volcanic tips scrape at the sky like a villainous fortress. Any of the great writers would be hard pressed to overstate how daunting this coastline appears from a small boat at sea.
saturday july 26th 2008 (tahuata, marquesas islands) A day on Tahuata. We make our way to shore. There is a perfect wharf about a half mile from where we are anchored. We follow a road past manicured gardens and a doll house shire into the thick trees. The road appears to be paved and the banks supported with the smooth round black stones of centuries old ships ballast. Actually you can spot the use of ancient mariners material in many places in these islands. Today I even found a metal spike which looks like a miniature railroad tie. With the rectangular head its maybe 3 inches long, square not round and nearly consumed by corrosion. Later we met a team of archeologists working on a site nearby who confirmed that what I had found was indeed a 19th century ships spike; so my nail was probably here to witness the day that on this very island (and only walking distance from where I found it) that Admiral Dupitit-Thouars signed the treaty linking the archipelago to France in 1842. Accounts of the era tell of sailors that used to trade these spikes for sexual favors from the uninhibited and bare breasted Marquesan women. The visionaries among them actually had the foresight to smuggle nails from home for this purpose, but drunk from the sight of lovely brown boobs horny sailors that didn’t preplan were not above pulling the nails up from the decks of their own ships. If only this peg could talk. Eventually the road we were following
petered out but we were determined to locate some old ruins we had spotted from the boat so bravely we pushed on. When we
had originally sighted the ruins we were lounging in the cockpit gazing up at the green slopes with lemonades in hand. From
that comfortable perspective the precipice didn’t look at all unattainable but up close and personal the hills began
to look remarkably steep, mostly because they were. The vegetation looked thick enough to block out the sun, and it did. We
battled through vines, burs, and humidity. The going got tough and the lazy got stubborn, and me without my machete. Finally
we rise above the foliage and see the blue sky for the first time in a couple of hard hours. To keep our bearings we kept
the sound of the ocean to our left and carried on. Jungle burs are now tangled into my leg hair, we are muddied to our knees
and itchy from bites and mites but finally through a clearing our goal reveals itself. It appears to be a stone alter, who
knows how old? Energized by our great discovery we scramble the last few yards. We are a thousand feet up and on a cornice
which overlooks the entire bay. It’s stunning and spectacular. Our elation is only quelled only by the discovery of
some kitschy cheap looking Jesus statue cluttering up our National Geographic exclusive. Oh well, at least the view is nice.
On the way down we discover a soundly maintained service road. What it lacked in the romantic exhilaration of discovery it made up for in convenience. So we made our way back down this track wide enough for a truck. We were disappointed in the anticlimax of our expedition, but grateful for the comparatively easy decent. Back in town we met a bone carving local. Jaime practiced her French and he practiced his sales skills by trying to convince us to exchange 300 dollars for a beautiful and intricately carved marlin spike. His son apparently has not inherited his business sense though; the 3 year old ran back and forth to his dads stash and with Cheezie stained fingers offered us tiki necklaces, boars tusk earrings and ornamentally carved bone fish hooks all free of charge. We would hand off the item to his dad when he wasn’t looking and the kid would just run back and grab something else for us. He had some quality pieces that were worth the money but since we still haven’t been to a major town we have no CFP’s or Euros to give him. In the end he didn’t close the deal but invited us to stick around Hapatoni another day for some traditional Tahuatan tribal dancing. sunday july 27th 2008 (tahuata, marquesas islands) We decided to accept the invitation and have stayed in Hapatoni another day. Twist our rubber arm. The locals here are great, the village is colorful and pristine. The artisans have talent to spare, and we have the bay all to ourselves. These are the days that make all the hard work and sacrifice worth every second and we’re stupidly content to kick back and soak it all up. We haven’t been more relaxed and at ease at any point on the trip so far. While breakfasting on grapefruit, banana bread, steeped tea flavored with amaretto we watched a dozen little dolphins splash around behind our boat. These guys were serious acrobats and pulled off triple spins just to show off. I was content just watching the show when Jaime suggested joining it. “What if we just swam over there?” she said. “Hadn’t even occurred to me” I replied wondering why I hadn't thought of that. . 