Our arrival into the Marshall Islands went as smoothly as any, and marked our 50th country and territory since we started cruising. Official clearance wasn’t complete until the following day. Not a big deal; the morning we dropped our anchor in 80 feet at Majuro, the nation’s capital, it was bucketing rain. We were happy for a reprieve to clean our 47-foot Stevens Totem, and ourselves, and put the boat together after the 21 days at sea from Hawaii.
We had a reasonable idea of what to expect for clearance, thanks to a range of sources. Friends who had sailed here a year ago provided intel. More came from friends who’ve been living aboard in the Marshalls for a few years. Noonsite is a first stop in any research for arrival details. Noforeignland provided additional insight (and pins in the map to help find officials, if needed).
The key lesson: You can prepare all you want, but every clearance here is a unique experience. We might be cleared shortly after arrival. It might take a few days. We may have all formalities conducted aboard Totem. We may be asked to go ashore and visit offices. The burden is on us to provide what’s needed, wait and follow directions. The intangible requirement for clearance here (or anywhere, really) is patience. Anyone who has been cruising for long, or through a range of countries, is nodding their head in agreement right now.
What should be consistent is advance research and best effort. For the Marshalls, that means providing notice of arrival (at least 72 hours ahead) by email. We are to call customs and immigration on VHF radio channel 16 upon entry to the atoll, and then call again once anchored or moored off town. The fact that we received no response to this outreach was not relevant.
It was almost exactly 24 hours after arrival that a pilot boat bearing officials showed up alongside Totem. The sun was shining, but there’s another intangible: Cultural standards dictate conservative dress. It might have been 90 degrees, but every one of the male officials wore trousers and a collared shirt. My husband, Jamie, and I had seconds to get more presentable before they stepped on board.
The clearance process commenced in our cockpit. Officials brought a list of paperwork they wished us to produce, and we either had it prepared already, such as last port clearance, or we created it (it’s handy to have a printer aboard). A boat stamp makes everything official.
With clearance done, Jamie and I scrambled to be ready to travel to Annapolis for the boat show and teaching at Cruisers University a few days later.
This week, cruising friends arrived after sailing north from Fiji to base in the Marshall Islands for the southern hemisphere cyclone season. They did get a response after hailing on the VHF radio once the boat was tied to a mooring off town. And then, crickets. The day went by. Rain was intermittent. Another day passed. The third day, possibly with the nudge of another email, they were able to complete clearance (visiting shoreside offices, unlike our happily simple all-aboard experience) before offices shut down for the weekend.
After a significant passage, shore leave is welcome.
Cultural Norms, Part II
We’ve been ashore a number of times in the past week, in a bid to get our applications to visit other atolls approved. Each one requires pre-approval, including sign-off from the chief, to visit. There’s an unspoken dress code: collared shirts and trousers for men, and most appropriate for women is a dress. Even in the town of Majuro, where “modern” standards mean some women aren’t in below-the-knee skirts or dresses, it seems around 90 percent of them are. They’re also not showing their shoulders.
Did I mention how humid and hot it is here, 7 degrees from the equator? In the intertropical convergence zone. It’s not comfortable, but the burden is for us to respect local norms.
It’s especially important when visiting officials or their representatives, as we were for our permits. Yes, Jamie detests wearing trousers, and I’d be more comfortable in a sleeveless top and something cut above the knee, but we’re guests in this country, and it’s on us to be respectful.
Not Just the Marshall Islands
This week, we held a seminar and online meetup for folks in our coaching community with plans to cruise the Pacific side of Mexico this winter. Most of them are still in California and preparing to head south, so much of the session was dedicated to setting expectations around arriving in Mexico.
In addition to unsurprising topics like port clearance practices, getting fuel and insurance quirks, we talked about the importance of One Nice Thing. By that, we mean an outfit in which you don’t look like a “grotty yachtie” but instead mirror local standards. It shows respect. It garners that in return. Showing up at the capitania de puerto wearing shorts and a tank top shows disrespect for the officials you need to process your clearance. It might complicate that process.
We had the same discussion in prepping folks who were going to the South Pacific. It surprised some people that there’s a need to have at least One Nice Thing there, too. If you go to church (an appealing experience even for the non-religious, since the music at a service is mind-blowingly beautiful) it’s essential to reflect standards. Going to a “feast” on an island in Tonga? Same standards. Blame the missionaries, if you will—I do—but being covered up (men: pants, nice shirt; women: no shoulders, no cleavage, cover up to below the knee) matters.
When thinking about the steps for clearing into other countries, it’s easy to focus on the needs for paperwork and reporting. It’s important to remember these intangibles, too, and to be sure your locker of sarongs and tanks includes at least One Nice Thing.
