Wednesday, September 6

0600 We "certainly" are going to disembark at Hao, this morning, it seems. The atoll is on the horizon and approaching; we can also see the MV Greenpeace under tow from a frigate, a few miles from us.

The grunts are still occupying much of the mess, and have started playing some ghastly music. One of them starts chanting a National Front slogan: "Emigre Dehors" (Immigrants, out!) I can't believe my ears, but Pierre-Emmanuel says I'm hearing right. He tells them to shut it.

0900 A tug comes along side and passes over heavy chains and bolts to be used for anchoring the vessel. The gendarmes start to get nervous, telling us we must go into the mess once we get near the pass into Hao. We initially refuse, but Jon eventually asks us to go in. We lean out the portholes in the mess as the pass approaches, but the grunts pull us back and lock up the portholes. The pass is narrow and the tide flushes turbulently out around us as we go in.

1000 We have all agreed to stay together, regardless of what they want us to do. They tell us we must all disembark, except for Jon, who has to be further interviewed in relation to the customs charges. We refuse to leave without him. They start getting more and more irate. They take us individually into our cabins to pack our gear. Mine is already packed, and they tip it out unceremoniously onto the floor to search it. I refuse to re- pack it for them, and they start shouting at me. I lie down on my bunk and refuse to pack it. Eventually, they do it themselves.

Back in the mess, we are still refusing to leave without Jon. They have also refused to let me or anyone else take my disks and papers. They also get incredibly stubborn about refusing to let me take some tapes - as if Beethoven and Schubert have somehow become seditious!

Finally, the chief gendarme just snaps. He tells us he's had enough, we're going to be taken by force. Tim, Pierre-Emmanuel and I lock arms around the back of a table in the mess. Rob and Philip get taken out first, while the paratroopers peel us off one at a time. Derek and the three of us are carried out by wrists and ankles, or in my case, by the arms of my t-shirt, banged along the corridor, out onto the deck, and into the tug alongside.

After a short trip in the tug, we're again carried out and dumped on the dock with our baggage.

There's a new set of gendarmes dealing with us, and as usual their first reaction is unadulterated hostility. When I refuse to move from the dock without Jon Castle coming off the boat, they tow me by arms and legs into an office. There is no attempt to be gentle -- my back scrapes along the coral and they drop me none too gently several times. It seems an interminable trip as they sweat and swear over me. Eventually I end up in a bare office with several more gendarmes and an air force officer. The air force officer looks both embarassed and concerned and tries to act as interpreter. The others look like they could quite easily drop me down a dark hole. I lie on my back on the floor while Derek gets taken into an adjacent room and Philip comes in my one.

An hour or so later, Paula Huckleberry turns up. Then they carry me through to another office and dump me on the floor. A very angry police officer -- one of the ones who first boarded the Warrior last weekend -- tells me I'm ridiculous. I try a contemptuous stare although its a bit difficult on your back in bare legs streaked with grime and your clothes dishevelled. They read me yet another version of the expulsion order from French Polynesia, translated nervously by the only woman gendarme present, then drag me back to the office.

The day grinds on. They bring in some lunch which I'm not hungry for, but Paula tucks in to it. She and I strike up conversation with the gendarmes guarding us, she playing good cop, me bad cop. She wants to get home and wants her luggage back, so that takes some time. She and I end up more outside than inside the room, she chain smoking, drinking the chateau cardboard red wine, knitting a garish baby blanket and making friendly conversation with the gendarmes while I hassle them simultaneously about lawyers, phone calls, where the crew is....

All they keep telling us is that we can't phone because we're now under an expulsion order (although one says, yes you can if you pay for it yourself; I offer to do this and he says I can't unless I have a telephone card, I offer to buy one and he says I can't because the post office is shut...Kafka again!). They also say that Jon is "about to arrive" all the time; and that the crew are "free" in the civilian village on Hao, but are not allowed to come and see us.

3pm Peter Schwarz, the captain of the Greenpeace, arrives in our room. He's OK, has refused to do an inventory of the ship for them and is taken off to be searched. So they find the passports, finally!

5pm Derek and I are taken to another office by a patronising sleazy plainclothes officer. He is Pierre Merglen? I think, from the High Commission, or military intelligence. They have permitted the NZ consul in Tahiti to ring us to check on our health and status. While we wait for the call to come in, he rings Tahiti. Obviously there's bad news: he comes off the phone red with anger and starts shouting at us: thieves, looters, killers... Derek and I don't know what the hell is going on. "If someone is killed in Tahiti, you're responsible," he shouts at me, shaking a finger at me. It's almost comical as we don't have a clue what he's talking about; when we ask him to explain, he refuses to.

Still no sign of Jon. Whenever I ask the gendarmes, they tell me he is coming, will be here in half an hour etc. I don't believe them, but there is nothing I can do. When I ask about the rest of the crew, they say they are "free" and are in the civilian village, but are not allowed to contact us as we are on a military base and under an expulsion order.

Eventually the NZ Consul calls. She sounds SO kiwi. The gendarmes refuse to leave the room during the phone call and turn the speaker phone on so they can hear what she is saying too. She repeats the rubbish they have told the NZ government (the weather is bad, we've been free etc) so we go into a lengthy conversation about exactly what has happened.

6pm It's clear we are going somewhere, but unclear where. They go through the passports and tell us to get our bags together. I end up conversing with one of the gendarmes about racism and the National Front.

8pm We're loaded into a truck with our gear, and head through the darkened base out toward the airstrip. We can see the lights of the RW and MVGP in the lagoon. I'm still hoping that when we get to the plane Jon and the rest of the crew will be there... It feels awful to be leaving the Warrior on her own.

8.30pm We're put on board a military jet, a souped-up Caravelle with "Republique Francaise" on the side. They say we are going to Papeete. A gendarme - Jean-Paul - has assigned himself to me. I've caught him staring at me before during the day, I don't know whether this means he is super hostile or more friendly than the others. He sits between me and aisle and accompanies me to the toliet. They claim the toliet door isn't working (it is), and put a set of handcuffs down on the floor around the door so it doesn't close properly. Not quite the service of UTA...

10pm This plane goes 3-400 miles an hour, so it is clear by now that we are NOT going to Papeete. Maybe because of the rioting, but probably because of some other plan we don't yet know about. I've been extra friendly to Jean-Paul, asking about where he's from, answering his questions about me, Greenpeace, my family, am I married etc. I gently grill him about where we are going, and he finally whispers that we are going to Los Angeles... Apart from picking at some rather untasty food, I doze uncomfortably between the gendarme and Derek. The gendarmes move around a lot, talking and smoking, and Jean-Paul sits stiffly beside me, making sleep rather difficult -- I don't know whether he is just uncomfortable too (he's very tall, and the plane is definitely not designed for big people), whether he feels obliged to stay awake to keep an eye on me, or whether he's just twitchy about being physically close to me as a strange woman in the enforced intimacy of long distance travel.