Only several hours after our crew change did we sail teary-eyed around the northern tip of Nuku Hiva to reach Anaho. The weather had come rolling in that afternoon, it's precipitation matching our somber mood. The Eastern shore's sharp rolling green stood out amongst the fog -- an occasional sun-beam peering into intricately carved canyons and intimate sands. Similar to the community in Hatiheu, Anaho is removed from the conventional transportation route of the island and all comes and goes by way of one's feet or on the back of a horse. When we arrived, laughter and color blared from a grouping of buildings in the center of town. A red roof extended over an open frame, its far wall displaying swatches of bright flag and fabric. Many children that night had gathered on rows of wooden benches, their voices echoing out over the sand.
Anaho's north-western lip provides ample protection from the wind and makes for an open and calm anchorage, though it's also home to one of the only developing coral locations in the Marquesas. In it's solitude, one easily wishes for weeks in the comfort of such a quaint and lively shore. After a day spent diving, we paddled to shore the following morning and walked from one end of town to the other. Coconut palms drape into the sea, coral protrudes from sparkling blue waters, and a well trodden path hugs its waterside. A friend we'd met in Taiohae mentioned he'd worked on a vegetable farm nestled between Anaho and a neighboring beach for two months. When not horse-backing their bounty to neighboring villages, it's said you can purchase produce direct from the farm. At our friend Maxime's suggestion, and in our need for fresh vegetables, we sought out the farm; lines of tomato vines, melon patches, and French beans scattered throughout the valley. To our dismay however, we found that all had been picked and transported for the day. To make up for our misfortune by way of legumes, we were gracious to receive young coconuts from a gentleman's backyard. At the roaring of waves, we chose to carry on beyond the farm and ended up at a beach best defined by its foreign invaders. Collections of punctured buckets and hardhats, piping and bottle caps lay uncovered like monoliths peering out from the sand -- a cemetery for stray, international, water-bound plastic. Oh, the treasures one can find in the debris that the world's currents wash ashore! I even found a toy pony! After following a one and a half foot black tip shark through ankle deep water, we hung to our determination to reach Ua Huka by nightfall and set out to the east.
Given the hour of day and the easterly that faced our bow, we made the choice to motor head on into the wind all thirty miles to our next anchorage. In small communities word travels fast. Amongst the boating community, so does trash-talking, and boy, did we receive a lot of reprimanding for not setting our sail (well deserved, I must admit)! Though we left at eleven, we watched friends depart Anaho at six am, were witness to their arrival in Ua Huka at seven pm... and we'd already been anchored for three hours. Needless to say, in an effort to hold us accountable, our sailing capabilities turned into a spectator sport from that day forward.
Of Ua Huka's two anchorages, Hane was rightfully chosen to accommodate our boating entourage. One of three towns, it sits along the island's southern shore, and shares its scattering of residences with a small magasin (store), post, and nondescript artisanal center/museum. Either side of its narrow bay is framed by beautiful black volcanic rock and a lone motu (island) guards its eastern entrance, providing limited protection in an otherwise rolly anchorage. News spread around town about our cruising community; never before had they seen so many boats there all at once. Given how the festival rotates throughout the islands, Ua Huka sees more activity in these three days than it does for the rest of the next six years. A treat for many considering that amongst a population of some six-hundred people, Ua Huka's goat and horse herds outnumber humans ten to one.
To experience this years mini-festival was an absolute delight. On open ground between Hane and Vaitaho, several highly decorated structures were constructed to facilitate this years festivities. Each building gave shape to a rectangular grass dance floor, each separately spanning three of its sides, leaving the forth open to the sea. Freshly carved tiki of stone and wood were dispersed throughout. On either end of the grounds were separate huts for displays of art, gifts (complete with tattoo parlor!), and carving demonstrations. Under handwoven palm-thatch roofing, several thirty-foot communal tables were similarly covered, miscellaneous remnants of coconut, banana, breadfruit and hamburger strewn about under hungry mouths. Fifteen or so 'vendors' worked tirelessly to maintain it's community gathering space by quenching the thirst of everyone present or offering light conversation. No matter the hour, these tables always had company.
