The Voyage of Spectacle

We arrived into Sydney Harbor at about 3:00 a.m. this morning completely haggard and physically and emotionally exhausted.  It was such a strange experience coming into Sydney Harbor in the middle of the night.  Before we left on this trip back in December of 2006, an oft-asked question was what locations we were most excited to visit and experience.  Well, there’s so many to choose from, but highest on my list was Sydney Harbor.  I had fantasies of what it would be like to sail into the world’s most famous harbor … sunshine, huge blue Australian sky, yachts everywhere flying spinnakers, salutations of “G’Day Mate,” the Opera House in all its glory, champagne, etc.  Then we would tie to the dock, hit the yacht club, and regale in the stories of our macho Tasman crossing to cheers of “Goodonya!” 

Um, not exactly how it happened…

First, we rarely approach land at night; we almost always stand off until dawn.  But the harbor is well lit, the ocean was extremely rough and we were totally exhausted and cold, so we decided to go in.  Andy set some waypoints for our approach, and because we were so tired and worried about accuracy and stupid mistakes, we each double-checked the waypoints twice.  We were having difficulty visualizing the approach because it was pitch dark with not even a sliver of moon.  Furthermore, the ocean was so big that while trying to see the approach, a huge wave would come through and block out the Sydney skyline– that will cure you of fixating on the horizon pretty quick.  Not surprisingly, Andy’s waypoints were perfect … always the master navigator … but better safe than sorry.

Using the waypoints and Ryan on deck with a high-powered flashlight looking for obstacles, we steered between the highlands … suddenly there was absolute quiet and the boat went flat.  After 9 days of being heeled over, bounced around, constantly grabbing for something to hold on to, we were flat and calm and quiet.  Then we looked around.  Sydney was sleeping, obviously.  Not a single boat in the most famous harbor in the world except for us.  We turned up into the very light wind, and rolled in the mainsail.

In an effort to reenact some of our fantasies about sailing into Sydney Harbor, I cranked up the stereo and played “Ride of the Valkyries.”  Unfortunately, as the Opera House came into the view, we were a bit dismayed because we couldn’t quite locate it … the lights had already been turned off for the night. 

So we headed towards the customs dock in Neutral Bay.  The dock was difficult to locate as we slowly maneuvered through the crowded and unlit anchorage.  Finally, we saw some orange reflecting vests moving around and assumed that was the place.  Australia requires notification 72 hours prior to arrival, so they were expecting us.  All three of them were very nice guys, but they wanted to chat about the crossing and our trip.  Tying up to something hard, with a flat and still bed so tantalizingly close, really exacerbated our exhaustion to a whole new level.  Andy was so tired and saying such random things that I became a little concerned about his health and well-being.

The check-in process was plenty bureaucratic, but we dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s fairly quickly.  They informed us that officials from the quarantine department would call us in the morning and that we weren’t technically allowed to leave the boat until then.  The supervisor bent the rules and granted us permission to spend the night tied to their dock since nobody else was scheduled to arrive.  Nobody else scheduled to arrive?  Yep, we’re the only idiots to do this.   

Once they left, all three of us realized that we were starving.  We had eaten very little throughout our week at sea and our safe arrival quickly did wonders for our appetites.  Since the refrigerator crapped out, we were short on fresh food, so I went hunting through dry storage for something to cobble together.  I found a package of long-life tortillas, a can of refried beans, a jar of Old El Paso taco sauce, and a sealed package of tasty cheese that was minimally acceptable in the mostly defrosted refrigerator.  Quesadillas voila!  We then slept the sleep of the righteous.  I hadn’t showered since New Zealand and I didn’t even care.  Seriously, what’s another day without bathing?  Bed was the only item on my agenda.  Eight o’clock reveille came so quickly.

Unfortunately, Andy woke up this morning feeling really crappy.  He has a fever, sore throat and is super-tired since he coughed his head off all night long.  I, however, feel great.  The cricket starts at 2:15 p.m., so I decided to let Andy relax as late as possible.  Plus, we have a lot of errands to accomplish while we’re here. 

The hotel is gorgeous.  It just reopened after a massive refurbishment, and we have the reopening promotion to thank for our excellent rate.  Having most of the morning to myself, I had breakfast in the dining room, tasked the very competent Concierge with confirming our many restaurant reservations, caught up with email, and took advantage of the gym facilities, and indoor pool and jacuzzi. 

Back in 9-to-5 real life, I was a bit of gym rat … workout fanatic might be more like it.  I ran a lot, hiked, did Bikram yoga, Pilates, etc.  Now that my lifestyle is extremely transient, oftentimes strange, logistically complex, and totally ambiguous, workouts for the sake of exercise (especially gym workouts) are few and far between.

