I know this is meant to be a photo of a topical island, or maybe a flying fish landing on the boat in the middle of the ocean. Or maybe a cocktail at a resort in Fiji. Even the top of a mast? A sail? Something sea-like? Anything?

But sailing is never really been about the sailing for me. I hate sailing. It’s either tediously boring or really scary. I know that sounds crazy and some people would adore to buy a boat, sail to the South Pacific, and do it for the sailing. I thought I was doing it for the adventure, and I am, but my description of adventure is still changing. It’s quite annoying actually. I’d like to just go sailing and that’s the end of it.

My new take on adventure has something to do with why Dean and I had such an excruciating experience on Olo’ua Island, in Vava’u, Tonga, in 2015. We anchored there for a night to spend some time away from Neiafu Harbour. This is how I saw the experience then:

We had taken some new baby clothes, coloured pencils etc. over from New Zealand to take to villages on our trip. We thought that this was something we can do, to help the “poor”. We are privileged, they are not, and we have a human duty to help. But of course we don’t want “helping” to interrupt our Pacific paradise experience (which doesn’t actually exist) because we deserve a jolly good holiday.

So we dinghy’d to Olo’ua Island with our plastic bags of stuff, hoping for a rewarding experience. The village was on a slope and the bottom was quite muddy and slippery and I just hoped I wouldn’t drop the bags and have to hand over dirty clothes. We saw a group of women in a shack/semi-open structure, weaving mats on the floor. I yearned to go in and say hello, and even join in, but didn’t. I waved, they waved, and it was all very uncomfortable. We were walking around their village, acting like stupid tourists. After 10 minutes we’d done the circuit of the village, smiling at people who smiled at us, wanting to make a connection but not. We passed the school and Dean threw the soccer ball that he was carrying in the air – look children, we’ve got something you want! We walked down to the waters edge, basically through someone’s house! A group of men appeared and they looked as uncomfortable as we did. “Oh, here are some more whitey’s with more baby clothes in plastic bags”, is what I thought they could be thinking. We spoke a bit, looked down at our feet, handed over the bags and shuffled off. I know we’d left too early, and it was us that had cut off any kind of exchange, not them. They were the welcoming committee, of sorts, and we’d left.

It was painfully awkward and I vowed not to do anything like that again on our trip. We still had a boat-load of medical supplies to take to Vanuatu (it was three months after cyclone Pam), so we’d hand that over of course. But while I desperately wanted to connect to local people, I just didn’t know how; not without the tourist mentality, from both sides.

Two years later, this is how I now see this awkward exchange: This year, I have gone back to university to do fulltime study in Development Studies – global inequality and who does what in this field. I’ve learnt how the retreat from colonisation after World War II has created an appalling dependency on aid, and how modernisation has created a patronising and degrading attitude to traditional world views and practice. I’ve learnt that my views on “the poor” were so damaging that unless I am able to continue to radically change them, I don’t think I can go sailing again.

Of course I’ll go sailing again! But I will do things very differently. I won’t take clothes and chuck them at villagers and then run back to my boat. I won’t consider local people for what they lack, but for what they have. I think we’ve got this development thing completely screwed: it is US that needs to be developed. We spend so much time on crap that doesn’t matter. A few corporations control most of the world and do most of the damage, and by buying into, well, we buy into it.

If we had to deal with cyclones that wipe out everything that is attached to anything, or weren’t able to fish because of the carbon levels in our oceans, or salt in our soils, or have to move from our four-generation village because China has built a dam up the river and there’s no more fish – we would not be able to sleep so well.

We saw villagers who rebuilt their houses in three days, and dug their preserved, cheese-like coconut food from the ground. We also saw villages in Tonga who, 18 months after Cyclone Ian, had still not recovered because they were “waiting for the aid”. My desire to help change things is annoyingly stronger than ever but I no longer think I have any right to unless I change my naïve assumptions of who is poor and what I am doing to screw that up.

Next trimester I’ll be looking at Development Practice in the field, and population and migration, especially in the Pacific. I’m headed for another few months of incredible whirlwind as I navigate what a total screw-up this world has become, and most of us choose to ignore it. And don’t get me started on refugee settlement and the 750 that New Zealand accept out of the 65,000,000 suffering around the world! Oh dear, I do need a cocktail. I’m hoping I’ll be able to replace my based-on-nothing-but fiery-ill-informed-opinions with a slight more elegant and hopeful view of the world. I have my stroppy, incredible mother on my shoulder saying, “fight, fight, but be generous too”.

We are possibly going to plan another sailing trip in 2020. I do want to go to resorts for a cocktail and spend hours and hours blissing out by the sea and under the stars, but this time it will include something else. I don’t know what this is yet. There are awesome organisations like Sea Mercy that we could possibly join and physically take disaster relief where government or NGO boats can’t get to. Or maybe I’ll resurrect my Sailors Gift (connecting cruisers to communities) website. It’s a bewildering mess, this in-between of something. But it’s also the most important time to consider and not be in a rush to fill.

I’d love to hear of stories from people who have one foot in a resort and their other foot on the ground.

Meanwhile, on a less bewildered and much safer note, and to go back to the cover photo – it’s from our recent trip to Tasman Bay in New Zealand, a totally stunning part of the country. I’m glad we live on the boat because it makes go away more accessible.

17/4/17 – Mana Marina to Warwick Bay, Pelorous Sounds (6.5 hours, S15)

18th – Warwick Bay to Nelson Marina (7.5 hours, through French Pass, SSE15)

20th – Nelson Marina to Adele Island, via Kaiterere (2.5 hours to Kaiterere, N10) Adele Island is the most incredible anchorage – the birdsong lasts all day! I’m not going to mention weather again because it was all V5-10 knots!

22nd – Adele Island to The Anchorage (and a stunning walk to Cleopatra Falls with our mates Corrin and Mike. Go back along the mudflats and when you get to the beach, turn left and you’ll come across a baby elephant rock!

23rd – Boundary Bay. No one there. A bit rocky-rolly, but worth it (the cutlery draw didn’t crash open). There was a dog on the shore, staring at us.

24th – Awaroa Bay. Heaven. Why haven’t we been here before? Amazing walk in the Abel Tasman National Park. Sigh. I really am a land-girl.

26th – Awaroa Bay to Catherine’s Cove (7 hours. I think. We stopped off to fish by French Pass…mmm…blue cod.) I’m hoping the new owners at the resort learn a few more manners and respect for grotty yachties. They’d only just opened, so, benefit of the doubt!

27th – Catherine’s cove to Mana Island (9 hours, NW14, gusty, great sail). Thank you Cook Strait, for not blowing your trumpet!

How lucky are we.