Tuamotus Coconuts and shark fins

A fire dance with friends, the "Wall of Sharks", precious moments with the family, and an important realisation.

Our journey takes us to our second archipelago in French Polynesia at the start of September: the Tuamotus, also known as the Coral Archipelago. It consists of around 75 atolls, making it the largest contiguous group of atolls on Earth. We plan to explore this region, which stretches over 1,500 km, until early November. Friends and family will be joining us in stages – let’s set off on our adventure!

What is an atoll and how is it formed?

An atoll is essentially a ring-shaped coral reef with a shallow lagoon in the centre. Its formation takes place in several stages: in the Pacific Ocean there are several ‘hot spots’ – some of which are still active – areas of the Earth’s crust from which hot magma emerges, forming volcanic islands. The movement of the Pacific Plate over many years has thus created the typical island groups of French Polynesia, which stretch individually from east to north-west.

The formation of an atoll occurs in several stages: a volcanic island is formed by activity in the Earth’s core. Corals form around the island, creating what is known as a fringing reef. Over a very, very long period of time, the volcanic island slowly sinks, but the corals continue to grow towards the surface in search of sunlight. Eventually, the island disappears completely below sea level and what remains is a ring-shaped barrier reef with a lagoon in the centre, known as an ‘atoll’.

Some of these atolls have openings in their barrier reefs that are partly natural and partly man-made, allowing access to the lagoons. Such an opening is called a ‘pass’. Due to the effects of the tides, strong currents develop in these passes, depending on factors such as their topography as well as current meteorological conditions. You can imagine it like a reservoir (the lagoon) where you open a sluice gate (the pass) and the water then literally flows out – an ebb tide scenario. At high tide, the current works in the opposite direction, and the lagoon is ‘filled up’ by the ocean. So, if you want to sail into or out of an atoll, you try to time it to coincide with the change of tides, as this is when the current is at its weakest. We call this time ‘slack time’, or ‘slack’ for short. This introduces a whole new aspect to route planning, as we now have to time our passages between atolls according to the tides.

Another interesting point to note is that, essentially, all the islands of French Polynesia will eventually become atolls. The Tuamotus are therefore simply a looooooot older than the other archipelagos. It is precisely this process that is illustrated in the following two images: Mehetia, the youngest, compared with Motu One (translated as ‘Island One’), the oldest island in the Society Islands group.

Land in sight!

Or something like that. Because there isn’t much land to speak of. More like a vague strip on the horizon that barely rises above sea level. It quickly becomes clear to me why this area was so dangerous for the old sailors of the 18th century: if the sailor in the crow’s nest were to fall asleep, you could easily run aground here... We have it much easier these days, with our electronic charts and our position always visible thanks to GPS. In fact, sailing has become almost a walk in the park compared to the past. Of course, the waves are still high at times and the wind can be tricky, but we always know where we are, can monitor the weather much better and, even in the middle of the ocean, download daily updates thanks to satellite internet. In the old days, sailors would stick their heads out of the hatch and say: “It’s fine today, we’re setting sail!” Once at sea, there was no turning back – whatever came, came. And if the sky was overcast for a few days, even a sextant wasn’t much help. Tough luck.

Our crossing from the Marquesas in the north down to the Tuamotus is, just as the weather forecast predicted, calm and swift. As the fourth day dawns, we catch sight of the outline of our first atoll, “Raroia”. I’m excited. Not just at finally seeing the picture-perfect white palm-fringed beaches and coral reefs, but also at the prospect of our first passage through a channel. All the talk of currents, standing waves (when wind meets current) and the inability to manoeuvre at too low a speed is giving me a rather queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Thierry, who was here six years ago, at least has some idea of what to expect. I, as so often on our journey, am experiencing this for the first time. Fortunately, however, I can rely on my captain once again, as I so often do 😉, and so, after sunrise, we approach the Raroia pass.

