Murder on Nuku Hiva: Lessons for Travelers

Written 10/23/11

Wynne Hedlesky

In this blog entry, I would like to express my option on two matters: the prejudice, ignorance and sensationalism that continually does its part to make this world a place full of hatred and fear, and the dilemma of a traveler—to be open to the people of the world, while remaining a diligent protector of one’s own safety and security.

A recent event on the island of Nuku Hiva has given me ample material for thought on these matters. There are many articles online about this unfortunate event that are mere tabloid sensationalism elevated to the status of news. Even the respectable articles which followed the initial release of the story are largely aimed at countering the outrageous claims of the first wave of so-called press.

In short: on October 9, a local Nuku Hivan man, Henri Haiti, lured a German cruiser, Stefan Ramin, into a remote part of the island on the pretense that they were going on an expedition to hunt goats. Haiti then allegedly murdered Ramin, and burned his remains in a campfire. After that, he returned, presumably to Taioha’e, and lured Ramin’s girlfriend, Heike Dorsch, into the wilderness by saying that Ramin was injured and needed her help. Here I get confused, and the reports are unclear. At some point, Haiti made sexual advances upon Dorsch, which were rejected. He tied her to a tree and sexually assaulted her. For some reason, he left, and she escaped and alerted the authorities. He fled into the wilderness and remains unapprehened. Since the event, dental and DNA comparisons have proven that it was indeed Ramin’s remains in the campfire. For a recent and more or less unsensational account of events, see this article at Internatinoal Business Times: http://www.ibtimes.com/articles/232715/20111017/german-tourist-cannibal-death-french-polynesia.htm.

Early coverage of the event claimed that Ramin was killed and eaten by a Nuku Hivan islander. Many articles refer to Herman Melville’s novel Typee, published in 1846, in which Melville expresses his fear of the island’s inhabitants due to stories of their ferocity and cannibalism. These stories were exaggerated rumors; most Europeans, including Melville, did not know at the time that the islanders practiced cannibalism only against members of enemy tribes captured in battle. Cannibalism was never practiced against random strangers without provocation. During the months that he lived with them, Melville himself received generous hospitality from the inhabitants of the island. Even these limited cannibalistic practices ceased generations ago, but due to the ignorant and prejudiced coverage of this event, the current inhabitants of Nuku Hiva are now being burdened once more with this gruesome and uneducated misconception.

The reality is that French Polynesia has an extremely low rate of violent crime, as Internet sources as well as my own experience while in the country, and especially on Nuku Hiva, has shown me. Kristian and I talked to many residents, and they all said that one of the great joys of life on Nuku Hiva was its freedom from the fear of crime, including, for the most part, petty crime, such as theft. During our month-long stay on the island, we ourselves came to trust its residents. We felt no danger accepting rides from locals, accepting gifts of food or drink, staying with them in their homes, and even leaving our tent unattended on a public beach. We experienced generosity and goodwill the like of which we had never seen in our home countries. It is ludicrous to the point of being unworthy of counterargument that the residents of this island practice cannibalism, or are even generally prone to violent behavior. Until this story broke (and even now, afterward) most people probably didn’t even know that Nuku Hiva existed, let alone where it was located. It angers me that, due to certain news agencies’ sensational coverage of this event, Nuku Hiva breaks into the world’s awareness only to gain a reputation for brutality, violence, and deception. Though the murder of one man on a tiny South Pacific rock may seem minor, the coverage this event has received is evidence of, and contributes to, racism and prejudice around the world.

However, the facts cannot be denied; a foreigner was indeed murdered on the island of Nuku Hiva, by a local in whom he had placed his trust. Though allegations of ritualistic cannibalism are absurd, and this crime says nothing about the character of most of the island’s inhabitants, I must unfortunately admit that this crime, though shocking, is not entirely inconceivable to me. The likely sexual motivation for Haiti’s behavior reminded me of certain disturbing encounters Kristian and I had while in French Polynesia. On two occasions we were the target of unwanted sexual advances by locals. For the complete accounts of these experiences, see our Kristian's entries, "Marquesans and other people," and "Dialogues with a pervert--a true story." Kristian and I speculate (though this is pure speculation, and not supported by research), that Haiti was blinded by sexual dissatisfaction into perpetrating the violent crimes of murder and sexual assault.

In the wake of our own experiences, we tried to come up with an explanation for what seemed like the beginning of a disturbing pattern of unwanted sexual attention toward foreigners. In a small community such as the island of Nuku Hiva, with fewer than 3000 inhabitants, there could come a point where single individuals run out of possible romantic partners. Everyone in a certain age group is either taken, undesirable, or unwilling. One can only imagine the sexual frustration that must come from facing a lifetime with no real hope of satisfaction. To someone single and desperate in a small community such as this, foreigners might seem like the perfect target. New and unknown, you could project all of your desired sexual characteristics onto them. In addition, with a stranger who will be leaving in a few days or, at most, a few weeks, what do you have to lose? If they reject you, there are no repercussions within your community. Successful or unsuccessful, what happens between you can stay a secret, if you want, playing no role in your community life. I could imagine the sexual appeal of foreigners, people outside your limited community, being so powerful that it would lead people to behave irrationally (as Kristian and I experienced), or even violently (as we fortunately did not experience).

As I said, I have not read anywhere that Haiti’s motivations were primarily sexual, or that he was such a sexually frustrated individual as I have described above. But it is not inconceivable, and even seems, to me, likely. Even in a culture as overwhelmingly hospitable and open as that which exists on Nuku Hiva, there can be a few stray violent individuals, or individuals with less than noble intentions. This may even be the island’s own special breed of crazy. However, violent, disturbed individuals exist all over the world. In some places, there are many more. Rather than merely becoming paranoid, avoiding contact with other people, or traveling only in the safe, sterilized comfort of all-inclusive travel packages and guided tours, Kristian and I take time to discuss and clarify our safety practices both for ourselves and our belongings.

Here are some of the guidelines we have decided upon:

• Stay together. Neither of us ever spends more than a few hours away from the other, and we never spend time alone with someone else. Of course, this is difficult if you’re traveling alone. In that case, you might want to stick to relatively public areas or be extra certain that someone—a hotel manager, a friend, etc.—knows where you are planning to be and when.
• Keep your valuables with you at all times. Though someone could, hypothetically, mug you, your passports, computer, credit card, etc. are better off in your personal care than in a hotel room or left with a caretaker. The exception is, of course, if you have a locker or storage box that only you can access. Keep extra copies of important documents, credit card information, etc. in a secure location, in digital form somewhere secure online, or with your family back home.
• Whenever you leave somewhere, do a mental check for all your belongings. Do I have my wallet? Passport? Computer? and so on. Absent mindedness is more likely to separate you from your possessions than theft.
• Don’t accept favors from someone, volunteer unnecessary information about yourself, or invite people to spend time with you without getting to know them first. “Getting to know” someone is difficult to define. Be sensitive to your own internal warnings, looking out for behaviors that make you uncomfortable, or tendencies that could annoy or endanger you or your belongings. Don’t accept favors from or spend time with someone who seems impaired, or behaves erratically.
• Change your location if you feel uncomfortable, harassed, or stalked by someone around you. Do not allow the fact that you finally found the most beautiful and remote campsite, or the most perfect hostel, deter you from relocating.
• Before accepting a favor from someone—a ride, a meal, a place to stay, a tour—make sure you understand exactly what the plan is, where you are going, what you are doing, how you are getting there, and when you will be coming back. This can be hard if you are not communicating in your native language, but don’t feel bad asking questions over and over again to be sure you understand the plan.
• If possible, and especially if you will be with someone for a while, inform others of who you are with and your intended whereabouts. That way, if anything should happen, people will come looking for you, or alert the authorities.
• Always have a plan for what to do in an emergency situation or any threat to your safety, especially if you are staying in remote areas. For example, if camping, know the nearest telephone you can use, the numbers of the local authorities, etc.

In my opinion, traveling is all about experiencing new things. If you go on a trip and nothing you see surprises you, if you stick strictly to the familiar and merely seek the comforts of home, but with palm trees in the background—a nice bed, a hot shower, familiar food, coffee the way you like it in the morning, and the company of other people who speak your language—then you’re not doing it right. However, exposing yourself to new experiences doesn’t have to mean exposing yourself to danger. I believe that if a traveler remains aware of his surroundings and has safety-oriented habits, he can maximize personal safety even while exploring fantastic environments and interacting with people whose ways are very different from his own.

