THE DARK SIDE

There is a dark side to wandering.  Those living a stable life can rightly expect their stable friends and stable neighbors to answer their phones, or at least reply to their emails, and to generally be available most of the time.  Wanderers are always saying goodbye.  Whether they say that to the stable people whose lives they enter briefly, or to other wanderers, it is one of the constants in the lifestyle.

We have become accustomed to this over the years, but it is never easy.  Not with the friends and family we left behind, and not with other wanderers who have become close friends.  Most wanderers that we meet, we enjoy briefly, knowing that the relationship is transient, but occasionally something meshes with a kindred soul who becomes a lifetime friend, a friend we feel we have always known.  These are hard to part with.

A mutual friend suggested to Dennis that he should look for us on the Baja HaHa last Fall.  Dennis and his wife, Pam, have become dear friends of ours.  We have traveled together most of the time since we met on the HaHa, beginning in Mexico, jumping across to the Marquesas together, and cruising there over the past month.  It seems like we have always known them.

But our paths have now parted.  Pam is in the States for a visit.  When she returns, they will sail south.  We are heading west.  We plan to meet up in November in New Zealand, but we will not be part of their lives, nor they ours, until then.  That’s the hard part.

Dennis and Pam are not the first such friends to whom we have said goodbye.  Nor will they be the last.  There are also many friends and family leading normal lives ashore, whose lives we regret not being a regular part of.  We love this nomadic life we are leading, but there is a dark side.

TAKING ON FUEL

Here’s one of the stories they don’t write up in the sailing magazines.  We needed fuel, and we needed it today in preparation for leaving the country.  That seems like a simple task.  Just drive the boat over to the fuel dock, and fill up.  Well, as my dearly beloved is wont to say, nothing is ever simple.  First off, there is no fuel dock; there is only a gas station, which is about a hundred yards from the wharf.  OK, so we’ll ferry the diesel in jugs.  We’ve done that before.  We have four five-gallon jugs, and we need about sixty gallons, so we’ll need to make four trips.  Did I mention that the wharf is for big ships, so it’s a concrete wall with a steel ladder.  Oh, and there’s a big swell running, so the dinghy rises and falls several feet every few seconds.  Hey, we’re able seamen, so we grab the ladder on the rise, throw the jugs up on the wharf and climb the ladder.  Teetering on the top rung, cut off roughly, flush with the top of the wharf, I curse whoever built it for being a cheapskate with the steel.  Would one more handhold have been so difficult?  So now we’re at the pump, and the man says we can only have 200 liters because they’re short until the next supply ship arrives.  We haul the first set of jugs back to the wharf, and use a bit of rope to lower them into the bucking dinghy.  Motor back through the chop.  Empty the jugs into the tanks.  Repeat two more times.  In the rain.

TATTOO

Here are a couple of close-ups.

ENCOUNTERS

Ferdinand

There is a maritime museum in Hane, on the island of Ua Huka.  I find it impossible to pass up such museums, but this one was closed for renovation.  Very frustrating, because I could see some very interesting pieces through the glass doors.  Several locals said that if someone were working on the renovation, they would surely let me in, so each time we went ashore, I checked.  One morning, I met Ferdinand, who was building some shelving there.  A very friendly fellow, we had a delightful time chatting in broken French about the old boats there.  Fast forward a few days to our last time ashore before leaving the bay.  We are up at the local (tiny) grocery store, already laden down with gifts of fruit from another villager, when in walks Ferdinand with a huge sack of pamplemousse for us.  He had seen us walking up to the store, and just thought we might like some fruit.  Now we are so laden down that he drives us back to the beach.  Nice people here.

Musicians

We had gone for a hike above Hane with our friends Dennis and Pam from the boat Pamela.  On the way back to town, we heard some guitar and ukelele music, and detoured to find the source.  Three local men were jamming at a house.  We stopped to listen.  When they noticed us, they motioned us over.  We approached and listened some more.  Dennis is an accomplished guitarist, and when Pam told them this, they implored him to play for them.  At first he demurred, but acquiesced just before we left.  He gave an impassioned rendition of “Brown-Eyed Girl”, which left us all wanting more.

