Things are even easier today. With better cell service, instead of leaving an open spot to chance, the marina put us in touch with another boat that was planning on leaving a Begonia-sized hole behind a few days hence. The guy was a bit vague when pressed for the specific time he intended to depart, but hinted he was most likely to leave Tuesday at around noon. Maryanne exchanged texts with him a few times after that and each time, he said it almost certainly would be Tuesday.
Sure enough, after we pulled up our anchor and were halfway to the city, he said he didn't feel like leaving today, maybe tomorrow. We decided to continue on, since the distance back to Point Venus was more by that point, and maybe we could find a different spot that was vacated by another boat after all.
When we got there, I dropped Maryanne off to go to the office. The guy there said he had no space, but since the two traditional boats tied up at adjacent Pā'ōfa'i Gardens were out for a few days, there would be space along the public wall, where we could tie up for free until a slip was available at the marina. The public wall was exposed to big wakes and others gave warnings of petty crime, but big fenders and leaving someone aboard at all times should tide us over for one night.
Much to my surprise and relief, Maryanne volunteered me to be the one to stay aboard tidying and doing little jobs, while she shouldered a bag of laundry and headed out to the place nearby that does it{Maryanne - we'd been here before several times, and expected to use the Marina self-serve laundy, but things change and that facility is no longer available, so we were left with a long hike to a very expensive option - Ugh!}. Not wanting to return home empty-handed, she also made a pass through all three of the nearest grocery stores to memorize their inventories. By the time she arrived back at Begonia, hours later, I was able to convince her that it would be safe to leave our boat unattended long enough for a congratulatory drink at the adjacent waterfront bar, which was literally six boat lengths ahead of us. She agreed on the proviso that we get a seat at the rail facing, where we would have a full view of anybody who tries to sneak aboard for some freebies.
There were a couple of dodgy-looking guys sleeping under adjacent trees, but neither of them seems to have thought Begonia's hard fiberglass cockpit was a better deal than nice, soft grass.
In the morning, after Maryanne finished an early bakery run, our guy texted her to say he felt like he would probably be leaving his marina slip soon. O.....kay. We got ready and after verifying there were no other boats preparing the grab the spot, waited until we saw him coming out of the fairway before we started engines and untied our lines.
Great! Now that we're in a proper slip in a secure marina, we can both now go out and have fun!?
Not so fast! Cities and marinas are only actually related to fun in the most thinly tenuous way. Marina-based fun must first be paid for with dirty, unpleasant jobs – jobs which we are paying for the privilege to complete.
By far, the biggest thing looming on our list was provisioning. We were low on nearly everything and needed to procure another batch that would be sufficient to get us through another few months until we could once again have access to big stores with lots of selection. After I had finished assembling our heavy-duty wheelie wagon, Maryanne broke the news to me that she had already determined the best store for us would be the fourth-closest one, a well-stocked Carrefour over a mile away (a giant supermarket rather than the nearer mini-marts).
When we got there, sweating from the tropical heat and relieved to finally be in the mild air-conditioning of the store, Maryanne did what she is used to doing and headed over to the big carts to retrieve one for each of us. Mine would have much of its volume taken up by the folded wheelie wagon.
Now, hang on a minute! I suggested that instead, we could use our ungainly wagon as our shopping cart(s). That way, when it's full, we know were done with our present sortie. She didn't like the idea, but went along with it anyway. At the far end, after trying to pile just a few more things on top of the increasingly unsteady pile in the wagon, she was still looking for more stuff and making noises about how we had barely managed to get anything on her multi-page list. She finally stopped when I pointed out that, in addition to the difficulty of pulling the sagging cart home, neither of us would enjoy adding the burden of a forty-pound bag on each shoulder.
Our shopping, as usual, looks a bit strange from the outside. On our first and heaviest haul, we looked like a couple of survivalists who plan to ride out the apocalypse on cans of corn, peas, and various varieties of beans, which we apparently intend to wash down with beer. Next was lots of carbs – rice, pasta, crackers, etc. and enough nuts to keep a busy bar stocked in nibbles for a week. Each trip, our huge wagon was filled with giant amounts of what would be a woefully inadequate slice of a proper diet. Only on our final outing did we get to have our wagon overflowing with colorful produce and leafy greens, as if we had decided to make our fortune by opening a juicing and smoothie chain.
