The Bounty of the Tropics

Saturday, May 8th – After our visit to Fatu Hiva, the most southern island of the Marquesas, Avante now is setting a course to explore the rest of the islands. We enjoy a great sail back north and after passing through the channel between Tahuata and Hiva Oa, the fishing reel begins to unwind. Tom grabs the rod while The Captain and First Mate slow down the boat. Zing! Fish on. Fish off. This seems to be our sad fate out here on these Pacific waters. This time the hook actually broke. Tom ties on a new lure and, ever hopeful, casts it out into the water again and again. We are a boat trailing an empty hook.

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The next day we are off to the northern coast of Hiva Oa. As we round the northwest corner of the island, the wind and seas pick up, and we find ourselves having to motor along the northern coast in building seas with 25 to 30 knots of wind on the nose. We motor past the first possible anchorage noting that it probably is not very calm in that bay. Still, the First Mate is envious when she sees another boat seeking shelter there. Wouldn’t that be preferable to bashing along into this wind?

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Monday, May 10th – Of the anchorages on Hiva Oa, one that we very much would like to visit is Baie Puamau, noted for its extensive archeological sites. Takaii, the largest Tiki in the world, is located on a massive ceremonial platform up somewhere above the little town of Iipona.

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We do not know exactly where these ceremonial grounds are located, but we have learned from our reading that they are somewhere up above the village. There are no signs, but there also is not a huge choice of roads leading up. There is actually only one main road, but we do want to make sure before we march on up it. The First Mate walks over to some workers loading copra (dried coconut). She asks them. Frustrated that her many years of French studied diligently so many years ago are not coming back as quickly as she thinks they ought, she is eventually able to determine that, yes, we are on the right road up. We will come to a pension or a restaurant or maybe both and then we will go right, then left or maybe it’s left, then right. She thanks them cheerily and tells the guys that we are on the right road for sure. Then it’s left, then right or maybe right, then left. Whichever way is up.  Up is correct because the workers did keep pointing and waving up.

Shortly, we come to a restaurant, and right beyond the restaurant, the road forks. Left or right, right or left? The First Mate walks into the restaurant to ask, and a very French Polynesian woman tells her that she is the official caretaker of the ceremonial site. As caretaker, her roll is to extract from us a fee of 500 CFP to visit the site. This sounds awfully fishy to us, as the guide books do not mention such a charge, and there are no official looking signs indicating such a charge. To top it off, none of us thought to bring money.  We tell her we have no money, sorry, and continue on up, going left because The First Mate is pretty sure the workers told her a left, then a right — but she’s not positive. Mainly, we just want to rid ourselves of this our first encounter with an aggressive entrepreneurial French Polynesian. 

“Up” is the operative word here, and it is hot in the noonday sun. We always seem to be out of step with the rest of the population on these islands. While the savvy locals have closed up shop and sought shelter from the afternoon sun, we continually find ourselves the only ones marching around in the heat of the day. It is more than our pale skins that sets us apart from the locals. Common sense weighs in strongly, as in we three not possessing much of it.

It is, however, a delightful and quiet walk on a well-paved road past small homes surrounded with carefully planted and maintained fruit trees and flowering shrubs. Even along stretches of road where there are no residences, the roadway is planted with flowering shrubs and fruit trees. The First Mate had not expected to see the wild jungle of these islands held so at bay. There definitely is a human desire for beauty here that runs parallel with the abundant natural beauty of these islands, and it is one of the endearing images she will take with her of the Marquesas. That and the ever-present chickens and crowing roosters.

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Continuing on up the steep road, we pass a pension. The road comes to a “T”. Which direction? Since up is the operative word, we turn right and continue upward. The First Mate is now able to confirm the directions she received earlier. “Go up the road. At the restaurant, take the left fork in the road. After the pension, turn right and continue up the hill to the tiki.” Like a puzzle, all the available data was there. This severely taxed linguist just had to put it all together in the right order. She vows she is going to buy a Rosetta Stone Computer program to refresh her french upon returning to the States.  Dumb is not a feeling she enjoys!