Furthermore, my priorities have changed.  I used to say the phrase, “If I didn’t work, I would definitely [insert worthwhile activity],” and the phrase “work out more” often followed.  But it’s funny how when the “if” phrase becomes reality, things pan out so differently.  I guess other things pile up to fill the time, and when the “other thing” is a boat, the pile is extremely high.  Furthermore, we are not on “Outward Bound” and we are not “weekend warriors.”  This is everyday life for us, not vacation, which makes a difference as to how we spend our time.     

A lot of our friends comment that this trip must be so healthy and outdoorsy.  The opposite is true.  What about the sailing part, you ask?  Isn’t that physically active?  No.  Absolutely not.  It’s not America’s Cup racing stuff with a crew like a well-oiled machine.  There’s no high-pressure tacking, very little grinding of winches (unless the electrics are out and then we endlessly gripe because it’s a nightmare), no dropping headsails and flying spinnakers.  On our three-week sail from the Galapagos to the Marquesas, we tacked once and tacked back once.  The rest of the time, the boat basically sailed itself in the very constant and reliable trade winds.  We sat on our asses bored to death.

The other issue has to do with the availability of stuff.  On a trip like this, you have to eat what is available to you, and sometimes the safest thing on the menu is French fries.  In my 9-to-5 life (particularly while marathon training), I would plan a lot of my meals to ensure some balance of protein to carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals, liquids and electrolytes, etc.  In many places, you’re lucky to have fresh meat and you’re subsequently crazy to ask for something extra lean.  When the supply ship doesn’t come in, you’re looking at canned corned beef.  Yummy.  In many places, you’re lucky to have fresh produce.  Everyone views the islands as a paradise of plenty where fruit is plucked from the trees and a ripe banana is never more than an arm’s length away.  Nope.  Produce is seasonal in paradise just like everywhere else. 

Back to my point, the gym is a real treat and I was happy to take advantage of the facilities!

The 3:00 a.m. reveille to make our 6:10 a.m. flight out of Auckland put a fairly serious damper on the day, but we tried to make the most of it.  We arrived at the Intercontinental Rialto around 9:00 a.m. to find our room ready, and quite comfortable, so we hit the town.  The hotel is right in the thick of Melbourne in the CBD (Central Business District).  As such, we simply exited the hotel, picked a direction, and just started walking. 

Our first order of business was to purchase a cellular phone since we will be in Australia and New Zealand for the next 7 or 8 months.  So, we hit the local Vodafone branch and explained our situation:  temporary plan, cheap phone, international calls, etc.  As is usually the case here in Australia … no worries, mate.  The whole process took maybe 10 minutes.  We were surprised that no contract is required, and then that much more surprised to find no mailing address is required.   

After some window shopping and a little café society, we went to lunch at a tapas restaurant called MoVida which was absolutely fabulous … beef cheek, Wagyu beef and exotic mushrooms, croquette, anchovies, and all kinds of great dishes.  This delicious meal and a bottle of wine prompted a sluggish walk back to the hotel for a big nap.

We lounged and napped for several hours, and then got ready for our dinner with Keenan’s parents.  Who’s Keenan, and why are you going out with his parents, you ask?  Some back story is required.  Awhile back, we were investigating several visa issues regarding multiple entries and exits from Australia.  Our plan is to fly to Australia once (for our Melbourne, Perth, Indian Pacific Railroad, Adelaide, Sydney trip), sail to Australia with the boat (spending at least 4 to 5 months sailing up the east coast), and fly to and from the United States in May of 2009 for Andy’s brother’s wedding.  As such, our visa situation could be quite confusing so while we were in Los Angeles this time, we headed to the Australian Consulate to talk to them in person. 

Unfortunately, after driving all the way over to west L.A., the Australian Consulate no longer consults on immigration and visa issues.  They gave us a 1-800 number of a visa specialist in Montreal, so we sat down in the lobby to give them a call. 

As I asked a million questions and gathered the necessary information, Andy started chatting with two Australian guys from Melbourne who were hanging out in the Consulate office.  He learned that they were traveling the world, and one had lost his passport while in San Diego.  The whole situation was turning into quite the logistical nightmare.  The Consulate wanted official copies of his and his mother’s birth certificate, and of course, it was the New Year’s Day holidays in Australia.  The rest of their group had already moved on to Las Vegas, and their next several stops to South America were already in jeopardy.  They looked bummed and bewildered.  The minute I saw Andy walk over to them, I knew we would be taking them under our wing. 

