May 29, 2010
19:25
After our unceremonious entrance into Taiohae, Lydia and I rowed to the quay to set a humble foot upon the magnificent parcel of land that exuded from the ocean millions of years ago. Magnificent slopes surrounded the entire bay, making for the difficult sail in, but a body-tingling view. We got our land legs stumbling up the road before settling into a restaurant for dinner. The cruising couple who had towed us in happened to have the same idea and we all had a pricey, but scrumptious, meal. The service was slow and vaguely interested, perfectly characterizing the Marquesan lifestyle. The islanders, in a similar fashion to Hawaii, have taken a very hakuna matata approach to every day life (it means no worries). It's figured the meal will eventually get set in front of you and by the time you get it you'll be very hungry indeed. Complaints and rushed requests from white folks are all met the same way: with snickering and indignation. One would be hard pressed to find a Marquesan in a hurry and the only quick-paced walkers around here are the yatistas. After dinner our fellow diners were kind enough to tow us back to Leeway to settle in for a hard night's sleep. I haven't slept that well since, well, the end of our last extended passage. The author fresh off the boat:
Today we all partook in a land-lubbin' adventure. Official and non-official activities were had by all: an informal check-in was completed at the gendarmerie (a painless procedure; one fills out a form and is handed another to mail to Tahiti), more than one helping of frozen yogurt was consumed by each, a heat of a pirogue race was watched, and a hike up the hill to sight-see a beautiful Catholic church. A break in our land-lubbin' adventure:
I found it very interesting to stumble into a Polynesian Catholic church. In the mid 1800s missionaries arrived and converted the population from their cannibalistic, pagan religion to the well-known Catholic faith. (A squabble between imperial countries' missionaries was actually the reason why the French are now the overlords of Polynesia). Being a young church-goer myself, the setting was familiar. We were strolling the grounds when a lei maker behind the church encouraged to walk in and I, again, found myself under in nostalgic vestibule of a Catholic church. All the components of an American Catholic church were present, but were adjusted by the cultural influences of Polynesia. The walk leading to the cathedral (looking back upon) and the aforementioned lei maker showing Dan how where to place his just-received flower:
Raw-wood, backless pews lined the entire hall of course, each equipped with the obligatory kneeling platform. The room, aerated with a tropical floral scent. The stations of the cross were carved from solid, rich-colored logs. These carvings depicted visceral tribal faces reacting to the pains of Christ, all amazingly detailed. The crucifix above the altar was another painstakingly carved piece of art. Tropical flowers adorned everything and made a stark contrast against the dark carved wood that detailed everything from the sermon stand to the pillars. Instead of stained-glass windows, the whole church was structured in an open air fashion (a very popular concept in these air-conditioner-free locales). Pleased by our cultural experience, and sporting sore, atrophied legs, we eventually wandered back down to the waterfront for coffee in the plaza. A shot of the tropically decorated altar:
June 6, 2010
~12:00
I've been in Taiohae for about a week now. The transition to a landlubber lifestyle wasn't a difficult one and culture shock didn't manifest within me (I'd been living hakuna matata just as well as any of these Marquesans for many years at this point, it was hardly a change). The accustomed sea legs were swapped for land legs rapidly. Only a few times were the crew seen stumbling up and down the road during our first few days). And quickly came the social prospects of an island splattered with people other than Leeway's small gang. It was obvious from the beginning that people here are incredibly friendly and treat us with much less contempt than we do each other. Sadly, they all speak French and Marquesan. So conversations don't tend to go deepen beyond a friendly “bon jour” or “kaoha”. Still, one can feel a warmness in the air around locals that wasn't always present in tourist-ridden Mexico. The anchorage in Taiohae:
The lifestyle here is deeply rooted in social exchange, the ocean, and taking it easy. Every day we saddle the quay to come ashore, there are giant fish being efficiently processed on the bloody wooden tables that occupy the tropical waterfront. Prospective fish buyers usually show up to get the freshly-gutted fish weighed before their eyes. And when the locals aren't trolling for giant tuna to make a living, they're paddling around the bay in their sleek pirogues. These needle-shaped, 20-foot canoes slice through the water tromping my ocean kayak in both elegance and speed. And when night falls, they retire to their bonfires that dot the hills and output quick-paced tribal drumming. The fish process and also the girl who picks up the octopuses thrown ashore by spear hunters :
Soon we head to the infamous Baie Anaho on the north side of Taiohae. We plan to fix a few things and enjoy cleaner water. But before we leave Taiohae how about a couple more shots of the daunting landscape:
June 8, 2010
16:20
Leeway is sitting behind the protective Pointe Messange in the scenic Baie Anaho after an enjoyable overnight sail around Nuku Hiva. We upped anchor from Baie de Taiohae a few hours before sunset with the rare occurrence of a steady wind in the high-cliffed bay. About a quarter of a mile out (still in the bay), we lost our wind. We were able to ghost the rest of the way to sea by searching out the wind's path by following surface ripples. When we finally cleared the headlands, strong tradewinds took a hold of our sails and we gleamed smiles when she heeled over and gained speed. A tack off the island brought us into the night where the peaceful Pacific gave us another mysterious light show. Out of Taiohae to Anaho:
My attention was divided between the moonless night sky continually streaked by meteors and the water exploding with a novel kind of phosphorescence. It wasn't just the normal dull glow of our wake that we watched follow us across the Pacific. The water was riddled with bright orbs that would either hold a radioactive green glow as they watched us sail by or would emit a brilliant flash of bioluminescent light that dotted the seas around us. We must have been ramming through thousands of creatures that were thoroughly excited by Leeway scraping across their gelatinous forms. We were able to watch light display until the cool-hued dawn stole the show.
