Landing in Tahiti early in the morning, I was reminded of my arrival in St
Petersburg. There we'd been greeted by a
brass band. Here again, a group of
musicians welcomed us, this time a female singer and men playing ukuleles. (Example - I forgot to take video or pictures.) It was a lovely way to step off the
plane. I'd experienced severe brain freeze
booking my first night's accommodation.
Not only was I repeating
Friday, but additionally, because I was landing early in the morning, my
booking was in fact meant to be for Thursday night into Friday morning, whereas
I'd booked
for Friday night. Fortunately the
proprietor had obviously faced this exact problem before, and she corrected my
mistake. My hosts were waiting at the
airport, and a garland of island flowers was placed around my neck. I've seen this so many times on TV when
people land in Hawaii, but hadn't been expecting it here. Then again, the whole of the Pacific is
populated by related peoples. I was driven the short distance to their
'pension'. The best translation for this
would be guest house. Some pensions
offer a room in a house with a Polynesian family, while others, like the one where
I stayed, have
a separate building for guests. Rooms are
private but facilities are shared. Mine
was blissfully air-conditioned - this country is HOT!
After a short sleep, I awoke at 7:30, just as I had yesterday in Sydney. But it wasn't tomorrow... Alright, I'll cease and desist about the date line
now...... I'd arisen early to take advantage of
breakfast. Stepping out of my room, the
roasting humidity smacked me in the face.
Oh, no! What had I done?
I really
cannot bear such weather, yet I'd come here at the hottest time of the year. Well, whatever, I was simply going to have to ignore the
sweat and swelter or I'd have
wasted my money. The surroundings were
natural and lush. Cocks crowed and dogs
woofed and I began to
see that I was in
heaven. Breakfast was baguette and fresh
fruit.
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After eating, I went back to sleep while I waited for my hosts to
return from town, where they were running errands. They'd said they would drop me at my next
accommodation thereafter. FareHau is in
Faa'a, near the airport and west of Papeete, whereas my next bed waited beyond
the east end of the capital. As planned,
I checked in at the Royal Tahitien around noon. Then I walked back towards
Papeete. It was slightly rainy,
though I didn't see anyone use an umbrella. No one hurried for cover either. Then again, it was not raining heavily. Papeete was larger than I'd estimated from the map, and it took time to wander about. I tried to locate a
launderette I'd found online, but there was no such
place. The roads were throbbed and the
traffic was a little pushy. However,
motorists approaching a pedestrian crossing would turn on the hazard blinkers
to communicate to a stroller their intention to stop for him.
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As I walked around and rained with sweat (urgh), I found the environment and its people not unlike Africa and its
people. The public happily sat on
pavements, and tarred roads were cracked.
I didn't really see much to justify the exorbitant prices of each
and every item. Then again, everything
has to be imported and flown to the various isles that make up the
country. I am not quite sure what
I thought I'd find, but my
imagination had conjured images of the French Riviera, and this place appeared
a lot more forlorn. That was the manmade
part of it, of course. The natural
environment was untamed, raw and awe-inspiring.
Many Tahitians were bigger than me.
This was both comforting and infuriating, as none of them seemed to
perspire. As I shopped for towels to dry my drenched face and an electric
adaptor to charge my camera and phone, I also searched for
cheap street food. However, the heat and
clamminess eventually defeated me, and I stepped into a
diner. I was hungry, but my
main reason was to cool down.
In the afternoon I returned to my room. On the way, reggae music radiated from a
number of restaurants. Later, a young
Polynesian walked along the road with his less-than-portable radio emitting
faster beats. Near the resort, an older
man on a bicycle added his jams to the mix.
It was already late afternoon by the time I got back, and I decided to rest and
enjoy the air conditioning. The Royal
Tahitien lay on a large piece of land right on the shore, with a beautiful
garden and a restaurant overlooking the sea.
The beach, however, did not exist.
The water came right up to the property's perimeter wall. I wrote in my journal,
looked at my pictures and watched TV.
All the channels were French and all actors were white.
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I thought of popping into the restaurant that evening, but there
was a cover charge at the entrance.
