Day 32

As predicted, the lights of Papeete appeared on the horizon in the wee small hours of the morning, a cruel reminder that all too soon we will be back in the land of schedules and deadlines. We turned away from the lights and headed toward the quieter climes of Mo’orea, slipping into the glassy surfaced Cook’s Bay, intoxicated by the scents of the island: the woodsmoke and greenery and damp earth.

When the sun rose, we found ourselves surrounded by a landscape only dreamt of in tales of Captain Cook and Moana. Sun-dappled volcanic cliffs and palms trees, pineapple fields dotting a valley that disappears into the cloud-shrouded interior, a ridgeline that resembles Tafiti herself.

For the foodies out there, we found multiple uses for the coconut: mushed with Marquesan limes and rum for textured cocktails, shaved onto a pamplemousse and mango salad, and crumbled with walnuts on top of cinnamon coffee cake. The cocktail was last night’s sundowner, but we devoured the other for our final meal as a quintet. Shortly afterward, Jeff left us to go meet his better-half Doreen in Papeete.

I had a moment in the Super-Marché that let me know I may be headed for a tough re-entry. I found myself sympathizing with Mork from Ork as I gazed at shelves filled with fresh produce and dairy goods, overwhelmed by the noise and speed of other shoppers.

We have created our own little world on Leona, with our own particular rhythms and patterns. Our focus has taken us to the furthest edges of the horizon and kept us within the bounds of this roughly 850 square foot space for a month, longer than the aforementioned 21 days it takes to form new habits and break old ones. I foresee potential bommies on our passage to reintegration, as I realize the jokes we have been telling fall flat with others and that I may not have the same time to spend reflecting or reading and that I really have to wear shoes.

Nonetheless, I did manage to purchase what I needed to create a French-style lunch: baguettes and Brie, lettuce and prosciutto. The chilled white wine was almost overkill, but we went there anyway.

I had read about the “Polynesian way” of welcome, and certainly the few islanders we  encountered have lived up to that reputation. But surely the best example of the warmth shown to strangers happened with someone I have not actually met.

Thanks to one of my father’s best friends from high school, I have had a running email conversation with Kavika Knight, an avid sailor who pilots sailing canoes throughout these islands. In true Polynesian fashion, he extended a huge helping hand in securing a berth for Leona for the next week. He reminds me of the importance held by these connections we build throughout our lifetimes. My dad + his friend George = Kavika, who has now become the newest member of the Leona family. I really hope I can thank him in person one day, and at the very least, pay it forward by doing a solid for the daughter of a friend of my sister’s father-in-law.

I still have another day to reflect on what I have learned on this trip (other than how to tie a bowlin or how to do laundry in a dry bag). Right now I want to reflect on the wonderful meal Wilf just treated us to, enjoy the evening breeze, and drink in the Southern Cross.