07.12.11-09.12.11: We left Wallis in the afternoon and headed for the other island of Wallis and Futuna: Futuna! We arrived at Dawn’s crack the next day and, after a bit of fancy manoeuvring (tug boats are for wimps!) we shimmied up against the quayside and gently pressed ourselves again the wooden wharf. Futuna looked great: with high rocky peaks covered in lush greenery thrusting up into the interior of the island, it’s the closest thing to Jurassic Park I’ve ever seen. Well, without the dinosaurs, obviously. The Southern Pearl is the only supply ship to come to this island, so you might expect dancing girls, garlands, a barbecue or something, but no, our presence was met with the same blissful indifference that I’ve come to expect from France and her colonies. After the rain stopped, I set out from the dock for a mooch into the…

04.12.11-06.12.11: The less said about Sunday, the better. Hangovers are not something I tremendously suffer from unless a) I drink more than my bodyweight in alcohol the night before b) it’s stinking hot or c) I’m on a ship. As on this occasion boxes a), b) and c) were most definitely ticked, I attempted to sleep all day until I felt better, or at least until my mouth didn’t feel like the Atacama desert. I lasted until 7pm and then puked my guts up. The ship had left Tuvalu around 3pm and we were on our way to Wallis of Wallis and Futuna fame. By fame, I mean abject obscurity. Funnily enough, Martin and Corinna and the other German guy had come to the Southern Pearl looking for me the night before and had ended up drinking Kava with the crew. Oops. Oh well, we’ll probably…