(Tahauku Bay, Atuona, Hiva Oa, Marquesas, French Polynesia)
Today I woke to a fresh baguette in bed. A baguette, still warm I might add, that was retrieved from the dock shop via a paddle board. Not a bad way to start a day if you ask me!
The remainder of the day – I mean what was left that was not used to consume baguettes – was spent filling all our various fuel receptacles, venturing into town for internet and ice-cream, and travelling the most snail infested trail I have ever had the pleasure/apprehension to walk on. I am not exaggerating here. I can’t think of a time I have ever seen a 10 cm snail in all its slimy, sluggish glory. Once we happened across the first one I stopped to stare. Eventually though, their presence bordered on hinderance, albeit still mixed with my childish excitement. Every step we took on our overgrown grassy trail had to be pre-cleared of snail habitation. They were everywhere and they were in numbers!
This forgotten trail we were on was a product of Gregory disliking (read: whining incessantly) the longish road around the bay we had to walk, as the dinghy dock was on one side of the bay and the town was on the far other. He had previously scoped out a long ago abandoned concrete pier-like structure that existed on the swell battered, closer to town, side of the bay. It was here we had anchored the dinghy and gingerly made our way onto land. The trail up to the road was the snail trail in question and the whole ordeal was made even more entertaining when we returned to the dinghy to go home.
While we were gone the slack in the anchor rope that allowed us to pull the bow of the dinghy up to the dilapidated dock had inevitably got wrapped around something under the water. Therefore the dinghy sat stubbornly three meters out from the dock, unwilling to come in and retrieve us. To my viewing pleasure this is where Gregory implemented what can only be described as a flying squirrel jump. With the bow line in his hand he waited for an advantageous swell of the waves before he flung himself horizontally through the air to land belly down on the forward tube of the dinghy. Thing is, the bucking bow line gave him an extra bit of umpf and he nearly overshot his landing crashing face first into the bottom of the dinghy. With all his teeth still in place I couldn’t help but keel over laughing at the sight of my former fish boyfriend, aptly transformed into that of a haphazard flying rodent.