Such a voyage to Nuku Hiva has taught me that its inhabitants are not violent, but are welcoming and generous. I wish that the perception propagated through bad journalism could be eradicated. One sure antidote to the poison of ignorant, viral misinformation is to travel and see a place for yourself, to make living contact with other people, and let yourself be enlightened rather than clinging to prejudice and misunderstanding. I believe that this strategy rarely disappoints.

Backpacker's Guide to Nuku Hiva

By Wynne Hedlesky

           Nuku Hiva is a member of the Marquesas island group, the northernmost group in French Polynesia. This relatively young volcanic island covers 127 square miles of steep mountains and deep valleys. The scenery is spectacular. Lovers of the outdoors can enjoy hiking, swimming, ocean kayaking, horseback riding, and even a little snorkeling if you go to the right bay. The culture is beautiful and unique. There is an overwhelming abundance of archaeological sites, and Marquesan art is exquisite. The inhabitants are the most hospitable people I’ve ever met.

There are plenty of reasons to visit Nuku Hiva, but travel guides will tell you that visiting any of the Marquesas is prohibitively expensive. Flights are not cheap, rental cars are over a hundred dollars a day, and the price of a beer will numb the mind. But we’re here to tell you it’s quite easy to do the Marquesas on a budget, and here are some tips:

Sights and Activities

There is no shortage of fun to be had on Nuku Hiva. Kristian and I spent two full weeks traveling around the island, and we didn’t even hit everything on our list. Here are a few of the things we explored.

Nature

Nuku Hiva’s greatest draw is its pristine, unpolluted natural beauty. Steep, jagged mountains blanketed in green sprout literally dozens of waterfalls during the rainy season. In fact, the second highest waterfall in the world, and the highest
one accessible to visitors, is located in one of the island’s more remote valleys. Over every breathtaking ridge is another turquoise bay, another valley with coconut-covered slopes, and another village with simple but colorful houses and carefully-tended gardens.

Those seeking white-sand beaches and coral reefs may be disappointed. Nuku Hiva, a geological youngster, does not have a large, fully-developed coral reef. The dark sand on most of the island’s beaches is ground-down volcanic rock. That said, there is one bay on the north shore of the island, called Anaho, which has a coral reef and decent snorkeling. It also happens to be unbelievably beautiful and remote, accessible only by boat, horse, or on foot.

Nuku Hiva does offer great hiking. Even walking along the island’s “roads” is both breathtaking and rigorous. There are also many trails to explore. If you’re camping and worried about your gear, make friends with a local and have them keep it somewhere secure while you tromp around the island. Guidebooks recommend that you hire a guide, because trails are unmarked and grow over quickly in the tropical climate. Some trails can be dangerous as well, especially when it rains, so ask around and make sure you’re not getting in over your head. You can arrange horseback riding excursions as well as guided hikes. We didn’t have the money for guides, so we poked around on our own. It’s also easy to make friends with a local who would be glad to show you around for free. People offered to show us ruins back in the woods, take us hunting up in the hills, and to lead us by land to Hakaui, the valley with the famous waterfall. The locals are proud of their island and its beauty, and happy to share what they know.

Archaeology

The Marquesas are exceptionally rich in archaeological sites that testify to the dense population and vibrant culture that thrived on the islands before the arrival of Europeans. If you hike through the woods in some parts of Nuku Hiva, there are jumbled remains of pae pae, or stone platforms upon which the Polynesians erected their buildings, literally everywhere. Some current structures are even built on ancient stone foundations. Near the village of Hatiheu, on the north shore of the island, is a meticulously restored and maintained site that allows visitors to get a clear sense of the space in which ancient Polynesians lived their lives. These sites are a must-see if you go to the Marquesas.

Arts and Culture

Modern Marquesan culture is vibrant as well. In 1979, when Marquesan culture was almost forgotten, Marquesans decided to start teaching their native language in schools again (instead of Tahitian), and to hold an annual arts festival, hosted by a different island each year. Nuku Hiva also hosts two major festivals each year, in July and Decmeber, with traditional dance competitions, tiki carving, handicrafts, and tattoo demonstrations. The Marquesas are famous for being at the front of a revival in the art of Polynesian tattooing. In addition to dance and the arts, Nuku Hivans love outdoor activities such as paddling pirogues (Polynesian outrigger canoes), horseback riding, fishing, swimming, and gardening. Generally, we found the people on Nuku Hiva to be very connected to the natural world around them. I would list the openness and generosity of the inhabitants as one of the main reasons to visit the island.

Transportation

Getting There

Now that I’ve told you how great Nuku Hiva is, I suppose I should share the bad news: it’s hard to get there. There is no international airport, and all flights to the island are through Tahiti. They are infrequent and expensive, about $350 one way plus hefty per kilo baggage fees. That doesn’t even include the price of airfare from your home country to Tahiti.

Of course, you can travel by boat. The non-option for the average penny-pinching backpacker is the Aranui III, a large cargo/passenger vessel with regular stops in the Marquesas. The full tour of French Polynesia will set you back a few grand. A little more realistic for backpackers is hitching a ride on one of the cruising sailboats that stop in the islands.

Many boats to the Marquesas leave Panama after going through the canal. Some also leave from the west coast of the United States or Canada, from Galapagos, or from other parts of Central or South America. To get to one of these areas, you can fly; or you could always hitch a sailboat ride from somewhere else. Most sailboats head to the South Pacific between March and July. There are several good ways to find a boat.

On this blog we have listed websites which post openings for crew positions on sailing yachts. Use your best judgment to avoid the horny old men plying the Internet for a “female companion,” and, with some dedicated effort, you’re sure to find a suitable option. It helps to check many sites every day. Not every site updates daily, but if you’re a member of five or six, your chances of finding something increase dramatically.

            Another good way to find a ride on a sailboat is to head to your local dock (if it happens to be in one of the areas I mentioned) and ask around. Don’t be shy. Try to get to know people, their plans, and their boats. Post a note on the marina’s bulletin board. Eventually something will come up. It took a couple weeks, but this is how Kristian and I found a ride out of Nuku Hiva to Tahiti.         

Before you commit to spending three weeks to a month in the middle of the world’s largest ocean, talk to the owner or captain and make sure the situation sounds good. Be sure to discuss costs. If the owner or captain asks for anything more than your share of food, diesel, and dock fees (for example, if he or she asks for a flat daily rate that seems like more than what it costs to feed you), they are technically operating an unlicensed charter business, and that’s illegal. Make sure you’ll get along with your shipmates. Of course, an experienced skipper is always a plus. Ask about safety equipment on board. Understand what your daily schedule will

be like. You really don’t want to get stuck out there on an unsafe vessel with people you can’t stand. On the other hand, if you find the right boat, it can be a blast, and you can go to the most weird and wonderful corners of the world.

A final bit of advice. If you’re looking to join a sailing vessel as crew, it’s important to have a positive attitude, be ready to learn, and willing to work hard. Although sometimes you’re hanging out on deck in your bikini, at other times you’re too hot, too cold, exhausted, wet, haven’t bathed in ten days, hungry, thirsty, or in mortal peril. You will be asked to stand watches—usually 4 hours a day plus 4 hours a night—so this is not just a vacation on a cruise ship. Life on a boat is different from life on land, and you should be ready to change your habits to use less water, less electricity, and be generally more mindful of resources. In Nuku Hiva, Kristian and I met many friendly and reasonable people who refused to take us on board because they have had “bad experiences taking on crew.” People who are unwilling to work and unable to get along with their shipmates make it hard for good sailors to find a gig. You don’t need to have any sailing experience as long as you have a good attitude. Follow the old sailors’ order of priorities: ship, shipmates, self. Otherwise, volunteer crew get a bad reputation and it becomes harder for the rest of us. So stay at home if you are not ready to work.

 But hopefully, if you’re ready to rough it around the world, you’re ready to travel by boat. And when it’s good, it’s good—ocean, sky, stars, dolphins playing at the bow, and all that stuff.