With fresh morning light we sailed into our new anchorage. The fresh trades were lost around a headlands on the approach, but we chased the fleeting wind into the bay until I dropped anchor at about 10 in the morning, just in time for pancakes and coffee. The experience of Anaho is vastly different from Taiohae. It's a very quiet setting: void of cars, tribal drums, and hundreds of yachties. We're one of only 3 boats anchored in the wide bay. Steep, volcanic cliffs line part of the bay, but the rest is swathed with low, golden beaches; turquoise water shimmers across the crowns of coral reefs in front of the sand and waving palms rim the far edge. Upon arrival, I decided to take the kayak in through the coral pass to see the shore life. Leeway in her new anchorage and the beautifully clear water of Anaho:
I soon found myself aimlessly strolling up the extensive beach. Being the proud sailor that I am, I had to tread the entire bay to make sure of no clues toward the location of treasure chest. These were not found, but I was able to enjoy the quiet ambiance of Anaho. Half the beachfront is backed by open-aired houses gilded with banana trees and the other half unadulterated beach. After hiking up a narrow path that climbed away from the sea for a moment, it fell back down and I was given to wide-open swaths of fine, white sand. And what I saw (but smaller):
A digression: there are many different colors of sand in this world. Almost all varieties of which can be found in French Polynesia. The variant depends entirely upon the original substance pulverized by the sea: black from fresh volcanic rock, white from sun-bleached coral heads, and pink from fresh coral. There are, of course, many other gradients of color on the billion-year-old continents with thousands of rock types, but on these (relatively) young islands the array is more limited.
But back to my pure beach. The verdant growth encroached upon the ocean as close as the salt water would let it. Palms and some sort of evergreen danced on the fringes of the surf. At this point I had worked up a mighty thirst sauntering through this paradise. This was easily mitigated by one of the many fallen coconuts and its extensive pounding upon a rock. Huck was kind enough to teach me how to husk a nut without a machete and I was able to use his expertise to survive in the bush. Coconut in palm (or above mouth), I ventured to the end of the bay. After the end of the horse trails, I found the sand marked only by the comical scatterings of land crabs. I finished my leg-aching hike around sunset and paddled back to the boat bearing the gift of a coconut for Dan.
June 20, 2010
10:05
Leeway ended up staying in scenic Anaho for 10 days. We were spoiled by the clear water, warm-yellow beaches, and the glorious palm trees. Initially we spent our time doing the usual activities: reading and the occasional boat chore (I had also taken to carving myself a coconut chalice), but soon stumbled into the cruiser's social circle thanks to the friendliness of a Norwegian captain that introduced us to the wonders of isolated social interaction. I was sitting on the foredeck engaged in carving my coconut chalice and listening to music when his shining white body caught my eye. Peering up, I see the full figure of Klang, an egg-headed, smiling pirate. A mouthed word, “Ahoy!” broke the smile for a moment and it resumed. Slightly startled by his unexpected boarding, I stammered for a moment and then was able to converse. He turned out to be a most-benign boarding party and we were invited over for lunch the next day.
Upon his beautiful 44-foot sailing vessel, we ate and were introduced to another cruiser who just dropped anchor in Anaho. He came in holding up a massive fish (a wahoo), so we were eager to make friends, as was he. Wahoo steaks were distributed among the anchorage by this amiable German engineer and friendship was quickly cemented between all. We went back to Leeway and I broiled the steaks, but not before being gifted a delicious mango chutney by the Norwegians. Plans were also made to snorkel the other side of the bay the next day.
The next afternoon, under a clearing sky, masks, fins, snorkels, and, (to our delight) a spear gun were tossed into Klang's dinghy and we motored across the bay. After weaving in through coral heads, we landed on small secluded beach dappled with goat tracks. We grabbed our weapons and kicked into the turquoise water. Life was bountiful. Hundreds of colorful fish swam in and between massive red and yellow coral heads. And they all looked delicious. After failing to stab several with the regular spear, I was given the gun. Only a few minutes into my hunt, a big parrot fish swam by me and I had found my prey. I stalked the blunt-headed beast a while, but after a failed shot, I deigned to let him live and be free. As the cloud cover came back to obscure our hunting light, we regrouped on the beach. Dan and I had failed to bag anything, but Klang got two fish, one with each of the weapons. We threw them back though in fear of contracting ciguterra (a bioaccumulating neurotoxin common in reef fish of the South Pacific).
June 23, 2010 (or thereabouts)
17:40
We spent the rest of our time fraternizing with people, namely a local by the name of John (say it like a Frenchman) and the German cruisers who had, so kindly, distributed wahoo among the people. I found John (or rather he found me) one evening as I was wandering the beach in search of a suitable stick to affix to Leeway. (We needed something to tie our on deck jerry jugs to besides the lifelines). Upon finding a proper piece, I was called to from inland. Displeased by the thought of giving up my newly-acquired stick, I slowly turned to see a largely-built, tattooed local talking to me in French. A combination of shoulder shrugs and English words hinted him to the fact that I was in French Polynesia sans a shred of French-speaking ability. But we were able to carry on a limited conversation in English.
