French Polynesia Part 1: Marquesas Islands

"The first experience can never be repeated. The first love, the first sunrise, the first South Sea island, are memories apart and touched a virginity of sense" Robert Louis Stephenson

Hanapaaoa

Kaoha Nui, dear friends and family,

We are currently in Mo'orea, a spectacular stop in the Societies' Windward Islands, our third island group of French Polynesia. As we wait out an afternoon of heavy rain, I figured I would finally write about our first island group, the magical volcanic islands of Marquesas. In order to catch you up, though, I'll need to start from the beginning.

The absolute beginning.

Around five million years ago, the volcanic hotspot under what is now the Marquesas Islands started to do what volcanic hotspots do. The mantle plumes brought all the nutrients to the surface. As molten lava cooled, seabirds used the islands as pit stops, depositing plant seeds and other nutrients in their waste. Soon prevailing currents brought other land animals such as turtles and crabs, and voilà, you have an archipelago. With verdant valleys and plenty of resources, the Marquesas Islands were ideal for human settlement.

Around 1000-1500 years ago, early Polynesian seafarers, arguably the best seafarers from any ocean, thought so too. When Europe was still floundering in the Dark Ages, Polynesians had mastered sailing on multiple wind angles and memorized advanced navigational techniques to not just find tiny pieces of land across a vast ocean, but to return to them with families, crops, and livestock. Badass. Their descendants went on to build a connected interisland culture rich with canoe-building, hunting, fishing, arts (especially tikis, tattoos, dance, and tapas), local chiefdoms, spiritual realities, and tribal warfare.

They named these lands Te Henua 'Enana in the Northern Marquesan dialect and Te Fenua 'Enana in the Southern Marquesan dialect. Both identify these islands as "the land of the people."

Early European contact ushered in a period of destruction, as it so often does, rife with disease and cultural bans. Without immunity to smallpox and measles, the population of Îles Marquises decreased from around 80,000-100,000 strong in the late eighteenth century to a devastatingly estimated 2,300 in the early twentieth century. The death toll is beyond what I can comprehend. This era was apocalyptic.

Against all odds, the population boomed once again in the last century, along with a widespread revival of traditional Marquesan culture and pride.

Today, sailors like us call the islands paradise, and we are so thankful for the honor of visiting them. Despite their tragic history with outsiders and an awkward cannibalism phase, Marquesans are considered among the happiest and most welcoming people on Earth. These truly are the islands of humanity, of kindness and integrity. While we've now moved on, we will remember our time in Îles Marquises, and the people we met, as one of the best months of our lives.

Photos!

Île Hiva Oa

Land ho! Safe harbor and a rainbow after 21 days at sea.

All settled in Atuona, Hiva Oa
Fortunately, Jeanne and Dan on SV Lucky Dog, friends we made on the California Coast in 2022, helped us stern tie to shore so we'd be out of the bounce and traffic. After settling in, we slept for about 17 hours!

And they brought us our first pamplemousse! So good!
For those who are unfamiliar with pamplemousse,
they are essentially a mix between grapefruit and that feeling you get when a kitten purrs.

Dragon fruit: more kitten purrs

A produce stand that operates on the honor system

Enjoying the eclipse with eclipse glasses brought from Mexico

Atuona has its own boatyard, the only boatyard in Marquesas.

New boatyard friends!
The boatyard owners feed them only minimally so they learn to catch rats and cockroaches.
Let's pretend I respected the boatyard owners' wishes and didn't bring treats every day.

The Marquesas Islands become a rainforest for part of the year yet they experience drought for another part of the year, a phenomenon which leads to interesting combinations of flora. Overall though, it felt lush, like the Olympic Rainforest in the PNW.

We didn't have time to sail around Hiva Oa, so we rented a car with SV Lucky Dog, to see the island instead.

At the Lipoma Tikis in Puama'u.

Tiki Takai’i is in the middle, at 9 feet tall. He is flanked by a warrior and his wife. He holds the spirit of a powerful chieftain, a protective spirit of the valley.

A representation of his wife in labor,

which having never given birth, I imagine is accurate.

Mural in Hanapaaoa

Île Tahuata

Hapatoni, Tahuata became a special place for us. The tiny (population <100) village nestles against a towering cliff along the shore. It's known for its traditional carving community and charm. With access to fresh water, the villagers allowed us to do laundry from our passage and fill up water. We also ~~crawled~~ hiked up the road to the ridge of the island and learned just how much we could sweat.

At the town wharf, we also learned the real meaning of Hapatoni hospitality. I dropped my phone in the water while getting in our dinghy, and it sunk about 12 feet down in murky water. A few local young men snorkeling nearby saw it unfold and immediately came over to help. While Dave frantically looked up "may I borrow a mask" on Google Translate, they were already diving to retrieve it. Apparently, it was now under a moray eel, so their friend handed them a large stick for...poking, I guess? We were surprised the men persisted; moray eels are bitey! But soon enough, they retrieved the phone and warmly welcomed us to their village.

I baked the men cookies as a thank you the next day, but we sadly couldn't find them. Vaiei nui, gentlemen. We will always remember you and Hapatoni.

Tahuata

Hours were spent here at this spigot scrubbing laundry

We called this the laundry game. One of our routines was to scrub all the laundry and hang it up on our lifelines immediately before the rains hit again. Rinse and repeat the next day until we get lucky and the rains stop.