On the Island

            Getting around the island might seem a bit tricky at first. Although the quality of the roads on Nuku Hiva is steadily improving, many are still rocky, rutted dirt tracks that basically become creeks when it rains. Every vehicle I saw on the island was four-wheel-drive. There is a limited public transportation system, with a bus running between a few of the major villages twice a day. Aside from that, here are the options, from least expensive to most expensive:

            Kristian and I opted to hitchhike. Hitchhiking is surprisingly easy. We would set off from a village with our massive backpacks, and before we’d walked twenty minutes, someone would stop and offer us a lift. We didn’t even have to stick out our thumbs. Since hitchhiking is so common and accepted on the island, it’s a relatively reliable way to get around, as long as you’re not on a tight schedule. And it’s very safe. We never felt the slightest bit uncomfortable, and never heard any horror stories.

If your feet are hurting but your wallet’s not, you can always hire a driver and explore the island’s beauty by 4x4 or rental car. There are several companies that can arrange driving tours or transportation from village to village. Since Kristian and I never hired a driver, I’m not sure of the cost. However, I do know that for the freedom of a rental car, you’ll pay over $100 a day. If you really want to get the big picture quickly, or want to cover many sites in one day, this might be worth it to you. If your priority is saving your dimes for a beer or a night on a bed, remember that the entire island is accessible by hitchhiking.

What to Bring

So you’ve decided to go to Nuku Hiva—by air, by sea, by teleportation, however—and you want the backpacking experience. Here are a few backpacker’s essentials:

·         Warm weather clothes (the temperature is rarely under 80º F)

·         Comfortable shoes for hiking in damp conditions.

·         Sunscreen and bug spray. We got used to the bugs after a while but the tropical sun will require lots of screenage.

·         Rain gear for yourself and your equipment. In some parts of the island, it rains almost daily in June and July. In addition to raincoats, we brought high-quality dry bags for our electronics and valuable documents.

·         Camping gear. Make sure this includes a waterproof tent. Seriously waterproof. We also brought cooking equipment.

·         Fishing gear (optional). It is helpful in order to take advantage of free natural resources, though you might not want to plan to live off of fish unless you’re already a knowledgeable fisherman. Also, it turns out that fishing gear is the same price or cheaper on the island as in the USA, so it would be a good idea to get there, and then ask locals what kind of gear you should get.

·          A sharp pocket knife. This will come in handy for tons of things, from eating pomplemousses, to gutting all those fish you’re going to catch. We also found having a machete very handy for many things, especially cutting firewood and opening coconuts. Unless you already have one knocking around, this is another thing you can acquire once you’re there.

·         Cigarettes for gifts. They’re expensive on the islands and thus sharing them is a good way to make friends with the locals. We aren’t regular smokers, but we brought a carton. We’ve managed to give most of them away.

·         Basic medical supplies. We found bandages, hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, antifungal cream, scissors, tweezers, and tape very useful. We were lucky and avoided traveler’s diarrhea, but we brought anti-diarrhea and anti-nausea medications just in case. It’s a good idea to talk to a travel doctor before you set off on a voyage to exotic places with exotic diseases in order to be up to date on vaccinations and get a full compliment of prescription medications such as antibiotics. For more information on staying healthy abroad, see http://wwwnc.cdc.gov/travel/.

·         If you don’t know French, bring a French phrase book and dictionary. Not many people speak English, even in the island’s main town. However, with the friendly inhabitants, a smile and the willingness to fumble along will get you far.

Many products are not as expensive in Nuku Hiva as we were told they would be, so it’s not necessary to bring five pounds of sunscreen or bug spray. Cheap, portable foods like dried beans and rice are not much more expensive there than in the United States, so there’s no need to stock up on food either. Being overly prepared just makes your backpack heavier.

Accommodations

Camping

Due to our lack of funds, Kristian and I decided to spend most nights camping. When we were planning our trip to Nuku Hiva, we scoured the internet trying to find information on camping on the island. There was nothing. If this blog ever makes it onto Google search, that will change.

There are no official campsites on Nuku Hiva (nor that I’ve heard of on any of the other Marquesan islands). However, camping is fun and easy, and there are plenty of great spots. Camping is basically unregulated on Nuku Hiva, since the island doesn’t see more than a few campers a year. Our method of finding a place to camp was to ask the locals.

Honestly, it is difficult to tell whether some beaches or cleared areas are private property or not. On some privately owned areas community members come and go freely, enjoying the sun on what is technically a private beach, or using someone’s private driveway as an access road. As far as we could tell, we were welcome to do so as well, though we always asked first, and were ready to explain our presence if anyone inquired. People did frequently inquire—not to get us in trouble, but because Nuku Hivans were always curious about us, where we came from, and what we were up to. After finding out that you’re camping on what turns out to be their property, locals are more likely to invite you over for dinner than kick you off, as long as you are respectful.

Although we found the locals to be universally friendly and generous, we were still careful to always ask advice about where to camp before pitching our tent, and we were respectful of obvious property boundaries. For example, we never took fruit from obviously cultivated trees without permission, we never entered fenced-in areas, and so on. Of course, we followed the general backpacker’s rule, leave no trace. We always picked up our trash and made no irreversible changes to the natural environment. If future backpackers on the island are respectful toward the land and its inhabitants, hopefully camping will remain unregulated, and mutual respect and good will between visitors and locals will remain the norm.

Pensions

            Occasionally, we treated ourselves to a night or two in a bed. There are quite a few affordable pensions, or family-operated boarding houses, on the island. They come in several flavors. You can get a room in what you would normally think of as an inn or small hotel, or rent a one-room bungalow. Some families just rent out rooms right in their home. Kristian and I stayed in a pension where our room was an extra bedroom which doubled as a storage area, and we shared the bathroom with the family. Obviously, getting a private bungalow or a room in an inn where you don’t share a bathroom with anyone is more expensive. Many pensions also offer meals for an extra charge.

            The farther we went from Taioha’e, the better value we saw in accommodations. We paid about $50 for our storage room/bedroom in Taioha’e. Later, on the north shore of the island, we paid $70 a night for our own bungalow and an epic complimentary breakfast. For two weary, stinky backpackers, it was a wonderful treat. A decent travel guide, such as Lonely Planet, will have a relatively exhaustive list of accommodations and the nightly rates. Of course, you can always just ask a local.

Food

            There is no shortage of good eats on Nuku Hiva. As Kristian put it, “food basically grows right into your open mouth.” Fresh seafood is cheap and readily available. Grapefruits, bananas, coconuts, guavas, mangos, breadfruit, and various types of citrus are everywhere. There are two ways to acquire fruits and vegetables: by paying for them, or by not paying for them.

           

Paying for Food

Purchasing fruit and vegetables on Nuku Hiva is slightly more challenging than you would expect, especially considering they grow literally everywhere. Grocery stores do not carry fresh produce. My theory is that since everyone’s back yard is full of grapefruits and bananas, few people have much of a reason to go buy them at the store. In Taioha’e, there is a small open-air market, open daily from about 7 AM to 5 PM, that sells a limited variety of fruit and locally-grown vegetables. The fruit is reasonably priced, but veggies are a bit expensive. I have also heard (but never got up early enough to see firsthand) that early Saturday morning, from about 4 AM to 7 AM, right by the central dock in Taioha’e, people sell large quantities of fruit and vegetables out of the back of their pick-up trucks. The produce frenzy is apparently completely over in a few hours, so get there early. I have also tried to buy fruit directly from local residents by walking up to their homes, knocking on their doors, and offering to purchase it right from their trees, but I haven’t succeeded in buying produce this way because they have simply given it to us for free.

           

Not Paying for Food

That brings me to the second way of acquiring produce. Kristian and I have found that if you ask, people will be willing to simply give it to you. We usually offer to pay first, and they tell us to just take what we would like. More often, people have simply given us food without us even asking. It is easy to make friends with the outgoing inhabitants, and almost anyone you make friends with has a fruit tree. We received mangos, breadfruit, oranges, limes, hands of bananas, and trash bags full of grapefruits without even asking. We did not, however, make a habit of taking fruit from trees without permission, and always made sure to respect property boundaries.

