Pitcairn, a child dream, a sailor dream, here we are ! The swell is high and we go at anchor in what is called “Western Harbor”, a anchorage open to all swells, more than 10 fathoms deep… Andrew comes with his boat to pick us ashore and when we go through the tiny jetty, pushed by a breaking wawe of 10 feet, to come alonside to a no less tiny jetty, we understand that the blood of the mutineers has not vanished ! They are only 40, on their flowered island, only linked by boat, and internet, to the world ! All are descendants of Christian Fletcher and John Adams, the real patriarch. The young ones go studying in New Zealand, and don’t come back, Jean Claude, the pastor, has not many parochians…Fortunately there is the passing cruisers and sailing boats who add some spice in the life of this small community where history, their history, is everywhere and at all times.
We leave Pitcairn full of fruits and vegetables, we have exchanged our addresses, and we will receive the island “gazette” by internet, a curious blend of past and present!