Entertainment was provided by a singer, and his idiom reminded me way
too much of Country & Western, so I relented and returned
to my room. This was okay because I could now plan what to do tomorrow.
On Saturday morning, I discovered that my upcoming flight had been delayed. I had received an email
before leaving Taiwan to notify me of this change, but the message did not
clarify which flight was affected. Since
this trip involved twelve flights, I just ignored it. Now I knew which one it
was. I had booked a car at
the new destination, so I needed to get to Air
Tahiti to find out the reason for the delay and whether or not there was
another choice. I dropped my dirty garments at hotel reception and reeled at the
price I'd have to pay for laundry. Before
exiting the resort grounds, though, the receptionist ran out to say sorry,
laundry service was not available on the weekend. I was actually relieved
because of how much it might have cost.
After dropping my hamper back in my room, the first thing I did was buy detergent.
Here I was, once again faced with the annoyance of
hand washing, (as had been the case throughout my Baltic trip 18 months ago) but this time my attitude was slightly better. Then I continued into
town. I was not going to walk
any distance today - I took the bus.
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| hanging in Air Tahiti office |
Air Tahiti could not
accommodate my needs, so now I located Avis. The receptionist was extremely helpful and
telephoned the other branch. I explained my situation, and they said not to worry, the car
would be ready with my name on the dashboard and the key in the sun visor. I was asked to return on
the following day to sign the contract.
How civilised! Then I stepped out of the Avis office and took out my journal to
record all that had happened. The
receptionist saw me writing and hurried outside to invite me back into the air
conditioning. In the lounge, he offered me some iced water and a delicious
coconut sweet. This all reminded me of a
moment in Tallinn, Estonia. I'd been writing in my journal while eating in a restaurant, when
all of a sudden the service improved. A
useful tip if you want professional attention, though on neither occasion was
this my goal.
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Leaving Avis, clouds
came over and the temperature dropped. A
light drizzle started to fall.
Glorious! I found a bank to exchange some currency, though the teller
directed me instead to an ATM that would do the exchange more cheaply. This machine swallowed about six foreign
currencies and spat out francs in their place.
Each transaction was charged at three dollars. I put in a euro
bill. I had another, but I did not see how to insert that during the same
transaction. To convert both of them, I paid twice! The same
happened when I converted Australian dollars a few days
later. It was only after
inserting the last note in my wallet that I saw the button ADD MORE NOTES! In the end, I paid $3 six times! Oh
well, sometimes there is nothing that can be done about stupidity.
I continued to search in vain for a launderette. This aspect of the trip reminded me of
traveling through the Baltics. Why are
there no such services in Europe?
Lourens had said that also in Germany last summer, he'd been unable to
find one. Was it because Tahiti is a
political extension of Europe that here too, the industry did not exist? These were questions to which I did not really need answers; what was needed was simple
acceptance.
I found the bus terminus and waited with the other folk. There was no printed schedule and no one
seemed to know when the bus would arrive.
This was another trait shared with Africa. I listened as
Polynesians spoke French to one another, which was hardly surprising, though
they also spoke Tahitian. What I did find unusual was hearing Chinese people speaking French
with each other and with compatriots of other ethnic backgrounds. It might have been
frustrating not to switch to Mandarin to make myself understood, but using
English was fine.
Jumping off at my
hotel, I attacked the unwelcome task of washing. I scrubbed and rinsed
and scrubbed and rinsed. Here the only
saving grace was that I laboured in an air-controlled
environment. In the Baltics, there was not even a fan to keep me cool. Clothes hung and tasks done, I rested, wrote and napped in my cool room. Later I toddled to the
restaurant just to see what it was like.
It was not at all what I expected. The decor was neither flashy nor Hawaiian,
yet it was pleasant and relaxed. Beyond,
a narrow strip of black sand beach collected washed-up bottles, while another discarded
container bopped on the diminutive waves.
All were ultimately headed to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.... I nurtured a Hinano
Tahiti, a beer with a whiff of honey, not unlike Heineken. Refreshing!
