“Gémir n’est pas de mise aux Marquises.” Jacques Brel

(“Moaning is not appropriate in the Marquesas.”)

Our friend Maxime arrived on Hiva Oa from rain-soaked Belgium, completely depleted of vitamin D and with skin not unlike Snow White’s. He was so desperate for sunlight that he became a bit reckless and oblivious to his new position on planet Earth, barely 9 degrees south of the equator. We should have known better! But we were too elated to give it a second thought when he settled himself on deck in swimming trunks for our first aperitif together under a tropical and cloudy sky which sunrays have no trouble piercing. The morning after, true to the spirit of Jacques Brel who sang that ‘moaning is not appropriate in the Marquesas,’ he didn’t utter a peep as he bravely applied ointment to his alarmingly sunburned feet and purple belly.  A nearby boat neighbor, who also happened to be a dermatologist, took a look and declared, “Yeah, that’s a bad burn you’ve got there. Nothing much you can do but keep it cool and wait for it to peel. Ointments don’t do much, really. ” After that reassuring diagnosis, we all happily gathered for drinks again, this time under the protective cover of the night sky. During our first three weeks in the Marquesas, we’ve been socializing more than throughout our entire two sailing seasons along the North American coast. Our Central American rum supply is quickly running low. However, we now have the Tahitian variety to sample.

Our Marquesan island-hopping journey took us from the ancient tikis of Hiva Oa (but OMG, the heat! the humidity!) and its rolly anchorage, to the serene turquoise waters of Tahuatu, then to Oa Pou for Sunday Mass, and finally to spectacular Nuku Hiva.

There’s not much to do on a Sunday in the Marquesas, except for attending Mass. As we were trudging through the empty, sun-baked streets of Ua Pou, sweating profusely as usual, we suddenly heard drumming, singing and guitars. We followed the sound and that’s how we experienced one of the highlights of our Marquesan adventure: a loaded church with locals in their Sunday best attire , singing their hearts out. A goose bump moment in a sauna environment.

In Nuku Hiva, we joined Cannibal Art. com, led by Ana & Tanguy, for a hike amidst towering basalt peaks to a 335-meter-high waterfall. Croatian Ana hitchhiked all the way from Zagreb to settle down with Marquesan Tanguy in the Hakaui valley of Nuku Hiva. Tanguy belongs to the Marquesan family that has owned the entire valley since time immemorial. They boldly reclaimed the word “cannibal” to use it in their company’s name, acknowledging Tanguy’s ancestry. There’s no denying that cannibalism was practiced on the island of Nuku Hiva in the past, either as a ritual to appease the gods or tikis through human sacrifice, or to absorb the mana or life force of a defeated enemy, as was explained to us. So why not embrace it and turn it into art. However, Kua, a relative of Tanguy, begged to disagree.

After our hike, my captain and I indulged in a medicinal massage. As Kua massaged the yellow oily ointment—a blend of coconut oil, turmeric, and fragrant herbs—into my scalp and body, she questioned me about my faith in Christianity. While I value the golden rule of treating others as I want to be treated, organized religion doesn’t particularly enthuse me. It was during this intimate moment that Kua confided in me while diligently scrubbing my turmeric-infused skin with coconut pulp: “You know, we used to be cannibals. Before the arrival of the whites, there were no pigs or cows on the island.” Did I hear that correctly? Was she suggesting that human meat consumption was once seen as a matter of necessity rather than a cultural ritual? All I could think was, thank god for the pigs.

The wildly beautiful Marquesas Islands are unlike anywhere else we’ve visited before, with breathtaking sights and an intriguing culture. But to truly feel like a garden of Eden, we thought some wild land animals should have been part of the mix rather than the invisible biting black sandflies, aka “nonos”. But hey, this is just an afterthought, and you won’t hear us moaning about it. 

We’ve just completed a journey across Nuku Hiva to ensure Maxime made it to the airport on time. Now, he’s headed to his air-conditioned hotel room in Papeete before his long flight home. Maxime handled the sailing adventure like a pro: getting in and out of the dinghy was tricky each time, but isn’t that always the case for everyone, including ourselves? There was no seasickness, heatstroke, or any mishaps while swimming between the anchorage and shore. (Although it was a close call when both of his legs suddenly cramped up, and My Captain and I were still being massaged by Kua and thus not immediately available for a potential rescue.) To top it all off, he charmed both the sailing community and the locals wherever we went, as we knew he would, all the while resisting the growing temptation to get himself a tattoo.

Now that we’re on our own again, it does take some adjusting. A good thing O2 requires attention, and we also need to prepare another passage plan: the atolls of The Tuamotus are beckoning and we start heeding the call.