I was very pleased to realize he had no interest in my prized stick and even more pleased when he began offering me fruit from his tree. It was an orange fruit from a distinctly gray-trunked tree that tasted like a mix between a mango and a peach. We wandered his yard for a moment picking up fruits before he invited me “in” to his house for coffee. Marquesans are unparalleled in their generosity and kindness. This seems especially true in rural towns such as Anaho where the whiteman isn't seen as a walking, jingling moneybag. Now I put “in” within quotes because going into John's (are you saying it like a Frenchman?) house didn't involve any door or wall. He had simple accommodations constructed out of wooden beams and aluminum sheet metal staged upon a flat plateau of large, interlocked rocks. Within, sitting about as close as you can to the jungle, was a stove, table, and roughly walled-in bed. We chatted about the bay, his job [copra (coconut meat) farmer], and anything our minds fell on when Dan wandered up. He quickly recognized that John had built his house on an ancient Polynesian temple (“pipi” in Marquesan). A plot of land that would be considered a major taboo in Hawaii, but is only seen as quite odd, maybe mildly tasteless, here in Catholic Polynesia. John issued only a mere chuckle to Dan's wide-eyed realization. After being handed more fruit, we wandered off pleased with our meeting with the slightly-loony local.
Our days in Anaho had to come to an end. We had been sitting in the isolated, flatwater bay for about a week at this point and were running low on propane. Plans were made to depart as soon as the wind picked up. And it did. I upped the mainsail then the anchor (always get a mode of power before upping anchor without a motor) and we proceeded to sail away from the coral reef we had anchored uncomfortably close to. Getting out of the bay turned into a bit of a dicey maneuver when the wind disappeared and we were left bobbing off the bay's point. We got as close to any rocks as we'd ever want to but eventually caught wind and made it out into the Pacific.
Good tradewinds blew on top of the deep blue and we made a plan to sail into Taiohae and make a pre-dawn anchor drop. The sail around the island was easy after we regained our sea legs (sitting in such a calm bay had spoiled our nervous systems, so a bit of queasiness was involved). We approached Taiohae, but upon entrance we were confronted with headwinds and a setting moon. Not wanting to hit anything (always the capital plan), we turned tail and made a course for Hakatau, Ua Pou, an island 25 miles south of Nuku Hiva. There were rumors of good drinking water and the archipelago's third most populated town. I set course for the brightest group of lights to the south (I'm a trusting navigator) and by dawn an establishment was visible on the toes of the beautifully-chiseled skyline gifted to Ua Pou. After breakfast, I went forward to hoist the jib but halted when I noticed a tear. In our last good jib. We'll have some work to do in this port. Can't shirk the jibs. The Hakahau approach (the town is visible on the far left side):
Without a jib to show, we sailed in under mainsail alone. Although we were barely able to take our eyes off the peaks of Ua Pou, we did notice a catamaran resetting their anchor. We tacked back and forth across the entrance until he finished his business. During these tacks, one of the occupying boats (a boat we had anchored next to in Anaho) informed us that they were leaving within the half hour. We simply tacked the time away until they upped anchor and left us a spot. The mandatory stern anchor was put out and us poor sailors were finally able to get some rest after a whole night of tranquil, tradewind sailing.
July 6, 2010
08:30
Lunch was overlooked to explore the shore and we were promptly reintroduced to Marquesan hospitality. Just barely after stepping off the beach we were beckoned by a group of French to join them in their Saturday afternoon barbeque. Heaps of goat, fish, breadfruit, and pastas were piled onto our plates and cold Tahitian beers shoved in our hands. Many of the French and Marquesans present spoke bits of English, so we were able to use our esteemed combination of hand gestures, facial expressions, and sand drawings to hold conversation. These French were part to a carefully selected lot of school teachers. Competition for their jobs is fierce in France and a review is required every third year to make sure they haven't been too assimilated by the Marquesan lifestyle. The party never once wound down in the several hours we were stationed there. People left, but new faces arrived with more beverages to replace them. We eventually launched back into the surf and slept well on Leeway.
Over the next few days we battled a fierce island flu and made it to the gendarmerie for our check-in (another painless procedure). On my voyages into town I quickly began to recognize many a face. Everyone gave a warm smile and a language-dependent greeting. It's hard not to like this town.
A big celebration is in store for Bastille Day. While in France it is celebrated for just one day (maybe a weekend), the Polynesians hold a month-long festival. A whole plaza has been constructed in the town of less than 2,000. A dance floor poured, bars and restaurants built from interwoven palm fronds. Each of which is beautifully decorated by the owner and his family. Every night the locals come down from their homes to drink and dance the night away. It's so hard not to like this town.
We've met many kind and helpful people in our 2 week stay here. The two most memorable being Keith, and Australian bloke who has married a local, and Pesa, the local goat man who has taken us into his home and practically made us part of his family. I stumbled upon Kieth, much his wife's merriment, early in our stay. A little stroll up one of Hakahau's streets put me in front of their lattice-faced market. On walking in, the proprietor (Kieth's wife), asked “You speak English?: and, after a truthful response, “Oh, bless you!”. She quickly called for her husband Kieth. Kieth, a social grey-haired bloke who looks exactly how you'd expect an Aussie to look, knows some interesting information about Ua Pou from living on it for 18 months. He told me about how he's trying to get his market off the ground with 6 competing stores in town, the dishonest approaches some use for pricing, and other tidbits about his life doing construction across the South Pacific. After an extended chat, I bought a few food staples from his shop and went on with my land adventure. Dan and I visit Kieth nearly everyday to get provisions or just drop in for a chat. A stroll down the main road of Hakahau:
Pesa, a local Marquesan, has been the most generous person in our travels so far. Dan met him one Friday afternoon on the beach and we got our first taste of his generosity when he shared his wine with us. The afternoon deepened and the sun fell behind one of Ua Pou's formidable mountains. We were hungry and questioned Pesa on the whereabouts of a good local restaurant. He apparently enjoyed our company so much that he was driven to say, “Restaurant? No! Come to my house! We eat goat.” We happily complied and hopped into his pickup for a 2 minute ride up to his house. As the wiry man walked up his rickety stairs into his kitchen, he stated, and then repeated, how we must walk up the middle of the steps. Dan later forgot this advice and took a little tumble to create a running joke regarding the middle of those steps. After a great local dinner including goat (menu), some crustacean (mama), bread, and rice, we made plans for another rendezvous and parted ways.