We pass several road workers enjoying their afternoon break in the shade of a pamplemousse tree. Similar to a large grapefruit with a thicker rind, pamplemousse are sweeter and juicier, especially when picked right off the tree. The bounty of this wonderful fruit is right above the workers’ heads. All they have to do is reach up, pluck one of the large globes, slice it open with a knife and bite into the juicy, sweet fruit. With mouths full of grapefruit, they smile and wave to us, for eating that fruit is exactly what they are doing. We salivate. The water in our bottles now tastes stale and warm.

There are several pamplemousse trees in the area, but we dare not pluck a fruit. On these islands, all the land belongs to someone, which means all the wonderful fruit trees do, too. When we are truly out in the wild, we will pick the fruit, especially the non-bruised ones lying on the ground provided we have been able to beat the voracious insects to them. In a residential area like we are now, we avoid doing so, but the temptation is often more than a body can stand, especially when we walk past fruit trees heavily laden with ripe fruit going to rot. Oh, it is so hard to leave those trees alone! The owners of said trees never seem to be around for us to ask if we could possibly buy a fruit or two or three or more. We wave back to the workers who confirm that indeed our tiki is up the road. Up we go.

As we approach the raised ceremonial site, there is a rough, hand-painted sign saying we owe money to visit the site and please pay at the restaurant we had earlier passed. There’s nothing official looking about this sign. It still looks highly suspect to us. A small touring group drives up in a taxi, and the taxi driver does confirm that we are supposed to pay this fee. We tell her that we did not know about the fee and had left our money on the boat, an excuse which in retrospect probably sounded as fishy as those hand-painted signs looked. The taxi driver is unperturbed and basically says, “no problem”, go visit the site, and then proceeds to tell us how to walk back to the harbor without passing the restaurant. We walk up to the site. There is no gate. No ticket taker. Nothing. Nor does the site look like any kind of caretaker has been attending to it. Much of it is overgrown with the quickly returning jungle. What a curious operation!

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We return to the harbor taking the by-pass that the taxi driver had indicated to us. We need to get going if we hope to move to a more sheltered anchorage before dark. These south Pacific islands are close to the equator which means that the length of days and nights are pretty much the same all year long. Sunset is at or just before 1800, and total darkness follows very quickly. It may feel like a long summer day to us, but it is not. If we do not want to risk a nighttime approach to a strange bay, we better be in there and anchored by 1730. 

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There is supposed to be an active Arts and Crafts center in the near-by village of Hokatu which features the high quality carvings for which the Marquesas are well known. The First Mate is eager to see these carvings. On Avante, we have a beautiful wood carving of a salmon crafted by a First Nation’s sculptor from the Pacific Northwest. The First Mate would like to add a carving from the Marquesas.

We drop sail and motor into the bay. The good news is that there are no other boats in the bay. The bad news is that anchoring conditions are very poor with a lot of wind and big swells. The Captain is not comfortable with what he is seeing and decides to head west to Baie de Vaipee which is supposed to offer better protection. Better protection, but no access to the village of Hokatu and its wood carvings. The First Mate will just have to keep on looking for her carving.

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We sail along the rugged coastline of Ua Huka to Vaipee Bay. So long and narrow is the bay that, on the charts, it resembles a fiord. It is rough and bouncing outside the entrance. Hoping for more protection, we slowly motor into the deep and narrow channel.

If we cannot obtain a secure anchorage there, we will be faced with heading back out to sea and an overnight passage to the next island of Ua Pou. Feeling like Goldilocks searching for a bed of the right size, we continue west along the coast to Baie Haavei.

Wednesday, May 12th – After a rough night, we raise anchor at 0800 and hoist the reefed mainsail. Hoping against hope to catch a fish as we round the rocky point before heading out to sea, The Captain does not unfurl the jib which allows us to proceed at a slower pace. The plan works! Zing! A fish has fallen for our hook. Crew Mate Tom sprints to the line, and after much working of the rod and reel and a great deal of shouting at the fish, we land a 5-foot Wahoo weighing an estimated 34 – 40 pounds.

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The excitement of catching and landing our fish is over. The photo op is done. Now starts the gutting, cutting and cleaning. The Captain and The First Mate have come up with an approach to the mess and gore that works for them. First, the fish is gutted and rough cut on the stern of the boat. Rinsed off, it is quickly stowed below in the freezer. Later, when they are either sailing smoothly or safely at anchor, they do a final cutting and storing of the flesh.

