The Gambier Archipelago: Part 2

Chapter 4: Day and Night

The air is still. I hear water lapping against the hull, roosters crowing, dogs barking, and a flag flapping gently in the breeze. In the distance, Polynesian music drifts through the air—a ukulele twangs, falls silent, then twangs again. Someone is practicing. Overhead, a frigate bird soars, and plumes of smoke rise from rubbish fires—both silent.

Michael told me the Milky Way shines brighter in the southern hemisphere. It’s as if someone sliced through the night sky with a sharp knife. Stars spill from the cut and drip down the edges of the world.

No wonder today felt dull—all the magic happens at night.

Chapter 5: Church

Yesterday, I saw a woman arranging a tropical floral bouquet that would have cost at least $400 in New York. The birds of paradise were exquisite—she probably picked them right from her backyard.

Pourquoi faites-vous un très gros bouquet, Madame? I asked in my broken French. Why are you making such a big bouquet, Madam?

She looked at me with an expression that seemed to say, Isn’t it obvious?

C’est pour l’église. Demain, c’est la messe à neuf heures. Vous devez venir, she said. I didn’t fully understand, so I glanced around, searching for a clue. She was standing just outside the town church. Putting her words and the setting together, it clicked—Mass was at nine o’clock the next morning, and she wanted me to come.

So, I told a few sailor friends, and we went.

Flowers were everywhere—tucked behind ears, printed on dresses, draped over benches, clipped into hair, and wrapped around necks. I’ve come to expect that in French Polynesia. But the singing—that was a surprise.

It was… spiritual. French and Polynesian hymns echoed from the stucco walls, lifting my spirits

I could see how this must have been a powerful recipe for conversion in Gambier, where history tells us there was less resistance to religion than in other parts of French Polynesia. But still—why did the missionaries have to throw all the Tikis and marae (sacred Polynesian temples) into the sea?

Chapter 6: Pesto Night

What began as a simple dinner quickly turned into a full-blown party. With friends like Bruse, Carine, Patty, and Gary, we really should have seen it coming. Seven hours slipped by on the warm breeze, filled with laughter and conversation. We talked politics, sailing plans, and which fruits we could pluck straight from the trees. There was cheeky gossip about distant relatives we’d probably never meet, and plenty of boasting about adventures in faraway lands.

The conversation paused when the pesto arrived. Green noodles dangled from forks, mouths, and the occasional chin. A precious bottle of wine was uncorked, and we all swooned over the texture of freshly grated parmesan. I could tell Michael was proud—growing enough basil onboard to feed six people was no small feat.

Yum!

Chapter 7: Purple Ageratum under the sea

Welcome to the Ten Thousandth Annual Reef Awards in Gambier, French Polynesia. The event is held just north of Mekiro, in glassy, dead-calm waters—and the guests are arriving in style. Latticed white corals form perfect mermaid chairs, while bulbous grey ones strike glamorous poses in every aisle. The brains of the operation reign in convoluted yellow, and bright pink gems mingle throughout the crowd. But when the Academy’s favorites take the stage—purple ageratum divas—they steal the show. Even the sharks swim by to see what happens next.