Raiatea Adventures

After our unforgettable time on Huahine, it was time to continue west toward Raiatea. Besides being another stunning island, Raiatea was special for us in another way. It would be our final stop in French Polynesia before checking out and beginning our passage to the Cook Islands.

That travel turned into a week full of adventures, unexpected laughs, beautiful discoveries, paperwork headaches, boat projects (which, while they happen almost every day, I'll spare you most of the details), incredibly friendly locals, and a few firsts that we'll never forget.

A Rough Welcome... Followed by Paradise

Getting to Raiatea was anything but relaxing. The sail from Huahine threw everything at us: strong winds, rough seas, continuous rain, and enough waves to remind me once again that seasickness and I still aren't exactly friends.

After arriving, we anchored in ZMR de Faaroa, a beautifully protected bay. Apparently, we weren't the only sailors with the same idea. The anchorage was full of cruising boats hiding from the weather, but there was still plenty of room. Our anchor dug nicely into the muddy bottom, and for the first time in days our boat finally stopped dancing around. The scenery made it even better. Towering green mountains surrounded us on both sides while low clouds drifted lazily between the peaks. Every now and then sunlight broke through the mist, turning the water into an incredible emerald green. That evening we simply sat below deck doing... absolutely nothing. No crashing waves. No rolling boat. No seasickness.

Just a quiet evening watching a TV show while the rain gently tapped on the deck above us. Sometimes that's the greatest luxury of all.

Unfortunately, Raiatea wasn't quite finished showing us its rainy side.

Rainy Days Mean Boat Days

The next morning the clouds were still hanging over the mountains, and every now and then another squall swept across the anchorage. Since exploring wasn't exactly tempting, we decided to catch up on all those glamorous sailing activities nobody posts on Instagram.

Paperwork. Planning our arrival in the Cook Islands. Organizing tools. Writing Blog-Posts. Fixing little things around the boat.

Owning an older sailboat means the project list never really gets shorter, which, if you've been following our journey, you've probably already noticed, it simply changes.

Fortunately, that evening brought a much more exciting interruption. Srrrrrrrrrrr! Alex was out of the cockpit before I even realised what was happening. The fishing line was screaming off the reel. Armed with nothing but a headlamp, he pulled in... a beautiful red snapper. Fantastic!

Not only had he caught one fish...we somehow ended up with three beautiful red snappers. Dinner for the next day was officially sorted.

Thankfully, the weather finally decided it had tested us enough. The following morning we woke up to patches of blue sky and sunshine. There was no excuse to stay aboard any longer.

Through a Tiny Tropical Rainforest

One of the reasons we had chosen the ZMR de Faaroa bay wasn't just its excellent protection from the wind and swell. At the back of the bay, a narrow river winds its way through dense tropical vegetation, and we'd heard it was worth exploring. So off we went.

The little river was just deep enough for our dinghy and felt like entering a tropical rainforest, at least how I imagine one to be. Palm trees leaned over the water. Breadfruit trees stretched high above us. Bright tropical flowers lined both banks. Everything was lush, green and alive.

Along the way we even passed a tiny fruit stand selling local produce before the river eventually became too shallow for us to continue. A small dock marked the end of our journey. Waiting for us was a lovely botanical garden filled with tropical plants and explanations about their traditional uses. Considering our botanical knowledge mostly consists of saying, "That's a nice-looking flower," we actually learned a surprising amount.

When we returned to the dock, two large tourist boats had arrived. Apparently, our little dinghy had managed to occupy far more space than they liked. Oopsie doopsie... Fortunately, nobody seemed too upset and more importantly, our dinghy was still there.

The Great Vegetable Expedition

Back aboard it was only lunchtime, leaving us with one very important mission. Finding vegetables.

It sounds ridiculous until you've spent weeks living mostly from canned food and whatever survives longest in your lockers. Suddenly onions become priceless. Tomatoes become exciting. And lettuce feels like luxury. Is a burger really a burger without lettuce, tomato, and onion? We certainly didn't think so. Not that we even had meat to make burgers.

The nearest supermarket required a fairly long dinghy ride across the bay before reaching a small town. Everything was going perfectly...until we arrived. The supermarket had just closed for lunch. Of course it had. Rather than making the long journey back, we decided to explore the area instead. We landed on a little beach where Alex confidently stepped out to pull the dinghy ashore. Only one small problem. The water wasn't nearly as shallow as he expected. One second he was gracefully swinging his leg over the side of the dinghy...the next came a loud splash, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like,"Ohhhh... damn it!" I tried very, very hard not to laugh. I failed. Alex, unsurprisingly, found the situation considerably less amusing.

