French Polynesia is truly a special world or as the people say a world for itself that lives beyond everything we know.  On the way out, every one of us had the opportunity to take with us a piece of her beauty and leave a part of ourselves on her beautiful islands.  As Nuku Hiva slowly disappeared from the horizon, unlike the perpetual and aimless sailors, in the front of us on the navigation chart, the straight line stretched out leading us to Fakarava, one of the atolls in the Tuamotu Archipelago.  Moderate waves, light wind, satisfactory speed and elegant connection of the ship with the sea, is the description of our four-day sailing to meet Tuamotus that offered us a new face and replaced the green volcanic islands of Marquesana with coral atolls of turquoise-blue colour.

According to ancient Polynesian myth, the Tuamotu Islands or “Sea Islands” were not created by the magic of Albus Dumbledore but by the influence of the God of the Sea who one day started a storm that forced parts of the earth to float out to surface.  Atolls were formed on these pieces of land, made up of coral reefs around a small lagoon, making the Tuamotu Archipelago the largest group of coral islands in the world.  Due to the dangers of sailing, which we were exposed to oncoming shoals and narrow passages, sailing Tuamotus, the so-called “dangerous archipelago”, for Peter and my self as well as for most sailors, were a real challenge and a fantastic experience.

Fakarava is one of the largest and most beautiful atolls in French Polynesia and if I play with words a little, I would describe it as a real fantasy of the South Pacific.  We approached this idyllic dashed coral necklace with great interest, not taking our eyes off the bushes full of the green curls that peeked out over the water.  The small cute islets that form a ring around the lagoon, we barely noticed.  We crept into the atoll through the Passage Garuae, located on the north side of Fakarava, while the Tumakohua Pass, much  more complicated, including a narrow underwater valley called “Shark’s Hole”, is located on the south side of the ridge.  

So, at the very entrance, we were greeted by a large whirlpool, which my husband drew my attention to as I slowly collected the sails.  Wow, I felt like a crew member of Captain Piplfox who had just discovered where the seven-headed monster was hiding.  So far we have not had the opportunity to experience something so impressive and a little scary.  With adrenaline at 220V, a 3D scene and a vivid imagination, I thought that, like a gramophone record, we could easily turn inthat vortex or to dance off an underwater waltz at King Triton’s court.  Everything indicated that we did not have room to manoeuvre, considering the coral reef plantation that stretched around and below us, as well as the time to ask questions, because the next moment we were in its immediate vicinity.  Believing in Meermowe and the correctness of what we do, we accelerated the engine so with great anticipation and wide open eyes crossed the vortex.  “Well done, Captain Piplfox,” I said to my husband with a big smile.  

Our final destination was the main village of the Tuamotu Archipelago, which we approached slowly and cautiously, adhering to the strict red security line on the I-Sailor that led us through the extreme shallows of the lagoon.  We anchored at a depth of six meters near a small dock for supply ships and dinghy harbour.  As soon as we dropped the anchor, we got the first visitors who came to us rowing on a paddle-boards then welcomed us with wide arms and a kind smile.  It was a nice married couple who, like Gauguin, decided to leave Paris and come to live with two small daughters right here, in such a distant and lonely place.  The free internet service is just one of the services they offered us in their home, and to the question: “What can be seen on Fakarava”, I received, as if fired from a cannon, a quick and spontaneous answer: “Nothing”.  This, apparently short and empty word without taste and smell, automatically changed the flow of our thoughts and energy, and became a trigger for our curiosity and imminent going on shore.  So let’s not waste time, let’s step together in this mission and “now or never” prove that “nothing” is “something”.

Fakarava is another paradise island.  For Peter and my self one of Meermowe’s Great Adventure’s favourite destinations.It has a rough rectangular shape and a narrow mainland, which makes it an extremely interesting place where you can watch time pass, and listen to the sound of wind, waves and birds that reach from both sides of the coast at the same time.  Unlike some atolls covered exclusively with coconut trees and endless white sandy beaches, here on the inner shore of the bay, a former volcano, the peaceful and picturesque town of Rotoava has developed.

At the pier, we were greeted by a three-member “rock band” who presented their latest album with a thunderous bark.  We soon realised that our only way to tour the place was on foot, so like “the shoesy people”, we set off on the main road through the village.  Nice houses, flower estates, a church built of coral and shells, the local town hall and the school as we passed by, helped us a lot to understand the meaning and simplicity of everyday life of the inhabitants of Fakarava.  An incredible array of blue lagoons and white sand are something quite normal and common that can be found here, while the eaves covered with reeds provided a real Polynesian atmosphere.   And so, in that relaxing atmosphere, we arrived at the home of our host friends where we booked bikes and spent the afternoon in pleasant company.

The next morning dawned in a phenomenal mood and preparation for new research. We were excited as if we were participating in the “Tour de France” bike race.  With hats on our heads, some sandwiches, and a bottle of water in our backpack, we jumped into the dinghy and headed for shore.  We left Rotoava in a southerly direction while our sympathetic “rockers” were still asleep.  The sun was slowly rising on the horizon, and the weather promised a hot day and good fun.   In front of us stretched a flat asphalt road which was later replaced by a dirt road leading to remote places of the atoll.  There is almost no traffic on Fakaravi.  By the end of the day we had met only two or three cars so we couldn’t tear off  the impression that we had the road, along which were stretched unbridled coconut trees, just for ourselves.  At about eight or a little more kilometres far from  Rotoava, just before the asphalt finish, we decided to turn off the road.  We didn’t want to risk to puncturing the tires, so we decided to get off the bikes and continue on foot.  Our curiosity led us to the first bend in the shadow of which the winding path hided the quiet beauty of the bay that attracted us like a magnet.  Although we were aware of the “harmless” reefs sharks, could easily fly into this episode and put the dot on “i”, it was impossible to resist the soothing sound of the ocean and the urge to get into the water.  Without hesitation, we left our bikes and goods next to the only tree in the area and the next moment, we found ourselves in an embrace with a beautiful coral reef, around which a school of small rainbow-coloured fish were swimming hurriedly.  We were simply captivated by the warm and clear water of the lagoon, the elegance of marine life and the field of colourful floral corals that covered the seabed.  We didn’t know which way to look and swim away.  It was a real adventure in the heart of Polynesian nature. 

We left the bay again riding bicycles in the direction of Rotoava lively discussing the fairy tale  of a fisherman and a goldfish.  Rolling slowly next to each other, it was not difficult to conclude that the fish was saved by the Alexander Pushkin’s fountain pen, but the question was now, how we would  behave with the shark if we had met him and what would we have offered  him for a happy ending of this story?  “Facebook page, sandwich and crate of beer,” was Peter’s  response of the twenty-first century. 

The change of weather in the afternoon brought us heavy clouds and the inevitable shower.  The rain was pouring like a bucket.  As my husband, being just like Jerry Mouse, tried in vain to pull himself under his tattered straw hat, drops were already passing through mine like through an old ceiling.   We had nowhere to hide, and the village was still far away.  Thunder and a flash of lightning not only accelerated pedalling, but raised the level of our adventurous spirit full of jokes and roaring laughter. As the saying goes, real luck on wheels.  On the way back to Rotoava we stopped at our hosts, refreshed ourselves with a cold drink and continued on foot.  It was still raining while the sun was shining on the other side of the village.  Preoccupied with the story and looking at the road, which like a river was flowing under our feet, we didn’t even notice that we had stepped  on dry even though the drizzle of the rain could still be heard.  We turned and stared in confusion at the raindrops, and then, like children, stepped with one foot into the water that have made by real showers while the other was on dry.  We stood like that for a moment inhaling the smell of wet, dry and warm asphalt.  The house next to us was located literally in two climate zones. On one side bathed in rain while the other was illuminated by the sun.  What a mix of madness, joy and pleasure with which  time has simply flown by, even though we wished the day would never end.  We arrived at the pier late in the afternoon when we sat in the dinghy half wet, left the pier and headed for Meermowe.

The quiet and warm night promised that we would not sleep in our bed so we welcomed the dawn in the cockpit.  The beauties of South Fakarava and everything we experienced the previous day was just an added motivation for another bike ride on the other side of the Rotoava.  The asphalt, and then the worn dirt road that we rolled comfortably through, led us north all the way to the top of the Garuae Passageway, through which we entered, discovering a slightly different and equally interesting character of that part of the Atoll.  On that side of the ocean is a small airport and two historic lighthouses.  Taputavaka, about a hundred-year-old stone structure in the shape of a Mayan pyramid, is one of the oldest lighthouses in French Polynesia and Topaka, somewhat younger, also in the shape of a pyramid about 15 meters high.  Paradise beaches and beautiful sunset with a warm orange glow, simply radiated a relaxing atmosphere.  Due to the very strong currents that prevail in this part of the atoll, we had to resist mother nature and give up from swimming so as not to “sail out” ahead of time.  “If there is nirvana anywhere except in the Buddhist religion, then it is right here,” Peter and I agreed, returning to Rotoawa, which gave our visit to this atoll its epilogue.

We left Fakarava in the early morning hours and, for the umpteenth time, sailed across the open sea, which stretched in front of us like kilometres of railways and cheerful fields of sunflowers stretch in front of the train driver.  Browsing through the impressions, we realised that this story, which you just read from the screen of your computers, has undoubtedly proved that “nothing” do not exists.  And remember, looking at “something” means living again because that’s the only way you can feel the value of everything you’ve done.