We acquired other items for free as well. The generosity of the inhabitants sometimes extended to more expensive store-bought goods such as bread, coffee, jam, butter, paté, or alcohol. And if I’d accepted the invitation to smoke weed every time it was offered, I would have spent half of my time on Nuku Hiva stoned. We even fished and hunted a bit. A good friend of ours in Taioha’e used his dogs to hunt wild chickens, and together we prepared and cooked them. The generosity of people on the island is truly incredible.

            That said, we didn’t want to end up being a couple of useless mooches, and I don’t recommend showing up on the island expecting food to appear on your plate for nothing. We did purchase most of the food we ate. Almost everything in the grocery stores is imported, and imported foods are not cheap. It is still possible to eat affordably if you shop carefully. Dried beans and rice are quite inexpensive, and relatively easy to cook over a camp fire. Bread, which is baked locally, is unexpectedly cheap and delicious. Fresh baguettes are only about 70 cents, though grocery stores do tend to run out of them by late afternoon. Some canned meats are affordable. We sometimes splurged and got frozen sausages to cook over the fire, which were quite delicious. We also became breadfruit connoisseurs. A breadfruit is a lot of food for the money, and if you roast it on the fire, cut it into pieces, and fry it in oil, it’s exactly like pan-fried potatoes.

Eating Out

When it rained too hard to start a fire, we would sometimes eat out. During the month of July, most restaurants in Taioha’e close down, and all of their clientele assembles at the grounds of one of the two annual festivals of Marquesan dance and culture. There are three restaurants on the festival grounds. Entrées are about $10.00, but the portions are ample. During the rest of the year, there is a relatively affordable pizza place on the first floor of a local pension, and a few other small, informal restaurants, or snacks, by the central dock. Additionally, there are several roulottes in Taioha’e. People cook and serve food right out of the side of a large van. Again, it’s about $10.00 for an entrée. Outside of Taioha’e there are far fewer dining options, but every town we went to at least had a snack. There are also restaurants that open for guests with reservations only to ensure that there will be enough business to justify firing up the kitchen. Some pensions also offer meals for guests.

Language and People

            As I briefly mentioned before, French is the main language spoken in the Marquesas. Most people also speak native Marquesan. Unless you happen to study Polynesian languages, learning some French is your best bet at verbally communicating with Nuku Hivans. Although many people study a bit of English in school, there isn’t much of an opportunity to practice it on the island, and in reality, very few people speak English functionally, even in the main town.

            If you don’t know French, don’t be too discouraged. There is no better place in the world to begin learning a second language. The inhabitants are outgoing and hospitable, and happy to struggle along with you when it comes to communication. No one will criticize your grammatical mistakes or miniscule vocabulary. A French phrase book, a dictionary, and friendliness are all you really need to interact with the locals.

            Kristian and I have already gushed about how wonderful the island’s inhabitants are. Nuku Hiva is not swamped with rude, photo-snapping tourists who demand the lifestyle and infrastructure they’re accustomed to back home and are unwilling to interact with the inhabitants on equal terms. I theorize that because of this, Nuku Hivans are still warm, generous, and curious about travelers. Although Nuku Hiva’s charm derives from its location off the beaten track, we hope that the information that we’ve provided here will encourage a few adventurous souls to make their way to this wonderful corner of the world.

 

Marquesans and other people

Kristian Isringhaus
Nuku Hiva, Marquesas, French Polynesia
07242011, 1622 local time/ 07252011, 0352 GMT

As I said in my first blog posting, I want to learn about mankind on this trip. I want to meet as many people from as many different cultures as possible in order to find out why my own kind is incapable of living together in peace and why we so diligently destroy the world we’re living in, rendering it uninhabitable. I think I have reason to believe that the majority of mankind is not bad or evil—so what makes us fight? I hope to maybe find a common code of ethics during my travels that suits every culture’s idiosyncrasies, and that could help all people live together in peace despite their different beliefs.

I have made some first observations about the Nuku Hivans. I will try to judge as little as possible, because judgmentalness is likely one of the major problems of our time. I will merely relate my encounters with these and six other people.

In Nuku Hiva, it would be hard for us to starve, even if we desired that, because everyone keeps giving us all kinds of food. It would be hard to get rained on, because people offer us shelter wherever we go. It is even hard to hike, because everyone driving by wants to give us a ride.

When we set out for the little town of Taipivai, for example, we didn’t even make it out of Taioha’e before an old lady told us to hop into the bed of her pick-up truck. In Taipivai we told her we were looking for a place to pitch our tent, so she commenced finding a place where we could camp. When she asked a group of youngsters about this matter, one of them, Te’iki, told us to follow him. Five minutes later he led us into a spartan guestroom of his parents’ little plywood house, told us to take a shower, and asked us to hand him our dirty laundry, which he intended to wash.

Six of the seven family members gathered around the kitchen table for dinner. They did not have glass in the windows and the shower was merely a permanently attached hose in a corner that is separated from the kitchen by a few cinder blocks. And yet they made a fine cut of beef for dinner and lots of it.

Overall, they seemed, if possible, even happier to have us than we were to have a bed for the night. An interesting thing was the fact that two of their three sons were mahu, transvestites. Mahu are an important part of Polynesian culture. Tolerance is not even an issue here, it is not required. When everybody—no matter what their beliefs, desires, or problems are—is a fully integrated and accepted part of society, no one needs to just be tolerated. I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m judging this to be good, because I do not want to judge. It does, however, appear to me that acceptance might be a more valid way to world peace than fear-born, uneducated raging.

Nuku Hivans are like Mandy, who—in a cheesy eighties song—gave without taking. The difference is that they are not cheesy. Their hospitality and friendliness comes absolutely naturally.

On our first day in Colette Bay, a remote little bay close to Taioha’e, where we spent three days, a woman gave us a mango for no other reason than the fact that we walked by her. We wanted to return the favor, so we went to the tent to get a couple of cigarettes. We had seen her husband smoke, and cigarettes are the only thing we have that people could possibly be interested in. The husband, who also goes by the rather common name of Te’iki, took a cigarette, but the feeling we might be even on favors didn’t stay for long. After that they started feeding us like no one’s business, gave us beer, which is anything but cheap here, and even wrapped up some cake for later. Before we left, Te’iki made sure to also pass us some weed, before we could even explain that we barely ever smoke dope.

He told us that over the centuries, his people had been hospitable and nice to everyone. He said things had changed and these days everybody cares about money too much. I should probably believe him, seeing that he knows the people here better, but after a month on the island I have yet to encounter that type of attitude.

Even drunken youngsters, in most places in the world a potentially aggressive lot, will do nothing but invite us to hang out with them, share their spendy beverages, and smoke with them. Weed is offered to us as often as fruit. But it is never a questionable dude in a questionable neighborhood muttering a creepy question. No one wants to sell us anything—they just want to give. There is enough for everyone.

In Taipivai we had to strike our camp on a beautiful and remote beach rather suddenly, when on the third day the tide came in two feet higher than the days before, washing into our tent. We decided to go to Hatiheu that night, for setting up camp in a different spot in Taipivai and then striking it again in the morning didn’t seem to make sense. The road led over a 1400 foot high pass and the 175 pounds or so of luggage on our backs slowed our steps. We left Taipivai after dark, which falls early here, and at that time of the day no more cars went our way. After about an hour, though, a car came across the other way. And that’s apparently all it takes to get a ride here. The driver turned around and came back for us, only to drive back to Taipivai after dropping us off in Hatiheu. The detour probably cost him at least 45 minutes, for even with a car, progress is slow on the winding, pot-holey dirt roads of Nuku Hiva. He never asked for anything in return.

A couple days later we went to the tiny town of Anaho. Anaho is located in a beautiful bay and can only be reached by foot, horse, or boat. An eleven-year-old boy called Mano’a, who soon became our friend, told us to camp outside his parents’ yard. The funny thing is that his parents actually run a pension with five bungalows. It is their business to rent these out to people like us—tourists. Nonetheless they were not only OK with us camping by their yard, they even let us use the bathroom in one of the bungalows and their kitchen for cooking. They gave us coffee and breakfast in the mornings and offered us whiskey and weed at night. When bored, the man of the house, Tu’aki, would entertain us with traditional music that he played on the ukulele or guitar. They also let us use their kayaks to explore the bay.

