THE MARQUESAS

 We marvelled at the extraordinary scenery before us tucked into the corner of the Bay of seven virgins. It was given this name in Tipee, the book written by Herman Melville about the Marquesas which Andrew had been avidly reading during the crossing. Sadly for him not one virgin canoed out to throw themselves at his feet but the scenery was just as he had imagined it to be. The jagged brown stone mountains looked like giant tikis nestled between the rich green foliage, neither of us had ever seen anything quite like it before.

Needless to say we celebrated our arrival with an alcoholic lunch and then, spotting Charles and Fung on Wilderness across the bay, we swam across to say hello, our first encounter with other humans in three weeks. That evening the prospect of an entire night in bed beckoned, the luxury of it seemed too much and so it proved to be. It took me at least ten days before I stopped waking in the middle of the night, convinced we were still at sea and baffled as to why neither of us were on watch!

We spent our first day on land in the water cleaning off the enormous goose barnacles that had hitched a ride across the Pacific. In fact we didn’t venture ashore until day three, maybe we were reluctant to leave our sanctuary. I later talked to others who had done the same thing, just being anchored and stationary being enough to start off with.

When we finally landed in the small harbour we discovered lots of youngsters mucking around blasting out music from boom boxes, not so different to the Western world. As we ventured inshore we found a very different scenario with small homes nestled into the hillside, beautifully colourful chickens, which we soon learnt are treated like pets, and very happy looking dogs  everywhere together with lots of friendly locals. The people are not well off but there is fruit everywhere and no one is undernourished, in fact we were surprised at how large some of them were. The Marquesas are only five million years old, so relatively young islands but the landscape is prehistoric, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if a dinosaur had come lumbering along the dirt track. We were hopeful of a bar but no such luck so we retired back to the boat hurrying under the massive overhanging rock ledges, stepping over the fallen small rocks scattered on the ground, relieved that nothing had landed on our heads!

The next morning we got up early, after a breakfast of a local pamplemouse given to us by two  other sailors in the bay who had traded a piece of rope for a bag full. Our objective was to walk to  the waterfall which was supposed to be worth a visit, and it certainly was even though we got horribly lost and climbed three tracks before locating it. The swim in the cold dark water was very welcoming and we certainly saw a lot of the countryside and got some much needed exercise! We walked back past the church where earlier we had seen people arriving with palm leaves to celebrate Palm Sunday and where now they were congregating outside the small local shop buying sodas, the women in pretty dresses. Returning to the dinghy it was full of bits of rubbish which seemed strange, we later discovered some local kids had tried to take it for a joyride and had been stopped by another boat.

We would have liked to stay in Fata Hiva a little longer 7but as we were there illegally we felt it was time to set sail to the nearest port of entry in French Polynesia which was Hiva Oa. En route a large squirrel approached us rather rapidly and we discovered to our horror that our hydraulic system wasn’t working properly again. It took us quite a long time to reef our sails which was all rather frightening. Clearly more trouble at mill to be investigated. Arriving in the bay of Atuona we were horrified to see how choppy the conditions were in the outer harbour. For once I was glad of the Dallas family belief that the normal rules do not apply to them as Andrew muscled into the inner harbour and found us a spot in calmer waters. It was however necessary to set a stern anchor which we did and all seemed well.

On investing the Hydraulics we discovered that we had a burst pipe and looked at each other in horror. We had spotted a small yard as we came in and quickly went ashore to see if they could help us with this problem and our other challenges with the engine alternator and our failing generator. The proprietor’s wife seemed to think they could and we arranged in our rusty French to meet Vincent there at 8am the next morning. It was obvious that the yard would not be able to lift us or our mast if that was necessary. Also there is no marina in the Marquesas and therefore no means of plugging in and charging our batteries if our generator was to fail whilst we awaited a new alternator, which we had yet to source. We went to bed with everything crossed, not totally in love with our boat.