Tuamotus is visibly different from the rest of French Polynesia and represents the essence of the Pacific islands.  In this island group, there are also extremely fascinating,  desolate, and coral-enclosed mainlands that completely envelop the ring of atolls, in whose lagoons it is impossible to enter.   It is for this reason that stories circulate here about Robinson Crusoe as a novel that inspired the imagination not only of many sailors but also of ourselves.

Toau as the nearest mainland of Fakarava, is one of or even the only Atoll that has two passages and that:  Pass Fakatahuna on the southeast ward categorised as real and Anse Amyot as wrong or false pass at the northern end, whose south side is blocked by a large coral reef and shallow waters so that there is no actual access to the lagoon.  We decided to stop right there on Anse Amyot, a bay with a small anchorage like a dead end street with only a dozen yacht berths.  When we arrived we found a sufficient number of free buoys that we tied up with a few more ARC fleet ships.  The weather was beautiful while the clean and clear sea simply drew us to enjoy swimming and diving.  The amazing palette of green, blue and turquoise tints of the water shone in the sun.  I just wondered if I was dreaming as I watched the coral colours compete with the fish and the black stingrays moving slowly at the bottom of the sea in the echelon of five, just inches above the white sand.  Without thinking  about the dangers quietly lurking in such waters, I decided to accept the challenge of swimming from the boat to the sandy beach under the only possible condition, set to me by my husband, that he accompany me in the dinghy as security.  A few hours later upon returning to the ship, my curiosity and bravery dropped into a minus to a state of iciness when I saw several large sharks licking their moustaches around Meermowe.  “La commedia è finita”, until further notice, I was not allowed to mention the verb “swim”.  We spent the evening on board with a delicious dinner that I prepared for all our friends from the fleet.

Toau Atoll is not a place for great gatherings of sailors, but there is something that makes it striking and that is the people in Anse Amyot or rather a large local family who welcomed us warmly and very friendly.  During the short stays of boats in the bay, they often like to include cruisers in their daily life activities, especially fishing.  The way our hosts catch fish is a real attraction.  Namely, in the shallow waters inside the lagoon, traps were set up made of netting braided around bamboo sticks driven into the sandy bottom.  The whole structure eventually narrows and has the shape of a large funnel.  We couldn’t believe that fish could be so easily deceived and naively trapped.  During the day, the trap is filled like a pomegranate so it simply seems that people can go to take their dinner every day as in a supermarket.  The night before departure, our entire company was invited to a fishing dinner that our friends traditionally organise every year for the ARC crew, but this time the scenario was somewhat different.  It all went in an unexpected direction when sharks stormed the scene and picked up all the catch.  There is not a single tail left for us, let alone a fish.  This exciting story ended with a showdown  between our hosts and hungry predators, like in the movie “Gunfight at O.K. Corall”, in which sharks did not have time, nor theoretical chance to think about making a truce.  Regardless of the circumstances in which we all found ourselves together, nothing could surprise our hosts, so that evening, instead of fish, our plates were decorated with beautifully prepared lobsters with very tasty side dishes.  It was a fun night in very pleasant and amusing company with the natives of this part of the atoll.

Meeting families in Anse Amyot was not only a real treat but also a wonderful insight into the lives of people who live so differently from us.  The next morning, one by one we had  untied the ropes from the buoy and sailed with full sails on the course toward Tahiti.

“” What is this life without a home? “, one day Atanua asked her husband Oatea. He stood up, summoned divine forces, and said to his wife, “I will build our house tonight”.  He placed two pillars in the chosen place and named them: “Ua Pou”.  Than, he took the wooden beam, mounted it on two posts, tied with coconut fibre rope and said: “This is Hiva O’a”.  Raising the porch, front and long beams all the way to the back stone slabs, it was created  “Nuku Hiva”.   “What will we cover the house with?” Atanua asked. “With coconut palms”, Oatea replied and he build roof of nine-parts, giving it the name “Fatu Hiva”.  To make the job perfect Oatea dug a hole before sunset …   “I see the picture bright and sparkling”, Atanua shouted,  “It’s Tahuata”,  and then added,  “I hear the morning bird song”.  “That’s Mohotani”, the husband replied.  Oatea worked and didn’t stop.  “I’ll collect the garbage and put it in the hole”,  “It’s Ua Huka”.  “Take care! Be careful!  The land of the Men is bright”, exclaimed Atanua.  “It’s Eiao”,  Oatea replied firmly. ” ………   And so, little by little of this twisted story and the magical prophecies that flowed through the chapters of time, the legendary Marquesan family tree was created on whose branches Hiva O’a represents the main beam of the “Great House of Gods”, now known as ” Marquesas Garden ”.  In this, as one of the most remote places in the world, as in the story of Snow White, there is twelve islands overall, like twelve dwarves, of which only six are inhabited.

That Hiva’O conquers not only by the sound of its name but also by the throaty roosters, we realized the next morning when “Pavarotti” woke us up with his penetrating kuku of soprano.  It was still dark, and as soon as we were able to get to sleep on the carriage of happiness, his devastating vocals were heard, just like on Eurovision.  He did not stop for an hour.  And as I wondered, “why right now, and how does the rooster know when to sound,” a hell of a plan popped up in Peter’s head, how to silence the rooster in three strokes.  With laughter and joke, it was clear to me that there was no more sleep, so I got up, made some coffee, and went out on deck to touch the world we had sailed into. Looking at this wild island with steep cliffs and high ridges covered with lush jungle, there was no doubt that on this “dragon island”, in whose forests could truly accommodate the enchanted world of Grimm Fairy Tales, we would start another unforgettable adventure that will remain in our long memory.

The sun was already rising a lot when we left the boat and drove to shore with dinghy.  After 23 days of sailing it took us a while to get used to the land again because we were still under the impression of waves and rolling at sea.  We stumbled like a drunken Tom as our ground swayed and eluded under our feet.  As the heat became unbearable, it was quite normal for us to sit somewhere first and cool our brains in that burning kettle and then work out a plan for our stay.  However, the environment we found ourselves in, unlike other places and ports we sailed into, was very empty.  Apart from the cabin, where was settled down the ARC office, petrol station and tap with basin to handwash clothes, there was nothing else to notice.  Roads and houses were rarely seen, while the villages seemed hidden.  However, one of the roads stretched in the direction of the small town of Atuona, about five kilometers from the bay where we anchored, wereas the other, bit shorter, led up the hill to Hanakee Pearl Lodge.  Two guidelines, two interesting stories. Which one to go?  For starters, we liked the shorter version, just to see how to get to the finish line.  It was clear to us that this time we will not even ride with a scooter, let alone a bus, so I cheerfully suggested we walk that few kilometers to the restaurant and then hopelessly added …… “maybe another time, I mean”.  Peter would rather lie in the arms of Cori’s crocodile, than walk in such deadly heat.  Shortly after, we returned to the ARC’s cabin, in which we called the hotel and ordered a “Jeep” to pick us up.

It was another crazy ride through a winding road in the “Flintstones” at an altitude of 1200 meters above sea level where the warm Polynesian welcome and incredible beauty of the island was become the epitomes that describes our visit.  From the platform of the pool surrounded by flowers, with cold refreshment we were served and a view of the majestic mountain Temetiu, Bordelaisov channel and the small island Hanakee.  Looking in the direction of the horizon, we fully enjoyed the fact that nothing can actually be prevented between the ocean and us.  We walked the winding path and descended to the bungalows surrounded by slopes, steep cliffs and valleys full of bougainvillea, lilies and jasmine.  Wherever we stopped, we felt some strange belonging to this distant world, which even the writer of “Moby Dick” believed had found a true paradise in this mysterious chain of islands in the South Pacific.  The words were superfluous, so we stood silently admiring the natural spectacle, which Meermowe’s Great Adventure brought closer to some of Grandma’s good-night stories more than to reality that was only a mug of refreshing beer still reminded us of.  It would hardly be, on that day, that we would have left this place if the twilight had not descended, and the sun had already hung on the harsh mountain peaks.  It would hardly be, on that day, that we would have left this place if the twilight had not descended, and the sun had already hung on the harsh mountain peaks.  We returned to the ship as after the pirate crusade of Jack Sparrow, with the feeling of the absolute masters of this island.

On Hiva O’a live a relatively small number of inhabitants.  Here life flows so calm and relaxed that you simply forget what day, month and year it is. Time seemed to stop, the clock hands do not move, and the calendar sheets do not change.  The word “stress” simply does not exist in the jargon of these wonderful people.  Atuona is the main and largest village on the island where, at the same time, happens everything and nothing.   With a smallish harbour it is located within the valley on the top of Taaoa Bay.  Looking at the mountain massif that surrounded us, our instantly thinking was like we were somewhere in the Alps, while, after just a few minutes of staying on the island, we did not bathe in sweat.  The next morning, our exploratory tour took us to visit his centre.

