I felt stronger today than any day since I started running again. My quads ached as I ran, but not in a bad way, in that good way that tells you you are pushing yourself just the right amount. Yesterday I headed north to the commercial dock, so today I mixed it up a bit and headed south through the heart of Vaitape to just outside the town border. It was another slog along a busy road, and the views from this side of the island just aren’t nearly as majestic as the other. So, today, I paid attention to the dogs. Since it was mid-morning, a little later than I like to run, it was a bit warmer, and most of the dogs were just laying around. None of them paid any attention to me. None of them tried to sniff my butt.
There are a lot of dogs in French Polynesia, mostly large dogs that look mangy, not like anyone’s pets. In the Marquesas we met a guy named Albert who had a pack of dogs for hunting wild pigs. The dogs would bring down the pig and hold it (but not kill it) and then he would come over and slit its throat. The dogs looked strong, and Albert was obviously pleased with them. They also looked just on the verge of being underfed. He told us, “they don’t catch pig, they don’t eat.” I guess that’s motivation. In Makemo there were dogs everywhere, and the mamas were all hanging a little low like they’ve had more than a few litters. My friend asked one of the locals if the dogs were pets and they said no like she was a bit crazy. Then one of the other cruisers told us they eat the dogs. I was skeptical, but then Tim and a friend asked one of the locals they had gotten to know about it (seriously, I never would have had the guts to do that) and he confirmed that yes, some people do, in fact, eat the dogs. After that, whenever I saw a dog, I would tell it to run, run away, you don’t have to be dinner. But they live on a motu in an atoll, where would they go? Papeete was the only place we saw small dogs, carried around in bicycle baskets, so I assume they are pets, not dinner. On my run yesterday I passed a dog that caught my attention, because it was a little more plump than most and had a shiny coat, so I thought maybe it was cared for. As soon as I made eye contact with it it cowered, as if it thought I was going to hit it.
It’s certainly a different kind of relationship between man and dog than we are used to at home. I suppose it takes a certain amount of financial security and luxury to start treating animals like one of the family.
We are anchored in 80 ft of water just off the town of Vaitape on the main island in Bora Bora. Yes 80. 8-0. That’s not a typo. There were no mooning balls available when we pulled in yesterday, so what are you gonna do? We did our clearing out of French Polynesia today for a Thursday 0-dark-thirty departure. Being near a town is not usually very fun when you’re only staying a couple days because those days are filled with a whole list of chores. I find we need to stay about a week to be able to start actually enjoying the town, but we typically don’t do that because there are always so many other places away from town that we want to enjoy. I fit a run in this morning before laundry, school, clearing out, and groceries. I had to run along another busy road, this one much busier, actually, and unlike running on the road in Huahine, drivers seemed to give less room to the pedestrians as they drive by. Maybe because there are more pedestrians.
I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been in a town and I’ve been going around like crazy taking care of this and that, and I somehow decided I couldn’t possibly have time for a run. As I thought of that today while running, I can only conclude that I was temporarily brain damaged or something. At home, I was way more busy, and I always found time for a run. No, I didn’t find time for a run, I MADE time for a run. It’s not like I would just be sitting around doing nothing and think, “hey, I’m not doing anything, I think I’ll use this free time to go for a run.” No, I had to make it happen. I’d run in the morning while it was still dark outside. I would run at lunchtime. I would run to the soccer field and meet Tim and the boys there for one of the boys’ soccer games. OK, you get the idea.
In fact, I’ve always sort of rolled my eyes at people who say they are too busy for, well anything. I maintained that it’s all about priorities. If you want to do something, you’ll make time. If you don’t you won’t. I guess I forgot about that, too. Whenever anyone told me they didn’t have time to do something they were implying they kind of want to do, I always wanted to ask them how much TV they watch.
I recently started making movies of our travels using Windows Movie Maker. I really enjoy setting our photos and videos to music. It’s a creative process, but it’s also somewhat technical getting the photo transitions to occur at the right time given the beat of the music. Anyway, I showed one to some friends recently, and they were like, “Wow, that’s awesome. You must have way too much free time.” Of course, I brushed that off at the time, but now after thinking about it, I call bull*@$%. I have no more free time than anyone else out here, it’s just something I make time to do. You don’t have enough time to do it? Yeah, whatever.
The run felt good this morning. I’m glad I made time.