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At 1045, a brunch of fresh pan-seared wahoo with a garnish of tomatoes and avocado is served. Surveying all the many sealed packets of fish The First Mate now has stored in the refrigerator and the freezer, she remarks that we have enough to feed one of the small towns located along the coast. An idea begins to take shape in her mind.

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According to our guidebooks, a wharf, which also serves as a breakwater, extends out into the bay creating a well-protected anchorage. The bay itself is supposed to be impressive with soaring mountain spires and towers. The inhabitants of the village of Hakahau are friendly, and the town is noted for the beautiful wood, stone and coconut shell carvings done by local craftsmen. There are several stores and a bakery. The First Mate is eager to hunt down these local craftsmen, to scout the stores and to put her plan in action.

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We launch the dinghy, and as we head to shore, The First Mate explains her plan. She has read that island people will often trade items of interest or need for their homegrown fruit and vegetables. What better item than thick cuts of fresh wahoo? There is a widespread love of fish on these islands. “Poisson Cru”, a dish similar to a ceviche, is always featured on local menus. With their ancient sea-faring history and their love of fish, one would think the inhabitants would have fishing fleets or at least independently-owned fishing boats, but to our surprise, we have seen little evidence of either. They do fish in and along the reefs, but little is done offshore. Thus, The First Mate believes fresh wahoo may be welcomed in trade. The guys are skeptical of this plan, but if she wants to try it, go ahead.

On the dock and looking up to admire the view, a friendly young man sees us doing so. He stops us and pulls out a 500 CFP note to show us. There on the note is the unmistakeable view of the harbor with its impressive spires.

We find three very small épiceries in town. The fresh produce offering once again consists solely of potatoes, onions and garlic, though there are cans and cans of everything from asparagus to artichoke hearts. We have yet to see fresh meat or seafood for sale. All is frozen, but in the freezers, one does find beef, chicken, pork, lamb and a variety of fish. One just has to like one’s diet from a can or out of the freezer. Money cannot buy the local tropical fruit or vegetables, for the stores rarely stock these items as there is no market for this produce. Everyone has abundant access either growing right in their own yard or in their neighbors. After surveying the stores, The First Mate is more than ever determined to find a trading partner for their fresh wahoo.

Our circumnavigation of the town is done. Little is seen in the stores, and no local artisan is spotted. We now are on the lookout for Rosalie’s Restaurant, which is noted for its poisson cru, curried goat, barbecued rock lobster, taro, breadfruit and sweet red bananas. Our desire is a cold beer now and maybe dinner later. We find Rosalie’s, but it is closed up tight. No luck. Hot and parched, we return to one of the little épiceries, buy 3 beers and perch on some rocks in the shade of a large tree where we quench our thirsts. A young couple is sitting nearby. The First Mate launches into her quest for a trading partner using her poor, mangled French. Would they be interested or know someone who would be interested?  It’s fresh wahoo, after all, but the French/English dictionary aboard Avante did not have wahoo listed. The best she can offer is a general “poisson grand” or big fish, which certainly does not convey the import of a wahoo. They do not appear interested or more likely do not comprehend what she is trying to impart. A minor set back but not a defeat, The First Mate follows her men back to the harbor.

On the quay, there is a large building often used for weekend dances and other social events. Something is going on, for we can see a lot of people and activity inside the building. We walk over to investigate. The First Mate starts talking to a group of women.  Maybe these women, fellow homemakers by their look, would appreciate this trade offer. She starts in with her pigeon French. Very quickly, one of the women responds in English. She has a baby in a stroller. She is a homemaker, and she is interested. Marie is her name. She is French. She first arrived on the island as a young backpacker 10 years ago. Now she is the school’s English teacher and is married to a local man. She’s a delightful gal. I tell her that we are interested in trading good cuts of our fresh wahoo for some local fruits and vegetables. She mentions bananas, pamplemoose, citrons, breadfruit, and papaya. Yes! Yes! I mention lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber. No, she does not have them, but she can show us a local family that does grows and sells such produce. They may have some for us to buy. It seems inconceivable to The First Mate that small kitchen gardens are not de rigeuer for every respectable homemaker on these islands. Even she had a kitchen garden in New England where farm stands are on almost every corner. Here, the soil, water and climate seem to offer all a fresh tomato, pepper or cucumber might need, but the art of gardening fresh veggies does not appear to appeal. Marie and I agree to meet tomorrow morning after church. Church? You bet! It is a special feast day tomorrow. We must come to the church service to hear the a cappella singing of the congregation. The First Mate has read that such singing is a must hear on these islands. We will meet Marie after church.