One of the many trips to provision (and then finding places to stow everything); Our last supermarket was in Panama in February and we won't see another until we reach New Zealand in November
But despite our in Tahiti for chores, we did get to enjoy the parks and waterfront of Papeete, the "big city", along with the odd restaurant, food truck, and bar (the beer wasn't ours!)
On our busiest day, we did back-to-back round trips to Carrefour (the french grocery chain supermarket store). We didn't stow anything in between, deciding that would be a problem for our future selves. Screw them! We were about to head out for a third heavy load when Maryanne suggested we go to the bulk health food store instead. She sold it to me as being easier than a third wagon haul. I misunderstood her to mean the store was closer and thus wouldn't require our usual four-hour return time. What she turned out to mean was that, even the store was only a little farther away than Carrefour, the two-mile trip home would be with a lighter cart. My pre-blistered feet did not care for that. {Maryanne:I'd been to the strore TWICE already and failed to successfully make a purchase, it was either closed with special "School holday hours" or they hadn't yet received the pricing for the items I wanted, so could I "come back tomorrow". Ugh!}
Of course, when we arrived back home, we were exhausted and facing a mountain of food that would have to be squirreled away tonight to make way for tomorrow's next Carrefour haul. After that particular outing, Maryanne declared it to be our last. She then said she needed to do just one more mop-up trip to the health food store and suggested we could divide and conquer if I went to get fuel and our newly-filled propane bottle while she did. My stuff was only half as far away as her stuff, so I practically jumped at the chance.
Just as I got our new petroleum in its place, she called to ask if I wanted to meet her at a place on her route back for lunch. The idea of an enforced half hour of sitting without having to stare at a pile of jobs to do sounded just heavenly.
It didn't work out. The place closed five minutes before we got there and we were greeted with a wall of shutters. Same with the next, and then the next. We were unlucky enough to now be in that part of the day when nothing is open. Groan. We dropped off her cart at the boat and then, on increasingly limpy legs, widened our search for some place that was open. We eventually found one when they were all reopening for dinner anyway. No bother – it felt even better to sit down and replace the day's lost calories.
As we arrived back home, we noticed that the restaurant nearest Begonia – the one two boat lengths away – was putting up decorations. That was strange, we had checked them out earlier and were sure they said they were closed all day today. We forced ourselves to stay up long enough to stow everything away and then crawled into bed exhausted. We were glad the provisioning was done, hopefully for a few weeks or even months, and were looking forward to a day of actual fun tomorrow.
Forty minutes later, the music started with what sounded like a car bomb going off across the street. The adjacent restaurant seemed to be hosting a private function/party.
The music was not just loud, it was front-row-at-a-stadium-concert loud. We tried earplugs, but the vibrating walls, mattress and pillows kept us awake. Eventually, we gave up and decided to try watching a movie or something. That didn't work either, because even with our best speakers turned up to eleven and all our doors and hatches closed, we couldn't hear anything coming out of them. How can the partygoers possibly socialize in such a din? I popped my head out and saw maybe eight hundred people, about half of which were screaming with their mouths right in front of the ear of the person next to them. Fun!
Dance club music is pretty repetitive. Maryanne and I eventually got tired enough to sleep fitfully through it as if we were on a loud airplane or something, or perhaps a dragon with a really loud heartbeat.
At 3am it stopped with such suddenness that it actually jolted us awake with a surge of adrenaline, as if we had been leaning on a door that someone had suddenly opened away from us. When we finally realized what had happened, we breathed a collective sigh of relief and laid our heads down in the cozy new silence.
Then the cleanup started. Slamming tables and chairs and the loud shouts of the temporarily deaf are actually harder to sleep through than the rhythmic thump-thumping of dance music. Worst was the balloons. To clean up five thousand balloons, you start by popping them. It sounds like gang warfare out there!
Fifteen minutes after the last two staff shouted goodbye to one another, our alarm went off. Time to have fun!
