The Everyday Stuff�... This morning we woke up early, jumped out of our snug little aft cabin and without even pausing for breakfast set out in the dinghy for shore. We had been told of a Farmer's Market in the nearby town of Vao beginning at 6:30 in the morning and finishing by 10. We were prepared to hike the 5k in hopes of finding some fresh Aubergine (eggplant) which makes a great main sauced all different ways for John who is a self proclaimed "vegetarian who doesn't really like vegetables". Grabbing carrying bags, camera and small change, we started out in the chilly grey pre-dawn. Quite a swell had kicked up in the process of the last three days strong winds and we watched the surf crashing on the beach with some trepidation though our seasons in Mexico left us well practiced at such maneuvers and we have some confidence in our technique. We waited patiently for the set to pass and on the back of the last swell charged full ahead to the shore landing as far up the sand as possible so the receding wave left me stepping out gracefully into only a few inches of water. We tilted the engine up, switched off the gas supply line and each to a side lifting we quickly dragged the dinghy up the sand to the tree line and wire cabled her engine and all to a nearby banyan tree. These are the times we most appreciate our choice of a light dinghy and small engine. In Mexico fuel was easy to come by and cheap so big outboards in the 6-15 hp range were popular but the dinghies then needed to be outfitted with wheels since they were too heavy to pull up onto the beach. In the Tuamotu we longed for a bigger outboard to extend our circle of exploration across the broad atolls when their shallow lagoons prohibited The Rose passage. However, the farther we travel the smaller the outboards become as fuel is more limited and expensive and though many islands have some fuel they often only stock enough for their own needs leaving it unavailable for yacht purchase. Given all this, our meager 2 hp outboard has stood us in good stead. The lighting as we strolled toward Vao central was perfect with the morning twilight lending a hush through which the trills and coos of birdsong floated as we soft shoed our way along the avenue lined with ancient wide girthed pines and the perhaps even more ancient Bugny trees. The Bugny's preposterously long and hefty horizontal branches stretched overhead interlacing from both roadsides to create a magnificent woven tree tunnel. Just past the tree tunnel much to our delight a local Kunie woman stopped to offer us a ride and we bundled ourselves gratefully into her 4 door pickup. Not only was she generous enough to give us a ride but I soon found that she was willing to make conversation in English in response to my feeble attempts at French. It is always bittersweet when my foreign language small talk is responded to in fairly adept English. I am in that moment relieved that communication will be possible while at the same time wondering if they didn't recognize my attempts in their language and therefore tried to find a common ground with English or if they recognized my English accent immediately and merely wanted to take advantage themselves of the opportunity to practice. It reminds me of a time in Mexico early on when I boldly stepped up to a ticket counter and in my fairly fluent best pidgin Spanish with cash in hand requested two round trip ferry tickets only to be immediately and brusquely informed by the ticket agent that she did not speak English. That was a kick in the teeth to my emerging self confidence but it is worthy of a laugh retrospectively. Half the battle of traveling in this way is a willingness to put oneself in harm's way when it comes to pride. It's preposterous the number of times I have told a stranger "I love you" when meaning to say "I love it". There is no interpreter or guide to intervene on our behalf or even to set the topic providing the straining listener some context for understanding. Instead we must blabber, stumble, mime and employ visual aids and facial expression as best we can or miss the experience. OH yes, we were on the way to the market. Our driver dropped us right at the Farmer's Market which turned out to be about six tables of local produce clean, fresh and neatly stacked with prices on a board at the entrance. Our initial dismay at finding a complete absence of aubergine faded as we took in with appreciation the availability of fresh young heads of green leafy lettuce, bunches of green onions, tomatoes, huge yams, pumpkins, green beans and an unknown pale green squash which looked somewhat like what we in Mexico called "Chayote". I asked about the unknown vegetable and how to prepare it and was patiently told to saute it in water and then dress it with vinegrette like a salad. At least that's what I think she said in French although if I missed a single negation or two which is easy to do she could have said cook it in no water and serve it with a salad or in place of salad. Oh well, deeming it worthy of the effort I bought two and slipped them into my bag hoping my efforts had a better result than my similar first attempt at cooking the armload sized bundles of taro leaf I bought at the market in Tonga. At that time the instructions were to boil it well and enjoy-- with the added warning that it needed to be cooked really well. I had heard that there was a somewhat toxic component in the taro so I chopped the leaves and popped them into my pressure cooker with a little water for a really good cooking. I had erroneously assumed that the toxin broke down with heat since the ladies at the market warned me to cook it well but my well cooked taro made my lips, tongue and oral mucosa tingle sharply all the way down to my adam's apple. Wondering how long this neurotoxin would last, I returned to the market for more advice explaining my initial results. With a smile they told me to change out the water and use lots of it. That worked well and knowing this tiny but crucial secret I have enjoyed wonderful tender and delicious taro at home ever since especially in the Fijian way known as palusami which is taro leaf cooked with onions and sauced with coconut cream. Yes that is a little bit of heaven to be sure. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Returning with our treasures we were again offered a ride this time by a young well fed Kunie man who bubbled with a natural social warmth making communication entirely possible despite the fact that John speaking no French was seated in front and our driver Zhouaquine spoke no English. Still he was able to good naturedly convey that he was native to the island and shared with us a bit of Kunie culture. In somewhat native accented French, he explained that the tall straight and erect narrow pines for which the island is named represent masculinity while the coconut with its swaying trunk and plump round fruit represents the feminine. I'm not sure if this topic was appropriate especially as he went on explaining in French with hand gestures and increasing details involving the erectness of the trees and the roundness of the coconuts but once we finally realized what he was saying we liked the basic premise and responded that this of course made sense and was easy to appreciate. Unsure why he chose this particular topic, we will just assume that the idea followed naturally in the wake of our spoken appreciation for the Bugny tree tunnel. I don't know where that conversation would have led but perhaps to our benefit we arrived opportunely at our dinghy and choosing naive and grateful adieus as our best defense, we parted ways. Passing a beachside hotel on the way to the dinghy we were tempted in to enjoy a moment on their deck sipping cappuccino and espresso while looking out across the very white sand beach and resultant milky turquoise water. The surf had continued to build since morning and was crashing and churning up sand while the breeze had finally lightened to pleasant. While we sipped coffee contentedly a fellow cruising couple loaded their baguettes and produce into their dinghy and started out into the surf. We watched their technique, casually assessing the current wave strength for our own impending efforts. Suddenly to our surprise the woman about knee deep in the surf jumped into the dinghy and the man just let go ceasing all assistance. The dinghy turned broadside to the oncoming wave and barely escaped capsizing. The woman jumped out and the two retreated a few feet before renewing their efforts this time more in synchrony but with dire results. The next wave caught them on the quarter sending both of them and the entire contents of the dinghy sprawling undignified into the sandy water surrounded by flip flops, a backpack and several floating baguettes. Now completely drenched they re-gathered their belongings (except for the baguettes which the sea gulls were appreciating) and their efforts and this time waded out waist deep and started their outboard before climbing into the dink. Like two drowned rats they soberly returned to their big boat. You might think we laughed or at least sniggered to ourselves at this entertainment but I will tell you that instead we just looked into each other's eyes and agreed "We hope that doesn't happen to us." One thing we've learned cruising is that no matter how careful our avoidance tactics every mistake possible to make will one day be our mistake if we continue long enough. Lucky for us we were to enjoy favor today and we made a clean getaway after first loading all our groceries into the zipper closed backpack and having oars at the ready to get ourselves quickly to water deep enough for John to start the engine while I rowed us stem onto the waves. We clapped our hands secretly in a low high five so as not to offend or tempt fate and enjoyed our arrival dry, secure and well provisioned back on board The Rose. Yesterday we hiked around the heart shaped "presqu'ile" which forms one side of our anchorage. Before our arrival I thought that "presqu'ile" might mean nearby island but now I know it must mean almost island since this heart shaped bit of ground is connected to the main island by a very narrow neck really only about two road widths across. A rustic footpath follows the circumference of the presqu'ile winding along through dense forest in parts and later clinging to precipitous cliffs of raw sharp ancient coral long ago pushed up from the sea by volcanic activity. The coral is porous enough to allow roots a wonderful foothold with growth limited only by the paucity of soil and vegetable matter which normally would retain moisture. The trail was a visual feast of uninhabited white sand beaches stretching into aqua pastels of reef protected sea so clear that like a freshly washed glass window its presence only magnified the visibility of the marine life at the bottom of the shore side shallows. As we padded along the trail we were met by a banded sea snake who ever so politely slithered just over the coral cliff edge to allow our passing before returning to the trail and continuing his own journey. The trail was littered in patches by hundreds of beautiful uninhabited turban shaped shells from a land snail variety popular here for gourmet escargot and I delighted in decorating the trees with them like Christmas ornaments. Along the windward side of the presqu'ile the wind whipped the water into an aerosolized spray which blew into us and on into the forest but this was short-lived since our trail soon cut in away from the shore and up along an old ruined coral block wall and slotted lookout post once belonging to the prison complex for which France deemed this island suitable around the turn of the last century. Originally French political prisoners were exiled to the Isle of Pines to live seven years in isolation and obscurity but free to build homes, farms and businesses on the island and it is odd to me that as soon as pardons were received every prisoner chose the option of returning to the turmoil of their homeland rather than remain in this island paradise --which is by the way the meaning of the island's native name. From here it was for us a quick trip back to the dinghy and home to The Rose for a game of cribbage before dredging out our Scuba gear in preparation for tomorrow's early departure and big dive at Les Grottes de Gadji the famous undersea caves. All is well. Much love as always, Pat and John S/V The Rose, Isle of Pines, New Caledonia, 09 September 2013