The final week of Eric and Nick’s visit was a productive one. On Monday, Eric and Nick took the high-speed ferry to Mo’orea to spend a couple of days exploring the small island that so beautifully decorates the horizon of the anchorage. Their adventures during the two-day visit included high-stakes gambling on hermit crab racing and a misspelled tattoo that will forever remind Eric of his unrequited love for pamplemousse (actually, it was a stylish Marquesan design on his inner bicep). During their sojourn, Anna and I hammered away at the growing list of projects on the boat. While I improvised ugly solutions for my pressing autopilot shelf and windlass block issues, Anna polished away the rust from the metal on the boat and cleaned the topsides. As usual, progress was slow, but I am hoping that we have turned a corner and are on the road to improving the condition of the boat, as opposed to our normal state of perpetual deterioration. One very positive development was that our bilge pump sensor, which had inconveniently stopped working last week, astonishingly fixed itself. This extremely important component pumps water from the bilge whenever the water level gets too high and thus prevents the boat from sinking in the case of a minor leak. It is not often that a broken part fixes itself, but if this miracle were to happen more frequently, it would likely restore my faith in a kind, forgiving omnipotent God. Until then, I will continue to cower before a cruel, vengeful omnipotent God. Upon Eric and Nick’s return on Tuesday evening, we grilled up steaks and sipped Hinano beers on the boat while lollygagging to the not-quite-soothing sounds of the new ukulele. The penultimate day of Eric and Nick’s stay on Audentes proved to be an especially productive one as Anna, Eric, and Nick worked vigorously at scraping, sanding, and varnishing the exterior teak. The starboard rail now glimmers in the Tahitian sun, making the rest of the teak look shabby by comparison. Even the neighboring yachties were impressed and one cruiser offered to pay us to touch up the teak on his boat. While we slaved over our boat projects, the elderly cruisers aboard other boats partied late into the early evening on the dock. Whoever said that money was wasted on the old and youth was wasted on the young was wise beyond his years. The hard mornings work was rewarded with a pilgrimage to the roulettes in downtown Papeete. Once again, we savored the transcendent taste of Roquefort sauce spread liberally over steak and fries. It terrifies me to consider the possibility that I could have gone through life without tasting Roquefort sauce and it begs the question of whether a life lived without Roquefort sauce is really a life at all. My contention is that it is not. On Thursday, we had ambitious plans to take the early bus into Papeete for Eric and Nick to purchase some final French Polynesian gifts, for me to buy the supplies needed to proceed with boat projects, and to provision for one final excellent meal before our guests departed. However, our best-laid plans were thwarted by yet another French holiday. In this case, the flimsy excuse for not working was something called Internal Autonomy Day. The entire town was closed and our only consolation was dealing with the long lines at the grocery store. For most people, holidays and weekends are a welcome break from the hardship of work and the mundane routine of daily living. For me and I expect for most sailors, holidays and weekends represent an annoying break from the delight of not working and the rewarding routine of cruising. After wading through the multitudes, we successfully returned to the boat laden with all of the makings for Anna’s labor-intensive Polish pierogis. As usual, the meal was delicious and this particular batch of spinach-filled pierogis was made even more special by a dousing in homemade Roquefort sauce. Even though I feel that I can now die a happy man, I hope that I have many more meals of Roquefort sauce ahead of me. On Thursday evening, Eric and Nick returned to the U.S., leaving Anna and I to ourselves on the now seemingly palatial confines of Audentes. During their three-week stay, Eric and Nick adapted well to life aboard. When they first arrived, getting in and out of the dinghy was a challenge. By the end, they were well acquainted with the many processes and pitfalls we encounter each day. From pumping up the aft port pontoon on the dinghy that leaks to gently lowering the cockpit table to avoid slamming the leg to slowly pumping the head to avoid clogging to going to bed before 8:30 PM to a hundred other small details that must be mastered to coexist on a small vessel, they quickly acquired the knowledge necessary to keep the boat afloat and the rest of the crew happy. The adjustment from life as a landlubber to seasoned seaman was not without difficulties. The lack of showers or laundry, the tiny bathroom, the constant movement of the boat, the need to ration water and electricity, and the crowded sleeping quarters all provided for an uncomfortable adjustment from their cushy university life in Columbus. Like us, they were confounded by small obstacles onboard, such as the fact that we can put a man on the moon, but that we are unable to create a butane lighter that works for more than a couple of weeks. Although they seemed to enjoy their stay, after three weeks they appeared eager to return to America. While they were here, they complained about the women (Tahiti has the best that I have seen since Panama), the food (French cuisine takes some getting used to), and the price of beer (okay, the beer is really expensive). Despite these shortcomings, they appreciated the cultural experience and, in attempting to describe the departure from everyday life, Eric invoked the profound aphorism “the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth of it.” Once again, the World Cup provided the framework for an enjoyable week. The two-day break between the second round and the quarterfinals threw my finely tuned schedule into confusion. Without the matches to organize my day around, there was a lull in my satisfyingly busy routine for the first time since the competition began. Aside from the discomfort caused from the recess, the action has continued and the quality has improved as less talented teams headed home. On Tuesday, we watched the France versus Spain encounter along with a heavily partisan crowd. Surprisingly, the crowd was more mixed for the France versus Brazil match on Saturday, proving that there are frontrunners in every country. Thankfully, the fair-weather fans were kept quiet as Les Blues pulled off the upset. Only three days after celebrating their autonomy from France, everyone seemed pretty proud to be French for the rest of the day. On Sunday morning, I attended a service of the Community of Christ church in Papeete. The Community of Christ (formerly known as the Reorganized Church of Latter Day Saints) is the church to which the paternal side of my family belongs. My grandparents actually visited this branch of the church several years ago during their around-the-world cruise aboard the Saga Rose. Personally, I think that the new name for the church sounds a bit too much like a cult and this perception is not helped by the sign outside of the Papeete church that reads “service de culte: 10:30.” The service itself was much like the ones that I am used to attending in the U.S. except that it was in French, the congregation all wore white, and instead of knowing everyone in attendance, I didn’t know anyone. At least the music was familiar. The fact that God works in mysterious ways was once again demonstrated by my luck in choosing to wear a white shirt instead of my normal black and grey urban camouflage, which was too dirty for public display. Much like Saints that I have encountered elsewhere, everyone in attendance was welcoming and friendly. Despite the slight differences, the many similarities made me feel like I was back in Cape Cod. The end of another week in Tahiti finds the boat in disarray. The wooden rails are stripped, the windlass is disassembled, and the interior cabin is in shambles. As a result, we cannot take salt water showers or hang laundry for fear of getting the exposed wood wet. Neither can we move the boat since the weight of the anchor chain makes hauling anchor impossible. Sandpaper, bottles of epoxy, and various tools litter the deck. Emerson said “Every ship is a romantic object, except that we sail in.” This is undoubtedly true of the current state of Audentes, where it is difficult to imagine the bustling workshop as a clean, comfortable home. Hopefully, the upcoming week will see the completion of some of our projects as we move closer to departing Tahiti. Until then, we will persevere the hardships and make the best of living in squalor.