Arriving in New Caledonia was like coming home. Not because it is French (although, man, the French know how to pick them), but because it has everything we love about the South Pacific: insanely clear water, jaw dropping lagoon colors, shallow sandy anchorages floating in those colors, uninhabited islands, and great sailing conditions inside a lagoon with easily predictable wind and land effects. 

In addition, because it is French there is a large community of water sports participants which include a strong contingent of women, people sailing their boats in every wind direction, very little restrictions on what you can do as a boater, and not a lot of fuss over what bits of your body are covered. Try telling a French woman (or man) that women have to cover up to be respectful of the locals and you will quickly learn why French colonies don’t play that way. We are not Francophiles by any means and we have been surrounded by French boaters for long enough to know the downsides to these upsides, but still, we love these upsides.

Too bad they only give us North Americans three months… Still, we are going to enjoy the crap out of what time we have here.

What an odd time we had at this place.

Ono is inside Astrolabe Reef – a big dive area. We anchored in Naqara Bay to present our kava root so we could snorkel at the nearby manta spot and perhaps do some diving. When we sailed into Ono, after having left Savusavu hoping to make it Fulaga, we saw a handful of lovely little islands, the kind that spark our imagination as cruisers and we foresaw ourselves staying for a while. It turns out we only stayed a handful of days, and didn’t do the diving we wanted because we saw what we thought (for the third time) was a good weather window to head to Fulaga.

This was our first experience giving the village kava in what is called a sevusevu ceremony. Historical information from cruisers waxes on about how to appropriately dress and behave in a sevusevu, and how to clap, and how to drink the kava.

Our sevusevu experience is very, very limited but even in moderately remote places like Ono and Fulaga the ceremony we experienced was low key, no one was uptight about how we dressed or whether we knew when to clap, and in neither ceremony did they prepare and drink the kava with us.

What made the experience odd in Naqara was not the sevusevu experience, but it was the very first time we had multiple villagers coming to us, ashore and on the boat, asking for things from our stores. Not asking to trade, just asking to have. This is something we had expected to happen before we sailed to the South Pacific, that really hasn’t happened until now. A difference from the Eastern and Western Pacific perhaps? Who knows- we don’t.

We were asked for snorkel masks, floating rope, super glue (twice, this is a hot item apparently), gasoline (they offered to pay for the gas but we couldn’t spare any because we were heading to an even more remote location), fishing hooks and whether we would trade our personal snorkel fins with a local (his were child’s fins).

The snorkel and mask was asked for by the village elder to support their pearl farming project and we had an old snorkel aboard that we happily donated. The rest we politely said no to except the fishing hooks which we had aboard as a good giveaway item because helping people feed themselves is always a warm fuzzy feeling. We also had planned to give away some old charts to the school (which we did) and some frisbees we’ve carried across the South Pacific without using.

TIP: We didn’t have much time to explore the area before we headed to Fulaga but we did swim with mantas again (approx S18°51'53.70" E178°30'50.19"). This is always amazing to me and even though we have swam with mantas a dozen or so times, every time is otherworldly.  We showed up during a sun break in the middle of an otherwise cloudy day and immediately saw mantas including one huge, all black (even on the belly) giant. Then, we went for a surprisingly amazing snorkel (approx S18°51'53.99" E178°30'49.84") through scattered coral heads some not so great, but many loaded with soft and hard corals and swarming with fish. We were very surprised at the liveliness and even more bummed that we didn’t dive outside the lagoon. All thwarted by our desire to make it to Fulaga.

Have you ever mooned someone at night and had them confuse the sight of the starlight reflecting off your arse for the rising sun? No? Well, if so, you could be part of an island legend.

I’m not kidding. I’m laughing, but not kidding.

Imagine our surprise when we read the tourism sign at the bottom of the Mount Talau hike in the Nieafu, Vava’u, Tonga region and reached this quote:

Ahhhh….too good.

The summit had nice view point balconies and picnic tables, unfortunately strewn with trash which looked like local teens.

The views at the top were very nice but how can they beat the story? I’m still hoping that someday they will erect a statue of Tafakula’s heroic and inspired moment.

