It stings a bit but I take a deep breath, unclench my teeth, and focus on the rhythmic drumbeat that comes from somewhere in the jungle. a well-tattooed Marquesan artist named Mahekua looks up and catches my eye. “Okay?” he asks in Marquesan. (At least, that’s what I think he asks.) “Perfect,” I tell him. but I can’t help but wonder what the needle will feel like if the pen he is sketching out the design with is already making me sweat.

Ever since Capt. James Cook and his crew arrived in the South Pacific’s Marquesas Islands in 1774, sailors have been getting tattoos. and while body art has since grown trendy, I’m getting my tattoo for one of the traditional reasons: to mark a voyage. I sailed 4,500 kilometres over a big bloody ocean, crossed the equator, and ended up on Nuku Hiva, a staggeringly beautiful volcanic island that is now part of French Polynesia.

The Marquesas are thought to be one of the first island groups colonized during the Polynesian migration. Estimates vary, but the consensus seems to be that they were settled sometime between 300 and 600 AD by a seafaring people who were keen on using complex, geometric tattoos to signify personal milestones. The settlers also built a whole bunch of intricate stone stuff, leaving the rugged jungles filled with marae (sacred sites), tikis (the famous statues), and wide tohuas (meeting places).

When I met Mahekua I told him I was worried about being an aoe (foreigner) and getting a traditional Marquesan tattoo, wondering aloud if it was a form of cultural appropriation. He explained that because the designs and motifs are different for everyone, and each tattoo tells an individual story, it was okay—tattoos are a gift from the islands.

While he sketched mine on my leg, he asked me about my life and what I thought of Nuku Hiva. I told him the story of our first hike on the island—about how we got lost in the humid green jungle while searching for a marae and how a man on horseback called Roo found us and led us up a steep trail past fruit-filled trees until we reached the huge banyan tree that marked a sacred site. I told him how kind I thought it was when Roo gave us a stalk of bananas to share with our friends when we said goodbye to him.

And then it was time to start. I’m not sure if it was the rhythms of the drums or his relaxed attitude, but the actual tattooing seemed less painful than the pen had. Mahekua worked quickly, drawing straight lines over curved flesh and filling in the old symbols with black ink. Now and then he would stop to ask a question or alter a drawing. but then we were done.

“Did he use a hollow bone filled with fruit ash and pound it in with a little mallet?” my daughter Maia asked me when I got home to the boat. She’d been reading about tattooing practices and wanted to know if the motifs had been drawn in this traditional (and rather painful-sounding) way. I told her no, but explained how the tattoo that now wound its way around my ankle meant something. one symbol, I said, meant I had travelled a long distance by boat, and another says our family still has a long way to go, while a third says I travel with peace and love, and another announces I came to share bananas.

I questioned this last bit when Mahekua told me what my tattoo said. I thought perhaps I’d misunderstood his heavily accented French. I thought of all the ways that “sharing bananas” could be misconstrued. and then it became an anecdote—a story to go along with the ones about being befriended by a Marquesan named Roo who showed us such gentle kindness when he took us on a hike to our first marae, and of being caught off guard again and again by the majesty of Nuku Hiva’s fairy-tale peaks rising out of the ocean, and about being humbled by the warmth of the local people.

Sometimes there’s symmetry to travel: the story may seem to meander but the ending eventually mirrors the beginning. after I got my tattoo and we left Nuku Hiva, we spent three months sailing through French Polynesia—from the Marquesas Islands we moved on to the Tuamotus and then Tahiti and the Societies. on one of our last days before leaving French Polynesia for the Cooks, we set out on a dinghy trip up the river at the head of Baia Faaroa on Raiatea. we motored along—enjoying pretty plants, attractive birds, and serene scenes. and all the way I wondered why some dude in a kayak would paddle so close behind us that he would suck up our exhaust fumes.

When we hit the rapids and had to turn back, we learned the kayaker’s name was James. this was his valley, he told us, and he was our host. James asked if we would like to go for a hike. as we walked with him we learned what we could eat (good for you) and shouldn’t eat (not good for you). we learned the names of plants—especially the poisonous ones. we picked soursops, passion fruit and papayas, green beans and taro. we drank coconut milk and collected pamplemous and James told us many stories that I may or may not have entirely understood.

Eventually, we headed home. but then, not far from the mouth of the river, he stopped me. “To get your bananas,” he said, pointing at my tattooed ankle. He cut a huge stock, enough to share with an army of banana eaters.

There is still some of that old sailor’s romance and mystique to French Polynesia. and this means there are still people like James and Roo—who are quietly hospitable and who share bananas.

Access: You don’t need to sail across the Pacific to visit French Polynesia and get a tattoo: Tahiti is about eight hours by plane from Los Angeles. (The country comprises 118 islands over five archipelagos.) Check out the Tahiti Tourism website for information. For tattoos, ask around in the villages—and keep in mind tats get more affordable on the islands the further you go from the island of Tahiti. My tattoo artist, Mahekua, can often be found in the village of Taiohae on the island of Nuku Hiva.

In the Marquesas Islands, the South Pacific charms with stunning scenery and quirky tattoos