Bora

I approached Bora with a few preconceived notions that should have been erased by my experiences elsewhere in Polynesia, but that I allowed to sour my expectations of the island. I envisioned nothing but recently-married couples and wealthy couples eager to re-live the recently-married days. I envisioned them dense in the streets kicking up dust, shuffling about rapidly, waving pocketbooks, a cacophony drowning the sound of the waves with an anonymous, never-ending murmur. I imagined that it would brutally change the way of these South Pacific islands, whose way I had come to so embrace. I wasn't the only sailor with these heretical thoughts (what did Bora do to deserve our judgement?) and I wasn't the only sailor to sit happily in the lagoon with his foot in his mouth.

True, there are a lot of hotels for such a small island. The lagoon, though, is large and most of the resorts primarily consist of slews of over-water bungalows that branch over the shallows from motus or, occasionally, the main island. They're really not very intrusive, and the visitors tend to spend most of their time hanging around their bungalows, as opposed to madly flocking the streets influencing everything around them with heavy-hand and brutish indifference. On arriving on shore, it looks and feels much like the other islands. There are more touristy shops and the higher rate of visitors does dull a bit the openness of the locals, but it retains the Polynesian charm and the people are as wonderful as those of any place. Even when the honeymooners and vacationers are out in force, everyone seems to have adopted well to the island vibe. In short, I was wrong; I had a lot more fun than expected. Bora is beautiful and tourists maybe aren't so bad.

When I first arrived, I spent three nights on a mooring ball outside of the main town of Vaitape. Gypsy Blues, Beau Soleil, Lay Lady Lay and a few other yachtie friends were around, so there were plenty of mates with whom to explore the island. The day after I arrived, Yohan, from Lay Lady Lay, and I hitch-hiked down the road to where Beau Soleil had anchored and met up with Falcon. The three of us swam across the lagoon to the fore-reef with the intention of harvesting some snails for dinner, but the swell was too big in the end. A Tahitian couple gave us a ride to shore in their skiff after they had finished harvesting Tridacna clams. On the way across the lagoon they offered us some of the plate of those colorful lips (mantles, really, not lips) attached to bits of white flesh. I ate a bit of a purple fellow. It had a strange texture, slightly tough but with a celery crunch, and a mild taste. I think a bit of coconut milk, some onion and lime would make it quite nice, though I don't plan to make a habit of eating the beautiful and very slow-growing creatures.

The next day, Falcon and I climbed the two large peaks with Brian and Terry of Off Tempo; on the way up the steep slope, as we stopped to admire the view, we met a few sailors, Shannon and Alex from a Canadian cat called Ruby Soho and chatted post-Bora plans for a bit. It was a fortuitous encounter, for I would be on a similar track as Ruby Soho and they had a boat of five awesome young people. We made it to the peak after one more steep section with some handy ropes placed. Then, Falcon, who was doing the hike barefoot, insisted that he and I attempt to break the record, which had been set at 15 minutes by him and Yohan a few says prior, for getting across the ridge between the two peaks. Reluctantly, I started the chronograph on my wristwatch and took off after him down the narrow trail, hurdling rocks and ducking branches and jumping over logs. I almost launched myself off of cliffs two or three times trying to keep up with Falcon, but we set the record at eight minutes. The view was pretty good, too.

On the way down, since we didn't have a whole lot to do that day anyway, we sat in the woods enjoying a sort of flight of coconuts. We drank coconut water from the younger specimens. From the slightly older, more yellow coconuts, we munched some of the meat that would be ideal for baking or pressing to make coconut milk. Then, from a sprouted coconut, which were abundant on the floor of this slope, we ate uuuu (pronounced oo-oo, though there is debate on the true Tahitian word), the substance left in the coconut as a two to three foot stem struggles upward and little roots seek a new water source. It's like coconut-flavored styrofoam in a good way. The texture is strange, and the flavor ranges depending on how large of a sprout you've got, but it's pretty tasty. Finally, from the base of the sprout itself, in the middle of the stem, a small bit of heart-of-palm can be harvested. It's a good treat. Coconuts are useful.

