After a much needed quiet day at sea, the Rotterdam sailed towards the towering rugged cliffs of the Marquesas early in the morning. The Tradewinds buffeted the ship creating spumy waves in my coffe cup, which I naively brought up to the open fowrward deck to watch our careful entry into Taiohae Bay.
The mountain crests, vertical cliffs and narrow valleys of Nuku Hiva, our destination amongst the ten Marquesa islands, looked arid and brown. A few brighly green coloured areas nestled in scant bays, which seem to have some flat land adjoining to the sea. Obviously not a place, where visitors could opt for a 'drive around the island', the surf battered and rocky coast looked forbidding. We entered the bay between Motu Nui (The Left Hand Sentinel) and Matauapana (The Right Hand Sentinel), two mountain sized islands formed like gigantic boulders. We were in the lee of the forceful winds now, but remnants of the long ocean swells made it into Taiohae Harbour. At the head of the Bay, with a backdrop of jagged mountains, topped by Mt. Mouake (845 m), the buildings of Taiohae village hugged the shoreline like a thin thread. A few sailboats at anchor rose and fell to the swells, the light of the rising sun barely touched the slopes behind the village.
Rotterdam anchored and laid broadside to the deceptively smooth swells. Tendering commenced to port, the side exposed to the heaving sea. I caught one of the earlier tenders, and transferring from the water level platform to a tender rising and falling several feet against it, was a test in timing and agility.
I cannot imagine how the wheelchair bound man was manhandled/stepped onto one of those. A few minutes earlier, he had managed to fall down a flight of stairs in the ship's stairwell, wheelchair and all, because he became impatient waiting for an elevator. 'All the elevators in this ship only go up', he complained, whilst guests put him back in his chair and commandeered one of the alleged up-only elevators to take him down the remaining floor. Despite the somewhat perilous situation, the tender soon filled up with the 'never say die' crowd, performing feats of balance and daring, that would make a platoon of Marines proud.
Once ashore, I noticed the ship slowly changing position by 180 degrees to put the tender operation onto the lee-side. At least it broke the swells, although nothing could be done about the chop.
The Marquesas, ten isolated wild islands, of which six are inhabited today, are thought to have been populated 2000 years ago by Polynesians hailing from settled Pacific Islands, bringing plants, animals and traditional customs with them: stone carving, intricate tatoos, animal and plant husbandry, wood carving, medicinal knowledge (still studied today) and navigational skills. The Marquesans are said to have populated far off Easter Islands and brought the art of carving gigantic stone idols with them, creating the impressive Moas still standing (or laying) on the slopes and shores of Easter Island.
When Europeans reached the Marquesas, they found a sophisticated clannish society of about 50,000 people. Capt Cook was not the first visitor, that honour fell to Spanish Explorers, who landed here in 1595 and named the island group Las Marquesas de Mendoza. A few decades later, the population was decimated by the 'gifts' of the Europeans: syphilis, dysentery, smallpox, measles, tuberculosis, malaria and leprosy to about 2,000, and thus almost brought to extinction. Whaling brought many sailors to the islands (Herman Melville jumped ship here), Paul Gauguin lived and died here (of Syphillis), and Jacques Brel is buried here as well. TV culture has filmed Survivor shows here.
The natural beauty of the Island remains untouched.
Taiohahe, is by no means a one horse town, as a matter of fact, a lot of horses (slim but shiny and healthy looking) are tethered by long ropes and graze amongst the greenery. Before the advent of four wheel drives, horses served to transport goods and people from the north side to the south side of the island, a journey over steep mountains, high plateaus and tortuous passes lasting more than a day each way. Then came a dirt road big enough for a car, and the trip across was cut to five hours. Now the road is paved, and a trip across or to the inter island airport (yes, there is one) takes only 1 1/2 hours. However, that used to be iffy as well, as a strategic bridge used to flood after each downpour in the rainy season. Now there is a new, higher, stronger stone bridge.
