Author: cruisingrunner

Fatu Hiva is the most windward of all the islands in The Marquesas, so from a sailing perspective, it would be the obvious first choice as a place to make landfall.  However, there is no Gendarmerie on Fatu Hiva, and it is not an official port of entry.  So, to be legal a boat must first go to Hiva Oa and then bash a bit to windward to get to Fatu Hiva.  Such is the Fatu Hiva Dilemma.  Do you do what makes the most sense from a cruising perspective or do you follow the rules? 

Needless to say, since we had no idea of what the risk would be to NOT follow the rules, we followed the rules, and had a somewhat unpleasant overnight bash down from Hiva Oa to Fatu Hiva.  OK, this was mostly me, Tim TOTALLY would have just gone to Fatu Hiva.  And in this specific instance, he was right.

We met several other boats while we were there who made landfall in Fatu Hiva.  The ones we noticed flew their yellow “Q” flag and some checked in with the local municipal police, and then they did their official clear in when they got to Hiva Oa.  There were no repercussions as far as we could tell, and at least in some cases, the clocks didn’t start on their 3-month visa until their official clear in, so they essentially got extra time in French Polynesia by NOT following the rules.

Oh well. Now we know.

Hanaiapa, on the north side of Hiva Oa, was a nice little town.  There were no stores or services there, but it was clean, the houses were well looked after, and the people were friendly.  We went to shore with Lady Carolina and True Blue V, so we were quite the gang walking around.  We passed a house with a well-cared for yard and noticed a sign saying “Yacht Club” which caused us all to smile a bit.  Before we had completely passed by the house, a man came out who spoke a little bit of English, and he introduced himself as William.  Well, we had read in the guidebook about William and his yacht club, so I asked if it would be possible for us to sign his guidebook.  He said yes, if we could come back, maybe in about an hour. 

So, after our walking tour of the village, we returned to the yacht club, and William gave us a warm welcome.  His house was modest, with a small entry way with a table and chairs, and he had enough chairs for all of us.  He served us lemonade in only slightly dirty glasses and passed around coconut and banana.  Then he brought out his guest books, and they were fun to look through.  Many, many cruisers from years past have signed.  In fact, Steve was pretty sure his parents had met William and signed his guest book 20 or so years before, but we learned that the older books had been destroyed when William’s house caught on fire a few years back.  We had a pleasant time, signed the guest book, and William gave us stalks of Bananas to take with us. 

Then came the punchline.  He started talking about how he would not take any money for any of this, but if we had some things to trade, that would be good.  Specifically, wine or rum.  We asked him if there was anything else he needed, like rope, or fishing hooks, or anything.  No.  He was adamant, he would like rum or wine.  We told him OK, we would return likely the next day, and he said he would prefer to walk with us down to the dock to get it.  I guess he was desperate.  We ended up giving him two boxes of wine, and wouldn’t you know he asked about the fact that there were 3 boats among us, but we just responded that True Blue V didn’t drink.  (Ha, yeah, right!)

We had a pleasant day, and the visit with William was very nice.  But something about it felt icky afterward.  We like giving, and would give almost anything we had, but it became apparent that he runs the yacht club to get alcohol and only alcohol. 

It was with a heavy heart that I learned in Atuona of the fate of Rebel Heart, one of our fellow kid boats who was also making the Pacific Crossing from Banderas Bay to The Marquesas.  One of the girls was sick and they had some issues with the boat, so they were rescued at sea and Rebel Heart was scuttled.  Thankfully, everyone was OK.  But imagine my surprise when I do an internet search and the first article in the list is one whose focus is describing how they are being criticized for putting their family in “danger” and how they should have to pay for the rescue.  Seriously?