The town is famous for its Belgian singer Jacques Brel and also the French painter Paul Gauguin who, in search of new life values, left the old continent and renouncing of Europe, immerse into French Polynesia.  Although Peter and I do not have great fondness for art, we did not miss the opportunity to take a look at the Paul Gauguin Museum to find out more about his life and work.   Today everyone knows of this glorious painter and his inestimable deeds, so I have no intention of bothering you by analyzing his art creativity.  Instead, here I would like to discover something interesting about the lesser known “Gauguin as a Man”, his view of the world, a very turbulent and a bit messy life from which to extract what seemed to me interesting, intriguing and adventurous, what corresponds to one such trip.  Paul was a poor painter who barely made ends meet.  In search of a simple and elementary life away from civilisation, where he could survive on fish and fruit, he arrived here in the Pacific, in the realm of peace and sun.  In this primitive world, Gauguin or Koke, as the islanders called him, Hiva O’a made as his new “House of Pleasure,” known as “Maison du Plaisir”, where he had many evenings filled with music, drink and fun, spend with young women.  It was not hard to notice that we have got another lover in Meermowe’s Great Adventuri. ”   His most beautiful paintings are related to the bodies of young islanders, and when a girl first came to him, he would stall his hand under her clothes and exclaim, “I must paint you …”  He had several women and many children, while unproven doubts also point to the hidden passion of a Polynesian seducer, towards men.  Fantasy or reality, I do not know, but there is no doubt that Gauguin in this case would outperform Simon Bolivar and Pablo Escobar together.  In the last years of his life, the main inspiration for many paintings was the 13-year-old wife of Tehaamana, for whose family it was a great honour to marry a white man.  I have to admit that art is really strange in her creation, haven’t it!  Gauguin died in the terrible torment of heart disease, tuberculosis and syphilis, like a true don juan, just as he says in his book “Before and After”,  “run, run, until you run out of breath and die crazy! … Prudence … how are you infinitely boring to me! “.  And lastly, I wonder if Gauguin ever managed to satisfy his restless spirit and truly find what he had always been looking for?  Nothing less interesting has been at the Cultural Centre-Hangar “Jacques Brel”, located just across the street from the Gauguin Museum.  In it, apart from the posters and lyrics of songs, it was exposed to “Jojo”, two-engine aircraft with which he transported the local population to Tahiti.   Both artists are buried in their Polynesian paradise, Calvaire Cemetery, the last resting place of locals and former missionaries.  Their tombs are located just a metre away from each other with an eternal panoramic view, in which are still under the Marquesane palm trees can see the Gauguen’s colours and hear the poetry of Brel’s.

Atuona is a really small town, consisting of only a few streets, a post office, a bank and two shops. My favourite saying is, main street and two traffic lights. During the Festival of the Arts, dances and other festive activities are performed at Tohua Pepe, in the heart of the village.  In one of the side streets is a Catholic Church.  With its color and simplicity reminiscent of Mexican, so we decided to enter and look at the elegant architecture of its interior.  Just behind the church is the Saint Anne School, whose courtyard is adorned with a large green tree canopy.  It was a little lacking not to divot into that thick shade and stay there for the rest of our lives. What a heat!   We felt like we were in a pressure cooker and close to whistling.  Obviously it was time to go back, but instead of returning on board, we decided to spend the last afternoon of our stay at Hiva O’a, splashing in the Hanakee Lodge pool, where we enjoyed the kindness of our hosts and once again breathed all that beauty that surrounded us.  Satisfied and saddened at the same time, we returned to the ship.  After dinner, we stayed for a while to sit in the cockpit, and with warm coffee we happily discussed another wonderful experience and impressions that we will bring with us.  It was already dark when we turned off the lights and being tired went to sleep.  The next morning was in the sign of preparations for departure.  And imagine, not a single rooster sounded at dawn, maybe someday I’ll tell you why !!!!

French Polynesia began to conquer us as we conquered its islands.  We left Hiva O’a with full sails, crossing over 2.5 miles of the wide Bordelais Canal, called Haʻava in Marquesan word.  The course led us in the direction of the smallest island of the archipelago, Tahuata, which was literally across from us.  It was the beginning of the free style cruise to Tahiti and Raiatea.  The day was ideal.  We sailed along the west coast of the island enjoying the view of the steep cliffs covered with coconut palms and the beauty of nature that hiding in the shadow of Mt Tumu Meae Ufa.  “Sunrise” is the meaning of the name of this beautiful island, about 15 nautical miles fare from Hiva O’a, known for making fragrant oil called Mono ‘ i, which is made from coconut oil and hand-picked tiara flower buds.  In less than two hours, we sailed into Vaitahu Bay, where we anchored and joined a few boats from our group.  The island is a true haven of peace with beautiful beaches covered with white sand.  In this dormant paradise without road, villages, cell phones and the net, the writer could complete the novel, and the romantic endlessly fantasize.  Peter and I felt very fortunate to have a boat and therefore the opportunity to be right here.  I couldn’t resist, I grabbed my bathing suit and swam ashore while my husband stayed on the boat to rearrange the ropes, and then he joined me.  This time we did not have time to explore the island and its attractions, so we used our very short stay for maximum enjoyment of walking and playing on the beach, and a quiet anchorage, like real sailors, for cleaning dirt along the waterline of the ship.

Our exotic adventure continued a hundred miles northwest of Tahuata Island, according to one more source of rich Polynesian culture and the largest island of Marquesana, Nuku Hiva.  In mythology, it represents the frame top of the “Great House of Gods.” The final point of the voyage was the capital of the archipelago, Taioha’e where, according to the program, all ships of the ARC regatta were to sail in.  The trip was very enjoyable.  During the night the wind weakened and slowed our progress, which did not worry us as we had enough time to reach our destination. The bay that we anchored into in the early hours of the morning are the remnants of a volcano crater whose peaks and slopes overgrown with mimosa trees and other exotic herbs just blend in with the Pacific Ocean.  In a word, a great and very well protected anchorage.  With an extraordinary mood, we quickly tidee the boat, jumped into a dinghy and headed towards dinghy pier, from which iron ladders were raised up the wall.  It was all reminiscent of Shakespeare’s love romance, through whichever my husband, like Romeo, was to climb the rusty stairs instead of green branched ivy.  In that idyllic ecstasy, he missed the most important scene, the meeting with Julia because he arrived at the dock before me.  “Typical of the Romantics of the twenty-first century”, I commented and sighed, “O Romeo, Romeo”.  On the wharf was dominated by the usual vibrancy that every year, not just to this island, brought by the ARC fleet. Delicious morning coffee, free internet and a wonderful environment, who could ask for more the day after sailing.

Taioha’e is a very nice and quiet town situated at the foot of the high mountains.  With a distinct French ambience, it elegantly stretches along the sunny coast in the form of a crescent moon.  A friendly population, diverse landscapes and tropical flowers that bloom everywhere, describes it.  The city center was easy to explore on foot because everything was at your fingertips, bank, post office, shops and art centres.  For this reason we wanted to leave as soon as possible to avoid the killer heat so we first went to the market, just opposite the pier, which except Sunday opens every day at six o’clock in the morning and closes around three in the afternoon.  Most people in the marketplace sold a variety of fruits and vegetables that are grown in their backyards.  Everything was found there ranging from vanilla, ginger and mango to different flower bushes.  The largest collections of craft products made of wood and stone among the islands of Marquesane are located right here on the Nuku Hivi, where pieces of sandalwood, rosewood and volcanic rock are transformed into real artwork.  Polymeric fabric with a lot of floral décor for making sarongs, dresses and curtains, was also part of the colorful town offer.  At every step we met groups of women in making traditional baskets and bowls from palm leaf and coconut, which, among other things, are used for serving meals.  The smells of tuna with coconut milk, wild boar boiled in a Polynesian oven and other grilled dishes, not only intoxicating but also aroused vibrations in the stomach and in the full sense of the word painted the market as it really should be.

In socializing with these wonderful people, we have realized that Taioha’e is a city of interesting stories.  Toward one such story, we already set off the next moment.  Namely, in the Valley of the Teau, at a distance of fifteen minutes of walking from the market, is the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  It was erected in the sacred place of ancient Marqueans and built of wood and stones brought from the six inhabited islands of the archipelago.  This fairytale structure consists of two bell towers connected by a wall that is used as part of the entrance to the cathedral, inside which there are several beautiful wooden carvings with religious themes.  The morning services are held only on Sundays with harmonious music and thundering singing that can be heard all the way to the waterfront.  Unfortunately, it was Friday so we were forced to leave this rare beautiful experience behind us

Walking along the coast, we were drugged by some tropical sleepiness that a pleasant breeze brought through the beautiful canopy of trees, from the sea.  The waterfront and its black beaches are the perfect place to enjoy the view of the bay and the sunset.  In the center is Temehea Tohua, home of the ancestor of Queen Vaekehu who was considered to be Taioha’s last ruler.  By marrying another chieftain, she was able to reunite an once divided tribe.  Tohua was a large rectangular platform surrounded by plateaus used for ceremonies and meetings.  The place abounds with several Tiki statues full of fascinating details, big eyes and elongated heads with a mixture of small and enormous bodies.  It could say they looked like aliens.  Looking at such distorted statues, we wondered what the artists of that time wanted to portray?