I finally made it onshore on the main island of Bora Bora today for a morning run. We were anchored out across the lagoon by a couple motus, but after a quick dinghy expedition yesterday afternoon we knew there was really nowhere to run there either. So, Tim shuttled me approximately a mile over to the main island, where we knew there was a road. The problem was, we had no idea where he could drop me off, or even if we could get through the coral heads near here. We noticed a “jetty” with a lot of local boats around, and then we discovered the marked cut in the coral to be able to get there. As we pulled up, though, it started to seem like he would be dropping me off in someone’s backyard, and I felt kind of weird about that. When we saw some kids and a man coming to see us, we figured it would be OK, since we’ve learned over and over how generous the Polynesians are. Tim asked if he spoke English and he said no, so it was up to our broken French and some hand gestures. It went something like this, “Je voudrais…” hand gesture of a person walking, “… a la rue. C’est bon?” He smiled and gestured, of course. There was a tiny dock that I was able to hop out onto, so I didn’t have to get my shoes wet. (Never mind they were already wet since I left them out in the rain last night.) The kids were pretty interested in me, and they walked with me up the dirt road over out to the main road. The homes were modest, and the people were friendly. Ia ora na is hello in Tahitian, and I got to say that a lot today.
The run was slow, but I’m still cutting myself some slack. There weren’t that many cars on the road, but I still ran towards traffic and shuffled off onto the very narrow shoulder when a car did pass. There were no resorts along the stretch I ran down, but I did pass two of the water shuttle areas for the large resorts. They each had a parking lot, so I’m thinking this might be where they shuttle their employees from the main island out to the motus, since that’s where the majority, if not all, of the resorts are. I ran through a small town. I only know this because of the sign and that there was a mairie (town hall) and a church. There were many more modest houses, and I noticed that along the coastal side there were a lot of makeshift benches and lounge chairs. I was thinking maybe this was a sign that they appreciate the beauty of their surroundings, if they bother to set up a place to sit and enjoy it, but I didn’t see anyone sitting there, so who knows. Maybe in the evening. Not on a Sunday morning.
Throughout the Society islands we witnessed the stark contradiction of huge mega resorts against the backdrop of modest Polynesian living, but never has it been so obvious as here in Bora Bora. It was on display yesterday when we were out on our dinghy expedition. There was a cut through the motu almost all the way out to the ocean. On the left side was the very ostentacious St. Regis hotel. On the right side were local dwellings, and my first thought was, “poverty.” However, that reaction was probably due to the stark contrast with the resort, not based on a fair assessment. That’s why I started using the word “modest” above. No one is starving. No one looks miserable. But compared to the lavishness of the resort, it looks like poverty with small unenclosed dwellings and laundry strewn about. When we went a little further up the channel, far enough that we had to tilt the outboard motor up so it would bottom out, we came across four kids having a grand time. Two were in a boat, and they were fishing. Two were playing on a paddle board, not unlike the way our boys play on a paddle board. They were all fun to watch.
We also noticed that a hotel guard on a bike had spotted us and was following us along the edge as we motored deeper into the channel. I waved to him, but he didn’t wave back. Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, we wouldn’t think of stepping onto your precious resort property, even though it’s been days since I’ve been able to run, and I’d really, really just like to find a place to run. I bet if I asked the people on the other side of the channel they’d gladly let me run on THEIR land.
My run back this morning was slower than on the way out. The wind was in my face on the way back and the sun had gone behind a cloud, so it was a bit cooler, and I felt better. I know I was running slower because I was running based on time, and I didn’t make it all the way back to where I started in the same amount of time. But it gave me a chance to walk a bit and observe a bit more. The kids were riding their bikes, and they came out to meet me and walked with me back out to the dock. It was a boy and a girl, and we didn’t talk much, since we were all shy about speaking in a language we don’t know. I assume they know a little, because earlier one of them said, “No English here.” They didn’t attempt to speak English with me as we walked out to the dock, but I told them, “Velos, bon,” which I hope means good bikes. They smiled, and I felt happy.
-D.
The dock where Tim dropped me off for my morning run
Today, it’s raining. Not pouring rain like the last two cold fronts that have passed, but it’s densely overcast and there’s a constant drizzle, so I am staying inside. No running. No paddle boarding.
I used to let myself get prodded into running in the rain. “C’mon, it’s just a little rain. Be tough!” I’ve always wanted to be tough and I’ve always thought of myself as tough, so I would run in the rain to prove I was tough, not just to other people, but to myself. Lots of runners do it all the time, it’s how they prove they are dedicated to running in addition to proving they are tough. If lots of runners do it, then I can too. Well, of course I COULD do it, but it took me awhile to think about whether I SHOULD do it.