I’ll address both of these points separately, starting with what careless parents they must be for taking their children to sea.  There’s a general aspect to this and a specific one, and I can really only comment on the general one, and that is, I think it is absolutely appalling that people who know nothing about sailing or cruising rush to judgement about what a risk it is.  What they are really saying is that it is unfamiliar to them, and it is potentially dangerous, therefore the risk must be unacceptable.  Meanwhile, other dangerous activities have acceptable risk, simply because they are more familiar, like driving on the freeway.  Many, many, people cruise on sailing and motor vessels all over the world.  Many with families.  Educate yourself before you judge.  The specific aspect of this I cannot really comment on.  Whether or not someone is taking undue risk crossing an ocean with their family has everything to do with the readiness of the crew and the seaworthiness of the vessel, and I didn’t know Rebel Heart well enough to make any sort of judgement here.  I read online some people have read their blogs and have made specific criticism and it is based on those that they make judgements about the risk they took.  That, I can understand.  My point above is that people who know nothing about it make snap judgments that sailing across an ocean with your family is unacceptable because they hear about rescues.

The other point I’d like to address is that people have been saying that they should pay for the rescue.  This is absolutely ridiculous, in my opinion.  That’s just not how we’ve developed our rescue agencies in our society.  People don’t pay the fire department directly, even when it is their fault their house catches on fire.  Perhaps it would be a noble thing to do across the board to issue judgements when people are rescued and if it can be proven their negligence was the cause they should have to foot the bill.  But is this really practical?  If the purpose of this is to save taxpayer money, it probably defeats the purpose, because now you’ve introduced a whole layer of bureaucracy with its price tag along with it.  And then just like our judicial system you run the risk of bad judgements being made, and people unfairly judged negligent and having to pay.  Who should get to be judge?  When people are rescued, it is a tremendously traumatic event, is this something we need to put people through afterward? 

Like I said, I can’t comment on the specific readiness of Rebel Heart, and neither can a lot of people, but that doesn’t stop them from commenting.  But no matter what, my heart truly goes out to them because I would not wish what they have had to go through on anyone. 

We stayed a little longer in Atuona than we likely otherwise would have, because we wanted to go on a group island tour, and we pulled it off for Tuesday, 8 April.  The crews of Exodus, Lady Carolina, and True Blue V all piled inside and outside of Marie Jo’s pickup truck taking up all available sitting space.  The back of the truck was covered and had benches, but since a lot of the route was a bumpy dirt road, it was still rather uncomfortable, and we made all the kids sit back there and then cycled the adults through. 

We headed northwest from Atuona, and our first stop was atop some cliffs overlooking the bays.  Then we walked a bit then hopped back in the truck.  Then when we were in what seemed like the heart of the jungle, almost as an afterthought, Marie Jo stopped the truck and asked if we wanted to go to the fruit stand.  Not knowing what to expect we all answered an enthusiastic, sure, let’s go.  Down a steep and muddy driveway down to what seemed like someone’s back shed, we found ourselves surrounded by pamplemousse and stalks of bananas.  We met the proprietor, and he let us try many things, including dried bananas, which were sweet like candy, and pamplemousse.  This was our first taste of this fruit, and the closest comparison I can make is to grapefruit, but it’s much sweeter than any grapefruit I’ve ever had.  He showed us how he dries the bananas, and he also showed us how he makes banana vinegar.  We all had a very magical experience there, and we opened our purses and wallets and purchased many a pamplemousse and pack of dried bananas.  I even bought a bottle of the vinegar, and I’ve made many salad dressings with it.

After our encounter with the fruit stand, Marie Jo must have realized how much we liked the local fruit, so she would stop anywhere there was something we could pick.  First up were the dark purple fruits that looked like large grapes that she called Pistache but were in no way like a Pistachio nut.  They weren’t very sweet, and I thought they made my mouth feel kind of dry and gritty.  The boys (including Tim) like how they turned your entire mouth a dark purple.  We also stopped to pick limes, star fruit, and tiny little chili peppers.  We all had a lot of fun, and we felt comfortable since Marie Jo was choosing the places to gather fruit that it was OK, and we weren’t stealing anyone’s property.  Along the way we had some amazing views of various bays.

