The small island of Hiva Oa has a population of just over 2000 and covers an area of 326 sqkm. The majority of the population live in the main town of Atuona which is dwarfed by a spectacular tree covered mountain that rises sharply from a valley where the small town sits, nestled against a sweeping beach. The sweet smell of perfumed flowers and citrus trees fills the air and, together with the beautiful scenery creates a senses overload for anyone but particularly for land starved crusty sailors who have been at sea for over a month!
Our first formality was to check in to French Polynesia at the local gendarmerie, which involved a long walk along a sealed road with little shade to give us some respite from the hot sun. We had been told to make sure we arrived at the Gendarmerie in the morning as they are often closed in the afternoon, so armed with our boat papers, proof of a flight booking out of French Polynesia to NZ and passports we were buzzed into the police station. The procedure was quick and easy with the final step being us mailing one part of our entry permit to Papeete from the local post office, a distinctive yellow building across the road from the gendarmerie. While there we purchased a local SIM card which came complete with data and across the road we managed to buy a few groceries including baguettes and some very expensive vegetables (red cabbage US$17), chosen from a very small selection. We soon realized that items with red price stickers were considerably cheaper than other similar products and learned that these items were subsidized by the French. Crazily you could find several different brands of milk but only one was subsidized, making it at least three times cheaper.
The French artist, Paul Gaugin moved to Hiva Oa and became part of this small community, spending the rest of his life painting scenes from the island. He, along with Belgian legendary singer, Jacques Brel, is buried in a small cemetery overlooking the spectacular volcanic peak of Temetiu and the main town nestled at its foot. We paid our respects, admired the incredible view and started the long walk back to Cerulean, having been told of a precarious shortcut down a steep path and across a small black beach at the head of the bay.
As we walked around the town, watching a wedding take place, we were struck with how familiar everything felt. From the carvings of tiki’s, to the meeting house and karanga that was performed when the bride walked down the road towards her groom, it all felt like Maori culture, which we shouldn’t have been surprised about but we were amazed by the similarities. The language was also very familiar and we later discovered that when Maori speakers have visited the islands, they can understand each other’s language although but only barely.
Back at the boat we started cleaning. We had been shocked when we had seen Cerulean after our passage as her white gelcoat was now a tone of green and brown with long goose barnacles hanging off the red antifoul just below the water surface. We looked like a boat that had been abandoned, so we jumped in the warm water and started scrubbing.
Over the next few days other boats we knew started arriving, similarly dirty, and the anchorage became a social buzz as we celebrated our achievements and discussed plans. We were keen to move out of the rolly anchorage as it was getting busy with some large boats arriving and squeezing themselves into any spot that looked vaguely large enough for them with few using a stern anchor to prevent turning and potentially hitting other boats. We knew a supply ship was due to arrive soon and when that happens all boats anchored within an area indicated by yellow markings on the shoreline, had to move. We were within that designated area so, together with our friends on Freya and DanceMe, we sailed out of the sweeping bay and back into the SE tradewinds that blow pretty consistently around the islands. DanceMe peeled away to a different anchorage while we and Freya sailed around to the north side of Hiva Oa, entering the quiet bay of Hanamenu, surrounded by high, jaggered red cliffs with ridges that came to a thin sheer pinnacle. The bay was deep with a black sand beach, fringed with palm trees at the end of the cove. We anchored in front of the beach, hoping for protection from the swell that swept into the bay, but failing as we rolled in the anchorage we shared with Todd and Susan from Freya, the only boats that day adventurous enough to get off the beaten path of the popular, protected bays closer to Atuona.
