Music

Last night from my hotel across the TaiOHae bay, I heard music and drums and wondered whether a cruise ship had arrived after dark and was being welcomed with a performance. I am a little sad that I never saw such a one, but as much as the Marquesans love dancing (apparently), these performances are a patchwork quilt of remembered dances linked with Hollywood patterns and with what locals think foreigners need to see. I wouldn’t want to be hanging around with the patronising smiles I have seen on other tourists. I would find that offensive. So music has been in short supply during the holiday, except for the thump of pop, reggae, rap and techno sounds imported from elsewhere – and so much of that in English. God bless America! But memories of the sensational uplifting singing during last Sunday’s Catholic church service will stay with me forever. Somewhere I did learn it was true what I thought had been the case – the service was in French and the songs/hymns sung in Marquesan.

Mixed reflections

Hoped to be sitting in a similar seat towards Tahiti as I travelled up to the Marquesas on so I would be able to see what I missed out on first up (no set seats just grab the one you want). Forgot planes take off differently according to the wind. So we took off and I had a view of the featureless sea. Then, I was delighted when the plane banked and flew over the island of Nuku Hiva, more or less finishing over TaiOHae and so I saw some of the valleys I had visited on Wednesday. It was a bitter sweet departure. I know I will never be back and so it is truly goodbye. But such a rich store of experiences will give me much pleasure for a long while. Sensational place but hard work coming from a winter climate. And hard work with too little conversational French. However I wouldn’t have done it any other way. A few nights ago I walked up to the plush resort hotel on the hill, sat sipping a (non-alcoholic) cocktail, chatting to a local, admiring the pretty boy bar girl and watching the guests. Strangely, I was given a bowl of green and black olives which did not blend with the fruit juice I was drinking. But that was enough for ‘dinner’. Anyway I looked at the guests and their well-fed tummies, and their expensive linens and sparkling diamanté sandals and knew they could never know the Marquesas’ like I have (even though I realised I had only scratched the surface and understood almost nothing) and I felt sorry that even though they all spoke French, their isolation in such tourist enclaves prevented them from really knowing how people lived, laughed, talked and felt. Nor could they know the values of the local people. And without it at least some of that, all they could be doing was ‘seeing the sights’.

Getting to Nuku Hiva airport

The drive to the Nuku Hiva airport would have to be exposing one of the top 10 natural wonders of the world. Amazing. The variety of terrains from mountains to deserts was awesome (the desert surrounding the airport consists of rolling hills with comparatively low vegetation but it does not meet my childlike definition of a desert which ought to be rolling hills of sand – yes I know we have stony and other styles of deserts on Oz and around the world, but no way did this meet my feeling of desert). At various times the sea could be seen, from our great heights, on all sides. The driver, driving at 20-40km per hour, negotiated continuously curving road, which had more switchbacks than curves (and for the first time in 2 weeks after endless tortuous roads with steep drop-offs and lots of landslide mud and rocks everywhere, I had a functioning seat belt – yes my Ozzie conditioning has been hard to break. Law here says only belts in the front seats need to be worn and only in the towns and villages; still often they didn’t work and were draped over to save the Gendarmes the work of pulling you over and having all that paperwork for your misdemeanour of not wearing a belt). Until we reached the northern ‘desert’, there was never more than a 200m straight section of road, and through the desert one of the few straights could be as long as 400m – and this was during an over a 1 ½ hr trip from the town of TaiOHae. Fanbloodytastic. Exhilarating. I will always remember the endless wild horses and their foals standing in the middle of the road or eating on the verges, and others with their winter coats scruffily moulting off. Massive beef cows in black and white and red and white meandering similarly. Amazing panoramas. Exposed valley based tree ferns thinner than ours, and with a bulbous growth at the top of the trunk before the fronds pushed out on some. Sky blue and some white clouds. Stunning at every turn. Feel that every ‘grotty yachtie’ (phrase from a German couple of sailors) should take the trip even though they must return to sail. The last drive really has been the final wonder in these fabulous islands. Great relaxant and stimulator simultaneously. And it will give me memories to last me the next 13 plus hours of flying (albeit with breaks at Tahiti, Auckland and Melbourne where I will have a chance to walk around a little). And now my plane has arrived at Nuku Hiva, so I will be boarding soon to start the next step of my journey.