Manuhi Timau

The village of Vaitahu lies in a bay on the west side of the island of Tahuata.  We were ashore there when the periodic cargo/passenger ship came in.  As is typical with this, the village put on a small exposition of arts, crafts and food for the tourists off the ship.  Robyn, who doesn’t just break ice, but melts it like a furnace, struck up a conversation with a young woman using her few words of Marquesan.  This woman, Marie-Christine, said her father had a book written in Marquesan, French and English, and invited us up to their house to see it.  Her father, Manuhi, opened up more and more warmly to us as Robyn spoke some in Marquesan.  He positively giggled when she managed to count up to ten in Marquesan — ask her some time how many languages she can count up to ten in — and presented her with the book, being a grammar, dictionary and phrase book of modern Marquesan.  This book is a treasure, and Robyn has made great use of it. Of course, they also presented us with fruit.

Daniel Naudin

We were on the island of Ua Huka, and asked someone about tattoo artists.  She directed us to Daniel in the town of Vaipe’e, some twelve kilometers away.  Hitchhiking is pretty easy here, and when a young woman picked us up, we asked if she knew Daniel.  Yes, she did, and took us all the way to his house (we realized later that she had gone well out of her way).  We were impressed by Daniel’s art, and arranged to have him tattoo my arm the next morning.  After the tattoo session, we had a nice visit with him and his wife, and he drove us back towards the boat.  Along the way, he stopped at his friend’s house (who just happened to be the husband of the woman who gave us a ride the day before) for a visit.  Then, along the way further towards the boat, we stopped at a festival grounds where Daniel had built the major (and traditionally Marquesan) structures.  Before we left there, another friend of his happened by, who took us the rest of the way back to the boat (Daniel’s truck was low on gas).  That friend had carved all the huge tikis at the festival grounds.

Vickie

Also on Ua Huka, as we were walking up to the store where Ferdinand found us, another villager hails us and asks if we would like some bananas.  She promptly begins to pile many bananas into a sack, and then goes over to a lime tree to add quite a few of them.  Not content with that, she adds some citronelle, apparently some kind of citrus.  All this while, I’m protesting that she’s giving us too much, that we can’t eat it all, to which protests she is completely oblivious.  When these people get it into their heads to give you fruit, there’s no stopping them.

Scotia

When we were in New Zealand years ago, we met Hugh and Brenda, a Scottish couple on their boat, Scotia.  When we pulled in to Taiohae Bay last week, they were here.  They had gone all the way around, and were on their second circumnavigation.  That’s a little like visiting New York, and running into a friend from Seattle jogging in Central Park.

Travel Update

I left you all in Atuona on Hiva Oa.  Well, internet connectivity in these islands has been almost nonexistent, and we’ll be heading west soon without any connectivity for at least a month, so let me catch you up with where we’ve been.

From Atuona, we sailed to Tahuata, an easy daysail away.  First was the beautiful but deserted Hanamoenoa Bay.  Next was the village of Vaitahu, where we met Marie-Christine and her father, Manuhi.

A long slog upwind brought us to Hanavave Bay on Fatu Hiva, one of the most beautiful and unique anchorages we have ever seen.  Another long, but this time excellent, daysail brought us to Hanaiapa Bay on the north coast of Hiva Oa.  Yet another long and excellent daysail brought us to Hane, and then Vaipe’e, on Ua Huka.  You guessed it.  Another long and excellent daysail found us in Taiohae Bay on Nuku Hiva.  Taiohae is the largest town in the Marquesas.

Almost all of the above was in company with the boat Pamela, with our good friends Dennis and Pam.  With them still, we circumnavigated Nuku Hiva clockwise, stopping in Daniel’s Bay — named such after a long-time resident who befriended any boat that stopped there — Hakaehu Bay on the north coast, and Anaho Bay, also on the north coast.

That brings us back to Taiohae, with the only somewhat reliable internet in these islands.  We will visit one more island here, Ua Pou, before we head west in a week or so.  The next stop after Ua Pou will be Penrhyn Island in the northern Cook Islands, and then Samoa, where our next chance at internet will be.  It’ll be at least a month from now before we get there.

Pamplemousse

The people on these islands are incredibly friendly.  It is quite common after just a few words of conversation for them to offer bananas, pamplemousse, papaya, limes or whatever.  All this fruit grows abundantly here, so there is plenty for all, and once they get it into their head to give you fruit, you WILL toddle off with a pretty large sack full, no matter how much you protest.