The day we wanted to get our Nuku Hivan tattoos, the ATM was out of order. We asked the tattoo artist if we could maybe pay him the next day. I had little hope, seeing that we are tourists. We could easily be gone by the next day with our unpaid tattoos on our bodies. He, however, said he trusted us and went ahead with his work.

The list of nice, selfless deeds that were done to us is long. A random dude gives us two huge bags of super ripe and sweet grapefruits and a bag of bananas. Another one drives us to his backyard to pick fruits off his trees before driving us back to our camp. Our friend Jean-Pierre comes over regularly to lend us his dogs for the chicken hunt. When there is no time to hunt, he brings over pork, which is not even cheap in the stores. Today, our last day at the camp, he woke us up at 6 AM to bring us a breakfast of chicken and bread. A taxi driver picks me up in the pouring rain to drive me to the hardware store. Not only does he not ask for a fare, he even waits there to give me a ride back to the dock. A random dude gives us coconuts. A random dude wants to pay for me in the store because my wallet is in my huge backpack, which is a pain to get off and on my back. Always and everywhere there is a random person who will want to do something nice for us.

The above stated are facts and not judgmental. When I use the word ‘nice’, I use it for the sole reason that Merriam Webster encourages one to use it in order to describe this type of behavior.

I know that I should not over-generalize. I will not go ahead and dumbly state that peace on earth would be easy to achieve if everyone were like the Nuku Hivans. I suppose it might be easier to give when there is an abundance of everything and when food basically grows right into your open mouth. There are more coconuts, mangos, papayas, bananas, guavas, limes, and grapefruits than anyone can eat. It is sad to see them rot on the ground at times, but I guess when every tummy is filled no one bothers picking them up anymore. Cannabis grows everywhere as well, which makes sharing easy and an illegal black market impossible.

When Nuku Hivans are hungry, they fish, or they hunt wild pigs, sheep, goats or cattle with nothing but a knife or a machete. There is not even an actual need to bring snacks to the beach. There are crabs, cowry snails and sea urchins all over. Grab a few crabs and snails from the rocks, break them apart, rinse them in the ocean and squeeze a lime from a nearby tree over them. You’ll have the most delicious and fresh seafood you can imagine. Sea urchins don’t even require lime. You can just eat them as you go.

Now, one could say that it’s easy to share when there is an abundance of everything. But why do the Nuku Hivans give us their expensive beer? Why do they make a 45 minute detour to give us a ride? Why do they let us sleep in their houses? We do know that historically they weren’t always peaceful. Despite there being enough food for everyone, the different tribes of the island led brutal wars against each other that usually ended in the eating of the defeated warriors. Also, I do not know whether they only give to strangers to keep a nice appearance to the outside world, or whether they are like that amongst each other as well.

Maybe they don’t give without taking after all. Maybe what they take without us realizing are the stories that we have to tell about our homelands—like paying with a mango for a little piece of the outside world, if you will. Te’iki said people here think about money a lot these days. Also, Ta’oa, a local that we met in Anaho, told us how he got screwed over by a business partner. Even though we do feel safe to leave our tent alone all day, we know that theft does sometimes happen.

In addition, this might not apply to all Marquesans. We have heard that the people from Ua Pou, for example, are anything but nice. They hate and fight the Nuku Hivans whenever they can. According to Nuku Hivans they steal and are bad people in general. I would, however, bet that Ua Pouians say the same thing about their northern neighbors. My friend Adon was in a serious fist fight with a drunken dude from Ua Pou, knocking out three of his teeth. While relating his heroics to us he does not forget to remind us repeatedly that Nuku Hivans are anything but that, that the drunken Ua Pouian started the fight, and that here no crimes ever happen. I guess I will have to take his word for it, and it matches my experiences here.

We also cannot know whether Nuku Hivans are as happy as we have been here. For us this is super cool and super interesting, and the food is super great. For them this is just super normal and they probably have to deal with issues like disappointment, unanswered love, moods, jealousy and envy as well. I should not blindly call this paradise, but on a first glance it looks like it’s damn close.

These are my observations about the Nuku Hivans. I cannot say much more without judging and of course I do not want to attempt to find a general code of ethics yet, after experiencing only one of the countless cultures of this planet. As a feeble attempt of a conclusion, I want to say that interest in foreigners, their cultures, and their ways of life is a much better way than fear of them. Fear is a fertile ground for hatred. A scared person is easily influenced. We can see that in Europe right now, where nationalism is taking over in way too many countries. Now, I am sure judging nationalism is wrong here. I dare do that because history has already taught us where that will lead. I do not need any further observations to figure that out.

I did not find eternal truth quite yet and I doubt that I ever will. For now, I hope that my experiences inspire you.

As a little bit of an appendix, I want to add a few more encounters that I have had, mostly with people from different cultures. Again, I hope I don’t sound like I judge when I relate them. Please note that these are all single encounters that do not necessarily need to be representative for the respective nations.

Two American men in their sixties, Brent and Mike, came on a boat. They had never read anything about Nuku Hiva anywhere and displayed a great lack of interest in the place and its people. They stayed for four days and left the boat only for necessities, never, though, to explore the island or meet its people. They did, however, see enough to wonder how ‘these people’, as they condescendingly said, could afford their in some cases new and nice pick-up trucks, and how they reproduced when half of the men were transvestites. Well, I’m glad they had time to make some observations of their own that they could relate to me ever so non-judgmentally.

A French dude, who goes by the name of Yannik, became our neighbor, setting up camp close to ours. He had come on a boat whose captain he complained about a lot. That cruel captain had dared ask him to help with the sailing of the vessel—even at night. Yannik does not believe in helping. After setting up camp, he didn’t lose any time before raiding the neighboring backyards for fruit. The first night, he figured out that the hospital was open but deserted at night, allowing him to shower there and take as much food as he needed. He might not have needed a lot seeing that he usually ate our food while repeatedly trying to steal our silverware, which consists of exactly two forks and two spoons.

Again, I do not want to judge quite yet, but I feel that a little more altruism might be a more valid way to a peaceful world. Yannik managed to get even me agitated—and that’s not easy.

Then there were three old Japanese guys that we had an interesting encounter with. They go by the names of Sam, Sho, and Jon. Sam, Sho and Jon also came on a boat. Like any other yachtie, we asked them if they would maybe have room on board to take us to Tahiti. They answered that they did not have any room on their small boat, but that they would, however, be happy to host us for dinner. They picked us up in their dinghy and fed us freshly grilled skewers with beef and vegetables, grilled sausages, bread and salami. We spent the most wonderful evening on board their boat engaging in interesting conversation while drinking beer and wine. Not only the difference in culture, but also the difference in age made this invitation both unexpected and enjoyable.

Apparently, the word spread that we were now accepting dinner invitations, for a few days later an elderly Canadian couple, Val and Jerry, invited us to their beautiful boat that they have been sailing around the world on for 20 years. It was again a most delightful experience with unbelievable food and unbelievably nice people.

Let me repeat that these encounters are probably little representative for the respective nations. Wynne is an American just like Brent and Mike and yet nothing like them.

The last encounter I want to relate was one with a Nuku Hivan again. One night, when Wynne and I were engaged in pre-somnial intercourse, we heard a noise by the entrance to our tent. Startled, I went to check—only to find a friend of ours, who we had just eaten dinner with, masturbating while peeking through the meshed wall of the tent. When I inquired what he was doing, he urged me to go on with our ever so suddenly interrupted activity, for he wanted to watch and finish his own business. Not entirely opposed to voyeurism, but taken by surprise in this case, I told him that I was not planning on doing so with him lying there. It took me a good ten minutes to convince him to get out from inside our rain fly. The fact that the next day he addressed us without the slightest bit of shame, as if nothing had happened, gives me the feeling that what he did is not uncommon here and possibly a widely accepted part of the culture. That, however, is but a wild theory. He might just as well be a pervert. He is, as it turns out, a convict, who escaped from prison in Tahiti, and is chilling in Nuku Hiva because authorities here will let him be as long as he behaves. His prison sentence he got for stealing, though, and not for voyeurism. Thinking about that situation retrospectively, I do not really see anything bad or wrong about his behavior. Open-mindedness in any part of life is a good key to a better understanding between cultures. Wynne and I still hang out with him and value his friendship.

