19 July Papeete Whirlwind

It’s been a whirlwind five days in Papeete, and today, the sixth, is the first day we’ve had any down time.

As planned, we pulled into Papeete early on July 14th, Bastille Day, and by 7am had a berth in the new Marina Papeete, located where, 35 years ago, yachts simply stern tied to the quai along Pomare Boulevard and anchored bow out. We were hoping to enjoy some Bastille Day celebrations as well as see some of the competitive dance and singing events we knew occurred in July. Franco, at Marina Papeete, expressed a Polynesian view of Bastille Day when he said it wasn’t a holiday for him, and that he had no interest in celebrating a French (colonialist) event. Sharing his anti-colonial views, we asked if there was a protest planned and hearing there was none, we traipsed over to the Commissariat Building (of French administration) to watch the formal governmental ceremonies that occur on Bastille Day. One long block of the tree-lined and shaded boulevard outside the Commissariat Building was cordoned off to traffic. From each of several different branches of the military, 20 or 30 mostly French soldiers stood at attention with full regalia, rifles out and bayonets unsheathed; a modest crowd of Papeete residents and tourists occupied the sidewalk. Many women and girls wore colorful long dresses with extensive frill-like hems, and men and women alike wore wreaths of beautiful flowers and greenery. News teams were present and on high alert to capture the action. At the appointed hour, French and local political dignitaries, administrators, and military officers walked out of the Commissariat Building and to the end of the block, where podiums and sound equipment had been set up. There followed a rather subdued series of speeches, interspersed with polite applause and the presentation of some sort of medal. My basic French was not up to the translation task and this prevented us from other than a superficial understanding of what was going on, though it was clear that we were witnessing a demonstration of the legitimacy of the French government and its military power, as well as the linkages with local politicians and political processes that at least tacitly support, not contest, French power and presence.

After half an hour or less the ceremony came to an end. We decided to explore downtown Papeete a bit, in search of ice cream (as per Devon’s request) and, as it turned out, to witness another example of state power and governmental authority. While we did not find ice cream (the city was pretty much entirely shut down due to the holiday), we did arrive at the Assembly Garden, located next to the French Polynesian Assembly, which is the only popularly elected national, representative body, comprised of members from each of the five archipelagoes that together make up French Polynesia. The Assembly Garden contains an extensive botanical garden, walkways open to the public, a lotus and lily pond, all connected by a flowing waterway containing fish. The botanical garden has an extensive collection of plants growing along the network of paths – an information sign next to each featured plant provided an brief description of where it is found, its provenance, uses and other key characteristics. Interestingly, the descriptions were in French and English only, not Tahitian. The power of the state to name, classify and create knowledge about plants and plant taxonomy is a key marker of state authority and its right to control access to the botanical world and the resources that it provides. That this knowledge was codified in French and English – imperial, colonial languages of rule, but not Tahitian, reinforces the link between botanical knowledge and state power. The descriptions were not in Tahitian because local botanical understanding and knowledge, indeed social relationships and cultural understanding, would no doubt differ significantly from those encoded in French or English (and indeed, perhaps challenge those of the dominant knowledge system).

Having enjoyed the peace and quiet of the Assembly garden, discussed linkages between botanical knowledge and state power, and concluded that ice cream was not happening on Bastille Day, we returned to Anthea for a rest as the tiring effects of two nights at sea were catching up. Later that day, I was extremely happy to be able to purchase tickets for that night’s Heiva performance at the ticket office. Heiva is an annual, competitive dance, singing, and sports extravaganza that brings some of the most renowned groups from throughout French Polynesia to Papeete for about three weeks of intense performances. It is linked with the resurgence of culture and identity that has emerged over the last few decades and it is a celebration and recasting of Polynesian traditions of dance and song.