As I sat, I mused that I should have come here when I was younger, when heat
did not bother me. Alternatively, I might have done better research and come in the southern
winter. I had learned that the
weather is cooler then. On the other
hand, as the days passed, I started to feel a
little healthier, as though I'd sat in a sauna for
seven days.
On Sunday morning, I waited in the frosty room until check-out time. After 18 hours of stationary rest, I found it hard to shake all the cobwebs from my mind. A part of me wanted to stay put and rest for
another day or two. Looking out at the
blue sky, the palm trees and the deep blue ocean peeking at me between the
leaves lulled me into a trance from which I did not really want to
wake. Finally at 11 a.m., I moseyed across the garden to reception. I'd booked
transportation to leave at that time. While
I waited, a woman was checking out. I didn't mean to
eavesdrop, but she was speaking English and there was no one else around to
distract me. A call came from her room,
where a cleaner had found her iPad. The
guest went to retrieve it and when she returned, she was livid. The devise had landed on the floor and
cracked when the cleaner had not spotted it among the bed sheets. This airline attendant wanted her iPad
replaced, and the receptionist was complacent.
I thought that it was the guest's own fault for forgetting it on
the bed! How dare she demand a new one
from the cleaner?! I bit my tongue. None of
my business.....
I waited for transportation for 30 minutes! I was not in a hurry,
but they did not know that. What if I had a flight to catch?
When it eventually arrived, the hotel shuttle took me back to the
airport. I was not yet leaving
Tahiti. I was instead picking up
a car from Hertz. I had not booked one for my whole stay because they are
frightfully expensive in this oceanic nation.
However, the minute I got in, everything
seemed more beautiful. No longer did I need to exert my lazy legs, no longer did I need to dab my torrential brow.
Now a full appreciation of my surroundings had suddenly become possible. I headed immediately to
Carrefour to get supplies, as my next accommodation was as far away from
Papeete as it could be by car. Carrefour
is a French hypermarket chain that also has a presence in Taiwan. While the Formosan branches do stock a small
number of French products, their merchandise is mostly geared towards local
tastes. Here in Tahiti, the French
influence was much more marked and a welcome find. Most importantly, shopping here was affordable.
Supplies in the back
seat, I now headed south from Faa'a, hugging the coast as it turned
east. My destination was Tahiti Iti, the smaller circle in the figure-of-eight that is the
outline of the island. Where I'd been was on the northwestern
end of Tahiti Nui, the bigger circle. My
drive passed some spectacular terrain and was punctuated with wrong turns that
forced me to backtrack at times. Here
the paved roads were rather good, and the Pacific waters were never far out of
view. I passed through the
town of Taravao, located on the isthmus that connects the two parts of the
eight, where I spotted another Carrefour. Good, tomorrow's food was also taken care of.
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I continued to the end of the road along the south coast of
Tahiti Iti. (This road does not make a complete circuit. Instead, it stops on the south coast just
after the town of Teahupo'o and on the north coast after Tautira.) Here I'd be staying at La Vague
Bleu. I was becoming convinced
that a Tahitian national pastime is pulling a wheelie on bicycles and
motorcycles and riding like that as long as they could. I'd seen this around
Papeete, but here I realised how prevalent
the habit was. I reached the end of the road but had not clapped eyes on my
accommodation. I backtracked and again missed it. I finally stopped to
ask, pointing at my phone. The friendly
couple gesticulated and waved. Following
their directions, I headed east anew. Still not finding any sign, I stopped once more. This
time the woman I asked spoke a
smattering of English and told me it was just after the church. Finally, I found the driveway,
and the sign was indeed a vague blue!
I eased the car down the rough gravel drive right up to the set
of bungalows. An aging woman who spoke
only French received me and showed me to my room. I was initially
disappointed with my choice. This
establishment was much more rustic than either FareHau or the Royal Tahitien,
yet it was costlier. The room had no AC
and no kettle. There was, however, a
fridge, which was much needed as I had some fresh
food. The place reminded me of Thailand
two decades ago, when accommodations were a lot more basic than they've
become. This one was solidly more
expensive than those Thai enterprises. On the other hand, here I was right on the shore.