Ooh, I don't want to have fun anymore! Can't we just sleep in instead?
Yes, of course we can, but we're not going to because we came all this way for this and this is our one day to enjoy it. Today is Heiva Day!
Unfortunately for us, this year's Heiva sporting events have been moved from adjacent Pā'ōfa'i Gardens to a much less convenient park on the other side of town. Maryanne had previously decided that, to get some exercise and halve our bus fare, we would be getting there on foot.
The two-hour walk was nice for getting our blood flowing after that miserable night, but it was along what I have since decided is the worst road in Pape'etē. It runs through an industrial strip and the experience of walking its shoulder is one of clouds of exhaust, waves of stinging grit, and irritating two-stroke motor noise. It was with great relief that we finally turned off into the jovial, family reunion atmosphere of the Heiva grounds.
We arrived first at the javelin throwing. This is not what we had expected at all. We thought we would see people throwing javelins overhand, Olympic-style, for distance. Instead, they were hurling slightly smaller javelins, launching them underhanded. The crazy part was that they were not shooting for distance, but were aiming for a target – a lone coconut high on a pole. Each player had maybe ten javelins to throw and they would be lucky if they hit the coconut once. The event was timed, which meant all the participants were shooting at the same time, filling the air with flying projectiles. As if a distant coconut wasn't small enough, the target is divided into zones, with higher points awarded for getting closer to the top. At the end of the time limit, the coconut is very carefully lowered and the points are recorded as each javelin is removed.
Traditional javelin throwing, was followed by a dance and drum performance
Maryanne and I ended up finding a spot to sit in the grass near the throwing line for the kid's coconut. They didn't hit nearly as often as the adults, but when they did, they were all jumping up and down and smiles. One kid hit it twice, then ran triumphantly to his dad, jumping into his arms. They both had big smiles the rest of the day.
Next, we wandered over to the copra harvesting event. In this case, it was the women's contest. They work in teams of three and the goal is to be the fastest to bag up the meat of a hundred coconuts. One woman splits the nuts with an axe, while being careful not to lop off a foot, then she tosses them to the two others, who scoop the meat out of the shells. When they are done, they all gather it into a pile and then load it into a burlap sack. It's hard to make a direct comparison, but they seem to be about fifty times faster on a per coconut basis than Team Begonia. We are probably much more worried about making a big mess and Maryanne is particularly good about cracking them so that the milk doesn't get wasted.
One thing that we noticed with this event and all the others is how friendly all the competitors are with each other. When the first team finished, they went to cheer on the next, and then the next until the whole event ended in a big, smiley, group hug in a mashup of team colors.
Once the coconut shrapnel had been cleared off the field, we watched a haka and traditional dance exhibition before the stage was given over to the stone lifters. This is just what it sounds like: The participants pick up a big stone and lift it onto their shoulders, while the judge stands by timing with a stopwatch. It was getting hot sitting out in the direct sun, so we only watched the women before moving back to a shady spot at the javelin field. It was a thing to see. I'm pretty sure all the women weighed less than I do, but they were clean-and-jerking stones that weighed more than me to shoulder level in just a few seconds. That's a handy skill to have if you like to keep your motorcycle on the top shelf.
More events ran into the afternoon, but Maryanne and I needed to get home in time to change and head out to the auditorium in Pā'ōfa'i Gardens, where we had tickets to the singing and dancing competitions.
I've said much about the Heiva before. We were lucky enough to be here for a third time. We absolutely love it and this year was the best of all. When the lights came down, the drums started beating and dancers started flowing in from each corner of the stage, the crowd roared to life with applause.
Well, almost.
On this particular night, seats were getting scarce and it was unlikely for last-minute buyers to be able to get seats together. Such was the case of what appeared to be a mother, seated two rows down and a bit to our right, and her son of upper teenage years, or possibly early twenties, who sat right next to me.
This guy irritated me right away by immediately taking up more space than the confines of his seat, as if the whole row was his personal lounging area. He practically sat on top of me, as if he hadn't noticed the guy in the colorful Heiva outfit in the next chair.
