On the way to Australia ... Goodbye South Pacific

It's a bit hard to say goodbye to what I feel will be the highlight of the this magnificent journey, and quite honestly, at times, a trying crucible. We are now leaving Polynesia. I shall miss the Marquesas and their rugged, jagged basalt peaks and octopus and grouper-rich waters, and hunting feral goats on volcanic rock that burned my calves and shredded my foot-wear and left me begging for my next breath.  I shall miss the Tuamotos and their labyrinth of coral-rich waters and nights that so lit up with stars I felt like I was embedded into Van Gogh's "Starry Night" from a low-lying palm and white, sugar-sand island.  I doubt I shall ever again breath air as pure as it was there  The Isles of Tahiti, Huahine, Bora Bora, Rarotonga, and Niue leave me reminiscing about the great memories of vibrant open markets, black Tahitian pearls,  beautiful venomous sea-snakes that may just give you a love tap with their nose, old US W.W. II gun-emplacements now rusty and forever-silenced, volcanic and verdant slopes falling into gin-blue waters teeming with fish ready to be viewed...or put on the table, and people that are genuine, tradition and family-oriented, and friendly.  Fiji still calls to me with her giant clams with iridescent green and blue lips that when disturbed shut their shells so forcibly that the water around you moves.  The diverse nature of native Fijians living now with their Indo-Fijian and Chinese neighbors could quite possibly be a social lesson for the world to follow.  The first invite and participation in a Kava ceremony/social is something that will change you...and I will leave it at that in the hope that you force yourself to take that trip you know you have earned with so many days in the 8-5 grind and are still making excuses as to why you can't go.  Go, my friends!  Today is a gift, there is only false promise in tomorrow, and everything is fleeting.

Vanuatu, which is only several hundred miles to our rudder and dancing in my mind entails the experience of ceremonial dance entrancing one, orchid-laden ficus trees as large as a soccer field shading out the sun in a misty jungle, volcanos so active and accessible you look down at the magma being projected at you and followed by the thunderous crash of the cooled rock as it rolls back into the abyss of the mad mountain, and a real pig-hunt where one feels as if you should paint your face with mud and blood before a mad dash through the jungle.  This is magic of Vanuatu.  For those of us who feel, at times, like we were born a bit too late and missed out on the great discoveries and adventures in human history; the isle of Tanaa is where the Skip and I were able to put that inner-need to rest (well, at least for a while).  Discovery is still possible, we've found, from within and tangible if one is willing to trek out a little bit beyond the tired, worn paths of humanity. We ran through the jungle in pursuit of a fleeing animal and bathed in all the glory of her steep peaks and towering canopy of foreign hills.  We learned to drink and eat from the trees and the chase and the kill of a wild boar became a distant thought as we melted into bush.  Our clothes drenched and dirtied, our sweat mixed with the volcanic dirt we wore and dripped off of us to the forest floor below, leaving a faint trace of us on her hills.  She, too, became a part of us leaving an indelible mark on our souls.

Our short stay in Port Villa, was taken up by the usual tasks of provisioning, fueling, taking on water, and maintenance checks but we did manage to buys some DVDs and other items we hadn't seen in quite a while (hey, I'm not completely ready to trade it all in and live in a tree), soak up the open-market which rivals the one in Tahiti, and grab a bite in a local eatery.  The Skip even got a haircut (well-overdue).

We make our way at a blistering 8.5 knts over ground, with apparent winds at 22 knts. to a land down under.  We find ourselves in the Coral Sea and night-watches are not to be taken lightly.  The ARC lost a vessel here last year and we allow ourselves not a minute of shut-eye when its our turn on watch.  It's a mine field of patch coral and tiny isles.  This is the start of day three of what will possibly be six days.  We push forward with no water-maker but with the happiness of having a great, new crew-member aboard the "BEG" by the name of Oisin who hails from Ireland and was previously aboard "Tucanon" and the sublime, often surreal memories of our cultural and natural experiences in the South Pacific.  Life is good, the world is a wilder place than I once thought, and we see beauty in the people who welcome us with open arms and open hearts as we venture around this spinning, blue and green marble.  Talk to you in Australia.  I'm looking forward to making friends with a duck-billed, venomous, egg-laying, mammal and, if lucky, finding one of those truly large toothy critters swimming around the Great Barrier Reef w/o it finding me first.  I have a feeling that Australia will be a strangely, beautiful place; a land of paradox.    As always, love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.  Brown Eyed Girl out....