Since that night we manage to meet up with Pesa on a near daily basis. Whether it be him driving by as we stroll to the store, or meeting him on the beach where he fishes, we inevitably get involved in his various activities for the day: lunch, goat chasing, and fishing. Being the “goat man”, he has a pen up the hill with about 2,000 goats that Dan had the experience of feeding early one morning. He relayed to me the procedure: they drive up the hill to the pen and open the gate. Each and every one of the goats follow the chainsaw-wielding Pesa across the mountainside. Behind him he leaves a trail of cut acia and munching goats. In the end they happily clop back into their pen until the next morning. They came back from this goat chasing adventure with about 35 pounds of fruit for Leeway. Pesa preparing a fishing net to be taken out and another of him acting the goat man:
The fruit of the South Pacific is incredible and most will be familiar to the average American. One could subsist (as the Marquesans did for many years) on it alone. They've found ways to use almost every plant on the island, but the fruit stands out particularly. The most commonly consumed are bananas, oranges, mangoes, pomplemousse, and breadfruit. Everyone knows the banana. They differ only in the fact that their not bred for size here, so they're about a third the size. Pesa got us two stalks, one of which I had to give to a neighboring yacht so it wouldn't go to waste. I serve one with every meal and we snack on them in between, but they're still ripening faster than our stomachs can digest them. He states he'll provide a stalk for every week we're here to keep us supplied. Fruits of the Marquesas: pomplemousse, mango, orange, and a banana:
Oranges will also be familiar, but only in taste. They aren't orange here, but green. Mangoes, a delicious tropical treat, are currently out of season for most trees, but we picked some from an anomalously-ripe one. I like to chop them up and put them in the morning pancakes. Pomplemousse (hitoro in Marquesan) should be unfamiliar to most outside of the South Pacific. It looks like a grapefruit but tastes similar to an orange. Every bite is a deliciously juicy. We chop them in half and scoop the meat out with a spoon (a topsides procedure because of their juicy tendencies). Breadfruit (uru in Marquesan) is a starchy fruit that must be baked before consumption. Pesa showed us the whole procedure. He first put it on top of a fire until steam began coming out of the middle indicating that it was cooked through. It's peeled and can be eaten as is dipped in a sauce (as we did at the French barbeque) or it can be made into poi. Pesa opted for the second choice and quickly and efficiently smashed it to a dough-like consistency that was dropped into freshly-squeezed coconut milk and scooped out with a two-fingered utensil. Most meals are served next to a fork, but everyone chooses to eat with their fingers. Baking uru and Pesa mashing it on his fourth-generation poi pounding table:
July 7, 2010
11:00
Few big things happen in this town even though it's the third largest in the Marquesas. The monthly arrival of the Aranui 3 is one of these. The captain squeezed her into the harbor late one night and at dawn the next morning, the longshoremen began unloading Aranui's cargo: supply containers and 100 first-class passengers. The town, delighted by the arrival of these pasty-skinned, jingling moneybags, set up a welcoming ceremony in the Bastille Day square. Artisan stalls flanked the cement dance floor and were filled with beautifully carved tikis, poi pounders, and hand-woven goods all at a premium price. We wandered in and between the passengers of the Aranui and learned a bit about them. Mostly Americans, they were a quite unique conglomeration of “eclipse chasers”. The Aranui is going to perch itself on a far Tuamotan atoll for the July 11th eclipse. These peoples' claim to fame is how many eclipses they've seen. The most on the ship is 12 and the average seems to be 3. They chase them across the face of the planet as they occur. Many have already booked tickets for the next one off the Great Barrier Reef in late 2012.
Being a couple of backpack toting Americans, we were able to easily blend into the festivities laid out for Aranui's passengers. Children put on a performance of dancing, drumming and singing. A demonstration of breadfruit peeling and copra debridement was also shown. But the best part was the free food. One of the huts on the side provided an array of fruits on large leaves for the passengers, and us. We ate heartily before setting off back to the boat. The author dressed in dancing gear given to him by the local kids:
We were late risers this morning due, of course, to last night's events. We sat about Kieth's store the entire day chatting about everything there was to chat about. Hilarious Australian colloquialisms abound. As the light dimmed Dan and I began getting hungry. We almost got up to go to a restaurant when Kieth's wife, the queen she is called, came out to sort the problem. It was decided and executed: she would have a restaurant deliver a platter and we would all remain seated. In only 20 minutes we were all sitting at a table featuring full wine glasses (courtesy of Pesa) and a delicious oriental platter of chow mein, lemon chicken, sweet and sour beef, steak, and “chips”. All ate and drank heartily. At the end of the night we waddled back to Leeway much too full for our own good.
