The sociability of the Rikitea yachties really hit home on Saturday 17th May, when Joe and Janet came up with an idea for a party on their boat, Tegan: a pot-luck party where everyone provided something. We provided the meat, because when we left New Zealand we had 42kg of vacuum-packed frozen meat in the oversized freezer on Zeke, which had lasted very well and meant we had meat for longer than most yachts (who can normally only store a couple of weeks' worth). Our kilogram of gravy beef was like manna from heaven for Joe, Janet and Peeyoo, the other party-goers (Peeyoo being the solo captain of the yacht Rammen).
The night was pure delight. Joe is a gourmet chef, no doubt about it, and his marinade transformed our slightly turning beef into a succulent delight that barbecued up a treat; the jacket potatoes, fresh salad and copious rum from Panama made even my cooking look humble. Stuffed and sated, we settled back for a night on Tegan, sitting in sheltered Rikitea harbour as the stars twinkled and the waves gently lapped.
Balmy evenings on a yacht don't get much better than this: perfect temperature (shorts and T-shirts all day and all night, without too much humidity), no annoying insects (they get more serious further north), a gentle breeze, perfect peace (a total lack of tourists means a total lack of noisy all-night bars, nightclubs and so on), and wonderful company. Yachts are also immeasurably cosy, with dim lights casting homely shadows inside the alfresco cockpit, and comfortable settees inside with pub-like combinations of wood panelling and memorabilia. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that yachts pitch and roll, and take a serious amount of effort and expense to maintain, it would be a pretty close thing to a perfect living environment for one or two people. Maybe a canal boat is the compromise, but sitting out on the Trent and Mersey isn't quite the same as decking out under the Polynesian moon...
The party went on until 5.30am, by which time Rob had gone to bed, the rest of us had quaffed a fair amount of alcohol, and we'd had a good ol' sing-along to a collection of songs, most of which I either didn't know or wouldn't admit to knowing. True to form, I lost all public-performance nerves after the rum, and we sang into the wee hours; but surely the best part of the whole evening was when Joe asked if any of us smoked cigars, and my face lit up like a beacon. That was when Joe showed us his cigar collection.
I should add at this point that Tegan had spent the last goodness only knows how many months making its way from Vancouver (Joe and Janet's home) down the west coast of the USA, and down to Panama and South America, where Joe had been able to pick up stunning Cuban and Panamanian cigars for next to nothing, the sort of delights that people, literally, pay US$50 each for in the USA and London. Imagine my delight, then, to find that Joe was as pleased to have someone to smoke cigars with as I was to be someone with whom to smoke cigars, and we whiled away the moonlight talking about fine port, good whisky, excellent food and the art of enjoying life to the maximum, Cubans gently glowing in the gloom.
What wonderful people with whom to explore the Gambiers...