When the Ship Comes In

Here in the Tuamotus, the phrase “when the ship comes in” is a literal thing. All the metaphors about riches and abundance? No metaphor. Instead, every 2 weeks (which might actually be one week, or three - the schedule runs on island time, we’ve noticed) a supply ship comes into the harbor filled with everything anyone wanted. That ship comes from Tahiti, and probably a lot of what’s made it into those cargo holds also came from a ship, or at least a plane. Is that an airship?

In any case, it’s a big deal when the ship comes in.

There’s a lot of chatter around the schedule of these supply ships on the various social media groups and sites dedicated to French Polynesia. Usually, someone links to a supposed master schedule, where you can search by ship, or by island, or by archipelago. Helpful. Kind of. Looking at that schedule, we determined that the next supply ship coming into Hao was going to be on June 28, while the previous one was back on June 6.

When I start rationing onions, you know the vegetable supply aboard is reaching critical levels. That’s about where we were when we left Amanu on June 15, and while I thought I’d be able to find onions in Hao, since they’re a long-lasting, hardy vegetable, I had mostly resigned myself to a vegetable-challenged menu for a couple more weeks, relying on freeze-dried peas and green beans, using up the very last of the cabbage and carrots.

Note to self: schedules aren’t always right.

June 17. We noticed a commercial ship on AIS, heading in this general direction. The guy stocking shelves at Jojo’s, the best-supplied of the 4 grocery stores on Hao, told us that the ship was coming in the next morning, and to be there promptly to get vegetables. They go fast, he said. Be here at about 9. Gives me time to get the boxes unloaded. We wondered exactly where any vegetables would go, since empty fridge space was limited and there weren’t many other places available for new stock.

June 18. The Taporo VIII arrived at the dock a little before 5 am. We had our coffee on board, then took folding chairs along with our grocery bags and set off to go watch the show. It was a drizzling-on-and-off morning. This did not dampen the activity one single bit. Cars and trucks maneuvered on the wide dock as two guys wearing hard hats and work vests scrambled over the deck of the cargo ship, placing chains for the endlessly-swinging crane or shoving parcels out of the way. Four white containers marked “FRIGO” and with island names (“Hao”, “Rikitea”) sat on the dock, a stream of people going in and out. Flatbed trucks backed up, then drove off with bags of cabbages or boxes of something piled high in the back. A firetruck loitered nearby. An entire metal cage of propane tanks was swung onto the dock from the boat, unloaded onto a waiting truck, and then refilled with what we assumed were empties. Neighbors greeted each other with smiles. Ipo, a man who had stopped to say hello when we were walking back to the boat our first day on Hao, saw us sitting under the coconut palm and came over to ask if we had items on the ship. No, we told him, just watching. He made the rounds, shaking hands and smiling, before mounting his bicycle and heading off.

*Refrigerated container boxes being unloaded*

We watched the Jojo’s delivery van make three trips, driving the 2 blocks back and forth. A little after 9 we decided to head over there ourselves. Three or four people were milling around, picking through what was on display.

The boxes of fruit and veg were cracked open and set on top of the chest freezers. Bags of local lettuce, boxes of mangoes. “Du raisin!” a woman exclaimed, taking out a beautiful bunch of purple grapes. More goodies were on the floor, too. One big box, the edge of the waterlogged top torn open, had limes AND avocados. An industrial size bag of carrots, two of cabbage. There were apples. Bags of romaine lettuce. Plum tomatoes, sweating as they heated up. Cucumbers. Tangerines and potatoes and shallots.

*No need to put this stuff on the shelves. Note limited available fridge space.*

From veg challenged to veg abundance, in one gloriously entertaining morning.

When we came back right before noon, returning a rented cooking gas tank we’d used to refill one of the ones we carry, the boxes were all gone, any remaining fruit and veg tucked neatly into the four shelves of fridge space.

Only one head of cabbage remained.