The Voyage of Yacht Zulu: Moorea--Second Visit

July 28 to July 31, 2009
Vanessa arrives; Sad news; Vanessa and I walk to Belvedere; Thoughts of long ago—déjà vu

Vanessa arrives

Vanessa, my beautiful rosebud daughter--wise and with healing touch—arrives in Tahiti the night of July 28. Russ again zooms across the night waters in the dinghy bringing her on board Zulu. Sarah her twin is still with us. Dannel has flown home.

Sad news

Ness cannot believe where she is. The heavens are starlit, the shore lights shine, and the waves boom as they crash on the reefs. We swing on the anchor and the warm breeze caresses us. This is the chorus to South Pacific nights.

“Mom I have sad news for you.” Vanessa comes right out and says: “Martha has died. She had cancer of the liver.”

I am silenced. Martha was a friend of mine and Seattle Boeing working associate for 15 years. Many a Company cross we carried together. We had lunch together before I left Seattle--at the Beach Café on Lake Washington in Kirkland. She gave me a care package of homemade blue berry muffins for the passage to San Francisco. And chocolate-caramel-cashew clusters she had made. And tea. And a bottle of white wine. And a miniature rose plant in a tiny green bucket. All of this wrapped creatively. She was the most creative person I knew.

“Thought I’d make you a few special things rather than buy everything.” She drawled in her Southern Georgian accent. She was pencil thin, somewhat frail I thought. Always dressed to the 9s--immaculate. Strong as the weight of personal tragedy and sorrow rested long and heavy on her shoulders.

“Maybe I could meet up with y’all some place.” She said as we hugged and said our goodbyes. That was the last thing she said to me. While I crossed the ocean and while I drank her wine May 18 to celebrate our anniversary, Martha was close to death and I did not know. Now she is gone. Emptiness remains.

And there is other difficult family news to accept, including imminent death of my older brother, Brian. We all just sit in silence and find comfort in each other’s presence. Our world has weight to bear. We watch the night lights and listen to the sounds of the ocean and feel the cooling breeze. I hold Ness’ soft hand as I try to understand how tenuous life is. How lucky for some. How unlucky for others.

Morning dawns in Moorea

Tahiti is just a landing pad for Ness. She does not even go down town. Poor darling instead gets whisked away to Moorea for only a few days.

No matter how many times I return to Moorea, the beauty still captivates as when first I laid my eyes on its dramatic beauty long, long ago. Back through the pass and left into shallow turquoise waters of Opunohu bay we came--a perfect place. I find an incredible 1979 aerial photograph of Moorea I kept from when we first arrived: Tahiti in the distance, Cook bay and Mt. Rotui in the middle, and Opunohu bay in the foreground.

I am not successful in uploading a 1979 aerial photograph of Moorea: Tahiti in the distance, Cook bay and Mt. Rotui in the middle, and Opunohu bay in the foreground.

As we come through the pass into Opunohu bay, we always turn sharp left and anchor in the shallows of turquoise bliss. Perfection.

“No, no, no. Do not anchor zer. Eez a Marin park!!!! Pleeeeeese. No. No.” a very animated and crazy local Frenchman dances around on the deck of his boat, waving his arms in the air as we drop the hook a respectful distance in front of him, close to the reefs, but far enough away.

Russ pays no heed as usual. There are no signs and we are within the anchorage boundary. Russ has dived there before. We had anchored there with Sarah and Dannel, and we got the same song out of him then too.

Vanessa is dumb founded and laughs. She quietly tries to mimic “Pleeeeeease. Pleeeeeeeeese.” But, no, we must not add fuel to the fire. Smile and wave. That settles that.

Our daughters, Vanessa and Sarah together, on board Zulu at anchor in Moorea July 2009.

Jump into the water and swim out to the reefs. Sarah and Russ go far out and see a ray and a shark. Sadly, there is little life and colour left on the reefs. The message in the book Song of the Ocean Blue renders true. The oceans and lagoons have taken a toll. They’re fished out. The reefs are all but dead. Not quite. Time to ponder our impact.

Ness’ mask leaks and we return to Zulu to dry off and relax while Sarah and Russ swim out to the edge and back. We enjoy a cool drink as the day comes to an end.

