Tall Ship Soren Larsen New Zealand Sailing adventure for all ages

Tall Ship Soren Larsen 2007 ~ South Pacific Sail Training Adventure for all ages

Tahiti and the Societies to Rarotonga with Soren Larsen. Its the real thing.

Pete York identifies what makes things really tick aboard...

I cannot say this experience has been 'authentic,' because that word has taken the connotation of 'so fake it's like real.' I'm thinking of Disneyland. I'm thinking of 'genuine fake diamonds.'

This is real. There's nothing aboard for show, nothing said or done, no nautical term used for anything but sailing.

At the first meeting in Tahiti Captain Barry and the crew instilled instant confidence. They all know what they're doing - men and women - and they're always busy. When I mentioned how I admired their efficacy, the response was that everyone is competent at what they do, aren't they? Nope. See officers George and Garreth and their crew at work and you'll see what I mean.

They're here for their love of sailing. And they're unfailingly cheerful, friendly and helpful. Of course, treating the customer right is part of the job, but in 16 days so far none has ever seemed to labor at being cheery to me, the lone mouthy American on board (and let me thank the Voyage Crew for tolerating me when I was intolerable).

I still haven't found the request they'll deny, like when I wanted a special run to a private beachy area to sling my hammock at the bay in Moorea. Off we went, and I spent an idyllic morning worth a lifetime's wait, accompanied by a long-horned bearded goat and a cagey pig, and one of Patrick O'Brien's Master and Commander novels I got from the ship's library, and romantic fantasy blurred with reality ('Haul the halyard! Hand the course sail! Ease the clews and bunts!')

Several chalktalks got us up to speed on the ship and navigation, and if I wasn't one of the Voyage Crew scurrying up the ratlines into the sky, no-one minded. Plenty for everyone to do, or not do.

Bora Bora's Saturday night Heiva dance festival was a highlight, but I felt bad for those folks who were spending over a thousand dollars a night squatting in a pointless over-water bungalow when they could have had this magnificent experience for the same price. (Less actually, Ed.)

Aitutaki's snorkelling is unsurpassable: stretch your arms apart as far as they will go...that's how big the giant clam is. His mouth was only open a few inches, so when I dived down about 20 feet to see him I couldn't stick my foot in his mouth to get stuck like in the movies.

What an international group. We have Brits and Scots and Canucks and Kiwis and a Filipina and a French lady with a hat! We even have the world's most perfect woman among the permanent crew: Maho from Tokyo. One dark night we met in the bow; eyes met, electricity sparked, and our hearts knotted forever.
Or at least one of ours did.

One day, on yet another perfect day in paradise, sailing serenely up the lagoon shared by Raitea and Ta'Haa, I clambered out on the bowsprit netting to laze in the sun. I opened my eyes to see Aussie Debbie's John way up on the topgallant yard, his majesty high in the sky, surveying his demesne.
Cheeky bastard.

Speaking of royalty, special thanks to Robert, King of Australia, whose reign is kindly and benign. He could've had a better berth-mate. I couldn't.

And the two preteens, Leigh and Josh, who were first to charge when we took the privateer, howling and cutting the French pirates off at the knees. We feasted on frogs' legs for a fortnight.

Actually, instances of cannibalism have been overblown, strictly limited to two saucy, self-basting Shetlanders.

Cocktail hour amidships, manning the helm in the wee hours and losing count of the shooting stars, poker with Monopoly money in the saloon at night, swinging from the rope to dive into bays for a swim, unlimbering the water cannon (large slingshot) to blast away with water balloons at the speedboats which zoom up, meeting islanders with their 'be happy' philosophy, losing oneself in the vastness of the surrounding ocean...

There are minor inconveniences, of course, but this is a real tallship excursion, after all.

I'm sorry to see Rarotonga emerging on the horizon, indicating the end is near and soon I'll return to thuggish Southern California, leaving civilization, and paradise, behind.