We worked all day, again, but we're nearing the end of both things to do and time in which to do them. We've made arrangements at RCS (Raiatea Carenage Services) to splash the boat on Friday, assuming all required work has been completed. We leave Pension Tiare Nui tomorrow morning and move aboard Wings for the duration. We may or may not have Wifi until we reach Tahiti next week, so there may be no more photos. The blog will continue since we can send that out via shortwave radio. In case you've forgotten, we will first visit Taha'a, the island sharing the coral reef with Raiatea.

I'd like to have a thermostat and working temperature gauge, but neither is critical to us: the thermometer is more important than the thermostat, actually. If these get installed, we're a go on Friday. The mechanic who can help fabricate a needed part has gotten weathered-in due to this huge storm overhead. He's scheduled to be in by Friday.

We arrived at the yard today at the usual time and I immediately went to work to grease the windlass, the electrical device we use to haul up the anchor. It's a nasty job but the device means both comfort and safety, so deserves some TLC. Conni worked about the boat cleaning stainless steel, a physically demanding job, especially in the heat.

We're both accommodating to the temperatures, and in addition, the temperatures are moderating as they should this time of year. We're not nearly as drained when we return as we were the first few nights.

Pension Tiare Nui is a primitive place by most measures, but it's infinitely more comfortable than living aboard a boat being commissioned. We PROMISE that it's true. The shower has solar hot water, but the sinks in kitchen and bathroom are cold only. There's no soap, two power receptacles (charging our electronics is a chore), and minimal lighting. The kitchen is attached and has a "bar" refrigerator, minimal cooking and eating gear, and double-eye electric hot plate. Still, taking a hot shower and having some walking room is deluxe. I think that we'll miss the place and we'll certainly miss the Wifi access we have here.

Raiatea is a lot like Alaska. Laugh if you wish, but it's true. There is the ocean, and there are the mountains. In between, there's a tiny strip of flat land where all of the people live: very Alaskan. Prices for everything are sky-high. Everything other than some vegetables must laboriously and expensively be flown in, except the non-perishables that are brought by ship. Sound familiar? There's a distinct lack of product choice, as we used to have in AK. Alcohol, for those disposed to it, is very expensive. We looked at some boxed wine tonight and a 2-L box of wine was US$40, and this was cheap Spanish wine. If you do order something that's not immediately available, you wait, sometimes months for the item to be shipped…and I do mean "ship-ped".

As I mentioned the other blog, family and community life are the rule here. Evenings find families and friends congregating everywhere. Kids gather with kids and seem to talk and talk. Many younger kids ride bikes, play various kinds of ball, and visit, too. It reminds me of how I spent my childhood evenings. Rather than sitting together in the same room and remain separated by various electronics, they visit with one another. It's cultural, of course, but the times haven't supplied them with the shiny electronic enticements that we've all grown accustomed to using. I wonder if they are on the cusp of becoming like us, or whether they'll resist, and cling to their lifestyle. "Our way" is similar to De Tar Baby of Uncle Remus' tales (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tar-Baby). It's difficult to avoid and very compelling.

So, we've come to the end of life on land for a while: Exciting and scary. It's been blowing to beat the band today, and Conni and I have exchanged glances on more than one occasion. We've requested, and been granted permission, to use a mooring for a few days before we leave. A mooring is huge chunk of something (usually concrete) sitting on the bottom and attached to a chain and then to a float on the surface. One idles to the float and attaches a line to the chain, becoming one with the sunken anchor. A good mooring can keep a boat in place during a typhoon, but it won't come to that. It's just an easy way to ease into things before we need to set our own hook (sailor-speak for anchor).

Blogs, at least.