We arrived Papeete the same day as Noel’s daughter, Mel arrived from Ayers Rock.  We were nonchalant about the timing, only because we had not considered that marvellous innovation of the date line.  After negotiating low flying aircraft, we chose the most popular anchorage, on the west of the island, south of French Polynesia’s Capital.  Deep, clear water welcomed us in to a plethora of tightly packed boats.  Supermarkets were a black-pearl throw away and the dusty, dirty city, just a twenty minute, bone-shaking bus ride.  By this time in our voyage (over 35,000 nautical miles) I had become a little tired of amps, torque and bronze brushes conversations.  The prospect of another woman onboard was exciting, I planned to get in depth about clothes, hair and, well anything but boats.  We were both looking forward to playing host to our long awaited guest.  On trawling through our emails that we read a note from Mel, “I arrive on the 21st July, not 22nd!”  Four hours later, damp, dishevelled sailors and the disturbing disorder of Mariah’s innards met Mel.