After wandering around the island while waiting for the supermarket to reopen, dark clouds slowly rolled back in. This part of Raiatea felt noticeably different from Huahine. The gardens weren't quite as well maintained, and overall the town seemed a little less polished. Eventually the supermarket reopened. Our excitement lasted approximately ten seconds. Almost every vegetable shelf was empty. No lettuce. No tomatoes. No cucumbers. Nothing. Then... There it was. One lonely pile of fresh bok choy. I have never been so happy to see bok choy in my life. That evening we celebrated with a simple noodle stir fry. It honestly tasted like something from a five-star restaurant. Amazing what a little fresh green can do after several days without it.

Boat Projects... and Friendly Faces

The next few sunny days became dedicated maintenance days. We cleaned the cockpit, resealed our gas locker, fixed leaking screws that had been dripping into the engine room, scrubbed another section of the hull, sanded weathered teak, and installed a new 12-volt outlet so we no longer had to switch on the inverter every time we wanted to charge something. Not exactly glamorous, but every completed project made the boat just a little more ready for the thousands of miles still ahead.

With several projects finally crossed off the list, we rewarded ourselves with another trip ashore to refill our water containers. At the little fishing dock, a family was cleaning their catch using a freshwater hose. With my very limited French I asked a young girl whether the water was safe to drink. Without hesitation she smiled, ran over to her family, explained our situation and handed us the hose. No questions. No hesitation. Just kindness.

While filling our water jugs, we watched two fishermen walk into the water carrying a huge net. Slowly they formed a large circle before closing it together against the current. Within minutes hundreds of tiny fish were trapped inside. Watching traditional fishing methods up close was fascinating. As we sat on the dock watching, a local man named Patrick joined us. Between his broken English and my broken French we somehow managed to have a lovely conversation. He pointed toward one of the mountains across the bay and explained that its outline resembles the profile of a face with hair blowing in the wind. Whether you could see it or not almost didn't matter. It was simply another reminder of how incredibly welcoming the people here were.

Snorkelling at Our Almost Private Motu

Eventually, it was time to leave our peaceful anchorage behind and move closer to Uturoa Harbour, where we hoped to collect our departure papers. Finding a good anchorage near town wasn't easy, so we dropped the anchor beside the tiny motu Île Taoru. It turned out to be a fantastic spot. We had the anchorage entirely to ourselves, sheltered from the ocean by the reef, yet only a few hundred metres from the reef pass. It was an incredible feeling. Our boat lay peacefully protected while, just beyond us, powerful waves crashed endlessly against the reef.

The only downside? The bottom was scattered with rocks. Every now and then our anchor chain would scrape across one of them with a loud grinding sound. Although the anchor was holding perfectly well, every scrape made me look up nervously to make sure we hadn't started dragging.

The following afternoon we packed our snorkeling gear, towels and a little picnic before taking the dinghy across the channel to another small motu opposite our anchorage. The snorkeling was amazing, especially because the fish here weren't afraid of us at all. They happily carried on feeding while we floated only centimetres away, completely ignoring our presence. Others blended so perfectly into the sandy seabed that they were almost invisible until they suddenly darted away. After snorkling, we explored the little motu itself. It felt strangely abandoned. Old buildings stood empty, slowly being reclaimed by nature. Two friendly cats appeared out of nowhere and decided we were their new best friends, hopefully following us in search of food. Every few metres enormous crab burrows covered the ground, their owners disappearing underground the moment we came too close. The whole island had an eerie, ghost-town atmosphere, as if everyone had simply left one day and never returned.

As the sun began to sink lower, we found a sandy stretch of beach and laid out our towels. Fresh baguette. Cheese. Sausage. A cold beer. Just the two of us, surrounded by turquoise water with not another person anywhere on the motu. The sun slowly disappeared behind Raiatea, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Life really doesn't get much better than this. Well... until we started talking about old legends, mysterious disappearances, and ghost stories. Suddenly, that deserted little motu didn't feel quite so peaceful anymore, and the walk back to the dinghy became just a tiny bit quicker than before.

