Up to this point, our specific plans outside of our current anchor haven't been established. As my departure draws near, we decide that I will fly back to Tahiti from Rangiroa. The problem, of course, is that I need to get to the travel agent's office to do this. This means another trip into town, which is not appealing by dinghy. I decide that I'll try to use the resort phone, which does not work as the agent's english results in her telling me to call back in an hour. Instead I rent a "fun car" from the resort and head into town. It's about a 20 minute drive in the little go-cart like vehicle, which maxes out at 40mph. There are many speed bumps on the road, so I am rarely at maximum speed.
Knowing now that everything closes at 11, we were careful to start this expedition around 9am. I arrive at the agency, quite aware that I had forgotten my shoes on Creola, and gingerly pick my way across the hot gravelly rocks to the front door. There is a polynesian couple ahead of me, but I am grateful for the unusually air-conditioned office. Once at her desk, we're able to quickly get my tickets to fly back to Tahiti on Sunday around 3:30. That will give me seven hours in the airport, but I am hoping that I can check my bags in and then walk around the town, since I didn't do that when I arrived. I pay for my plane ticket in cash, taking care of the previous day's overwithdrawal problem.
I get back to the fun car and push it back on the road (the fun cars don't have a functional reverse) and peel down the road. I know that Creola is short a pair of diving fins, but haven't seen a pair at any of the places I've been over the last week, including the resort. There was a diving club that Bill and I stopped at earlier, when we were looking for the gas station, so I pull into there and hop over the sharp coral rocks into the club. The gentleman who helped us before is not there, but the lady is who is speaks english well and extremely helpful. My suspicions are confirmed when she says that I'd need to look all over the place for a pair of fins. I don't think that the locals use them for swimming, and guests have access to the resort ones. Everyone else arrives with their own. There is one place, she reflects, that has a variety of odds and ends and that I might try. It is right next to the Gendarme (police). "You have seen the police station? It is very large, and very white, and incredibly clean. It is like they are not in Polynesia." The place she sends me is right next door. "A little building, with three large garage doors next to it, usually open. He gets all kinds of stuff and sells it from there. That would be your best bet." She tries to call him, but has never had need to before and can't find the number. Aware of the need to set sail soon, I thank her, push my Fun Car back onto the road and speed off.
I almost miss the spot, which is immediately before the Gendarme. They have two sets of fins available, and they cost about $40 each. The fins are about twice as long as the fins I've seen on Creola, but I don't really have a lot of options here, since these may be the only fins on the entire atoll I can purchase. I toss the fins in the back of the Fun Car and speed back to the resort. The full trip is about an hour, leaving me an hour of time before the car is back. Successful in all I attempted, I try not to think that it cost me $50 for a 1 hour go cart ride.
While I'm waiting for Bill or Linda to notice me on the dock, the dinghy of another yacht arrives and offers to give me a ride back to Creola. Apparently, the news that a tall, very shaggy looking redhead is traveling with the Creola has been passed around the entire cruiser community. I gratefully accept.
On board once again, we raise anchor and set sail for the opposite side of the lagoon. Much of the process is automated, which allows Bill and Linda to make such long voyages alone, and also means that there is little that I have to do. I go below to get a book from my cabin and discover exactly why they didn't want to make an overnight trip with me. Below deck, the violence of the pitch and roll of the Creola gives me my first taste of sea sickness. I grab the book quickly and stumble back above, vowing not to return below until we anchor again. While I did not actually get sick, I would have had I stayed below for more than a minute or two. Creola is a 49 foot long boat, and above deck the motion of the ocean is striking but bearable. As long as I have the fresh air, peripheral view of the sea, and frequently get my bearings, I'm at my ease. I spend most of my time in my book, however, as the view is beautiful but unchanging. I cannot even see the other side of the atoll until we are halfway across, and even then it looks identical from a distance to where we just left.
Up close, the primary difference is quite apparent. This part of the atoll is listed as inhabited, but if it remains so it is inhabited only in the barest sense. We see a few sticks joined together in a kind of arch that might be used for drying fish or laundry, but other than that there is no indication of human habitation.
We get into the dinghy and head towards the shore and a mini-lagoon that lies between the sections of atoll. The beach is almost entirely shards of shell and coral. With the new fins on, I float through the very shallow water (at points only two feet deep, if not less) and see nothing but this sharp and unfriendly "sand" and dozens... no, hundreds of sea cucumbers. Black and slug like, with little wavering tentacles, the cucumbers are everywhere. I begin to think that this particular snorkeling endeavor is a wash when I come across some coral. It's not the healthiest looking coral, but I begin to see a variety of fish. The further in I go, the more coral I find, and wider and wider varieties of life. In shadowed waters, I feel the heat of thermal currents, and in sun drenched waters I feel the chills of alternate currents.
I explore the coral, and at one point find a path through it that is just large enough for me to move through without damaging it or myself. Everywhere fish, clams, and anemones are around me. We explore for around an hour, as near as I can figure, ending up resting on a less shard laden beach. Linda has found several beautiful shells, and I have located a whole clam shell that I am considering giving to Betsy, who so adamantly requested that I bring her something back. Bill, who has gone back for the dinghy, offers me a complete clam shell that he found, which is much more beautiful than the one I had located and I return my find to the sea.
That night, I stay up late reading. Much later than usual, ensuring me a solid night's sleep on the much calmer waters in this remote location.
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