We currently plan to kick off the island pretty soon. With our sewing machine being too weak, Kieth's wife has offered hers in sewing our sails. We'll soon know if she'll be able to do it and whether or not we'll have to do it all by hand. From here we plan to sail over to Atuona on Hiva Oa. A major yachting center that should have an adapter for our American propane tank. Hopefully. From there we make a B-line through the Tuamotus to the capital of French Polynesia: Papeete, Tahiti. The starter motor needs to be fixed before we'll be able to navigate any coral passes to get into the beautiful lagoons of the Society and Tuamotu archipelagos. From Papeete, with a fixed starter, we plan to either sail back up to the Tuamotus or continue on through the Society Islands. That decision will come when everything is ready. One thing that is certain is that we'll miss the sunsets and charming children of Ua Pou:
And finally, a haka dancer and a woman dancer:
No wait, one more. Pesa posing with the winner of the Miss Ua Pou contest:
19:25
After our unceremonious entrance into Taiohae, Lydia and I rowed to the quay to set a humble foot upon the magnificent parcel of land that exuded from the ocean millions of years ago. Magnificent slopes surrounded the entire bay, making for the difficult sail in, but a body-tingling view. We got our land legs stumbling up the road before settling into a restaurant for dinner. The cruising couple who had towed us in happened to have the same idea and we all had a pricey, but scrumptious, meal. The service was slow and vaguely interested, perfectly characterizing the Marquesan lifestyle. The islanders, in a similar fashion to Hawaii, have taken a very hakuna matata approach to every day life (it means no worries). It's figured the meal will eventually get set in front of you and by the time you get it you'll be very hungry indeed. Complaints and rushed requests from white folks are all met the same way: with snickering and indignation. One would be hard pressed to find a Marquesan in a hurry and the only quick-paced walkers around here are the yatistas. After dinner our fellow diners were kind enough to tow us back to Leeway to settle in for a hard night's sleep. I haven't slept that well since, well, the end of our last extended passage. The author fresh off the boat:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
Today we all partook in a land-lubbin' adventure. Official and non-official activities were had by all: an informal check-in was completed at the gendarmerie (a painless procedure; one fills out a form and is handed another to mail to Tahiti), more than one helping of frozen yogurt was consumed by each, a heat of a pirogue race was watched, and a hike up the hill to sight-see a beautiful Catholic church. A break in our land-lubbin' adventure:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
I found it very interesting to stumble into a Polynesian Catholic church. In the mid 1800s missionaries arrived and converted the population from their cannibalistic, pagan religion to the well-known Catholic faith. (A squabble between imperial countries' missionaries was actually the reason why the French are now the overlords of Polynesia). Being a young church-goer myself, the setting was familiar. We were strolling the grounds when a lei maker behind the church encouraged to walk in and I, again, found myself under in nostalgic vestibule of a Catholic church. All the components of an American Catholic church were present, but were adjusted by the cultural influences of Polynesia. The walk leading to the cathedral (looking back upon) and the aforementioned lei maker showing Dan how where to place his just-received flower:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
Raw-wood, backless pews lined the entire hall of course, each equipped with the obligatory kneeling platform. The room, aerated with a tropical floral scent. The stations of the cross were carved from solid, rich-colored logs. These carvings depicted visceral tribal faces reacting to the pains of Christ, all amazingly detailed. The crucifix above the altar was another painstakingly carved piece of art. Tropical flowers adorned everything and made a stark contrast against the dark carved wood that detailed everything from the sermon stand to the pillars. Instead of stained-glass windows, the whole church was structured in an open air fashion (a very popular concept in these air-conditioner-free locales). Pleased by our cultural experience, and sporting sore, atrophied legs, we eventually wandered back down to the waterfront for coffee in the plaza. A shot of the tropically decorated altar:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
June 6, 2010
~12:00
I've been in Taiohae for about a week now. The transition to a landlubber lifestyle wasn't a difficult one and culture shock didn't manifest within me (I'd been living hakuna matata just as well as any of these Marquesans for many years at this point, it was hardly a change). The accustomed sea legs were swapped for land legs rapidly. Only a few times were the crew seen stumbling up and down the road during our first few days). And quickly came the social prospects of an island splattered with people other than Leeway's small gang. It was obvious from the beginning that people here are incredibly friendly and treat us with much less contempt than we do each other. Sadly, they all speak French and Marquesan. So conversations don't tend to go deepen beyond a friendly “bon jour” or “kaoha”. Still, one can feel a warmness in the air around locals that wasn't always present in tourist-ridden Mexico. The anchorage in Taiohae:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
The lifestyle here is deeply rooted in social exchange, the ocean, and taking it easy. Every day we saddle the quay to come ashore, there are giant fish being efficiently processed on the bloody wooden tables that occupy the tropical waterfront. Prospective fish buyers usually show up to get the freshly-gutted fish weighed before their eyes. And when the locals aren't trolling for giant tuna to make a living, they're paddling around the bay in their sleek pirogues. These needle-shaped, 20-foot canoes slice through the water tromping my ocean kayak in both elegance and speed. And when night falls, they retire to their bonfires that dot the hills and output quick-paced tribal drumming. The fish process and also the girl who picks up the octopuses thrown ashore by spear hunters :
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
Soon we head to the infamous Baie Anaho on the north side of Taiohae. We plan to fix a few things and enjoy cleaner water. But before we leave Taiohae how about a couple more shots of the daunting landscape:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
June 8, 2010
16:20
Leeway is sitting behind the protective Pointe Messange in the scenic Baie Anaho after an enjoyable overnight sail around Nuku Hiva. We upped anchor from Baie de Taiohae a few hours before sunset with the rare occurrence of a steady wind in the high-cliffed bay. About a quarter of a mile out (still in the bay), we lost our wind. We were able to ghost the rest of the way to sea by searching out the wind's path by following surface ripples. When we finally cleared the headlands, strong tradewinds took a hold of our sails and we gleamed smiles when she heeled over and gained speed. A tack off the island brought us into the night where the peaceful Pacific gave us another mysterious light show. Out of Taiohae to Anaho:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
My attention was divided between the moonless night sky continually streaked by meteors and the water exploding with a novel kind of phosphorescence. It wasn't just the normal dull glow of our wake that we watched follow us across the Pacific. The water was riddled with bright orbs that would either hold a radioactive green glow as they watched us sail by or would emit a brilliant flash of bioluminescent light that dotted the seas around us. We must have been ramming through thousands of creatures that were thoroughly excited by Leeway scraping across their gelatinous forms. We were able to watch light display until the cool-hued dawn stole the show.
