After about five or six hours of sailing from Huahine, we reached Raiatea.
The passage went very well. The distance from Fare on Huahine to Uturoa on Raiatea is slightly less than thirty nautical miles, so compared with our previous overnight passage from Moorea to Huahine, this was a relatively easy crossing.
As we approached the island, however, it quickly became clear that navigation here was somewhat different.
Raiatea and neighbouring Taha’a share the same enormous lagoon and the same system of barrier reefs. Two separate volcanic islands sit inside what feels like one giant coral ring, separated from the open Pacific by the reef.
That means you cannot simply sail straight towards the coast wherever you like.
You first have to find one of the passages through the reef, line up correctly and enter the protected lagoon.
On the chart, it all looks simple.
In reality, a coral reef demands respect.
During the day, things are much easier because the colour of the water helps reveal what lies beneath. Dark blue usually means deeper water, while bright turquoise or green can mean that there is very little room left beneath the keel.
At night, that natural navigation aid disappears.
Then you are left with charts, navigation lights, channel markers and instruments.
So we followed the approach carefully as we headed towards the passage leading to Uturoa. Boats that underestimate these reef entrances can make very expensive mistakes. Coral is not particularly forgiving when it comes to keels, propellers and hulls.
One interesting detail is that when we later continue towards Taha’a, we will be able to stay inside the same lagoon. There will be no need to exit the reef and return to the open Pacific.
Raiatea and Taha’a are two islands, but from a sailor’s perspective they sometimes feel like two parts of one enormous natural aquarium.
As we approached Uturoa, several locals passed beside us in their traditional canoes — va’a.
They were paddling at a serious pace.
I had no idea whether they were training for a competition or simply following their usual routine, but from our perspective it began to look like a small race: them with paddles, us under sail and engine.
They certainly did not look as if they intended to lose.
As we came closer to the harbour, we had to lower the sails. In a narrow channel and marina approach, proving your sailing skills is not particularly useful; the engine gives far better control.
By the afternoon, we were finally settled and ready to explore the town.
Uturoa
After Huahine, the difference was immediately obvious.
Uturoa felt like a real small town.
There was a harbour, marina, shops, market, banks, restaurants, car rentals and all the things that, after a few quieter islands, suddenly felt like serious civilisation.
In that sense, Raiatea felt much closer to Tahiti than to Huahine.
Of course, nothing here is large by European standards, but after several days in small Polynesian villages, Uturoa almost seemed like a metropolis.
For us, one thing was especially important: we managed to rent a car.
We had failed to do that on Huahine, but here we finally had the freedom to explore almost the entire island.
Before that, however, something happened in Uturoa that became one of my favourite memories of Raiatea.
When the Town Starts to Dance
At Tahua To’a Huri Nihi, a large open public space in Uturoa, we came across a training session for local dancers.
This was not a hotel show arranged for tourists.
They were genuinely training.
In Polynesia, traditional dance is not simply folklore performed for visitors. ‘Ori Tahiti remains an important part of local culture, and groups often train for months in preparation for festivals and competitions.
We stood to one side and watched.
What I remember most is the sound.
Deep drums provided the foundation, while the to’ere, a hollowed wooden percussion instrument, produced a much sharper and faster rhythm.
There were also pahu drums and other percussion instruments. Depending on the type of dance or song, musicians may also use ukulele, the conch shell known as pu, and traditional instruments such as the vivo nose flute.
The rhythm could become almost hypnotic.
There are several main forms of Tahitian dance.
‘Ōte’a is fast, powerful and heavily driven by percussion.
‘Aparima is slower and more narrative, with movements of the hands and body used to tell a story.
Other forms include hivināu and pā’ō’ā, which traditionally form part of larger dance performances.
The men’s movements can be strong and almost warrior-like, while the women perform incredibly fast hip movements combined with much calmer and more graceful movements of the upper body and arms.
And throughout it all, the drums keep going.
Later, the entire group came out in front of the people gathered in the square, and the training session almost turned into a public demonstration.
At some point, it was no longer completely clear who was performing and who was watching.
And I ended up taking part in the training myself.
So Tahua To’a Huri Nihi became more than just a place where I watched Polynesian culture from the outside.
For a short while — and probably rather awkwardly — I tried to follow it with my own feet.
Only when you try it yourself do you realise how much strength, rhythm, coordination and practice lie behind something that appears effortless from the outside.
Unfortunately, we were too early for the major competitions later in the year.
But perhaps seeing the training was even better.
It had not been prepared for tourists.
It was simply part of their life.
Around the Island
The following morning, we got into the car and started exploring Raiatea.
We made almost a complete circuit of the island.
The scenery was fantastic.
In some places, the landscape reminded me of Moorea — high green mountains and steep cliffs rising from the interior, everything covered in dense tropical vegetation, with brilliantly coloured flowers along the road.
But Raiatea has a different character.
