Soccer for Dignity.

Baie Tahauku, where Ardea made landfall.

The social scene here was a little bit overwhelming at first. This little anchorage is teeming with cruisers from all over the world; the little quay where dinghies are tied up is frequently crowded with tenders of various sizes. There are Americans, Germans, French, Panameños, Canadians. And this is to say nothing of the locals, who bustle about the quay, fishing, paddling outriggers and trading fruit with the sailors. It's quite magnificent for someone who has been at sea for so long. I sat observing all of this activity when we first got here and I felt like a kid waiting to get in the gates at Disney Land. 

The walk into town isn't too rough. This is a view from the road.
Atuona lies in the valley to the right- the soccer arena is visible.

On our second day, Dana and I set out to the town of Atuona to find some of the more critical provisions we needed. The walk to town is only about 3 km but often cars stop to pick you up before you've even put your thumb out to hitch. We made it in quickly, but, as it was Sunday, everything was closed. The town is not very large- there is a small cafe, then the post office, the police station and a little market. Further in town there is a sort of parade ground, a school, a soccer pitch and a few more markets. We wandered through observing all of this in the typical quiet of mid-day when we met a young local guy named Nikola. Regretting spending three years in high school horsing around in French class, I struggled to communicate anything with my extremely limited vocabulary, though it was surprising how much we could get across given enough time and lively gesticulations.

Eventually we followed Nikola to a small restaurant up the road. We had asked him where there was a market that was open. He explained that there was none, but that we could by wine from the restaurant. So it was. We bought three one liter boxes of red wine and started back toward the town when the rain kicked up again. It had been raining on and off since we arrived, but this was a particularly long downpour. Nikola led us beneath an overhanging roof on the side of the road to wait it out. There were already a couple of other young guys there doing the same. They sat listening to music on a boombox and smoking. We sat down after shaking hands with each of them and opened a box of wine. As the rain slammed down all around us, cooling the air in a most welcome manner, we passed the wine around and slowly conversed. We told them how long we had been at sea, where we had come from and other basic things. Eventually, cheeks a little redder, they invited us to follow them down to the soccer arena.

We hadn't realized it before, but down by the beach there was an indoor soccer pitch, covered by tall corrugated tin roofs with open overhangs so that air flowed freely. When we got there, young people were all over the place. Everyone from teenagers to folks a bit older than us, mostly men, were watching or playing. The format was five on five, first goal wins and the losing team swaps out for a new opponent. If nobody scores after ten minutes or so, there is a shootout whereby the ball is pelted from about 20 feet away and the goalies, usually laughing at the impossibility of the task, pretty much stand there protecting their most delicate features and waiting for someone to miss. We saw a number of shootouts go on for quite a long time, but there had to be a winner so that the whole thing could go on.

While we were watching the games, nearly everybody around the complex came up to us to shake hands. The locals are incredibly diligent about greeting one another, going down lines of people and shaking with each and every one. We found this practice very comforting- even the biggest, most tattooed Marquesan would don an incredibly friendly smile and approach us with welcoming. Most of the time words were not exchanged, just the handshake and eye contact, but there was a distinct friendliness about it that was easily perceived. Players on the court would even walk over during a break in the action to shake hands with us and nod hello. It made us feel much at home where we had initially felt grossly out of place.

We sat watching our friends get ready to play. Some pulled out shiny bright yellow soccer shoes, others played in gellies with socks and still others played barefoot. We figured we were there to watch- it had been difficult to understand Nikola regarding that. But, when our team came up, they beckoned us on the court with them and, to our dismay, put us as the two forwards. So now, barefoot, having had only wine in our bellies and with a serious lack of talent, we stood on the court waiting to start, dozens of Marquesan eyes on the only two white guys.

We lost our first game, but, shockingly, Dana and I managed to avoid embarrassing ourselves. In fact, it was pretty clear that everyone was pleasantly surprised. Nikola, Christiano and our other teammates were pretty astonished when Dana and I had a few good runs at the net and managed to handle the ball without disgrace. Of course, nobody was more surprised than Dana and me; in spite of the fact that we were sore just from walking around after a month at sea, we couldn't refuse when we were coaxed to keep playing after our debut.

After the tournament got around to us again, we played as forwards but lost pretty quickly that time. By our third chance, we rotated positions and I ended up in goal. We won our first game quickly and I wasn't pressed very much as goalkeeper. The second game was a bit more intense. There were a number of corner kicks and attacks by the other team. I managed to make a couple of saves. Then, the whistle blew. Regulation time was over. We went to penalty kicks and I laughed with the other goalkeeper about how horrible it was to stand there and have folks in turn shooting as hard as they could. Making saves during penalty kicks was really not a priority. I tried but it was next to impossible as long as they could shoot it somewhere other than at my chest. Then, one of the opposite team got up and whiffed it. Just a terrible shot, missing the goal completely. Everyone in the place was laughing and heckling by now (as usual, the shootout had become pretty drawn out). So I didn't make a save, but now we had a chance to win and, as the fates would have it, it was my turn to shoot. As I set the ball on the mark I had visions of planting my foot into the concrete before the ball, breaking some toes or blowing out my knee. Or maybe I would just miss wildly, accept the due rancor and continue on. I was really just intent on not shooting it straight to the keeper- that would have been the most embarrassing result. So, I lined up and connected with the top of my undressed foot and managed to sneak it in the left corner while the goalie stood guarding his face and groin. Once again, in spite of the looks of pure shock on their faces, nobody was more surprised than me. Our friends on our team were by now quite proud of these white dudes they'd found and we gathered awaiting our next opponent amid the wide Marquesan smiles we've come to greatly appreciate.

Bananas, papaya
and pompomousse
(a larger, sweeter
cousin of grapefruit).

Our soccer extravaganza ended not too long after, when the ball developed a leak. We had tried blowing it up again and again but to no avail. The whole crowd sauntered away in various directions, still laughing and joyful. The experience was incredible for Dana and me. We had had a great time with these folks in spite of the language barrier and quickly thereafter began to find ourselves recognized around town. From there it was all too simple making friends and experiencing the incredible generosity and kindness of the Marquesans. The next day we would find ourselves carrying home breadfruit, papaya and pompamousse. The day after, a friend cut down a huge stalk of bananas for us and sent us back to the anchorage with enough bananas to distribute to numerous other sailboats. We'd be given delicious dried banana wrapped in banana leaves, the locally brewed coconut liquor and basically any fruit we might ask about. We have always offered to pay, but they would never accept. We had unwittingly found ourselves a part of the local economy (or lack thereof) whereby food was obtained from trees all over the island and shared freely. This and the joy of seeing familiar faces whenever we leave the boat has made Hiva Oa a very comfortable place. Having developed relationships with locals and other cruisers, it's been incredibly enriching to be here, especially after such a period of isolation.

Going to shore with cushion covers
and laundry materials.

We've managed to get a lot done in the week we've been in Baie Tahauku. Perhaps most revolutionary was cleaning all of the cushion covers from the cabin; most were smelly and several were downright gross, but now they are clean and the boat looks, smells and feels better. We're planning to leave soon, having now toured about the island a bit with some fellow cruisers and climbed the tallest peak, but we found out there is a party in town tonight, so, for maybe the third day in a row, we're leaving “tomorrow”. I'll write a bit more about more of our adventures here soon!

In need of a shave, but with fresh coconut juice.