Tahiti And Out

Two more days at sea. Vainly imagining that my body would reach a sort of equilibrium, and weight would stop gaining. Accomplishing nothing, and not really caring about it one way or another.

Sunday morning found us moored in the lagoon at Bora Bora. Well, so they said. I couldn't see anything through the fog and the ongoing rain. That's not allowed to happen in the tropics, is it? Slowly the rain slowed and the mist began to clear a bit. Before me arose the shape of an interesting but not incredible little mountain.

Before I continue, let me throw in the caveat that much of Bora Bora's renown lies in all the variegated shades of brilliant blue that supposedly fill its lagoon. And the reason I say supposedly is that the sky never really cleared all day, so that the lagoon never got any bluer than gray. So I'm sure that I missed out on something.

So I can't really comment on that. But I can report that the island itself isn't all that. Not a fraction as beautiful as American Samoa. Renting a car for 4 hours would have cost $150, so we took a two hour bus tour of the perimeter for $20 pp. Not much to see. And the only beach on the entire place was less than a hundred yards long and ten feet wide. Once again, as on Fiji, the real sand and romance action is supposedly on the islets surrounding the fabled (gray today) lagoon.

Then we were back at the tiny main town and looking for some action. We signed up with a guy trying to get people together for a snorkel tour, but, given the blah nature of the weather and visibility, so far we were the only takers. I wandered away from the pier area and stood in an empty parking area, spacing out and taking in the island's lone mountain.

Then I got hit by a giant van.

Later another passenger told me that he couldn't believe how hard the guy backed into me, with my knees buckling, etc. As for me, I immediately cursed in my angriest voice possible, which got the French (naturally) guy to stop. Even apologize. I walked around, trying to check out what, if anything, was broken. Fortunately the major force had been squarely on my upper back. Seemed like I was all right. Besides, if I went to the doctor (on a Sunday) I'd probably miss the tender ride back.

Nothing much else happened the rest of the afternoon. The snorkel guy never got any more sign ups. Nor did his boat ever show up. We wandered around for a while more. Took the tender back. As the ship powered up the fog and the heavy rain descended once more.

My conclusion is that Bora Bora got famous because Marlon Brando moved there. And then all the other Hollywood types showed up and made it more famous for being famous. But if Gene Shalit had ever asked for a review, I would have said, 'Boring, Boring'.

The guidebooks had prepared me for Tahiti. Don't expect the native women of Gaugain paintings. Moreover, once again those pictures of palm fringed beaches come from the outlying islands, not from Tahiti itself. And Papeete, its capital city, was forewarned to be the most dreadful of rundown places.

But when we debarked from the ship in the middle of downtown, the overall mood seemed no worse than that of an everyday sort of commercial space. No way near a paradise, but almost refreshing in its normality and lack of touristic hoopla.

Indeed, if one were going to make an observation about the situation, it would be that France, as with its Caribbean departments of Martinique and Guadeloupe, had achieved the neat trick of making an island both outrageously expensive and relatively poor. In other words, they had recreated a part of France. Just not the quaint, Impressionistic, or chic part. Rather the poor immigrant labor one.

My plan for the day was to circle the island by public transport, a distance of about a hundred miles. Up until a few years ago, this would have meant the funky combo truck/bus deals like they have on American Samoa, only here called Le Truck. Now these have been 'upgraded' to regular old city buses. We asked around until we found one going west and south out of Papeete.

A half an hour later we were waiting outside of a Carrefour hypermarket for a bus going further. About forty five minutes after that one arrived we were on a small paved road in a rural area with the central, not too elegant but then not too shabby, jungled volcanic mountain mass of Tahiti on the inside. And the calm placid ocean (all of these islands have coral reefs which break the waves further out, which means that there seems to be no tidal difference on shore) lapping on the outside. Visibility was okay, but the sky was gray and overcast. Rain would come and go throughout the day. We stood there for a long while with no continuing bus arriving.

So I stuck out my thumb. After about 20 minutes of futility, just as Maureen started complaining about my inability in getting us anywhere, someone pulled over and took us the rest of the way to the small town at the end of the island. There we had a panini at the McDonald's at the far point of paradise while we waited for the gendarmes to come back from lunch.

When they did they confirmed what my bad French had been picking up from prior conversations. That the road around the eastern half was blocked by a landslide and that you couldn't get there from here. So we went back across the road and waited for a bus to go back the way we had come. Which it did sooner or later. And then, as rush hour headed away from Papeete, we re-entered it.

And walked around town some more. I had had low expectations of Tahiti, and it had fulfilled them admirably. Though not remotely exotic, it wasn't that bad a place at all. And once again the warmth and ease of the Polynesian inhabitants trumped the French nation that had enveloped them.

