Written February 2023, Toau, French Polynesia
The journey from Fakarava to Toau, a mere 36 nautical miles, was one of those moments that felt simultaneously like a long and short stretch of time. We were chasing the sea—those layers of blue, the kind that seem endless and elusive. It’s as though every mile brings you closer to a new horizon, but also further away from the world you know.
Shades of Blue
I couldn’t help but reflect on how we so often search for these shades of blue, chasing something we can never quite hold. Beneath the hull, the ocean was shifting between blues so vibrant it seemed surreal, almost as if the water itself was alive, changing with every movement of the boat. But beyond that search for color, what really struck me was the quiet intimacy that comes with travel like this. There’s a certain vulnerability that happens when you’re so far from the world you know, yet so deeply immersed in the elements that define your world in that moment.

On that journey, I found an unexpected companion: a wasp who, despite the odds, perched on my arm midway through our passage. Its presence felt almost symbolic—this small, determined creature finding its way onto my journey. There’s something about these uninvited guests, these brief encounters, that serve as gentle reminders of the resilience that often defines our own stories. Even when the world feels unfamiliar, life finds a way to endure, to adapt, to survive.
A Lesson in Humility
We were nearly at Toau when the weather decided to remind us who was truly in charge. A squall swept in out of nowhere, and suddenly the gentle sea became a tumult of wind and rain. The “fake pass,” as sailors here call it—a bay that pretends to be an entrance to the lagoon—was now invisible beneath a downpour so heavy that even the entry buoys were lost to the storm. In that moment, we were no longer sailors navigating by markers and charts; we were simply at the mercy of the storm, laughing and soaking in the absurdity of the situation. It’s moments like these that reveal a truth we often forget: in nature, we are never as in control as we think we are. And perhaps, there’s freedom in that.
When we finally reached the mooring and secured the boat, there was a sense of relief, but also a strange kind of peace. Toau is one of those places that seems untouched by time, its palm trees swaying gently in the breeze as though nothing could ever disturb the quiet rhythm of this island life. There is a luxury in slowing down here, in taking the time to do nothing, to breathe deeply, and to simply exist in a space that demands nothing of you.

Coconuts & Simplicity
Since arriving, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine. The boys, as usual, have found their way to the kitchen, making a towering stack of pancakes—a small but significant reminder of how, even in a place like this, the familiar comforts of home are never far behind. Meanwhile, I decided to go for a run. Or, more accurately, a scramble. The moment I hit the jungle paths, I was dodging coconuts and weaving through dense foliage, realizing with each step that I much prefer this kind of movement over the cold, harsh rhythms of asphalt. There’s something so freeing about running through this untamed landscape—no pavement, no limits, just the raw pulse of the earth beneath your feet. It felt more like I was syncing up with the island itself, following its lead rather than pushing against it.

What I realize more each day here is how profoundly grounding it is to immerse oneself in the raw simplicity of nature. Toau, with its gentle rhythm and untamed beauty, invites you to reflect on what truly matters—what makes you feel connected, both to the world around you and to yourself. And while the fish may continue to evade us, and our pancakes may remain comically oversized, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for these quiet moments. For the wasp who showed up uninvited and the squall that reminded us to laugh, for the pancakes and the jungle runs, and for the palm trees that seem to stand still while the world spins. It’s in these moments, in these quiet reflections, that the essence of travel and of life itself seems to unfold.
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