We went to see the lovely Vincent early the next morning as arranged, it took us about an hour to wrestle him from the many boaters in need of his help. We arrived back to the dingy dock to find our neighbours who informed us we had dragged our stern anchor and were heading fast in their direction, when we got back to the boat we had hit them! Quick relaying of the anchor and we set about showing Vincent our two problems. It was agreed the alternator was dead but that we would extract it and take it to his yard to see if he could find someone to rewind it. He told us he had a friend who could reclamp our hydraulic hose but seemed to think we would have to remove it from the mast. We started to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

We woke the next morning to find we had dragged our stern anchor across the harbour and so had to jump out of bed at five am and motor the boat by dinghy back to it’s original position. The day progressed with many such manoeuvres as we dragged our anchor around the harbour giving much entertainment to the other boats who no doubt thought we were a pair of numpties in our posh boat with little power and no Solar! At one point I lost the end of the anchor line, had to dive in and catch it before I lost it for good and then got back in the dinghy with my new trick of a backward summersault, at least I got a round of applause for that! Then we got the anchor stuck and couldn’t get it out, burning a winch out in the process, so had to reset  another boats anchor along side us. We were very grateful to be cooked dinner by Martin & Lydia that evening as we were exhausted and somewhat frazzled!

The next day we took our boom off, Andrew cleverly tying everything up so we didn’t lose it overboard into the sea as it swung off the gooseneck, it is quite a large bit of kit. Vincent came onboard and helped us extract the pipe from the mast and took it off to his mate. There was bad news on the alternator, there was no-one in Thaiti able to rewind it so we needed to source a new one from Europe, Vincent on the job as well as Oyster. The lack of internet making it very difficult to source ourselves, no worries about accidentally switching on roaming as there is no signal. We couldn’t even buy a local sim they had sold out. The pipe was returned the next day, after a trip around the island, and Vincent helped us reconnect it. We put the boom back on and finally got some more hydraulic oil in plastic water bottles from the yard, all with a lot of waiting around in the heat but the hydraulics were working so one problem down.

In the midst of all this drama we managed to hitch a ride into town and check in with the gendarmerie, who seemed very uninterested in when we had arrived. He stamped a few papers and sent us of to the Post Office to buy a stamp so that we could send them on to Tahiti . We got several thousand local francs out at the bank, visited the local store and failed to get the owner to take us back to the boat as she had brought us in. Apparently there was no such thing as a taxi so we had to walk back which was a good few miles, and involved clambering down the hillside and wading across the beach at the top of bay.

Andrew managed to further entertain the anchorage with his laundry washing on the hard, using two buckets and water from the tap on the quayside he planted a foot in each and began energetically treading on  the washing. The locals kept calling him the lavage automatique, I thought he looked like a blue footed Boobie performing its mating dance! I managed to cause some amusement myself having dyed my hair one evening the next morning I donned a white shirt. It was a very hot morning and I started sweating profusely as we wandered around the yard, I clearly hadn’t rinsed my hair properly and the colour leached down my neck and around my shoulders. The lavage automatique had to hose me down on the dock, luckily it had a rinse cycle.

We were still awaiting news on our alternator but it was Easter that weekend and the world was shut for four days. So after struggling to retrieve our stern anchor we decided to head over to the island of Tahuata and the beautiful Hanamoena bay for some much needed RNR. There we found  a glorious sandy beach covered in Palm trees and we tucked into the corner by the rocks, not a bad place to spend the weekend and twitch every time we ran the generator....

Heading back to Hiva Oa in search of our part we muscled in to the harbour, anchor now set to mud setting and managed to anchor in one go, feeling very smug and ready to be entertained ourselves by the new kids on the block.  We spent the week hunting down the alternator, finally ordering it through Oyster as Vincent quoted us twice the price. To be fair he had to pay tax on it whereas we could avoid that as a yacht in transit.

