There are beautiful places, there are special places… and then there are those that quietly claim a permanent spot in your heart.

This time, it wasn’t just mine—it was the boys’ too.

We had planned to leave the town dock of Pouheva and explore some of the other incredible anchorages nearby. Yet here we are, almost a week later, and we still haven’t moved.

The snorkeling right off the dock delivered every single time. Where else can you drift through a massive, shimmering cloud of fish while tuna hunt through them, a giant trevally glides past, and sharks cruise lazily above a gathering of enormous stingrays?

But the real magic happened on land.

On our very first morning, Nino wandered over to a local fisherman who had caught a net full of small parrotfish. The fisherman had built a simple rock pool along the shore to keep them alive. Nino, curious as ever, began playing with the fish. Back home, he might have been told to leave them alone. Here, the fisherman simply smiled, tossed a fish at his feet, and showed him how to scale it with a shell—and then how to gut it, bare-handed. Six fish later, Nino proudly returned to the boat like a tiny, slightly fish-smelling provider… with lunch.

Joe, meanwhile, teamed up with a local boy and speared an octopus right in front of our boat. The boy dispatched it swiftly—with a bite—and cleaned it just as effortlessly. That evening I learned how to prepare octopus myself, and the next day we enjoyed a delicious Croatian-style octopus salad for lunch.

Mornings became a rhythm of their own. I went for slow jogs through the quiet dawn and returned with fresh bread. The day here begins early—by 4:30 or 5:00 a.m., people are already fishing, and the supermarket opens at five. By the time I was out at 5:30, the whole town was alive, only to grow still again a few hours later. Come sunset, the dock would fill once more—people fishing, children playing, others simply strolling.

There’s a gentle, natural flow to life here. Despite the number of children around, there’s very little noise—no shouting, no chaos. The pace feels… more human.

Last night at dinner, Joe said something that stayed with me. He said he hopes his kids grow up more like the children here than back home in Starnberg. When we asked why, he said: “They’re outside, doing things. They help each other—no matter the age. There’s no bullying. When I tried tricks on my scooter, they cheered me on instead of making fun of me.”

It’s not that he’s had a bad experience at home—but the difference here is unmistakable.

We also visited the local artist Belicot and ordered Matau for the boys. He later delivered them to our boat himself once he had made them specifically for the three. As it turned out, one of the children who had visited us on our first day was one of his ten children—so he already knew about us. Each carving carries its own meaning, and ours were made from sperm whale jawbone, the most valued material for Matau in the Tuamotus. They represent Māui’s magical hook and are said to bring strength, protection, and good fortune.

As much as we would love to stay—and truly explore every corner of this remarkable atoll—it’s time to move on.

Today we say our goodbyes to Pouheva and head north to anchor for another night before heading out through Makemo’s north pass toward Tahanea.

And Makemo… will stay with us forever