With fresh morning light we sailed into our new anchorage. The fresh trades were lost around a headlands on the approach, but we chased the fleeting wind into the bay until I dropped anchor at about 10 in the morning, just in time for pancakes and coffee. The experience of Anaho is vastly different from Taiohae. It's a very quiet setting: void of cars, tribal drums, and hundreds of yachties. We're one of only 3 boats anchored in the wide bay. Steep, volcanic cliffs line part of the bay, but the rest is swathed with low, golden beaches; turquoise water shimmers across the crowns of coral reefs in front of the sand and waving palms rim the far edge. Upon arrival, I decided to take the kayak in through the coral pass to see the shore life. Leeway in her new anchorage and the beautifully clear water of Anaho:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
I soon found myself aimlessly strolling up the extensive beach. Being the proud sailor that I am, I had to tread the entire bay to make sure of no clues toward the location of treasure chest. These were not found, but I was able to enjoy the quiet ambiance of Anaho. Half the beachfront is backed by open-aired houses gilded with banana trees and the other half unadulterated beach. After hiking up a narrow path that climbed away from the sea for a moment, it fell back down and I was given to wide-open swaths of fine, white sand. And what I saw (but smaller):
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A digression: there are many different colors of sand in this world. Almost all varieties of which can be found in French Polynesia. The variant depends entirely upon the original substance pulverized by the sea: black from fresh volcanic rock, white from sun-bleached coral heads, and pink from fresh coral. There are, of course, many other gradients of color on the billion-year-old continents with thousands of rock types, but on these (relatively) young islands the array is more limited.
But back to my pure beach. The verdant growth encroached upon the ocean as close as the salt water would let it. Palms and some sort of evergreen danced on the fringes of the surf. At this point I had worked up a mighty thirst sauntering through this paradise. This was easily mitigated by one of the many fallen coconuts and its extensive pounding upon a rock. Huck was kind enough to teach me how to husk a nut without a machete and I was able to use his expertise to survive in the bush. Coconut in palm (or above mouth), I ventured to the end of the bay. After the end of the horse trails, I found the sand marked only by the comical scatterings of land crabs. I finished my leg-aching hike around sunset and paddled back to the boat bearing the gift of a coconut for Dan.
June 20, 2010
10:05
Leeway ended up staying in scenic Anaho for 10 days. We were spoiled by the clear water, warm-yellow beaches, and the glorious palm trees. Initially we spent our time doing the usual activities: reading and the occasional boat chore (I had also taken to carving myself a coconut chalice), but soon stumbled into the cruiser's social circle thanks to the friendliness of a Norwegian captain that introduced us to the wonders of isolated social interaction. I was sitting on the foredeck engaged in carving my coconut chalice and listening to music when his shining white body caught my eye. Peering up, I see the full figure of Klang, an egg-headed, smiling pirate. A mouthed word, “Ahoy!” broke the smile for a moment and it resumed. Slightly startled by his unexpected boarding, I stammered for a moment and then was able to converse. He turned out to be a most-benign boarding party and we were invited over for lunch the next day.
Upon his beautiful 44-foot sailing vessel, we ate and were introduced to another cruiser who just dropped anchor in Anaho. He came in holding up a massive fish (a wahoo), so we were eager to make friends, as was he. Wahoo steaks were distributed among the anchorage by this amiable German engineer and friendship was quickly cemented between all. We went back to Leeway and I broiled the steaks, but not before being gifted a delicious mango chutney by the Norwegians. Plans were also made to snorkel the other side of the bay the next day.
The next afternoon, under a clearing sky, masks, fins, snorkels, and, (to our delight) a spear gun were tossed into Klang's dinghy and we motored across the bay. After weaving in through coral heads, we landed on small secluded beach dappled with goat tracks. We grabbed our weapons and kicked into the turquoise water. Life was bountiful. Hundreds of colorful fish swam in and between massive red and yellow coral heads. And they all looked delicious. After failing to stab several with the regular spear, I was given the gun. Only a few minutes into my hunt, a big parrot fish swam by me and I had found my prey. I stalked the blunt-headed beast a while, but after a failed shot, I deigned to let him live and be free. As the cloud cover came back to obscure our hunting light, we regrouped on the beach. Dan and I had failed to bag anything, but Klang got two fish, one with each of the weapons. We threw them back though in fear of contracting ciguterra (a bioaccumulating neurotoxin common in reef fish of the South Pacific).
June 23, 2010 (or thereabouts)
17:40
We spent the rest of our time fraternizing with people, namely a local by the name of John (say it like a Frenchman) and the German cruisers who had, so kindly, distributed wahoo among the people. I found John (or rather he found me) one evening as I was wandering the beach in search of a suitable stick to affix to Leeway. (We needed something to tie our on deck jerry jugs to besides the lifelines). Upon finding a proper piece, I was called to from inland. Displeased by the thought of giving up my newly-acquired stick, I slowly turned to see a largely-built, tattooed local talking to me in French. A combination of shoulder shrugs and English words hinted him to the fact that I was in French Polynesia sans a shred of French-speaking ability. But we were able to carry on a limited conversation in English.
I was very pleased to realize he had no interest in my prized stick and even more pleased when he began offering me fruit from his tree. It was an orange fruit from a distinctly gray-trunked tree that tasted like a mix between a mango and a peach. We wandered his yard for a moment picking up fruits before he invited me “in” to his house for coffee. Marquesans are unparalleled in their generosity and kindness. This seems especially true in rural towns such as Anaho where the whiteman isn't seen as a walking, jingling moneybag. Now I put “in” within quotes because going into John's (are you saying it like a Frenchman?) house didn't involve any door or wall. He had simple accommodations constructed out of wooden beams and aluminum sheet metal staged upon a flat plateau of large, interlocked rocks. Within, sitting about as close as you can to the jungle, was a stove, table, and roughly walled-in bed. We chatted about the bay, his job [copra (coconut meat) farmer], and anything our minds fell on when Dan wandered up. He quickly recognized that John had built his house on an ancient Polynesian temple (“pipi” in Marquesan). A plot of land that would be considered a major taboo in Hawaii, but is only seen as quite odd, maybe mildly tasteless, here in Catholic Polynesia. John issued only a mere chuckle to Dan's wide-eyed realization. After being handed more fruit, we wandered off pleased with our meeting with the slightly-loony local.
