Il n’est jamais trop tard.*

*It is never too late.

“How old was Jesus Christ when he died on the cross? How long did he stay in the public eye before he died? Why was he not so keen at first to change water into wine? Who was Mother Mary’s father? Isn’t that typical of Catholics? They worship Mary but they have no idea who the woman was. Covid was the second confinement that lasted 2,5 years. What was the first that lasted that long? How long did it take for Noah to build the Ark? What is the use of baptizing babies? Do you have the Bible onboard? This will be the final year for mankind; the ultimate disaster is waiting around the corner. Are you ready? Do you pray? No? It is never too late to start reading the Bible and to allow God into your heart.“

All of the above and much more – about Brazilians worshipping the devil, about the punishing flood in Dubai, about the Pope causing people to get sick – while sitting at her table decorated by a floral “toile cirée” in a kitchen just covered by a roof but open to three sides and surrounded by dazzling shades of blue. It was a lot of fun to be quizzed in a most amicable way by Valentine, the joyful patroness of Anse Amyot, the “false pass” on Toau atoll. As a Pentecostal herself, she had a strong distrust of religions in general and Catholics in particular, with “their idolatrous adoration of a variety of saints” and “those priests that run around all dressed up in regal robes, swaying incense all over the place, acting as if they are kings and have all the power.” She certainly knew her Bible quotes, naming the different books as well as the numbers of chapters and verses by heart. She had a jolly good time explaining it all to us, interrupting her own lectures with good-hearted laughter and irreverent jokes. Whenever I happened to give a correct answer during the cross-exam (pun intended), she enthusiastically high-fived me and considered it a miracle that we were sent her way, especially since My Captain shared his name with one of the Bible’s secretaries: Luc. A fact she eagerly pointed out to us and which could not be mere coincidence.

Apart from evangelizing, Valentine also knew how to sell us grilled lobsters. We decided to flambé them once we got back on board O2 to add some spice. Even so, it turned out we had become rather picky eaters after all that yummy Dungeness crabmeat we consumed last season. Shame on us.

Anse Amyot, on the atoll of Toau, is protected from the ocean swell and the prevailing winds and is a “false” pass because it doesn’t penetrate the ring of corals all the way into the lagoon. But it does give you access to a brilliant basin of aquamarine water stocked with healthy coral for visitors to explore.

Valentine, her husband Gaston and their one neighbor are the only inhabitants. Gaston makes sure that the eight state-of-the-art mooring balls stay in mint condition for yachties to make use of. What a relief that was after all the anchoring in between coral heads and the necessity of floating the chain each time. As he lay dying, Valentine’s father had impressed upon her the importance of hospitality: “When yachties arrive, they have come a very long way. Therefore, make sure you always give them a warm welcome.” Valentine is doing a great job.

We love to watch the rising sun hit the cloud formations once the tropical rain shower has passed.

The past couple of days, we were also happy to welcome some rain while still in Fakarava (unlike our Belgian family & friends who by now think the biblical deluge is already upon them. We feel for you guys! We truly do!) Our water maker desalinates the ocean water to fill up our freshwater tank. But we wait for the rain to do some serious cleaning. Whenever it rains, we gather the rivulets which are cascading from the deck to flush the toilets. When it is pouring down and rivulets turn into streams, we give the inside quarters a thorough sanitation. It feels great to see how those down pours wash all the ocean salt clean off O2’s deck and gangways. As a result, she is now spic & span again, sparkling white under a vast sky on an ocean of blue. It’s very satisfying. We felt sorry to have to say goodbye to Valentine and Gaston after only two nights, but our supply ship was about to come in with all the goodies we had ordered online. So off we went on a short and pleasant four-hour downwind sail to the atoll of Apataki.

However, the following 2 nights at anchor, with 25 knots on the nose and a lagoon that had transformed from a gently lapping swimming pool into a wildly rushing waterpark, made us realize we are increasingly turning into fair-weather cruisers. Just to say, we were not too amused. Binge-watching a Netflix series helped distract us from the howling wind in the rigging, the slamming of the waves against our hulls and the general pitching and rolling of O2. But her anchor kept us steady in place, which was a huge relief. 

On our third night in Apataki, we moved closer to the village, which proved to be a wise decision as O2 somewhat calmed down. Every single person we passed during our stroll around “town” welcomed us with their habitual singsong call of “la Orana.” We like the way they emphasize and draw out that “a” at the end. Yoranáh! We feel it’s the coolest way of singing hello and we always return the greeting with equal enthusiasm.

The supply ship was scheduled for 8PM. Around midnight our ship finally came in. We had been waiting around, chatting with the locals, for hours. That’s also when we realized that on our shipping papers there was written Fakarava as destination for our merchandise, not Apataki. One feeble ray of light in our darkness was the fact that the ship first docked in Apataki before continuing to Fakarava.

So, we approached the captain with our desperate plea: would it be possible to unload our packages here please? S’il vous plait? Not really, no. But the good man jumped back on board to give it a try. When he returned with 4 refrigerated cardboard boxes with My Captain’s name on it, the Gouda cheese box was not one of them. Still, I nearly hugged him, which would have been totally inappropriate. Also, the deep-frozen goods were impossible to retrieve, he explained. The boxes were stacked among a multitude of deliveries for Fakarava. No ribeye steaks on the menu for a long time. So, off we went with just a quarter of our merchandise and a single torchlight. While My Captain took care of the steering, I focused the torchlight beam on the unlit red and green navigation buoys which were essential to guide our dinghy safely through currents, coral patches and quite alarming standing (4 knots of current against 20 knots of wind) waves back to where O2 was anchored in the lagoon. It was spooky as hell. It’s in moments like these that I start doubting our sanity.

But what a difference a day makes. The following morning, feeling grateful to have lived through last night’s ordeal unscathed—albeit with a freezer and fridge still almost empty—we set sail for the Apataki Boatyard on the opposite side of the lagoon. The anchorage in front of the boatyard showed off the dreamy aquamarine calm waters we are addicted to by now. It’s all about “fetch” really; “fetch” being the distance over which wind blows across the surface of the water without obstruction. So, the stronger the wind and the wider that distance, the larger and more powerful the waves are. By moving against the wind to the other side of the lagoon, we had taken the bite out of the “fetch”.

The Apataki Carenage/Boatyard is where we consider leaving O2 during cyclone season—from November till May—while we fly to New Zealand for some serious trekking and Sauvignon Blanc. We have already secured our spot on the hard with a down payment, but we wanted to check it out. It doesn’t look bad at all. Nevertheless, sailing to New Zealand instead of leaving O2 behind in Polynesia remains one of the possibilities that keeps popping up into our heads as well. Decisions, decisions.

Another decision My Captain has just made is to hitch a two-hour ride with Tony, the boatyard manager, in his fast motorized sloop to the atoll of Arutua , the last port of call for the supply ship before it heads back to Papeete. He kept having visions of 4 kg of ‘boule de Gouda,’ not to mention the ribeye steaks. It is never too late to give it another try.