We are in a postcard. One of those places in photographs that depicts the fantastic concept of ultimate escape.

Keuehi is beautiful; we can't wait to get pictures on the blurb. We had a tough passage, only because we're wimps, and because we weren't psyched-up, and because I got thrown across the forward cabin in the middle of the night and made head-first contact with the closet, but it was all worth it. And I can still spell my name, (one "L") so no apparently no concussion.

It was a gorgeous sail around the island toward the entrance to the reef, and all we could see were palm trees. No mountains, hills, buildings. Just a line of green fluffy palm trees floating on the water against a blue sky.

Some atolls have one entrance; some have more. This had one, at the SW side. Although it was 1500' wide, as with all atolls, it had to be entered at the right time. There was a lot of radio chatter on Channel 16 from 6am to 9am as Boree, Paikea Mist, and a few other boats headed toward the opening for the 7am low tide. The best time to enter is at slack tide, which occurs slightly after high or low tide. Problem is, nobody has tide tables for this atoll, so we were interpolating from info provided for nearby atolls, and the differences are enough that it can be quite inaccurate. Therefore, what we call PIREPS in aviation ("PIlot REPorts") were invaluable -- real reports from those who preceded us that morning.

Paikea Mist was first to go in just after the low tide, and reported a very wet entrance with waves breaking over the bow, but had no problems with the current. An hour later, Boree went through, and also reported waves, but no problems. We arrived an hour after that, and had a great view to observe the situation and make a decision: should we risk going in on the incoming tide, possibly riding a current hat could be faster than the boat, giving us no rudder control? Or should we wait for the 1pm high tide to slack, and motor in against the outgoing tide, giving us good rudder control? We surveyed the situation, and, combined with Boree's report that they had only about a 2 knot current, we opted to give it a try. We had a lot of things on our side, primarily that the mouth of the entrance was wide, and if we weren't happy, we could turn back out again and wait.

It was great fun, waves breaking ahead of us rather like rapids on a river, the tide coming in with the boat, the wind going out, but we had plenty of control and other than a few good salty splashes, it was fine. Once inside, we set the sails and headed for the anchorage, 6 miles to the NE through the well-marked channel across the atoll that steers boats clear of coral heads. Those French! So thoughtful.

The anchorage is just off the most fabulously photogenic little atoll town I've ever seen, with all the standard perfect tropical stuff: turquoise water, white sand, low-slung white buildings on the beach, little wooden huts built over that water (pearl farms??) blah blah blah. Postcard, I tell you. Unreal, surreal, not real.

We were in such denial, if fact, that guess what we did upon arrival into this postcard? We washed the boat. Washed the windows. Swept baguette crumbs out of the cockpit and polished chrome. Then we took showers, stared at the landscape and declared our disbelief over and over. Eventually, Greg and Tiff decided to see if it really was real, and dingied ashore while Allan and I savored some quiet time in the cockpit, watching the sun do a brief green flash beneath pink glowing tropical cumulus clouds, and planning the next few weeks of our lives. Greg and Tiff returned with Orange Chocolate Chip ice cream and we watched "Coral Reef Adventure," one of our favorite documentary films with underwater footage of dives in both Rangaroa here in the Tuomotus, and the Fiji Islands.

Tomorrow, the windsurfer finally gets a workout.

Oh, and an "archipelago?" Just a string of islands.