First draft towards a childrens story - based on real experience

When Elena snapped on her French Polynesian hotel light, his huge broad back was turned away. There he stood proudly, having enjoyed the privacy of the shadows and the dark moonless night. He froze, and Elena gasped in horror. The man appeared to be a relative of adversaries that Elena first met in northern Australia. He didn't flinch. There was something different here, Elena decided. While the suit was similarly glossy, and in perfect condition, she realised his shoe size was abnormally large. His bearing was elegant and he stood firm. One distinguishing feature was his very tall legs so that he looked down from a towering height. Brave Elena faced this Polynesian giant, who remained motionless acutely aware of her presence and knowing the danger she presented. He should not have been here.  She should not have been here. Not a word was spoken.  If a man can wear a grandiose moustache, this man's flamboyant facial features were extreme. And somehow grander than ever seen before.  Very admirable.  Elena walked away and turned the day into night with a flick of a switch.  He was so gloriously handsome and she would not kill him tonight.  No. Monsieur Cocky Rich would live to tell the tale of how he, unlike some of his foreign cousins, survived.

Big beautiful day

The two Phils collected me and we started up the endless winding and zig zag roads that was typical all day wherever we went. Sometimes concrete slabs, sometimes bitumen tarmac, plus always the body and muscle stretching would be bone breaking rocky roads. But what vistas. Ooh la la. So much and I can no longer remember it all. When I get to a map, I will be able to fathom the detail of our route. Probably the most interesting and exciting location was the town/valley of Taipaivai. This was the valley which inspired Herman Melville's great novel, Typee. Climbing to the top of something like Moaeki was breathtaking. We could see two oceans on either side of the island. We could look down TaiOHae valley. We could look across towards Toovai and its acres of pine trees, and cows and landscape which reminded me of Cygnet. We could see mountain ridges in all directions,and much more.  I think I was in overload by then, and didn't take a photo, took so many today and hope they will prod my memory. Petroglyphs and extensive pre European settlements and I mean covering huge tracts of land.  Have to be seen to believed. Vegetation, albeit containing similar trees to previous islands, still seemed to be different and more exotic and richer and denser. Perhaps the extreme landscape structure was the cause for things to look so new. That is the simple story of 9hrs travel. Oh yes ... and the food at Yvonnes. Exceptional. We each had a heaped plate plus there was a centre plate to share. In the centre was poisson en cru (I will be preparing this fish dish come summer), plus more of some items on our own plates. On my plate I had some yummy deep fried breadfruit balls, some breadcrumbed dark fish, some grilled white flesh fish, some taro, and what Philip called lobster  - in my opinion was nothing like. It had a small prawn like tail sticking out from what was a good battered small crustation. Each battered piece was no more than the size of a piece of my thumb. There were other foods on the plate but I have forgotten. Young Phil photographed his plate and I should have been smarter. The place was airy and opposite the beach with the gentle waves edging in and out quietly. Other tourists arrived and I realise in 36hrs I wont be saying bonjour, bonsoir, bonnuit and merci, and much more etc again for a long time. Although I will seek out Penny Dyer when I get back to work. She recently spent a while in Paris brushing up on her french language skills and maybe she would like some conversation. This could well be my last chance to blog before I get home. Will be glad to download the photos and make some sort of sense of what I have been doing, and to wind this story up so I can move onto the next one. Think there will need to be a Polynesian party in the coming months in memory of these gardens of eden and the beautiful paradise which is the Marquesas.

Wednesday morning

Breakfast here at the hotel is predictable but fine. Half the largest pamplamoosse (sweeter variety of large grapefruit) with its sections already lifted for me. Then fresh bread sticks as much as I can eat which isnt much, and a pot of dark berry jam (doubt that is local and with many things I dont like to ask  - probably from Chernobyl or some such place). And this is the only place I can get a cup of tea daily. My room has no refreshment facilities or fridge -like Russia. The tea and this WiFi are the reasons I come to breakfast. At 8am guide Philip will drive up and collect me in our rented 4WD with young Canadian Phil, and we will drive off for the next great adventure. Should be a wealth of stories at the end of today, including more new food discoveries. By the way there is little to beat a carafe or long glass of jus de pamplamoosse. Soooo refreshing. Just watched a man load up a horse with heavy saddle bags(couldnt see a saddle just a hessian cover) and his gun, then sit himself on top, whistle for a set of dogs to join him, and they set off for the hinterland. Probably expecting to bring back pigs and/or goats. Looks like hard work. Must go get ready. Hope everyone in the rest of the world has good sleeps and a good day.

