Here in Tonga, we find ourselves both a day ahead and seemingly years in the past. Across the date line, The Kingdom of Tonga - the oldest and last remaining Polynesian monarchy and the only Pacific nation never brought under foreign rule - may be as proclaimed, "the place where time begins", but the pace is decidedly slow. Life is simple, backward, even impoverished relative to what we saw during our many months in subsidized French Polynesia; but the Tongans seem quite unfazed. They are an unhurried, traditional people who value family, church and time over material wealth. The Tongan mode of dress is conservative with the women covering their shoulders and many Tongans - men, women and children alike - still donning traditional garb (tupenu, long wrap-around skirts everyday; ta ovala, intricately woven waistmats for ceremonial occasions). The Sabbath is strictly observed - forever sacred in the Tongan Constitution - and no work of any kind is allowed on Sundays. {Don't even try to hang out your laundry!}

During Captain Cook's three excursions here, he called these "The Friendly Islands" and we have found the Tongans so, if not a tad subdued....or is that just Fakatonga? Translated as "The Tongan Way" - basically, super laid-back - I am pleased to say that two weeks into our stay here, Fakatonga is beginning to rub off on us. After back to back stressful passages logging 12 out of 15 days sloshing about in the ocean, we all needed a powerful dose of Fakatonga to get our mojo back. Oxymoronically (is that a word?), we are actually feeling a "relaxation urgency", as incomprehensibly, we are counting down mere WEEKS until our stint in Polynesia ends. Luckily for us, the Vava'u Group is a perfect venue for relaxation.

First and unavoidably however, we needed to spend the better part of a week here in the main harbor of Neiafu tracking down the right folks to repair our tiller arm. While we prematurely committed to the expensive Kiwi fabricator who saw us coming, we fortunately were steered to the inexpensive local Tongan who actually did the more crucial welding. Nonetheless, the repairs were swiftly completed and, aside from dealing with the insanely slow internet in town (Fakatonga!), being stuck in port was actually a joy, as our yachtie friends are all converging here on the same circumnavigation route towards New Zealand. Balancing work and play, we interspersed David's multiple, frustrating sessions re-wiring our two auto-pilots, with shopping the open air farmer's market, hiking up Mt. Talau for panoramic views back on the harbor and catching up with friends at happy hour. Finding ourselves yet again without a working washer, we were pleased to happen upon Lisa who did our laundry (priced reasonably by the kilo) and whose cafe makes a satisfying, dense brown bread. It took a week, but we finally located the best place for eggs and chicken and pork, the latter imported from New Zealand not sourced from the numerous piglets found squealing in virtually every yard.

But for me, the clear highlight of our harbor-based week was spending our 33rd wedding anniversary out swimming with the majestic humpback whales, who migrate through Tonga's cool waters from July to November to mate and bear their young. Packing our full wetsuits on this cool morning, we met our guides on the dock before 7:30 am (ouch!.) Along with the other four guest, Isi, the "whale whisperer", briefed us on how to spot the flattened-out water and the steam-like spouts of the cagy mammals and, after a slow start, we were finally rewarded with a dramatic sighting of a small pod "playing"- an explosion of activity including rolling in the waves, whale tail lobs, pectoral slapping and finally breaching - our inadequate camera shutter never quite fast enough to capture their folly. Later in the crisp day, with much patience and persistence, we tracked down another triplet in a quiet cove. Once again slipping into the deep, cold water without a splash, we followed Isi's lead, slowly swimming towards them so as not to spook them off. In return, the momma and her calf permitted us a close and intimate encounter while the male "escort" bull stood guard at a comfortable distance. Initially, I was a bit nervous never having been so near such large animals in the water, but ultimately, I was awed by their size, grace, markings, behavior and, especially, harmonic singing. On this memorable day, I could not help but think of our very own triplet: David, me and our full-grown calf, Eric, also migrating through Tongan waters. :)

This second week - with provisions restocked and the endless repairs abated for now - we are focused on R&R and finally off cruising the easy waters of Vava'u. While the short distances between picturesque islands and the calm protected waters are reminiscent of sailing in the Virgin Islands (with a fraction of the boats), the overall landscape is more akin to the coast's of Maine or the Pacific Northwest: undercut, creviced, cave-laced islets rising vertically from the cool, azure waters covered in a dense mixture of leafy, scrubby and piney greens, the only evidence of Polynesia seen in the palm trees piercing the ridges. Having now reached our southernmost latitude to date, the weather too hints of cooler climes which, given my Florida blood, has warranted a wind-breaker on the deck and a blanket on the bed. The Tongans say it is their coolest, driest winter in 5 years, apparently influenced by a developing el nino pattern. After months feeling sticky and sweaty, I'll gladly take this welcomed and refreshing change!

Rather than try to hit all forty-plus recommended anchorages in these close waters - and already feeling a bit burnt-out - we have opted instead to spend multiple days in tranquil spots with few boats and welcoming villagers. As David and I walked around peaceful Hunga Village, we counted more pigs than people. The homes are no more than a collection of rusted, corrugated hovels on grassless (chicken and pig denuded), government-granted parcels. Barely subsistence living, the poverty is quite astounding. But the ostensibly unaware school children, in their bright red uniforms, playful and curious, were delighted to ham it up for us palangi (foreigners) when we asked to photograph them. With their footwear options seemingly limited to barefoot or flip-flops, they pointed to and were especially intrigued by our substantial Keen trail shoes. Later, a village elder who came out to our boat was pleased to trade bananas and lettuce and handmade jewelry for the boy's offering of freshly-speared grouper. He appeared equally grateful for the packages of instant coffee and powdered milk he requested and we gave him; items hard to come by here.

In contrast to the poverty ashore, we find riches in the surrounding sea. So, while I hate the hassle and necessity of the full wetsuit - oh, that Florida blood - the incentive of the vibrant reefs and the jagged walls draw me in to enjoy their display of architectural coral and luminescent fish. After that initial chill, it feels great to stretch my boat-crammed muscles and fill my snorkel-assisted lungs. At first my unaccustomed eyes see little, but Eric and Rob's keen focus help me spot dozens of golden starfish on the sandy ocean floor and then, clinging to the coral walls, those unique elongated, skinny royal blue ones that are the exact color and texture of Gumby. As my confidence in the water increases, I now move from my usual, comfortable spot precisely two feet behind David's fins. Inches from my face appear schools of blue fish and green fish, and fish that turn from blue to green and back again. Sea anemones, urchins, octopi, grouper, blue-lipped clams, the occasional reef shark. A kaleidoscope of constant, fluid, dynamic multi-colored motion. And, if we are especially lucky, it is all accompanied by a background melody of distant whalesongs.

The chill limits me, but the boys could, and often do, spend the entire day in the water. Nimbly moving through their daily, multi-sport rotation of activities - free diving, spearing, fishing and surfing - I try to look the other way and practice deep breaths as they invariably leave their discarded, cumbersome gear strewn liberally throughout the cockpit, salon, foredeck and life lines. They will surely clean up later, right? Alas, to be honest, even now, after all of these months afloat, immersed in island time, I stink at Fakatonga. Luckily, I still have six weeks to perfect it.

If nothing else, I humbly ask that at least a hint of The Tongan Way travels home with me.