Getting Back to Tauha the Hard Way

We are finally on our way back to Tauha.

It is the 23rd of December. Flying out to Tahiti together over Christmas and New Year still feels strange. Instead of cozy evenings with family in Berlin and Wisconsin, we are trading holiday dinners for boat projects. But Tauha will not prepare herself for the big journey, so off we go.

Our flight leaves painfully early. We run on just a few hours of sleep, both of us moving in that slightly delayed, zombie like way that only airports before sunrise can create. After forgetting the camera last time, we are determined not to repeat history. We double check everything before getting into the car. Twice. Possibly three times.

The luggage this time is a very interesting mix of things. One carry on contains, among other things, an AIS system and a brand new VHF radio. One overweight bag is packed with an impressive amount of new rope. Another overweight bag holds a full man overboard safety setup, including life vests, hoisting systems, and jacklines. Basically everything you hope to never need, but absolutely must have. A third bag carries our new radar. And finally, the most confusing bag of all, an oversized monster stuffed with wall and countertop material, as well as fishing poles.

Getting all of this into the car, then onto the bus, then up the airport escalator is a workout in itself. Maneuvering that much luggage should qualify as an Olympic sport. Eventually, everything is checked in. Security later opens the bags with the life vests, but lets them through. Our first little milestone is done.

Back in Tahiti, it is the rainy season. The forecast has promised rain every single day for weeks, but let’s see how accurate that actually is. When we land, the humidity hits us like a warm, wet blanket. The ground is soaked, but for the moment, the sky behaves. We are cautiously relieved.

All bags arrive. No damage. No drama. Alex even gets through security faster than usual, which feels like another small miracle. Given the sheer volume of luggage, we decide to rent a car. Taxis feel like a gamble, and we want mobility for shopping the next day.

While waiting in line at the rental counter, I stand behind a man who loudly complains to me non stop about how slow and inefficient everything is. I casually mention that we are on island time now. This sends him into a new rant about how he knows island time because he once visited resorts in Hawaii. At this point, I am fairly certain a deep breath might save his life.

Right on cue, the sky opens. A huge thunderstorm with tons of rain comes crashing down on us. Within minutes, the streets begin to flood. Some sections are knee deep. One man strips down to his underwear to wade through the water and reach his rental car, which honestly might have been the smartest move of the night.

When it is finally my turn, things take even longer. One guy cannot get a car out of the parking area. Another cannot start a manual transmission. Both of them need help from the woman behind the counter. But again, we are on island time now. No need to be stressed. Kindness and patience usually go a long way. I talk to the woman behind the counter, who assures me that this kind of rain is not normal and will not happen every night. Let’s hope, I think. She kindly asks another employee to drive the car closer to the building so we can load our bags without getting completely soaked. An absolute hero. And somehow, every single bag fits into our tiny Peugeot 208. We were nervous about that, but we are all good.

The drive to the marina is interesting, to say the least. Visibility is close to zero. The rain is so heavy it feels like driving underwater. At one point, the water on the road is deep enough that I seriously worry about the car. But we make it through.

We are supposed to meet a boat taxi driver at the marina. Unfortunately, my phone plan, which is supposedly capable of sending SMS, decides this is the perfect moment to stop working. No messages go through. The taxi never comes. At eleven at night, in pouring rain and lightning, no one else is heading out to their boats. So we improvise. Plan B is to sleep in the car. Luckily, we have one. We rearrange the Peugeot into something vaguely livable for two people, six massive bags, and two backpacks. It is not luxurious, but it is dry. Mostly.

In the morning, the rain eases a little. When we step out of the car and walk around the marina, the aftermath is obvious. Dinghies left out overnight are completely full of water. Some barely float above the surface. We message the sailor group chat, asking if anyone might be able to give us a ride out. And sailors being sailors, our neighbor offers to come get us, driving through the rain without hesitation. He tells us that this kind of storm happens once in a while, but that we were especially unlucky to arrive that night. Oh well.

We are finally back on Tauha, and it feels incredible. Everything still seems to be there. We get our own dinghy into the water and head back to the marina to fetch the rest of our bags. Three dinghy rides later, we are on our boat with all the luggage. A bit wet, but very happy.

We are back home, in this other life.

And the adventure is officially back on.

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