I walked into town one morning to provision. Luckily we still had a lot of supplies left from Panama as the supply ship comes once every three weeks and produce is expensive and limited. There is no income tax in French Polynesia, tax is levied on goods. The locals sell their fresh produce from small stalls and you just have to buy what is on offer. There is a man in a van who sells some vegetables and if you are lucky bread and quiche. But nestled among the shelves you can find french cheeses and baguettes arrived every morning to the garage shop in the anchorage. The one thing that is really cheap is fresh tuna seven quid for a large fillet. I discovered it was cheaper to buy beer in returnable bottles and I managed to get a lift back with my three crates of beer and somewhat depleted bank account. We located the lovely Sandra and her yacht services at the Semaphore station at the top of the hill where we could go each morning for intermittent internet, coffee and a chin wag with other sailors, most of whom had equally large boat problems after the long Pacific crossing. It was great to put faces to the other Puddle jump boats that we had travelled across with.

Zig Zag pulled into the anchorage and we invited them to dinner, eager to catch up and hear all their news. Slight heart attack when the generator refused to start half an hour before they were due onboard but Andrew finally managed to get it to work and a jolly evening was had. Several of us were waiting for parts but we all headed back to Tahuata for the weekend, no point in staying in such an unpleasant anchorage/harbour when there is no hope of any developments. 

This time we anchored on our own in a pretty bay, stern anchor down in sand setting, had a swim and de frazzled. Whilst cleaning the waterline the next afternoon the wind picked up without us noticing and we found ourselves spending a sleepless night on a lee shore and were up at sunrise ready to move out. The Stress levels rose even more when the voltage on the generator started dropping out after twenty minutes charge but we had enough battery to get the anchor up and we headed back to Hanamoena bay.

We were hailed on the radio by Chris who had overheard a conversation about our generator problems. He very kindly offered to sell us a new spare generator that he had and we rushed over to see him once we were all anchored.  Hailing from the US the voltage of this generator was only 110, opposed to the 220 we need, but the instruction manual for our Mastervolt battery charger said it would work.  Zig zag helped us put together a connection plug and money changed hands. Sadly the Mastervolt itself wasn’t in agreement with its manual and we now had a redundant large black generator sitting on the back deck. It did however offer a little added security as Andrew thought he might be able to charge each battery separately with it in an emergency.

We took a few deep breaths and a few drams and contemplated our predicament. The part had supposedly left the UK and was supposed to take five days to reach our agent in Tahiti who would then put it on a flight to Hiva Oa. However we knew how unreliable the system is after our previous two bad experiences with couriers and we hadn’t yet received a tracking number. We decided to stay put in, what was soon to be renamed Frustration bay, conserving our energy. Andrew did want to strike out for Thaiti but sailing through the Tuamotu’s with potentially no navigation system frightened the life out of me!! The time difference is massive, so I had to ring Oyster at four in the morning to see what the situation was, I could just get a signal hanging off the back of the boat. It transpired the part hadn’t been sent, much wailing from me as I was in despair! Eventually we got a tracking number and we were told the part would arrive the following Monday. 

Imagine our horror when the next update from UPS told us that it was stuck in customs in the US. Then they misdirected it to Australia which apparently might cause some delay. No apology, no date and they hadn’t even had the decency to chuck it out the hold when it flew over! All in all we spent two weeks in Frustration bay and had a few of our worst days on the boat to date. We only dared to run the generator for twenty minutes at a time and the water maker for ten, and we definitely polluted our lungs with the increasing amount of filthy diesel smoke billowing out the back. We stared enviously at all the boats with solar and wind power, our elderly posh Oyster not looking so clever in this part of the world.

Friends came and went, Zig Zag returned triumphantly with their Martingale sent from South Africa, Cheglia received the wrong parcel for their generator part and gave up and headed to Tahiti. But we had some good evenings in between with them and Tim and Nancy from Larus.

