To Tahiti and Back.

Not too many people enjoy sitting in a plane for 8 plus hours and I’m no exception, especially when the seat size and lack of leg room is about the right allotment for a ten year old. And not a very big ten year old. But our flight from Los Angeles to Papeete (pronounced Puppee ettay) was only a third full, so passengers were able to spread out and get a good night’s sleep, arrive 1am in Tahiti, go to their hotels and get another good night’s rest.

On our arrival at the airport, the two bronze, nubile, welcoming committee members handed everyone a small white frangipani blossom with scent as glorious and abundant as a flower ten times its size; there was a three piece male ukulele band; a dozen or so Polynesian men and women dancing traditional dances – one must assume – of welcome; and lastly the gift of a multi-flowered, fragrant lei.

Our first morning there we awoke to rain which continued for most of the day. It was Sunday, the day where everything shuts down in Tahiti (no buses either) except the hotels, and because our hotel offered a buffet breakfast, many local Tahitians brought their families for an extensive meal. I wish I had been a little braver to ask if I might photograph some of the groups; everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, and the Matriarchs of the families wore gloriously colorful clothing often topped by a crown of flowers, while husbands and offspring sat around adoringly as if she were a queen.

Even though we had sort of slept on the plane, N and I were tired from traveling, so took advantage of the inclement weather and lay around most of the day reading, but not before N thought to ask the folk at the reception desk what the weather forecast was for the following day. The surprised response was “Eet weel be exactly like this. Thees ees the rrainee seazon, don’t you know?” Ah, good for us, for checking on that before we left home. We had erroneously assumed that being in the tropics in the middle of the Pacific, in the middle of nowhere, the sun shone all the time. One learns a lot traveling.

Tahiti is a volcanic island in an archipelago; it is greener and lusher than any place I’ve ever seen, with an amplitude of vegetation that produces fruits and vegetables, from coconuts to pineapple to guavas to breadfruit to lychees to taro and more. The mountains, being volcanic are quite high (around 7,000 ft), very verdant and angular, making for a lot of interesting shapes and shadows but very few roads.

One day we took a day trip in a 4 x 4 Land Rover that cut through the middle of the island. This meant going over some high mountains on “roads” not much wider than the vehicle; they were mostly paved, except where they were dirt, there having been smallish landslides sometime earlier that wiped away part of the path.

My first impression on meeting our driver was that he was the quiet, studious type; a change from the wild and crazy guy who had picked us up from our hotel to bring us to this “expedition’s” starting point. He had driven the 4 x 4 like a Le Mans entrant, careening along the only expressway on the island at quite a lick. N and I were sitting in the open back but could see him clearly through the cab window: no hands on the wheel while he methodically rolled the cigarette on his lap using both hands. I was happy to meet the more sedate looking driver/guide named Rodriguez; an unusual name for a French man. But then he turned out to be an unusual man.

Once he warmed up to his passengers: four French navy men, another American couple, N and I, he became more animated. One of our first stops en route to the mountains was at the man-made lake upstream from the dam that’s used to generate hydro-electric power. Here he fed its inhabitants, the large (three feet plus) fresh water eels, with the remains of his French bread breakfast, calling to Caroleen to come and get her share. He fed her by hand and stroked her head while being wary of the other dozen or so other eels that lurked menacingly close by. “Zey all bite, except for Caroleen,” he said “and she eets so daintily too.” Because of this he assumed she was female and gave her the appropriate name. He passes along this same route almost every day as a tour guide, so he and Caroleen have become quite well acquainted, and she’s well fed. I think this is her, with an unidentified friend, playing with a flower blossom.

Photo courtesy N.

The rest of the trip was a tad nerve wracking with Rodriguez driving awfully close to the edge as a tease, then he stopped, got out of the vehicle after putting it in gear, which allowed it to move slowly up the mountain on its own while he stood behind waving at us. He had a few other tricks up his sleeve, was quite the clown, while being well informed and erudite about the history, flora and fauna of the island. But I was glad to be back on terra firma again once we returned to our hotel.

In Papeete we shopped at an indoor market for fruit and souvenirs; went in a power boat to search for dolphins and found dozens cavorting in the bay – spinner dolphins, slightly smaller than others I’d seen before. We took a day ferry trip to the island of Moorea and liked it better than Tahiti; it was less touristy and a lot like I imagined French Polynesia to be in its more pristine state.

During our six days in French Polynesia, we met many interesting people from different countries, exchanged stories with them, dined well, slept not so well in an eight foot wide bed that felt like a brick and had pillows to match; took pictures of far too many waterfalls, endured torrential rain and back aches from the lousy mattress; paid $10 for a Coke at our hotel, visited the Gauguin Museum filled with reproductions and arrived back in the Midwest travel weary after flying and sitting around airports (due to crummy weather) for what seemed like an eternity; or 24 hours.

It’s good to be home (until the next trip).

Copyright © 2007

from → Photos, Travels with N, Various Writings

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