Manta ray visitors! ❤️

Resident pod of dolphins who showed up at the anchorage every morning

We 💚 Hapatoni

Île Fatuiva (AKA Fatu Iva and Fatu Hiva)

While we know of this island as "Fatu Hiva" from cruising guides and maps, we only saw the spellings "Fatu Iva" and "Fatuiva" onshore. Whatever it's called though, it's worth one hundred percent of the hype and upwind bash to get here. Pictures won't do it justice, so you'll need to come here to see for yourselves. It's magical. It's the most isolated island in the Marquesas archipelago and one of the most isolated in all Polynesia.

There are two villages on the island: Omoa and Hanahave. Like most sailboats, we anchored in Hanavave to stay out of the swell. In French, Hanavave is known as "Baie des Verges" (Bay of Penises) due to the phallic-shaped basalt spires in the bay. Missionaries added a letter and changed the name to "Baie des Vierges" (Bay of Virgins). I still prefer Bay of Penises.

Like most islands though, this place is about so much more than penises. It's about the people. Time feels slower in here, more relaxed. Locals take time out of what they're doing to talk with visitors and, language barriers aside, make authentic connections.

We will remember the people we met here fondly, the authentic smiles that radiate through the eyes, the double-handed handshakes, and the gifts of fruit. We will remember that when on a hike in the rain, locals stopped by car to check in with us. We will remember their patience with our Google Translate app. We will remember how, when buying or trading produce from locals, they always added extras and refused more money or goods. They reminded us that joy lives in the giving rather than the receiving.

Note: some locals wanted to trade fish hooks for fruit and we didn't have any. Fortunately, other sailors did. Bring fish hooks if you come this way.

The Aranui 5 supply ship services some of the most remote islands of French Polynesia. It was fascinating to see it make its monthly run to Hanavave, and watch the whole town come together to help unload packages, mail, and staples. One family seemed excited to get two new pigs.

The local magasin (shop). Notice one must remove their sandals before entering.
This was common in many places throughout Marquesas.

You can learn a lot about a town from their cats.
Cats in Hanavave were well-fed, friendly, and trusting.

A short hike leads to Vaieenui Waterfall...

Where we spent countless hours cooling off.
Despite the rains, the Marquesas islands are much hotter and more humid than we're used to.

Marquesans take soccer seriously. Every town seemed to have a perfectly manicured soccer field.

We befriended a wonderfully warm woman, Vanessa, who gave us fruit for our hikes. She made tapa cloths by pounding the bark of mulberry and banana trees into paper and painting art on them.
This is her workstation for pounding the paper.
We loved her designs and bought a small one of a manta ray.

On the hike from Hanavave to Omoa

Île Nuku Hiva

The biggest, most populous island of Marquesas. The "city" of Taioha'e, at about 2,200 people, feels nearly urban compared to the rest of the archipelago. Chickens and goats still roam wild, but services and shops, including a chandlery, dot the shoreline. Restaurants are in public buildings rather than locals' homes. And if you look lost, like we often do, locals will stop and patiently help you find what you're looking for. We love this town.

The downside of Taioha'e is the rolliness of the anchorage. Without natural reefs, several anchorages in the Marquesas felt unprotected, and Taioha'e was especially so. With a big storm in the forecast, we reluctantly left after only a few days.

From there, we beat up the "angry" coast (the cliffed, windward side of Nuku Hiva) to Baie Anaho on the north side. We had heard about Anaho's calm, flat anchorage from multiple sailors. They all suggested we tuck into a nook on the west side. Unfortunately, too many other sailors had the same plan so we had to anchor outside the nook. Ironically, the seas were rollier here than anywhere else we visited in the Marquesas, and we tossed and turned for days through the storm.

Despite the weather, we enjoyed some wet paddleboarding and great hiking. Anaho Bay is unique as its small village is not connected to any roads. To visit the neighboring town of Hatihe'u, locals come and go on a steep trail by horseback and foot (often barefoot, given the prints in the mud).

During the 2020 lockdown, all cruisers in Marquesas were told to evacuate all other anchorages and congregate in Taioha'e or Tahiti. Villagers at Anaho Bay wouldn't let the government evacuate the sailboats here; the cruisers had helped the villagers with construction projects and created their own bubble. They became a close-knit community throughout the pandemic.

Unfortunately, we did not meet any villagers here due to the weather, but we did start spending time with our friend Raffi SV Wind River. We first met him in La Cruz as we left Mexico around the same time and stayed in close contact across the ocean passage.

The storm dragged on and after five days, we'd had enough. The angry coast couldn't be that angry for the return to Taioha'e, right? Fun fact: on rounded coasts, the wind curves about and you can experience headwinds in both directions! After a sporty sail, we tucked back in at Taioha'e.

We made one last quick stop in calm Daniel's Bay before leaving for the Tuamotus--just long enough to reroute a halyard through the mast and prepare for a three-day passage to the Tuamotus.

Taioha'e

Dave's new entourage

Taioha'e has many tikis in the city but not much is written about each one. Still, fascinating.

Tiki Tuhiva: a booming statue overlooking the bay
It represents both feminine (right, protective) and masculine (left, providing) influences in the community.