10 minutes later we had joined the troop of curios aquatic mammals for a romp in the bay. What a way to start your day. Here we are anchored in our own secluded cove splashing around with 12 dolphins. They were herding schools of fish into a pocket of the bay and then feasting on them. Whenever we lost sight of the dolphins we would just have to wait for thousands of little bait fish to pass beneath us, then we knew that the dolphins wouldn’t be far behind. We could clearly hear their squeaks and chirps and see the grown adults passing on the technique to the cute little baby dolphins with them who were no more than 2 feet long. The fun ended when Jaime received a jellyfish sting on her upper lip. I reminded her that the folk remedy was to pee on the wound, not surprisingly she decided to tough it out instead. Fortunately it was a mild sting which didn’t swell or even leave a mark. After an hour of discomfort the pain subsided and for the remainder of the day she said that it just felt like a sunburn. While we were drying off the Aranui pull into our harbor. It’s the second time we’ve seen the vessel and today we know it’s our cue to get ashore for the ceremonies. We puttered our way to the dock just in time to see them offload a big excavator from a flat barge. They nearly lost it into the drink more than once which made the spectacle hard to watch. Despite doing nearly everything wrong, from the guy on shore trying to hold a line by hand to the operator nearly driving the barge right out from underneath of the tracks (advancing the machine while the bucket was firmly planted on the wharf), they managed to get the machine onto dry land without destroying anything or killing anyone. It reminded us that every television, microwave, truck and Cheezie was delivered to these islands in the same manner. Welcomed with knowing nods, winks and waves from a few locals we were glad to have been ashore yesterday. It gave us a bit of an exclusive feel that separated us from the tourists that had just come off that boat. The Aranui originates in Papeete, you can buy a birth on board to tour the islands with it as they deliver everything from beer to building supplies to remote outlying villages. At each stop the enterprising locals seem to put on a bit of a show, not missing the opportunity to peddle their tourist priced wares. We watched the dances and checked
out some more handcrafts but soon found ourselves retreating back down to the wharf. We hung out with the village kids there
who seemed happy to be jumping off the jetty rocks and trying to catch little minnows. There’s no better place in the
world for a little kid. Soon it became evident that this was a popular spot for all of the locals who wanted to avoid the
crowds in the village. When we first arrived there were 3 or 4 kids, but eventually there were 15 or 20.
Once again we found ourselves more at home with the locals than we did with a boatload of Europeans. Are we going native?
monday july 28th 2008 (tahuata, marquesas islands) We are anchored in 25 feet of clear blue water in Hanamoenoa Bay. The bay hides a rare commodity for the Marquesas; a sandy beach. After the dances yesterday we headed a few miles up the coast and found this place which is reputed to be one of the most beautiful anchorages in Polynesia. A big 100 foot long 3 story high luxury yacht beat us here. It didn’t have the typically overstated sharp lines of a designer yacht though; it had the practical look of a purpose built ocean going world cruiser. We went to the beach to explore joking that we would keep an eye open for the “bratty rich kids”. Our first surf landing went off okay. We didn’t capsize the dink, drown or even embarrass ourselves. Granted, the surf was only about 4 feet, but that’s still more than enough to flip your dink and we felt like hard core marines. We had to pull the dinghy 100 feet up the beach just to get it out of the surf zone though so we were grateful that a nice French guy named Marc ran down the beach in his red speedo and gave us a hand. After chatting with him and his wife Sophie we realized that we had shared nearly every anchorage since Colon. They invited us over for drinks and then I returned the favor by helping him launch their family dinghy through the surf. The right timing makes it look as easy as banana pie, but it’s a steep beach break here so the wrong timing means that you get pulverized. It was here that we met the archeologists. It was interesting chatting with them. They were here enjoying a day off from their dig and told us about all kinds of ruins