The Marquesas – In Search of Paradise
Monday, May 3rd – This is Paradise? We’re not so sure. Unable to find room in the crowded anchorage behind the shelter of the breakwater, Avante is anchored in the exposed bay, rocking to and fro with several other boats. We are anchored outside the town of Atuona on Hiva Oa in the Marquesa Islands waiting to clear into French Polynesia, but it just does not feel quite like what we expected.
This anchorage outside the protected harbor gives The First Mate a feeling of being unwanted, as if the yellow Quarantine flag signifies more than just waiting clearance into the country. While The Captain and Crew Mate Tom are wondering where the nubile young maidens are, she is contemplating the view. Palm trees? Not many. Thatched roofed houses? None. Sensual island music? No. What she does hear is a pulsating Rap beat pounding out from somewhere on shore.
The land is verdantly green with steep mountains rising high up from a rocky shore. It is pretty, but where are the white sand beaches with palm trees? There are several large buildings, maybe homes, dotting the hillside, but the town of is somewhere out of sight over a hill and around a bend. After a 16-day passage of 3070nm, we three are definitely underwhelmed by our first view of Paradise. Maybe we are just tired.
We spend a quiet afternoon waiting for a 4:00 appointment with our agent’s representative who is to duly assist us in checking into French Polynesia. Though The Captain’s Log indicates we arrived at 2:40pm, he did not change the clock during the passage, and the current local time is 1 1/2 hours earlier. After adjusting our watches and all the boat’s timed devices, we have time on our hands. We decide that after we are checked in, we will tour the town and later find a place for dinner.
Plan set, we launch the dingy and head into the harbor to meet Sandra, the rep. We locate Sandra, an attractive, young gal, but instead of taking us to the Gendarmarie, she hands The Captain papers to be filled out and tells him that she will take us to the Gendarmarie at 10:00 the next morning. A question regarding laundry reveals that there is no laundromat in town, but she runs a laundry service. If we give her the laundry tomorrow morning, she will have it back to us in two days. Okay. Now, we would like to go to town. As it is supposed to be about 1 1/2 miles into town and it is late afternoon, could she give us a ride? No, because she already has a full car, but we can take a taxi. What taxi? Where? Down the way is a woman in an unmarked taxi.
We find the unmarked taxi and have the taxi woman take us to town. First stop is an ATM so we can get the local money. Loaded down with a fist full of bills and with no idea yet what they are worth, she tells us that we owe her 500 CFP (Cour de Franc Pacifique) per person. Of course, neither she nor we have the correct change, so The Captain gives her 2,000 CFP and tells her to keep the change. The next day we find out 2 facts. At the bank: the conversion rate shows that our little 1 1/2 mile taxi ride costs us over $20.00. And, from Sandra, we learn that we were gouged by this taxi driver. ……. Still looking for Paradise.
There are 3 little épiceries (grocery stores) in town, and we make a mad dash to check each one out before they close. The First Mate had read not to expect much in the stores, and she is not disappointed. There are lots of cans, tons of cans, but little in the way of produce. Potatoes, onions and garlic head the list, but as we do not plan to shop tonight, she remains hopeful that tomorrow will yield more. Stores close at 5:30. We discover that the town literally rolls up its very clean, but dusty, sidewalk at this hour. There is no one around. There is no restaurant … not even a cozy, local bar where maybe we could get a cool drink and converse with the locals before starting our walk back to the harbor, for there are no taxis, no cars. Nothing, rien, mon Dieu!
We march on around the bend, over the hill, and back to the harbor. It’s hot and dusty. A sign for a pension indicates that they have a restaurant so we head up their driveway to inspect. No one is around. All is dead quiet. Finally, a woman appears. We are shown the menu, but the restaurant itself does not open for another 30 minutes. Feeling like we might possibly be imposing if we stayed for dinner and not really knowing what to do while waiting the half hour for the place to officially open, we decide to continue on to the boat for dinner.
Even The First Mate votes in favor of this plan. Though she does enjoy going out to dinner and was looking forward to doing so after 16 days of planning and cheffing up meals on a rocking boat, she really does not like going out for dinner just for the sake of going out to dinner. Dining out should be in pleasant setting and offer a palate-pleasing experience. This wasn’t looking to be either. We plod on down the hill. …….. Still looking for Paradise.