Because of the enormous reef system it shares with Taha’a, lagoons, shallow waters and small motu constantly appear between the island and the open Pacific.
From higher ground, the changing colours of the sea become especially impressive.
Dark blue.
Blue.
Turquoise.
Almost green.
And then, farther out, a narrow white line where the Pacific breaks against the outer reef.
Beyond that line is the open ocean.
On this side, the calm lagoon.
Perhaps because of this combination of mountains and lagoon, Raiatea became, after Moorea, one of the most beautiful islands we had seen so far.
But scenery is not the main reason Raiatea is important.
In the southern part of the island lies the place for which Raiatea is known as the Sacred Island.
Taputapuātea
Eventually, we reached Taputapuātea.
At first sight, someone unfamiliar with Polynesian history might see only a series of large stone platforms beside the sea.
But this is one of the most important places in the entire Polynesian world.
Taputapuātea was a major religious, political, ceremonial and social centre.
At its heart is the Taputapuātea marae, associated with the god ‘Oro. In traditional belief, the marae represented a place where the world of the living, Te Ao, met the world of gods and ancestors, Te Pō.
People did not come here only from Raiatea.
At the height of its importance, chiefs, priests and warriors travelled here from distant Polynesian islands.
Ceremonies were held, political alliances were created, and a network of relationships stretched across an enormous part of the Pacific.
Large ocean-going canoes and highly developed navigation skills were what made that network possible.
Even arriving here could be ceremonial.
Off Taputapuātea lies Te Ava Mo’a — the Sacred Pass, a passage through the coral reef.
Voyagers arriving from other islands would wait outside the pass before being ceremonially guided through it towards the sacred complex.
For us, having also arrived at Raiatea by sea through a passage in the reef, that detail had a special meaning.
We were simply a few centuries late.
In 2017, Taputapuātea was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List as a cultural landscape and as an exceptional testimony to roughly a thousand years of Mā’ohi civilisation.
But to understand why this place mattered so much, you first need to look at a much larger map.
The Polynesian Triangle
Imagine an enormous triangle drawn across the Pacific Ocean.
At its northern point are Hawaii.
To the south-west is Aotearoa — New Zealand.
And thousands of kilometres to the east lies Rapa Nui — Easter Island.
The vast area between these three points is known as the Polynesian Triangle.
It covers an almost unimaginable expanse of ocean, with hundreds of islands scattered across millions of square kilometres of the Pacific.
Yet the peoples of those islands share related languages, myths, traditions, concepts such as mana, similar forms of sacred sites and, perhaps most remarkably of all, a shared tradition of long-distance ocean navigation.
They crossed thousands of kilometres of open sea without GPS, radar or modern charts.
They watched the stars, the Sun, wave patterns, winds, clouds, ocean currents and the behaviour of birds.
Using knowledge passed from generation to generation, they found tiny islands in the middle of the largest ocean on Earth.
And Raiatea lies at the heart of that Polynesian world.
This is why Taputapuātea was not simply another marae on another island.
For many Polynesians, Raiatea and Taputapuātea represent a place of origin, a spiritual centre and one of the great points of connection linking distant islands.
Stones from Taputapuātea were even taken to other islands to establish new marae connected symbolically to this sacred place.
Standing there and looking out across the lagoon, it is easy to forget how enormous the ocean around you really is.
Then you remember the map.
Hawaii.
New Zealand.
Rapa Nui.
Thousands of kilometres of water between them.
And people who were sailing across that ocean long before Europe even knew these islands existed.
Suddenly, a few stone platforms beside the sea look very different.
A Flower Found Nowhere Else
Raiatea has another unusual symbol.
High on its mountain slopes grows the tiare apetahi, an extremely rare flower that grows naturally only on Raiatea.
It has become one of the symbols of the island.
And, like almost everything interesting in Polynesia, there is a legend connected with it.
But even without the legend, there is something remarkable about a flower that seems to have decided that one small island in the middle of the Pacific is enough.
Perhaps it understood something we were slowly beginning to understand ourselves.
There are worse places to stay.
Towards Taha’a
At the end of our tour, we returned to Uturoa.
After Taputapuātea, ancient stories, sacred places and the enormous Polynesian Triangle, we were back in a small modern town with shops, cars, a harbour and people gathering in the square in the evening to practise dance.
Perhaps that is the best way to describe Raiatea.
The past here has never been completely separated from the present.
The old marae still stand beside the lagoon.
Va’a still move across the water.
The drums still beat.
People still dance.
Only the world around them has changed.
Before reaching Bora Bora, we had one more stop to make.
Taha’a.
The island lies immediately north of Raiatea and shares the same large lagoon and barrier reef.
That meant that this time we would not have to return to the open Pacific.
We could simply leave Uturoa and continue north through the protected lagoon.
The plan was to spend the next night at Taha’a.
And after that —
Bora Bora.