here that haven’t been studied. The terrain is so steep and inhospitable that it’s not hard to imagine incredible sites waiting to be discovered. Still, the islands remain relatively untouched, Indiana’s wet dream. They come back every year and live with the locals in Viatahu. They seemed equally as interested in our story so we spent a lot of time swapping tales with them over coconuts before finally shoving off. Back at the boat we watched the sunset waiting still for our first look at the infamous “green flash”. Still no luck but it gave me a good excuse to drink the last ounce of our Cuban Rum. Having traded our backup bottle of Cortez back in Fatu Hiva, I was wondering where my next one would come from when 2 guys in a fancy dinghy pulled up. It was the extra large hard bottomed variety with a steering column and more horsepower than the slapdash engine, so of course it came from our neighbors in the big yacht. The “bratty rich kids” turned out to be Eric and Larry a couple of cool guys from California. They invited us over for drinks, anxious to check out their beautiful boat it was an offer we readily accepted. What do you bring for drinks to the boat that clearly has everything? We decided on a fine selection of the fruit we had picked as an offering, laughable in retrospect. The boats captain was there at the stern to meet us and tie off our dinghy. We were welcomed into the lap of luxury and formally met Larry, Eric and their families. Moments later we met another crew member, Kayt, who took drink orders. We chatted away for a bit and then commenced on a tour of the boat. This was no show boat, it was set up to be used and by someone serious about their fun. There were surf boards, a couple of jet ski’s, kite boards, scooters, a half dozen sets of scuba gear and a compressor capable of filling four tanks simultaneously in under 20 minutes. Luxurious but not the least bit stuffy. Larry had started out on a sailboat so when he told us about things like the several thousand gallons of fresh water that the boat was capable of producing per day it wasn’t with any tone of snobbishness; he just knew his own experience that it was something we would appreciate. Near the end of the tour we passed by the large galley where an enormous basket sat overflowing with every imaginable type of fruit from near and far. Jaime and I exchanged a quick glance and had to laugh out loud at the small offering of lemons and oranges in a grocery bag that we showed up with. Our meager offering was politely stacked there beside the rest of it though… and holding its own we think thank you very much. Drinks led to a dinner invite and soon we were on the back deck seated around a table formally set for 7 washing down gourmet food prepared by the full time chef with fine Italian wine while trying to save room for the raspberry cheesecake dessert. Our hosts were gracious and we hope to have the opportunity to return the favor and woo the Kauhale Kai owners and crew with some slapdash luxury; KD and wieners served with fine Italian boxed wine. Tomorrow we head to the most well known Marquesan Island; Hiva Oa which held the distinguished reputation of being the last bastion of cannibalism in the archipelago. Fortunately for us the locals have long since turned away from eating visitors and have decided instead to try and sell them native hand crafts like tapa (a kind of cloth made from bark), carved cow bones, boars tusks and rosewood tikis. Good for avoiding the stew pot, probably not so good for exciting adventure writing. tuesday july 29th 2008 (hiva oa, marquesas islands) We finally managed to get a message out to our friends and family. Nobody has heard from us since we left the Galapagos so it feels good to have finally informed the peeps back home that we have managed once again to elude a watery death. Why does everyone always seem so surprised at that? The internet card cost me 2000 CFP’s. At today’s exchange rate that’s about 27 dollars Canadian for 3 hours. It sounds crazy and it is but relative to the price of everything else here it’s actually about average. For example a small box of Corn Pops will set you back 10 bucks. Beer is 4-6 dollars, a can! Kind of tough pill to swallow after coming from Panama where we were used to paying 30 cents to a dollar for a beer. That’s just the beginning. A head of cabbage will cost you 5 bucks and Jaime bought a loaf of bread for 6 dollars. Unfortunately that was before we found out about the delicious and cheap French bread available. We met a couple of Perisians who said that the baguettes here on Hiva Oa are the best they’ve ever had. Here’s how we spent a hundred dollars today: - 4 packs of Ramen noodles - 1 loaf of bread - 2 small packages of cheese - 1 pound of rice - 2 small packages of spaghetti - 1 tin of green olives - 4 