We wait outside on a bench for the service to start. When it does, we walk over to stand just outside the front entrance. We are invited inside, but not wanting to intrude and not knowing what to expect, we at first decline. The singing is beautiful and like nothing any of us has ever heard in a church in any of our experiences. It is all a cappella and absolutely amazing. These people are born with perfect pitch. Even the “Amen” is a musical experience. We are so enthralled that we do sit down and stay through the entire 1 1/2 hour service. From The Captain, who views any churchly visit as a penance, came the suggestion that we slip inside to sit down for the service. The First Mate is surprised. Maybe his feet hurt.

We meet Marie and her husband after church. They take us in their truck to her parent-in-laws’ home where she picks up a big box of pamplemousse, citrons, papaya and breadfruit. Having never confronted a breadfruit, Marie gives detailed directions to its culinary preparation. She does have bananas for us, but we will meet later in the afternoon, for they first have to drive up into the highlands to cut a stalk for us. They drive us to the local gardener who also has to go up into the highlands to see and pick whatever is ready. We are to return later for cucumbers, scallions and watermelon. Alas, no tomatoes or lettuce. We drive back to the dock where they wait while we return to Avante to pick up the wahoo. Marie is delighted. We agree to meet at 1300 for the bananas and a return to the local gardener. 

At 1300, Marie is waiting for us on the dock. In the back of the truck is a stalk with at least 50 green bananas on it. Wow! Marie tells us that all the fish has been made into Poisson Cru for lunch. At first, The First Mate is concerned that she may not given her enough fish, but Marie laughingly tells her that lunch will be at her mother-in-law’s home where there will be 6 in attendance. Yes, there is more than enough fish. She then asks Marie for her recipe for Poisson Cru. 

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Poisson Cru au Style Marie
                   

• Fish, cut into small, bite-sized chunks
• Juice of several citrons or small Kiwi Limes
• Thinly sliced vegetables (onions, cucumbers, tomatoes, avocado, etc)
• Unsweetened coconut milk
• Marinate fish in the lime juice just until fish begins to turn translucent.  This should only take a few minutes.  Drain the fish.  Gently stir in the vegetables. Gently stir in enough coconut milk so that there is a good 2” of milky juice in the bowl.  Serve immediately on a bed of lettuce or sliced green cabbage.
• Bon Appetit!
  

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Marie’s parting comment to us is to take care with the stalk of bananas for the cut ends will weep and stain a very resistant purple. With double hugs and double kisses, we say good-bye and wish each other the best. For us, it is for safe travels. For Marie, it is for the home that she and her husband will soon be building for their little family.

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The First Mate is delighted. The Captain is less than enthralled as the weeping stalks do drip and stain, and a gentle buffing with Soft Scrub has no affect. Significant elbow grease is needed. The bananas are still green, and The Captain has to put up with them for days and days until they ripen.

When they do, the bananas are sweet and ever so good, but, unfortunately, bananas on one stalk tend to ripen around the same time. We now have a plethora of bananas all good to eat at the same time and all going bad at the same time. A mandate of a minimum of 3 bananas/day/person is issued by the “waste not/want not” First Mate. She remarks to anyone who cares to listen that bananas can cause constipation. They were any mother’s go-to fix for a baby with runs. Nobody thought that was a clever observation.

We have bananas for breakfast. Bananas for snacks, but best of all, The First Mate serves Bananas au Rum for dessert. Oh, is that treat enjoyed! Savored or not, The First Mate knows that this bleeding stalk of bananas will be the first and last ever allowed aboard Avante.So ends our first timid venture into the ancient art of bartering. Its success has encouraged The First Mate who is now eager to engage in another such venture as soon as we again need fresh local produce. Prior to that, however, we need to catch another fish. Given our success rate, one never knows when that will be, but for now we are enjoying the bounty of the tropics which, here in the Marquesas, money can’t buy!