That evening’s performance, in an open-air amphitheater only about a 20 minute walk from the marina, was unforgettable. The program consisted of performances by four different groups – two dance and two singing. Words cannot do justice to the vitality, beauty, emotional intensity, and extraordinary talent of these groups. Both dance groups had their own live orchestral accompaniment – the amazing percussion and syncopation of the traditional drumming instruments was extraordinary, not to mention the flute, string, and other instruments. In all four cases the announcer took pains to recount the plot of the dance performances and the subject matter of the singing groups’ songs, in French, English, AND Tahitian. The dance performances included the classic (and stunning) hip swiveling female and knee swaying male moves, high energy and perfectly choreographed dance scores involving upwards of 30 or 40 dancers, outstanding male and female solo performances, and remarkably beautiful costumes. The second dance performance focused on language revitalization and the importance of language for maintaining cultural integrity and identity. It presented an explicit critique of the ways in which French language has supplanted Tahitian and of the importance of re-centering language and Tahitian culture and identity. Each dancer seemed to genuinely enjoy what they were doing; the dancing was a marvelous and exuberant celebration; we could feel the dancers’ emotional commitment to the themes and subject matter of the dance. The singing groups were also special, though they did not quite have the same moving, engaging, high-energy quality of the dance groups. While the singing seemed a hybrid of traditional and church singing styles, the songs themselves recounted Polynesian myths, the accomplishments of cultural heroes, historical events and, in one case, the importance of the younger generation knowing ancient place names. A panel of more than 10 judges carefully made notes and decisions, which would become the basis of awarding the considerable prize money to the best performing groups across a wide variety of different dance and song genres. Thus ended our first and quite full day in Papeete.

continued as part 2 post….

So sorry to keep everyone waiting this long. It is only now that the internet is reliable enough to attempt to upload photos.

Anson

Nature’s Majesty: Snorkeling the South Pass, Fakarava – June 10-12

There’s consensus aboard Anthea that the snorkeling here is the most spectacular we’ve ever done. Mere words cannot do justice to the awe-inspiring natural beauty of the underwater world we’ve been privileged to experience here. We drift snorkeled the pass twice yesterday (July 9), several times today, and will again tomorrow. I’m not sure I knew that such beauty existed, though perhaps I had an inkling from some of the National Geographic marine films we’ve all seen. It’s clear to me why Fakarava is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

It began with a wonderful cross-lagoon sail in the morning – 18 miles of beautiful, flatwater sailing, 60 degrees off the wind in about 12 knots. Anthea had a bone in her teeth and was heeled over nicely the whole way, churning along at 6.5 knots or faster. We dropped the hook in 55 feet of water in the main anchorage just north of the south pass. About 14 other boats shared the anchorage, including a large sport dive boat out of Papeete and the graceful 130 foot modern luxury yacht Antares, which we first saw in Nuku Hiva. After a quick meal, we got the dinghy in the water and the snorkeling gear loaded and took off for the short ride to the pass. Just inside the pass we passed several dive facilities, complete with multiple shore-side huts where land-based divers may stay. Two or three skiffs were taking scuba divers outside the pass to begin their drift dive with the flood tide. The numbers of divers and the diving infrastructure was unlike anything we’ve seen in the Tuamotus, where it’s generally just been us diving coral heads and passes, with no one else around. We began to realize how special this place really is.

We dinghied through the pass to the ocean side, against the flood tide. The color of the water was a rich, deep aquamarine blue. Just looking over the side of the boat was enough to reveal the spectacular clarity – we could easily see the bottom, even in 80 or 90 feet of water. After donning mask, fins and snorkel, we all jumped into the water. Immediately, a magical underwater world of amazing blue-tinted beauty enveloped us. As the current slowly carried us into the pass we began to take in the scene. Looking straight down we could see fish, individual sharks, coral, and longitudinal lenses of sand, probably 80 feet below us. Off to the right the bottom rose up towards us, and further in that direction a more vertical topography of coral and fish was visible, near the north edge of the pass. Shades of blue were the only markers of depth or distance; the clarity of the incoming ocean water was superb. On this drift we maneuvered to stay in the deep water portion. About midway through the pass we spotted the first large groups of sharks. They were massing near the bottom, seeming to prefer hovering over the sandy portions. At first it was hard to believe what we were seeing – how could so many sharks congregate so closely together?! The closer we looked, the more we saw. It was truly incredible. Never before had we seen such a large concentration of these extraordinary animals; it was impossible to count them, but they numbered in the hundreds. They seemed to be swimming in slow holding patterns, moving side to side and around each other, but not really going anywhere. Flashes of white showed when one would turn in a manner to reveal its underbelly. As we drifted over this amazing sight, I felt like I was peering through a looking glass into another world. The divers in our group, Anson and Devon, went down for a closer look. Anson dove down, down, down, eventually hovering just above the throng of sharks. He was so far down he looked diminutive. After communing, he began his ascent, augmenting his flutter kick with stroke after stroke of breastroke, moving vertically upwards, getting bigger and more visible, less blue tinted, until he reached the surface. Devon too, dove down, and after a closer look, did his signature u-turn and skidaddled for the surface when he got near the end of his breath. We drifted onwards, in awe of the beauty and majesty of this underwater world.