My next blog entry will probably talk about Australians a lot for we will soon leave Nuku Hiva with a very nice Aussie named Butch.

Paradise Without Toilet Seats

Taioha'e, Nuku Hiva, French Polynesia
1610 local time

            Kristian and I have been in Nuku Hiva for a month now. The first two weeks we spent traveling around the island, camping, hiking, fishing, and enjoying the company of the locals. The past two weeks we’ve been back in Taioha’e, the island’s main town. I have been here long enough to make what I hope are a few accurate observations about the people and their lifestyle.

I will begin by describing Taioha’e, a sleepy little tropical town nestled in a bowl-shaped valley, which serves as the administrative capital of not just Nuku Hiva, but the whole Marquesas island group. It boasts a population of about 1700 people. When we returned to Taioha’e from our wanderings around the island, it actually felt busy, with cars, shops, restaurants, tourists, and all those big-city things. This impression of Taioha’e is only possible to have by direct comparison to the quiet, undisturbed, undeveloped bays elsewhere on the island. “Back to the Big Apple,” we said. “More like the Big Napple,” Kristian corrected. “The City that Never Sleeps…between the hours of 7 AM to 11 AM, and 3 PM to 5 PM.” This is not an exaggeration. Business hours are flexible, and people enjoy an extended siesta mid-day. In addition, most folks on Nuku Hiva strictly follow Benjamin Franklin’s sage advice, “Early to bed, early to rise.” The only exception seems to be Friday night, when groups of young people cruise on the beach in their pick-up trucks, blasting heavily auto-tuned, foreign pop music and drinking into the wee hours of the morning. To get a better sense of the pace of life on Nuku Hiva, let me describe our first day here.

            We went ashore in Taioha’e on a Friday, and we needed to take care of our customs paperwork right away, since all the offices would be closed for the weekend. We went to the gendarmerie, the local police station, which also deals with customs and immigration issues. We found out that although the horaires, the posted hours, said that it would be open, neither of the two officers scheduled to be there were around at the moment, and we should come back at 11:30.

            In the mean time, we decided to find the tourist information office, which our guidebooks said had useful maps and a helpful staff that could answer all our questions. We had quite a few—about camping, fishing, transportation, and so on. But the tourist information center was locked up tight. A big piece of yellow poster board with a block of hand-written French text indignantly declared that the staff had gone on indefinite strike until the government in Tahiti decided to allocate the funds to properly run the tourism department on Nuku Hiva. So much for all our questions.

            In order to orchestrate our day, we needed to change our watches to the local time in Nuku Hiva. This was more difficult to accomplish than one would think. The clock on the bank’s ATM, the clock inside the bank, the German cruisers we talked to by the gendarmerie, and the random local guy I asked in the bank parking lot all said something different. Later, when we related our attempt to find out what time it was to the officer in the gendarmerie, he said with a knowing hmph, “Oui, c’est difficile ici.”

We spent most of our first day in the gendarmerie and the bank, where everyone was helpful, friendly, and laid-back about details, but not in much of a hurry to get the job done. Generally speaking, Nuku Hiva is not ruled by the watch. Day one taught us that store and business hours are flexible, that sometimes places close if opening is inconvenient or there isn’t enough demand, and when things are open, people are never in a rush.

            When we went to find a place to stay for the night, we got our first experience of a Marquesan home. We had to leave the boat and we didn’t have time to find a campsite, so, following the vague and inaccurate directions in our travel guidebooks, we finally found an inexpensive pension, or family-owned boarding house, Chez Fetu. We wandered past a large, aggressive dog tied to a tree, under mango, papaya, and palm trees, to a house near the end of a muddy dirt road. It was small, and had a porch-like living room open to the air and adorned with a television set and many images of the Virgin Mary. Just as I was about to try to ask where Chez Fetu was, the old woman sitting at a table in front of the house, no doubt recognizing us as tourists by our pale skin and the looks of utter confusion on our faces, got up and asked us if we needed help.

            After the most incoherent French conversation in the history of French conversations, we finally managed to obtain a room for the night in what was in fact Chez Fetu, right in the main house, sharing a bathroom with the family. The room doubled as a storage area, and the mattress was thin and sprinkled with a few dead bugs. Spartan, I thought, but a place to sleep. Little did I realize that this was a pretty solid house, by Nuku Hivan standards. The walls were not made of plywood, and there was glass in the windows, unlike many homes here. But when the temperature is never below 70 degrees, why bother with walls and windowpanes? As long as your house is tolerably waterproof, that’s enough. Just sit back and enjoy the comforts nature provides.

            We didn’t (and still don’t) have enough money to stay in pensions every night, so the next morning we set out to find somewhere to camp. Cleared by customs and ready to rumble, we packed our affaires (a word I learned in that most confusing of conversations with the proprietress of Chez Fetu, and which I will never forget), all eighty kilos of them, huffed and puffed them onto our backs, and set off toward Baie Colette, one valley over from Taioha’e. We’d asked around, and everyone said it was a good place to camp. We heard nothing about any rules or regulations regarding camping, and decided that we’d just give it a shot, and hope we wouldn’t upset anyone.

Before we got out of town, we decided to buy a bottle of water at one of the town’s four little grocery stores. When we walked in with our mountainous backpacks, we drew stares from the clerk, and the one customer in the store. They asked us where we were from, and where we were going, and I nervously tried to respond in French. Turns out Nuku Hiva doesn’t get a lot of backpackers. Most tourists arrive on sailboats, and therefore have a place to stay. Anyone who has the money to get here by plane probably doesn’t have to camp, hike, and hitchhike around the island. As we would learn in our travels, American tourists, and especially American tourists carrying everything they owned on their backs, were a rarity.

While I tried to carry on a conversation with the two men in the store, Kristian realized that he didn’t have any coins in his pocket to buy the water, and had decided to take off his backpack to get some out. I think that the other customer anticipated the logistical nightmare this would become, and he offered to buy the water for us, but, unaccustomed to such generosity toward strangers, I turned him down. I now regret this decision. Knowing, as I now do, that people here are extremely generous, the customer probably thought we had left our marbles in the United States or wherever we came from when he saw us purchase the water and then wrestle to get Kristian back under his backpack and up on his two feet, when it would have been no big deal to just buy the water for us and avoid the whole situation.

            When it became obvious that I couldn’t speak enough French to chat with them, the two men silently watched our struggle, and eventually we said “au revoir” and left the store. Unused to the weight of our impossibly heavy backpacks, we dragged ourselves up a winding dirt track full of switchbacks, gulleys, and rocks over the ridge and down into the next valley. When we reached the valley floor, there were a couple plywood shacks back in the brush off the road, and a sort of disorderly little ranch/orchard area with a haphazard collection of lime trees, noni trees, and some bananas and a few coconut palms way off the road, almost hiding another plywood shack. On the thin strip of land between the ranch’s fence and the pebbly beach, a horse was wandering around, dragging a piece of rope that was supposedly once used to tether it to a stationary object. A half-feral dog with a litter of puppies also called the waterfront her home.

            We set up camp in a tree-shaded spot on that same strip of land by the beach, and ended up staying three nights. In Baie Colette, we gained a better understanding of the lifestyle and character of people on Nuku Hiva, which further affirmed that most people’s lifestyle is relatively simple, but their character is very generous. Those plywood buildings we saw on the hike down were in fact inhabited, and before long we got to meet the people who lived there. On our second day a pick-up truck showed up at our camp, and a woman got out and greeted us warmly, as if we were old friends, with a kiss on each cheek in the usual Marquesan fashion. Confused by her friendliness, and hindered by the fact that like many people here, she had two names, her Marquesan name, and her Christian name, it took a while to understand that her name was Tahia, aka Gabrielle. She lived in the valley, she explained, and it was her grandmother who owned the orchard/ranch we were camped next to. Her family owned most of the land in the valley, and a few of them still lived there.

We were afraid we were in trouble for camping on someone’s land, but apparently that wasn’t the case. She and her husband, Gabriel, came and hung out at the camp like they knew us, and taught us to fish out of kayaks, eat raw crabs and snails they caught on the rocks, and roast breadfruit. They encouraged us to catch the big crabs we found living in holes in the sand by the creek. They were good eating if you boiled them for a few minutes. Tahia gave me shells, and insisted I wear her sweet-smelling flowers in my hair—“Marquesan perfume” that would make my honey fall in love with me all over.