At the bottom of the hill, we look across the bay to Avante slopping from side to side in the swell. She is so close we could swim to her. The bay is shaped like a horseshoe. We are at one end and the dinghy dock on the quay is on the far side. There’s a long, hot loop between us and our dinghy ride back to Avante. As evening approaches, we fear a bombardment by no-see-ums and mosquitos, for the Marquesas host swarms of such noxious insects. None of us has one of the 7 or so cans of spray that The First Mate, in full preparedness, has sequestered on Avante. Walking along, thinking of such mosquito-borne diseases as Dengue Fever and Elephantiasis, we are relieved to encounter no flying bugs. Thus, Paradise just went up a notch. At least there’s no mosquitos — at least not yet.
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The next morning, Sandra drives us to the Gendarmarie for our 10:00 appointment. The Gendarmes have other plans and tell us to return at 11:00. Now what?
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We decide to wander over to the Centre Culturel where a permanent display will tell us all we ever wanted to know about Paul Gauguin. He really was quite a disreputable man, but the colorful reproductions of his paintings remind us of his artistic talent.
At 11:00, we meet Sandra again and get ourselves duly checked into French Polynesia. We also persuade Sandra to return our laundry by 8:30 tomorrow morning instead of tomorrow evening, for, in complete agreement, we want to get out of this anchorage to try another, and the sooner, the better. We then head back to the museum to finish our perusal of Gauguin, his life and paintings. Now to the bank to find out what the exchange rate is and to convert the large ATM denominations we received last night to more user-friendly, smaller bills.
The Captain is hungry. We stop for lunch at the Snack Make Make, which, we have read, serves the best hamburgers in the Marquesas. Not up to facing a Marquesasian hamburger, The First Mate orders a very French Croque Monsieur. How can one ruin a basic grilled cheese sandwich? Under French control for years and years, they do bake French bread on the islands, and they do receive imports of French cheese. To her shocked dismay, she is served grilled Bimbo bread with processed American cheese oozing out the middle. It’s as flat and chewy as a day-old pancake. “She would not serve this on her boat. She would not serve this on a moat. She would not serve this anywhere!” ….. Still looking for Paradise.
In the dimly lit interior of Snack Make Make and looking like gamblers counting their winnings, the men sort through and divide up their CFP loot.
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Lunch done, we are off to the épiceries to replenish our larder, hopefully with fresh produce. Everything is closed! We had forgotten about mid-day closings. We wander from one épicerie to the next to the next. All are closed, and there are no signs on the doors to tell us when they will reopen. The First Mate asks a group of locals strolling by when the stores will reopen. After consulting with each other, they finally agree that the êpiceries will reopen in a staggered fashion between 1:30 and 2:30. That is “IF” they open, and that is anybody’s guess. From her reconnoissance of the previous evening, The First Mate has qualified the three stores in a “Marginal”, “Somewhat Better” and “Best Option” order, and, as luck would have it, that is exactly the order in which they are to open, if they re-open. We have 45 minutes to kill. We wander around like lost souls in a ghost town feeling both out of place and stupid.
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We finally roost on the stoop of one of the épiceries resigned to our waiting.
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At 1:30, The First Mate enters “Marginal”. As expected, they have no produce of value and no products she cannot obtain in the other stores, but she buys a few items to help them along and pass the time.
Exiting the store, we see school children walking past her “Somewhat Better” option across the street. This is looking hopeful. Shortly before 2:00, “Somewhat Better” does open, and just in case “Best Option” does not open at all, she does most of her basic shopping there. They do have tomatoes, limes, bok choy and imported apples but, alas, no lettuce.
At 2:30, “Best Option” opens. There she finds string beans, carrots, cabbage, pears and freshly cut blocks of imported French gruyere cheese. None of the stores have any French baguettes left, but she knows she can buy these at the little store on the dock that caters to yachties. A young local couple gives us a lift back to the harbor when no taxi can be found, and for that, we are truly grateful. It would have been a hot, heavily-laden 1-hour trek back to the harbor. Still not Paradise, but it is looking better.
