Today Karl and I celebrated our 40th Wedding anniversary on Fatu Hiva with basaltic cliffs surrounding us, music, a gentle harbor filled with laughing children, a little boat work, helping friends and a hike to tumbling waterfalls. 40 years ago, our wedding was at the church 2 blocks from my childhood home followed a backyard reception with contra dancing provided by a friend and simple food cooked by my godmother. That day as the sunset we hopped into our little blue car with a spare mizzen mast sticking out of the sunroof aiming to sail our boat, the Frog, to Block Island. The mizzen mast had broken as Karl staged the boat on the Long Island Sound to make sure we both could get back in time for the start of graduate school at Columbia. When we arrived at the boat, she was missing part of the ballast (100-pound square piece of metal painted green) that had been attached to one of the leeboards (6-foot-tall chunk of mahogany like a centerboard but on the side). We started our honeymoon snorkeling in Port Jefferson Harbor looking for a missing piece of green metal. After two days we gave up, adopted a large rock we called Fernando the Bull which we put it in the bilge and headed west. The Frog had no motor so with light winds we were only able to make it as far as Branford Connecticut where we celebrated at quirky Vietnamese restaurant.

So, making it to Fatu Hiva yesterday with a broken centerboard cable was par for the course but the mountains are taller here and the people are more welcoming to sailors arriving from the sea.

After exchanging cards and gifts (Parisian passage cookies and Marquesan bone carvings) over breakfast (waffles, cappuccino and Pamplemousses) we jumped in our kayaks to make a dash for Sunday service. Arriving a few minutes late we were escorted close to the front as a tall slender woman was reading lessons in Marquesan. The mixing of European religion and island culture was evident. Two guitars an alto and a soprano ensured the space was filled with music with a distinctive island beat. The women had their hair pulled tightly back and decorated with fresh flowers. The wind that pushed us around in the anchorage blew through the church windows flickering the candles. The usher wore richly tattooed blue jeans. While the religious painting on the walls could have hung in an Italian church the carved figures at the front the church could have been seen on a hillside here. The vine tattoo crept out from the collar of the black and white shirt of the woman in front of us. The music was sung in a way that was easy to join even without understanding the words. After the service the was a quick movement towards the doors.

On our way to church there had been a small group of people waiting at the harbor. One asked to buy our kayaks to fish. Karl explained that we could not get by without them. What a change from most people who think we are crazy for not having an inflatable dinghy. They were waiting for the monthly arrival of the cargo ship, the cause of the bustle out of church and towards the waterfront. We watch the landing craft move goods to and from the red ship anchored beyond us. Bags of rice, goods for the store, fuel for the town's generator and many other parcels all were off loaded at the harbor and delivered to the crowds assembled on the cliffside wharf. Many of the people we recognize from church and our walks were patiently waiting.

Later we look for the 200-foot waterfall but since everyone had retreated to their homes to unpack their goods and eat lunch there was no one to ask directions. Eventually we found the right dirt track marked by basaltic cairns that took us to the deep pool of water where we washed off the ocean again.

Back at the harbor we were approached by the magic girl again. She was two rows in front of us at church. She and her friends wanted to borrow our kayaks. Justin and Beryl spent hours goofing around on these solid little boats so we said sure. I helped our Australian friends pack their sail while Karl kept an eye on the laughing children tooling around the harbor in our stout little kayaks. Eventually three of the older children slip outside the breakwater. While the next stop might be Tahiti, we figured they knew how to swim very well and someone in town with a motor boat would recapture them. The trio soon swam around the end of the breakwater towing the water filled dinghy. Karl reclaimed the other kayak and set off on a rescue mission. Such laughter.

After a day of music, hiking, laughter and a little boat repair and cleaning we are looking forward to a traditional Marquesan meal served Christian's garage/art studio/dining room.