Bon Jour,

We're making slow progress in resetting our ocean-crossed selves, marveling at the green and staggeringly beautiful South Pacific landscape, feeling the fine black volcanic earth beneath our feet, and feeling sort of time warped and out-of-body.

The first few days have been filled with the things that make life what it is no matter how exotic your circumstances might seem -- finding the laundry lady, cleaning the boat, washing the deck with water collected from shore in the Orange Home Depot 5-gallon buckets, getting diesel fuel via the dingy in 5 gallon jugs, trying to figure out Internet access for the next 3 months, learning about the local customs and currency, throwing out the last of the less-than-desirable food items, and exploring the new realm for fresh provisions.

We discovered pamplemousse -- giant sweet grapefruit, scrumptious and delicious, and one of the few items available here that is actually affordable. Affordable has become a big word, and a goal, since the Polynesian Franc doesn't go far around here. The money is large -- the bills don't fit in your wallet, and the coins pull your pants down from the weight in your pockets. But it's also small -- it takes a lot of it to buy a cup of coffee, never mind fruits, vegetables, and cheeses, many of which are imported.

We've made a trip to town every day so far, looking forward to the exercise of the 3km walk each way. But the Marquisians are so dang friendly and generous with space in their cars that they keep stopping and offering us rides. And when it's hot and humid and their pickup is air conditioned, it's hard to say no. They don't want money, either, they just pick you up as a courtesy, or so it seems to me with my rose-colored glasses. So we've only actually walked all the way from town to the harbor once.

The people here are delightful. There is a sweet small-town feel but with a subtle level of sophistication. The streets are clean and well-maintained. The buildings are not falling down. The trees are groomed. And, as I've previously mentioned, there's ice cream. And baguette. Baguette everywhere. In fact, come to think of it, maybe it's the baguette that gives it that sophisticated edge. Oh, and canned butter from New Zealand. Very sophisticated.

Around the corner from the bank is the Municipal Police Station, which is not on the sophisticated list but definitely tops the charming list. At 20 x 20, a squat Polynesian building on short stilts with pampas grass woven walls, it's unlikely there's a jail in there -- or anything else that would imply that much crime occurs around here. Everyone seems happy. There are lots of new cars. In fact, there are no old cars. There's hibiscus blooming everywhere in every color, and some sort of deep purple berry or fruit that has ripened, fallen to the ground and is fermenting -- I imagine there are a lot of plastered birds flapping around. The fruit is edible, Allan had some, and said it was quite good. He didn't get plastered. We saw some people whacking breadfruit down from a large tree in town near the post office today, and walking across the street and selling them. There are colorful chickens scratching everywhere, with roosters crowing day and night. Life seems rather easy, and quite peaceful.

We've caught up with some of the stories from other cruisers on their crossings. We were extremely blessed. We had very little drama, no bad weather, no major equipment failures, no injuries, and no bad crew experiences. Two of the boats that left Puerto Valletta for the Marquises had medical evacuations for serious injuries, one in almost the middle of the Pacific. Several people had to turn back due to equipment failures. Some had issues that they were able to deal with en route and are now looking for bits and pieces to cobble things back together for a few more months. There's really not much here; we are in a small-town part of the Pacific, nothing until Tahiti for major repairs or parts. In these situations cruisers help each other in very dedicated ways.

Allan has become the Anchor Diving Guy in the harbor, happily diving down to check or untangle people's anchors. He went in the water no less than 3 times today on anchor-related matters. He got his experience from our own issues in the first few days, in which we had to reset our bow or stern anchor about 10 times. Several of those times he then jumped in with mask and snorkel to check the set on the bottom.

We're not alone in this harbor in having anchoring trouble; dragged anchors and boats coming in contact with other boats happens on a daily basis.

Yesterday we reset one or both of the anchors numerous times whenever we felt we were getting too close to our neighbors. The other night after dark Allan had to dive on the anchor with an underwater flashlight to free the anchor which had become ensnared in a mass of chicken wire. He jumped in, we saw the glow of his light as he swam to the bottom, freed the anchor with one hand and was back on the boat in less than a minute.

There is a shower on shore near the cement dingy landing, and "laundry facilities" that consist of a flat tiled counter with a drain hole and a faucet. We have become quite enamored of the experience, which has turned into an afternoon treat. After a long, hot day we dingy ashore with our Orange Home Depot 5-gallon bucket full of dirty laundry and take turns showering in the outdoor cement-walled shower, which has only one temperature: "P" for perfect. The water that gushes out from the faucet above your head has the strength and volume of a small waterfall, it feels marvelous. Meanwhile the other person does laundry on the tiled shelf under the tree in the Orange Home Depot 5-gallon bucket. We dry off a bit and dingy back to the boat in our bathing suits and hang the clean clothes on the life lines.

The bugs we assumed would be waiting for us in organized bug armies have not materialized, we have seen only large benign wasps flying about in slow motion, checking things out and seeming not to notice us at all. They are mainly enthralled with all the shiny stainless steel on board, go figure.

So that's the account of our first few days on land. The air is perfect, the flowers are blooming, the people are nice, the baguette is great, the bugs are absent, and the scenery is lush: we couldn't ask for a more hospitable welcome to the South Pacific.

Ps. Allan is working on updating the photo gallery with pictures from our crossing. Our Internet access is very slow, so it may take a little while.