Kiribati

Sunday, June 15, 2025 | Kiribati and Rum Punch

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Collectively, we misplaced most of Saturday. Arriving in Kiribati on Saturday, ship’s time, we were faced with the disconcerting conundrum of sailing directly into Sunday, Kiribati time, owing to a largish hemorrhoid in the international dateline and a cozy bro-mance between Australia and the Line Islands.

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Landfall was grey with low, tumbling clouds, soft seas, and brief bits of sunlight sneaking through the haze. We spotted land around 7:30, first as a fuzz on the horizon which gave way to breaking waves, then palm fronds, and finally the island itself, which ekes its way out of the water at around 12 feet above sea level.

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As we anchored, a delegation of the local Sea Turtle Committee On Welcoming Things paid a visit. This mostly involved one of us spotting a bit of turtle snout above water and shouting, "Turtle!" Then the rest of the crew would shout, "Where?!" followed by, "Over there!" by which time the turtle in question had bobbed off to munch some grass elsewhere.

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The rest of the day was gloriously filled with the absence of responsibility or changing watches. There were naps, swims, showers, extra credit naps, the inaugural meeting of the Fantasy Romance book club led by our High Lord Adam, Monopoly Deal, fajitas, rum punch, and then, at long last, a full night’s sleep. Indeed, glorious.

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We went ashore the next day (either Sunday or Wednesday, we still aren’t sure). Alex, Adam, and Mary spent the entire day trying to track down the customs officer to check us in, which ended with them at the guy’s house talking to his daughters, who variously insisted he was back at the wharf, still at the airport, and actually here in the house had they looked a little harder.

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Meanwhile, the crew was dropped at the Lagoon View Resort to get a "guided" "tour" of the island. As we don’t speak Kiribati and it wasn’t apparent if our guide spoke English or Kiribati, a fair amount of gesticulating and arm waving on Tara’s part got us moving towards… well, something. Stacy described it as "Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride meets It’s a Small World After All." We jostled down the rutted tracks between London and Banana, visiting the bustling (empty) airport, salt flats, and beaches. At each turn we waved to the multitude of children just getting out of school who all seemed delighted to see us.

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We had lunch at a small restaurant and then went back to the resort to hang out and wait for dinner. Stacy and Orie made friends with a beach dog, Tara tried to steal the neighbor’s motorcycle, and we all enjoyed a few minutes of wifi to check in with friends and family.

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We had a great dinner with some of the other guests at the resort, plus the "elders" who turned out to be considerably less elderly than expected and decidedly more Mormon. It was great to spend a meal with new folks and hear about the experiences of the young missionaries living in a part of the world many of them likely didn’t know existed until they received their assignments. It was a clear sign that we needed another good night’s sleep when the most contentious debate we’ve yet had came up—when does nodding off become a doze become a nap become a sleep? Adam Baker has some very detailed opinions on this, it turns out.

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Today, we rested a bit more and are prepping the boat to depart, hopefully around 1630. While Adam Baker has strong opinions on the appropriate length of naps, he also noted that "the first third of a trip takes two-thirds of the time, the last two thirds of the trip takes about one-eighth the time." Looking towards the next leg of our adventure, I find he’s absolutely correct.

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Jake Davies

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