As we approached the lagoon side of the pass we positioned ourselves so the current would carry us around the north corner towards the anchorage. Here, the current increased as the water shallowed to around 15 feet. Another stage of the drift snorkel dive commenced. At this depth the water had no blue tint, it seemed absolutely colorless, like a clear, fluid medium that carried us along over an exquisite waterscape of coral and colorful tropical fish. The diversity and health of the coral was unlike anything we’ve seen so far – brain coral, staghorn coral and many other types carpeted the entire bottom in an unbroken manner. Scene after scene of brilliantly colored fish came into view and then disappeared as the current carried us along. Bright green parrot fish munched coral, Moorish idols chased each other, bright orange and yellow fish darted for cover as we approached, schools of small tourquoise blue fish hovered over coral, ready to seek cover when needed, groupers lazily swam away as we approached, moray eels gave us sidelong glances. An endlessly unfolding tapestry of life in a healthy coral ecosystem revealed itself to us as we floated by. Kim was so overcome by the beauty that she wept inside her mask, her tears streamed from seeing such vibrancy and health in a world too often damaged. When the water again deepened and we approached the edge of the anchorage, we all clambered back into the dinghy, exclaiming at the spectacular beauty we had just seen. Anson started up the outboard and out we went for a second drift through the pass.

How privileged we are to be here. Fakarava’s South Pass is probably one of the world’s most beautiful and unique underwater environments. I didn’t know such exquisite, amazing places existed; that they still do in this human-dominated (Anthropocene) era is even more incredible. UNESCO’s recognition of the uniqueness of this atoll and the attention scientific and conservation communities give this place is wonderful. I certainly look forward to learning more about this area when I can. And for now, I am grateful to have been able to peer through the looking glass of my mask and experience nature’s humbling beauty.

Mark

Diving (a poem by Devon)

Diving down, down, down,
swirling in currents, pushed past coral,
side, side, near miss, kick up, kick down,
colors blurring, fish passing,
air gone, lungs burning,
up, up, up,
break surface, breathe,
again.

The wind piped up to 20 knots just as we planned to leave Tahanea’s central pass. We motored dead to windward, bashing through the short, steep chop, then unfurled the jib as we turned and powered through the pass. We left several hours before the tide tables predicted high slack water, and were happy we had trusted our observations over the numbers: any later and we would have flown out with a boiling ebb current, and crashed through waves built as current flows against the wind. Mark was at the helm, while I watched the IPad like a hawk for any evidence that we were being swept towards the shallows on the west edge of the pass. The tension evaporated once we were in the open sea with the wind aft of our beam, set for an easy overnight passage under jib alone in 3-5 foot seas.

We arrived at Fakarava’s north pass just before dawn, with only one small squall in the night, and after furling the jib and raising a double reefed main for the last downwind leg. Entering Fakarava was simple compared to exiting Tahanea: we hardened up and unfurled the jib, sailing gracefully through the wide pass and then hardened up some more for a fast beat to windward in 20 knots apparent. Another squall arrived just as we turned into the channel, dead to windward, so Mr. Perkins carried us the final miles to the anchorage off the village of Rotoava.

A small village of 900 people, partly oriented to the pearl farm industry and partly to tourism, Rotoava offered us an afternoon of reprovisioning and ambling along the waterfront street lined with casuarina trees. A small but powerful monument and signage for the 193 Association gave a brief history of the resistance movement to the 193 nuclear tests performed in French Polynesia, and outlined a plan for uniting around the call for justice, full disclosure about the tests, environmental restoration and reparations for those who are suffering or who died prematurely from radiation exposure while working in the industry. (They have a facebook page for more information.) A little further on we found a beautiful outrigger sailing canoe, using modern materials (fiberglass, wood and spectra rigging and lashings) and evoking the maritime past. The sign accompanying it listed numerous sponsors and the intent to promote education and ecotourism. It’s hard to know if local youth are benefitting from the endeavor – hopefully so, as the Tuamoto lagoons are divine sailing grounds.