Bora Bora is a great place to see the Heiva and we saw it here in 2012. When we were here in 2012, we noticed the fabulous restaurants they make, in temporary structures, decorated with local materials, weaving and flowers until the walls are groaning with decoration.

Thanks to David R and Carter B, we splurged on dinner and wine at one of those establishments before catching two song and dance performances at the main stage.

The beating of the drums, the harmonies, the intense emotion of the speeches in Tahitian and the solos – what a way to say goodbye to French Polynesia.

We had the delight of listening to Steve on SV Liward perform at a hotel bar in Huahine and we want to send a big thank you to Gary D for picking up the tab!

Happy hour pricing led me to splurge on one of the expensive (but now less expensive) fancy drinks complete with flours and fresh fruit garnish. Mai Tai means “The Best” in Tahitian and this version, made with fresh local fruit juices was definitely the best.

Carol had a beer which was tasty but not photo worthy ;)

Since our 2012 puddle jump, this visit was our fifth time in Tahiti with our boat (!) and we have also been twice additionally to Tahiti without the boat when flying in and out of the country. This time we had guests (Livia’s parents) and we saw even more of the island than we have seen before. It is true that there always seems to be something new, something more to see even in places that you have spent so much time exploring.

Leaving Tahiti was painful. Over the years we have made some good friends who live in Tahiti and the goodbyes were difficult. Leaving Tahiti behind was also exciting. Sailing out of Tahiti meant westward and new landfalls. Each time we say goodbye to a region of French Polynesia it is a bittersweet mix of sadness and excitement.

Since we started cruising, I’ve had a difficult time getting up the nerve to row up to someone’s property, beach our kayak or dinghy, and say hello. For whatever reason, I have this preconceived notion that I will be bothering them, or invading their privacy, or in some way disturbing their peace. Carol, of course, has no problem doing this.

I know that in future countries we will be expected to row ashore and greet the local bigwigs or officials at every anchorage, and it is easy for me to do so when I know that is “the rule”, but so far, in Canada, the US, Mexico, the Cook Islands and French Polynesia, it isn’t required.

Still, it is polite and so I’ve been forcing myself to overcome my mild anxiety.

Of course, as it turns out, most of the people we have introduced ourselves to are living in remote places and welcome the occasionally company. We have never, not once (yet), had a negative interaction after rowing ashore to say hello.

In fact, the general problem, if you can even call it a problem, is that the hello often turns into an invite for more than a quick greeting and introduction.

We have been invited to have coffee, try smoked salmon and visit and learn about the salmon smokehouse. We have rowed to shore, wearing rash guards and board shorts, on our way to snorkeling, and ended up sitting down for a BBQ (in our ridiculously inappropriate outfits, which of course no one minded). Just a few days ago, we paddled to shore to say hello, ended up with a tour of the property, an invite to go spear fishing the next day and came back with our hats full of fruits and vegetables.

The same vibe applies to asking permission. In French Polynesia, we ask someone for permission to do almost everything if there is someone there to ask. We didn’t start out by doing this, but have gradually come to feel over time that it is our best chance both making friends and of avoiding making a social mistake in a new culture.

Usually, in French Polynesia, the person we ask seems surprised we are asking, says it is no problem, and goes out of their way to help us do whatever it is. For example, if we see someone on the dock, we ask if it is OK to put our trash in the public bin. They usually look confused, smile at us, and say “of course”. Then we ask if they know where we can get a propane tank and they end up driving us to their house, selling us one of theirs (at the same price as the store that is out) and driving us back to the dinghy so we don’t have to carry the tank.

However, *occasionally* we ask something similarly innocuous and learn that if we had done what we intended we would have been making a mild mistake. For example, we have also been told (about trash) “yes, of course…but maybe instead of that small can it is better if you use the big bin over at the town hall” ..and then been given a ride (with our several bags of trash) to the town hall, and back to the dinghy, chatting and learning about the island all of the way.

So, I will continue to be brave, and say “hello” and with sign language or words, ask permission.