I hate running in the rain. I turns an activity that I treasure and makes it so intensely unpleasant that I hate every step. I hate the cold rain stinging my face and I hate my soggy, drippy clothes and hair. One day it sort of abruptly occurred to me that it was stupid to run in the rain because I hated it. I didn’t need to run in the rain to prove a point. I’m still tough, even if I’m the only one who thinks so.
Just like I don’t have to dive with sting rays either. Being tough and capable and independent are qualities that are very important to me, so much so that it’s actually hard for me to not just suck it up and do things I don’t want to do. I don’t want to dive with sting rays, not because I’m afraid, but because when you get in the water they immediately swim all over you because they want you to feed them. It’s this closeness with nature that is unpleasant and uncomfortable for me. I love nature, just not up close. But I know that no one buys that. They all think I won’t swim with the sting rays because I’m afraid, and that bothers me. And there was a time I would have just done it. But not now. I’m OK, now, honoring my own likes and dislikes and being true to them.
So, today I stay inside and wait for this front to pass. I’ll run when it’s sunny and pleasant. I’ll run when I will enjoy it.
We are on Bora Bora with nowhere to run. Literally.
There is a motu on the southwest side of the lagoon called Motu Toopua, and we have parked ourselves off the southern tip of it with only about a foot of water under our keels. Our shore excursion to scout running possibilities was a big fat strike out. We started at the Hilton, and it looked promising at first since the guy near the dock pointed us to where we could park the dinghy and we headed past the reception area up by the pool looking for the front of the hotel and the corresponding road. Turns out there’s no road on the motu. The front of the hotel is perched on the water and visitors are shuttled by water from the airport (which is on another motu) by a motor catamaran. Well, maybe I could run on the beach? As we started to make our way to the sand we saw the security guard waving and motioning to us. Damn. Caught. He was extremely nice and told us we would need to check in with reception before we could look around the resort. Tim started chatting him up and asking him if there was any hiking on the motu or anywhere else in Bora Bora, and he looked at us like we were crazy and simply said, “I’m sure I don’t know of any.” I guess people don’t go to Bora Bora to hike. The receptionist was equally polite and told us since the hotel is quite full that normally they don’t let visitors into the resort. However, she would let us stay for 10-15 minutes, and if we would like to have a drink at the pool, that would be OK too. I didn’t ask, but I’m guessing that running up and down the beach while the paying guests are relaxing in their lounge chairs would be frowned upon. The beach didn’t look that nice for running anyway, as it was a bit soft and steep.
It was easy to see that this was a higher class establishment than we had been bumming around at in Moorea. Not just because they didn’t let us stay, but because of the high quality of their public relations. Both the security guard and the receptionist were as nice and polite as they possibly could be. And I loved how the receptionist was basically telling us we could only stay a short while, but she turned it around like she was doing us a favor, making an exception for us because we’re special, and we should walk away feeling good about it. Text book.
We also took a very wet and bumpy dinghy ride over to the southwest tip of the main island, and there was obviously a road there, but nowhere to land the dinghy. A privately owned dock was there mocking us.
So, yesterday I was grouchy. I didn’t want to come to Bora Bora in the first place and now I can’t even run (at least from where we are currently anchored.) I got over my grouch by doing other things I like to do, and then today I went for a paddle (on one of our stand up paddle boards) between Motu Toopua and a little tiny islet just off its southeast tip. There was actually live coral back there with big lipped clams! Not exactly fit for snorkeling though, since it was only about a foot deep.
A cold front is approaching, and tomorrow as it passes there will likely be a drastic wind shift to a more southerly direction. There are plenty of other anchorages on the island with south protection, so should it be necessary, there will, actually, be somewhere to run.
Oh, the irony. Bora Bora is one of the most famous resort destination vacation spots in the world, known for its turquoise water and overwater bungalows. People pay outrageous amounts of money to spend their vacations there, and I have found myself somewhere I would rather stay than go to Bora Bora. We will go there, of course, if for no other reason than to say we went there.
