The first order of business upon arriving in Tahiti was to clear in with the Port Captain. When we originally entered French Polynesia in the Marquesas, I was granted a one-month visa. This visa expired on Saturday and, on Monday, I found myself standing before an immigrations official as an illegal alien. Fortunately, a lively discussion of soccer ensued and the official chose to overlook my transgression while recommending that I catch the upcoming France-Korea match. Say what you will about soccer, but until baseball allows me to run rampant over the law without any repercussions, I will continue to believe that soccer is the greatest sport in the world. I have a hard time imagining some unfortunate Mexican standing before an American immigrations officer and holding a friendly chat about an upcoming Kansas City Royals game that is so cordial that the government agent allows the illegal alien to walk free with only a chuckle and a shake of the head. The fact is that soccer is the great communicator and this realization has been reinforced time and time again over the past couple of weeks. No matter what country an individual is from or what language they might speak, soccer can bridge the cultural divide. Americans may complain that the game is low-scoring, that there are too many ties, that there are no commercial breaks, or that it is boring to watch, but these complaints say more about Americans than they do about the great sport of soccer. To truly enjoy watching a World Cup match, a viewer should embrace the idea of enjoying the process and the build-up that takes place during a game instead of focusing solely on the end result. Appreciating creative, flowing soccer is a metaphor for life in which the enjoyment of the process is generally more satisfying than the achievement of a final goal. The ebbs and flows of a typical match are made even more interesting by the unique national identity that each country brings to the tournament. The Germans play a disciplined, well-organized soccer that continually scares their neighbors to the east. The French attack with flair, but hold little regard for playing by the rules or taking showers. The Brazilians dance around opponents and then dive to the ground writhing in fake pain when the dance is over. The Americans have a somewhat confused identity with a largely upper-middle class team raised in the suburbs that looks like they are trying not to embarrass themselves, which inevitably means that they end up humiliating our entire country. The final component to enjoying a game is to find a place full of intense fans and then to choose a team to root for. Selecting a team in any given match is easier than would be expected: just follow your own prejudices. For example, it is easy to root for the plucky Ivory Coast over the dour Serbia and Montenegro. Rooting for Brazil is like rooting for Tiger Woods – it is fine to appreciate the brilliance on display, but you might want to question your own creativity. In general, Tahiti offers a pretty good environment for watching the World Cup. There is normally a diverse crowd of fans hailing from many different countries all sharing a love for soccer. The main drawback is that, due to the time difference, the games come on fairly early in the morning. The inconvenient timing of watching the matches live has led us to make certain adjustments to our normal schedule. The mornings are usually reserved for watching a game and the afternoons are spent attending to boat projects. The notable exception to this pleasant schedule was the final U.S. game against Ghana. The game was scheduled to come on at 4:00 AM local time and our only chance of viewing the match was to spend the night in Papeete since “le truck,” the public bus that services the city from the marina, stops running in the evening. The decision to wile away the night in Papeete was made with little forethought about what we would do in the wee early hours of Thursday since everything in town shuts down at midnight. Considering that our normal bedtime onboard is around 9:00 PM, trying to stay awake until 4:00 AM proved a Herculean task. We broke through the initial wall of tiredness with the assistance of beer, but the benefits of this approach proved temporary. As the false confidence wore off, so too did our will to stay awake. After a spectacular late night meal at a roulette, one of the trucks that serve a variety of delectable food drenched in phenomenal Roquefort sauce, we began our hunt for a comfortable place to sleep. Our search led us to the grass in front of a bank. Although the turf was slightly wet, it proved soft enough to allow about 45 minutes of sleep before a security guard cruelly interrupted our slumber and directed us to move on. Fully embracing our bum-like existence, we proceeded to the pier, where all of the other bums took their rest. The concrete benches were less satisfactory than the wet grass, but we were not harassed by the authorities. This popular site successfully passed the last couple of hours until the approach of kick-off. At 3:45, we began scouring the dark streets of Papeete looking for any restaurant that would be open. Despite the many people opening up shop and scurrying off to work, not a single café, breakfast nook, or restaurant turned out to be open. When we had inquired at the information center the previous day, the helpful girl behind the counter had told us that a certain restaurant would be showing the game since the patrons “really like soccer.” This particular restaurant showed no signs of life, either at 4:00 AM or 4:00 PM and, although they might really like soccer, there seems to be a decent chance that they really like to watch soccer at home. Defeated, tired, grass-stained, and sore, we gave up and hopped on the first “le truck” back to the marina. In retrospect, the entire plan was ill-advised since the U.S. game was not even