Bureaucracy Strikes Again

Monday we submitted our departure paperwork. Normally the process takes only a few days. So naturally, ours didn't. We had imagined walking into the police station, collecting our paperwork and being back on the boat twenty minutes later. Reality had other plans.

The police station was, let's say... interesting. Everything was fenced off and it was difficult to talk to somebody. There we discovered the problem. Because our boat had originally been imported into French Polynesia more than twenty years ago, and we ourselves hadn't officially sailed it into the country, the paperwork became far more complicated than expected. Maybe Friday. Maybe Monday. Nobody really knew how long the clearance would take. Unfortunately that also meant we might miss the perfect weather window for sailing to the Cook Islands.

Not exactly what we wanted to hear.

Supporting a Wonderful Cause

Since we suddenly had unexpected time, we decided to make the most of it. Earlier in Tahiti I had met a German sailor involved in a charity supporting children on remote Pacific islands. The project provides school supplies, sports equipment, clothing and hygiene products to communities where these things aren't always easy to obtain. So we spent the afternoon shopping. Notebooks. Pens. Flip-flops. Footballs. Toothbrushes. First-aid supplies.

Getting everything back to the boat through choppy water in our dinghy became a small adventure by itself, but thankfully our rubbish bags kept everything perfectly dry.

Another Big Milestone

One final task remained before we could leave French Polynesia: fuel. Instead of ferrying endless cans back and forth, we decided to take the boat directly to the fuel dock. It might sound like a routine errand. For us, it was anything but. It was the first time we had ever brought our own boat alongside a dock. When we arrived, the fuel station was already occupied, so we held position in the wind and current, waiting for an opening. Not exactly the kind of conditions you hope for when your boat isn’t particularly enthusiastic about reverse. Eventually, the fishing boat pulled away and the space opened up. We committed, eased in, and brought the boat alongside. Perfect. No drama. No damage. Success.

While Alex filled the diesel tanks, I hurried up to the harbour to collect our laundry, which we had dropped off the day before with a local laundry lady. By the time I returned, armed with a full bag of clean clothes, the tanks were topped up and our first-ever fuel dock maneuver was complete. Confidence tends to grow quickly at sea. So we looked at each other and asked the obvious question: why not try the marina as well? Why not indeed. We went for it. After carefully inching the boat back and forth, correcting our position in the wind and current, Alex eventually hopped ashore over the low fence and secured the lines. Two successful docking maneuvers, we were absurdly proud of ourselves.

Polynesian Dancing Under the Stars

Staying in the Uturoa Harbour turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Had our paperwork been finished on time, we would already have been gone and missed one of the highlights of our stay. A local festival was taking place just a short walk from the marina.

The air was filled with music, the smell of popcorn, and we could watch a traditional Polynesian dancing show. The performances were incredible. Energetic, colorful, and full of rhythm. The strange thing: One moment we were watching breathtaking Polynesian dances, the next we found ourselves sitting in a bar listening to locals perform ABBA songs alongside people of every age and background. It was wonderfully surreal. We also met sailors from Washington State and spent the evening sharing sailing stories and travel adventures. After weeks anchored in quiet bays, it felt wonderful to simply sit with other people again.

Finally Free

Monday morning arrived. Back to the police station. This time... Success. Our departure papers were finally ready. French Polynesia had officially stamped us out.

Unfortunately the wind forecast for Tuesday still looked terrible, so instead of leaving immediately we sailed south to Baie Opoa, where we anchored close to the UNESCO World Heritage Site Marae Taputapuātea. Exploring the ancient marae was an incredible experience. Walking among the stone ruins of one of the great centres of Polynesian navigation reminded us just how extraordinary these seafaring cultures were long before European explorers crossed the Pacific. It deserves a blog post all on its own. The history here is simply too fascinating to squeeze into just a few paragraphs.

Goodbye, French Polynesia

Tuesday became our final preparation day. We checked every system aboard. Secured the deck. Organised provisions. Double-checked the weather. Looking back, Raiatea had become far more than just the island where we checked out of French Polynesia. It had challenged us with rough weather, rewarded us with peaceful anchorages, introduced us to incredibly kind people, given us our first successful docking manoeuvres, and reminded us once again why we chose this adventure in the first place.

Early the following morning we raised the anchor one last time. Slowly, not to say very slowly, Raiatea disappeared behind the horizon. Ahead lay the Cook Islands. Another crossing. Another adventure. And another chapter of Expedition Enos waiting to be written.

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