During opening ceremony, each tribe presented gifts to those of the hosting island, their chiefs announcing arrival and welcome. A previously decorated ground took on additional greatness when it became home to an enormous stone mortus and pestle, two four-foot tiki, and a fourteen-foot drum. Various activities commenced each morning, breaking midday to allow the sun to cool and the dust to settle. But once the sun went down, the drums began and dancers decorated themselves in an array of woven palm fronds, seeds, coconut, bright cloth, and even dried octopus. A friend from Nuku Hiva explained to me that this year's theme revolved around, what he viewed to be, the analogy of a tree. To grow and receive the fruits off a healthy tree, it needs solid branches to hold them. Yet those branches do not grow separately; they too need the strength of a trunk to support them. But one would be without fruit, branch, and trunk without what gives birth to them all -- strong and healthy roots. Like a trees fruits, Marquesan culture cannot stand alone without what around it has helped to define and give it life. Many of the dances, then, were representations of what Marquesan's view to be the roots that uplift and hold their people together. In example, Tahuata presented lore of the goddess of the Octopus. A lone woman with a strong voice stood at the center whilst twenty dancers dawning dried octopus formed four legs in four directions, weaving in and out of one another, and battled another tribe. Ua Pou told stories of old by way of traditional all male war dances -- with clubs and fire in hand. And Nuku Hiva, in chilling gracefulness, presented the bird dance -- while forty dancers sang and swayed, six young dancers gathered in the center. Three young women, one possibly 11 years old, were covered from head to toe in bright feathers, all dancing elegantly on tiptoes while three young men 'flew' beside, one leg beneath them, the other extended behind. Voices wailed, feet pounded. Each held it's own significance and it's own awe-inspiring beauty.
On the festival's final night, 6 pits were dug at the far end of the grounds and each island was given their own. Smoke filled the sky and the wafting smells of fruits, vegetables, meats and seafood were left to smolder overnight. When the last dance had been performed and all islands thanked for attending, everyone made a mad dash to partake in the kai kai (feast). Each tribe emptied their pit onto woven baskets, hoisted onto shoulders, and danced into the crowd. Each of the communal tables were overflowing with breadfruit, blue rock crab and mashed red banana in coconut milk. Others were full of pork, dried beef, taro root, and mussels. In carrying with tradition, plates and utensils were left behind, many opting for emptied coconut shells or leaves and their fingers (what more do you need!?). There was no order, no need for politeness, no worry for taking too much or too little. You just dug in. Afterward, sprinklers were set to wash hands and faces, shells were strewn aside, and the sounds dispersed from a once booming location to those of packing cars and dismantling tables. Another fabulous year had closed, all sights set on Hiva Oa in 2015.
On our last day in Hane, Ed, a fellow sailor, Phil, and myself paddled our way against strong winds to dive the motu -- often finding ourselves zigzagging forward only to be blown back to where we began. Ed began the lookout for manta, Phil speared enough smaller paki that afternoon to feed the village, and I stopped looking after running into a six-foot hammerhead. As other dinghy's approached, we took the opportunity to climb a rather sketchy section of rock and dive into the sea. Before the sun began to set, we swam to its windward side and found ourselves floating amongst huddles of rays. Several mantas emerged from the deep while eighteen spotted-eagle rays danced underfoot. With so many around, one would think our dreams of manta riding would have prevailed -- alas, though they're furrier than I imagined, we left riding for another day.
For those that sailed down from Taiohae, their visit to Ua Huka was a vacation from their vacation. We spent our days together recovering from our nights. We'd delight in the beauty of festival, find an afternoon respite on a beach under palms, hitchhike home, and spend our evenings catching fish for BBQ potlucks at night (although somewhere in there Ed was brave enough to bike ride all of the island in the heat of the day!). Lit up under the stars and the glow of the fire, we'd share rum and share stories, listen to music and our convergence of languages. Tucking ourselves in in the wee hours of the morn, we'd begin all over again the following day, making memories and making friends.
We were lucky enough before the festival began to convince Zak and Leslie to join us here in the Marquesas rather than our pre-arranged trip to Tahiti (thanks guys!!). Now that the time was drawing near, we were all converging in Nuku Hiva for Christmas. One by one our boats drew anchor and drifted into the morning light. Gathering our remaining goodbyes, Ed and I set the spinnaker and made our way into the day (yes spectators, we were actually sailing!). After many a beautiful day on Ua Huka, looking out from the helm that eve, I found great joy in knowing the boats we were cruising beside. How amazing it is to imagine that within a week, our spotting of vessels made the horizon feel like a tight knit web of sails. Anchoring up in Nuku Hiva together that night, the remaining few trickling in after dark, it felt like L'Obsession had found her place in the South Pacific -- and we were only just getting started!
Hope all wonderful with you at home.
Until next time, and with all our love,
The crew of L'Obsession, minus one.
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