At the little store on the dock, we pick up a baguette, bananas, papayas and (to our surprised delight) Schweppes Tonic Water, called Indian Tonic here. We ask for ice and are told it is a special order and can be delivered tomorrow morning. Weary and tired, we dinghy back to Avante, unload and take a quick refreshing dunk in the water. With the currents, swells and potential sharks, which The First Mate is sure are lurking down there hiding in the shadow of the boat, no one stays in the water long — just enough to de-sweat and cool down the body temperature. Clean and revived, we settle down for the evening. Still looking for Paradise, but it is feeling better.
Wednesday, May 5th – We retrieve our laundry at 8:30 and head to the store to pick up ice only to be told that it has not yet arrived. Sometime this morning, that is all anybody can tell us.
The Captain would very much like to assist The First Mate in getting connected to the internet in order to send out her blog. Though there is an antenna in the harbor, we are anchored too far out of the harbor to make a connection. She is told to bring the computer on shore. Even there she cannot get connected. The Captain finds out that the antenna is located on the far shore and decides that the best connection must be right out there in the harbor where all the boats are anchored. We load ourselves and the computer into the dinghy and circle around the anchorage hoping for a connection. We find it, but the connection is weak and painfully slow, too weak to even download email. It’s disappointing, but we have an interesting time talking to other yachties who are totally baffled by what we are doing in a dinghy with a computer bobbing around in the anchorage. Unsuccessful, we return to the dock to check on the ice. Still not delivered. We decide to head back to Avante to get us and the boat ready to set sail. That completed, the guys dinghy back to the dock for a final check on ice. On their return, ice or no ice, we will set sail. Great news! We have ice! We set sail.
1130 – Captain’s Log: “We headed out of Atuona. It was a useful but frustrating stop. Next stop — Paradise.”
The island of Tahuata is a short 2-hour sail from Hiva Oa. At 1330, we approach the first potential anchorage only to find the small bay full with 6 boats anchored and another inbound. Paradise is indeed crowded.
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We continue on and anchor in Baie Hanatefau. Lovely — just 2 other boats. Palm trees thickly line the steep shore. There’s a small hut nestled in the palms. Though there is no white sandy beach, this is looking more like a Pacific Island Paradise which makes us all feeling better.
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The water is clean, warm and inviting. Quickly we pull out our snorkeling gear. Tom is the first one in, and he swims toward shore to explore the reefs. The Captain goes next, but he first wants to scrub off some of the green slime that constantly grows on a boat in the tropics. Last in is The First Mate. This is the typical order with her, for jumping in the ocean is always a contemplative action on her part, requiring a vigilant survey of the immediate waters and a mental screwing up of her courage. It usually takes several minutes on her part, a length of time that can annoy The Captain no end, but he’s busy with his scrubbing right now so she can take her time first dangling one flippered foot and then the other. Looks okay. No big shadowy things swimming around down there. In she goes. Oh, it does feel delightful! This is fantastic. Just like Paradise is supposed to be! What’s that? Something bit her! Another, then another! She bolts to the boat and hoists herself up the ladder — flippers, mask and all. Not an easy feat! Surveying her tender flesh, she wonders what was biting her. Looking down she sees a swarm of small tentacled globs floating by. Jellyfish? Here attackers are jellyfish. They were not there earlier. Why are they after her and not the guys?
The Captain scrubs his way back to the rear of the boat. “Yes,” he tells her. He is being stung by jellyfish, but if you keep moving, they’re not that bad. So says he, she thinks. How can Tom still be snorkeling out there? These guys have tougher skin, that’s why.
The First Mate notices that the jellyfish appear to be floating by in groups. They’ll be none for a while, and then a flotilla floats by. In between the swarming, she swims around a little, washes her hair, enjoys her little plunge, but she’s not leaving the side of the boat. Tom swims back to the boat, annoyed at the jellyfish and dismayed at not seeing many fish. He had figured that the jellyfish would disappear as he swam toward shore where he expected to find more fish. Neither happened. Later sitting on the boat, enjoying our evening cocktails and our first quiet, tropical anchorage, we shake our heads in surprise. We’re close, but not there yet. ….. Still looking for Paradise!
