Tahiti. Swimming Across the Sea of the Moon

Leszek Naziemiec set out for Tahiti to swim 21 km across the open ocean between two islands in French Polynesia. However, this expedition turned out to be much more than just a sporting challenge—it became a story about people, the ocean, and a culture that has taught for centuries that the sea does not divide, but unites. The author takes readers of *Wodne Sprawy* on a journey where swimming intertwines with the discovery of one of the most beautiful corners of the world.

Tahiti for the First Time

During my first trip to Tahiti in 2025, together with Tomasz Woźniczka and my daughter Katarzyna, we began working on a project Resilience – We sought inspiration in traditional culture, which—in our view—can help us cope with current problems. We have sought—and continue to seek—themes that at first glance seem doomed to oblivion but turn out to be vibrant and useful. Meanwhile, some of our modern Thinking habits and behavioral patterns turn out to be hollow and ineffective. We recorded interviews with the poet Flora Aurima, cultural figures, and educators from Tahiti and Raiatei. We examined local ways of coping with the rapid changes taking place in the world.

Earlier this year, Poland’s first book of translated Tahitian poetry was published. It was written by Flora Aurima Devatine. The book was published by the Wolin Municipal Public Library and edited by siblings Anna and Tomasz Woźniczek. I translated the poems. The poet herself visited Warsaw and Lublin this spring to give lectures on Tahitian culture, which is deeply connected to the ocean and developed within a close and harmonious relationship with the natural environment.

A secondary goal of my first trip was to map out an interesting swimming route within French Polynesia. Ultimately, I chose the Tahiti–Moorea route, which is 18 km at its narrowest point, but I decided to take the longer route —21 km in a straight line from Punaauia to Maatei, with the option to extend the route if the weather permitted. It is a classic, beautiful swimming route, completed (in its shortest version) by only a handful of people.

Tahiti for the Second Time

My wife and I set off on our second trip to Tahiti during the last week of June. I had two goals in mind: a sporting one—a swim across the strait—and gathering material on Tahitian culture. Most people travel to Tahiti with a layover in Los Angeles or San Francisco, and the trip usually takes nearly two days.

The first few days on the islands can be challenging due to the time and climate differences between Poland and French Polynesia. Shortly after landing, we were invited to a gathering of the Devatine family and their friends, where (to my surprise) a ceremony was held to bestow upon us a Tahitian name in the “family” version—meaning both my wife and I can use it.

I became Toa-’au-moana. Toa means warrior or ironwood/cazuarina tree, ’au means swimming or floating, and moana means ocean. Carried by the ocean— Warrior of the Ocean. ‘Au moana can also mean a current or a tide. Toa refers to strength. It’s probably impossible to translate such a name exactly, but I bear it with pride.

What does it mean to me? It means friendship and trust; it means weaving a network of unexpected connections; it means that the sea and the ocean truly bring us together, rather than divide us. It’s something that will stay with me forever. It’s one of the greatest honors I’ve ever received. The naming ceremony refers to the traditional exchange of names with friends—newcomers.

A name that inspires ambition

By chance, the Toa tree has been my favorite tree in Polynesia ever since my first visit—not only is it hardy (though I didn’t know that at first), but it’s also beautiful. As a deciduous tree, it resembles a pine somewhat. It grows along the ocean’s shores, in poor soil, preventing or slowing coastal erosion. The name also put some pressure on me: I’d better actually complete this route!

Meanwhile, the weather forecast isn’t encouraging. High waves and adverse winds are predicted in the strait, which is three and a half kilometers deep. The window during which I can make the crossing runs from July 8 to 13. That’s when Adrian Uciński—a lifeguard and friend who’s securing the crossing—will arrive on the island.

We’re heading to Moorea for a week. The goal is acclimatization, training, and, of course, exploring the area.