Rosemary bought me eggs & fresh baguettes, Nancy gave me fresh ginger and bananas, Francois exchanged rum for engine oil. We hadn’t managed to barter with the locals but were doing a great job of it with our friends. Money seems to have little value here.

We settled into a daily routine making sure we either swam, kayaked or marched up and down the beach and the snorkelling was fantastic with some pretty tropical fish to see. However paradise is not quite so beautiful when you are stuck there. But there was a definite upside to our enforced stay. There lives on the beach a local who goes by the name in the guide books of Mr Stephens, although he won’t tell you his name for some reason. He lives a traditional life living off the land, farming Copra and walking to town cutting his way through the forest with it on his back. He looks exactly as you would imagine a young Polynesian warrior to look like, extremely easy on the eye. We had seen him in a rage chasing some boats out of the bay as they had taken some of his fruit without asking and I was a little uneasy about meeting him. However we had been fretting about this baby goat that looked like it had got stuck on a rock down the hill and Andrew decided we should tell him about it.

We found him salting a pig that he had caught that morning in a trap and told him about the goat. He informed us that it was usual for a mother to place her kid there as it would keep it safe from predators. We obviously amused him and got chatting, we left with some of his salted Pig and a promise to pick him and his visiting Canadian girlfriend Hannah up in our dinghy at four am the next morning and take them to the local village to pick up his bread order. Our payment would be a baguette and he wouldn’t have to kayak the four miles in the dark. We rose a little weary, having had Cheglia onboard for dinner the night before, and he guided us onto the beach by head torch and off we set.

Arriving in Vaitou at the quayside there was a massive swell running but our new friend guided us onto the dock judging the waves perfectly. I landed in a heap losing my shoes and it was decided that Andrew would stay on the boat and hang off a fishing boat. So we left him in the dark and I walked bare footed to the bakery with the other two. On arrival we discovered that they had forgotten to turn the oven on so we went to sit in Stephens friends restaurant, rousing him from his mattress on the floor. A kettle and some coffee was brought out and we settled down to await the bread. Chatting to Hannah I discovered that she had decided that life in Hanamoena bay was too basic for her and she was sadly heading home the next week, despite the obvious affection they had for each other.

Around daylight Stephens went to fetch Andrew to share in the breakfast we were being offered, apparently instructing him on the exact minute to jump through the waves and land on some rocks. The bread arrived and his friends gave us some cheese and butter, refusing to accept any payment as friends of Stephens were friends of their’s. We spent a fascinating couple of hours talking to them all with a mixture of French, Marquesan and English. We learnt about their ancestors and life before the missionaries arrived. How they killed their enemies and ate their brains for their intelligence and their hearts for their courage and then carried their skulls around with them hanging from their waist, as recently as their grandparents! How when the missionaries arrived they refused to let them tattoo themselves or speak their own languages, but now they learn French, Tahitian and Marquesan in school and proudly tattoo themselves again, each person depicting their life story. I have never been a fan of tattoos but on these proud people they are truly beautiful to behold. The children are educated on the larger islands and then go to Tahiti for their secondary education and university but fewer and fewer wish to return to the islands after tasting a more modern life.

Before we left I managed to repay our hosts hospitality by buying their young son some chocolate, this they were happy to accept. It took me longer to persuade Stephens to accept his bar. There was a wedding in the village that day so we stopped to see the bride and groom. On getting back to the dinghy the sea state was a little improved so Andrew, keen to maintain some male pride beside our rather heroic passenger, stripped to his shorts and gallantly swam out to the boat. Sadly he couldn’t get the anchor up and Stephens had to go to the rescue. He took a large breath and dove about twelve meters down to free it bringing it back up with him. Hannah and I were retrieved and the bread miraculously remained dry.

Arriving back in his bay he tried to give us half his bread, which I refused and so he showered the deck with mangos that his friend had given him. He also distributed some to other boats in the bay. Later that afternoon he arrived with two fishermen who wanted to barter a freshly caught tuna for two beers, we gave them three and they insisted on giving us another tuna. We were learning that the locals are extremely generous and also very proud so it is important that they give you us much in return.