The islands of Polynesia grew into existence from underwater volcanoes spewing out hot lava. Deep in the ocean, layer upon layer of lava solidified, mounding up, until lava rock islands poked up into the light of day. Over the millennium, the lava broke down to soil allowing life to take hold, which we had seen so graphically on our tour of the volcanoes on Isla Isabela in the Galapagos. Coral slowly colonized along the coasts, building reefs around many of these islands. Though all looks formed and settled out here, nothing is. Volcanic hot spots are still spewing out lava adding to existing land forms and creating new ones far below the ocean’s surface. The ocean floor itself is on the move, drifting a steady 10 cm per year westward taking these islands along with it. As these islands drift along, they are also sinking into the ocean floor, pulled downward by their own weight. Over time, each island diminishes in height and size, but the surrounding coral and its reef base remain on the surface. When the island finally disappears below the surface, all that remains, where the island once stood, is a central lagoon and its encircling reef or atoll. All these islands out here right now are on some point along this “build-up to sink-down” curve.
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The Marquesas, where we are presently sailing, are the youngest of the islands. Their steep, mountainous peaks and lack of coral reefs attest to this. The vast lagoons of the Society Islands, which we will later cruise, are the oldest. This is not new knowledge to The First Mate, but seeing it in “action” as we move from island group to island group is fascinating.
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Fatu Hiva, the southern most island in the Marquesas, is our next stop. It is a young island with no reef deflecting the ocean swells and waves from its coastline. There are no sheltered anchorages along its eastern coast where the heavy seas and winds batter the shoreline, and there are only 2 bays on the western side where one can anchor. We are going to Baie Hanavave or, as it is more commonly known, Baie des Vierges (Bay of Virgins). The First Mate has started reading Thor Heyerdahl’s “Fatu-Hiva”, an account of his and his young wife’s attempt in 1936 to return to nature and the primitive life of our very distant ancestors. They wanted to live completely off the land, with absolutely no modern convenience. Searching long and hard for the perfect life-sustaining island, they discovered Fatu Hiva out there in the Pacific Ocean. It was sparsely populated by the remaining few of a once thriving native population that had been decimated by the diseases and alcohol brought in by European explorers. There was an abundance of wild fruit trees, chickens, pigs, goats, horses and mosquitos also introduced by early explorers. With adequate rain, fresh water was available coursing in mountain streams and forming delightful bathing pools. It sounded absolutely perfect. Their plan was to be dropped ashore and hike up into the mountain valley where they would build a little bamboo cabin near a source of fresh water. There, unencumbered by anything but themselves, they and nature would do their thing. They do get set ashore in the Bay of Virgins and do build a little cabin up in the valley. Over the course of a year, they experience joy and peace au natural as well as heart-break and near loss of life. The First Mate is eager to see this island paradise they had chosen.
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Thursday, May 6th – With Hiva Oa receding in the distance behind us, we enjoy a boisterous close-hauled sail to Fatu Hiva. It’s a beautiful day, and a great sail.
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The mountain peaks of the Marquesas capture their own personal cloud layers. Distant clouds may stream across the sky pushed by the constant trade winds, but these island peaks do not appear to release a cloud until another one is right there ready to take its place. From way out at sea, an observant eye can sometimes spot an island by its relatively immobile layer of cloud long before land is seen.
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As we approach Fatu Hiva, its peaks are well hidden in their cloud layer, but it is the jagged mountain ridges, descending steeply to the ocean, that draw our eyes.
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We are mesmerized by the landscape unfolding before us. This is the sort of scenery that the Marquesas are known for, and the Bay of Virgins is one of their not-to-be-missed spots. The opening of the bay is wide, though narrowing significantly to a beach at the head of the bay and below a small village. The view into the bay is fantastic. Several rock spires jut skyward while a narrow opening guards the way into an upland valley. It is a phenomenal view — and so are the number of boats at anchor. Phenomenal! We count over 20 other boats. Again we are amazed at how crowded Paradise has become.
