Matthias from Sea Pearl greeted us in the harbor with French pastries and a baguette, while we covered the sails and secured the vessel. A nice way to start the day!

We tried unsuccessfully to contact the local port agent, per our Nuku Hiva port agent, Kevin Ellis's instructions. Eventually, I phoned Kevin, who said just go to the gendarmerie in town to check in. I pointed out that we still needed the repatriation bond, he promised to send one, which arrived as pdf text attachment a few minutes later. Although Kevin promised to email it to the gendarmerie in Hiva Oa, I printed out a copy to be sure.

We paddled ashore to the most distant landing, past the towering supply/cruise ship Aranui 5, to the small boat docks on the breakwater. The port was bustling as the ships cranes unloaded container after container and forklifts pulled pallets out of the containers to load onto pickup trucks and vans.

It was a long long walk to town the next bay west, on the road made busy by the supply ships arrival. At the top of the road winding around the hill, we ran into a shirtless Swedish man who recognized as sailors immediately, complained about the heat, and wanted to relate his own story of arriving at the island just after the COVID outbreak. He learned of the pandemic from the Polynesian coast guard who shouted at him in French as he approached Hiva Oa. Apparently he has been here since, living on board his small Carter 30 sloop on the hard at the yard in Baie Tahauku. He had the solo sailors urge to talk - but we needed to find the gendarmerie before it closed.

After walking over two miles and consulting Google maps and the man at the other official looking building (the Mairie), we found the gendarmerie (more or less the state troopers), but the gate was locked. We rang the call button, and after a recorded message, an answer in not quite decipherable French. I did my best “Nous arrivons en voiliere” several times, and eventually managed to communicate we were at the gate. The voice on the call box told us to wait, so we sat on the stones in the shade of some luxuriant bushes.

Soon arrived the gendarmes. Two in an SUV, and one not quite official looking but much more officious, who walked up and seemed eager to get rid of us “Vous avez des billetes avions ou de monnaie?” he demanded, flapping his arms for effect. “Non” I said, “Mais nous avons un . . . un . . . Bond. J'ai un lettre de Nuku Hiva Yacht Services.”I could not think of the French word for bond. The gendarme indicated that would not suffice and waved us away. I frantically dug out our papers sealed in the dry bag we brought them ashore with.

I showed the gendarme the guaranty letter from Nuku Hiva Yacht Services, and he seemed satisfied and indicated to the other gendarmes to open the building and check us in. The other gendarme was quite pleasant and walked us through simple form or two before stamping our passports and handing us the paperwork, which we were supposed to mail to Pape'ete ourselves.I am still transitioning from Spanish, so I mistakenly wrote “Robin E Bell” on the line for “nombre de equipage” and kept saying “si” when I meant to say “oui.” Which is unfortunate, as “si” in French means “not so.”

It turns out we barely made it to the gendarmerie before they officially closed for the weekend. The Marquesas are an odd 2 1/2 hours behind our ship's time.

After a visit to the post office and ATM, all my poor passage atrophied and sleepy body wanted was to sit, drink a cold beverage, and have something to eat. Google maps showed only one restaurant, another ten minute walk away. When we found it, a beautiful covered patio outside of town, it was dark and empty. We walked back to the food cart we had passed, but all they had was hamburgers and frites. They waved towards the ocean, saying that Chez Isis, by the beach, had what we wanted. I heard “Chez Elyse” but we eventually found the beautiful tiki take out restaurant by the sea with no sign. They were out of the thon grille we tried to order.

Robin had the steak frites, and I had a crepe with jambon and fromage. Unlike Ecuador, portions are huge here. We swore we would never eat another frites, though the French certainly do frites right.

The Sea Pearl crew had told us there would be a party in town at six and we agreed to meet for beers at the fete. But I just needed to sleep, and we had not left any lights on on the boat, and all I had were sunglasses. Robin had no interest in another five mile walking round trip to the boat, so we parted for the first time in twenty days, and I walked back, taking a shortcut down an embankment and across a gravel beach and river.

One more obligation at the boat: we had mail to deliver. When we left Santa Cruz, Javier gave us a FedEx envelope that had arrived too late for Celia on the sailboat Stardate, which had left for the Marquesas. Forwarding the envelope by sailboat was apparently more efficient than any other available delivery service. So the Mabel Rose was carrying mail on this passage, and Celia was texting Robin on Saturday saying Stardate had also just arrived at Hiva Oa from Fatu Hiva, they were anchored at another bay but had hitchhiked into town and did we have the envelope. Robin sent Celia to the port, where she found a zodiac ride to the Mabel Rose, and I faithfully delivered mail forwarded three thousand miles by sailboat.

Robin couldn't find a party at six, just a very large and intense bingo session by the football field. The Sea Pearl crew has rented a car, so they gave me a ride back to town, where we discovered Chez Isis was not open for Friday dinner despite the hand lettered sign to the contrary, went back up to the restaurant we had walked to (still closed), and ended up toasting the successful passage at the hotel restaurant, which was quite good. And the “party” which started at 8, was sort of a family oriented outdoor DJ dance music thing - a great scene to drop in on before we piled into Sea Pearls rent a car and drove back to the port for a much deserved night's rest.