So we packed up their stuff, got Keenan a new passport picture (curiously, for Australian passport purposes, you are not allowed to smile), and headed off to Los Feliz for some Yuca’s burritos.  I phoned Andy’s mom on the down-low and dropped a subtle hint that we should take care of these guys and put them up for the night.  She immediately agreed. 

We then proceeded to have a lovely evening.  Keenan and Jimmy caught up on Internet stuff, chatted on the phone with their parents, made the necessary arrangements for the delivery of Keenan’s birth certificate, etc.  In the interest of a home-cooked meal of comfort food, Astrid made a trough of baked rigatoni and chicken parmesan which was delicious.  We sat down to watch Oregon beat up on Oklahoma State in the Holiday Bowl, drank some beers, played with the dog, and talked about sports and life.  Very fun, indeed.  Andy and I blew up the air mattresses and tucked them in.

Andy drove them back to the Australian Consulate the next morning so they could finish up the passport reissuing process and catch their ride to Las Vegas.  We exchanged contact information, but we know from a lot of experience of meeting people around the world, promises to stay in touch don’t always materialize.  But several days later, we received emails from Jimmy’s father and both of Keenan’s parents thanking us profusely for looking after them, saying that our actions prove the kindness of humanity, and showering us with social invitations upon our arrival in Melbourne.  We really appreciated their kind words, and we wanted to meet them since we enjoyed their sons’ company so much.

And so, back to our first day in Melbourne … Keenan’s parents, John and Loretta, picked us up at the hotel at 7:00 p.m.  We went to a lovely restaurant called La Luna in the Melbourne neighborhood of Carlton, and proceeded to have a perfectly lovely evening.  Andy had the porterhouse, John had the sausage, and Loretta and I both had the sizzling pork.  And we all had plenty o’ delicious wine and laughing!  Just as we suspected, John and Loretta are super-fun and interesting people. 

But all good things must come to an end … except daytime in Melbourne during the summer evidently.  Sunset is after 9:00 p.m. and it’s completely screwing up my body clock.

After a very comfortable night in Haamene Bay, we planned our day over coffee and blueberry muffins:  head north to the next bay up, pick up a mooring ball at the Motu Pearl Farm, take their highly recommended tour, continue up over the north side of the island, anchor on the west side of the island near the shi-shi hotel, Le Taha’a, and have dinner at their fanciest restaurant.  Is that a day, or is that a day?

The short thirty-minute motor over to the next bay was uneventful, and we easily picked up a mooring ball (properly appointed with smaller loop to grab with the fish gaffe sans boat hook).  The Motu Pearl Farm is almost as charming and lovely as its hosts.  We received a wonderful tutorial on pearl farming which was absolutely fascinating.  This outfit alone in this particular bat has over 10,000 oysters in various stages of pearl production. 

We left the Pearl Farm and exited the bay to go up and over the north side of the island.  It was a very beautiful afternoon with sparkling blue water, small motus covered in palm trees, and views of Huahine and Raiatea in the distance.  We rounded the corner and once again ran into the Maltese Falcon. 

Taha’a is home to one super fancy hotel which happens to be the only Relais and Chateaux member in all of French Polynesia, which is really saying something.  We have been excited to see Le Taha’a for quite some time!  We dropped an anchor in proximity to several other boats, and I jumped in the dinghy to go to the hotel and make dinner reservations.

As I was tying off to the hotel’s pier, I looked up to find a security guard in quite the official uniform literally sprinting down the dock towards me to cut me off.  Here’s the conversation:

Guard:  Bon Jour, Mademoiselle.  Can I help you?

Melissa:  Why yes!  I would love to check out the hotel and make reservations for dinner.

Guard:  I’m sorry, Mademoiselle.  The hotel is completely booked.

Melissa:  Okay, but I just want dinner reservations for two people at, say, 8 o’clock.

Guard:  No, I’m sorry, but the hotel is very full so there are no reservations for dinner.

Melissa:  So, I can’t have dinner here unless I’m staying here?

Guard:  That’s right, we’re very full.

Melissa:  Can I have one drink at the bar at sunset?

Guard:  No, Mademoiselle.

Well, that’s what we in the business call a swift kick in the ass.  Boat rats suffer discrimination fairly frequently, but this was the worst.  I was also seeking information about a snorkeling site called the Coral Garden which we’ve heard about from other people, but have been unable to find in any of our guide books.  So I asked the guard who informed me that the Coral Garden is located between the hotel’s motu, and the neighboring motu.  When I asked if there was a suitable place to tie up the dinghy over there, he said:

Guard:  Yes, but not on this side because it belongs to the hotel, and we’re very full.