I had offered to charge Hannah’s iPod for her and it was arranged they would come over for an early evening drink. They arrived and Stephens sat behind the wheel and wouldn’t move any further into the cockpit. They were not going to stay long but it seems rum is one thing that was accepted in abundance and we spent a few hours chatting some more, the Hakka getting louder and louder. We parted the best of buddies.

The next evening we were invited to dinner on his beach along with Cheglia and two other boats from the bay. After a passionate speech from our host imploring us to spread the word amongst other boaters that it is not okay to steal fruit from the land without asking dinner was served. We were given pig cooked in fresh coconut milk with rice and fresh basil all served in a leaf, eaten with our fingers sitting on Palm leaves around a fire under the stars, magic stuff! He wouldn’t let me take a photo of him, apparently we must carry our memories in our hearts..... we sang his Hakka loudly on the way back to the boats and Cheglia sang it leaving the bay on route to the Tuamotu’s,” Who ha who ha hey growl!”

Our two new young friends came onboard for a farewell coffee the next morning before we left to head back to Hiva Oa. Catching sight of our unwanted generator on the back deck we asked Stephens if it would be of any use to him. He was at first reluctant, as he didn’t have anything to give us in return, but was easily persuaded as he has no power source at all in his home. Saying farewell, having dropped them and it on the beach, the goodbye hug I got standing waist deep in the serf was believe me payment enough!

The alternator was rumoured to be In Thaiti and our agent was going to put it on a flight to Hiva Oa. Moored stern to the dock this time we busied ourselves refuelling which had to be done with Jerry cans and was back breaking work in the heat. We went into town, restocked and managed to borrow a hose and fill the water tanks from the dock. The great day dawned and I managed to find a cab of sorts to take me to the airport to fetch the alternator due on that days flight. My cab driver, and her extended family and friends, drove me to the tiny airport and I went indoors to wait for the plane to arrive. I watched the air steward like a hawk unload all the parcels, my heart banging in my chest. I was third in the queue once all the passengers had left, determined that no one would take my parcel by mistake but when it was my turn they couldn’t find it! I was close to tears at this point and everyone was looking very concerned. I seemed to have acquired a different lady taxi driver and she phoned her friend in the Air Thaiti office and informed me that it would probably arrive the next day. Leaving the building head down feeling very unhappy there was suddenly a lot of shouting and waving, it had been found ally bloody Lulia!

I clutched it all the way back to the boat and we laid it on the table and unwrapped it, fingers tightly crossed and there is a god it was the right part. Andrew fitted it and we were back in the power game! Huge sighs all round. We left atuona harbour behind without a backward glance and headed to Nuka Hiva to restart the Marquesas experience, spending a last night in Hiva Oa in Hana Maneau bay which was the Rocky Mountains on sea, huge cliffs surrounding the anchorage.

Rising at 04.30 we sailed across to Nuka Hiva and dropped the hook in Hakahaa Bay the home of the Typee tribe and the valley that Herman Melville had lived in with the cannibals in about 1840. Luckily there was no sign of any locals hunting the long pig. We tried to land in our Kayak but had to abandon the mission as we almost ended upside down in the surf. The next day we Motored round to Taiohae bay charging our batteries, what a great feeling! We found A Capella of Belfast in the anchorage and arranged to go out for pizza with them the next night, our first meal ashore in two months! It was all too much when we found a snack bar ashore the next morning and we indulged ourselves in steak and chips for lunch, what pigs two meals out in one day, famine or feast! Still no sight of a bar though, the locals tend to gather on the beach with some beers and blast music from their cars for all to enjoy.