Hanging out by the ocean, eating raw crabs and looking at the impossibly bright southern constellations, trying desperately to respond appropriately to Tahia’s warmth and friendliness in French, I had my first full-length conversation in another language. I actually felt like I was sharing meaningful information, relating my history, learning about their lives here on the island. Afterwards, I felt giddy. Suddenly it was possible to have significant relationships with millions more of the human population—the entire French-speaking portion. Since then, my French has gotten better. I’ve gone from being terrified to ask for a cup of coffee, to being able to more or less carry on a conversation with anyone I meet, and even impress the French cruisers with my ability to speak their language. My biggest limitation wasn’t my lack of knowledge, but my timidity. But here in Nuku Hiva, very few people speak English, and, as they say, necessity is the mother of language acquisition. Or something like that. Random business hours, horses wandering around the streets, strange new foods everywhere, the almost confusing generosity of the inhabitants, and myriad other foreign sights and sounds make the ability to ask questions quite important. I advise future travelers to Nuku Hiva to at least carry a French phrase book and dictionary. That, and friendliness, will get you pretty far.

On our last day in Baie Colette, we had an epic Polynesian feast. I had the privilege of seeing Tahia’s home up close, when I went with her to make rice on her gas burner. The house was one room with a couple windows (no glass), and a bed. Out in the yard there was a sink attached to a hose that pumped water up from somewhere or other, and two roofless structures made of scrap plywood, one of which housed a toilet, and the other a cold-water shower. While we made rice and hung out, Kristian and Gabriel, Tahia’s husband, were off fishing in kayaks, and when we returned to our campsite, they’d caught eleven small fish. Since then, Kristian and I have tried many times to imitate various aspects of Gabriel’s technique, with modest success. Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t spend too much time researching a cardboard-box smoker construction.

After we cooked the rice and caught the fish, a breadfruit magically appeared, presumably from one of Granny’s trees, and we roasted it over an open fire. Some of the fish that the boys caught Tahia and Gabriel grilled, and a few they cut into small pieces and soaked in the juice of some limes also gathered from Granny’s trees, to be eaten raw. Tahia spread some coconut fronds over the rough table, and, surprisingly quickly, a feast materialized—rice, soy sauce, grilled and raw fish, home-made BBQ sauce, fresh basil, and roasted breadfruit dipped in rich, delicious pork lard. We sat around the fire and ate with our hands off of big leaves.

Tahia and Gabriel said they wanted to go have a little siesta (a common afternoon practice here). Before they left, they offered to give us a ride back into town the next day. I didn’t understand this at first, since I was confused not just by French, but by how generously they were willing to carry us and all our “affaires” into town. We set a time, and the next day we got up early and broke camp. At about 8 AM we chucked our backpacks into the back of their banged-up truck, and ourselves into the cab, and bumped up the rocky road to Taioha’e, listening to American music on Tahia’s cell phone. Here on Nuku Hiva, we’ve encountered generosity like this many times. People here have offered us food, given us rides, invited us into their homes, showed us their towns, and taught us to fish, open coconuts, and find fruit. Hospitality is not a rare or occasional thing here. People here are curious about travelers, want to get to know them, and easily give whatever they can to friendly strangers.

In addition to the flexibility of time here and the generosity of the inhabitants, I have noticed some interesting preferences for certain technologies, and priorities of spending, here on the island. For example, like Tahia, many people here choose not to put glass in their windows, or they construct their houses with thin plywood walls. Many homes don’t have hot water heaters. Most toilets do not have toilet seats. I haven’t seen any microwaves. Yet most people still have cell phones, and most homes have a television. You see kids hanging out in pick-up trucks on the beach or in parking lots, drinking (notable because alcohol is quite expensive here) and blasting the latest hits in French and English through their portable sound systems. Many people have vehicles, often new and shiny ones, though there’s a pretty high ratio of banged-up pick-up trucks as well. Having a four-wheel-drive vehicle is more of a necessity if you want to get anywhere on the island. Cars, phones, televisions, and music are some luxuries that Nuku Hivans seem to prioritize.

In the United States, these items tend to come as part of a package. If you have enough money to have a cell phone, a television, a nice stereo system, and a car, you probably also have a microwave, toilet seats, glass windows, and a house made out of something besides plywood. I couldn’t get over how strange it was to be rocking out to American pop music that was piped through the cell phone of someone who lives in a one-room plywood shack on a muddy dirt road, in a valley with no public services, on a remote island in the Pacific Ocean. Yet I kept seeing items like this in the most surprising places. I watched part of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie with a kid on his family’s laptop. He lived in a little village of about six homes on a remote bay accessible only by boat, horse, or on foot. I’ve hung out with a family in their plywood, windowless kitchen/dining room/bedroom, looking at photos on their daughters’ cell phones, while the parents half-watched television. The oldest son had recently acquired a brand-new, sparkling 4x4, which we saw him lovingly bathing in the front yard the next day.

You see these apparent contrasts everywhere on the island. Not surprisingly, the longer I’m here, the less weird this seems. People simply have different priorities here. Why bother ridding the streets of the fornicating packs of feral dogs, or the scavenging wild chickens? They’re not causing any harm. What we would consider the essential comforts of a bug-free, sterilized, hermetically-sealed home are not important here. People here are more comfortable with nature. Although some people do prioritize cookies, cheese, and Nutella as luxury items in the same way they choose to buy cell phones and new vehicles, most of what is required for basic nourishment can be grown in their backyards. There’s no shortage of fruit, seafood, and even wild chickens, pigs, goats, and cows, as Kristian and I know from experience. On Nuku Hiva, nature is your best friend. While it produces your food and a generally comfortable climate, it also occasionally lets loose a little wind or rain. But that never hurt anyone, and there’s not much on the island that is poisonous or bites, except mosquitoes, nonos, and centipedes. So why bother with window panes?

Kristian and I don’t even bother with the walls. Our tent is waterproof, and that’s all we need. After our first days in Taioha’e and Baie Colette, we spent another ten days exploring the island, with the blue sky as our ceiling and the lush mountains as our walls. We camp, with the ocean always a few meters away, and the sound of the surf in our ears at night. It’s pretty easy to lose track of time, especially in beautiful nooks like Anaho, the village only accessible by boat, horse, or on foot. Entering that valley was like falling off the end of the world into the domain of eternal chillaxitude, where the gentle swaying of the coconut palms, the break of the surf, and the rising and lowering tides are the only things around to beat out the rhythm of passing of time. We have enjoyed making friends with the people here, and give what we can in return for their generosity. Although no place is free of problems, I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that despite the lack of many luxuries, the closeness of nature and the relative simplicity of life here contribute not a little to people’s happiness. I don’t blame the inhabitants one bit for not letting themselves live by the clock.

Being at Sea

Wynne Hedlesky
Taioha'e, Nuku Hiva, French Polynesia
1125 local time, 0855 GMT

            After twenty days at sea, we arrived in Taioha’e Bay on the island of Nuku Hiva at around midnight. Smelly, salt-encrusted, and longing for a night’s rest without our beds pitching and rolling, we still had to navigate around jagged rocks at the mouth of the harbor, hoping that we had correctly interpreted the navigational aids. Thankfully, in a harbor as small as Taioha’e, they weren’t very complicated—one set of flashing red range markers, and one green buoy marking a dangerous rock half way down the bay (on the right, unlike in the United States). Slightly more challenging was finding an anchorage. There were several dozen sailboats and motor yachts scattered throughout the harbor, some stupidly without anchor lights. We kept our tired eyes peeled, and managed to successfully drop the hook on the second attempt. Frederic, the owner of Le Pelican, stayed awake to take bearings and make sure our anchorage was solid, and Kristian and I gratefully slept, this time without rolling onto each other or being packed like sardines against the wall of our cabin as the boat heeled.

            We awoke to a dramatically drizzly morning in Paradise. Being a high volcanic island, Nuku Hiva creates its own weather, and the heavy, gray clouds semi-permanently cloaking the peaks of the steep, verdant mountains dropped occasional cool showers. Aside from the overwhelming beauty of the mile-wide, bowl-shaped valley, I immediately and unexpectedly appreciated two things.