I find myself questioning whether this makes any sense at all. Is life really long enough to go somewhere, just so you can say you went? At happy hour last night I threw this out there, and a barrage of “you HAVE to go to Bora Bora” came back at me. I was even labeled “anti-Bora Bora.” There was general consensus that Huahine is amazing, and we’d all like to stay longer, and that Bora Bora probably won’t be that great, being all touristy and stuff. One person even said they wanted to go to Bora Bora just so they can tell people they went to Bora Bora and it was “meh.” I get it, and I can feel myself getting swept away in that mentality, but I’m trying to resist. Must. Resist. Do I really want to be motivated to do something just so I can say I did?
I’m reminded of something Merle from S/V Kenta Anae said way back in La Cruz as he was mocking the social media culture. I’m sure I’ll butcher the quote, but it went something like, “If I didn’t post it or blog about it, did it really happen?” The point being that we are so caught up in documenting and sharing what we do that we forget to really experience it.
So True. I take my camera everywhere, so I can share my photos. I write essays for the facebook page. I check for likes and comments as if that’s some sort of validation. I really need to back off and stop seeing my life as a script unraveling as the facebook posts rack up.
Hence, I started this blog.
But we really shouldn’t go to Bora Bora, just to say we did. I still stand by that.
I made it back to the boat just in time to avoid getting caught in the rain. It is day 3 since I started running again, and this morning I went from Fare to Faaite on the West side of Huahine, but don’t get too impressed. It’s only about a mile in each direction.
Since it is day 3, maybe a little recap is in order: Day 1 – 1 mile, had to walk most of the way back because Mother Nature was calling Day 2 – 3 miles, running euphoria, I even opened up my stride the last half mile or so Day 3 – 2 miles, dead legs, kept looking at my watch the entire time, had to suck down a gu gel. I mean seriously, who needs a gu gel during a 2 mile run?
So, I have a ways to go.
I didn’t quite run empty handed today. In one hand I had a VHF radio, because telling the boys to set a timer for 40 minutes and then look for me at the dock wasn’t quite working out. In the other hand I carried my bread bag, because I would stop at the Super Fare Nui (grocery store) for baguettes after my run. Baguettes have become such a staple for us since arriving in French Polynesia, and we’ve learned that all baguettes are not created equal. The best ones were in Atuona and Papeete. Atuona because they were the first ones we had after a 22-day ocean crossing, and even if they weren’t really that great, I remember them as amazing. Papeete, because they really were amazing. Just the right amount of crunch in the crust and softness in the bread. The worst ones were in Makemo. Way, way, way too much crunch in the crust and way, way, way too much softness in the bread. Anyway, baguettes are the new tortillas. That makes sense, considering we spent a year in Mexico before coming to French Polynesia. Adapting from tortillas and guacamole to baguettes and brie has been mostly a seamless process. We just sort of go with the flow. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, or some cliché like that.
After a baguette run in Makemo
OK, truth be told, there’s a lot of adapting the must be done when you live on a sailboat in foreign countries, and not all of it is as seamless as switching from yummy tortillas to yummy baguettes. And it’s amplified for us, because it would be fair to say that adapting is a skill I am having to develop as we go.
Take my drink of choice, for example. I was in love with good California wine. My preference was always a full-bodied red, like a Cabernet Franc or a Zinfandel. But I drank a lot of oaky, buttery Chardonnays too, because they were less expensive, and a wine habit can start to break the bank after a while. It is difficult to keep up a wine habit in Mexico, because quite frankly, the wine is crap. The best you can find is Chilean wine, which once upon a time after we visited Chile, I convinced myself was good, but really, it’s not. Cruisers drink a lot of boxed wine, because it’s cheaper and it stores easier than bottles, and I’m not above cracking a box of “California White” to mix with sparkling water on a hot day, but one can hardly call that wine. I still have a few bottles of red that we brought with us when we left home, and visitors have brought me the odd bottle of Chardonnay, but mostly I’ve had to adapt away from my wine habit. Being sailors and all, I’ve discovered sipping rum. It took a while to adjust, in fact, I can still remember my first sip as we toasted to a safe voyage at the beginning of the Baja Ha Ha. It burned my nose and lips. But now I love it. So, that’s what we do out here, we adapt.
Another change I’ve had to adapt to is being with my husband and kids all day, every day. Mostly I’ve adapted to that in the same way I’ve adapted to the wine thing. Rum. Lots of rum.
And on that note, I’d like to say Happy Anniversary to my love. Fourteen years and counting.