Our days in Anaho had to come to an end. We had been sitting in the isolated, flatwater bay for about a week at this point and were running low on propane. Plans were made to depart as soon as the wind picked up. And it did. I upped the mainsail then the anchor (always get a mode of power before upping anchor without a motor) and we proceeded to sail away from the coral reef we had anchored uncomfortably close to. Getting out of the bay turned into a bit of a dicey maneuver when the wind disappeared and we were left bobbing off the bay's point. We got as close to any rocks as we'd ever want to but eventually caught wind and made it out into the Pacific.
Good tradewinds blew on top of the deep blue and we made a plan to sail into Taiohae and make a pre-dawn anchor drop. The sail around the island was easy after we regained our sea legs (sitting in such a calm bay had spoiled our nervous systems, so a bit of queasiness was involved). We approached Taiohae, but upon entrance we were confronted with headwinds and a setting moon. Not wanting to hit anything (always the capital plan), we turned tail and made a course for Hakatau, Ua Pou, an island 25 miles south of Nuku Hiva. There were rumors of good drinking water and the archipelago's third most populated town. I set course for the brightest group of lights to the south (I'm a trusting navigator) and by dawn an establishment was visible on the toes of the beautifully-chiseled skyline gifted to Ua Pou. After breakfast, I went forward to hoist the jib but halted when I noticed a tear. In our last good jib. We'll have some work to do in this port. Can't shirk the jibs. The Hakahau approach (the town is visible on the far left side):
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Without a jib to show, we sailed in under mainsail alone. Although we were barely able to take our eyes off the peaks of Ua Pou, we did notice a catamaran resetting their anchor. We tacked back and forth across the entrance until he finished his business. During these tacks, one of the occupying boats (a boat we had anchored next to in Anaho) informed us that they were leaving within the half hour. We simply tacked the time away until they upped anchor and left us a spot. The mandatory stern anchor was put out and us poor sailors were finally able to get some rest after a whole night of tranquil, tradewind sailing.
July 6, 2010
08:30
Lunch was overlooked to explore the shore and we were promptly reintroduced to Marquesan hospitality. Just barely after stepping off the beach we were beckoned by a group of French to join them in their Saturday afternoon barbeque. Heaps of goat, fish, breadfruit, and pastas were piled onto our plates and cold Tahitian beers shoved in our hands. Many of the French and Marquesans present spoke bits of English, so we were able to use our esteemed combination of hand gestures, facial expressions, and sand drawings to hold conversation. These French were part to a carefully selected lot of school teachers. Competition for their jobs is fierce in France and a review is required every third year to make sure they haven't been too assimilated by the Marquesan lifestyle. The party never once wound down in the several hours we were stationed there. People left, but new faces arrived with more beverages to replace them. We eventually launched back into the surf and slept well on Leeway.
Over the next few days we battled a fierce island flu and made it to the gendarmerie for our check-in (another painless procedure). On my voyages into town I quickly began to recognize many a face. Everyone gave a warm smile and a language-dependent greeting. It's hard not to like this town.
A big celebration is in store for Bastille Day. While in France it is celebrated for just one day (maybe a weekend), the Polynesians hold a month-long festival. A whole plaza has been constructed in the town of less than 2,000. A dance floor poured, bars and restaurants built from interwoven palm fronds. Each of which is beautifully decorated by the owner and his family. Every night the locals come down from their homes to drink and dance the night away. It's so hard not to like this town.
We've met many kind and helpful people in our 2 week stay here. The two most memorable being Keith, and Australian bloke who has married a local, and Pesa, the local goat man who has taken us into his home and practically made us part of his family. I stumbled upon Kieth, much his wife's merriment, early in our stay. A little stroll up one of Hakahau's streets put me in front of their lattice-faced market. On walking in, the proprietor (Kieth's wife), asked “You speak English?: and, after a truthful response, “Oh, bless you!”. She quickly called for her husband Kieth. Kieth, a social grey-haired bloke who looks exactly how you'd expect an Aussie to look, knows some interesting information about Ua Pou from living on it for 18 months. He told me about how he's trying to get his market off the ground with 6 competing stores in town, the dishonest approaches some use for pricing, and other tidbits about his life doing construction across the South Pacific. After an extended chat, I bought a few food staples from his shop and went on with my land adventure. Dan and I visit Kieth nearly everyday to get provisions or just drop in for a chat. A stroll down the main road of Hakahau:
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Pesa, a local Marquesan, has been the most generous person in our travels so far. Dan met him one Friday afternoon on the beach and we got our first taste of his generosity when he shared his wine with us. The afternoon deepened and the sun fell behind one of Ua Pou's formidable mountains. We were hungry and questioned Pesa on the whereabouts of a good local restaurant. He apparently enjoyed our company so much that he was driven to say, “Restaurant? No! Come to my house! We eat goat.” We happily complied and hopped into his pickup for a 2 minute ride up to his house. As the wiry man walked up his rickety stairs into his kitchen, he stated, and then repeated, how we must walk up the middle of the steps. Dan later forgot this advice and took a little tumble to create a running joke regarding the middle of those steps. After a great local dinner including goat (menu), some crustacean (mama), bread, and rice, we made plans for another rendezvous and parted ways.