A handsome Frenchman paddles by on a board all the way from Cooks bay, and invites Ness to try it out. He is here in Moorea working on his Master’s degree in marine biology. They meet—‘ships’ in passing so to speak.

Vanessa takes a lesson in board paddling from a French marine biology student.

I want to take Ness to Belvedere the next day. We are only here for two days. Bora Bora is within our sights. Her time is limited. So it is fast forward.

The walk to Belvedere

The next morning, Ness and I go ashore and start walking.

“Ness if we want to get to the top we had better hoof it or we’ll be doing this till darkness falls.” I say.

We pick up the pace with our thumbs up. A car stops. A Frenchman tells us about the best Dance performance happening at the Tiki Village on the other side of the island at Varari. He invites us to ride with him there so we become familiar with its location. The show includes dinner and dance with 60 dancers! We have to take a miss on this.

“Merci, mais no merci. (Thank you, but no thank you).” I say, even though I have heard that it is, indeed, some of the best dancing on the islands. He drops us off at the turnoff to the Opunohu valley road. I do not have a camera, so Vanessa captures images. She has a third eye. She sees well beyond what the average person sees. She’ll point out a tiny butterfly or miniature wild flower, cows camouflaged in the grass, horses tied to trees, a worker in a field, a tiny puppy at the side of the road.

She goes to the puppy and a whole litter gathers at our feet. They sniff and lick our toes and paw at our ankles--little black newborn puppies with brown, wet noses. She picks one up and cradles it in her arm. The little puppy whimpers and whines. Feel it’s warm breath.

“Don’t ever let me go. I want to be yours.” We think it is saying.

We can’t stay there forever playing with puppies and start heading back to the road. The whole litter follows us with short little legs that buckle with first steps and wagging tails. They give little grunts and whines. “Please don’t go, don’t go.” They say in puppy talk.

I pick up the pace so as to lose them. But Vanessa stands in the middle of the road with the puppies at her feet. She cannot bear to abandon them for fear they get run over.

“Ness a car is coming!” I shout. She waves the car down. It stops. She points at the puppies. And she makes a run for it while the car waits until the puppies return to their little ‘nest’ or their mama in the bush. We are kind of sad we gave them the slip.

We hear singing. Young boys in a youth camp sing beautifully in a capello voice. We stand and listen for awhile. We still have a long way to go to Belvedere and back. Now up the steep hill we lean our body forward and make long strides in an even rhythm. We like to walk alone, yet with each other. Ness trails behind a little. I like to walk fast.

Pass the first marae, where Sarah and Dannel visited, to the next one up. We sit on a log in the shade and eat almonds and oranges. Drink long gulps of water. Meditate amongst the ruins. Recognize our place in time and culture. Finish our respite with a square of chocolate. Ness and I always enjoy silence when we are in each other’s company. It is good company.

I tell her the story of the hairpin bend. “Thirty years ago when we were here on our first boat, ‘Toti’, Russ hired one scooter and he rode it around Moorea with Ian and I on the back. Ian was about a year old or less? I felt at ease, because Russ was Mr. Biker incarnate. He’d ridden from Cairo to Cape Town on a BSA, so obviously he could make it around a hairpin turn in Moorea.

“Dad leans into the hairpin curve. The scooter wobbles and skids and topples over the edge of the drop off and little Ian and I tumble down, somewhat—but not completely—unscathed.” I relate the old time story in an animated way. Ness smiles. And stares at the hairpin story of long ago.

“No way!” she manages to say.

“We got to go Ness.” Up, up, up we wind with long strides. We breathe deeply. It is hot! Three young people are coming down. They are off a yacht in Opunohu bay.

“It is not far now. You must continue it is beautiful.” They say in a Belgium accent.
On and on and on until we get there. We sit on the stone bench to get our breath and pop another piece of chocolate in our mouths. Sip more water. Feel the breeze. Drink in the vista--mountain peaks and bays beyond.

An SUV pulls up with 4 people: Three are from San Francisco—Jerry an American, his French wife Francoise, and their daughter, Camille. Francoise’s cousin, Michelle, is from Tahiti. Camille speaks fluent French. Vanessa and her have a friendly chat.

“My Mom used to be a hippy in San Francisco in the ‘60s.” Vanessa says out of the blue. I sit quietly. Thanks Ness! I laugh to myself. Rather I was a starving student working my way through college. No time to be a hippy.