It was Falcon's birthday that day, so his parents brought Beau Soleil back around to Vaitape and a glorious cruiser-birthday party was had, complete with rum drinks and singing. The collection of gifts from fellow cruisers was comical and endearing to our mutual plight: a bottle of nutella, a jar of pomplemousse jam, a number of second-hand books. His parents were prepared, of course, and gave him a beautiful new paddle for his va'a (the outrigger canoe he bought in the Marquesas, which I had capsized three times in my first twenty minutes of paddling back in Huahine). It was another grande time, but I needed to get off of the mooring ball and see some of this lagoon.

The next day, I went around the island and anchored in the clear, sandy shallows off of Motu Taurere. There were other boats around, but none I knew and I was feeling the desire for solitude, so I spent the next couple of days alone, swimming, enjoying the beach and taking it easy. I could have stayed longer there, but I decided to go back to Vaitape, as it was Friday and I needed to get to the Gendarmerie. It felt irksome and a touch too momentous, but the time had come to check out of French Polynesia. I made plans to leave early Monday morning for Maupiti, only 30 miles west. Back in Vaitape, I anchored in 70 feet of water near Gypsy Blues, friends from Toronto, and Birka, new friends from Sweden. I went to the police station and checked out. It took about four minutes to become, once again, a nowhere man.

Back at the boat, the voice of Nick on Saltbreaker crackled through calling Ardea on the vhf. They were coming in from Raiatea the same afternoon with boat from Vancouver, Istupu. A party was soon in the making. Ruby Soho, a 48 foot catamaran, was the only one able to host the the Swedes, Henrick and Christine, Matt from Gypsy Blues, Nick and Alex on Saltbreaker, Istupu and Ardea. Already with five residing on Ruby Soho, Alex, Shannon, Adie, Dan and Jen, we had a solid crew and we made a concerted effort to finish the last of Saltbreaker's jerry-jug rum. To this end, we sat about the aft saloon laughing and passing round the gasoline can, taking pulls of the plasticy sun-aged Flor de Cana and sharing stories. It was a great time, once again a reunion amid fresh faces, the cruiser community growing still, even after three months on the circuit in Polynesia. I had perhaps one pull too many on the old jerry jug, as I would learn the next day that when I left I (allegedly) untied Saltbreaker's dinghy as well as my own. Nobody noticed but Henrick and Christine returned not long after they left towing the little fellow, who had been slowly drifing towards shore. Naturally, I've denied all charges, though there appears to be no other explanation possible, unless, on that very calm and windless night, the knot itself slipped free, needing not the hand of a drunken sailor. We may never know the truth.

Against all odds, Ruby Soho pulled the hook early the next morning and left for Maupiti. It was Saturday. I spent a few more nights expending my internet quota, taking provisions and arranging the boat for the longer passages to come. On Sunday evening, I very slowly hauled the more than two-hundred feet of chain on board and joined Birka at anchor in the shallows of the small motu just south of the pass.

I pulled the hook and departed with the first light that Monday morning. I motored out the pass and put up full canvas. It blew ten or twelve knots and I set about my day, doing chores, reading, chatting with an hf radio net as Esmeralda steered a fine course and Ardea made five and a half knots for Maupiti. By 1230 I was motoring into the narrow pass, pitching with a large swell and trying to keep a course maintaining the alignment of the approach markers on shore as dolphins made acrobats of themselves in the breakers on both sides of the channel. They were very distracting, but, as long as one uses both sets of approach markers, the pass to Maupiti was not nearly so terrible as some had thought back in Bora. I anchored near the motu by Ruby Soho and Birka. I rested a bit after the passage before pumping up the dink and moseying on over to the “cleaning station.”

I tied the dinghy up to a little mooring ball and put on my fins. I jumped in with my mask on and was immediately greeted, to my surprise, by a gigantic manta ray. Evidently, the harmless plankton-feeders come to this spot near the pass with lots of current and sort of bask as their gills are cleaned of parasites by little symbiotic fish. Most say the morning is the best time to see them, but I figured I might as well check it out in the afternoon, not really expecting much. But I ended up swimming with two of the magnificent beasts. It was an otherworldly experience. Their wingspans were more than ten feet and they moved with breathtaking grace. I managed to get only a few poor photos before my waterproof camera began letting water in again, but it was an amazing introduction to Maupiti.

I got back to Ardea and found myself after dinner hanging with the Swedes and thinking how this place seemed to have good things in store. Soon more friends would arrive and we had a big, beautiful lagoon and white sandy beaches. It felt good to have finally made that symbolic leap from Bora and we all smiled knowingly, somehow feeling that this island was a particularly good one.