Not far from the pier, at the top of the hill above the bay, a huge Div Tiki called Tuhiva was built.  Another interesting story twelve meters high that brings together the history of Nuku Hiva.  It used to be the meeting place of local tribes.  In the early 19th century, in the unsuccessful conquest of the South Pacific Empire, the Americans built a small fortress, “Fort Madison,” which was taken over by the French in the mid-century and changed its name to “Fort Collett.” The place was abandoned at the end of the century and left to Tuhiva, the patron of sailors, to welcome them from distant journeys and protects in the Polynesian waters.

The Marquesas are a very proud people, proud of their lives, their culture and history.  Among other things, they express their identity and belonging to these islands through a tattoo which, apart from its mythological meaning, has an aesthetic value and sex appeal.  The word “tattoo” was first used by Captain James Cook and was fascinated by it.  At that time, the tattoo was performed using a coed animal bone that pushed ink under the skin, and outlined different figures on the buttocks, thighs, and back with thin lines.  Today, men and women paint their bodies from head to toe and I strongly believe that most of the tattooed designs are mapped from the parts of the Tiki.  By returning to the pier, we have completed our tour of the city, only thing left was to land in the dingy and get on the boat.  We spent the rest of the day in a very pleasant atmosphere studying the nautical map of Polynesia and the weather conditions.

 The shopping we went to do on that rainy Saturday morning, was more than theatrical, and especially on our way back when we were returning to the dock with our hands full of bags and when heavy rain it simply coming down on us.   In vain we tried to take shelter in a cafe full of people.  It seemed like it was going to be raining forever, so we decided to go back to the pile of groceries that remained lying near the ladders.  Actually, we did not care any more cause we were soaked to bare skin.  The clothes on us had stuck to us like foil around sandwiches, and we looked like soggy rats.  We were no longer sure, whether tears ran down our faces of laughter or drops of rain.  Anyway, Peter climbed down to the dingy, while I had handed him down the bags of food with a rope. What are Romeo and Juliet in comparison with this our romance, I believe we overshadowed Shakespeare and branched ivy.  Swamped with things with the loud laughter and the sound of the little motor, we defied the raindrops and slowly approached Meermowe.

The usual meeting of all participants of the regatta and ARC was scheduled that afternoon at about five o’clock in the Great Hall where we were introduced to the map and all the details regarding our further journey to Tahiti.  A festive dinner with several types of Polynesian dishes and traditional dances were part of the rich organization of our hosts.

And lastly, there is nothing left for me then to leave you with this photo of the rooster as the star of this post, because they are arguably the main musical instruments of the entire archipelago.  On Sunday morning at about ten o’clock we left Nuku Hiva as well as the Marquesana Gardens, and with full lungs sailed towards the Tuamatu Islands.

How I have managed to figure out, life is the shift between the new and old.  One thing ends and another begins, or as what my dear husband would say, “every end is a new beginning”.  And so, that morning, we have once again left the shore and started the trip into unknown, opening a new page of the story, three thousand miles long, with which I want to honour all our dear and faithful followers as well as those who have decided it to become.   Our longest landless trip was often the topic of our thinking and conversation even at the time of the start of Meermow’s Great Adventure.  It was the time, when we celebrated the first thirty miles, successfully crossed on the Adriatic and felt like we have passed, nothing less or more, than The Cape of Good Hope.  For that reason, the journey from Galapagos to French Polynesia, that moment in our eyes and above all the happy world, was inconceivable.  Our brain was too small to figure this impressive number to understand differently than an ordinary number with a lot of zeros.  In spite of everything, there was not a moment to worry about this complex mathematical function with the many unknowns that we should face in the foreseeable future.  We simply surrendered to the maritime temptation and enjoyment while the answers and solutions, during navigation came alone. We were sure that, up to French Polynesia, we would be physically and mentally ready, to overcome any situation and weather conditions in the 23 days period.  So let’s do this together and beat the challenge of this longest trip that might take you to the land of your dreams, because in the end this is your adventure.

We left the Galapagos with full sails sometime before lunch.  The sailboats were slowly moving away from each other and disappeared into the horizon. The day was sunny, warm and ideal for sailing.  Using the stern-side wind, the course led us to the southwest.  In anticipation of his amplification, we collected the bimini that it would not break down, looking for pleasure and sun protection in the shaded shade below the solar panels, what that turned into a funny and fun game. In the end, winning over such a nice and rare oasis in the cockpit ended up under umbrella.  Irresistible burgers, whose fragrances spread out of the kitchen, soon they smiled to us from the tray speaking in all languages about enjoying each segment of our journey.  In that warm and positive atmosphere, we have soon become solo players in the sea spaciousness.  We really loved the way Meermowe has been crossed miles, opposing the waves as well as gusts of about 20 knots.   At that moment, we even did not dream the weather is going to play with us that afternoon about five o’clock, and definitely slow our progress.  Unstable wind was “so strong” that pointer of the wind spun around in all directions, while the Genoa was helplessly hanging on the bow as a patch.  There was no choice, we have collected the sails, start the engine and moved on, sailing into dusk and beautiful sunset.  That night, my husband started the night shift, while I was unsuccessfully trying to get some sleep.  Preparing for sleep on board, especially in navigation, is a very simple process.  Instead of being in bed, you sleep on sofas in the saloon.  There are no getting dressed in pyjamas because you have to be ready for an emergency popping into the cockpit.  Your brain is in constant motion with one eye open.   Teeth are only washed for health reasons, and when you finally catch on with the horizontal position on how to not lose any minute from well-deserved rest, for your ears it is going to paste small night music of the ship engine.   To try to fall asleep is hard but achievable, if nothing else, then with the old and proven technique of counting sheep.  At the end of all, you sadly realise that your time has expired and the sheep flock left uncounted.  If I had not stood up to replace Peter, Meermowe would be converted to Noah’s Ark. The night went smoothly and without problems.  Early in the morning we got some wind off of 5.5 knots, so I widened the sails and turned off the engine.  The speed with which we moved was automatically dropped to 2.5 and promised that we would reach the Marquesas Archipelago by the end of the year and if we managed to reach 4 knots, we could be straight to Nicky Lauder, Formula One driver.  It was true that we were expecting this kind of slack on this section of the journey but not so fast, just a few hours after departure.  Motoring or not, was a question in which even Hamlet would not be able to answer, because the length of the trip that was standing in front of us, had warned that we must take account of the fuel consumption.  We did not want to risk it, so we decided to wait for the wind.  It was an interesting start and a new experience that we did not have the chance to experience in the Atlantic.  According to the weather reports, which did come by mail through Iridium, it all seemed that we had to sail even more south than we planned, to reach the area of the winds.  Weather conditions in the first few days of our longest trip without the land, did not differ much.  The weak winds that had periodically appeared were real joy.  We did not have a spinnaker so we played with sails, tangoon and boom.  We have tightened and release them to catch at least a little wind.  The speedometer still did not cross three knots, which confirmed Galileo’s theory of moving.  We were slowly advancing in the slow-motion version as the worm in the cabbage, while we did not, in the early afternoon, like Cinderella after midnight, turning again into captives of absolute quietness.

My husband and I, we functioned very well in that uncertainty, which has to, far from the real world we got used to, could extend on through all week and turn it into a real agony.  Aware of the situation, we left to the maximum enjoyment of the natural environment in which we found ourselves, as well as to everything that came to our minds, to preserve the power of spirit and good mood. From the stage of the largest water theatre in the world, dolphins and sea lions with their spectacular acrobatics and lazy stretching on the sea surface, were entertaining us.  While albatrosses and flying fish stayed true to themselves and their roles in a closed circuit pursuer and fugitive, the night premiere of luminous planktons, were performed under the cover of darkness with a playful pearl shimmering.  It was a real paradise for the eyes with which we loaded our batteries.  To Peter’s pleasure, I used up the time of deadness for culinary delights, so I had filled out tropical nights by romantic dinners served with candles and good wine, what has been in other circumstances unimaginable.   With our many daily obligations on the boat, we used our down time to play with the interesting contents of our “maritime chest”.  Movies, music, games, all of which were located in this rich treasury of entertainment, from which we could learn a lot.  The real fun for us was the discovery of the life motto of the ancient people of the lost city of Timgad.  “Hunting, swimming, playing and laughing, that’s the life,” it was carved into its walls.  To this thought, we could identify ourselves and I could add “… and sailing on our own boat with two rudder wheels, …”.  Do you also believe that there was some secret relationship between us, at the moment when we raised the anchor of Meermowe’s Great Adventure?  So, slowly moving and floating like a small plastic boat in the well, Meermowe was, with the fascinating sunsets, calmly but safely from night to night sinking into darkness where his position lights, like a deserted island, were the only lanterns of life.