Again, the beach was narrow, but gentle ripples licked the edge of the
grass in the lovely garden. Just as I was wondering how I'd sleep in the heat,
dictionary.com sent me this word: cryophilic - preferring or thriving
in low temperatures. An apt adjective to
describe myself, I'd say.
The water in my
bathroom was gas heated, and the smell reminded me of youthful times spent on
my Aunty Mona's farm or in my father's retirement rondavel in Pringle Bay,
Western Cape. A saving feature now was
that the resort offered free Wi-Fi, which I'd had to pay for at
the Royal Tahitien. At one end of the
garden stood a kitchen. Through its
hatch I could see the utensils I needed to enjoy my
supermarket dinner, but I had no idea how to ask
the old lady to lend me some, nor did I see her again,
anyway.
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(Watching this crab took me back to 1999, when I'd first visited
Thailand out of the UK. Four of us went
together, Matt - the same as in Sydney a few days ago - his brother Richard - whom I'd seen in Cape Town 6 months ago - and their friend Sean. Our first stop was Koh
PhiPhi. Here we spent one week. We decided to take a boat to the neighboring
island of Phiphi Lei, where we'd camp for the night. What we did not realise was that this was a
national park and camping was not allowed.
However, the parks official who informed us conveniently waited until the last boat had returned to the bigger island. We had to pay a bribe to be allowed to
remain. It was not a big amount in pounds sterling, but in Thai baht it could have bought each of us two meals. Later, as we started to fall
asleep, a battalion of crabs vanquished the beach. There we lay, tentless in sleeping bags,
surrounded by thousands of feasting crustaceans. I barely slept.)
After sunset, I washed my clothes and hung them on the balcony. Then I sat beside the
dripping threads and read. As the
evening grew darker, the temperature dropped, addressing my worries about
sleep. Later, my real hosts, Warren and
his wife, arrived back from Moorea, the smaller island just west of Tahiti. They greeted me in perfect English and
confirmed that the kitchen was unlocked; I could help
myself. Great! I was starting to feel a
lot better about my choice of room.
Getting into bed, I noticed that the
window to its left did not close. I worried that a snake or large spider would find its way in as I slept. The next day,
however, I read that there are no dangerous land animals
in this South Pacific collectivity.
On Monday I headed towards Tahiti Iti's north coast. On the way I stopped at Carrefour
for supplies. Here I saw an electric adaptor that cost CPF 115, so much cheaper than
the CPF 1,080 I'd paid in Papeete! I also made an attempt
to visit the Gauguin Museum, but it was closed for renovations. In this quieter part of
the island, I was again reminded of Africa. The ladies were large, their dress practical
rather than pretty, their feet
separated from ground only by slip-slops.
Of course, there did exist some more appealing exceptions. The men, too, were large and casually
attired, though here and there handsome, muscular exceptions delighted. Even the inflections in their voices as they
politely greeted each other in passing reminded me of home. I fully expected they
were speaking Zulu or Xhosa.
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Today, at last, my
holiday reached the point all vacations should - I neither knew the time
nor cared. Near the end of the road, I stopped at a beach beside which lay a school. It must have been break
time and the kiddies were playing in the sandbox. As is customary with cute little'ns, they
greeted , "Bonjour!" I responded in English, at which they excitedly exchanged every
English word they'd ever learned, rapidly coming to the end of their
vocabulary. Then they reverted to French
and I got to shrug, arms raised, palms pointing to the heavens, which
they found hysterical. Adorable!
Later, I spotted this church named after my friend in Johannesburg.....
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I slowly drove back in the direction of La Vague Bleu, stopping
all the way to take more pictures and enjoy the majestic scenery. Of all the homes I passed, none was ostentatious or extravagant. They were, however, almost without exception,
surrounded by breathtaking gardens. I also took a liking to tiny streams emptying into the ocean.
I can't imagine what it'd be like to live permanently on a
miniscule octo, surrounded by so much deep water.
If it were my home, I'd feel isolated, cut
off from the world. To come here on
holiday, contrarily, was a rampant treat.
It was the remoteness itself which had attracted me to this place
since I was a snotty-nosed juvenile.