I hear the foursome discuss pros and cons of French Polynesian independence. Francoise says: “Why not let them vote for independence?” Michelle has a different opinion. “These people are dependent on the French.” She argues in a pleasant but adamant way and they get ready to go.

Oh no I think. I don’t have it in me to ask for a lift to the bottom. It is getting late and we have a long way to go. Ness seizes the moment though.

“Do you have room to give us a lift to the bottom?” she asks. Jerry, who looks a bit like Einstein, seems a bit embarrassed and ignores her. But his petite French wife Francoise quietly speaks to her cousin, who is already in the SUV.

“Oui. C’est no problem.” Michelle says and opens the back doors and pulls down two small seats for Vanessa and I. Phew! Luck is with us! Thank YOU Vanessa, I give her the thumbs up look and she laughs. It is OK that you called me a hippy. Smile.

The SUV purrs down the winding road and before we know it, we are part of a semi-guided tour. Michelle takes us to various points of interest, through the dusty road that cuts across to Cooks bay, past the pineapple orchards and sugar cane. It is stop and go for Camille to get out and take photographs. Michelle takes us to Cooks bay and a small town where fish are hanging by their tails from a wooden stand on the side of the road: beautiful bright silver tuna, bonitos, mahi-mahi, big eyes (a kind of tuna).

There are about 100 boats that fish the deep sea for semi-industrial purpose. The catch amounts to about 5,000 tons a year and is locally consumed. Tuna and swordfish is smoked through the fish processing industry. Families fish the lagoons in their outriggers. But, sadly, fish are scarce to the degree of crisis.

“Polynesians are eating more and more meat.” Michelle says.

Everyone has warmed up and we laugh and talk and ooh and ahhh at the sights. Mr. Einstein carries on about how the Tahitians make these special dishes with coconut cream for him and rave over how good it is, and how he hates coconut and cannot stomach anything with it. But he has to put a brave smile on and say
“Merci, c’est delicious.” He gets a glint in his eye as he turns his head toward Ness and I in the rear bucket seats, hair on end, as if looking for some San Francisco sympathy.

Before long I point to the boats at anchor and tell them this is our stop. They all get out the SUV and hug us and give us a kiss on each cheek a la Francaise. Michelle drives off and Ness and I stand with our mouths open at what luck we have had. She had a little taste of the island thanks to strangers who cared.

We stand waving from the beach and soon El Capitan, Russ, comes out in the dinghy and ferries us back to Zulu, past the animated Frenchman who has since simmered down. Pleeeeeeeease! Dinner is waiting, prepared by Sarah. Yum.

We sit in the cockpit and watch the stars. Listen to the sound of the water on the reefs. See the dark silhouettes of the volcanic peaks piercing the heavens on high. This visit has been too short for Vanessa and tomorrow we must journey on to Bora Bora.

Thoughts of long ago—déjà vu

When Sarah and Vanessa and Russ are asleep, I linger on alone in the cockpit. Both daughters are with us together now in this beautiful place, as was Ian here with us in 1979. Moorea has drawn a full thread through the fabric of my life. It holds a special place for me. I reminisce alone under a sky exploded in starlight. Water gently laps against the hull of Zulu.

I think back 30 years when a tropical storm hit us here at anchor in all its fury. Lightening bounced off the volcanic peaks: staccato, fork, zig zag. Sheet lightening lit up the skies and the coral reefs, too, in a muted way as the rain poured down and the thunder boomed. An electric CRACK. Rumble. Boom!! I get goose bumps thinking about it!

I remember standing in the companion way of our 33-foot, hard-chimed plywood boat, ‘Toti’, watching the storm. Watching what seemed like toy boats pulling at their taught anchor lines in the wind through the downpour of rain: bobbing, tugging, rocking, holding on tenuously. I remember feeling very, very vulnerable then—small--in light of nature’s powerful uproar.

But down below there were two people bound to me by life, sleeping soundly. Their presence made me feel safe and strong. Their presence eased my apprehension. They were my anchors in this night. They were my reason for being.

Now in the present moment—passing, fleeting-- I again step down the companion way of a different boat, Zulu, into the cabin darkness. I feel the presence of three loved ones asleep. Their presence makes me feel at peace. Their presence brings calm. They, too, now are my anchor at bay in this starry night. They are my reason for being, the tie that binds. Déjà vu.