After a few hours we came to the primary destination of Puamau, a village situated on Baie Puamau, which is a large anchorage facing the northeast.  Marie Jo drove us right up to one of the most amazing archaeological sites with several terraces and many, many Tikis.  The guidebook says that one of the Tikis, Takaii, is the largest in the world standing 8 ft tall, but we didn’t know it at the time.  We had fun observing all of the Tikis, but in the end our attention came to be focused on a large pamplemousse tree, and Marie Joe got a large stick and was knocking them down while Tim caught them.  The boys explored a bit and found another pamplemousse tree, and engaged in their own fruit retrieval effort, successfully, I might add.

We made better time on the way back because we made fewer stops, but we did stop somewhat close to Atuona, to take a look at the smiling Tiki.  It was a short trek into the “jungle” and it really was a smiling tiki.  It was small, only coming up to about mid-thigh, and it had a rounded head, making it look like the minions in the movie Despicable Me.  We took all the obligatory photos and then proceeded to gather all the tiny chili peppers we could find.

Our island tour was a bit different than we had expected.  We kind of expected a real tour with an informative and historical narrative.  This isn’t exactly what Marie Jo provided, but I think the kids especially had an even better time because gathering all the fruit was a real treat.

While in town at Atuona on a Saturday we were looking for a restaurant to have lunch, and Tim and Steve met a friendly Marquesan guy named Steve while they were trying to check out a food truck.  Steven was drinking beers and he explained that on Saturdays he doesn’t eat, he only drinks.  Everyone knows this, they know that Steven only drinks on Saturday.  He told us where we might be able to get lunch at a pizza place on the way back to town.

Somehow, I’m not sure when or how, Tim and Steve ran into Steven again near the harbor, and he offered to guide them in one of our dinghies over to some villages where we could trade items for many different fruits, and he would also take them spear fishing.  Of course, they accepted right away, and they were all three gone the better part of a day.  I hope that at some point Tim or Steve write about their experience that day, because for me to write about it could never do it justice, so I won’t even try.

That evening we were planning a potluck on Exodus with Lady Carolina, True Blue V, Chara, and a young couple on s/v Eleutheria that I had met in town that day.  Tim, Steve, and Steven arrived and in a flurry of activity they offloaded an enormous amount of fruit onto Exodus and onloaded several beers into the dinghy.  They said they were getting meat and cooking breadfruit on shore, and did I mention it was a flurry.  We were all like, “what?”  Following a few more beer runs, they returned with breadfruit for everyone and about a half of a goat or sheep, we aren’t quite sure.

Then, they proceeded to turn my kitchen upside down.  A Marquesan dinner was prepared in my galley, and the rest of us just drank and watched.  At one point he passed around some meat and we were all to taste it, and it was basically just gristle, we all just chewed and chewed.  That meant it wasn’t done enough.  We all took turns grating coconut and then they pressed it through one of my kitchen rags (I hope it was a clean one).  I inferred from my interaction with Steven that in the Marquesas cooking was a blue job (that is, for the men to do.  As opposed to a pink job.)  I was usually bustled out of the kitchen, which was fine by me, I just sat in the salon, watched, laughed, and drank.  It was all good fun, and I was loving the experience of having Steven among us.

Then, the plastic top that regulates flow on the rum bottle came off.  Well, it didn’t come off.  The guys removed it, at Steven’s urging, and they started passing it around.  Shortly after, Steven switched from your friendly neighborhood Polynesian to a drunken obnoxious, possibly dangerous Polynesian man. 