Looking back now, there were also two positives regarding the country's
galactic prices. 1. I did not see any beggars or people in need. 2. Nor were there touts trying to sell their
wares at every turn; there were no touts at all.
La Vague Bleu is truly the quietest place I've been in years. Apart from the hush of water lapping at the shore and serenading cicadas, apart from an occasional heavy fruit
thudding down from a tree, not a decibel oscillated in the air. I'd seen other guests, but they were quieter than church mice. Even the pitter-patter stampede of geckos at hunt was
thunderous. The same calm, the same
peace that enveloped me on my
return cruise out of St Petersburg 18 months ago, here once again engulfed my
psyche and stitched my holes.
Tuesday was my last day in Tahiti, though I would return to Papeete in a few days to meet my Air New Zealand
flight. I packed up at La Vague Bleu
and started on my way. I'd decided that I'd return to the capital via the north coast of Tahiti Nui.
I dropped in at Arahoho Blowhole.
Ocean swells shoot water through this blowhole, and it sprays into the
air. When I was there, the tide must
have been out. The spray, although
powerful and loud, produced only fine mist.
The sound conjured images of an angry giant exhaling abruptly after a puff
on his cigarette.
Walking back to the car
park, I spotted Jerry Cardy, who lives in China. It couldn't have been
him - he would have let me know - he knew I was coming here. Before me was a man of the same height, same
build, same walk, same face, same dress sense, same cap on the head, even the
same petit man boobs. The likeness was
striking and so convincing I almost wanted to go
over and say hello. In fact, I didn't only because I thought he'd likely be French-speaking and an explanation would
be awkward.
Driving into and all
the way through Papeete, I still had time to
visit the Musee de Tahiti et des Iles. Well, I thought I did, but just around
the airport, traffic ground to a halt and then proceeded with extreme
lethargy. Not only would I not make it to the museum, I now started to doubt I'd get back to the airport on time. I saw no exit that
connected to an easy on-ramp in the opposite direction, so I was forced to continue edging languidly away from Hertz! When an opportunity did eventually appear, I backtracked and brought the car back to its owners. So thrown by the traffic, I'd forgotten to fill up, and had to get back on the roads to do
so! In the end Hertz charged
me a per kilometre fee in addition to the amount I'd paid two days
ago. Once again, Avis proved the better
company, just as it had in Port Elizabeth six months ago.
I had some time between the expiration of my car hire and my
flight out, so I wandered about the
tiny airport. There was no air
conditioning, and few of the shops were open.
I did take in the exhibition of Polynesian art on display. Then I found the coolest seat
I could. As I waited, I pondered how odd it
was to be taking a domestic flight that nevertheless crosses the ocean.
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Later, boarding the
twin prop that would take me to Bora Bora, a curtain obscured the last 3 rows
of seats on the port side of the plane. I happened to choose the rear seat on the starboard side. I watched the activity
on the tarmac. The nation operates two
airlines. Air Tahiti flies domestic
routes all day every day to every remote part of the nation. Air Tahiti Nui flies internationally, mainly
to countries on the Pacific Rim. I assumed what was behind the curtain was supplies being shipped
along with the passengers. However, just
before taxiing, the cabin crew unhooked the curtains. Instead of supplies, a
hospital bed had been securely fastened to the collapsed seats. On it lay a woman. Then I noticed her husband in
the seat just in front of mine. Our
flight was to make its first stop at Raiatea, where more than half of the
passengers disembarked. After their
departure, some doctors and technicians boarded the craft to unload the
patient, too. Their work was difficult
it seemed, but they laboured meticulously and kindly, and I was quite moved by the exercise. Bless them all!
As we waited, I mused again how wrong I'd been in my
visualisation of what this country would be like. While I'd not been expecting
European surroundings, for some reason I had anticipated some
sophistication. This place was by no
means as slap-stick and haphazard as some I've visited, but it was
all the same somewhat more primitive than I'd imagined. Even the tourists were not diamond encrusted
models, but rather flabby people like myself.
That is not to say that I was disappointed - French Polynesia is awesome.
