WWW

WWW
Originally uploaded by mlingswiler.

We are still sailing around the Marquesas, and have been to Hiva Oa, Tahuata, and are now at anchor in the Bay of Virgins in Fatu Hiva. Kitty, there is no need to worry. The bay was originally named Bay des Verges (bay of the Phalli) by early explorers because of the phallic shape of the rocky pillars. The missionaries disapproved of this and inserted an “i” making it “Bay des Vierges” which translates into Bay of the Virgins.



There are three groups of Islands that make up French Polynesia; The Marquesas, Tuamotus, and the Society Islands. We will likely leave here next week, sail 400 miles for the Tuamotus, and spend the next four weeks cruising around there. Ben and Rob hope to find big waves, and I hope for crystal clear water and nice diving.



The Marquesas Islands have been beautiful with high mountains climbing out of the sea, and lush interiors complete with running streams and waterfalls. The diving here is OK, but it is deep and lacks coral reef. It is mostly volcanic rock, and drops to over a hundred feet deep very close to shore. Most of the time we found ourselves diving on steep rock walls. If you’re lucky enough to spear a fish you need to ask the locals if it is OK to eat. There is a lot of ciguatera in these parts.



Before coming to the Marquesas Ben’s co-worker, who was born here, said many of these islands have an abundance of weed and weird people. Concerning weird people, I believe nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, I believe these folks live life better than we do in the states. They don’t cater to tourists, aren’t interested in your money, have very few hotels, no taxies, and no bars. Everything closes at 8PM. The entertainment is just “hanging out”.



They are all extremely friendly and will offer any help they can and expect nothing in return. If they see you walking along the road, they will stop and offer a ride. They offer their fruit that grows in abundance along the roads. One guy gave me a lift from the grocery store to the harbor, and when asked if I could pay him he said no. Try that in Miami and see what the response would be. In fact, if a guy in Miami offers to give you a lift, he is going to rob you. It’s hard to get used to. I’m always trying to figure out what the angle is.



I’m not sure what makes up the economy, but I see no outright poverty and most everyone I saw has a quaint houses overlooking one of the many bays, mountains or streams. Fruit grows wild everywhere. Large grapefruit (pamplemousse), limes, mangos, breadfruit, coconuts, and bananas are everywhere. There is also commercial growing of Noni, which I have no idea what it’s used for. All I know is some big company in Utah buys it all.



These people do seem to like their weed. On any weekend, usually near the town dock, there will be a large gathering of young and old people “relaxing” with the Ganja. Nobody seems to care and if you walk by they will be calling you over to relax with them. When you say no, they might pour you some wine and ask you to sit down. I not speaking French or Marquesian, and them pretty well baked and speaking no English, usually made for interesting conversation. While Kitty was visiting we went ashore to shower. There was a concrete enclosure with shoulder high walls near the town dock with a shower. It was a weekend and the large crowds “relaxing” made Kitty nervous, and she asked me to guard the shower door. About two minutes in to her shower a small sub-gathering waived me to come over. I didn’t want to be impolite, so I did. When they asked if I wanted to join them in a smoke I said no, so they poured me some wine into a cut-in-half coke can. They then started to tell me, in their best English, that they were my friend; I replied that I was their friend too, and introduction were made. As us new found friends were trying to communicate, Kitty caught an eye of this over the shower wall and promptly yelled to get my ass back to my post. My friends knew what was going on and laughed as they pointed me back to the shower.



In my opinion the weird people are the ones that travel thousands of miles on their boats to get here. Us being part of that group, we met many of them. The ones we didn’t meet we made up their stories. A few examples:



Happy:

Happy was a Swiss gentleman traveling with his significant other on a 35ft steel sailboat. We first met him going through the locks together in the Panama Canal. He seemed a little rude then, but we assumed that was the stress of the canal transit. We saw him again in Hiva Oa. We would have thought after 3800 miles he would at least wave hello. His significant other had no problem with us, but no matter what we did he would not acknowledge our existence. Image not wanting to talk to us……The Nerve!



Hypnotic Voices and the Trance Terminator:

This boat had a couple and a third wheel sailing out of California. The two guys would regularly swim over to ramble about some meaningless subject. Each time they did, I would have an uncontrollable urge to go to sleep. Just about when my head was about to hit the deck unconscious, the wife would always come over with a voice that sounded like nails on a chalk board. All I wanted to do was get in the dingy and speed away for a quick escape. She would then invariably proceed to tell us what to do and how to do it.



Trip-a-Tron and the Crystal Huggers:

These were a group of people on a 47 foot sailboat from the UK. The owner and his son would charge the crew to go on the trip and teach them the rules of sailing for a yacht masters certification. Ben asked the owners son and one of the students, George, over for a shot of rum. The two proceeded to drink the entire bottle. At $40US/Bottle, that didn’t go over well with us. In addition, George proceeded to tell us about every hallucinogenic drug trip he has ever been on and what country he experienced it in. George also had a peculiar speech impediment. Instead of calling any device that had a particular function by its name, he would name it by its function and suffix it with a-tron. For example, if he wanted a knife, he would ask for the cut-a-tron. If he wanted the lighter, he would ask for the light-a-tron. This impediment coupled with his drunken slur and a British Accent caused me not to have a clue what he was saying. The next night they invited us over to their boat. We reluctantly said yes in an effort to regain lost rum. The rest of the crew was even stranger. They reminded me of new age crystal worshipping hippies. They were supposedly very high in the Vedic organization (whatever that is!) Once they found out I worked for Burger King they converged on me like I was the Devil. I made a quick exit, and never did recover our bottle.