Back at my drinking hole

Only 3.30 so having a less strenuous day today and on way back to hotel already. But already an interesting day. Decided yesterday to do the touristy thing so bought up on postcards. 21 are now posted and winging their way to you. A bit like Russia I doubt they will all arrive, but please tell me when you receive yours. My host, the anthpologist cum art historian Rose, has evolved a museum of original marquesan artefacts and so this morning I visited that. Great that she has collected, stored and done the best she can to maintain the artefacts, but hells bells I wanted to offer my services this morning. But where would one start  - in a non airconditioned climate controlled environment. Rose is getting on and I asked what will happen in the future. Apparently different people will claim different objects and the collection will be dispersed. There are so few remains of the old culture, thanks to the missionaries, that the loss of such an integrated collection would be a sad day. On the museology theme, heard there was an Australian couple arrived on a bigger yacht. Ran into them. They had already heard of me (small town here where differences are notable and the town crier is always at work - not really just seems that way) and Lesley Jenkins now NSW remembers me from my museology days in Qld. We knew all the same people etc etc. They are about to sail to Samoa, then she flies home to work (whoops that 4 letter word has struck). I cannot believe that in a few days time I will back in that gloomy office with its dirty windows while here, as I sip a refreshing beer looking out over the glistening harbour, and palms, frangipani and grapefruit trees shield me from the sun, I have fresh air, breezes drying my hair, and more glorious adventures to come. What else? At the bank I met young adventurer Phil from Canada who is sailing solo and has just taken 32 days to reach here from Hawaii. Currently he is taking a breather from work as a submarine engineer, but is en route to Adelaide to try and pick up some work. No Aussie girl will let him leave - both smart and gorgeous. I have invited him along for the road trip tomorrow. Discovered an information centre so now I know where I am. Which is important now I'm onto my 2nd beer. Found the only example of street food outside a convenience store and bought a Nam (from a transexual/would be transexual - not sure - lesbians and transexuals are well accepted here but not gay guys apparently). The Nam is a local version of a Spring Roll. Quite large and contained lots of vermicelli and then various other bits. But it was tasty and I have suffered no ill effects. Lets call that the morning tea snack. For lunch I discovered a van by the side of the road selling 2 lunch options. This was a smart French man not spreading himself too thinly. I wasnt so excited about 1 option but bought the second. C'etait magnifique. Let me get the saliva slipping once again from memory. A not so small mushroom quiche which would have won Masterchef for its slighly crumbly short pastry and the good quantity of mushrooms chopped to a good size and cooked so texture still sufficiently firm enough to be mushrooms. This was accompanied by two slices of excellent moist bread with firm crust. Plus a box with 3 half eggs resting on bed of finely sliced pale green leaves - unsure what that was but very edible; a massive amount of small pieces of fresh lettuce mixed with halved cherry tomatoes and halved sliced cucumber, a cluster of green string beans, and a pile of white cooked beans ( are they haricot?). There was a container of specially prepared salad dressing. This was a class act in presentation, in freshness and equals the broccoli and poisson a la chinoise dish for the best meal on Nuku Hiva. As I started lunch sitting in the shade, my normal guide Philip found me and that helped me get through all the food. Then, because I wanted to go up to the Territorial govt offices and find the person who organises the small husiness courses, Philip insisted he come up. Independent me wanted to go alone, god knows why I have to be something independent. Without Philip I would never have found the woman. Her English was as good as my French, so we didnt communicate fluently. Here if someone wants to start a business, they must get a license and to get this a person must complete a weeklong business course. When she asked would I consider coming to live here, with certain eyes, we both laughed. What an uphill battle it would be in this extended family environment where everyone takes offence easily, to teach someone how to be a profitmaking operator  - who speaks English. Well maybe more happened today but this 3rd beer is like the sea breeze, clearing my mind.