We departed Saturday afternoon (7/8) for an anchorage partway down the lagoon towards the southern pass. Staying inside the loosely marked channel to avoid coral reefs and the ubiquitous pearl floats, our gently curving path kept us close to shore in flat waters. The 10-12 knot breeze powered us along a route of close reach to close hauled; we were flying at 7 knots past coconut and casuarina trees, local homes, tourist bungalows and a millionaire’s dream escape. White coral sand blended into cerulean and turquoise waters, while we kept Anthea in deep aqua or lapis. The sky was classic tradewind: brilliant blue with puffy cumulous clouds marching across the sky in neat rows. We took turns on the bow and in the cockpit: one person on sail trim for the frequent course changes, another at the helm, and one as lookout for any unmarked coral heads. As I took my turn on the bow pulpit, the wind blowing my hair, the sun on my face, and Anthea’s wake rippling across the brilliant water, I was transported back to my family’s seven-month cruise aboard Xanadu. I often sat in this same place, reveling in the movement of boat through water, powered only by the wind in the sails. The feeling of freedom filled me to the brim and overflowed into shouts of pure joy. Sailing touches my soul like nothing else: here my soul sings.

Kim 7/9 Fakarava Atoll

It all began with Devon watching “Jaws” with his cousin Lily, right before departing on our cruise. They decided to branch out to a new movie genre, picked “horror”, and found “Jaws ” to be highly rated. We only found out about their movie choice when launching the inflatable kayak at our very first anchorage of the cruise. Devon was terrified to paddle ashore in the calm, protected waters of Catalina Harbor. Much coaxing and cajoling later, he braved the shark infested waters of his imagination and made it safely to shore. I was shocked to see the transformation in my once intrepid snorkeling buddy. Now I had to be the brave one, despite the massive sharks populating my imagination, in large part a legacy of watching “Jaws” as a teenager. As the months went by Devon overcame his fears and jumped in the water for one adventure after another. The imaginary sharks continue to pop up (as you may have read), but thankfully they haven’t prevented him from enjoying the underwater magic of the cruise.

Today we have proof that “Jaws” was beaten back from front and center of our fears to a corner of our minds. We sailed across the lagoon (another blissful sail with Mark at the helm, me on the bow, and Devon popping up to help with the sails) to anchor off the western pass for a snorkel through the pass from the ocean into Tahanea Atoll’s lagoon. The timing is crucial, as we needed to be in the dinghy ready to jump in the water when the flood current diminished to a reasonable flow into the pass and hit slack. We timed our sail perfectly, anchored with bouys set to float above the coral heads, got the dinghy in the water with engine on in record speed, ate a quick bite and hightailed it for the pass, donning snorkel gear as we went. Pass snorkels promise crystal clear water when the current flows in, a diversity of sea life, and sparkling coral. Devon, Mark and I flopped into the water, each holding onto a line attached to the dinghy, and floated with the current. Coral gardens populated with fish slipped beneath us as we floated effortlessly along. Large groupers caught our eyes below and silver needle fish hovered around the dinghy just below the surface. We floated beyond the end of the pass, and Mark and I lumbered back into the dinghy, calling to Devon to join so we could power out for a second drift dive before the current turned. Devon lifted his head out of the water, spat out his snorkel, and said, “Quick, jump in the water! There’s tons of sharks!” I figured there was a good chance he was joking, but didn’t want to miss out in case he was serious. Mark and I plunged back into the water to see at least 10 gray reef sharks swimming just below the surface. We were surrounded by sharks as they all swam towards us to check out the biggest fish in the pass. We watched their 3 to 4-foot-long bodies snaking back and forth, their beady eyes staring right at us, swimming straight for us and turning only when they were ten to fifteen feet away. Instead of terror, we felt joy.

During all our snorkels in the lagoon, seeing a black tip shark or a grey reef shark was as much of a highlight as the brilliantly colored reef fish and healthy blooms of coral. Seeing more than one shark at a time upped the drama. This pass snorkel topped them all. We head to Fakarava Atoll tomorrow for the primary purpose of snorkeling the southern pass – reportedly the best pass to view sharks in the Tuamotus. Hopefully “Jaws” will stay tucked into a corner until that snorkel is completed.

Kim
Tahanea, July 5, 2017