First, smells. Land has smells—earth, vegetation, decomposition, car exhaust, food cooking far away. The ocean doesn’t smell like much. Second, and of immense psychological importance, the boat was still. Well, relatively; the occasional ocean swell would still sneak in to the sheltered harbor. But compared to being on the open ocean, the anchorage was a long-awaited relief from the constant, harrowing fluctuation in local apparent down. On a boat on the open ocean, the laws of gravity are different. In order to even move around, one is compelled to follow the climber’s rule—three surfaces of contact at all times. Two feet on the ground will simply not suffice to keep you upright without a hand gripping a counter edge, or a bum pressed against a vertical. For instance, when I needed to use the head (that’s what we call a bathroom on a boat), I had to use both hands, and have my bum un-pressed against anything in order to pull down my pants. During this time I either had to endure a few desperate seconds where I risked face-planting the wall of the head if a big wave hit, or I had to wedge my shoulder against the head door for stability. Unlike in the normal world, where things generally stay where you put them, on a boat they tend to maliciously hurl themselves across the room when you least expect it. Beverages, playing cards, and small children seem especially prone to this.

This brings us to one of the other major psychological strains of my three-week, trans-Pacific adventure—children. As much as the unpredictable motion of, well, everything, and the stuffiness down below when we couldn’t open the hatches because of the spray, and the  inability to have a proper shower for three weeks, and the difficulty in sleeping while the boat was moving and heeling, and the various stress-inducing technical difficulties (such as the dysfunctional roller furling system, the rudder shaft leak, the diesel leak, the raw water cooling system leak, and the shortage of fresh water, to name the major ones), the main source of stress for those on board Le Pelican was the children, particularly the very young one. I believe I speak for all on board when I make this statement.

The Gillot family consists of a mother, Isabelle, a father, Frederic, and two quite wonderful children, Hakan, who is eight, and Charles, who is two. One lesson we all took from this experience is that two-year-olds and long sailing voyages are not necessarily a good mix. Charles spent about 70% of his time crying. I don’t blame him; being on a boat is scary, even for grown-ups. Who wants to be stuck on a tiny speck of fiberglass, thrown around twenty-four hours a day, surrounded by certain death? Due to the limited space of a sailboat, it’s also difficult to find ways to entertain young children. And due to the dangers inherent in life on a boat, young children also require constant attention. Between his frequent bouts of crying and his constant, unwitting attempts to throw himself into the path of danger, Charles had us all pretty worn out by the end of the trip.

I am a bit ashamed, but I must confess that thinking about the difficulties and discomforts of life at sea took up a good bit of my time. On June 20, four days before we reached the Marquesas, I wrote in my journal, “I’m ashamed of my current cowardice, my softness. I hate that I find myself grumbling, wishing for showers and beds and coffee and worrying about made-up (or even real) diseases while I’m in the middle of the greatest adventure of my life to date. I should be in awe of the sea every moment, overwhelmed by the sky, studying the subtleties of the sails and wind…If I expected this experience would instantly change my life, I guess I was wrong. If I thought I’d find God, fall deeply in love with the sea, or magically become a super sailor, I was wrong.”  And then, to compound it all, I was disappointed that I was disappointed.

This is what happens when you have expectations, when you undertake a project or a journey partially because of its narrative value for your life, because it makes a good story. Perhaps I expected, as I stated in the same journal entry, “to spend my days swooning in wonder, staring out over the sea, hair blowing in the wind.” I then noted, “In fact, your hair doesn’t blow because it’s a hideous matt of scalp oil and sunscreen, and, though the breeze is distressingly powerful and unceasing on deck, it never seems to have any interest in going through the tiny window and blowing around anything in your suffocating little cabin.”

Ok, I’ve said it; I’ve confessed that by some standards, three weeks at sea sucks. However, it is also sublimely beautiful, and at times beautifully something else.

The sublimely beautiful moments are what we all would expect from a life-changing, trans-Pacific sailing adventure. There was Getting Underway with Dolphins Playing at the Bow, there was The Most Beautiful Full Moon in the World Night, there was The Bioluminescent Plankton that Look like Stars Night. When the sun shone, the water was a freakish blue the color of the sky as seen at 30,000 feet, and you knew it was four miles deep because that’s what the chart says, even though that number is incomprehensible. Every night near the Equator the great Pacific Ocean put on its evening light show, with heaping cumulus clouds pink and glowing, and the orange sun, perpetually serene regardless of the chaotic sea state, burning its way down to the horizon. There were the infinite expressions of the sea, the subtle interactions of wind, water, and light. Some days it looked like a delicate, mirrored meringue, and other days, when the wind was high, climbing and descending the 20 foot seas was like traversing miniature mountain ranges, complete with snow-like, sea-foam peaks, and looking down into miniature glacial valleys. At night, the moon duplicated itself a million times on the surface of the sea and made a living, dancing carpet of light all the way to the horizon. The ocean rages and shines and writhes with life out there, whether anyone is around to see it or not. I was often shocked by this fact, that the vast Pacific plays almost every day for an empty theatre, and only the occasional reckless, half-mad human ventures far enough out of his element to witness it. In my journal, every day, I spilled ink trying to verbalize what is for the ocean as natural as breathing is to us.

That something is beautiful is relatively easy to comprehend. What is even more amazing is that the ocean is often something else—something not beautiful, but powerful in some other way. For example, the ocean is often very boring. Powerfully boring. So boring I could go for hours, reading a book, not even noticing it was there. I think that perhaps boredom is the only reaction one can have about the ocean sometimes. When it isn’t particularly beautiful or trying to kill you, it’s just big, and your mind is largely protected from the shock of realizing just how frighteningly big it is by its inability to fully, or even partially, comprehend the ocean’s vastness. You look out over it, to the horizon, and it’s like two dumb, brutish creatures indifferently occupying the same space; like an ant crawling on the back of a lion.

At other times, it does feel like the ocean is trying to kill you, and then it’s just scary. My night watches were frightening for the first few days. We were sailing more or less down wind, in relatively high seas, constantly under the threat of an accidental jibe. Sitting at the helm, alone, with the bimini and dodger up, I couldn’t see much of the sky, the sails, or what was in front of me. The stern light right next to me more or less ruined my night vision, so I was effectively deprived of my sense of sight and relied primarily on the anemometer and compass to stick to the correct heading. I could feel the boat unpredictably tossing in the waves, and I could hear the water washing everywhere. In the middle of the ocean, I was actually experiencing claustrophobia. It took some effort to convince myself we weren’t just spinning in circles in the dark, or about to capsize. As Kristian pointed out to me, it’s not often that you just plow ahead without being able to see where we you’re going. A person would never do that anywhere else. Cars don’t have autopilot; it would be dangerous even to walk blind. But there’s not a lot to hit on the open ocean, and even if something were there, if it didn’t have navigation lights it would be almost impossible to see anyway.

There was also the much-anticipated equatorial crossing. We crossed the line on my watch, at exactly 2324 PST on June 19. It was a dark, cloudy night, and I was reading a book on the not-yet-defunct Kindle in order to distract myself form the combination of boredom and anxiety that was my usual mental state during night watches. As we neared, Kristian and I went down below and loitered around the GPS display, waiting excitedly for the moment. Kristian practiced taking photos of the display so that when the time came, our money shot wasn’t obscured by an odd reflection on the display or something like that. All the excitement woke up Frederic, whose cabin is right next to the chart table. He didn’t seem to mind, and even got into the spirit of the moment with us a bit. All together, it was like a very mellow New Year’s Eve countdown. Kristian’s picture came out perfectly—photographic evidence that we were in fact there, at the magic line, entering the other side of the world. Afterwards, I went back up on deck and continued to read my book.

The next day, little had changed; we were still surrounded by water. The Pacific still put on its daily show. But now that we’re in Nuku Hiva, I realize we have entered a different world, and the miles of ocean crossed are proportional to the difference between this place and the United States. One of the things our new friends here on Nuku Hiva taught us was how to find the Southern Cross, and that, along with learning to eat raw crabs and roast breadfruit, is helping me start to feel the anticipated sensation of embracing the unfamiliar. I look forward to many more passages, difficult or easy, and many more unfamiliar shores materializing out of the haze on the horizon.