The moral of the story?

Neiafu, Vavau, notorious for humpback whales, mounds of taro root and a church on every street and country corner is nestled along the tiny Port of Refuge, obscured from sight and protected from the ocean by towering hills and sheltered coves. The Kingdom of Tonga, the only sovereign monarchy among the island nations of the Pacific Ocean, is made up of a whopping 171 islands, only 48 of which are inhabited. Vavaú and her many breathtaking, surrounding islands make up the northernmost group of these "Friendly Islands", so named by Captain Cook for the embracing reception he received on his first visit so many years ago. Indeed, our greeting was just as warm and welcoming.....that is....after we were finally allowed to disembark and step foot on the island.

Our arrival in Neifu was anticlimactic. QQ crew was on ´boat time´, meaning we had no recollection or care of what day or date we would be arriving into port. Our only thoughts were cold drinks (with ice, hopefully) and a shower that actually had pressure in order to intensely wash our sea salty hair. Bucket showers just don´t do the trick. We should have been less careless for, as luck would have it, QQ proudly announced her arrival into Port Refuge on a national holiday, ANZAC day to be percise. The date itself marks the anniversary of the landing of New Zealand and Australian soldiers - the Anzacs - on the Gallipoli Peninsula in 1915, the acronym standing for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers formed part of an expedition set out to capture the Peninsula, under a plan by Winston Churchill to open the way to the Black Sea for the Allied natives. ANZAC day is also recognized in the Cook Islands, Niue, Samoa, and Tonga to honour their soldiers who participated in the campaign. Yeah....whoops...we missed that important notice in the Lonely Planet Guide. I blame our ignorance on the only Australian citizen we had onboard (Wez!!).

As far as national holidays go, this one wins the cake for mandatory observance. Everything was closed for that Friday afternoon and would remain closed on into the weekend. In simple terms, this means we would have to stay on the boat until Monday, three looong days away. Wide eyed concern and frenzied discussions led to many ship to shore radio calls and conversations with neighboring boats as to the exact regulations and possible loopholes in the rules. We needed water. We needed supplies. More importantly, we wanted off the boat (at least I did). The possibility of having to sit on deck for 72 hours, only thirty feet from terra firma was not an entertaining option. We could smell charcoal from a rowdy BBQ and hear the chatter and clink of glasses from a nearby cafe. The option of giving up and sailing on to Fiji came up more than once as we sat on deck and flicked annoying flies away under the hot afternoon sun.

Finally, with the help of many kind souls on land, (thank you, thank you, thank you) we contacted a few off duty immigration officials. They agreed to come by at some point the following afternoon and help us clear customs and quarantine. The price was not pretty (we were charged quadruple the usual fees) but the rewarding taste of frothy beer and chocolate ice cream was oh so good.

The Waterfront Cafe, a name tossed around the South Pacific among the Yachting crowd, served as our home away from home for the following afternoons. Whether we were stretching out in the sun to read newly acquired novels, hiding in cool shade to catch up on emails, or chatting amongst a clutter of locals and fellow boaters, much of our time was spent on the creeking, highly polished veranda of the Waterfront. Here we met new friends and, over Ikale, ¨the taste of Tonga´home brewed beer, we traded stories of war and water. Faces and accents from all over the world sat around rickity wooden tables, leaned back on spindly legs of chairs and spun stories into the late evening hours.

Georgio is the newest addition to the Tongan expat crowd. He reigns from Germany and recently purchased a lonely tavern high on the hill. Full of smiles and good graces, he greeted us with kisses, made buckets of freshy popped popcorn to pass around and set aside his freshest tomatoes and cucumbers for our galley, two types of produce that are difficult to come by on the small island. Lee and Susan are here to relax and enjoy the slower paced island life. Susan, whose tangled mass of curls flow right past her waist, is a self proclaimed beach bum who spends her afternoons dockside, helping local children learn to swim and dive. Her small framed partner, Lee, tells tales of Cuban adventures and years of wandering through Central America. His hope in Tonga is to perfect his guitar building skills and sell them abroad. A brief glimpse into his woodmaking talent brought forth astonishing masterpieces of stunning genius. Bill, a regular around these parts for the past ten years, peers through tiny spectacles and rubs his graying, scraggly beard when he speaks. He knows everybody and has all the connections. When this group gathered, the hot afternoons passed much more quickly.

Neifu was a short stop. We were on our way again after only three nights, enough time to explore the peaceful town, buy beautiful wood carvings from the market, and stroll the mainstreet half a dozen times (it was only 400 meters long). The girls sat on deck on Sunday morning, sipping coffee and listening to the astounding vocals drifting from the half dozen churches scattered among the hilltops, an enjoyable way to spend our final hours in Tonga.

