In this section
 
Logs Index

2005
  February
  March
  April
  May 1 - 14
  May 16 - 31
  June
  July
  August
  September
  October
  November
  December
 

Logs & Stories -  September 2005

September 5, 2005

Huahine

We left Moorea something like five days ago and had a boisterous sail to Huahine - we tore a batten pocket loose from the main while reefing, took the main down but still managed to do about five knots under staysail alone. By the way, I've grown to feel very good about going five knots -- nothing breaks.

We came into Fare on Huahine on a blustery, squally day. I wrote to my mom: "Remember Fare from our voyage in 1971?" I don't. I recall that we went there, but the only thing I can remember is the name. Huahine, like Raiatea (and unlike Tahiti, Moorea, and Bora Bora) seems peakless and a bit ambiguous because of it. You constantly have this sense that you really don't know where you are. I can remember being in Huahine's largest bay 35 years ago, mostly because it was big and nondescript. Now, though, Fare is quite vibrant, having the sensation of being compact, complex and rural at the same time.

The Gendarme, a handsome young guy of about 30, gave us shit for our temporary visa extension initially, refusing to speak English at all, but in the end forgave us and became quite charming.

Karryn interjects: As the only one who has any significant knowledge of Spanish or French, I've had the wonderful privilege of being the speaker / translator in Mexico and French Polynesia (mind you, I only knew some French when we left Seattle). In Mexico, I learned to ask first, in Spanish, if the person I was addressing spoke English. Even if they said no, they at least knew I wasn't fluent in Spanish, regardless of how fluent I might sound (my accents are light-years ahead of my ability to comprehend spoken Spanish and French). I became frustrated in French Polynesia, as my initial question "Parlez-vous anglais?" (do you speak English) only drew blank stares. I began to wonder if my much-vaunted ability to pronounce foreign words correctly was going the way of my once-fantastic memory. Finally, I figured it out: no one here will admit to speaking English until one has made a sincere effort to speak French. So now I begin all exchanges by saying, in French, "I'm sorry, but I only speak a little French and I speak better than I understand. Do you speak English?" I've found this works much better! Of course, there are still lots of people who know as much English as Bill knows French (or as much as either of us knows Tahitian), but we've managed to get by.

Bill returns: I'm sooooooo fortunate to have her to speak for me! Especially when we visit gendarmes and immigration officials.

At one point, a 29-foot French boat anchored right next to us and a 55-ish woman in a very, very skimpy black bikini came topsides to lie down and sunbathe on the foredeck. For some reason, I got some atypical wiring and think women generally get more visually attractive as they age, rather than having the more common response of being optically drawn to reproductive-age women.

Actually, one of the really wonderful things about being in French Polynesia has been the scanty attire. Because I was a competitive swimmer in high school I've been wearing Speedo swimsuits since I was about fourteen, and in Mexico this made me something of a pervert (most of the cruisers there seemed to like swimming in their pants). At one point, when we were at a public beach in Mazatlan, I had about half a dozen Mexican latinas attracting my attention by calling me "eye candy" in English, a flattering but somewhat overpowering experience. The cruisers in Mexico were mostly American and Canadian retirees, and you rarely got to see the women in bathing suits.

Here, the whole routine has been different. When we initially arrived in the Marquesas in May, most of the neighboring boats were American (having left from Mexico about the same time we did), but they soon departed and were replaced by a community of voyagers who'd originated in Europe and made the transit through the Panama Canal (Panama is far enough south that they were able to make a later passage without fear of the northern hemisphere hurricane season). These folks tend to dress with less, the men in bathing suits even smaller than mine, and the women frequently in string bikinis and occasionally topless. They're about the same age as their American counterparts, and the views of older women have been wonderful, their bodies pleasantly shaped by time and childbearing.

Esthetically, women look marvelous in their 60's, a visual treat. I feel fortunate to have the additional perception that women become more wonderful the longer and more deeply I've known them, most notably Karryn and our closest friends. Continuing beauty, intelligence and sensuality amplified by maturity's balance, grace and poise.

I was concerned at the time that I may have paid a little too much attention to the lady next door. We met these folks later in a restaurant on Raiatea, and it turned out she was a policewoman, and one of her two male companions an Admiral in the French Navy. I don't think I pissed them off though; once I identified the boat we were from, both of the men became friendly and the woman smiled at me quite a bit.

Thursday, Sept 8, 2005

Raiatea

We'd been sitting at anchor in the small town of Fare on Huahine, twenty miles upwind from Raiatea. It had been stormy and raining, so we were waiting until clearer weather would make entering the Raiatea lagoon less dangerous. When it hasn't rained for a few days the water here gets incredibly clear, and, with the sun overhead in the middle of the day, you can see all the turquoise shallow spots and the brown dots of the coral heads in them. We made the passage at the first reasonable time (in the process of leaving having to swim to untangle the anchor from a coral head in fifteen feet of water) and came into the lagoon at the town of Uturoa.

Uturoa, with a population of 3,500, is the second-largest urban area in French Polynesia -- the largest is Papeete on Tahiti with 100,000 folks. We motored past the town and through the same lagoon we transited in 1971. My impression is that things looked pretty much the same -- two big green islands (Raiatea and Tahaa) sharing a huge reef, a massive lagoon with mostly very deep and very shallow spots and not too many places to anchor. I remember Dad being a bit tense when we came here, but I don't remember anything other than the view of Uturoa's small-town landscape.

We motored past the town, around the small airport, past Apooiti Marina and took a mooring immediately in front of the two boatyards that are adjacent to one another.

We had an interesting time making arrangements to haul out. It turned out both yards here are appropriate to haul a yacht; the only other yacht yard is located in Port Phaeton, the isthmus of Tahiti, and the facility there is too narrow to accommodate Seafire. So far, the two yards here seem quite distinct. One is run by a man with a 45-foot Newick trimaran and (I'm told) the aspiration to open a West Marine store here in Raiatea. The challenge in his yard was the cradles they used for holding boats, all which are identical and all of which were designed to hold fin-keeled monohulls very well but had a high likelihood of damaging Seafire because of their inability to provide support at her frames.

Karryn and Naomi made an initial trip to the yard manager to discuss the cradle/support details with him, and he seemed surprised that an owner would get that involved, suggesting his staff was fully qualified and would take care of everything. My subsequent trips to further discuss the issue were unproductive due to his lack of availability.

The other yard was populated with charming people, one of them a beamingly beautiful Polynesian vahine that I''d have to see several times a day. There were two Frenchmen in charge of the place, both speaking fluent English, one having been spoken highly of by people we met in Tahiti, and the other inspiring my confidence and welcoming my involvement in the process. They''d be hauling us out on a tram sort of affair with free-form supports, and we''d be stored at the water's edge with a view of Bora Bora''s mountain peaks, away from the mosquitoes that inhabit the spaces just a few yards back.

Because the Newick-owner's yard responded to our emails and the other one didn't (the guy who would have was on vacation), we made initial reservations there and I felt I had to go in for a final conversation before canceling with him and committing to the other. I just couldn't imagine wanting to deal with the risks to Seafire due to the boat's highly-loaded weight and the cradles' poor fit and support for her.