There was a time when half of the world was still a fascinating mystery for humankind, and the oceans the greatest barrier to cross. To be fair, the ocean's surface remains a riddle still nowadays, with more than 80% of its masses uncharted and obscure to humanity. But I am sure you can imagine well how the unstoppable desire of man to discover has led, in the past, thousands of explorers to the borders of the earth. In the XVII century, the New World was no longer a latent location as European explorers started to aim to a whole other area, or better, a continent: they were persuaded that an enormous landmass occupied most of the Southern Hemisphere. This convincement was based on the Ptolemaic logic that the world should have been balanced in its weight: therefore, the Northern and the Southern Hemisphere had to present the same amount of land to keep the earth from collapsing. Between the XVII and the XIX centuries, we witness the first "unintentional discoveries" of the many islands scattered around the Pacific Sea: "Terra Australis Incognita" belief brought European to shape itineraries throughout the Pacific Ocean, hoping to land on lush, rich heaven. But what explorers found on their way to this non-existing paradise were endless routes, starvation, gales and storms, and most of all: water, an infinite expanse of water. The ocean, for the lucky ones, unveiled several atolls and islands: many explorers managed to come upon them and their inhabitants. By the end of the XVII century, these expeditions increased dramatically due to the international need to secure colonies and power. The British Crown possessed a powerful colonial force and a great navy. These are the circumstances where the famously known expedition led by Captain James Cook and his vessel, the H.M.S. Endeavour took place. I have begun my research by exploring the Natural History Museum Endeavour 250 Collection. It displays original herbarium sheets and specimens collected across Tahiti, New Zealand and Australia, together with original botanical drawings and illustrations. It includes more than 1,000 species of plants unknown to Europeans previous to James Cook's trip.
The mission had the public aim to observe, in an ideal location, the transit of Venus, phenomena which would have enlightened on the accurate distance between the earth and the sun. But the real, confidential purpose was, of course, to locate and claim Terra Australis. James Cook and his crew, including the naturalist Joseph Banks, made their first stop in the Pacific in Tahiti in April 1769. They settled on the island, forging ties with its inhabitants, for a total of four months.
Tupaia was a Tahitian Airoi -a spiritual chief- highly esteemed on the island. It is explicit from the report of the English that Tupaia struck an impression on them: it was described as a tall, imposing man of around forty years old, incredibly proficient both in the art of politics and oratory as well as an incredibly skilled navigator, who possessed a broad ancestral and astronomy knowledge. His figure instantly reminded me of the great men of Classic Greece and their polyhedral, multifaceted knowledge. Tupaia actively helped James Cook trace the geography of islands around Tahiti: his expertise was not only the results of his personal experience and travels but also of knowledge handed down from generations. He shared the habits, traditions and customs of its people, broadening our ethnographic knowledge of Tahitian people. What is even more fascinating is that Tupaia felt a true, unstoppable thirst for the unknown, taking an interest in the "European ways". He let European art forms contaminate him, giving shape to many unprecedented illustrations of his island.
The British Library currently displays a digital collection of the Tupaia drawings as well as academic enquiries reflecting on James Cook travels' impact on European cartography and overseas travels until the 1950s. An Ulisses of the Pacific, he decided to join Cook's expedition and sailed off to new explorations and ventures. His journey was short-lived since he died in 1770, but he managed to land on the most similar thing to Terra Australis Incognita in the Pacific Sea: Australia. His presence on the ship revealed to be fundamental. He was an experienced seaman with an impressive awareness of the territory, and when the ship docked in New Zealand, he proved himself to be an excellent translator and an influential presence, strongly admired by the inhabitants of the island. The most remarkable artefact that the encounter between Cook and Tupaia has produced is a chart: to read it, we must understand that its representation is not lead by our mathematical system of navigation, but instead presents "a very different idea of the relationship between a navigator and the ocean", "a translation of Tahitian geographical knowledge into European cartographic terms at the very first moment in history when such a thing might have been possible; a fusion of completely different sets of ideas. There was no precedent for it; it has no known equal".
Tupaia was not only able to influence whom he met but owned the fine intelligence to expose himself to others as well. What arose from this exchange was a complex output of art, expertise, information and connections. We are used to considering geographical discoveries and overseas explorations a European vocation and prerogative. What Tupaia story and his chart make us acknowledge is that in the other half of the earth, in a world that seemed as far as possible from an 'advanced', 'civilized' Europe, there was the same intelligence, the same brilliant thinking, the same burst of curiosity and thirst of knowledge, only in a diverse, original, unexpected form.
Written by Sofia Sireno