Farewell to French Polynesia

Our time in French Polynesia is almost up which means we will have to move on from this amazing place. Most people would be ecstatic at the prospect of a 2 week holiday here, but for me the remaining time seems infinitesimal and I feel we have rushed through the whole country. If you have been able to keep up with us on http://www.sailblogs.com/member/bluemoonnz/ you will know that we spent a month in the Marquesas, a month in the Tuamotus and now our last month in the Society islands - each with many islands and very different from each other. Too much to see within the time constraints of our 3 month visa!

My most memorable experience in the Marquesas was the ‘tattoo’ I now have on 3 fingers as a result of a rather nasty bite from a Moray Eel. I was lucky it did not get infected, but nonetheless it was frustrating to be kept out of the water, especially while Rob was off snorkeling with manta rays. There was plenty to do on land, though, and the rock spires and pinnacles that these islands are famous for provided a visual feast. The most famous of these is at Fatu Hiva, in a place now named the Bay of Virgins. When the missionaries arrived, they renamed it from the original Bay of Penises, but as we watched the gyrating hips during the seductive dances here, it was clear that nobody was fooled.

The Tuamotus, just 300 miles away are quite a contrast with not a rock in sight. These sandy atolls barely rise above sea level, a ring of tiny islands of swaying coconut, surrounding impossibly blue lagoons. Finally my moray eel bite had healed, but now Rob was unable to enjoy the crystal clear water due to an infection under his toenail, as a result of just a tiny nick. It was not until he pulled the toenail off (eeewwww!) that it began to heal. I reassured him that he would not have enjoyed the snorkeling anyway, since there were always sharks present in these waters, something he is not comfortable with. I admit that my normal tolerance for these creatures was stretched and several times I retreated to the safety of my dinghy. I never tire of the gorgeous water colors in these atolls, and despite what some people say they not all the same. We visited 4, large and small, some uninhabited, and some with pearl farms. A fitting image as we sailed away was the last sliver of moon at sunrise, with the entire sphere outlined like a Tuamotus black pearl set on a gold crescent.

Tahiti was our first shopping stop since Mexico, and we were glad we decided to spend our time there right downtown. We were on the spot for the Hieva Festival events. Canoe races were held right in front of our boat, so we sat in our deck chairs on the wheelhouse roof to watch the ‘river’ of 140 canoes at the start line. Dance shows in the evening were a spectacle of fire, feathers, glittering mother of pearl and intricately woven coconut fibres. The scent of the brightly colored flower lays and elaborate flower crowns worn by the audience was intoxicating. One of the most moving experiences for us was the unveiling of a monument at the nuclear testing memorial site. We had no idea what was happening – we just heard drums at sunset and went along the waterfront for a look. A small well-dressed Polynesian crowd was gathered, and speeches were all in Polynesian so we understood little. Forty-four beautifully carved and painted drums were arranged in a circle. The drummers were oiled and tattooed, wearing traditional costumes with shell and feather headdresses. The sound of these amazing instruments reverberated right to my soul. Although the words were meaningless to us, the emotions were clear and we both felt something important was occurring around us. Later we read the inscription that dedicated this lovely wooden sculpture to those affected by nuclear testing.

The Heiva festival is winding down now, a month long event leading up to Bastille Day. The small, non-touristy island of Huahine was a great choice for the parade and dancing on the national day to party. It was a real community event, and a visiting group of professional dancers from Wallis livened up the show. We will spend a few more days here before finishing our travels in French Polynesia with a visit to Bora Bora.

We anticipate being back in New Zealand by the end of November, spending the remaining time in one of our favorite places, Tonga.

Fatu Hiva and Ua Pou

On our way back to New Zealand. First stop - Marquesas

We arrived in Hiva Oa after a rather idyllic 18 day passage from Mexico. The only major event was almost killing Rob with a Portuguese Man of War when he jumped in to tighten up the rudder bearing which was vibrating loose whenever we went faster than 9 knots. This will tell you what sort of wind we had, at least for part of the trip. We had only a short patch of doldrums, one night of lightning and nothing big broke. Rob recovered from the jellyfish sting after massive doses of vitamin C and antihistamines.