being televised. Aside from soccer, the rest of the week was consumed by an assortment of boat projects. The easiest projects were quickly disposed of, including having the outboard repaired, fixing the stateroom hatch, replacing the staysail sheet, mounting the barometer, and tightening the prop shaft. Eric and Nick spent several afternoons cleaning the hull and, thanks to their effort, Audentes no longer holds the distinction of the being the dirtiest boat in the harbor. The more complex projects are still being mulled over and it is depressing to dwell on how poorly equipped I am to fix these serious problems. Typically, my approach to boat maintenance is to first try to endure the hardship of doing without the broken item, such as the oven that has sat dormant for as long as I’ve owned the boat. If the component is an essential part of the boat, then I attempt to fabricate a makeshift temporary solution, such as tying a tennis ball over the spreader tip to prevent my spinnaker from tearing a fourth time. Failing this, I resort to searching for a creative alternative, such as giving up on fixing the stereo and instead purchasing a ukulele to make my own music. However, the necessary repairs for the windlass mount and the autopilot shelf cannot be handled by ignoring the problem, implementing a quick-fix, nor by opting for an imaginative alternative. These projects require real knowledge and real work, neither of which is my specialty. While procrastinating in the dim hopes of receiving divine guidance on how to repair these crucial systems, we continued to enjoy Tahiti. On Saturday, we embarked on a hike to the Fautaua Waterfall. The actual hike was less difficult than arranging the logistics for the outing. Prior to arriving at the head of the trail, we needed to visit the correct government office to receive permission to enter this specific park. Although the permission was easily obtained at the cost of 600 francs per person, the cushy hours that the office maintained (7:30 AM – 1:30 PM) meant that a couple of visits were necessary before we found the office open. In order to get to the trail, we needed to take two separate buses and then wait at a heavily fortified gate to gain entrance to the park. After persevering all of these obstacles, the narrow trail, steep incline, and soft weather presented little challenge to our determined group. Our perseverance was justly rewarded with a spectacular view of the waterfall and an extremely refreshing swim in the chilly fresh water river feeding the waterfall. Triumphant, tired, grass-stained, and sore, we once again returned to the marina via “le truck.” On Sunday morning, Eric, Nick, and I set off for surfing school. The Ecole de Surf Tura’I Mataare van picked us up at the marina at 8:00 AM and we rode about 45 minutes along the north shore of Tahiti until we reached the popular surfing break of Papenoo. At first glimpse, the beach was unwelcoming due to the rocky shore, but within ten feet of entering the water relief for the feet was offered in the way of soft sand. The instructions were fairly simple and we quickly progressed from body boarding to attempting to stand up. Unlike the pummeling that I experienced in the Galapagos, each of us had several respectable rides when we not only got up but actually performed something resembling surfing for several seconds. As the morning progressed, the water became more crowded with entire families enjoying the waves. The surfers resembled a Benneton ad: there were heavily tattooed light skinned surfers, unadorned dark skinned surfers, old overweight men, and young stunning women. About the only thing that the rest of the surfers had in common was that they were better than us. Still, despite our apparent lack of any sense of balance, we all had a great time and are in danger of becoming addicted to the sport. During the past week, we have settled into a nice routine and it would be easy to spend a long time in Tahiti. The island is an odd mixture of the South Pacific, Europe, and America. This confluence of different cultures produces some unexpected results. For one, there always seems to be a faint aroma of marijuana in the air, although it does not seem nearly as prevalent as in the Caribbean. Even more surprising, Tahiti seems to have more transvestites per capita than any place that I have ever visited. While this may at first seem like a reflection of the progressive beliefs of Tahitians, these things tend to balance out. The gains enjoyed by cross-dressers in French Polynesia appears to come at the cost of women in the workplace since many of the traditionally female intensive jobs, such as employment in the clothing, fabric, and floral industries, go to men who prefer to dress as women. In this way, Tahiti is at the same time chauvinist and transgender sensitive with the end result being that Tahiti is probably a utopia for transvestites. The upcoming week promises more cultural enlightenment and boat maintenance frustrations. Eric and Nick are scheduled to depart on Thursday evening and Anna and I are already eagerly awaiting meeting up with my family in less than a month. In between now and then, we hope to keep the boat afloat and make her at least seaworthy enough that we can successfully limp across to Tonga, hopefully hitting a few islands on the way. Tahiti is a fascinating place and visiting this magnificent island on a leaky old boat makes the visit even more interesting. As we visited new places and worked on the old boat we experienced a range of emotions running from pure exhilaration to utter dejection. Within this spectrum were innumerable less dramatic feelings, the most frequent one being ever-present confusion. Hopefully, the upcoming week will continue our emotional roller-coaster ride with more ups than downs, but at least a little of both to remind us of how fortunate we are to be cruising in Tahiti.