But once we were back on the ship, there really wasn't any desire for a night back out on the town. It was way too drab for that.

You might have inferred by now that I hadn't been too impressed so far with French Polynesia. But when we woke up Tuesday morning the ship was moored in one of the blue bays of northern Moorea. Blue sky above us. Incredible, totally verdant, needle shaped mountains arrayed in front of us. Finally something was living up to its Bali Hai-pe.

Tender to shore. Then a scooter rental. Not cheap at $75 a day, but then Moorea seemed a perfect place for one. Only about ten miles from Tahiti, but the furthest thing from industrialized. Yes, a tourist destination, but—especially for these parts—not necessarily high end. A 36 mile road around the place that you can putter around at 25 mph.

Thus followed a few hours of uninterrupted enjoyment. On top of the ever changing backdrop of exotically eroded volcanic outcroppings and foreground of variegated light to deep blue ocean, we had lucked out on the weather, since the rain of the past two days was now long gone. Not to mention that it was also May Day, and thus a French official carefree holiday.

In all too short a time we were back to Cook's Bay. There was one road on the island into the interior, and I took the unpaved portion from here. For about four miles we jounced along a deeply rutted near mud morass, with Maureen holding on for dear life. Then we got to the paved part and went up and up and up to the Belvedere, the official lookout point. There, with the people who had come up on the tour buses, we gazed out at the tropical splendor of mountain and jungle and serene bays before us. Sorry, American Samoa, but there is a good chance that Moorea actually is the most beautiful island in the world.

Then it was down the mountain, back around the bay headlands, gas up, and return to one of the few sandy beaches. There we finally had our tropical swim, along with Polynesian and French families who had come over on the ferry from Tahiti for the day. The Sea Princess sat in all its monstrosity about a mile or so out in the water.

For at least a brief moment, we had made it to Paradise.

You might think that the next five days of open ocean would drive a person nuts. Both Maureen and I were under the impression that it would be an open ended time of deep contemplation and personal fulfillment. But strangely it seemed over before it began.

And I won't bother you with detailed descriptions of Hawaii. You've probably already been there.

Though, if not, here's a brief rundown: Oahu is like a giant theme park, what with Honolulu, Pearl Harbor, totally populated roadways, and Polynesian Life centers. But as theme parks go it is a very enjoyable and well done one. And it would be hard to totally deface its fantastalistic landforms, from the steep corrugated green cliffs to the broad white sandy beaches.

Nonetheless, after our day's circumnavigation of the place, neither one of us thought that we ever had to see it again.

Maui, on the other hand, was another matter. I had last been there in 1989, and back then it had already become deeply imbued with the La Jolla chi chi vibe. I was now expecting the whole place to feel like Orange County, but thank Godfully it didn't. Sure, Lahaina had crept up the mountain, high rise condos now occupied the shore north of it, and the area around the airport looked totally modern suburban. But the rest of the island was just as beautiful as ever. In fact, if I had to live among stupid rich people, I would much rather do it here than most other stupid rich people places I've been.

We drove around the northwestern bulge of the island, on a road that had been unpaved 23 years ago, which was now paved, but still only about one lane wide. Beautiful. Then across the flattish middle (By the way, if you haven't been to Hawaii, then you need to be reminded that much/most of the place is relatively dry and grassy/sugar caney, and not tropical jungle.) Then up to the 10,000 foot top of the volcano National Park. Above the clouds and breathing crystal clear air.

Then a race down the mountain and over to Lahaina, so as to catch the last 3:30 tender back to the ship.

The open sea again. Four days that would sail by without even saying Hello. Today we both have really bad colds. And Maureen needs to sing tonight to become the Princess Pop Star.

Yes, cruises are abominations in many ways. The very idea of building ships larger than aircraft carriers just to carry people around on vacation. The fact that most of the people being carried will at best only vaguely appreciate the stops along the way. And the need for most of them to fritter their days away with cards, trivia contests, and the like.

On the other hand, you could contemplate the ocean for every waking minute and still not get to the, er, bottom of it. It just goes on and on and you are a silly little dot upon it. If we took the average height of land above the ocean and that beneath it, the entire Earth would be covered by it. If that were the situation life would have still started, but it would have stayed watery, just as it had been for the first 80% of its existence.

Well, dry land is on the near horizon. With all the reality that I have ducked for 47 days. Not to mention the stuff that's piled up on top of that. Although, considering the conditions that enclose most other people's lives, I'm hardly in a position to complain.

I don't think that I would care to go on another cruise. After all, once you've crossed the entire Pacific Ocean, what can top that? Maybe Spitzbergen and Greenland. Or the Antarctic. But who can afford a trip like that? Certainly not me. I've just spent all our money on this one.