One might wonder why we think 20 boats a large number for such a wide-open bay. For one thing, we are in an Island Paradise and, selfishly, had not been expecting to share it with half the boating public. More importantly, as far as this particular bay is concerned, its fiord-like walls continue steeply downward. It is only near the beach at the head of the bay that a relatively small area affords anchoring in depths below 60 feet. Therefore, we are looking at a beautiful, huge bay with limited anchorage. Additionally, with a 20-knot wind roaring down the anchorage from that canyon-like valley, we quickly realize that anchoring here is not going to be easy.
We slowly motor into the maze of boats and anchor lines seeking a spot to drop anchor. There just is not enough room at the head of the bay in the shallower water. Heading back out the bay, we slowly circle looking for a spot along the steeply sloping edges. We drop anchor in 90 feet and put out 350 feet of anchor rode, but neither The Captain nor The First Mate is pleased with the direction the boat could possibly swing. We are just too close to the rocky shore. Up comes the anchor. We motor further out, turn around and anchor in the middle of the bay in 110 feet of water with 400 feet of anchor rode out. It’s a good set, but we are barely in the harbor! At least we have plenty of swing room. With so many boats crowded into the bay, with wind gusts up to 30 knots and with our anchored depth of 110 feet, we are not totally comfortable and just hope all the boats ahead of us have their anchors well set. ….. Still looking for Paradise.
Friday, May 7th – There are 2 noted attractions on land. One is to hike to the top of the pass on the way to the village of Omoa for some of the most beautiful views in the Marquesas, and the other is a spectacular 200-foot waterfall deep in the canyon. We decide to do both.
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Upon landing the dinghy at a concrete wharf, a large tiki commands the view. This one looks old, but its condition and the clarity of its carvings appear almost too new to be truly ancient.
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There is no information about it in our guide books, but it is an interesting feature for this little village harbor.
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In 1936 when Thor and Liv Hyerdahl arrived on these shores, the few villagers living here were a sickly lot living in dirty, squalid conditions without the slightest idea of sanitation or health issues. The First Mate had read that most Marquesasians today are very poor, and that throughout much of French Polynesia, there is a general lack of motivation to work due to substantial subsidies from socialistic France. She really did not know what to expect from the people or these islands. To say she was pleasantly surprised is an understatement.
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Yes, the people are poor and lack many of the things we consider necessities of life (internet, restaurants, instant access to anything one wants, etc), but they are not living in poverty. There is a big difference.
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The one paved road in the village is lined with very small houses or huts, but each yard is clean, well-tended and bountifully planted with fruit trees and flowers. There is no trash, no garbage — anywhere. Not even a stray piece of paper blowing in the wind. In the midst of poverty, there is cleanliness, pride and beauty. How different from what she saw in the isolated villages along the coast of Mexico or even in the Galapagos! She just cannot come up with an acceptable reason to explain the difference in living standards.
We walk down the road, admiring everything. Every (and she means EVERY) villager we pass, young or old, gives us a lilting “bonjour”. They smile. They really seem pleased to see us. We smile back and happily return a “bonjour”. Have we found our island paradise? We’re getting closer.
Back home in Telluride, most trails lead immediately and steeply upward. The same is true on the island trails of the Marquesas. In a very short while, we are negotiating hairpin turns as the road unwinds before us.
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We pass an ingeniously harnessed source of fresh water blessed by a statue of the Virgin Mary.
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The First Mate is amused by a silhouette of a man’s head in a far rock wall. It reminds her somewhat of George Washington, though he might say his best angle had not been captured.
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We discover that the one and only road between the two island villages is being paved with concrete. French money at work, as well as local labor. What a beautiful spot in which to earn a day’s wage!
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We are surrounded by awesome views of rich and varied vegetation, sharp-ridged mountain ranges, and sheer vertical drops, .
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A steep and rugged mountain coastline is outlined crisply by a deep blue ocean. It is all amazingly dramatic and beautiful.
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We could not pass up this photo op!
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As we hike back down the road to where the trail leads off to the waterfall, The Captain’s sharp eye spies it in the distance, and the camera’s super zoom brings it into focus.