Since that night we manage to meet up with Pesa on a near daily basis. Whether it be him driving by as we stroll to the store, or meeting him on the beach where he fishes, we inevitably get involved in his various activities for the day: lunch, goat chasing, and fishing. Being the “goat man”, he has a pen up the hill with about 2,000 goats that Dan had the experience of feeding early one morning. He relayed to me the procedure: they drive up the hill to the pen and open the gate. Each and every one of the goats follow the chainsaw-wielding Pesa across the mountainside. Behind him he leaves a trail of cut acia and munching goats. In the end they happily clop back into their pen until the next morning. They came back from this goat chasing adventure with about 35 pounds of fruit for Leeway. Pesa preparing a fishing net to be taken out and another of him acting the goat man:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
The fruit of the South Pacific is incredible and most will be familiar to the average American. One could subsist (as the Marquesans did for many years) on it alone. They've found ways to use almost every plant on the island, but the fruit stands out particularly. The most commonly consumed are bananas, oranges, mangoes, pomplemousse, and breadfruit. Everyone knows the banana. They differ only in the fact that their not bred for size here, so they're about a third the size. Pesa got us two stalks, one of which I had to give to a neighboring yacht so it wouldn't go to waste. I serve one with every meal and we snack on them in between, but they're still ripening faster than our stomachs can digest them. He states he'll provide a stalk for every week we're here to keep us supplied. Fruits of the Marquesas: pomplemousse, mango, orange, and a banana:
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Oranges will also be familiar, but only in taste. They aren't orange here, but green. Mangoes, a delicious tropical treat, are currently out of season for most trees, but we picked some from an anomalously-ripe one. I like to chop them up and put them in the morning pancakes. Pomplemousse (hitoro in Marquesan) should be unfamiliar to most outside of the South Pacific. It looks like a grapefruit but tastes similar to an orange. Every bite is a deliciously juicy. We chop them in half and scoop the meat out with a spoon (a topsides procedure because of their juicy tendencies). Breadfruit (uru in Marquesan) is a starchy fruit that must be baked before consumption. Pesa showed us the whole procedure. He first put it on top of a fire until steam began coming out of the middle indicating that it was cooked through. It's peeled and can be eaten as is dipped in a sauce (as we did at the French barbeque) or it can be made into poi. Pesa opted for the second choice and quickly and efficiently smashed it to a dough-like consistency that was dropped into freshly-squeezed coconut milk and scooped out with a two-fingered utensil. Most meals are served next to a fork, but everyone chooses to eat with their fingers. Baking uru and Pesa mashing it on his fourth-generation poi pounding table:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
July 7, 2010
11:00
Few big things happen in this town even though it's the third largest in the Marquesas. The monthly arrival of the Aranui 3 is one of these. The captain squeezed her into the harbor late one night and at dawn the next morning, the longshoremen began unloading Aranui's cargo: supply containers and 100 first-class passengers. The town, delighted by the arrival of these pasty-skinned, jingling moneybags, set up a welcoming ceremony in the Bastille Day square. Artisan stalls flanked the cement dance floor and were filled with beautifully carved tikis, poi pounders, and hand-woven goods all at a premium price. We wandered in and between the passengers of the Aranui and learned a bit about them. Mostly Americans, they were a quite unique conglomeration of “eclipse chasers”. The Aranui is going to perch itself on a far Tuamotan atoll for the July 11th eclipse. These peoples' claim to fame is how many eclipses they've seen. The most on the ship is 12 and the average seems to be 3. They chase them across the face of the planet as they occur. Many have already booked tickets for the next one off the Great Barrier Reef in late 2012.
Being a couple of backpack toting Americans, we were able to easily blend into the festivities laid out for Aranui's passengers. Children put on a performance of dancing, drumming and singing. A demonstration of breadfruit peeling and copra debridement was also shown. But the best part was the free food. One of the huts on the side provided an array of fruits on large leaves for the passengers, and us. We ate heartily before setting off back to the boat. The author dressed in dancing gear given to him by the local kids:
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We were late risers this morning due, of course, to last night's events. We sat about Kieth's store the entire day chatting about everything there was to chat about. Hilarious Australian colloquialisms abound. As the light dimmed Dan and I began getting hungry. We almost got up to go to a restaurant when Kieth's wife, the queen she is called, came out to sort the problem. It was decided and executed: she would have a restaurant deliver a platter and we would all remain seated. In only 20 minutes we were all sitting at a table featuring full wine glasses (courtesy of Pesa) and a delicious oriental platter of chow mein, lemon chicken, sweet and sour beef, steak, and “chips”. All ate and drank heartily. At the end of the night we waddled back to Leeway much too full for our own good.
We currently plan to kick off the island pretty soon. With our sewing machine being too weak, Kieth's wife has offered hers in sewing our sails. We'll soon know if she'll be able to do it and whether or not we'll have to do it all by hand. From here we plan to sail over to Atuona on Hiva Oa. A major yachting center that should have an adapter for our American propane tank. Hopefully. From there we make a B-line through the Tuamotus to the capital of French Polynesia: Papeete, Tahiti. The starter motor needs to be fixed before we'll be able to navigate any coral passes to get into the beautiful lagoons of the Society and Tuamotu archipelagos. From Papeete, with a fixed starter, we plan to either sail back up to the Tuamotus or continue on through the Society Islands. That decision will come when everything is ready. One thing that is certain is that we'll miss the sunsets and charming children of Ua Pou:
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| From Back on Firm Footing |
And finally, a haka dancer and a woman dancer:
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No wait, one more. Pesa posing with the winner of the Miss Ua Pou contest:
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