Huahine is the Society Island no one knows about, but so far it is my favorite. It lacks the dramatic beauty rivaling the Marquesas that Moorea had, but it is much more removed from the tourism industry, and therefore, much more friendly and relaxed. This morning’s run followed the same path as yesterday around the southern tip of the island from Avea to Parea, but today I knocked out 3 miles rather than the single mile I could muster yesterday. Well, I don’t actually know exactly how far I went, since I didn’t take my Garmin, just a sport watch, so I ran for more or less 30 minutes. In my currently severely out of shape condition it was probably less than 3 miles, but who’s counting. I didn’t wear my Garmin because I’ve decided to simplify my running. No Garmin. No iPod. Today I didn’t even carry water, because it’s not too hot, and I wasn’t going very far. My entire life has been simplified in the last year, why not my running too? The only thing I carried was my camera. For obvious reasons.
I was passed in both directions by several people in cars, on scooters, and on bicycles. It’s nice to be on an island again where people smile at you and say hello (well, they say Bonjour or Iaorana). Throughout French Polynesia there has been a definite correlation between the exposure to international tourism and the probability that people randomly say hello to you. To be fair, it may not be just tourism, but rather simply how connected they are to the outside world. In the small villages in The Marquesas and The Tuamotus we met the friendliest and most generous people. Even though we speak barely a lick of French people shared meals with us, took the guys fishing, and loaded us up with as much pamplemousse as we could carry. I noticed a stark difference almost immediately in Papeete (The capital of Tahiti and French Polynesia). While walking from the marina to the super mega giant huge grocery store (hadn’t seen one of those in a while) we passed people on the street and most had their head down or were looking at their smart phones. Eye contact was avoided. It felt cold and impersonal. It felt like home.
-D.
I ran past a Marae this morning. (Never said that before.)Post-run selfie
It took me a long time to accept that. I kept trying to apply caveats like, “well, I’m not a natural runner,” or, “not that I run very fast or anything.” At some point I finally realized I really was a runner, and I just dropped all the caveats. I ran to feel good, I ran to sort out my thoughts, I ran to feel competitive (even if only with myself), I ran to see progress, I ran to feel strong, and a lot of the time I ran simply because I could. Sometimes you just have to do something, and lacing up a pair of running shoes always seemed like the simplest something I could do. I was a runner because it became part of my identity, part of how I viewed myself.
But then, for some reason, I forgot.
OK, well, not for “some” reason, but for a perfectly understandable reason.
I became a cruiser.
That’s right. My husband and I sold our house, quit our jobs, moved our family onto a boat, and sailed away from our home and the entire life we knew. It was something we really wanted to do. It was exciting. We had worked hard for so long, and now we were going to live a life we really wanted to live. We would become a stronger family unit. We would travel to places we’ve never been. It has been absolutely amazing, as amazing as anyone who’s ever wanted to do this could imagine it being. But after a year and change I’m able to look back and see that I’ve had ups and down as I have had to figure out how to redefine myself in this new life. Running isn’t the only part of my identity that I lost.
I lost my work identity. I was a respected engineer and manager. I was good at what I did, and it was well recognized by the people around me. Early on someone asked me what I missed most from home, and I joked, “I miss being listened to.” That wasn’t so much of a joke as the raw, honest truth. At work, people really did listen to me. Now I lived on a boat even though I know very little about sailing and even less about fixing boat issues. I simply wasn’t listened to anymore because it wasn’t apparent that I knew anything worth listening to. I had a hard time with that, even though I really didn’t recognize it at the time.
I lost my busy working mother identity. I was the mom who worked like crazy but still found time to be the Little League team mom. I was always busy and rarely took any time to just relax. I thought this was something I hated and was gladly giving it up to go cruising, but then there was just so much time. So much time with very little purpose.
Please don’t take any of this as complaining. I never wallowed in any misery; in fact I never actually realized these identities were lost or that I had any issues even if they were. I simply went about the business of redefining my identity. I am now a homeschool teacher, meteorologist, navigator, and licensed HAM radio operator. At this point in my journey, I certainly don’t want my work identity or my busy working mother identity back. I do, however, want my runner identity back. I have realized there’s no reason I should have lost that in the first place. Sure, we live on a boat, but most places we’ve been to have a place to run, I just need to remind myself it’s what I really want to do.
So, I’ve started this blog to document all of the places I will run, and how I learn and grow along the way.
Today, I laced up my shoes, got a dinghy ride to the dock, and ran about a mile along the southern point of the island of Huahine in French Polynesia. I can’t wait to run tomorrow.
Gresham Family Exodus 