The Marquesas: simple life au poisson cru

The Marquesas is one of those places where things have to be maximun simplified.  The locals know it well, and after a week here we know it too. Lately, like my recipes witness, simplicity has not been my religion; but the new latitude had hit me and suddenly what was essential, today feels exaggerate and almost ridiculous; everything.

Walking by the beach we see a group of people hanging out over the reef, the tide is very low, they barely wet their feet. Our first impression is that they are working. Fisherwoman? Shellfish diggers? Overcoming shyness and the linguistic barrier we get closer to find out what they are doing. They have place a kind of a production station, there is a table with two containers with water, lime halves and some cloths. The catch: dark spider crabs. The first person in the chain break them in halves; the second one dives it inwater; the third -and there is where we lined up- squeezes them, put some lime drops on it and suck them out. Their teeth are already black, they must have been there for quite a while; I don't blame them it's delicious. Each bite feels like a plunge in the sea, in this brownish and sharky sea where it is wise to lean for imaginary plunges. Nor shellfish diggers or fisherwoman, it was just a family picnic in the purest Marquesan style. When we left they gave us a ziplog bag with a few critters for the road.

We have been anchored in Nuku Hiva for a week, trying to fix the sailboat power generator. It is important because in our next destination, the Tuamotus archipelago, rain is scarce and without generator we cannot use the reverse osmosis system to obtain fresh water. We have been in the bay for a week and we already know everybody in town, everybody in town knows us; and know that our generator is broken and that first we thought it was the capacitor, that then we discarded that and now suspect that is the diot.

Curious fact: we tried the spider crabs back in Kaimana, a few hours after our encounter with the Picnic and their magic was gone. Seems like this delicacy is only such when eaten in situ.

Poisson cru au lait de coco

Poisson cru au lait de coco, is one of the French Polynesian delicious food. With Marquesan stamp: simple. 

Cut pieces of white fish in strips or small squares, salt them, pour over some coconut milk; add cucumber or cabbage, carrot diced the way you like, finally a lime slice. Nothing else is needed. Very, very important: fresh fish, green lime and fresh coconut milk.

So much talking about the latitude, simplicity and the ten monks, but the truth is that I can't help myself: I changed the recipe a bit. I seasoned the greens with a little bit of chives, a few drops of lime and a small splash of coconut oil. Add to the fish lime zest and some togarashi. I have to say that the original recipe is simple as it ought to be. The other ingredients are just my craving, or yours or the market's salesmen.

400 gr white fish

1/2 cup of fresh coconut milk  

1 lime

Cabbage or cucumber

Carrot

Leaves of lettuce

Macho men style, without hair conditioner or water maker we decided to leave to the Tuamotu atolls. If locals over there can live without a water maker we can too, The swell conditions are perfect in the atoll we are going so Mauruuru! We are getting closer to the paradisiacal waves in this transoceanic trip.

This journey will be shorter than the previous; we calculate five days sailing with favorable wind. I'd love to stay some more days, to learn how to make those breadfruit chips my friends talked me about and go to the waterfalls. I am starting to feel the melancholy of leaving which is now so familiar. Mixed emotions dance over the sea as we weigh the anchor, but non stand out, all diced to take a dive. Curiosity about the next destination, feeling like surfing but the certitude of leaving an amazing place without exploring it, know it enough. Nothing to do, where the captain rules the sailor has no sway, less do the cook. It will be another time. 

Thank you Melissa Mahoney, who take all this nice pictures. 

Kaimana Pacific Crossing

Now I am quite sure: flying fish not only exist but they live both in the Atlantic and the Pacific. They prowl around as they please until they cross with a bonito or a mahi mahi, or if very unlucky, land on the deck of a boat.

To cross the Pacific leaving from San Diego, United States, will take us 25 days aboard the Kaimana, a 42' feet long catamaran. Next time we land it will be in The Marquesas Islands. Which specific island? Depends more in how winds and currents behave through the crossing. We are 4 aboard, the capitan Matt, the owners of Kaimana a Hawaiian couple Melissa and Scott and me. The best crew for this journey two very good surfers and a super woman, for three of us the first ocean crossing, a good star is with us.   

Before leaving the port, I feel something unexpected, I think I wasn't really aware of how far we were going. My heart starts beating really fast, I feel like hugging anybody on the dock, say goodbye to somebody, it doesn't really matter who. That feeling stays for several hours, until the sea little by little cradle me and I feel welcome, blessed to find myself comfortably saying see you later to the shore. 