Porn Stars:

Anchored next to us in Hiva Oa was a beautiful 60ft sailboat from California. We never really talked to what appeared to be a father, mother, and daughter. Late one night, deep into a bottle of rum, we were amongst ourselves with the Sex Pistols blaring on the stereo. It was then that we guessed that the father was an ex-porn film maker whom married one of his cast. An Australian crew on another boat later told us to be careful with foul language around them, as they were very religious and would not hesitate to tell you the error in your ways. Our Porn star guess wasn’t to far off. Maybe our music was a little to much for them to handle. They weren’t our neighbors for very long.



Pretty Boys:

These were two Italian guys on a new 60ft Benneteau. They would walk around without shirts showing off there trim bronze bodies while luring the lady sailors aboard. Although I never really talked to them, there was an instant dislike. I’m just glad they arrived after Kitty departed. There was some satisfaction when a polish sailor told us that one of their names was Lulu. The dude had a chick name!



You can see from above that I would never judge anybody without getting to know them first.



Honestly, we have met many nice people. Jason and Laurel traveling around the world aboard their boat "Monkey’s Business" were great fun in Panama, and we hope to catch them in the Tuamotus.

We met four Polish girl sailors, each two sailing on two identical boats. They were racing each other to destinations that would eventually lead them around the world in a sponsored event by the boat builder. Ben spent a few days giving surf lessons to one of the girls. Two of the others ran off with the “Pretty Boys”.

The other night we were invited to happy hour on a 44ft catamaran along with all the other boats in the anchorage. We showed up with a bottle of wine and did not drink all their booze or eat all their food. I even put on a shirt (I didn’t want to scare anyone away).

Yesterday we went surfing with a guy sailing around the world with his wife. They were both from Namibia and tonight we went to a local’s house for dinner with some other boat people. The locals were singing and dancing. I thought the Latin’s could move their hips, but these folks put them to shame. No Kitty, I did not dance. One look at my hips and they couldn’t stop laughing.



Kitty came out and spent 10 days with us in Tahuata and Hiva Oa. I did manage to coax her into the water to do some snorkeling and I am still pulling the fingernails out of my arm from the sighting of a stingray. She had me doing a great deal of walking; From the boat to town, up the beach, down the beach, up the mountain, and down the mountain. I couldn’t move by the time she left. She did have a few comments regarding the dorm style living and mentioned the boat smelled like a locker room. I assure everybody this is not true. The picture is of her getting acquainted with the accommodations. You might notice the middle finger coming up for a small display of hostility. That might have been provoked, as I always bring out the best in people. My guess is that she didn't think it was too bad. She’ll be coming back to spend six weeks with us starting at the end of May.



After Kitty left, we went back to Tahuata so Ben could get a tattoo. Apparently tattoos have been part of this culture for hundreds of years, and they are well known for their intricate designs. I have not seen a single Polynesian without a tattoo, and I must admit many of them are quite interesting. I’m sure everyone is wondering if I did the same and I’m sorry to disappoint, but this is not my culture and I don’t feel I have earned that right. In addition, tattoos age while memories always get better with time. I’ll keep the memories, and skip the tattoo. It’s always amazing to me when a song or a scene triggers an old memory that starts you laughing like it happened yesterday. This usually happens to me at the most inopportune times, and sends people to the other end of the room wondering if I’m crazy. Hell, I probably am!



After the Tuamotus, we head for the Society Islands (Tahiti, Bora Bora, ect.). Our visa runs out in the middle of July so we need to be on our way to the Cook Islands before then. Ben and Rob will likely get off the boat in Tahiti and rejoin the boat in New Zealand. This is causing me some headaches, not because they are leaving, but because it reaffirms Kitty’s position that I’m impossible to live with. It has been said that I have a pointed sense of humor. I’m not sure why, I only poke fun at people who can’t take it. I’ll be recruiting help to get to the Cook Island, Tonga, Fiji and New Zealand. If there are any takers for part or the entire trip, email me at mlingswiler@bellsouth.net. It will be quite a few weeks before I can find a computer to check my mail. In the Marquesas there are only two computers. They are Mac’s using dialup (you gotta love this place!).



Thank you everybody for the comments. They definitely keep me closer to home. That goes especially to my Mom for saying I can write. Only a mother would say that about my writing. In the sixth grade I had a writing assignment. On the day it was to be graded and returned, my assignment was “ditto” copied and distributed to the entire class (less my name). The new official class assignment was to correct my paper. The unofficial assignment amongst my classmates was to find out who wrote it. I turned to math after hiding in the corner for a week.



One comment I would like to respond to is that of my friend Steve. He was inquiring as to when I turned eighty due to some excersized caution I previously wrote about. I feel I need to set things in context. I’ve known Steve since Jr. High and it wasn’t until High School that we found out our parents and Grandparents knew each other since the 30’s in Miami. To describe Steve in a single sentence would be “Hell on Wheels”.



When I was fifteen he already had his driver’s license. He was coming to pick me up for some reason I don’t remember and my Mom was unaware until he pulled up. She didn’t know Steve yet, but had a mother’s intuition and said no way. After 10 minutes of “Pleeeease Mom” my Dad stepped in and said go.



Steve’s parties left a path of destruction, and were great fun as long as it wasn’t your house. One of those parties occurred over a summer term while in college. When I left the party one of our friends, Corey, was watching a TV with no signal. He apparently woke up two days later. I remember Columbus days, cruises, and one Atlanta road trip, and each had similar endings.



To answer Steve’s question: I already turned eighty when he was sixteen, and life would be allot less fun if he ever caught up!



Hope everyone is doing well, and I’ll try to update this site more often.