More than half a week has remained behind us and who knows where it would be the end of this and the beginning of a new episode, that Peter did not make the decision “tomorrow we turn on the engine”.  Great, just what we needed, at the right time and in the right place, because when the skin begins to be itchy it is time for action and adventure.  The journey continued in a brilliant mood, by the sign of bananas, which at their fingertips were hanging in the cockpit as well as both donkey’s and bird’s noise of our sweet and cuddly crew, Dino and Pipo.  Even the engine noise was no longer registered, we sailed, and that was the most important moment at that time.  During the night, six beautiful white albatrosses landed on the deck to rest and gather strength how, in the early morning they would continue far on.  Looking at them, I remembered of Dalmatia and Split. For the time of south winds, when the seagulls got together in parks, on the waterfront promenade or anywhere along the seashore, old Dalmatian fishermen would know to say “storm is coming”.   Just because of that sensible instinct they possess, I thought that our dear friends were just a warning on the weather changes that will soon change our rhythm.  It’s amazing how much I was right.   However, there was no south wind, but to our great surprise that morning, into our story has entered the storm wind of 15 knots.   We turned off the engine and spread the sails.  At speed 7 we were back in shape.  What a pleasure!  We finally got what every sailor dreams of.  We took advantage of the situation to throw nylon and try fishing.  We proudly supported Meermowe, celebrate every passing mile and have only one wish, only to last. But still…… it was all pointed to the opposite.  The wind had become unstable and although it seemed to have the strength of 6 knots, we did not have any use of it.  Sails were totally exhaled, while baits for fish became plain metal lures.  We entered into the area of strong currents. Velocity of movement was 0.1.  The pointer on the wind gauge had begun to wildly turn around.  Because of the low speed, the rudder canceled the obedience so we started to swing and turn around in all directions.  Meermowe stood in place.   We decided to collect the sails and the baits and re-start the engine only for one hour and see if anything will change. And indeed, it had changed but in the wrong direction.  Just when it should not, appearing to be of some trouble.  Balancing at the deck as he removed the tangoon from the genoa, Peter stepped on one of the windows and unfortunately broke it.  Seeing what had happened, I immediately went down under the deck to put two thicker trash bags on the window cover, as the dark clouds were just over us.  Seconds were in question because rain had already started to fall.  Weepeee, we stayed dry.  Otherwise we could safely sing my favorite song by B.J.Thomas, “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head”.  We turned on automatic pilot and like Rocco and Cicibela, we had shrunk under the bimini, deeper into the cockpit.  No matter what my husband treats rain as an ideal sleep time, she is, in fact, very romantic and mystical.  Some people do not like rain as my dad did not like, but anyhow, I believe that many of you, at least one, had enjoyed the rainy atmsphere of staying on the beach, fishing, or walking along the coast of the sea because when it rains, nature and all that surrounds you, even the umbrella you hold in your hand, takes on one a new and indescribable shape.  Sun and showers, in which we sailed, periodically have alternated until finally, in the afternoon, did not stay behind us and together with the wind that completely disappeared.  It was a very interesting shower therapy.  The needle on the fuel gauge showed that ¼ of diesel had already been spent.  Using the slack, with the first reserves of diesel we replenished the tank, while we were still motoring because it was very likely that we will not pass without at least another fierce storm.  Charting position on the nautical chart, we immediately concluded that we are in the area of increased magnetic disparities with a large deviation of the magnetic compass from the GPS.  For this reason, the direction that led us in the hunt on more stable winds of 11 to 18 knots, as on the well-hidden truffles, were determined according to the GPS.  Contrarily, the course of the magnetic compass, would take us on even hundreds of miles more south of the final destination.  Official communication during the navigation was carried out regularly via SSB.  During the morning and evening we had to report on the position of each ship in the fleet, the general condition of the crew and any problems on board.  In the end, everything pointed to the fact that we should, as a whipped cream on the cake at the Island of Hiva O’a arrive last, which did not bother us at all.  With a pleasantly spent evening still one more very warm and muggy day has come to an end.  Yes, exactly, came to an end, but did not finish, because the new storm in which we sailed in during the night on the transition from the sixth to the seventh parallel, checkmated us in three moves.  While the rain was falling mercilessly, terrifying sound of thundering and lightning echoed in the night ripping the sky.  It was one weird mixture of fear and comfort, pleasure, and discomfort, and a conflict of belief and persuasion that the rain is right idyll or at least one of its versions.  Anyway, we got out of the storm and by full lungs continued further with the wind reaching up to 18 knots.  Life under sails has become, in some way, our philosophy of life and total enjoyment so even in extreme conditions.

Catching a hundred kilos of heavy tuna, it was the culmination of fishing for us.  As we did not give up of that dream, next week of sailing was filled with a little fishing dynamics.  We really missed this adrenaline sport full of uncertainty and excitement.  To our great surprise, that was the most challenging and craziest season ever.  Regardless of the countless unsuccessful attempts which we did have, two beautiful Swordfish, caught on one stick; the collision of the “back to back” with Peter in the simultaneous struggle with the unknown monsters and two nylons as well the huge Merlyn, whose head had described the fish over one hundred kilos, certainly they have become part of our most exciting stories from the depths of the sea.  That illusion is not only part of the magician’s performance, has confirmed and “Hoodoo Gile”, a bird Cormorant, our legendary hero who, in search for lunch was caught on the hook.  Whoops, what a trouble!!!  And so, miserable Gile was jumping and snorkeling through the waves without his bottle and flippers, until we pulled him out. Broken in pain, with a saucer eyes like on a bingo machine and scattered feathers that it hopelessly hung over his head, was looking as if he had just come down from a roller coaster. When he regained consciousness, we returned him to the sea and watched for some time, until he had dived into the water again.  He probably remembered that half an hour ago he looked for lunch.

Travels the open seas are a challenge for every sailor.  They are unpredictable and full of proving of themselves, its limits and possibilities. Not only change life’s habits, but our thinking and view of the world that surrounds us.  New experiences overshadow the old, complicated becomes easy, and impossible turns into possible.   Everything that is done on board, adapts to current conditions and performs in the best possible way, making this adventure a really interesting and special one.  In this boundless freedom of spirit and movement, we have not chosen resources to achieve the goal.  Seawater has been used for everything except for drinking and cooking. Those days, for the first time in my life, I washed the merchandise in the seawater and so to ourselves, we had smelt like salty sardines and a good wine.

Our time has passed relatively fast. Every moment on board represented a touch of all elements of nature.  Mornings we were found on the deck many small squids and flying fish, which waves had thrown out onto our platform during the night, leaving them powerless to return to the sea.  In the company of a book and a refreshing drink, we simply left ourselves to the silence and enjoyment of the sailing.  Soon we changed time zones, so our days were getting shorter and nights becoming longer. Night’s duties were extended endlessly and had finished with toothpicks in our eyes.  With the passing of the 112 meridians, we were approaching halfway up to French Polynesia.  Life on the boat was running normally and under control until light rain had begun. A new cycle of the weather change it once more played with us emphasizing its absolute supremacy.  We were again exposed to a strong blow of wind and waves, which were sudden and rapidly rotating the bow of the ship to the left, pushing the wind-pilot outside of its course.  At that moment we got acceleration.  The speedometer calculator climbed to 10 knots.  Meermowe seemed to have got her wings.  Honestly, it did not last long, but experience told us that we have to intervene, calm our passions and shorten sails.  Before sunset, the rain stopped and we, lonely in the blue of the ocean, continued our journey with the stern winds and low rays of the sun, in which they had passed through the edge of lead-grey horizon.

The first half of the trip was over in the morning hours of the following day, which was certainly the reason for the celebration.  With a tiramisu cake and a wonderful smell of coffee, we threw a bottle with a message in the sea and sailed into the third week of our longest journey without land. While are the back wind, pleasant weather and constant progress had become the sequence of our daily lives, the storms seemed as if they had rested somewhere far away from us.It was like we sailed downhill through this part of the route and that miles were passing much faster.    “In case it will continue on this way, at Marquesas Archipelago we could arrive in just over a week,” Peter shouted out from the saloon after marking the position.  It sounded fantastic, like we were in front of the door, so we did not hide excitement and joy.  In the soul, we lived with the sea, with the sails and for sails.  Frequent visits from the dolphins and the whales were right refreshment, while fishing was a pure dream and empty story.  Any attempt to catch something, was a failure, as in the knights’ tournament “Sinjska Alka” when it spears hits “into nothing”.It was possible to catch the old discarded container before the fish.  Despite of everything, the nylons had been cast into the sea every day with the hope that we will by the end of it realize our dream of catching a hundred kilos of heavy tuna. And so, by crossing the 124th meridians, we were closer to the final line and the “madness”, which came to us three days before the arrival at French Polynesia.  A new announcement of strong winds of up to 35 knots in the “H” section, through which we sailed, it did not make us so excited as that penetrating sound of nylon.  In the visit to us she had arrived, neither more nor less than our dear guest, tuna.

This dramatic story had begun in a very ordinary morning, during the breakfast.  Finally, the eagerly awaited and well-known sound that has, like the thundering from a clear sky, simply passed through the air, ripping our ears.  Pushing the coffee away from himself, Peter immediately jumped up, grabbed the fishing stick and pulled it through the bracket of the solar panels to stop the crazy unwinding nylon.  We were expecting a loss of the hook and bait again, what in the fight with the monsters, often happens.  Like us, you would not believe, the reel had stopped at the very end.  At first glance it all did stop, we almost thought that beauty of the beast, had run away.  A few seconds we were puzzled over and staring into the distance, then it came to the general clutter.  According to the behavior and the resistance, which the fish provided, we figured she was heavier and well-hooked tuna with which we will not be so easy to handle. That raw power from the ruler of the depth had raised our adrenaline to the extreme exhaustion.  The battle lasted for two and a half hours, after which the muscles of our handshadtrembled from tiredness.  Finally, as the half dead from exhaustion, on the reach of hand, the tuna was lying motionless on the surface of the sea.  It was too shocking to look at her, she had over a hundred kilos.  We managed to drag her up to the first stair and then it had followed by a second juice. Convincingly reflecting his helplessness, at one point with the last forces, tuna had strongly winced and broke the nylon.  Holding an empty fishing stick in the hands, we could not believe it with our eyes.  For a few seconds she still lay so motionless, while we had slowly moved away from her and then tuna disappeared into the depths. Peter was just about to jump for her. Painfully, we looked at each other and laughed.  Damn, at same time we were so close and so far away.  Actually, we wanted to take a picture with such a huge and heavy fish then return her back to the sea.   In the case as she knew it, who knows, maybe her mind would have changed.  An hour later, we caught blue tuna, weighing in at 15.5 kilograms, and a day before arriving at our destination, into the freezer we hosted a very tasty Wahoo fish and so had forgotten abot our great failure.

