Leaving The Tuamotus on a high.

“Ia orana. Do you happen to have eggs available?” “Yes, we do! We collect thirty per day.” “And what about vegetables and fruit?” “Absolument. Just follow me.” We followed the head gardener, who had immigrated from Malaysia 20 years ago. Our expectations were high. Our expectations were met.

Seeking refuge from a consistent + 25-knot wind in the far northeast corner of Tikehau Atoll, we discovered “L’isle d’Eden.” Here, we found a small nature-based, utopian-like community diligently taking care of their free-range chickens, penned pigs, coconuts, vanilla beans, and a chemical-free vegetable garden. We were delighted with the fresh eggs, mint, basil, spicy peppers, curry, papaya, bananas, lettuce and turnips for our couscous as we were being shown around the well-kept premises. The vibe was very laid-back and easy-going, despite the cult propaganda displayed on colorful billboards plastered all over the place. 

We were visiting a cult for sure, but it wasn’t Jonestown. This cult belongs to The New Testament Church, founded in the fifties by a Taiwanese movie star and kept alive since 1976 by a certain Elijah Hong. The headquarters are based at Mount Zion in Southern Taiwan, but Hong discovered Tikehau. He is their Polynesian “Grand-père”. Once again, we found ourselves among those who believed the End of Times was near. Their reaction, however, was to live it up for as long as it lasted. They were not too amused with the twice-daily planes landing onto Tikehau, contaminating their Garden of Eden with questionable modernity. Not so long ago, they had paradise all to themselves.

We also discovered another kind of Eden just 3.5 miles away. Almost in the middle of the small Tikehau lagoon stands Motu Puarua. You can hear and smell it the moment you turn the corner. It’s a bird sanctuary for red footed boobies, white terns, frigate birds, a few bristle-thighed curlews and thousands of nesting noddies. The twittering and chattering was insane. We treaded carefully as not to disturb them. Our cameraman didn’t mind having to clean bird poop off his hands and lenses as it came plopping down in certain hot spots. Anything for the right shot.

On the 4th of July, we set sail for our final stop in the Tuamotu Archipelago: Makatea. We were battling a 25-knot wind, closely hauled with wild waves on the nose, when suddenly there was a brutal loud SNAP and our genoa hung wildly flapping like a wounded bird. The genoa sheet got “degloved” but hadn’t completely snapped yet. This gave us enough time to come up with a rescue plan. First, we furled the genoa back to a more controlled state, while keeping our fingers crossed that the jammer would keep jamming. Then we realigned the port-side genoa sheet to starboard as a temporary replacement for the broken starboard sheet and locked it onto the winch, by passing the jammer.

Now it was safe for My Captain to burn and pull the broken sheet loose so that we could furl the genoa completely. Threading the replacement sheet through that good old jammer was a matter of seconds. We could unfurl the genoa safely now, and we were back in the game. Phew! That’s when we noticed that part of the top rigging was dangling loose. Not too big of an issue, but an issue nevertheless, to be fixed once we will have reached Papeete. It was 7 PM when we could finally pick up 1 of the 4 moorings available in Makatea after another one of those “Pacific” sails.

At the same time that Tahiti was born from volcanic fire 50 million years ago, the coral atoll of Makatea was lifted 80 meters above sea level. Today, it stands as a rock-climbing mecca. However, it used to be a phosphate eldorado, which explains its Emmental-like appearance at the top of the plateau. Julien Mai – the mayor of Makatea- and his son Tapu welcomed us with a flimsy mooring ball installed by sailors before us, a historical tour of the island, a freshwater swim in the caves, a yummy coconut crab lunch, a climbing adventure for our son and the French medical students of Wanderlust, and a vision of a greener future.

And that’s how we, both literally and figuratively, bid farewell to the Tuamotus on a high.