I don’t care that much for most tropical fruit, although shredded green papaya salad isn’t bad, and ripe papaya is OK if doused in lime juice.  Mangos, you can keep.  But I love bananas, especially the ones here, and I just adore pamplemousse.  Pamplemousse is just the French word for grapefruit, but to lump this variety in with all others is unjust.  As far as I know, the variety here exists no where else.  It is larger than those sold in America, about the size of a cantaloupe, and much sweeter.  It has one flaw, though.  The segments in polynesian pamplemousse are highly irregular, which makes eating them a rather messy experience.  You can’t just slice it in half and then use a grapefruit spoon.  You have to get much more personal, wading in with hip boots and gauntlets, and slurping your way through.

It’s a good thing we like them so much.  Several people have each given us a huge sack full in the past few days, enough to last weeks.

Passage to Hiva Oa, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia, 12 Apr 2014

We left Mexico the morning of 15 March, and arrived at Hiva Oa the morning of 9 April, 25 days later.  This was not the first time that we have made this passage, nor was it the longest passage we have ever made.  The first time we arrived here, it was our first and longest major passage, and it felt like such an accomplishment.  This time, it felt more like the end of a long cross-country road trip.  I guess we’ve become comfortable out here.

This is the longest passage most cruisers ever do, but it is perhaps the easiest, with the most predictable weather.  There are three main segments.  The first is downwind in the Northeast Trades, a reliably pleasant ride.  Next comes some snotty weather crossing the Doldrums.  The Doldrums is a band of unsettled weather just north of the equator, where one usually finds it hot and humid, mostly overcast, with little wind, squally and rainy — very unpleasant.  Some people try to sail through this band; most are happy to motor through it as quickly as possible.  Last comes another downwind run in the Southeast Trades to a landfall at Hiva Oa in the Marquesas.

Our first time through the Doldrums was simply awful.  We had constant heavy rain showers with strong winds, and dead air in between.  We were constantly reefing and unreefing the sails, closing all the ports with each shower, then sweltering inside until we could open them again when the squall passed.  This went on for four days.  We had bad memories.  This time, with more experience and better weather information, we had a better strategy.  We cruised southwest in the Northeast Trades, watching the weather reports each day for the Doldrums to the south.  When we saw what looked like a light spot in the Doldrums, we zigged south-southeast a bit to cross there, and were rewarded with a very mellow crossing:  hardly a squall, mostly fine weather.  What we didn't plan on was not having much of any wind for several succeeding days — mostly sunny, beautiful weather, but very little wind. At one point, we were flying clouds of sail, and only doing two knots.  You can walk casually faster than that.  Oh well, it was still much nicer than the first time.

Time has a different meaning on a sea voyage.  On land, one marks the passage of the days by work, school, evening and weekend activities, etc.  At sea, there are none of these markers.  There are isolated events like seeing a pod of dolphins, or chatting on the radio with a tuna-boat skipper out of Mexico, but there is nothing to keep them ordered other than a written log, and much undifferentiated time in between.  After the first few days, one gets used to the daily rhythm of watches, meals, sleep, after which it is difficult to even count the passing days.  Towards the end of the passage, though, one begins to “smell the barn”, and begins to calculate the number of days before landfall.  The calculations are always wrong, though; it always takes longer.

But then, at dawn of the twenty-sixth day, when the sky has lightened enough to see the horizon, there it is, land.  As the day gets brighter and you sail further along, what was at first just a hazy smudge becomes more defined.  You begin to see texture, then color, then you’re cruising along a rugged coast to a tiny little harbor, tucked in behind a breakwater.  And there you are, in French Polynesia, in the South Pacific.