There is no doubt that Moorea is one of the most beautiful islands in the world. The only downside is that access to the beaches is limited. The island has 60 km of coastline, yet there are only 3 public beaches. This means that locals sometimes have to drive many kilometers to enjoy the lagoon. The beaches are usually privately owned. You can also walk through a hotel or go down to the water at certain spots along the road that circles the island. When it comes to hotels in French Polynesia, it’s worth noting that there aren’t many, and tourist traffic isn’t very heavy. Tahiti is simply too far away, flight prices are high, and European and American products, shipped by boat, cost a fortune.

Approximately 270,000 tourists visit the islands of Polynesia each year. Local authorities would like to increase this number to 400,000. By comparison, Zakopane welcomes about 1 million visitors a year. The decline in tourist numbers was caused by the 2008 economic crisis, followed by the pandemic a few years ago.

Waves and Sharks: Waiting for the Start

We’re heading back to Tahiti. We’ve chosen July 9 for the crossing. The weather will be bad for swimming then, but it’s still the best in window: The main wave, or swell, is forecast to be 1.3–1.4 m. In the Baltic Sea, long-distance swimming under such conditions would be impossible, but an oceanic swell involves a slow rise and fall of the water’s surface over, say, 8 seconds. If you’re used to it (stomach-wise!), you can swim. This main wave will pass me on the left and sometimes slightly from behind. The wind is expected to blow from the right at a speed of 7 knots. Not ideal, but it’ll do. This will cause chop. Currents are expected to be variable but weak.

Taraua Devatine, a friend from Tahiti, takes a boat from the marina at 5 a.m., and the three of us—along with Adrian Uciński—set off slowly across the Punaauja Reef to find a good spot to start. The reef is about 200 meters wide, and in a pinch, you can walk across to the open ocean in some places. You have to be careful, though, because at the end of the reef, the ocean waves crash very hard against the rocks.

Most of the sharks swimming in the lagoon are harmless blacktip and gray sharks. The stonefish poses a threat. If stepped on, it releases a toxin and causes prolonged pain, which—as the locals say—will ruin the entire experience of staying on the islands. In open waters, you may encounter, for example, tiger sharks and other species that pose a risk but generally do not attack humans. A person would have to be injured, be hunting other fish with a speargun, or be extremely unlucky. Such encounters are extremely rare.

I step into the water

We wait for dawn, and I enter the water. As is typical in the tropics, daylight lasts from about 6:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. We don’t have any lighting on the boat, so we have to make the crossing quickly during that time. The first 50 minutes of swimming are like a fairy tale. The water is perfectly clear, a deep indigo; at a depth of 10–15 meters, schools of fish swim past me.

The fluorescent zooplankton, which had been drifting toward the surface at night, is returning to the depths. I see lights—like stars receding rapidly into infinity. I know why I’m here! I swim the crawl, breathing every three strokes, sometimes switching to four or two to match the rhythm of the wave on my left. Sometimes I swim a few dozen meters using the breaststroke to look around above the water: directly across from me rise the majestic peaks of Moorea, which served as visual inspiration for the creators of the movie *Moana*.

After 50 minutes, a stronger wind picks up from the left, a black cloud rolls by, and it starts to drizzle. The going is rough—I don’t remember exactly, but maybe 1–1.5 hours. After that, until halfway through the route, it’s fairly smooth sailing. At the start of the crossing, I’m still thinking about sharks, and whenever I see something darker underwater, I flinch. But it’s just the shadow of the motor.

After a while, I relax and get into a swimming rhythm. Adrian launched the drone to get some good aerial shots of the route. Unfortunately, at one point the drone fell straight into the water and started sinking. Our captain, Taraua, jumped overboard without a moment’s hesitation. He fished the drone out from a depth of 7 meters. Diving skills are always a plus! Will we be able to recover the footage? We don’t know yet.

I ate a banana every hour and drank apple juice. After a meal, I’d swim 100 meters on my back to rest. My former coach and Polish swimming record holder, Kajetan Załuski, believes that during long swims, it’s best to swim rest intervals using the backstroke.

