The Gambier Archipelago: Part 1

Au revoir, Gambier! If it weren’t for the rainbow shooting out my toe, I would feel glum watching your islands fade into the distance.

Instead, I’m taking my best memories with me and looking toward a colorful future with no clear destination. SOG 10.0K, AWS 10.8° AWA 124°, TWA 147°, S22° 40.31’ W135° 57.75’

Chapter 1: Heiva Rehearsal

Few things are more captivating here than a Heiva rehearsal. By the time we arrived in French Polynesia, we had come to understand the deep significance of this cherished tradition. Watching the younger generation carry it forward truly warmed our hearts. Even without their full costumes, the dancers looked striking—exotic and beautiful. But it was the circle of women weaving palm leaves on the sidelines that convinced us: these kids would be magnificently dressed for Tahiti.

We were completely entranced—until the drumming came to an abrupt stop. From the body language of the dance coach and band leader, it was clear the performance hadn’t met their standards. Some of the kids wiped sweat from their brows, others stretched, and one rolled her eyes.

Then the beat picked up again. Practice had to continue—there was fierce competition ahead.

Chapter 2: Sunday Barbeque

Attending the Sunday barbecue at Hervé and Val’s house on Terevai is a rite of passage for sailors in the Gambier Islands—so of course, we went.

The language was a lively mix of Polynesian, French, and English, but somehow, communication flowed effortlessly. There was too much food, too many mosquitoes, and plenty of heat, sand, and salt—but it was undeniably fun.

That’s just what Hervé and Val do: they welcome perfect strangers from around the world into their stunning backyard to share a meal and play games. And if you’ve never played Pétanque before, don’t worry—Hervé will gladly teach you!

Chapter 3: Food Shopping

Once the refrigerators were clean from their monthly defrosting, I headed out shopping. My first stop was La maison de la petite vieille dame—the little old lady’s house. The week before, her son Teofil had given me four pamplemousse, a pumpkin, and ten limes. This time, Madame was home and happily accepted my banana cake in return for their generosity. But since Teofil was at work, no fruit could be collected from their tall trees.

Next, I visited Milo the Mango Man. I call him that because, twice before, he’d sold me a bag full of sweet mangoes. But this time, he said they were out of season. Milo wasn’t interested in banana cake—he wanted money to buy beer. Instead, he offered something else. Eggplant?

Oui, s’il vous plaît. Yes, please

Then, I peeked into Chez Tin Tin, the store below the road. A bag of plump red tomatoes caught my eye—12 for 1,500 XPF (about $15 USD). I recoiled at the price… then bought them anyway. Across the street, Magasin Terehere had nothing fresh, so I made the hot trek to Magasin Leille. I’d never bought anything there before, but in Gambier, you never knew where fresh produce might turn up. This time, I left empty-handed.

Disappointed with my meager haul, I returned to the dinghy to collect Michael—I’d need his help carrying the heavy stuff.

At Magasin Jojo, we found Diet Coke and a strange, warty green thing sitting in a wooden bowl on the counter. I bought it, along with a yellow cucumber. Michael left the store laden with bananas, and the walk back felt longer than he remembered.

We passed Magasin Keili, where the carrots were sadly rotten. But then—success! We scored eggs at Madame Sondrine’s. Our final stop was Magasin Matateva, a little shack near the dinghy dock, perfect for grabbing a few boxes of shelf-stable milk.

After we stowed the food and went for a swim, I remembered the warty green thing and Googled it—bitter melon. I ate it raw.