Our nine day sail to the Fijian islands was smooth and calm. I was blessed with rain during every single night shift, having drawn the short end of the straw of luck. However, we also learned to make oatmeal cookies by stovetop and sweet carbohydrates make everything better. Our life onboard QQ has slowly drifted into a comfortable routine. Each crewmember helps with daily duties and chores, whether it be tying up stray lines, trimming sails, or washing up after meals. By now, we have adjusted to the unsettled motion and rocking of the catamaran. Seasickness is not longer an everyday occurance (thank god!) and most of us sleep well, except for the few hours during night watch and those crazy boat dreams that seem to occur while at sea. Lazy hours are spent reading piles of books scattered throughout the boat, watchjng our new selection of pirated DVDs, plotting chart points, reading some more, scouting for whales, creating pictures out of neverending cloud banks, or just laying on the nets thinking, pondering and planning.

We were all excited to approach Suva, Fiji, having heard fantastic stories of the country from sailors across the South Pacific. Although the channel leading into the bay was quite a muddy, shallow mess, we were able to anchor close to shore and took our dinghy right up to dock at the Royal Suva Yacht Club. One of the only boating clubs on the island, the docks and surrounding bays were jammed with colorful fishing boats, touristy sightseeing yachts and, like ours, sailing ships far from home. Flags from countries as far away as Germany, France, South Africa, Canada, Russia, and Indonesia shouted their presence from atop standing rigging and mastheads.

Here we are in Fiji. Such a tangled web of shocking colors, alluring smells and a suprisingly unsettled history weave together to form an intriguing culture for these dark skinned natives. Fiji has seen four definitive coups in the past two decades. At the center of the previous three lies the tensions between the ethnic Fijians and Indian Fijians. In each coup, one of the sides seeks to establish reduced rights for the Indian Fijians; the other side seeks to grant equality to the Indian Fijians. The underflying tensions certainly existed yet remained unnoticed while wandering the vibrant, dizzying streets. It was only upon reading the newspapers or chatting with locals that the unrest comes full circle.

Inside the city and closer lying complexes, businesses are expanding and 'comfortable' levels of income exist. Directly outside of the city are the shantytowns and poorer communities living next to unclean rivers and sewer systems. Thievery exists and gangs are prevelent. We were warned not to walk the streets alone at night and taxis hover around street curbs, prepared to take stray explorers a mere 50 paces further down the street. Daytime is perfectly safe as long as one keeps a eye on baggage and steers clear of clever peddlers and the ever present touts handing out 'free' souviners. That being said, I enjoyed wandering the marketplace and winding alleyways, if only to talk with a friendly local or sample the amazing Indian sweets sold on every corner. I also frequented my favorite curry house, a delightful, mouthwatering display of spicy kormas, lentils, and vegetarian samosas and soon became a regular during lunchtime hours.

More than one afternoon passed by on the lawn of the Royal Suva Yacht Club, watching the sun set and sipping $1.50 gin and tonics. Prices are incredibly cheap in Fiji, especially if you think (and eat) like a local. As always, grocery price and boxed foods were pricy so we took full advantage of the local market, two massive, concrete stories of produce and other eyeopening oddities. The bottom, a maze of orange, reds and leefy greens. The top, a swirling aroma of spices, roots and enough kava to assult the senses and make your eyes yearn and throat for fresh air. I spent half my time sneezing and the other half taking pictures of the delightful rainbow displays.

Participating in a kava session is an absolute must do experience when in the islands, if only to experience the sensation of muddy water and numb lips. Personally, I find the taste of kava to be quite similar to sucking on a dirty gym sock (or how I would imagine one to taste) and can´t grasp the idea that somebody actually sits around and exclaims, ¨boy I feel like a nice cup of kava right now¨, especially when a pint of Carlton Draught produces the similar effect. However, the history behind kava drinking is actually a very solemn act and has roots in Pacific cultures across thousands of miles. The drinking of kava is often associated with ceremonial matters and used with initiations and medicial rituals. Kava is also used as a social drink, opening the grounds for communication and friendship to occur, is offered to honored guests and for the public attonement of misdeeds, and drank between enemies to reconcile and restore goodwill. (a bit like coffee perhaps?)

Guests sit in a circle or semi-circle around the kava bowl, called the tanoa, although this term changes depending on country and ceremony. One person is the presenter and scoops the kava out of the tanoa into a smaller bowl, a shallow dish usually made out of the half shell of a ripe coconut. Traditionally, before driking, one should say "bula," drink the entire amount in one gulp, and then hand the bowl back to the person who presented it to you. Every marketplace has a kava corner, where kava is both sold and where a rather large group of men have gathered for the remainder of the day to drink and socialize. I was always offered a stray stool, unside down milk carton or spare seat on the dirt floor to join in on the festivities, a great way to get to know the people and learn a bit of local language as well. Generosity and kindness thrive all over the world, even in the dusty crannies of an island market.

Aside from the small issue of a stolen dighy (that was eventually returned minus an outboard), Fiji was a fantastic stop. One of the cheapest islands we have been to thus far, it´s no wonder that its also a popular stepping stone for cruise ships and island hopping backpackers. I only wish we had a longer time to spend in the outer islands of Fiji, especially in the Yasawas and Mamanuca islands, where great strips of white beach and hidden reefs pop up around every alcove. Another pin on the map and a stamp on the passport. Onward Queequeg sails to Vanuatu!

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