I need to stress here that he never was actually dangerous.  But at the time, my awareness became heightened, because I wasn’t really sure the direction he was going to go here.  It went far downhill when our Australian friend, Craig from True Blue V, did some native New Zealand chanting in response to some of Steven’s Marquesan chanting.  That really didn’t go over well.  It was as if Craig inadvertently challenged Steven’s manhood.  Steven continually called him “Australia Man” and fluctuated between being frighteningly aggressive and then friendly towards him.  I was really worried Steven was going to try to fight him.  Maybe that was because Steven kept saying he wanted to fight him.  Luckily Craig, aka Australia Man, is a very good-natured fellow, and his response was always a very humorous, “I don’t want to fight you, man…”

I guess the guys kept “trying” to get the rum away from Steven, but finally I had had enough.  They were all sitting int he cockpit, and I stood over them and said in a very stern voice, “Give me the rum.  That’s my rum.”  Steven obliged without any hesitation or question.  But then he remembered that they were going to go midnight fishing.  That was all the rumble, “Steven, Tim, Fishing!!!”  Carolina and I had a little conference and we decided there was no way all these drunk men were going midnight fishing.  So, she and the four boys went to Lady Carolina, and they took ALL the dinghies.  We basically made it impossible, so that Steve and Tim didn’t have to say no to Steven.  A little while later Kyle came back to give Craig and Steve rides home, and then that left, Tim, me, and Steven.  Tim was the Polynesian whisperer that night and he was able to coax Steven to sleep in the cockpit, I have no idea how.  Tim slept out in the cockpit with Steven until it started raining, and since Tim was on the outside bench, he was getting soaked, so he moved into the salon.  Steven didn’t budge. 

In the morning Steven went for a swim, drank coffee with us, and then showed Tim how to pan fry up the leftover breadfruit, and I have to say, this was amazing.  Like French fries, but maybe a little better since you don’t usually let yourself indulge in something as yummy as French fries for breakfast.  Curiously, when it came to pouring the coffee, Steven would not let Tim pour it for him.  That was apparently a pink job.  Tim cooked the breadfruit, and I poured the coffee.  We wonder if that’s why Steven so easily gave up the rum to me the night before.  Maybe women are in charge of drinks.  Anyway, then he started asking for beer or wine.  He yelled over to Lady Carolina, “Steven, give me a beer!!!”  He also kept asking me which boat belonged to “Australia Man,” and he said that with a somewhat negative jeer.  So, I was noncommittal, saying, “it’s that one over there,” while waving my arm in no particular direction. 

We had an island tour arranged that morning, and we needed to be on shore by 9am.  Steven came along, insisting that he would go with us.  Once on shore both Sandra and Marie Jo (the lady giving us the tour) asked us if we really wanted Steven to come, and if not, they would tell him he could not come.  Sadly, we took this route.  There really wasn’t room in the truck, and we weren’t sure how his behavior would impact our day.  He wanted wine, Steve gave him wine, and he went away.  We learned later from Marie Jo that they’ve had to call the Gendarme to remove Steven from yachts in the past.

I recently asked Alex and Brenden what they remember of Steven.  Brenden said that Steven taught him how to say hello in Marquesan, “Ka Oha Nuie.”  He would tell Brenden to repeat, but it wasn’t loud enough, so Steven would yell, “KA OHA NUIE!”  I guess this went on for a while, until Brenden achieved an acceptable decibel level.  Alex remembered in the morning he and Brenden were in the dinghy and Steven tossed them a mango and told them to eat it.  They were confused, because typically, we peel mangoes, so they hesitated.  He yelled to eat it, and then he grabbed one himself and bit right through the skin.  They laughed, but they never did bite the mango, they just drove away.

In hindsight, Steven was a lot of fun.  We understood that he was one among many, and we continued to have many varied experiences with the local throughout French Polynesia.

One last note… we didn’t actually cook all the meat the Steven gave us that night.  There was another half of the animal left, and thankfully, True Blue V volunteered to keep it in their freezer until we got to an anchorage where we could have a proper beach cookout.  Spoiler alert: we had an amazing Marquesan cookout on the next island we would visit.