Every performance at the Heiva begins with a very long speech in Tahitian. Often, these are grandiose and seem to have the sky itself as the intended recipient. I admit, this part can be a little bit boring for those of us who have no idea what is being said. While the rest of us tried to sit patiently while not checking our watches too often, the guy next to me fidgeted and sighed and generally acted like every second was torture, all while being unnecessarily pressed into me and sweaty. The seat on his other side was still empty.
When the speeches ended, the music came up, and the dancers finally filled the stage, that's when the guy whips out his phone and starts sending insipid texts to someone on the other end.
Sup
Nothing...Sup with you (Apparently, the youth think punctuation is a waste of time)
Nothing
Cool
Then they had the same exchange forty different ways.
What's goin on
Nothing...You
Nothing...You
Nothing
Cool
Hey...I was thinking about some of my life choices and I was hoping to talk about them with a close friend and trusted confidant
What
Nothing...Sup
Nothing...Sup with you
Nothing
Cool
Excuse me, I thought. Did you not notice Polynesia's best dancers and musicians putting on their big, once-a-year show right in front of you? Can't you do that literally anywhere else, so I can have my personal space back?
He could not. The whole first dance, the only time he looked up from the phone in his lap was when he lifted it up to take a selfie with the crowd behind him so that he could show the poor sap on the other end that he really was doing nothing.
Cool
Fortunately for me, he left during the singing performances, along with many of the others in the audience. When they started filing back in for the next dance, he didn't return. Too boring, I guess.
He really missed out. We later found out the next troupe won the award for best performance for the whole 2025 Heiva. It was incredible. The stage, which took up the whole arena floor, was filled with as many dancers as would fit. There was something like four hundred of them, all dancing energetically and in unison, and all wearing amazing, elaborate costumes that doubled their heights. One of the absolutely delightful things I noticed about fifteen seconds in was the smell. Four hundred floral arrangements had just paraded in, filling the air with the scent of flowers and fresh-cut leaves. Wow!
We loved the Hieva performances- here we are not permitted to take photos so these pics are from the official facebook page. Each dance group tells a story through several different presentations and costume changes - it's better than broadway!
We got home just before midnight. The restaurant next door was mercifully silent and dark. We slept in just a little and then had an ‘easy' day of jobs at the boat. My three items were: Clean the speed wheel, fill the water tanks, and wash the exterior. Maryanne had the first two done for me by the time I was done checking the weather forecasts, so it turned out to be even easier than I thought. We were both done in plenty of time to clean ourselves up, take a sunset walk along the quay, and enjoy a nice dinner out.
In the morning, Maryanne was keen to get some fresh bread, which often sells out by eight or nine o'clock, so she left me aboard to nurse my first cup of coffee over the weather charts while she headed out.
Bastille Day parade photos (top two and are from official facebook page since I couldn't see a thing) and Dance/Drum show (where we finally found a viewpoint)
As it was also Bastille Day, she decided to check out the parade route on her way home, which was only two blocks from Begonia. I was rushing to get things done so I could join her when she texted me to say not to hurry. She told me there was nowhere to stand out of the sun and that the crowds were so big that all she could see was the backs of a lot of people standing at attention through gaps in the crowd ahead of her. We decided instead to meet up for a meal and then return in time for the fruit races.
Traditional Fruit Carring races - it's way harder than it looks just to carry the fruit, let alone run with it! There was such a good vibe from the crowds and competitors it was a joy to be there
This is another one of those events that just boggles the mind. The race starts, the participants run about ten meters to pick up their loads, which, depending on the division, can be anywhere between thirty and fifty kilos of fruit lashed to a bamboo pole. Then they take off running for another kilometer and a half with them slung over a shoulder. Again, it was all good-natured competition with the winners lining up along the course to cheer on those behind. The most amazing feat of the day was when a Māori woman came from behind the lead pack and won by an enormous margin by effectively running double the speed of the others for the last half of the race. The roar of the crowd would not have been out of place in any of the world's great arenas. Well, that was pretty cool. We had delayed our departure from Pape'etē for an extra day to see it and I'm glad we did.
Paofai Gardens Park wall location >> On google maps
Papeete Marina location >> On google maps
