We decide to go shopping as the fridge is bare and although we intend heading off really early, it’s well past 9 am and really hot by the time we start the 40 minute walk into the village.
It’s a lovely walk, although I could do without it being up hill for at least two thirds of it. After 30 minutes we pass the point where Jeannius is anchored, just 200 yards away, having had to walk all the way round the bay.
We arrive at the village a few minutes later. It’s small, but as the saying goes, perfectly formed. It is very clean, neat and tidy and the local style of building is generally very attractive.
We walk into the grounds of the Paul Gauguin museum. We have no intention of going in as I don’t like his art but the buildings are beautiful.
Gauguin lived in Hiva Oa until he died after having to leave France due to his liking for underage teenage girls. Once in Hiva Oa he carried on in the same vein, constantly upsetting the clergy with his drinking and other unseemly behaviour. He is buried in the cemetery here.
We walk past the war memorial, built to commemorate the two people from the islands who died in the two World Wars, one in each. We discover a selection of shops selling a strange mixture of goods and they are all horrifically expensive. We find an ATM and get some beautifully colourful money out – far too pretty to spend – so now we are solvent for a while.
We find the supermarkets (such as they are) and find a peculiar selection of food. While you can get nice French cheeses, and fancy tinned goods like duck and pate, the selection of fresh fruit and vegetables is even worse than in the Galapagos, and everything is refrigerated. We buy a small selection of goods which cost a fortune and leave. Obviously it is going to be like this until we get to Tahiti, where you can buy anything …… but at a price.
Walking back down the road we spot Jared clambering into the back of a pickup truck and throw our shopping in and climb in with him. Not something I would ever do in the UK, and not a whiff of a seatbelt. Ho hum.
We put the water maker on and after it successfully produces 100 gallons of water, it stops, just like that, no warning, no strange noises or rumblings. Mike goes to investigate and comes back looking worried as he thinks the pump now appears to be knackered.
A short while later he notices that the needles on the generator display are fluctuating wildly – this is not good. He gets the manuals out and sits down for a read. He checks all the usual things and nothing seems amiss and finally concludes that it must be the brushes (the things that transmit the electricity from the things that goes round in the generator) as these are supposed to be replaced after 3000 hours and ours has done just over 4000 hours. They are cheap to replace – but are going to be difficult to get stuck here in the middle of a group of tiny islands. The nearest place to fly them into is Tahiti, over 800 miles away, then a local flight here. All this can be arranged by the agent who handled our immigration – again, at a price.
There’s a bit of excitement in the bay later as one of the boats drags it’s anchor and starts to head for another boat and the owners are not on board. Ed from Skylark goes over to try to sort it but it is obvious he cannot do it alone so I volunteer Mike and go and drag him up from his afternoon nap – aren’t I generous. I then sit in the shade of the cockpit and watch as another two people arrive to help. In the end it is all sorted and the loose boat is successfully re-anchored. The owners are ashore drinking champagne as it is one of their birthdays, quite content to let the others take over!
In the early evening we go over to Crazy Horse to join Rosemary, Bill and Matt for a drink along with the crews from Voyageur, Brown Eyed Girl, Ocean Jasper and Chessie. It is a really good night, and after drinking a couple of nice glasses of Sauvignon Blanc, it suddenly seems a good idea to try some of the rum punch, lethal stuff as I found out later.
We get back to the boat and Mike notices that Jeannius is swinging at a strange angle, which, given that we have a stern anchor out, should not be happening. He gives the line a tug, the line which is attached to the anchor chain, and it comes up. Not good. It means the line and chain have parted company, so that’s another stern anchor at the bottom of the sea. I go bed, moaning about the dammed floating money pit – again!
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