Tahiti to Marquesas

 We set off on Saturday morning, 6/12.

We hesitated about doing this crossing again. With relatively little time left to enjoy the Marquesas once more, there’s a real effort involved, and not a few concerns that come with such a long passage—especially one sailed upwind. What tipped the scales in favor was knowing that there was an annual festival on one of the islands, and that we could make it there in time. These kinds of cultural events are a wonderful part of the adventure! This is especially true in the Marquesas, where the isolation creates a feeling of complete authenticity—hardly any tourists make it that far.

To deal with the headwinds, we begin the passage on a southeast heading, almost 90 degrees off the “correct” direction, and sail like that for more than a full day.

The optimal route comes from a weather app that can plan the track ahead based on the forecast. During the passage we have no regular internet connection, only satellite reception, which is very limited. It’s mainly used to download weather updates and allows us to send and receive short email messages. In the last year or two, Starlink—satellite-based internet from Elon Musk—has become very common on boats. We’re debating whether to install it, but honestly, right now I’m very happy not to have internet. It allows us to slip into a completely different headspace, something much closer to a real retreat.

I’m writing these lines on the fourth day of the passage, and so far the most dramatic development involves the hitchhiker we took on board, Johanna. As mentioned before: German, 38 years old, finished medical school but hasn’t practiced since, and instead has been traveling the world for years, including a lot of sailing as crew and hitchhiker on boats. Her experience is immediately evident—she blends effortlessly into boat routines and watch schedules.

But—very quickly we discovered that the woman is fairly unhinged. She is extremely stressed about arriving exactly at the start of the festival, while our arrival is cutting it a bit close. Objectively, that’s not a big deal—the festival lasts four days—but for her it became an obsession. She overheard us discussing the possibility of stopping overnight in the Tuamotus and immediately started drilling, pushing, and nagging that we must not stop. We made it clear—at first gently, and later not so gently—that while we also really wanted to make the opening of the festival, her pressure was not acceptable to us. She kept going with “but you said” and “you promised me,” until we shut it down and decided we would drop her off at one of the islands along the way after two days of sailing.

Once tempers cooled, our compassion kicked in and we had a clarifying conversation with very clear boundaries. Even then she didn’t fully get it right away, but when I actually turned the boat toward the island where we intended to put her ashore, she snapped out of it and politely asked to continue with us after all—without conditions or demands. We agreed, and in the twenty-four hours since that conversation, things have returned to normal.

Some thoughts on this. First of all, for a full day the atmosphere on the boat was unpleasant, and that really sucked. Luckily there was an alternative—to drop her off if things didn’t work out—but usually on ocean crossings you’re stuck together for the entire duration. Also, because her reactions were so inappropriate, and because we’d already sensed something a bit off about her before, paranoid thoughts start creeping in—“a couple disappears at sea after sailing with a psychopathic serial killer…” And a bit more seriously, it raises the question of whether we’re too naïve and trusting. Deciding to take someone on board for a week or more without really knowing them, based on a half-hour meeting beforehand, probably does call for more caution.

The truth is that over the years we’ve sailed with quite a few hitchhikers, and the experience has usually been excellent, with connections and friendships we truly enjoyed. The less-good cases were still fine, at worst neutral. This kind of situation had never happened to us before. I suppose we’ll be more careful from now on—but overall, it’s still much nicer to move through the world with a sense of trust.

In fact we had another hitchhiker, but a nice one 

Beyond all that, the passage itself has been simply delightful so far. I’m reminded that most of our crossings are like this, and that it’s really worth pushing through the pre-passage anxieties in order to enter the unique state of mind that a crossing brings.

It’s a bit hard to explain this experience. You could compare it to a long meditation retreat. Long hours of gazing at the waves, the horizon, ever-changing clouds. Every evening brings a different sunset display, always beautiful. During night watches—part of the night is lit by moonlight, which creates a special atmosphere. The rest of the time is focused reading without distractions (as mentioned, no internet!), or listening to an interesting podcast.

Tomer, who has sailed long crossings with us, once wrote a passage that I find wonderful in its description of a crossing. I’ll include it here:

A dear friend once shared with me an understanding of emptiness. Emptiness is potential.

The potential to breathe in the objects that were there all along and see the beauty in them. Things that are the foundation of everything around us and so essential to our being that we call them emptiness.

This is what the ocean gives. Immense emptiness surrounding an endless circle. Emptiness that allows you to see the play of light between sea and sky, allows you to hear the wind playing every instrument it finds, and allows you to feel the rise and fall of each wave, shaking the entire world. So much space is left for clouds to capture the bursting colors of sunset, replaced by moonlight offering its own interpretation of light, replaced again by countless stars emerging in the remaining darkness.

And every now and then something disturbs the emptiness in the form of a bird descending from the sky, a thought floating up, or a dolphin rising from the depths. When they arrive, there is so much space that they can fill your entire being in an instant—until they suddenly leave again.

When land finally emerges from the sea, the feelings are mixed. Relief walking hand in hand with a subtle melancholy. But you know that emptiness will still be there. It is always there, if only you choose to see it.

Emptiness

Writing again after the end of the passage: it passed without any special incidents, not even with Johanna. Up until the last day and a half, conditions remained favorable. Toward the end, the wind strengthened and the seas picked up a bit. That in itself wasn’t terrible, but since we also wanted to make it to the start of the festival, we used the engine and pushed more directly into the waves, which made things genuinely less pleasant. In hindsight, maybe that was a mistake—if we’d extended the passage by another day and continued under sail, it would probably have been more comfortable. On the other hand, the festival’s opening ceremony was truly lovely!

We arrived on Monday, 15/12, around midday—nine days of sailing in total. Just before arrival, a large pod of dolphins joined us and escorted us for half an hour or more, including many adorable, playful dolphin calves.

As mentioned, a relatively long crossing is a special experience—enjoyable, but also mentally and physically demanding: irregular sleep, living in the small confines of the boat without “refreshing exits,” everything at an angle due to the boat’s heel, and the constant motion of the waves.

A diagonal sunset

That’s it. We’ve arrived.