We felt that with all our boat problems we hadn’t seen the inside of the Islands so at vast expense booked a tour with a local Polynesian who went by the name of Jimmy, and it proved to be worth every penny. He was a wealth of information, not only showing us the sights but frequently stopping to show us all the local fruits and vegetation. He explained their various traditional medicinal properties and how they had been used to make ropes and building materials, no part of the plants going to waste. The most interesting fruit was the pistachios, the locals eat the outside fruit which is delicious and rather like a grape, then throw away the nut or sell it to westerners for a small fortune. We saw many signs of Copra farming which is a big business in the Marquesas, the coconut shells drying on racks. Apparently it fetches US$1,500 per ton as the popularity of coconut oil has grown in the West. We marvelled at the landscape, all the beautiful trees my favourite the Falcacca exported from Africa and now considered to be a pest. The jagged rocks standing tall and proud with the shimmering blue waters beyond.

He took us to Tipee bay where there was a replica of an old village and we purchased a small Tiki to take home. He explained how the tribe who used to live there numbered at least 80,000 before the white man arrived with his diseases which killed most of them and the neighbouring tribes over time. Now there are only about 3,000 locals on the whole island. He explained the love hate relationship the locals have with the French, feeling the subsidies paid to them were deserved for the loss of much of their culture and the nuclear testing in the Tuamotu’s. Then we drove to the other side of the island stopping for lunch in a hotel owned by a beautiful eighty year old Polynesian lady serving delicious fish dishes.

Our last stop was the best though, an old archeological site where an ancient village had been sited. Walking in to the middle in the woods it took my breath away, you could feel that it was a very special place and we were asked to reflect for a few moments in honour of their ancestors. There was the chiefs house at one end and the tattooists down one side, round holes in the rock where the inks would have been mixed. Some old tikis remained, believed to House the spirits of the ancestors and he told several stories of mishaps that had befallen people who had moved them from their original locations. The only other place in the world that has taken my breath away to such an extent was St. Marks Square in Venice. It didn’t even register that the place was alive with Mosquitoes and the spray was in the car.

Fully provisioned for the Tuamotu’s we made one last stop in Daniels bay, the site of the US  tv programme Survival and what a beautiful anchorage it is. Once inside the entrance you are completely surrounded by the hills. The down side to this was as there was little breeze in the bay and on starting our very smoky generator the next morning we were beset by several concerned boat owners who all thought that we were on fire! We joined Patrica and Julian and their friends Bill and Moira on a hike to the famous waterfall. By the time we had located the path we had made friends with Isabel and Mark from Jolly Dogs and we all set off up the track having booked lunch with the friendly lady at the first house on the left and paid 1,000 francs each to the couple in the second house on the left as a entrance fee. We waded through two rivers, chatting as we went. Shoes on and off, the water at some points quite high. The waterfall is the third highest in the world and would have been spectacular if there had been any water, but it was still pretty special anyway. 

Our lunch was delicious, all sourced from their land and our hostess was very proud to tell us many times that it was all organic. We purchased some pamplemouse to take as gifts to the Tuamotu’s, where there is little local produce, and were gifted some fresh basil which felt like we had been given gold dust, I couldn’t remember the last time I had had any fresh herbs.

The rainy season was starting and It was time to leave the beautiful Marquesas, we were sorry to go. Its remoteness and lack of communications had proved difficult when we had boat issues to solve but of course is what makes it so special . The people are so friendly the moment you smile or wave to them, they have little by western standards but are by no means poor. There is plentiful food in the trees, and each plant has an owner who is happy to share as long as you ask. But the thing that struck me the most was that this is a people that are fiercely proud of their culture and heritage and that is what puts it apart from the islands of the Caribbean. From a cruising point of view it is unique as there are only live aboards like ourselves and it creates a wonderful boating community, and there are no charterers!

We set sail for the Tuamotu’s , passing the island of Ua Pou, with its vertical mountain peaks forming a virtual castle in the distance it seemed a fitting last sight of such a beautiful and memorable group of islands. And we still had so much more to explore in French Polynesia....