We had a quick breakfast and paddle into the quai early to be sure we would not miss out on baguettes this time. At the quai, there was a great commotion of splashing in the water as the fishermen were fileting and skinning their catch of tuna, and throwing the skins and carcasses into the bay for the sharks. So landing the kayak meant paddling around all the shark fins to avoid being part of the feeding frenzy. A young boy had climbed a tree by the edge of the pier to watch the fun.

We went directly to the closest grocery and scored two baguettes, as well as other sundries we needed to restock for the passage to the Tuamotus. We logged onto Nuku Hiva Yacht Services excellent wifi and tried to take care of as much business as we could, joined at the table by two young women from Norr, a Norwegian boat we have been seeing from time to time since San Cristobal in the Galapagos.

Kevin stopped by to collect the wifi charge (about $6 each). We picked his brain about running the lagoon passes in the Tuamotus, our next stop, and also got some local flavor and history. Kevin is an American who fell in love with a Polynesian woman and stayed, finding his niche running a yacht agent service. He's got plenty of stories. As far as the Tuamotus, his advice was to get to the pass an hour before the expected slack tide and look carefully - if it did not look safe to enter a pass it was most assuredly was not. He said he was on a forty foot sailboat that ran out of a pass even though they could see breaking water in the pass, and it was the most terrifying experience of his life.

People on yachts are always telling Kevin about ways he could run his business to make more money, but Kevin has a business degree and does not need that kind of advice. We heard some of our sailing colleagues similarly make suggestions about obvious tourism development prospects that would create jobs jobs jobs and economic development, but I look at the Marquesans we have met and they have for the most part seemed very smart, calm, and happy with their situation, and not looking for more formal employment than fishing and hunting and collecting fruit and occasional selling prepared meals or o water taxi services or carved tikis to sailors. Many of those we met returned home to the Marquesas from the “big city” of Papeete, where they found more jobs and less happiness.

And we asked Kevin if he knew where Queen Vaekehu was buried. “Of course, “ he said, “ her grave is on the little knoll right across the street from the waterfront archeological site. (We had been there, and noted the impressive looking mausoleum there, but did not see her name anywhere).

We made a second trip to the further grocery for more provisions, and to rhe quai side vegetable market, where we saw Louise from Hatihe'u again.

Fully provisioned, and the last must-do repairs checked off, we hauled our anchor at 230 Wednesday afternoon and motored out of the fluky winds in the bay to the full-on easterly trades. Good bye, Marquesas (the name given by the Spanish explorer who was the first European visitor to the island), Fenua Enata or Henua Enana (various Marquesan dialects for their name for the islands, “the land of men.”) For me the Marquesas are a generous gift of an armload of fruit, the sound of joyous singing echoing across the bay early in the morning, the smell of palm fronds burning and fallen mangoes fermenting on the road, and the ever present sea, the Moana Nui, making its presence known through the sound of surf and the encircling gusts of wind.

Now, after midnight, we are rocking along on a reach for the Tuamotus, the “dangerous archipelago,” which we hope to reach in about four days