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Walking along the trail to the waterfall, we pass a rustic homestead. A large family grouping of dogs seems to belong to the place. The younger, more energetic of the bunch run out toward us barking all the while. Dogs are ubiquitous throughout the Marquesas. Many we read are wild, and those that are owned are not treated as much-loved house pets. Their purpose is to go with the men into the bush to hunt the island’s wild boars and goats. The vast majority of these dogs, owned or not, roam freely, are underfed and overbred. Few seem to have ever experienced a kind touch or word. They are skittish, wary, and they bark a lot. We may not bark, but we are equally skittish and wary as we walk past them.
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Much less threatening is a pig tied by the leg to a fallen coconut palm tree. Does he know his fate is the dinner plate? Probably not, but he sure is more receptive of a kind word than those dogs.
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Pecking along near him are several chickens. These, too, run wild and free, breeding abundantly and continuously. In New Zealand, it has been said that there are more sheep than people. Here in the Marquesas, the same claim could be made for the chickens. There is hardly a moment of the day whether walking in town down Main Street or tramping deep in the valleys or up in the mountains that one is out of range of some rooster’s crow. The First Mate will from now on associate the boisterous cockle of a rooster with her island time in the Marquesas.
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Hiking upward, we pass wild banana, mango and lemon trees making their stand in the heavy growth. Our wide dirt road dwindles into a narrow rocky footpath cut into a dense jungle. Armed with bug spray this time, we spray ourselves down, but to our amazement, we are not really pestered with mosquitoes.
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The many bright colors of the wild hibiscus blossoms add a bright contrast of color to the deep green vegetation of the tropical jungle. As the local women do, The First Mate dons a fresh blossom whenever possible. Custom says that the flower worn on the right ear means one is available. The left side means one is taken. Whichever side, The First Mate finds that (1) the flowers wilt within a half hour thus needing vigilant replacement and (2) Polynesian women must be born with a special hook behind their ears to hold their flowers in place, for hers keep falling out. She keeps trying, for it’s fun to wear a flower in one’s hair!
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We finally reach the waterfall. It may be 200 feet tall, but it is a pretty sad waterfall. A mere trickle of water drips down a rock precipice. It looked for more impressive by telephoto lens in the distance.
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The fresh water pool to which we had been looking forward is stagnant and scummy. There’s also a neighborhood eel lurking in the rocks which The Captain finds and pokes a few times so The First Mate can see it too. She is having nothing to do with the scummy water or the now irritated eel, but the men being men are going to go for a swim.
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While the guys enjoy the cool water, The First Mate climbs onto a ledge to capture the moment with her camera.
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That was the last image taken by her camera! One ledge, one slippery misstep, and the gal who wanted nothing to do with that scummy water or the lurking eel is in there right where she did not want to be and where the camera certainly did not belong. Twice the camera goes under in her attempt to climb up the slick rocky shore. On land we dry it out as best we can, but to no avail. The camera is kaput. Crew Mate Tom has a camera, and fortunately, he will be with us all the way to the Tuomotos. That is a consolation, but The First Mate feels like she has lost a part of herself, and at the moment, this Paradise doesn’t seem very benevolent to her.
On the way back down the narrow trail, Tom is bitten by a very large yellow wasp. As he can have nasty reactions to such things, he jumps around to swat it away and slips or catches his foot on a jagged rock. Falling forward, he bangs his nose and scraps a healthy junk of skin off his arm. He, too, now feels a little abused by this island of Paradise.
Tiredly we trundle home, two of us just a little dispirited, but we do take time to pick some mangoes and limes growing wild along the trail. This much of Paradise we do enjoy. “Mangoes and bananas you can pick right of the tree!” sings Tom.
Saturday, May 8th – We pull up all 400 feet of anchor chain and rope. Even with the electric windlass, it takes quite a while to wind it all on board. As we motor out of the bay, we find we can raise the sail in that wind coming off the shore.
0830 (Captain’s Log) – “Fatu Hiva finally got to The Captain. As he let out the mainsail, a violent wind gust caught the sail and tore the mainsheet from his hands, giving him some rope burns to remember the island by.”
The awesome natural beauty and friendly people of the Bay of Virgins on the island of Fatu Hiva was truly special, but as we look back on the crowded bay with its deep anchorage and strong gusting winds and still feeling the loss of camera and the discomfort of scrapes and blisters, we sardonically realize that Paradise still eludes us. We three are ….. Still looking for Paradise.