After a few days exploring the island of Hiva Oa, we sailed south to Fatu Hiva. These islands are all made of volcanic rocks, which so remind me of Mt Manaia behind our little cow shed in New Zealand – on a grand scale! We never really saw the top of the mountain at Hiva Oa since it was always shrouded in mist. The striking pinnacle rocks around the anchorage at Fatu Hiva seemed like a birds of prey to me, watchful and a little bit menacing. One in particular reminded me of an owl. We swam in the pool at the base of an awesome waterfall there, where yabbies crawled up my legs in the shallows. Perhaps their timid nips made me complacent about snorkelling at Tahuata Island, our next stop. A possessive moray took exception as I reached out to touch a pencil urchin that was cunningly camouflaging his hole, and chomped down rather hard on 3 fingers. His jaws were like a vice, so thankfully he somehow missed my pinky altogether. The back molars sort of crushed the knuckle on my ring finger, and the long venomous fangs shredded my first two fingers pretty thoroughly. If this ever happens to you, remember bleach. I soaked the wounds in a diluted solution before sticking it all back together with steristrips. The doctor we saw yesterday admonished me for not leaving it open - apparently all bites are prone to infection and must not be stitched so they drain. I guess the bleach worked, since it seems to be healing ok so far. Having use of only one hand, the one that is not connected to my brain, I have not been able to do much. The next morning Rob was in swimming with manta rays that were circling the boat and I could barely even work the camera, relegated as I was to watch from the dry deck. It will be a few more days before I can get in the water.

From Tahuata we stopped at Hanamenu Bay on the north side of Hiva Oa hoping for a fresh water swim in a spring. Just as we were about to step into the surf to get ashore, a fin appeared beside the dingy. I had no desire for another encounter with toothy sea creatures, especially since this one was as long as the dingy and seemed to be following us. We emailed friends who we had hoped to meet in that bay to let them know why we had left in a hurry, and they sent a note back to say they had not let their little boy jump in to swim with a manta ray there because of our note. They later saw the shark when they tried to land their dingy and were glad of our warning.

We had only a short visit at Ua Pou Island, with its totally amazing visual feast of volcanic spires. It seems that all these places deserve a stay of several weeks to get to know them, but we have just a 3-month visa for the entire French Polynesia region, which includes the Tuamotus and Tahiti. Our last stop in the Marquesas is Nuku Hiva, the capital of the Marquesas, before we set off for the Tuamotus in a few days.

We are amazed to find out that we can update a blog using our marine radio, so have been posting on a regular basis to our ‘sailblog’. Check it out using the link on the sidebar.

Follow us across the Pacific...

We have started a new blog that we can update from our SSB radio while we are sailing from Mexico to New Zealand. If you want to follow the trip, check on http://www.sailblogs.com/member/bluemoonnz/

We will continue to add photos and stories to this page when we get to an internet cafe again.

Chiapas Images

Sumidero rock formation



Sumidero Canyon

Here are some photos from our inland trip to chiapas...


howler monkey




highway ladies



Rob on crocodile watch



amber mask



Los Nubes waterfalls




Los Nubes from above





Chiapas del Corzo belltower at sunset



San Cristobal Cathedral




textile sellers



Chinkultic mayan ruins



Crossing the Bar

Here are some images of our entrance into Bahia del Sol, El Salvador. We were followed in by 'Rapscallion'.

Thats us in front of the surf..

 
And Rapskullion on top of it!

Shopping in El Salvador

A raft of garbage drifts past the boat on its way out the estuary. It will return when the tide changes, but ultimately it will make its way out the entrance and likely end up on the wide sandy beach at that lines the Pacific coast of El Salvador. We walked over to the beach today to find it completely changed from when we last saw it, more than 4 months ago. Except for the acres of garbage, which is as prolific as ever. No recycling here. Now, though, the beach looks more like the Canadian coast with the remnant limbs of dismembered trees piled thick as far as you can see. These would have been the ones that bumped their way past our boat during hurricane season as the flood waters roared out, lodging the occasional unruly tree across our mooring line and creating a mini waterfall in the strong tide. We worried about that during our long absence but found Blue Moon to be in good shape when we returned.