Considering that the wind, with which we had to face, luckily turned in the other direction, we were able to determine the time of our arrival at Hiva O’a.  On Friday, the twenty-third day of the trip, four hours before reaching the port we saw the first outlines of the mainland.  As the dusk slowly descended, birds were circling above us as if they were welcoming us. It was wonderful to watch them being so overwhelming in their peaceful and safe flight.  That I know all the languages of the world, believe me, I would not be able to describe the happiness and pride, with which we were fulfilled getting nearer to the finishing line.  Into the Bay of Atuona, on the authentic island of the Marquesas archipelago, Hiva O’a, we sailed in at the evening where we joined our fleet.   At the Taha Uku anchorage, under a starry sky of French Polynesia, that moment had been thrown and last anchor of the ARC fleet.

That evening, we played songs long into the night. Totally calm sea, storms, hurricane winds and extreme heat, it is all like a movie once more went through our minds, while we were melted in the taste of risotto with squids.  I wonder where else, except with Meermowe’s Great Adventure, we would literally watch by day, week and like a dreamy baby in the cradle of the ocean, had experienced the ultimate thrill of sailing.  The story has come to an end, and whether the end is really a new beginning or a simple ending, you will tell me that in the next adventure.

Isabella is the largest island of Galapagos and one of the pearls of the Archipelago.  It is easily recognized because its shape resembles a sea horse.  At a distance of over a hundred miles, we sailed for a day in a very pleasant atmosphere, talking as well as joking about the unusual stories we picked up at San Cristobal.  The most interesting one was about “Lonely George”, who was formerly the oldest gigantic turtle.  He was the last remaining male of that particular kind, whom had the scientists harshly forced sex to extend its species.  According to their opinion, George was at the very peak of sexual power but unfortunately did not show interest in fatherhood, so it remained the only hope that George would have is that maybe one day he would become a middle-aged father.  He lived on the island of Pinta and as the most lonely animal on the planet, has received well-deserved place in the Guinness Book of World Records.  He was later transferred to Santa Cruz Island, where he died at the Breeding Centre.  “If I were to have a sexual rise whilst being one hundred years old like George, I would also not bother myself with fatherhood”, was Peter’s comment “even more, I would open a harem and live in it as a Sultan”, he added with a big smile.  Poor George, he was killed by sex in the best of years.  If it weren’t like that, maybe he would live several decades longer.  The night was beautiful, romantic and full of enjoyment, which Peter accepted with great caution in regards of George’s experience.

On the anchorage of the small fishing village Puerto Villamil, we have sailed in about five that afternoon. At the entrance, we noticed that the bay is calm and protected as well as filled with underwater reefs and shallows.  By the “Embarcadero” dock and the small club “Nautico” we could have come with dinghy, but we used taxi services to avoid complications through a very demanding rocky maze. “Why complicated when it can be easily”, was our moto, so we have elegantly disembarked on the pier and walked lightly towards the city. Puerto Villamil is situated in the middle of idyllic sandy beaches stretching along the coastline. In one of a series of affordable restaurants, we picked up some information about the city itself.  The first thing we discovered in its immediate vicinity it was a park with local brackish water and flamengos in its, called “Flamenco Park”. Looking at the exquisite pink coloured feathers of these exceptionally beautiful birds belonging to the swamp was like looking at paradise.   These creatures are interesting as well as shy in nature therefore we were able to watch and photograph them only with distance. Due to the short stay, the mega prices and sweltering temperature in the air, we did not explored Isabela as we had imagined. Disastrous heat closed our doors before we went on the six-mile wide crater of Sierra Negra, the most active volcano in the Galapagos. It was a hot story without any sense that turned into Hamlet’s question “do it or not”. You believe me, it was not hard to find the answer in the pleasant shade of the restaurant, enjoying the cold beer, laughter, and fun. In the end, it was supposed to be experienced. After a very pleasant evening, we started preparing for the continuation of the journey and meeting with new beauties and excitement. Leaving Puerto Villamil in the foam furrow of Meermowe, we left Isabela in the direction of Santa Cruz Island, located in the center of the archipelago.

We anchored in a fully open bay, in front of the capital of the Galapagos, Puerto Ayora.  Swaying on the waves, we found our own place between excursion boats and the other modern wanderers under sails.  We were excited because we knew we would soon leave this unique natural park in the world and start with the longest voyage without land up to French Polynesia.  The life on Galapagos, after Islands of Cristobal and Isabela, became somewhat a routine, so we did not waste time to ordering taxi to drive to the city.  Under the equatorial sun, on the dock well-known representatives of the animal world, sea lions and iguanas greeted us.  Puerto Ayora is extremely neat and a very pleasant place.  In the harbor and on the waterfront it ruled a real life, which is not uncommon for small coastal towns.  Trade on the street takes place at a temperature of more than 40 degrees.  Air conditioners are seen only in dreams, and the prices are not at all shy.  Fish was in abundant and is very cheap.  The only ones, which have been ok with everything in this surounding, were the pelicans.  They are well intentioned and remarkably agree with the fishermen.  We walked around and found fewer grocery stores and fruit market, where we the day before departure, made a small shopping. I did not miss a opportunity to shorten my hair at the first hairdressing salon we’ve had on the way.  Numerous Italian restaurants were a real surprise for us.  In any case, we stopped in one of them before returning to the ship.  Unlike expensive wines, the beer had been poor quality therefore we have, with a fruit cocktail, ended up the evening.  The favorite Nachos dinner, prepared on board, was more than hit.  The Mexican crackers with which we pleasantly chated about further navigation, spoke seven languages.  Until we went to sleep we studied maritime charts, satellite navigation, weather conditions, as well as made strategy and organization of further trip.  As usual, Dino and Pipo helped us in it.  Meermowe was in the top form for the fierce rhythm of sailing.  “Only that we are still missing is the fruit market on Saturday and we can go”, was the conclusion with which we happily agreed and gone to bed.  How is Academy Bay was full of hammerhead sharks, by no means we did not think about swimming, so the last day in Santa Cruz were dedicated to Tortuga Lagoon.  The morning was full of big excitement, hurry, and extraordinary mood.  Dino and Pipo who decided to come with us, they had contributed of that sympathetic hurryness.

This bay, due to its beauty, is one of the most famous on Santa Cruz. It is about a forty-five minute walk from the city center. The winding stony path surrounded with cactuses, palo santo and matasarno trees, led us to the spacious coast, which is elegantly drowned in the Pacific Ocean. It was hot and windless, like in an oven set at 350 degrees without a fan. While we chilled ourselves with water from the bottle, how we would not melt like ice cream, Dino and Pipo were deeply submerged into the shade of the backpack. At the end, the painstaking walking was rewarded.   In the front of us there was stretches of spectacular white sandy beach with the beautiful iguanas, as our dear friends called them “angry beasts” of which they were scared. Full of the fearness, they fell to the bottom of the bag as a lego dice. It took us the whole eternity to emerge them out. With a bit of persuasion, by the end of the day, they even became friends with these sweet “negro candies” so we even managed to make some happy photos. The Playa Mansi, with one part being describe as having strong currents and the kick of powerful waves over the sandy dunes whose noise was spreading along the beach like an echo. The second part is in a very quiet and protected lagoon, where we swam, while are Dino and Pipo enjoyed in climbing on the tree branches. As the old song says, “Everything is coming to the end, one day “, therefore also this one full of laughs and fun finished faster than we wanted. We arrived back to the boat in the early evening. With the sunset, we enjoyed and went to sleep, somewhat earlier. The Saturday’s open-air market, opens early in the morning, at five o’clock, while already at six, with my friends from the group, I have been on the streets of Puerto Ayora. The main trading place is located on the way to the airport and is something further from the port, therefore we watched with delight as the city wakes up. Some of the products that we found at the stalls were bred locally while most of them are brought by boat from the mainland. The prices were a bit high, but unfortunatelly we did not have a big choice. That Peter was with us, he would simply enjoy chatting and joking with these wonderful traders, and particularly those of female’s gender. I’m sure with his exquisite charm it could have filled our bags with fruit and vegetables at cheaper prices. We definitely missed him, but I can’t say the same for him, because at that time of the day, he usually enjoys the sweet dreams. In the afternoon hours, we were supplied with the quantaties of water that we ordered and fuel with which we filled all tanks and spare plastic canes up to the lid. Customs administration and paperwork to leave Ecuador were ready.  The last check of the electronics, cords, ropes, sails and winches has once more confirmed our readiness for a new adventure. That evening we prepared two messages in bottles in four languages with a big wish that they arrive to the shore with the wind and the waves, so to those who find them bring happiness and joy. Before leaving, in the banana shop for $10, we bought a whole branch full of green bananas. It was a great idea, to our longest journey in the hug of 97 bananas, I do not think that even an Orangutan would not be happier more than us. Bananas were placed on the boat, in such a place that we were able to watch them even while we slept.

