Just a bit longer

Our last two weeks in French Polynesia are here. Just a few more sunsets, a handful of starry nights. Our visas are ticking away, and slowly but surely, the realisation is sinking in: we have to say goodbye. For real. To this paradise. And oh, how we are going to miss it…

So far away from the world – no traffic lights, no supermarkets, no rush. Only space, peace and beauty. Warm encounters, deep silence at sea, and endless nights under stars you can almost touch.

French Polynesia stole our hearts. Not always gently, by the way. In some parts of the Society Islands, we noticed that the flow of sailors was starting to chafe a little. Not everywhere, we were welcomed with open arms. But that is a story for a different time.
But here, in the Tuamotus, it was different. Here, we found space, authenticity, and genuine curiosity—smiles that needed no words. The atolls touched us with their raw nature and simple, beautiful existence.

And we’re not just saying goodbye to the islands. We are also saying goodbye to our beloved buddy boats: Freefall and Flora. They are staying a little while longer. We will be sailing on soon. It feels a bit like the last schoolyard moment: “Bye, okay… see you someday.” We know we will see each other again, but still. It stings!

We have experienced so much together. Anchor drinks under the moon, delicious dinners, snorkelling trips in crystal clear water, and that feeling that you are at home together, even if you are floating somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

Luckily, there is also Lille Venn, our companion to Fiji. A destination that once sounded far away is suddenly so close. But we are not there yet. First, soak up everything these islands have to offer: the colours, the smells, the magic.

From Fakarava to Toau

The four of us, Freefall, Flora, Lille Venn and My Motu, sailed from Fakarava to Toau. It was only four hours of sailing, but it felt like a new voyage of discovery. 
The sun is on our skin, the breeze is in the sails, and the ocean is gently moving with us. 

Along the way, a fishing competition spontaneously arose: who would catch a tuna or mahi-mahi first? All lines were out, tension on deck… Result: four boats, zero fish. But 100 points for fun.

The Toau Pass welcomed us in kindly. The current pushed us along gently, the water was calm, almost serene. As if the island itself whispered: “Welcome back.”

But then, pay close attention. Navigating towards the Coral Garden is not a matter of leaning back. The water was crystal clear, enchantingly beautiful, but also unforgiving. Every reef stood out sharply against the turquoise, and the passages were narrow. Sometimes, it wasn’t easy to see whether the coral pillars were far enough below the surface. Depth estimation suddenly became a serious matter. Mistakes? There was simply no room for that here. Sometimes, with bated breath and eyes on the depth sounder, we found our way. Anchored in. In a silent lagoon, surrounded by waving palms and nothing but peace.

Toau feels like a forgotten world. No one lives here permanently. The only sounds are the wind in the palms, the water lapping against the hull, and the occasional curious fish swimming by.

Underwater, the Coral Garden awaited, a place where the reef was once known as one of the most beautiful in French Polynesia.

Coral Garden – a name from the past?

We floated silently above the reef, curious and expectant. The name alone – Coral Garden – had already sparked our imagination. We could see it clearly: a colourful carpet of living coral, darting fish, an underwater world teeming with life. But what we found was different than we had hoped.

In many places, the coral was bleached, broken off, or dead. Parts of the reef lay still and grey-like fragile sculptures formed by what was once alive. It felt fragile and tired as if the reef itself needed to catch its breath.

We swam above it in silence. No words needed. Just watching.

And yet… not everything was dead. Not everywhere. 
Among the bleached and broken pieces, we also discovered places where the reef was still alive. Soft pink and yellow corals held on bravely. Fish swarmed among the branches, and a moray eel cautiously poked its head out of a hole—curious or perhaps wary. Some parts of the reef seemed almost untouched – a colourful mosaic that made us forget for a moment what we had just seen. The contrast was stark. As if the reef was telling its story in two voices: one of loss and one of resilience.

A few blacktip reef sharks glided silently between the coral formations. Two nurse sharks lay motionless, deep in repose, under an overhang. Their bellies were round—pregnant, perhaps? We lingered in the water for a moment, floating between wonder and sadness. How could such a remote place, we wondered, be so damaged? There are no hotels here. There are no cruise ships. No fishing. No anchors digging into the reef, no divers breaking things with their fins. Just nature. And yet – so much damage.

The answer probably lies in the warming of our oceans. Even a few degrees difference can upset the delicate balance of a reef. If the water stays too warm for too long, corals become stressed and reject the algae they live within symbiosis, a process known as bleaching. If this continues for too long, the coral eventually dies.

Natural forces also play a role. Tropical storms regularly rage over the Tuamotus, with large waves, strong currents, and sediment washed over the reef—all factors that make recovery difficult. And yet… amid that vulnerability lies something special.

Nature does not give up easily. Some species find their way even when the reef is under tremendous pressure. New life nestles among the remains. There is movement, and there is hope. You see, the reef is trying with everything it has. Will it succeed? Time will tell. But we certainly hope… we do.

And just when we thought we were starting to get to know Toau a little, we discovered something unexpected…

The Secret of Toau: A Forgotten Past

At first glance, Toau seems like a paradise of peace and nature. But under the palm trees and hidden between the bushes lie the silent remains of a shadowy history.

On the shoreline stand the remains of what was once a home. A dilapidated structure, overgrown with slender tropical plants. Stories surround this house, whispers of ancient secrets that never quite went away. What happened here is like something you might read in an adventure novel.

It is said that a local man once lived here. He built a “resort” — or so it seemed. A few simple huts, some dirt paths, a jetty where boats could dock. From the outside it looked like an innocent island retreat, a place where adventurers and sailors could dock and enjoy the turquoise lagoon.

But according to the story, this resort was a front for something else entirely. Deep in the bushes of Toau, the man was said to have been running a hidden marijuana plantation. The remote atoll, far from the hustle and bustle of Tahiti or Fakarava, seemed the perfect place to run his secret enterprise in peace.

For a time, everything went according to plan. The man lived quietly, kept up appearances, and enjoyed the benefits of his hidden plantation. But as in so many mysterious stories, the tide turned.

The French Polynesian authorities got wind of the affair. Instead of arresting and imprisoning him, the government reportedly made an unusual deal with him. He was allowed to walk around as a free man, but he was ordered to do one thing: leave Toau immediately and never return. His “resort,” the plantation, and everything that went with it—he had to leave it all behind. And if he ever set foot on Toau again, he would still go to prison.

And so the house remained. No inhabitants. No visitors. Only the whisper of the wind in the palms and the waves crashing against the reef keep the secret. Today, all you see are the ruins. But when you walk past it, you can imagine what it once looked like. How someone lived here, worked here, and eventually had to leave everything behind.

It is a story that you will not easily forget. An island with a mystery. Toau not only has beautiful lagoons and colorful reefs, but also a dark side that was lost in time.