Moored in the deep waters of Opunohu Bay, with 20 metres beneath us, we found ourselves surrounded by one of the most breathtaking landscapes imaginable. Dramatic black volcanic peaks, draped in lush green vegetation, rose straight from the brilliant blue water. Soft clouds drifted lazily around the mountaintops, and every now and then a passing rain shower painted perfect rainbows across the bay.

And on land, the beauty only continued — together with one of the most peaceful atmospheres I have experienced in a very long time.

After so many weeks at sea and on remote little islands, the boys were completely fascinated by the sight of cows and horses standing knee-deep in rich green grass. Tiny flocks of birds would suddenly burst from the fields and dart toward the next creek, while the sounds of chickens and local pigeons created a constant backdrop to island life.

I spent several mornings walking and running through the valley and quickly developed what I considered to be a flawless business plan: becoming Moorea’s first world-famous Wasabi farmer. There are streams everywhere, luxury hotels all over the island, and enough superyachts to support an unnecessarily expensive condiment empire.

The plan was perfect.

Unfortunately, wasabi itself strongly prefers cold climates — a detail I technically already knew, but chose to ignore because it didn’t fit my vision of success.

So sadly, Moorea will not become home to the legendary “Fenua Moorea Wasabi™”.

Apart from my failed agricultural career, there’s plenty to do here: snorkeling (which, according to certain family members, was “good,” though perhaps not compared to some of the insane places we’ve already seen), a juice factory that was closed exactly when we tried to visit it, and a museum the kids initially considered once again cruel by some smaller people — until VR goggles suddenly transformed it into well kinda ok.

For me, the true beauty of Moorea lies away from the resorts and tourist snorkeling spots: in the grassy valleys, dense forests, spectacular mountain views, and the little streams inhabited by gigantic freshwater eels you can actually feed.

Yes, eels… blue eyed ones in fact!

Sacred creatures in Polynesian culture — and slightly terrifying to us — these blue-eyed eels quickly appeared at our feet after we bravely opened a can of tuna. A passing tour guide informed and showed us that sardines are apparently the preferred delicacy. We only attracted 2, but as soon as he opened his sardines within seconds, six or eight eels were gliding around us, waiting for food… and occasionally even a gentle pat.

Needless to say, Uki now dreams of keeping an eel as a pet.

I am also dreaming about eels, although my version involves waking up suddenly at 3am.

Tonight we set sail for Huahine with our new pole, which Mark built in Tahiti from marine aluminium, cleverly reusing the end caps from the old one which sounds either extremely resourceful or mildly agricultural, depending on how much you enjoy offshore sailing!

With a bit of luck, tomorrow morning’s breakfast will already be served at the next island.

Goodbye, Moorea. I will definitely return…

…if only in my dreams.