By raising the anchor, one by one, we were on the way to the starting line. Proudly standing at the bow, my thoughts were wandering over the Pacific Ocean, the largest ocean in the world. With sails full of the wind, we left Galapagos at the direction to the belt of permanent southeast winds of the Equator who followed Meermowe all the way to Australia. On our route, the first mainland was the island of French Polynesia, Hiva Oa in the Marquesas Archipelago. It’s a small inlet in which I found out that Paul Gauguin and singer Jackass Brel Sampson were buried and whose graves we would like to find if we would have any chance at all.

Peter has always been a great student. Unlike physics, chemistry and mathematics, which subjects he adored, geography was less interesting and even boring. He was not interesting to learn how many sheep there are in Argentina, how many tons of fish annually were exported from Italy or how much rice fields in China are worth. The only thing that attracted him from that area was the map imagining that one day he must visit the world. Dreaming about sailing on its own boat with two wheels and discovering new spaces is the reason for the existence of Meermowe’s Great Adventure, so you sail with us, be prepared to face the risks of traveling and discover the distant Galapagos.

We left Panama in a fantastic mood. While the light wind filled our sails, we resembled like Darwin’s exploratory expedition of the twenty-first century. Meeting with lizards’ iguanas, watching pink flamencos and steping into the world of huge korni turtle, were new adventures that flowed through our veins.  In a wide arc, toward the Island of Chapera, we bypassed round about the shallow water that stretched in front of the Bay of Cacique. Passing Punta Lagarta and Mala, we sailed towards the Island Pedro Gonzales and Jan Jose. Our final destination was the island of Cristobal. The days were sunny, warm and humid. We were feeling the proximity to the Equator, from which we were separated only a few days. But, none of this did not prevent us that in the shade of the bimini enjoy divine tranquility, fascinating scenes of sunrise and sunset as well as a new understanding of incredible animal friendship in this endless of sea vastness. Along with the daily commitments we had on board, fishing was our main concern. Old stocks long ago ran out, so we have had great hopes in that discipline, which did not betrayed us. Each day was a new challenge. An unforgettable struggle with a blue tuna and a duel full of jumps with fish of rainbow’ colours called dorado, at witch occasion my nylon cutted one finger of the gloves as I helped Peter get it, are just part of the everyday fishermen’s stories of this part of the journey. I cannot, without mentioning Roger, a small sea dog that was triumphal overture. Our biggest challenge was the swordfish heavy 27 kilograms, we caught the day before arrival in Galapagos. This brilliant story began unexpectedly with sharp rattle sound of nylon, just when we decided to finish with fishing and turned into several hours of strategic duel with nature, full of excitement and suspense. It was a real adrenaline rush in which we, in spite of incredible risks, have put ourselfs and all our fishing knowledge, which we had, how could fish arrive on the table. Undeniably, it was our fishing adventure, but I have to be honest, even if we did not catch anything, this would be days to memory. Anyway, we came to Galapagos like a fisherman. It was enjoyment to watch fish tails as they smiled beneath the lid of the freezer.

Crossing over the Equator line is something that traditionally, in one way or another, is still marked in the maritime world. According to the old tradition to the show program and the ceremony, it full of insanity, on large merchant ships and tankers, great attention was paid to emphasize the importance of this event. For those, who this invisible line that divides the globe in half, cross for the first time meant the transformation of a young sailor into a professional crew, what was not so easy. While some celebrated the grace and helplessness of King Neptune, from the others bounded with chaines, with strong water jets their sins were paid off. Rich tables, it contributed to the celebration, while the crown of all was the “equatorial cocktail”, specially prepared for this occassion and nothing less than into the toilet bowl.  There was that place for all the magical spices, which came to the mind, from beer, wine, coca-cola, whiskey and soup, then flour, pepper and salt until hot tabasco and everything that can “beautify” life. Huh, what a nice swallow …disaster, but you never say NO, because there was found someone who said: “Another one, please”. You have to admit, dear friends that after this peppermint story, it was wonderful to return again to reality and our common adventure, so instead of the toilet bowl to drink cold champagne from the champagne glasses, savoring the wonderful oreo cheesy cake that I prepared the day before crossing the Equator. Sins I will not to adjudicate because the happiness and pride that we were feeling that moment, counting geographic minutes and seconds on the plotter together with all of you, were strong enough to drive them out of the way, without chains and hose. While in the soul we celebrated the victory of another section of the way, Meermowe carried us further to the first contours of Cristobal Island.

The Galapagos Islands are described as one of the most spectacular places on the Earth’s globe. The time spent on them is considered to be a life changing experience, so our expectations were directed in that direction. The San Cristobal Island, whose name comes from the saint of St Christopher, also known as Chatman is the fifth largest in the group and the first island to which Darwin was disembark. In Puerto Baquerizo we sailed in just before lunch and anchored at a depth of approximately sixteen meters. For a short while, to our great surprise, we were surrounded by a multitude of playful sea lions. With their sweet snouts, they acted very friendly, while with the screamming and the clapping with the front limbs, they expressed welcome and therefore won us completely. We immediately realized that they adore boats and were not afraid of people. Sociability, importunity and graceful behavior, they were used to lubricate the eyes and achieve the goal. And they really have succeeded. With their intelligence and naive play, they quickly occupied the Meermowe as their territory, first only one, carefree lying down on the stairs, and then the entire family tree. Sounds like a chauffeur’s story about a sexy hitchhiker with her husband and five children hidden in the bushes. We had no idea really, how much we were naive when we thought that with swinging of the curious male this story ends. No, that was just the beginning of our daily headaches. But still, we enjoyed the party with which we were filled the time until the arrival of customs controls.

Solving the paperwork was going relatively fast. We already were familiar with the rigorous regulations, so it was all timely well prepared. Three inspection’ groups with five officers exchanged each other until we did not collected all the necessary paperwork to enter the country and finally got the green light to go ashore. Communication with the mainland takes place by a water taxi, which has operated all day and night in all directions. It took just waving with a hat, to order them via radio channels or yell in order to attract their attention.  The rest of the day we decided to spend in the city and stretch our legs. Puerto Baquerizo Moreno is a little and very cute place. He was named after the first Ecuadorian president who visited Cristobal. Already at the taxi dock, we have noticed that we will not have a problem to find our way in this somewhat sleepy town, whose legend speaks of sailors, long journeys, accidents and deaths as well about the longstanding mystery of the “Galapagos affair”, linked to a series of unresolved disappearances on the Island of Floreana in Galapagos. In the Interpretation center, it still can be seen found and preserved objects used by the first families that settled there, what is shown in the film “Satan came to Eden”.   Among them is the world’s most famous mailbox for letters that have been picked up and delivered by crew of the boats, who came to the island. Given that it was the only link with the outside world, perfectly functioned.

Near this small museum surrounded by lush vegetation, we had a chance to see, among other things, the unique Fregata bird, whose male, in a romantic mission inflates its red chest with the aim of winning his partner with his infinite attraction. We enjoyed in this natural creativity and spectacular view of the beach and the roofs
of the town. Puerto Baquerizo has two main streets and both stretch along the coast. Houses of pastel colors are mostly large, while style of construction is subtle and remind to Mexican hacienda. On the way back, we went toward Malecon, the main public meeting place, from where they were coming the sounds of hot salsa. The place abounds of cozy restaurants, bars and shops, while the Ecuadorian seafood “ceviche”, are being prepared for all tastes. Since we had seafood delights in abundance, we decided to only drink something cold.

In the end I have to mention our newly baked friends, lazy sea lions that are the real attraction of the city and without which Puerto Baquerizo would not be what it is. They are related to sacred cows in India and like scattered pearls are lying on the road, sidewalks and public benches with no worries that the police will punish them for the wrong parking. Toward whichever way we go, we were “feeling” them in the air. Another extraordinary afternoon, full of fun stayed behind us, but the biggest one was when we got to the boat and saw the whole tribe, from grandfather to the smallest bud, stretched out on the deck and cockpit. At the sound of the engine, they were reluctantly raised their heads, looking at us questionably. Before we got on the boat, the happy family has jumped into the sea leaving behind an unpleasant stench and a message “see you soon”. We did not suspect that we would have breakfast and early morning coffee to drink without our friends on board, so we have covered stairs and the entire backside with all available fenders in the hope to stop their climbing aboard. It was a new scenario with shabby rules of the game, but also with clever solutions that surpassed all expectations. The next morning it happened exactly what we have assumed. Helplessly standing in the cockpit, the pearls of Cristobal they surrounded us in full composition, without anybody absent. As we have agreed, taxi arrived sometime before seven o’clock. Whilst our “Beach Boys” were swaying on Meermowe, we were laughing with tears just how intelligent they were.