I walked along the more or less only road along a shore wall through the village. No beach here, but black smooth rocks rolled musically to each arriving and receding breaker. There was a visitor centre (replete with craft market and offerings of exquisite wooden carvings and tapa cloth amongst the usual jewellery), a couple of stores, a monument to the war dead, an impressive restored marae with large tribal stone statues, and Notre Dame Cathedral, a catholic church. An archway, flanked with a couple of not so vertical towers, gave way to the cobble stone churchyard. A simple building, but the intricate artistry of the carved wooden stations the cross, baptismal font, pulpit, entry doors and altars inspired admiration for the outstanding skills of Marquesas artisans.
I had booked a ships tours, as there was no opportunity to see the more of the island under ones one steam. About thirty owners of four wheel drives, hailing from all parts of the island, had organised themselves to drive us over the mountain pass to The Valley of Taipivai, and the Baie du Controleur.
A commendable feat of organization, the private cars lined up on a packed dirt 'parking lot', and each tour participant carried a number corresponding to a number displayed on the car's windshield. I had car 30, and our driver was absent. However, Island time brought her around finally - she had to have lunch first. Looking like a long funeral procession the column set off into the mountains. Stunning views, windy S-curves, basalt pinnacles, blue sea. The drive gave an inkling of the savage terrain of the island, which has a few peaks over 1000 meters high, and almost no flat ground anywhere. The airport is actually situated at the remote north west corner of the island, behind something called the Terre Deserte.The road map shows a series of squiggles, which makes me wonder about the 'fast track' commute as well as the stunt pilot manouvres neccessary to land a plane.
Taipivai Valley proved spectacular. The beach at the shoreside village was covered with fine black volcanic sand. A small craftmarket had opened. Apart from the craft offerings, the locals had set up tables loaded with fresh coconut, grape fruit, papaya, mango, banana, and some other deliciously baked fruits. Some women sat near the beach on pareus, playing recycle bingo: instead of marking off cards, they placed markers on each number called. Children played with glass marbles, which seems to be the game of choice for kids here. Slightly inebriated men sat at a picnic table and drank beer. Horses and goats grazed, and chickens ran around everywhere.
We stopped at the local post office to gawk at an ancient sacrifice stone placed in front of it as a garden ornament. A large basin like affair, with a drain carved at one side of the stone bowl, and two good sized notches at the other. The notches served as resting places for human necks, which were summary severed from their human bodies in olden cannibalistic times. The blood flowed down the drain, the heads were preserved, and the bodies cooked and eaten. As mentioned earlier, Missionaries took care of that non vegetarian habit.
It is said, that the local tribes were so warlike amongst each other, that the missionaries had to build separate churches for newly converted Christians, to avoid deadly fights amongst tribal members during mass.
As well, the Missionaries took care of the tradition of tattoos (tatau - meaning to hit).
Quote a 1767 logbook: 'the very peculiar custom of this country to paint in black the tights of all men, and a little later draw strange designs on their legs and arms.'
All of ancient Polynesia adhered to the custom of tattoos, however the Marquesas excelled in refinement of design: paralell lines, chevrons, circles, triangles, shark teeth etc. The mythological value of tattoos is one of aesthetic and sexual attractiveness, as well as a mark of belonging to a tribal group and a protective barrier against evil influences.
Nudity was discouraged by the Missionaries, body decorations disappeared especially after the Pomare Code of 1819. Deprived of its erotic aspect, the body now hidden under clothing, lost its role in social distinction.
But, renewal is at hand together with youthful rebellion against established order. A renaissance of tattoos is evident, a wish to look handsome drives people to decorate their bodies not only with traditional designs, but also with many new styles.
Youth rebellion...Marquesan children are sent to Tahiti (transport on government expense, boarding cost at private expense) for secondary education to the nagging worry of their parents. Many of the children fall under the influence of Tahiti's drug traffickers. They are introduced and become addicted to Ice, some chemical drug derivative. Violence is common, and the children's future is at stake. Each time, a Marquesa parent sends off a child, it breaks their heart, as they never know, whether their child will return 'the same' as when it left.
But, the Marquesas retain an air of innocence and peace, and a aspect of unspoilt natural beauty.
Sadly I left this beautiful corner of Polynesia. We weighed anchor late in the afternoon, with the sun setting behind the rocky coast of Nuku Hiva...last harbour, but one of the most memorable, on this Pacific journey.
