Thanks for your patience—we’ve been busy doing absolutely nothing, and it was glorious. Honestly, if you’re ever in search of peace, quiet, and a place where “nothing happens” is the daily highlight, the Gambiers are your dream destination.

So… what’s there to say about the Gambiers? Objectively speaking: not much. Subjectively: it’s paradise.

We spent two weeks snorkeling in what felt like a giant aquarium—colorful coral, loads of fish, and even a few small sharks to keep things interesting. We also hiked along the ridges of Mangareva, which was equal parts stunning and mildly terrifying. Picture narrow paths, steep drop-offs on both sides, and a helpful layer of slippery pine needles just to keep your survival instinct sharp.

We also visited a black pearl farm—because apparently Mangareva produces some of the best pearls in the South Pacific. Naturally, we now own some (seemed like the logical next step) – and also the boys were allowed to harvest their own from a shell. Seeing how they’re made was honestly mind-blowing. First, the oysters are raised and selected, then after about three years they get their first graft. After that, it’s basically a full-time spa and maintenance program: every two to three months they’re cleaned by hand and even blasted with a pressure washer. All that effort… for something tiny, shiny, and dangerously easy to justify buying.

Social life peaked at a BBQ at Valerie’s and Hervé’s on Taravai—a true hotspot (population: 8). Every Sunday, they host a cook-up for sailors, partly for income, but mostly, it seems, because when eight people share an island, you don’t skip social events.

We even rented a car to tour the island—which, in a shocking twist, took about two hours. And yes, that included driving slowly.

The rest of the time? Relaxing. Aggressively.

Despite being in the middle of nowhere, the place runs like clockwork. Shops open at 6:00 am, kids start school at 7:20, and the bakery sells out before most people have had their first coffee. I once dared to ask for bread at 6:30 after a jog and was met with a look that clearly said, “rookie mistake.”

The local Facebook group is basically the island’s operating system. It tells you when the micro-pizzeria (roughly the size of a wardrobe) is open, when someone’s cooking, or when fresh fruit is available. Since the supply ship only shows up every few weeks, everyone shares, trades, and improvises. When the ship does arrive, it’s like Christmas—except instead of gifts, it’s grapes and mandarins, and they’re gone in minutes.

Prices are… confusing. Ice cream? €4. Pasta and flour? Cheaper than Germany, thanks to subsidies. Overall, you might not get everything you want—but you’ll definitely get what you need.

And that’s kind of the magic of this place: people seem content. Genuinely. No Amazon Prime, no endless choices—just enough, and that’s enough.

Let’s see how long that mindset survives once I’m back in Germany hovering over a “buy now” button.

Anyway—time to move on. As tempting as it is to stay forever (and some sailors clearly got that memo), we have places to be.

This morning we lifted anchor toward the Tuamotus. The plan: Tahanea, five days away. The reality: possibly Hao, three days away, because Uki’s leg decided to react dramatically to an insect bite.

We left Mangareva anyway because he’s already improving, and Hao comes with a doctor—always a nice upgrade from “friendly local nurse and good luck.” Just a precaution.

He’s doing fine for now—some pain, antibiotics started last night, no major drama. Just enough to keep things interesting.