Reprovisioning was a priority when we returned so I tagged along with friends for a shopping day. There are few shops nearby so they had decided to rent a car to get around and bring their groceries back to the boat. The day began with a 2-hour bus ride to San Salvador to pick up the car. It was my first experience of the local busses. The inside was decorated with pink and purple paint, glitter, mirrors, stuffed animals, a Barcelona football scarf and lots of hanging, dangling things. Latin music was playing at full volume and everyone was chatting and laughing when we boarded. The driver honked his horn, one that sounded like a train whistle, at every opportunity. It was like a party. I found a seat and settled in to enjoy the scenery. Tropical jungle vegetation flanked us, dotted with an incongruous collection of flamboyantly painted stucco mansions that are the holiday homes of the rich city folk, and the rusty corrugated iron lean-tos where the majority of the local residents live.

As the bus got going, a pop can whizzed past my face and out the window to join the endless stream of garbage at the roadside. This is the normal waste disposal system in Central America. It all ends up in the estuary eventually. There are no real bus stops so everyone gets on and off where they like, although the main hubs can always be found by the carpet of plastic that accumulates whenever the bus stops for any length of time. Drinks are sold from the giant bottles, decanted into small plastic bags, twisted shut and served with a straw. Water also comes in plastic bags. Otherwise the bus stops might be atop a mountain of bottles, I suppose.

A conductor made his way down the aisle, clicking a handful of change in my face like castenettes as he collected the fare. When he reached the back door, he jumped off and ran to the front, hopping aboard as the bus gathered speed. The bus filled up and people jammed the aisle but the conductor still made his way through. Little kids, bright and shiny in every way, stared at me from eye level, and the rail-thin old man in a starched white shirt sitting next to me grinned toothlessly, genuine affection crinkling his eyes. More people crammed onto the bus, so that the kids had to lean over the old man, and the temperature rose ten degrees. Everyone was still laughing and the conversations got louder to be heard over everyone else, and the music. At the cross roads about 25 people were waiting for the bus. They all got on, past the driver who was standing on his seat yelling at those in the aisle to make room. At the next stop, a couple of extremely heavy women got on. The largest was pushed up the steps by the conductor, like being shoved into an over stuffed suitcase. Somehow, he made his way past them and clicked his castenette money down the aisle again. The three well dressed men who got on next had to hang out the open door. The conductor hung out behind them the next time he made his way forward. Unbelievably, food vendors came through with their baskets of gum or papusas, making sales all the way down the bus before getting off at the next stop, pocketing their takings in elaborately decorated lacy aprons, the El Salvador purse. Wrappers flew out the open windows. Only one old woman declined the bus, waging her finger in disapproval at the sea of faces pressed against the windows, her mouth a round ‘no’ as the driver slowed for her.

Finally, at San Salvador, the bus disgorged a small metropolis of people, we picked up our car and ticked off our list at a succession of stores. It was getting late we were done, but I had forgotten to buy bananas. So had Christi. Maybe we will pass a fruit shop, she suggested. Twilight was fading as I consulted the map to find the most direct route out of town, with Christie driving. Suddenly the road ahead transformed into a street market. We sneaked in behind a truck, hoping he would blaze the trail for us until we got through it but the truck turned off into a building and we drove deeper into the market. Carts and stalls lined the street with barely enough room for our car to pass, people wandered in front of us, and we were driving at a snails pace, attracting stares, dodging wheelbarrows and trying not to hit anything else. At first it was interesting since we had talked earlier about trying to find the city market. But as the market became more congested, people were shouting, although we couldn’t tell if it was at us or just to advertise their wares. Clearly we should not be driving through here. I spotted a cart full of bananas, and Christie stopped the car beside it. I rolled down my window to ask how much 6 bananas cost, inciting a lively discussion between several of the sellers and eventually we received a whole shopping bag of bananas for $1. I rolled up the window and we carried on, grateful to find a road to take us out of the market. We were thoroughly lost, but we had everything on our shopping list.