Melissa:  OKAY!  I get it!  Sheesh!  Believe me … I will never bother your hotel again!

On the upside, sans dinner reservations, we had plenty of time to hit the Coral Garden which was quite neat.  We grabbed our masks and snorkels, scuba gloves and boots, and tied the dinghy to a palm tree.  Then we walked the motu to the ocean side, and hopped in.  The tide brings you in while you skim over beautiful coral, fish, shellfish, and sea urchins sometimes with only a few inches of clearance.  It was a very neat experience.  Returning in the dinghy, we went aground twice and bumped the outboard propeller on coral once.  Oopsie!

Denied dinner and happy hour, we decided to peace out the anchorage and head back over the Taravana yacht club since mooring balls would surely be available the day after the big fiesta.  I assumed my position on the bow of boat and started to take in the anchor rode.  Since the boat swings around a lot, it’s important to drive the boat towards the direction of the chain while taking in the chain.  Otherwise, the windlass is working hard enough to pull up the heavy chain and anchor, and it will be overly stressed if it’s forced to simultaneously pull the boat towards the anchor.  Free of the bottom, the anchor came into clear view in probably 30 feet of water, and it looked a little strange.  As it came closer, I figured that it had scooped up a bunch of dirt that I could wash off at the surface.  But then, it looked really weird.  Apparently, we dropped the anchor in a coral head, a huge piece cracked off, and was wedged in the scoop of the anchor.  This was our first major environmental snafu, so I don’t feel too badly about it.  Ugh.

We arrived at Taravana to find plenty of mooring balls available.  I called in to make a reservation, and what unbelievable bad luck we have … the restaurant is closed on Wednesdays and Thursdays.  As such, we will head back to Bora Bora tomorrow forgoing the infamous gourmet restaurant at Taravana.  At least there’s wifi here.

Well, we arrived at the Taravana yacht club to find that all of the mooring balls have been reserved for over a week in anticipation of the big fiesta.  While the Pacific cruising season is coming to an end, the charter season is going gangbusters as Europeans take the month of August off.  Completely disappointed by the big ‘ix-nay’, we perused the cruising guides and decided to head over to Haamene Bay where several mooring balls were purportedly available near the Hibiscus Hotel. 

Usually, mooring balls have some type of loop or smaller line attached so you can hook the smaller line without having to pick up the entire ball which can be quite heavy and under a lot of load.  Unfortunately, the balls at the Hibiscus did not work that way, and it was quite windy.  On our fifth try, we broke the boat hook, and I would like to meet the genius who designed the boat hook that doesn’t float.  With no way to grab the already-difficult-to-grab ball, I jumped in the dinghy to just go attach the line myself.  Then Andy approached nice and slow, slung it in neutral, ran forward, and helped me attach the line to the boat.

We were just getting settled in when two charter boats and a very small sailboat with no engine entered the bay.  After watching one charter boat’s two failed attempts to pick up the ball, Andy hopped in the dinghy to help everyone out.  We then enjoyed a celebratory Hinano and watched the sun set over Haamene Bay which is so protected that the northwestern end is considered a hurricane hole. 

At 6:30 or so, we headed into the fabulously cute Hibiscus dining room for happy hour and dinner.  We chatted up one of the owners’ sons, Mark, who is at university in New Zealand, a wonderful nice guy, and fantastically attractive.  Talk about your stereotypical, uber-masculine, Polynesian-Marquesan warrior.  The detail and artistry of his many tattoos are absolutely incredible with one particularly beautiful design beginning on his chest and extending over his shoulder, down his back, and around the side of his abdomen.  Incredible.  As it turns out, Mark’s whole family seems to have won the genetic lottery … his sister is first runner-up Miss Tahiti.

The Hibiscus Hotel is also an active turtle sanctuary nurturing young or injured sea turtles until they are strong enough to return to the wild.  They have T-shirts for sale to support the hotel and the sanctuary which were very cool.  Andy asked how much, and then I watched all the blood drain out of his face.  At 5000 French Polynesian Francs, the T-shirts were $65 … even more expensive than a watermelon!

Though we remain without the T-shirt souvenirs, we still had a very nice evening at the Hibiscus.  We had a lovely mixed salad with some kind of fruity vinaigrette, tuna carpaccio, caught-that-day mahi mahi seared with capers, and prawns in a red creole sauce.  All courses were very good, and the price was surprisingly reasonable.  The dining room was quite lively and fun, and as per usual here in French Polynesia (and throughout the world), my Obama tote bag was a constant source of conversation and camaraderie.  I swear, if Americans couldn’t vote for president, Obama would win 99.9% of the vote.