postage stamps - 1 ten minute phone card - 1 three hour internet card Actually I didn’t have enough to cover the phone card so had to go to a bank machine and come back with the 60 CPS’s that I was short. So far our July budget has been sitting there with a big fat zero on it though so I guess we can afford the added extravagance of… postage stamps? We don’t plan to spend a lot of time in Hiva Oa. We will have a look around, pick up a few groceries (our stock is looking pretty grim), find some internet and propane and be on our way. Oh yeah, one more thing we’ll need to do is locate my camera. Somehow it managed to separate itself from my backpack and is now enjoying a night out on the town which is why there are no pictures in this section. We think it’s at the grocery store. Could have been worse, we could have lost our 6 dollar loaf of bread! wednesday july 30th 2008 (hiva oa, marquesas islands) Our new friends from the big power yacht we met a few days ago came around today and invited Jaime over to use their laundry facilities. Actually they even offered to do it for us but we would have felt weird about that. Maybe they really appreciated our humble offering of fruit after all, either that or the fine plastic grocery bag that it was presented in. It was an incredibly generous offer though and it took her all of 3 nano seconds to mull over before jumping in the boat with them and taking off. She spent most of the day over there while I went into town to struggle away at getting an internet connection. I managed to get a couple of emails out but that was all. Unfortunately it doesn’t look like we’ll be updating the website from here. I did manage to get 2 or 3 lines in to let everyone know we are safe which should hopefully keep you all from calling the coasties on us. thursday july 31st 2008 (hiva oa, marquesas islands) Indifference would be a fair word to describe some of the locals attitude towards us at the islands we’ve visited. There are always a friendly few but a lot of locals just seem to tolerate us. Nobody has been openly rude or anything, but it’s almost like we’re see through sometimes. It’s not like we expect a parade or anything, just one of those subtle things we’ve noticed that feels a bit weird. We’ve been chatting with some of the other boat people in the anchorage and their experiences range from similar to off the charts terrible. One guy was so choked that all he could do was fume about the complications of clearing and how poorly he’s been treated. He was going to pull up his anchor and leave immediately for Tonga. Here in Hiva Oa we’ve been happy to get a different vibe altogether though. The anchorage is about a 45 minute walk from town. We’ve made the return trip 3 times now and have been offered rides every time but one. We had someone offer us some fruit that they had picked today too. Unsolicited acts of kindness that come off really naturally for them. Like doing a favor for a complete stranger is just an everyday activity. We’re also really glad that we went to some of the outlying islands first. That and a great spell of weather have left a pretty favorable impression on us. We didn’t know anything about the islands before we arrived so we didn’t have any preconceived notions either which probably helped. How would we sum it up? Strikingly beautiful, staggeringly expensive, with locals that range from indifferent to outwardly kind. If you are looking for glitz and action don’t come here. It’s more of a slow paced family oriented nature lover’s kind of scene. We had a good helping of memories and are ready to move along now. It was so hot today that we couldn’t really get motivated to do anything. Jaime came home with a huge pile of magazines along with clean laundry so we pretty much just lazed around flipping through ‘zines catching up on a world of pop culture that we’ve been so disconnected from over the past 10 months. Did you know that those stupid sunglasses from the 90’s with fluorescent colored frames are trendy again and that Lindsay Lohan is gay? How we’ve survived without this critical information I have no idea. By the way, we found the camera today. Turns out that we (by we I mean…) did leave it at the grocery store. I had taken it out of my pack to load up the groceries and left it sitting there on the counter. We walked in and the same guy was there. He flashed us a knowing smile, reached under the counter and handed it over. I even had some cash in there with the camera which was left untouched. One more positive experience to add to the list. We gave him a small reward for babysitting the camera for us which he tried hard to refuse. We just walked out though and since he was stuck there behind the counter there wasn’t anything he could do but keep it. |
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