Ashore we left the dinghy on the beach and found a man in one of the lived-in huts on the beach. AwJuan had lived at Hanamenu for three years, with only one other family as a neighbour, looking after the property for his uncle. He spoke no English but had a gentle face and ready smile, speaking slowly for us to understand as he guided us towards the footpath that led to the plateau and inviting us to eat with him later. The four of us walked up the well trodden stoney path to the top of the hill and looked down on the bay and lush valley below, surrounded by baron cliffs on each side. It was a magnificent view as we looked down on our two boats anchored below us as we watched the surf pound on the beach in front of our yachts. No roads led into the little settlement of Hanamenu, and the hills behind looked beautiful in the mid-day light acting as a barrier between the settlement and the main town of Atuona. Wild horses roamed the hills and some days later we watched as attempts were made to tame those caught by taking them to the beach and into the sea, calming them so they became used to human contact. Horses are still a regular, and often only, form of transport and it takes a week to break in a wild horse, getting them accustomed to wearing a basic wooden saddle and being around the rider.
A small, spring-fed oasis on the western side of the bay, provided a welcome refreshing cool-down swim after the hot climb where we washed ourselves under a pipe that diverted a strong flow of water into the pool from a waterfall that cascaded down the fern clad hill.
Later, we sat with AwJuan as he prepared a meal for us, earlier being insistent that we return at 3pm to eat with him. His kitchen was sheltered by just a sheet of corrugated iron over the open fire. A sink and metal bench doubled as one of the kitchen walls, separating the cooking area from his garden and working area. He masterly moved a large breadfruit he had been roasting in the fire by using two long sticks and transferring it onto a work surface using large leaves to handle the hot vegetable. He then peeled and mashed the fruit, adding water and kneading it into a dough like consistency. Todd was put to work, squeezing fresh grated coconut through a cloth and extracting coconut cream which was poured over the breadfruit dough. A table was laid under the shade of a large tree with several dogs lazily lying close by, hoping for a morsel of food to be thrown to them. The table almost sagged under the food – wild boar, shot in the hills, breadfruit done two ways, fried bread, fresh coconut milk to drink and lots of fruit. It was a wonderful treat and we were overwhelmed by AwJuan’s generosity, not wanting anything in return except our company. As we prepared to leave, we were given hands of bananas, buckets of limes, grapefruit and mangos, all grown on his property. It was a very special day.
Wanting to get out of the swell and longing for a calm anchorage, we headed for the island of Tahuata, to the south of Hiva Oa. Here we found calm water and many friends, enjoying the anchorages of Hanamoenoa where mantaray feed and fearlessly allowed us to swim with them, getting so close they even nudged a friend of ours out of the way! Early morning or evening, they would swim around the boat, staying for over an hour doing acrobatic turns below us before coming back towards the surface, allowing us to see right into their body through their large open mouths as they fed on plankton.
Hapatoni is in the south of the island and we anchored in sand under impressive high cliffs in the north of the bay just as a small pod of dolphins entered the anchorage. Spinner dolphins regularly visit the area, often in small groups where adults teach babies how to jump and spin. The small quiet settlement of Hapatoni is a very traditional village with a lovely stone church, large impressive community space and well kept houses beside a clean sandy beach and rutted road. A community of artists and craftspeople live here, keeping alive the tradition of wood and bone carving, passing down skills to the children at a small school. On recommendation, a small group of us attended a church service, delivered in Polynesian with enthusiastic and uplifting singing from the small congregation. An impressive looking man played a traditional drum which was over a meter tall with goat skin tightly stretched across the top. He struck an impressive figure with every inch of his body tattooed, including his face and we later discovered he was the chief during the island festival, held every two years. When the missionaries first came to The Marquesas they banned tattooing which had long been in the Marquesan culture, telling stories of important/significant events and being a right of passage from puberty to adulthood. Although not done in the traditional way, most men will have a tattoo – always just in black and a traditional design.
After church we headed to a nearby house and ate a traditional meal of fish, breadfruit and bananas while chatting with a visiting artist who had helped set up the community many years earlier and now teaches at the school. It was fascinating talking to him about art, politics, life in the village, the connection with Maori and having him play us a tune on a pipe, played by breathing out through his nose. He explained that in the bible, life is given to Adam by God breathing into his nose and likewise, in death it is believed the last breath out is through the nose, so playing a nose pipe is a deeply spiritual thing. It certainly was a memorable end to our time in Hiva Oa, a beautiful island with genuine, interesting, happy people who enjoy a simple life in a stunning location, tucked away in a forgotten corner of The Pacific.