Maybe weather colors all experiences; I don't know. But this seems never truer than on a boat. What I do know, is that it has been raining for two days - drenching at times, relentless spittle otherwise - and so unexpected and contrary to my image of sun-soaked, swaying-palms Polynesia. However, one might argue that there are some benefits to boat rain:

(1) The decks get de-salted.

(2) Those hand-washed (technically foot-stomped) clothes strung along the lifeline get a second fresh "rainwater" rinse. So, when ducking under these dripping items now restrung inside, we should remember that, even if they don't dry for days indoors, when they finally do, they will be extra clean, right? This is of course all an issue because, despite bringing the blessed, alleged repair part in my luggage (and foregoing that sarong and cute sundress), the washer-dryer is officially kaput.

(3) The water-tightness of the vessel gets tested while at anchor rather than when crashing through the waves, allowing us to discover those new leaks! One such substantial one not only water-logged the book I had just started reading but seeped into none other than the paper towel locker.

(4) The long, muggy days pass quickly (not!) easily consumed with all matter of rain-created chores: wiping down wet surfaces, moving dripping clothing inside, unpacking and drying out musty lockers. Bleach gets called into service as mold appears seemingly instantaneously as if it were invisibly lurking just awaiting a fresh influx of moisture. Last night one such green, fussy growth presented itself inside the medicine cabinet as I went for my eye cream (really, De? you need to give it up!) and even in my mildly inebriated state, I grabbed for the Tilex.

(5) The hornets stay away.

Yeah, I have to laugh at those bumper stickers - you know the ones - "Salt Life".......

....you have no frickin' clue.

What I have learned (and re-learned): Boats Leak, Systems Fail, Salt Life goes on.

Much of Salt Life involves strolling and searching. (Can we call that exploration and discovery?). Amazing what fills our days.

When it is not raining here in the Gambiers, we take nice strolls along the single road here in Rikitea on the main island of Mangareva. We usually have one or more of the island's free-roaming dogs tagging along, but we now walk with our pepper spray after witnessing the very aggressive way the male dogs randomly attack each other. I especially like to walk up to St. Michel of Rikitea Cathedral, which was the first cathedral built in all of the South Pacific (1841) and has been recently (2010) restored to its former splendor. The altar, statues and stations-of-the-cross are elaborately adorned with the pearls and mother-of- pearl that are farmed out of this gigantic, peaceful, calm lagoon. We have read that the pearls of the Gambier Islands are renowned for their colors and particular nuances. No luck yet in finding a local farmer/vendor willing to sell us some, but we will keep up our search.

On another such day when it was not raining, we did some diving off "airport island" (Totegegie), the uninhabited coral atoll I flew into, as it is the only flat area in all of this archipelago. Unfortunately our search for the purported spiny lobster, also failed....but we will keep up our search.

Another day when it was not raining - it was actually glorious - we sailed over to uninhabited Taravai and tucked into a quiet cove. Ashore Eric found some coconuts that took him the better part of the afternoon to crack open. Amazing what fills our days. The next morning, earlier than is typical for visits, the only other boat in this cove ventured over in their dinghy. This young Austrian couple was in need of a tow out of this coral-laced cut, as days earlier on their sail in, they had fouled their prop on oyster nets. They had been in the Gambiers for a year (I marveled at their apparently exceeding well-developed ability to chill) and now, with a break in the bouts of rain, finally had a weather window to sail to Tahiti, if only they could be towed clear of the shoals. Andiamo jumped into action, coordinating a plan, rigging lines, carrying out the slow, careful tow and then dropping our tethered lines to wave them goodbye. Amazing what fills our days.

Also....when it is not raining here in the Gambiers... with our boat stores now disappointingly low, we are searching for fresh foods (or is that because I am Italian?). No doubt from the abundant rain, this steep (Mt Mokoto is 1388 ft), verdant volcanic landscape is covered with fruits trees - surely we can get some. But with every household self-sufficient, produce is not sold in the stores; likewise eggs, as chickens and roosters scurry through every yard. Having already consumed the profusion of fresh foods the guys were bigheartedly offered in Pitcairn, we venture into town wondering how one gets some of this local fruit. As if on cue, a French gentleman in a grubby, worn unbuttoned army jacket (to show off his tattoos?) and camo Crocs, abruptly stops his car, asking if we would like some bananas. We load into his pick-up truck and are driven to his home where he whacks off a gigantic bunch of bananas from one of his dozen trees. He continues pointing and offering us rosemary, sage and basil. We finish with breadfruit and papaya and more soccer-sized pamplemousse (grapefruit) than we can carry back to the dinghy...so he drives us. Refusing our offer to pay him, he bids us adieu driving away as quickly as he appeared, the embodiment of the legendary Polynesian generosity.

Each day .... even if it's raining in the Gambiers ... we head into the village to capitalizing on the best part of the local French influence: fresh baguettes that are sold warm right off the racks at minutes after 3pm. Strictly speaking , the bread is probably not of Parisienne stature - it is too humid here for that - but it is fresh, wonderful crusty bread that we happily welcome. We venture into the adjacent store and purchase exorbitantly priced beers (the missionary temperance influence lingers here in the islands) and whatever frozen meat we can find. When the cargo ship arrived last Wednesday, we rushed to market to grab our 30lb corrugated box of chicken legs before they sold out (I kid you not). We are still trying to figure out the probability of getting an entire box of only RIGHT chicken legs. We also bought burger patties that, in French, admit to only 15% animal protein; I shudder to think what the other 85% is. No nutritional content is listed.

But I have learned that successful living on a boat (aka Salt Life) often means relaxing, if not lowering, one's standards in terms of all those things you formerly took as givens - dry sheets, clean clothes, reliable internet, and, more than anything, foods that are fresh or at least familiar. With our boat stores shrinking and with Tahiti, our next provisioning hub, still 7-weeks off in our itinerary, we have learned to be quite adaptable with our meals. While I'd surely prefer wild salmon, for now, we have managed to make passable skillet-style meals with this "meat" stuff camouflaged with spices and other dry goods. We've managed to find uses for breadfruit : mashed like potatoes, deep fried with lots of salt like chips (yummy). David has become a master baker, whipping up banana-nut bread before breakfast, white loaves by lunch. Eric pan sears a mean self-caught tuna and grills up fatty chicken legs which throw off so much grease I keep one hand on the extinguisher. Not-quite-ripe papaya we are told is similar to carrot so we may try that with our homemade hummus today. Creative cooking becomes the norm. Amazing what fills our days. Heck, there is not much else to do here in this quiet, remote (1056 miles from Tahiti) archipelago as we await our weather window for our next passage.

Deep Breath. After all of this gloom and rain, it looks like that means leaving tomorrow. Yikes! Despite my complaints, I am never happier than in port and am already getting anxious about our passage which will likely be a solid 7 days up to the Gauguin-fabled Marquesas.

NET: Sans rain - I have enjoyed my reunion with "my guys". Y'all know I do not relish "Salt Life" but I am dealing and I'd actually say I rather quickly dropped right back into the rhythm of boat living after 8 weeks back home. I especially loved my first night aboard when the guys slowly took me through their collection of photos from Easter Island and Pitcairn. That was a very special time for them - I hope you have read Eric's blog
(www.sailblogs.com/member/sailingspearo) - and it was wonderful to hear their enthusiasm and first-hand account of sailing into these remote outposts. Scratch the bumper sticker. THAT'S the REAL Salt Life.