Fatu Hiva

Nov 20^th, 2013

Iles Marquises… land of legends, where the wind that barrels through the valleys still remembers the warriors’ Haka and carries on its screams the legends of cannibalism, of beautiful women seducing harried sailors only to serve them as slaves (or food) to their tribes; land of Herman Melville’s Typee and Omoo; land of dramatic volcanic landscapes, of vertiginous basaltic peaks, of tweaked spires, of phallic protrusions, of fertile valleys and warm people.  “Les Marquises, ca se mérite” (The Marquesas: one must earn them) is the popular phrase among sailors in these parts.  It’s not easy to get here from anywhere at all.  But I can already guess that once here, it’s even harder to leave.   Three islands to the south: Fatu Hiva, Hiva Oa, Tahuata; three islands to the north: Ua Pou, Ua Huka, Nuku Hiva.  15,000 inhabitants, only a fraction of the 80,000 Marquesians that once inhabited those splendid islands.

            Armed with “Charlie’s Charts of Polynesia” (7^thedition, Cpt. Holly Scott & Jo Russell), we dropped anchor in the middle of Omoa Bay.  We were mentally ready to confront the cement wharf and escalade our way to shore.  But what a surprise!  A fairly new seawall on the south end of the bay shelters a small-boat harbor and a very nice dinghy landing, complete with lighting at night. 

“Welcome to Fatu Hiva,” greets the carved sign at the start of the dirt road through town.  No sooner had we reached the first breadfruit tree that the locals were giving us a warm welcome.  “A word of warning, attention to the Mouteuil (local for gendarme).”  Ah!  Boats are not supposed to call in at Fatu Hiva until they have cleared entry at Hiva Oa or Nuku Hiva.  Sure enough, the Gendarme eventually tracked us and ordered us to regain our boat… as soon as we had bought our bread, of course.

            Bread we didn’t find that day, since the baker bakes only what the community orders… since we had not ordered the day before… no bread for us.  Felling sorry, though, the baker loaded us with pamplemousses, the local sweet grapefruits—enormous, really-- that have been our staple breakfast food since. 

            Each of the Marquesas Islands is renown for an artisan specialty.  In Fatu Hiva, it’s the Tapa cloth, made with tree bark (usually breadfruit) pounded and soaked to softness, then painted with traditional motifs.  Since there is no bank or ATM in Fatu Hiva (no, the post office does not dispense money) and since the locals would not accept our Dollars or Euros, we sadly skipped the shopping bit.  The walk through Omoa was a short-lived affair, the Mouteuil pestering us to regain our ship.  So we did, but not without meeting “Coco,” the genial water taxi who, happy to have toured DOMINO, gave us more pamplemousses and some breadfruit, accompanied with the basics of weather patterns for the season: Northerlies… Having made a friend, we quickly raised anchor and made for Hanavave Bay.

Mythic! Spectacular!  Extraordinary!  How could I describe this geological wonder when my camera can’t even capture the entire landscape into its too-narrow lens?  All along the coast, coming up from Omoa, the green cliffs are dotted with basaltic protrusions of a very phallic shape.  Hence, the original name of the bay: “La baie des verges” (Bay of the Penises) re-baptized by the Christian missionaries “La baie des vierges” (Bay of the Virgins.)  The addition of an “i” to the word made the word sacred in a whole different way… not the same, somehow!

We dropped anchor in this splendid bay, shortly before sunset, taking care of setting our anchor into the gravelly bottom, well known to let boats drag when the winds funnel through the deep valley and scream through the bay.  The holding is better close to shore or to the southern side of the bay.  As gusty as this anchorage gets, it’s well worth the effort.  The view is unforgettable.  We considered going to shore, but the cold shoulder we received in Omoa did not motivate us much, which is a shame.  The walks on the island are reputed to be spectacular and the people the warmest of the entire Marquesas.  We later learned that many cruisers skip Omoa entirely, only to anchor at Hanavave where the “Mouteuil” is much more understanding and fills out an arrival sheet that he sends to Hiva Oa for processing.  Our loss.

And that’s how we spent our very first night in the Marquesas, resting from our 13-day Pacific crossing, listening to the wind that spilled and screamed through the valley, savoring the sight and counting not sheep but the many goats that treck the perilous cliffs above.  With an eye on the “Drag Queen” (our anchor watch program) to make sure we were not slipping, we watched the southern stars spin over our heads, dizzy with the motion and the perfume of night jasmine.  In the morning, we were off for Hiva Oa to process our entry in French Polynesia.

Till then…

dominomarie