Dear Family and Friends,

Recently we re-visited some amazing caverns on the Isle of Pines as we shared some of our favorite places with visiting teenage children of friends. At the end of a long un-groomed dirt road, the entrance to the cavern path projects into the jungle from the rustic deserted parking area and there stands unobtrusively a small altar draped in weather worn island patterned cloth and decorated with an odd assortment of shells and coins. The altar is simple and low -perhaps only a foot off the ground. I had noticed it on my last visit but it is easy to pass by. The rest of our group of six had tromped on by the altar hurrying off to see the cave. But the oldest of the youths, confronted by the altar, stopped abruptly. She stood pensively gazing down at it. Her name is Manon and she is the niece of the Grand Chef of a neighboring island which means she is essentially part of the extended Royal Family in these parts. She thoughtfully explained to me that to her people an altar of this kind requires a token to be left in order to appease the spirits and protect those who pass. I had thought as much and immediately recalled a chunk of jade stone I had found at Prony Bay a few weeks previous which seemed to meet the criteria and which I had luckily neglected to clear out of my backpack. Returning to the car, I fetched it and with her approval and not much ceremony I reverently placed it on the altar and onward we went. Whether because of this or in spite of this, the rest of the day --exploring crystal clear pools lying occult in the recesses of massive slippery sided stalactite encrusted caverns --went without a hitch.

I'm sure you want to hear more about those caverns but actually the point of this story is how it came back to my awareness. I recalled the event re-visiting the importance of small token gifts or seemingly insignificant gestures later with the making of a new friend. On our arrival at the Isle of Pines, I happened to meet the owner of an island boutique which specializes in works by local artists. The owner is a journalist by training and carries as well marvelous books she has written on the island's history, myths and sights. Her name is Cleo and I liked her immediately because the work she stocked was really good and because she seemed invested in local people's success. She also just finished an additional degree in conflict resolution which requires some determination when one lives on an isolated island in the absence of institutes of higher education. She has lived as an adult on the Isle of Pines over 38 years. I found her fascinating and while talking we realized we shared some common acquaintances which strengthened the bond between us. Still, I am passing through on a boat and she is living her life and we met for just a moment in space and time and voila that is that. But as I only half consciously closed the page on that chapter I noticed that I did really like her.

Upon discovering we were on a boat and therefore without transportation Cleo offered to take us with her to the Saturday Farmer's market the next morning very early. That week it was a bit too early for us and we ambled that way on our own to explore slightly later in the day when the morning rain had cleared. But the next week we did accompany her and as always in our brief encounters she generously shared her local knowledge by pointing out special things at the market and at the little grocery store afterward for my consideration. The first day in her shop I had bought a few of her special things and several days later I returned to buy a few more that had lingered in my mind and then something happened that I later realized made a difference-- She invited us to return for tea that afternoon. I went back to the boat and was moved to bake banana bread in an oven I rarely ever use. I brought the bread later that afternoon as a gift for her. She laid out a lovely tea. We visited with her and we visited with Albert who makes the beautiful pareas in the boutique. We heard some of his story. He started the first SCUBA diving service on the island years and years ago and he even had dived in the fresh water pools in the caves I wrote of earlier. He had built a cinema in an outbuilding about the size of a garage and he invited us to see some diving videos. The videos were amazing and inspiring on the big screen and the room was full of comfy chairs and beanbags for relaxing. And so afternoon passed into early evening.

In retrospect, there occurred a serendipitous meeting which opened a possibility which was not a necessity. And there for the most minute of milliseconds, destiny poised undecided. And then someone took a risk-not a big risk but a tiny but not insignificant personal risk. Cleo invited strangers to tea. In that moment she essentially "placed a shell or a coin on the altar" and that moment made all the difference. Because for one thing, if she had not made that invitation, I wouldn't be writing this. And although I would still be thinking of her as a very interesting person, I would not be thinking of her as my friend. And although I was then moved to reciprocate her gesture, it was she who made that first offering which set the cascade of dominoes in motion.

I have another very dear friend, who years ago was just an acquaintance; but at that time did something I consider quite remarkable. Her name is Melissa and we were involved in the same school community which was rich and wonderful but also often full of conflict. She was part of a group which offered a bottle of sauce and package of pasta to any family who invited another school family over for dinner. What a bit of brilliance! I wish I had thought of that. If we know each other personally as people, something changes. I suppose that is one of the things I love about cruising�...meeting the world one person at a time on some unpretentious, natural, unexpected, common ground. No, it doesn't happen all the time but when it does, it's always one of those unforgettable moments. And it usually happens when someone just "invites a stranger to tea".

These moments-- which are possibilities-- I sometimes let slip away because maybe my boat isn't all tidy or I don't think I have something special enough to serve or I feel shy. Instead, I am realizing I need to gently open the door and invite something to happen. If I can stop at an altar long enough to find the quiet place in my heart and leave a token, I can stop at a person long enough to do the same-even a person I do not yet know and who might be very different from myself. I hope I will be writing more about my progress. In the meantime my gratitude shines on Melissa and Cleo and Albert and Manon and to altars and strangers both of which beg us to stop and give a token --which is really a way of reminding us to be in touch with our hearts and aspirations.

Now about those caverns�... Imagine stepping out of the jungle and into a hillside through a craggy ancient coral arch into shadows. Continue onward threading your way between enormous opaque white glossy stalactites downward deeper and deeper into the cool dark recesses of the mountain. You remember those crystal growing kits we used to do at home? Now think of yourself the size of an ant trekking in the dark through the finished crystal lattice. Your torch beam seems narrow and weak as though swallowed up just a few feet into the black abyss. The barest possibility of a path must be discerned step by step, narrow as one footprint, running smooth and slick through crevices where a trickle of water with infinite patience has carved away a crack here and a niche there. And the water always has to go on to somewhere so you follow along its trail until the walls like melting candles recede revealing a small cathedral like room all dressed in white drippings of mineral. As your eyes adjust to the new level of darkness you realize you are standing in the anteroom at the top of a huge dome, the back walls of which seem to converge but before they meet are completely lost in utter darkness. Deep at the bottom of the pit you notice a mirror like quality to the wall formations which on closer inspection and the tell tale toss of a pebble clearly announces itself to be water. The pool is cool and still and clear as if it has never before been touched or even seen by a human�...as if you are the very first. It is so quiet you start to believe you could sit here and just watch the stalactites grow and never want to do anything more. The peacefulness is like a spell. At first the water is waist deep. It draws you onward meandering into neighboring caverns through narrow low archways it has carved for itself but then the bottom falls away. Your imagination wonders how deep that pool goes and what might be in there. Your feet are dangling and kicking over the nothingness. And then you might think of Albert who took his Scuba gear and dove right down into that black hole to see what was there. He described stalactites at 65 feet of depth which instead grew horizontally because of the water. He is braver than I. Just the thought of trying to scramble down the slick trail carrying all my dive gear was enough to dissuade me. I hate to disappoint you but we won't speak further about that black hole. Much love, --Pat and John S/V The Rose, now back in Fiji, 14 OCT 2013