The approach is wonderfully uneventful: our timing seems spot on; we don’t see any white caps, and a gentle current pushes us comfortably into the lagoon. “That was a right breeze,” we think, though we both suspect it won’t always be like this. Spoiler alert: it won’t 😂

Raroia turns out to be the perfect choice for our first taste of life on an atoll. The water is a stunning turquoise, and the anchorages are wonderfully calm thanks to the protection of the barrier reef. The latter in particular is a real treat after nearly three months in the Marquesas’ bays, some of which are completely unprotected. The steady trade winds are perfect for wind sports – the kite and wingfoil are practically in constant use. Add to that beach barbecues with tuna we’ve caught ourselves – all this in the best of company with our German and Danish friends, whom we already know from the Marquesas.

In the grip of Kon-Tiki fever

I already told you about Thor Heyerdahl back in the Marquesas. The Norwegian zoologist and scientist spent many years studying the settlement of the Polynesian Triangle. This has resulted in countless books, the most famous of which is probably "Kon-Tiki".

Why am I telling you this? Well, as it happens, the Kon-Tiki raft washed up on none other than the Raroia Reef. In honour of Thor Heyerdahl and his crew, there is even a small shrine here, guarded by countless birds, on a small ‘motu’ (Polynesian for ‘island’, typically used for small islets along the reef).

So, after three weeks, we bid farewell to Raroia and set sail for Kauehi. The journey from atoll to atoll takes about 30 hours; initially, the wind is lighter than expected, so we don’t manage to maintain our target speed. Why is that important? Slack-Time friends, you’ll remember. We have a rendezvous with the pass in Kauehi and we’re running late. By the time we arrive, it’s already mid-morning; the wind has picked up considerably and is blowing at 18 knots from the east. According to our calculations, the tide has already well and truly gone out, which means the current is now flowing into the lagoon, from west to east. So we’ve got wind against the current.

From a distance, we can already see another boat that appears to be anchored off the pass. I wonder what they’re doing there? “Maybe they’re diving,” I say, and that could well be the case, as we can see diving tanks and wetsuits at the stern of the boat. We look at the pass. “I can already see a few white caps,” I say to Thierry, binoculars in hand. “But it looks doable, don’t you think?” “Let’s head over and have a look,” is Thierry’s reply. As we get closer, we can clearly see the waves in the pass. They don’t look very big, though. “I reckon we can manage it; the current will push us right in,” I say, and Thierry agrees. So let’s go, straight into the pass. The closer we get, the bigger the waves look, and we realise it was a bad decision. And just like that, our bow disappears beneath the surface, water splashes over the deck, and the waves toss us about. “This isn’t goooood,” I hear Thierry shout, and I see him push the throttle forward to full power.

We made it through; nothing happened, apart from us getting soaked. But we certainly had a right good laugh about it, that’s for sure 😂 Well then, may our wealth of experience grow with every pass we see...

We've got visitors!

Ever since the start of our journey, Thierry and I have enjoyed sharing our lives with others. The further we’ve travelled from Europe, the fewer people have visited us at the Cervino – which makes sense, really, as we’re now almost on the other side of the world… So we’re all the more delighted when someone does drop by. Especially here, in such remote and unique places, it’s a real pleasure for us to let our friends get a glimpse into our lives.

Speaking of diving, have I mentioned that there are far too many sharks?? I mean, if they’re supposed to be on the brink of extinction, then I really don’t know what to make of it…… (Joking aside: Save the sharks!!). I have to admit, it really bothered me at first. I’ve got used to it now – they’re just always there – and I had to choose between ‘getting used to it’ or ‘stopping going for swims’. The decision was made quickly, and I’ve probably been over it since the ‘Wall of Sharks’ at the latest. But we’ll come to that later.

First, we’d like to welcome Thierry’s childhood friend Reto and his mate Simon; we’re picking them up at the small atoll of ‘Kauehi’. They’ll be staying with us for two weeks and, together, we’ll somehow find our way to Fakarava – the exact route is still unknown. The highlight, of course, is the Captain’s milestone birthday, which was celebrated with coconut crab, a bonfire on the beach and a proper fire dance. None of us could have known back then just how deep the bond between Reto and his new wooden friend, made that evening, really is… Where are the women on this boat, anyway? Oh right, I’m on my own... 😂 Our days are filled with snorkelling, diving, epic kitesurfing sessions, foiling behind the dinghy, coconut hunting, cooking and board games. The odd late-night drink with good conversation rounds off the action-packed days. As always in good company, time flies by far too quickly; what remains are memories, sunburns and photos. And of course – the wooden friend 😉

In Fakarava, we say goodbye to our two mates, but our cosy home is soon bustling with life again! Thierry’s parents, Peter and Christine, have made the long journey to visit us here. We plan to spend three weeks together on the Cervino. After that, the two of them have rented a small flat in Mo’orea, one of the Society Islands near Tahiti, for another three weeks. The idea is that we’ll meet them there again (they’ll fly, we’ll sail) to spend a bit more ‘time on land’ together.