Flintstones have always been the favorite cartoons of all generations and I’m sure that there are no one who hasn’t, at least once, equalised itself with Fred, Wilma, Barni or Betty. Watching them, only a dead man it would not want to have an elephant instead of a vacuum cleaner, postman pelican, dinosaur for riding, a stubborn tiger as a pet as well as feel the taste of Cactus Cola and of course enjoy in Flinstones steak from a grill. Perhaps all this would remain only part of our fantasy that Peter and I have not found ourselves in that well known “yabba dabba doo” world that morning. Departing on El Junco Lagoon with the “Flintstones Jeep”, was part of a new adventure, big chasing through the time machine as well as super feeling that we all were part of one modern family of stone age. The way has led us through lush vegetation and agricultural fields. Passing El Progresso we briefly stopped beside the tomb in which were, along with the body of Manuel Cobos’, or popularly called as “Cobos Imperor”, deeply buried all his affairs about which they are still talking as about bad dream. His story begins in the middle of the 19th century, when he gets approval from the State of Ecuador to open the production of sugar cane in San Cristobal. In the absence of laborers, the authorities have released prisoners to freedom, provided they had to live on this island. By developing his own empire, Manuel has become a total absolutist. Apart from printing their own coinage, people had to buy exclusively in the stores that he owned and at the price he created by himself. His orchards with a new kind of fruit it was forbidden to touch the three years, whose mature fruits, the children could not resist. Despite parental prayer that he does not do it, theft he condemned by beatings without mercy. Lust and possessiveness he was manifested not only toward girls but also women.  They were forced to come for a certain day, by an order that been sent over their fathers or husbands, bathed and for dinner. By sending to the abandoned cliff with a very small amount of bread, where was hard to survive, were punished any opposition to that. After a while, people rebelled and they killed him so that are his brutality and cruelty finally doomed. I just think that Manuel was a sailor, his ship should be, for sure, anchored several months on Equator how could he expels all sins and injustice, which he had done.

El Junco that means sedge, with which is covered it edge, is a little lake at the top of the island and is the only source of constant drinking water. We reached him by the numerous stairs that led through the Miconian tropical shrubs, characteristic of this area. Standing on the edge of a dead volcanic crater turned into a lagoon, we enjoyed the landscape, overlooking the top of Cerro San Joaquin and spectacular Punta Pitt. Due to its sweet water, El Junco is the place where can be watch the Chatham, Mocking and Frigate birds how they swim and clean their feathers from salt. A pleasant wind that we were feeling while we walked around the mountain trail, the mystical nature and the beautiful animal world, it created in us a strange peace, serenity and satisfaction. Simply, we were enchanted by that vicious circle.

Our journey has continued on towards La Galapagera Cerro Colorado, the Giant Turtle Growing Center. Our fantastic Flintstones Jeep once again turned a history page and chased down the street as through the Hanna-Barber studio, but fortunately not being driven with feet. Galapagos turtles are one of the largest and most difficult reptiles in the world. They’re so big that they can be ride. Although we were not been in situation to try this madness, I believe that it is not easy to hold on at her shell. For some of them nobody knows how old they are, who knows maybe there is any who met Darwin and his captain FitzRoy. Walking through the reserve, we had the opportunity to acquaint themselves with the complete program of breeding turtles, from collecting eggs in a dark box to growing up and moving into their natural environment. Slow metabolism and large water supplies allow them a yearly survival without meals and drinks. There is something they particularly enjoy, that is long-term sleeping so Peter obviously was jealous on them. As time went by, we had to say goodbye from these, on the one hand, the synonyms of slowness, laziness and inactivity as well on the other, symbols of wisdom, longevity and patience, and move on.

San Cristobal is not only described by sea lions, turtles, and impressive landscape but beautiful, relaxed and very friendly people, most of whom live from hospitality and fishing. And so, this afternoon, we had the opportunity to be guests at a private farm of one such family what is actually aroused in us a lot of interest. Winding, dusty road, full of holes, was like created for our cheerful Flinstons’ group while we were, as potatoes, bouncing on the seats. At the entrance through the gate, the host and his wonderful grandson were welcomed us with a smile and a shout “Hola”. We were thrilled with the flowering garden that it was surrounded us, while the shade has been a real oasis after of walking around the lake and through Galapaguera Center, under the worst heat. The farm tour was very interesting. Everything was on this estate, how the vegetables that we also eat, salads, carrots, cabbage, sweet potatoes…. so, as well as tropical fruits of different shapes, colours and flavours.  Even though they were piled disorderly without rows and well-structured field of fruit trees, everything was tailored and in a function. Accompanied by the host, we passed beside bananas and trees full of clusters of green platanas, in whose crown of the tree, we found refuge in hiding from the sun. While we enjoyed, on the one hand, in the fruits of naranjilla, small orange with sour taste, from the bush on the other hand pineapples were smiling at us. It is interesting that all these fruits, in spite of the hellish heat in which they grow, juicy, refreshing and full of vitamins and minerals. Enjoying the dates and papayas, without which that farm would not be what it is, its has fulfilled all our expectations, while the trees are home grown organic coffee, beside which we stood, were really beyond them. It was so pleasant that I had
unsuccessfully tried to befriend with ducks.   What a cross-country race this should be involving Dino and Pipo. Maybe the chasing could bring them to the main role for the new premier of the film “Collectors of Feathers”. Upon his return, thanks to the hostess, we enjoyed a fantastic prepared and very delicious lunch. At the departure I bought a
package of homemade coffee I was adding to our collection. In the company of their dog germanshiper, on the way back, we visited El Corro waterfalls, near the farm. The water was cold but I could not resist, I had to get wet. The day slowly had come to the end, as did our tour.  We said goodbye to these nice people who our stay among them done more valuable than just visiting the farm. Driving toward Baquerizo Moreno, we sweetened with the sweet fruits that we received as a gift. From the dock, with the first available taxi we drove to the ship. Fragrances that have greatly spread around Meermowe were not been from roast pork in the oven or of the cake. We were aware that we had to wash the boat urgently. Feeling the negative vibrations, our cute sea lions shortly disappeared and for us did not stay anything other than take the broom and clean the deck.

To be on the Galapagos and not peek into his underwater world, it is same as if you are coming to Paris and do not see the Eifel Tower. Going to Diving early in the morning was full of adventurous spirit, challenges, excitement, unusual encounters, and discovering new places. Beach Las Loberias, not far from Baquerizo Moreno, was a paradise for watching turtles, tropical underwater and swiming through the large and dense flocks of fish. The role of the host of the Gulf, has taken over Iguana, presenting this fascinating coastline and untouched nature as its home and the best place to enjoy. Because of their black color they have another name “dark devil”. They are very interesting, at the same time sweet and ugly and are a true illustration of the time in which dinosaurs walked the world. Returning to the city at the main pier we boarded the ship where we are, on the way to Kicker Rock, have got lunch.   Was that because of hunger or well-prepared meals, I don’t know, but we melted in the taste of everything that was served. Kicker Rock or in Spanish Leon Dormido is an island with two steep cliffs that remind of the lion, which they almost vertically descend into the sea and merge in the depths. It is not only suitable for crawling bird colonies, but also for the wild underwater world. The ship stopped near of passage between the rocks how we could jump from its platform into the sea, and then he sailed around the cliff and had anchored in the calm waters on the other side. The sea current was quite strong, and the sea has been dark and cold. My husband did not want to jump first, but when it came his turn, he did it fast while his brain did not realized what he was done. At that moment he had a wish to be frozen in the flight and so remain in the air above the water or perhaps, before crash in the sea that someone gets him into a quilt, three blankets and several of hot thermos. It was such as in cartoon. When he emerged out on the surface, I did not even try to decipher comments of him because I knew in advance what the writer had wanted to say. I just smiled softly, simply jumped and was joined the group. Kicker Rock was the real pleasure for diving. Visibility was excellent, all the way to the sandy bottom of the canal, through which has been passing flock of the white sharks. With the individuals it could easely meet face to face, what has happened to our friend from another group, while he carefreely was swimming along the rock, in the same direction as the “Rodjer”. Not knowing for one other, they appeared on the end of the cliff each on his side then as a magnet attracted and closely collided. Both of them were confused and speechless, it scared one from other and fled in reverse, each on their own side. Was it vegetarian Moby? Who knows, it does not matter any more, important is that this funny horror will become impresiv tale to the end of the life. The time went by in the unbelievable feeling of the freedom of socialising with colorful fish of the reef and observation of the mystical cliff full of algae. Peter has already jumped into a dry and warm clothes when I climbed on the platform of the ship so how he was feeling cold, neither in madness, he did not want to pull off again on a beach Puerto Grande where did we stop on the way back. So, enjoying in the beautiful scenery, our visit to the white bay was ended with a long walk through sandy dunes. Returning to town, we stopped at the restaurant to drink a cold beer and juice then by the taxi, was back to the ship. That evening, on our great surprise, Meermowe has been completely lonely at anchor.   At the beginning, for the change, it suited us, but after some time we felt very strange, so we went to sleep with the question: “Where are our friends, whom we missed? We left San Cristobal the next morning about ten o’clock in the direction of Isabella Island. By hiding behind the fenders, along with us was embarked one small and to us well-known adventurer so let this to be ours as well as your secret. We will pretend we do not even notice him, and if someone asks you for him, say you did not see it.