FOURTH LETTER – MATEHAU
2022 FEBRUARY, Tikehau Atoll: 15.0084° S, 148.1758° W
There were so many fish tattooed on Matehau’s back that I lost count while trying to tally them up in the rocking boat.
I often find myself thinking about the Polynesians, how their world is nothing but water, especially on the atolls. What is it like, and how does an environment like that shape a person’s mental landscape?
I learned somewhere that both the mind and vision work the same way – distant things seem closer together, they merge. In cities, landmarks appear more compact, and sights seem closer together than they really are. Mountain peaks of past memories, clustered, as if nothing lies between. Landmarks of the distant future in a tight row, even if in reality they are scattered far apart.
When the world is nothing but water, you see in a whole new way. There are no mountain peaks in the distance – just vast open space.
The edge of Tikehau’s atoll, barely above the sea, forms a thin ring – like a mouth just about reaching up to the surface to breathe. Where to fix one’s gaze when looking into the distance here? The earth curves, and that tiny patch of land looks almost like a mirage.
I think about the ancient Polynesians – how did they end up living on these thin strips of coral in the middle of an endless ocean? It puzzles me even more than why my Finnish ancestors, who, after experiencing their first winter in the north, still thought it was a good idea to stay.
Travel ads depict atolls as paradise – a promise of the tropics, luxury and abundance. But in my view, the Icelandic wilderness has more similarities with atolls than the Garden of Eden does.
A thin ring of land made mostly of coral sand, where only palm trees and a few other plants that are of little use for survival can grow. The middle is just salty seawater. The lagoon teems with life, but from above, all you see are the dorsal fins of sharks.
Clichés like ”see the forest for the trees” or ”you can’t see the river when standing in the stream” lose their meaning when there’s no forest to separate from the trees, and all you see is endless distance.
I once read about our relationship with fire that when darkness falls, all other external stimuli disappear. By the campfire, the only world you see is the inner one.
It’s no wonder stories have been shared around the fire since the dawn of humankind. In Matehau’s world, also the day is stripped away from external stimuli, leaving only an endless ocean and its depths. What does the inward gaze see here, as night falls?
Somewhere on or between the shores,
– Timo –
P.S. Fifth letter will be about an absolute legend – a shark hunting stray dog I befriended on our motu. This one’s not to be missed.
‘For some inexplicable reason, I call every dog whose name I don’t know “Pedro”, regardless of their gender. This started a few decades ago in the deep south of Thailand when that’s what I named a stray dog on the beach…’