Is it still far?

The closer I get to Moorea, the worse it gets. The wind-driven waves are getting bigger and bigger. I’ll just say they’re definitely over 1 m, so I won’t be accused of exaggerating. I’m getting closer and closer to the Moorea Reef; my stomach is getting more and more queasy, and I’m starting to ask if it’s still far. Sometimes I only cover 300–400 meters in 20 minutes.

We start looking for an entrance to the reef, keeping our distance from the rocks, which could damage both the swimmer and the boat. After another stretch— still quite a distance away —Adrian calls out that there are 200 meters left and I need to pick up the pace. I swim into the strait that marks the beginning of the reef and finish the crossing. I climb back onto the boat and I’m happy. My head is spinning, and I’m swaying from side to side. I’ll still feel this way later that evening once I’m back on land.

We moored in Maatei and rested for a while on the shore. The water temperature stayed between 26–27°C the whole time. I was worried it would be too warm for me, but luckily it was a cloudy day, without the sun beating down too hard. I swam 21 km in a straight line in 8 hours and 18 minutes, at an average pace of about 2.5 km/h. Considering that in practice you have to add at least a kilometer to the route and factor in battling the waves, that’s a good pace for me.

It’s time to head back. We get on the boat and race back. The waves are even bigger now; the boat bounces on every one, which isn’t pleasant for the spine or the tailbone. I manage to see a flying fish for the first time. The creature leaps out of the water and, right before our eyes, covers a distance of 100 meters in active flight, flapping its wing-like fins vigorously.

At the end of the day, we take a dip in Punnauia Lagoon, return the boat to the rental place, and the owner asks if we want to rinse the salt water off. I say no, and he replies that I’m probably looking forward to a hot shower at home. I’m not, because I like the salt on my skin and in my hair.

Once there, we’re greeted at the home of our hosts, Flora and Rene-Jean—with shell and flower necklaces, of course, and a wonderful dinner! The islanders, who live on and off the ocean, appreciate the journey to Moorea all the more because so few have managed it. Someone asks: Why didn’t you start from the Moorea side? Then you’d have plenty of strength to tackle the rough waters near the lagoon. The answer is: because I didn’t know the conditions in the water would be like that.

He learns that every stretch of ocean has a Tahitian name. The one I sailed across is called Te Moana-o-Marama, which means “Sea of the Moon” or “Sea of Moons.” The name comes from the names of the Moorea and Maiao chieftain dynasties. And when you look at Moorea from the shores of Tahiti, the water often takes on a silvery sheen, living up to its name.

And for dessert, a festival

July in Tahiti is the time of the great Heiva Festival. Traditional dance groups, choirs, and percussion ensembles compete for the title of the best on the islands. In addition, the Heiva features many traditional sports: va’a canoe races, stone lifting, coconut tree climbing, javelin throwing, and many other disciplines.

It’s a truly unique experience to watch a performance created by a group of two hundred dancers! In addition to having fun at the Heiva, I also visited traditional marae and bought books that are unavailable or hard to find outside the islands.

A real gem is Teuira Henry’s *Tahiti in the Old Days* ( first French edition). The author’s grandfather was a missionary who became fascinated by Polynesian culture and decided to document everything he saw and heard in the face of the inevitable changes brought about by the arrival of Europeans. His magnum opus was lost but has been reconstructed by his granddaughter, Teuria, and is now the primary source of knowledge about ancient customs. I received this book from Flora Devatine. I also acquired books on ancient navigation and va’a construction, on nuclear tests in French Polynesia, and the memoirs of the last royal family in Tahiti.

You need to read all of this, take notes, and think about what might be most interesting to readers in Poland. Tahiti is currently experiencing a cultural renaissance. So let’s hope it lasts as long as possible, and let’s make the most of this opportunity!

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Main photo: René-Jean Devatine