the southern edge of the pacific - rapa iti

Rapa is a small volcanic island, only a few kilometers across and shaped like a C, with the opening facing east.  It has a perfect natural harbor, ringed by tall, sharp peaks, the tallest in the Australs but still only about 650 meters high.  There are only two villages, Ahurei, where we docked, and Area, at each end of the C and across the water from each other. The only way to travel between the two villages is by boat across the mouth of the harbor, as no proper road connects them.  The island is home to only about 500 people, split between the two villages. The islanders live on the inner, sheltered side of the island, but they visit the oceanside shore over the mountain ridge to fish and hunt lobsters, which are quite plentiful here.

The first thing that really struck me on Rapa was the climate.  The wind was blowing pretty hard and it was quite chilly when I stepped off the boat, even though the sun was shining and there were fluffy white clouds in the sky.  It felt like a beautiful sunny day in early October in New York. The landscape is covered with pine trees and tall grass; coconut palms won’t grow there because it is too cold.  Instead of the tropical fruit trees typical of the islands of the South Pacific, Rapa residents grow apples, peaches, figs, avocados, coffee, and a variety of berries. They still have some citrus trees in the valleys, and, like many other islands in French Polynesia, they grow taro, potatoes, pumpkins, and sweet potatoes.

Cynthia, my host for the day, walked me from the wharf along the only stretch of road and into Ahurei.  The first building we passed was a big community-owned refrigerated warehouse, newly built, that all of the locals use to store their fish and produce.  They can freeze their catch and keep it there either for personal consumption or to await transport to the market in Tahiti on the cargo ship. The warehouse is powered with solar panels, and I was told that the islanders are looking to incorporate green energy over the next few years to power the villages, rather than continue to run off diesel generators.  They certainly have enough wind, water, and sun to accomplish this.

In some respects, Rapa Iti is quite advanced.  Its residents seem to think about everything carefully.  To avoid overfishing, they cut the island down the middle and fish only one side for two years to allow the other side to regenerate.  They have set up good systems for supplying potable water to the villages and managing waste. Internet and phone service are both available on a limited basis.  I was told that the islanders are firmly against having an airstrip, as they worry what it would do their beautiful, pristine environment. Instead, they are investigating buying a plane that can land on the water to avoid having to build an airport.  

In other respects, they are extremely traditional.  The community is run by a council of 7 elders called the To’ohitu, that apparently supersedes the Mairie (French government offices), and is the final authority on the island.  Only when one elder dies is another elected as a replacement by the entire adult population of the island. There are only two Protestant churches on the island; the handful of Catholics there have to make do with a tiny chapel room.  They seem to do very little with money, relatively speaking. There is a small shop, but I was told most of the time, fish and fruit are given freely or bartered for work and other goods. They all help each other out with larger construction projects, and the To’ohitu can dictate that the entire population work together on something, like clearing and maintaining the foot paths up the hills to the ancient sacred sites.

The community is completely dependent on the ship I came on, as it is the only reliable way on or off of Rapa.  I asked about sailboats, and I was told they might see three or four in an entire year, mainly because Rapa is not on the way to anywhere.  There is no hospital on Rapa, just a small infirmary. Residents who need more advanced medical help must wait for the ship and go to the hospital in Tahiti.  I was told that the elderly are terrified of going to the hospital in Tahiti, both because the trip is long and rough and because they worry that they will never come back, and won’t be laid to rest on their island.  Many of them simply decide to stay and die on Rapa so they can be buried there; for the Rapa people, the idea of dying is far less distressing than the idea of being separated from their island, their families, and their ancestors for all eternity.  

I had specifically asked that we hike up to higher ground so I could get some good shots of the island from above.  Cynthia took me on a beautiful path and we hiked steeply uphill for an hour or two, finally reaching a high point where I could photograph Rapa’s entire sheltered harbor and its two towns from above.  I wanted to walk further, up to the ancient hill fortresses at the tops of the peaks, but Cynthia said the elders had forbidden anyone from going there until they could repair some of the trails and make them safe to walk.  When we got back down from our hike, Cynthia brought me to her tiny little house for lunch. Cynthia is originally from Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas, but met her husband while she was teaching here on Rapa many years ago. She lives here now, and she and her husband have a small son of 10 years old.  Cynthia cooked me a lovely lunch consisting of two small lobsters, a few small fish, which she floured and fried, rice, and a glass of the local punch, made from fermented blackberry and passionfruit juice. All of it was incredibly good, and her leopard-like grey cat, Ratatouille, was happy to pick at the bones of my fish when I was done.

After so many days at sea aboard the Tuha’a Pae IV, I only had a few short hours to experience Rapa, but I was content with how much I was able to see and photograph in that time.