Everything looked good from the moment we boarded the catamaran and leaving behind us the port of Nantes, we started to approach one after the other the beautiful islands with white sandy beaches and wild tropical vegetation, until we reached Yasawa Ira Ira, the island of our newly-converted sister Sophronia. The boat was full of passengers, white tourists and dark-skinned natives, the former going on holiday and the latter returning with their shopping from Nantes. Captain and crew all natives, well organized and well-mannered. We admired on each island the picturesque barges that danced on the waves as they sailed on board to pick up passengers and luggage. I thought this was done on the small islands and that on ours, which was larger, as it looked on the map, there would be some dock to board the ship. Instead, we saw the barges here too, coming the same way picking up and dropping off passengers and luggage and running off in the same direction. They were going to Yasawa Ira Ira. We got off on one of them following the same course as the previous ones. Our boat was slower so we couldn’t see the others that had crossed the bend. There were eight of us in it. The further we went, the more the supposed Pacific Ocean began to show its true face. The wind began to blow with a vengeance and the sea waves began to swell dangerously and literally howl, pounding relentlessly against the sides of our boat and showering us with their salty contents. At first we were amused. But when we saw that we were passing one cape after another and there was no port in sight anywhere, we started to get worried. The very salty water made our eyes sting unbearably and I could not look ahead, lest from my little experience I might be able to say something to the boatman to assist him. He too could not get a clear view, so every now and then he would reach out his arm to get the water out of his eyes. By now we were in a sea that we would necessarily have to cross to reach the opposite shore, which I suspected was the harbour and village we were bound for. I began to worry. The only recourse in such circumstances is prayer. I secretly chanted the Petition of Our Lady, believing that she would not leave us unprotected.
“To whom shall I flee for another pure one? Where then shall I take refuge and be saved, where shall I go? What refuge shall I find?”
We approached the beach with a lot of effort. No harbour, no village. We had to pass many more bays before we heard from elder Lydia that behind the next bay was the village. But it wasn’t that but the next one after that. After four hours of fighting the waves we finally reached the end of the journey. We got out of the boat half-climbing, because there was neither a dock nor a board. Just a spotless sandy beach covered by deep trees. This is the village of our newly-converted Sophronia. I think that for the sake of her, her family and her 300 fellow countrymen who with great pleasure and honour welcomed and hosted us, it was worth the effort to make this arduous journey. Orthodoxy set foot on this remote Pacific island. May the name of the Lord be glorified.
+ The New Zealand Amphilochius
