Thank you for your support and interest. I do appreciate it. It makes me feel less alone. (Also I fixed the previous posts video. User error.)

Marquesas Update: I checked in today to French Polynesia as an Irish citizen. It took 5 minutes once I walked the 2.5 miles to get there. (I walked there yesterday and back to no avail because they were closed.) No fuss, no visa, no bond.

Enter the Gendarmerie. “Bon jour” the Gendarme said. “Bon jour” I said. “Parlez-vous Anglais?” asked I. “Yes. Are you here to check in?” “Yes” “Did you fill out the online declaration?” “Yes” “Do you have the number?” “Uh, no. I have my passport, can you find it from that?” “We’ll see.” Gendarme takes my Irish passport, goes into the back room and shuts the door. Three minutes pass. He comes out. “Were you able to find it?” “Yes, everything looks good.” He pulls out a stamp and stamps the passport, then grabs a pen and writes in the date and hands it to me. “That’s it?” That’s it.” “Merci.” And I exit. I then went to one of three local restaurant/cafés, had a cup of coffee and chatted with the owner, Pauline, from Tahiti. She spoke pretty good English. (More on that conversation another time.) I hung out there until the kitchen opened and had the pêche du jour. Then walked the 2.5 miles home in the heavy rain. It was kind of like taking a warm shower, but going somewhere at the same time.

Part of the mental gruel during the passage that was challenging was anxiety around everything being in order and working out when I arrived. You make decisions that seem the best ones at the time, but there are loose ends and unknowns. Over 39 days a stupid mind makes a bunch of stuff up. And all you can do is wait and endure. I was hoping to find a bit more peace on the open ocean, but of course, I drug all that land stress along with me. That was disappointing. I know you can’t escape yourself but I was hoping some space would help. Foolish me. At 52 it is so difficult to break the conditioning of a lifetime. Of parentage, country, culture, experience, trauma, etc. I’m sure some are better at it than others. The older I get, the more people there are, the more rules, more barriers, more costs, more people treating people badly, the more I am stressed by land. So far, most of the things that worried me pending arrival have all worked out fine, which is great. Even comically so. But I resent that I come from a fear culture and conditioning that really has hurt my growth in my life and prevented peace. My failure is my own but failure nonetheless. I really believe it is by design. Stressed people work and fight harder to survive. Competition means there has to be winners and losers. It’s good for the economy. I realize I have far fewer days in front of me than behind me and when I look back, I feel pretty disappointed. You might think, “You’re in French Polynesia, paradise, living the dream.” I can see that it might look like that from behind your desk as you shed the suit and tie. But it’s not like that at all. Sure, I sailed a Flicka across the ocean. I did something only a handful of people would even want to do. Or think they want to do. Really, I’m just a fool on a tiny boat, busting butt just to survive day to day. Through potentially questionable decision making, I happen to be in Hiva Oa. Apparently, a glutton for punishment.

And now on with the regularly scheduled program.

Growing up, holiday meals were often spent at my Grandma Wheeler’s house on Otisco Lake near Syracuse, NY. One side dish we seemed to always have was salt potatoes. G-Wheeler would use baby potatoes, which lent to a high skin to “meat” ratio, and had a small sauce pan of melted butter to mash them up in. It’s a simple but amazingly delicious combination. Who doesn’t like potatoes, salt, and butter? (Regardless of whether you should be eating it or not.)

The key is to boil the potatoes, skin and all, in salty water. How much salt? I’ve discovered you can’t overdo it. The salt prevents the skins from coming off, raises the temperature of the water, and when drained, leaves a crystally coating of goodness over the potatoes.

When I moved to Seattle in the 2010s and started having “family” style lunches while working at Card Kingdom with workmate and pal, Andi “Snax,” I learned that this was a regional dish that many didn’t know about. It was one of those odd reflective moments about when you grow up with something and think everyone else does too…..but they don’t. This was when research turned up the intel about Syracuse salt miners having this on their shift.

Now, Sampaguita has her own take on this delicacy, inspired by, rather than a direct copy of, the original dish. The following video was meant to be a bit of a joke on Sampaguita’s low freeboard, taking advantage of her salt water environment, and keeping things simple. If you have the endurance, you will see it turned into much more. Martha Stewart, Rachel Ray, or whoever the en-vogue cooking show host is nowadays (who cares?), can’t touch this.