After almost a full day at sea and roughly 160 nautical miles behind us, we reached Tahiti again.
This time we did not return to the marina in central Papeete. Instead, we found a berth at Marina Taina, on the western side of the island in Puna’auia.
For what we needed to do, it was almost perfect.
Papeete was still close enough if we needed the city, while the large Carrefour Punaauia was within easy reach for restocking before our next long passage. Around the marina there were workshops, marine services and mechanics — exactly what we needed to finally deal with the repairs we had been carrying with us for weeks.
We saw Damjan’s uncle Milan off at the airport and once again found ourselves alone with the boat.
And the boat had its own list of demands.
The most important one was the watermaker.
Ever since the Galápagos, we had been without a reliable way of turning seawater into fresh water, which is definitely not a small problem on a boat crossing thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean.
Eventually, the famous technician finally appeared.
By this point I was beginning to understand that time on these islands did not have quite the same meaning as it did in Europe.
No rush.
We will get there.
It will be done.
And if not today — there is always tomorrow.
The problem with the watermaker turned out to be the membranes. Once they were replaced, the system finally started working properly again.
After so long without it, the sound of the machine producing fresh water from the sea felt almost luxurious.
You can have sails, an engine, navigation equipment, solar panels and half a workshop worth of spare parts on board, but after enough time at sea you quickly realise that a few litres of ordinary fresh water can be more important than almost anything else.
A Different Rhythm of Life
Our return to Tahiti also reminded me how different everyday life could feel here compared with Europe.
One afternoon I walked to Carrefour, around seven or eight hundred metres from the marina.
I bought far too much, filled two large bags and started walking back.
Somewhere along the road, a car slowed down beside me.
The driver opened the window and offered me a lift.
I told him I was only going another five hundred metres or so, to the marina.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m going that way anyway. There’s no reason for you to carry all of that.”
Back home in Serbia, by this point most people would already have started analysing exactly why a complete stranger wanted you to get into his car.
Here, after a few seconds of hesitation, I got in.
I have to admit that I was slightly uneasy at first.
The man simply drove me to the marina.
He did not ask for anything.
There was no hidden reason.
He said goodbye and continued on his way.
Of course, one random encounter is not enough to build a theory about an entire society.
But things like this had happened often enough during our time in the Pacific that I had started to notice a difference.
People seemed more willing to approach one another.
Offering help to a stranger did not automatically raise the question:
“What does this person want from me?”
Perhaps island life has something to do with it.
When you live on a small piece of land surrounded by an enormous ocean, maybe community and the people around you simply mean something slightly different.
Around Tahiti
I used part of our time on the island to drive almost the entire way around Tahiti.
Once you leave Papeete and the more densely populated western side behind, the island begins to feel very different. The road follows the coast through small villages, with mountains rising inland and the ocean never far away.
In one of those villages, I came across a scene that stayed with me more than many of the better-known tourist sights.
A group of children were playing right in the street.
Some of them were playing a game similar to dodgeball, while a smaller group nearby were playing hopscotch, jumping between numbered squares drawn on the ground.
When I approached in the car, they calmly moved to the side of the road, let me pass, and the moment I was gone, they went straight back to their game.
As if nothing had happened.
It was one of those completely ordinary moments that can stay with you longer than anything listed in a guidebook. No phones in their hands, no adults hovering over them, no traffic, no rush. Just children, a road and a game.
A little farther on, the road took me towards the interior and the Faarumai Valley, famous for its three waterfalls.
The best known of them is Vaimahuta, a huge wall of water dropping through dense tropical vegetation. But, as in so many places in Polynesia, a waterfall is rarely just a waterfall.
There is a legend behind it.
The story tells of a young woman named Faūai, the daughter of a powerful chief, and a young man named Ivi, the guardian spirit of the valley. Their love was forbidden, and they were forced to flee from those who were pursuing them.
According to the legend, Ivi called upon the water to protect them. A huge waterfall came crashing down the cliff and hid the two lovers behind a curtain of water, while those chasing them became the other two waterfalls in the valley.
So the three falls are not only a natural attraction, but also part of an old Polynesian story about love, escape and protection.
And this was the Tahiti I found even more interesting than the one from postcards.
Behind the resorts, marinas and shops there was another world entirely — small villages, children playing in the street, old legends, waterfalls, and a way of life moving at its own much slower rhythm.
Tiare – The Flower That Speaks
Another thing that was almost impossible not to notice in Tahiti was the number of women — and often men as well — wearing a flower behind one ear.
Usually it was the tiare Tahiti, the white and intensely fragrant Gardenia taitensis, one of the most recognisable symbols of French Polynesia.
But the flower is not only decoration.
There is a small romantic code attached to it.
Traditionally, wearing the tiare behind the left ear, on the side of the heart, means that the person is taken.
Wearing it behind the right ear means that the person is single or available.
A rather efficient system.
No apps.
No profiles.
No endless messaging.
You simply look at which side the flower is on.
Tiare is also used in the flower garlands given to arriving visitors, and its scent follows you almost everywhere in Tahiti.
The same flower is also one of the main ingredients in another product inseparably linked with Polynesia — Monoï de Tahiti.
Tiare flowers are infused in coconut oil, creating the scented oil traditionally used for skin, hair and massage.
After a while, the smell of monoï becomes one of those scents you unconsciously associate with Tahiti.
While exploring the island, we even came across the Route du Monoï, a route linking plantations, producers and places associated with the traditional production of monoï.
In Tahiti, flowers, coconut oil and fragrance are not simply decorations created for tourists.
They are part of everyday life.
Final Preparations
We spent the rest of our time in Marina Taina working on the boat.
Repairs.
Equipment checks.
Cleaning.
Refilling tanks.
Buying food.
Checking the engine.
And all the other jobs that probably look like endless unnecessary fiddling to anyone who has never lived on a boat.
But another long passage was waiting for us.
We were leaving the Society Islands and planning to continue towards Manihiki, an atoll in the northern group of the Cook Islands.
Manihiki would be a completely different world from Tahiti.
No high volcanic mountains like Moorea or Bora Bora.
Instead, a ring of low coral motu surrounding a lagoon, and one of the best-known centres of black pearl farming in the Cook Islands.
So once again we had to prepare for several days without a supermarket, marina or anything else we could simply buy along the way.
We did the final large grocery run.
Packed the food.
Checked the supplies.
Prepared the documents.
All that remained was to collect our departure papers.
We reached the Port Authority too late.
They had already closed for the day — possibly because it was a Sunday or because they were working reduced hours.
Either way, there was nothing more we could do.
Pacific time again.
Tomorrow.
There is always tomorrow.
We made dinner, finished preparing the boat and went to bed a little earlier so that we could deal with the paperwork first thing in the morning and leave as soon as possible.
The next morning, we completed the formalities and received our exit papers.
This time, Tahiti really was behind us.
We started the engine, left the marina and headed back towards the open sea.
Ahead of us were several more days of sailing.
Next stop —
Manihiki.