                                                  

Urban pirate enjoying life in San Diego

Today is the 11th day, in terms of distance we are halfway, 1500 nautical miles. We have had good wind for the whole first week, sailing at an average of 8 knots, literally surfing little bumps, swaying harmoniously and comfortably. Poseidon has been good to us, a mahi mahi, a yellow fin tuna and seven bonitos of 5 kg each. With an offering in between: herbs, tobiko and Peruvian rocoto all wrapped in a sacred Hawaiian leaf.

Mahi Mahi for the ceviche 

Learning how to reel in a fish con Scott 

After a week and a day under way, by latitude were afraid had arrived to the doldrums strip, which in plain Christian means: no wind for two days. Sailing very, very slow, at about one or tow knots or none and always motoring as well. That was what the map and our position in the earth suggest, but from the said to the fact there a big space, so as the day goes by the wind blows over our stern steadily at some 12 knots, allowing us to sail with the spinnaker reaching speeds up to 7 knots. Not bad for the doldrums! We laugh, with the wind in our favor we feel masters of the ocean that we successfully sail.

Somewhere in the Pacific

Yesterday we had a storm; the sea was furious, 37 knots against us, the waves that come with such a windy. Can't talk regarding the size, it was dark, no moon not a drop of light. I only know they were big and coming from different directions, because occasionally  break stern over the deck. Fifteen hours lasted the storm. During my shift I felt the energy of the ocean, that energy I like so much. It was spitting us, rocking us hard and maybe officially baptizing us: Kaimana in Hawaiian means exactly that, the strength of the ocean or the sea. There is no right to bear such a name without having tried plain cinnamon. I felt the solitude in where we were like a needle, a little piece floating in the world. Watch out with the ego, we are tiny beings with a surprising capacity to consider ourselves big, the center of the universe. Being out there you understand that we are not from any reasonable standpoint, the center of the universe; we are only actors or even better, vectors.

The calm arrived, not suddenly like the songs claim, but little by little. After bum,bum, bum we are now with the waves against us but the wind to our favor, able hoist up the sails again. With the current and a south wind too strong to hold our course, we are now moving at an average of 4 knots. It is so true the phrase “al mal tiempo buena cara”, there is nothing we can do  at this point but to endure the beating on the boat, smile and enjoy the pleasure of being here now, surrounded by the sea, by peace with no rush, being happy because the storm is over and we still have a mast and are afloat.

It seems surreal to be here, outside the time, in a small sailing boat at 5 knots, or 5 nautical miles per hour; approximately 6 miles per hour, in a journey of 2,100 miles searching for waves and sea and more sea. My shift today is at dawn; well the clock says 6:30 but the sun has not yet risen. Seems to be the moment we were waiting for to give ourselves one hour by pushing back our clock. We are outside the time, marked by a new kind of routine:  6 hours nights with 2 hours shifts. Check our fresh goods daily to make sure they are not going bad, see the stars just in case the compass had gone crazy, put attention to the wind strength and direction, see the clouds, check that the sails are well suited.

The chicken sings when a fish on the best by Matt.

We caught some fish today. Never saw one that big. Taking shifts, Matt, Scot and Melissa reel fight with it for a quite bite, while I astonish look trying to learn how to reel in a fish.  It took its time but couldn't be better: Wahoo 4.5 feet. I don't know the name of Wahoo in Spanish, I know it is from the family of the macarel; and to be loyal to the truth, this is the nicest fish for frying or grilling I have ever tried. I will have to be forgive by my beloved Chita,  peruvian fish, witch until now have take that place in my kitchen.

Cooking Kitchari with Melissa in a nice calm day

We have arrived. After 21 days of blue sea, we saw land. It is green with high hills. It looks like a little piece of the Peruvian high jungle in a curvy island. It is so nice to arrive somewhere by sail with slowly changing angles as you move forward. We are in Nuku Hiva, in a town called bla bla bla, I said town but it is the capital of The Marquesas Islands.  Happy for completing the journey, we go down. As I put mi first feet on land and like to make me feel at home, a radio is playing a known bachata. Seems like Latin music also crossed the Pacific, a while ago.

Gracias Kaimanos for the nice crossing  and the sharing

Nuku Hiva