Fakarava is arguably the most popular atoll in the Tuamotus; there are daily flights from Tahiti and it offers relatively convenient shopping facilities: the supply ship calls once a week, unlike in Kauehi, where it comes once a month, or in Toau, where it never comes at all. The atoll is also part of the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, the highlight of which is the South Pass. Its configuration and the tides create a unique habitat for a wide variety of marine life: corals, fish, rays, whales and, of course, sharks. Nowhere else in the world is there a place where such a large number of grey reef sharks gather at the same time. This spectacle is known as the ‘Wall of Sharks’, which at peak times numbers up to 700 individuals. A phenomenon that makes the Fakarava South Pass one of the most popular dive sites in the world. A paradise for diving and snorkelling adventures, and a highly effective therapy for those afraid of sharks.

Spending time together as a family does us good. Since we’ve been on the road, we don’t see our loved ones very often, but when we do, it’s meaningful. The generation gap puts us on a different wavelength, but that doesn’t bother us, because we have time. We don’t live by the clock, and if we need an extra hour for breakfast today, it really doesn’t matter. When was the last time you went on holiday with your friends or family? Giving each other time is often more valuable than material things. So we soak up every moment, every sunset, every shell on the beach and every palm tree, every raindrop that’s gone faster than we can close the hatches. We go snorkelling, even diving (well done, Christine!), we have barbecues on the beach and walk along the reef – three weeks full of wonderful experiences.

We say goodbye to Peter and Christine in Rotoava, in the north of Fakarava. But the farewell is only to be a brief one, as the very next day we set sail for Mo’orea. There we will meet up with them again, get to know another island and enjoy a bit of time on dry land.

Something just doesn't feel quite right...

We lead a life of eternal summer, travelling to the most beautiful places in the world, living life on our own terms and in freedom. I really ought to be perfectly happy, yet somehow I’m not. I’m not unhappy either, but over the last few months my emotions have become so ‘flat’. I often feel listless, withdraw into myself, and find it hard to get truly excited about anything. The tiniest hurdles often push me to my emotional limits and I get angry, instead of looking for solutions objectively, as I used to. What has happened to me? Do I perhaps no longer fancy living on a boat? I catch myself feeling tired. Longing for a nice appartment that’s dry and doesn’t move, even when it’s stormy outside. After having a coffee with friends, after a warm shower, and after knowing exactly where to find everything in my local shop. But isn’t all that just materialistic, superficial nonsense? I don’t know.

Fortunately, there are still days when I feel I’m in the right place. I want to carry on living this life, to keep discovering our world. It would be helpful, though, if there were fewer of those bad days… I know these lines are very personal, but I think it’s important that such topics are given a place in society. After all, what woman hasn’t experienced that feeling of standing there, bursting into tears, and at the same time wondering what on earth is going on? If it happens once a month for a few days, I can cope with it. But when it goes on for weeks, month after month, it becomes difficult. Because Thierry and I live in a small space, our friends are far away, and our lifestyle is often challenging. More and more things come to mind that I’ve observed in myself over the last few months, things I didn’t recognise before. And suddenly it dawns on me: my hormones are out of balance.

So I’ve decided to stop taking hormonal contraception. This has absolutely nothing to do with family planning. My body is crying out to be itself. I’m going to see a gynaecologist in Tahiti, and then a whole new adventure will begin. I’m writing these lines six months after all this happened; perhaps now you’ll understand why. I simply couldn’t be bothered to write anything. From a literary point of view, however, this delay is very valuable, because I already know how it ends. One thing I can tell you: it’s a wild ride 😉

What treasures Mo’orea has in store for us, how three weeks of rain perfectly sum up my mood, and how our adventure unfolds?

I'll tell you all about it!