The Marquesas comprise a half-dozen major islands, plus a number of minor ones.  Oriented more or less in a line from Fatu Hiva in the southeast to Nuku Hiva to the northwest, and lying entirely within the Southeast Trades, there is definitely an upwind and a downwind direction.  The town of Atuona, on the island of Hiva Oa, is the most upwind port of entry, so everyone goes there first. Unfortunately, the harbor here is small and rolly.  After those three weeks or so at sea, you come in past that breakwater to find yourself having to anchor cheek by jowl in a shoe box.  Here’s how it works.  You wind your way through the crowd, watching that you don’t snag any stern anchor rodes, looking for a spot you can fit.  Then you make a second pass, with both stern and bow anchors ready to run.  You squeeze between two boats (not quite literally, but almost), drop your stern anchor while motoring forward, run out all of your stern rode, then drop your bow anchor.  Paying out forward anchor rode while taking in stern rode, you settle back between your two anchors, hoping you got it right.  We settled in a little closer to another boat than we felt comfortable with, so we deployed a third anchor off to the opposite side to pull us away a little further.

We quickly begin to meet the crews on the other boats, an international and interesting crowd.  We go through the entry formalities with the Gendarme -- very pleasant fellow, even jovial -- but a time-consuming process.  Laundry, phone calls (major hassle here), internet (even worse), fresh food, etc.  Atuona isn't a place to linger, and after almost a week there, we were glad to be off again to begin really cruising.

Next stop, Tahuata  -- next blog entry.

BODY ART IN UA HUKA

This the first time we've had a really good internet connection since leaving Mexico.  I'll be posting a number of times over the next couple of days before we move on.  They won't be in any particular order, so here goes ...

I found myself scarcely believing where I was or what I was doing.  I had only met this man the day before, sharing with him the more salient parts of my life story and my values, in broken French.  I knew nothing about him other than he was recommended by one person for tattoos on this island.  The only instructions I gave him for the design were to use traditional Marquesan symbols to interpret that story and those values as he saw fit.  Now, I was past the point of no return, having placed my confidence in his art.  He told me yesterday that he wanted to think about what I had told him, and draw out a design for the next morning, when we had arranged to meet.  I had expected him to present me with such a drawing, for my approval, but he did not.  He had a sketch showing the upper and lower borders, and only one of presumably several motifs.  But he said nothing about his plan, and I asked no questions.  Having seen this done on another island recently, I also expected that he would draw out the entire design on my arm before starting to ink it in.  He did not do this either, but only drew a few guide lines.  I had made up my mind to accept what he created, and he began.

Having heard several other cruisers describe their experience with local tattoos, I expected only a little discomfort.  I have a pretty high pain threshold, but the process was surprisingly painful.  The outside part of the armband wasn’t too bad, but I was all too happy when he finished the part on the inside of my upper left arm.

Robyn and I both felt immediately yesterday when we met Daniel, that he was the right person, and this was the right time and place.  We had talked about Marquesan tattoos for over a decade, ever since we were here last.  Tattoos originated in Polynesia, and many people consider the Marquesan tradition the best, being highly stylized and symbolic.  Art, per se, is all well and good, and some tattoos are high art, but I’ve never been interested in being a canvas.  It is the symbolism that appeals to me.  Anyway, we chickened out back then, but decided that if we found the right person, we would do it this time.  Getting a tattoo was totally out of character for me.  I have never understood why someone would do that.  Now I do, at least for me.

So, now it’s done, and I’m pleased with Daniel’s interpretation.  The upper border of the armband represents mountains, which have been a major factor in my life.  The lower border represents the sea, of obvious significance.  Around the band are five major motifs, each separated by a repeated small one representing sea foam.  One motif traditionally represents a good spirit looking down from high above, seeing all, or for me, the time I spent as a pilot.  Another represents family.  Another, a tortoise, which is found everywhere around the world.  A manta ray is flying through the water as I sail over it, and last is one representing me as a navigator.

I should say something about Daniel Naudin himself.  We were extremely lucky to stumble on him, as he is one of French Polynesia’s premier artists.  Having traveled widely, he combines traditional and modern ideas and methods from around the world.  Mostly traditional in orientation, though, his wood and bone carvings are extremely intricate, ranging from large furniture pieces to tiny jewelry.  He is widely renowned for those carvings, and has has been invited to submit works to an exhibition of French Polynesia’s master artists.  He has received commissions from heads of state.  He was selected to build the major structures for a regional exhibition site.  His house and grounds could serve as an art gallery.  Leafing through photo albums of his work simply left us in awe.  More locally, he is the man to see for a tattoo on Ua Huka, which is where I came in.  Besides all that, Daniel is a really cool guy, very friendly, and has a great sense of humor.  Meeting him is the high point of our voyage thus far.