Bora Bora--First Visit

August 3 to 12, 2009
Moorea to Bora Bora; A walk in the rain to Vaitape; Motu Tevairoa; Motu Toopua; Bora Bora Yacht Club; Back to Tahiti via Moorea

Moorea to Bora Bora

It is hard to leave Moorea, but easy to set our sights on Bora Bora. So out to sea we go with blues skies, fluffy white clouds, and trade winds ahead to set the sails in motion. It is time to sit down and do nothing, which is sometimes hard to endure. But this is just an overnighter. Try crossing an ocean!


Sarah and Vanessa sit back and relax as we begin the short overnighter from Moorea to Bora Bora.


Sarah takes a hand at the wheel, while the salty dog captain looks to adjust the sails.


Vanessa finds her favourite spot up by the bow, away from the madding crowds.

We sail through the afternoon and night to reach the shores of Bora Bora. Early in the morning I find Ness up at the bow. The winds have died and the iron Jenny is purring. Vanessa looks out over gray skies to a rainbow on the horizon. I stand beside her and together we reach out to catch the colours.

Sarah emerges sleepily on deck as we cut close, but at a safe distance along the outer reefs and motor sail toward the Teavanui pass into the lagoon. The lagoon is enclosed to the east by motu and to the west by a reef. The waters in this lagoon are so translucent, so blue, so turquoise, so crystal clear, and there is so much of it available to enjoy. Pick your spot. Cool, clear water running. This is my draw to Bora Bora.


Early morning I find Ness at the bow of Zulu looking out to the horizon at a rainbow.


We cut close along the outside reef toward the only pass, Teavanui, that affords passage into the lagoon.


The waters in Bora Bora’s lagoon are so translucent, so blue, so turquoise, so crystal clear, and there is so much of it available to enjoy. Heavenly.

Through the pass we go at the proper angle, not cutting any corners so as to clip the reef inadvertently. Russ drops the hook closer to the reef and a motu we visited in our past, rather than in deep water off the Bora Bora Yacht Club. Once the hook is dropped, Sarah and I jump into warm water that still holds the last of the light of day. We have arrived in Paradise!


Once the hook is dropped, Sarah and I jump into the water that still holds the last of the light of day. Paradise.

Early morning dawns, the skies are gray, and the rain comes down. We go ashore in any case to take a look at the Bora Bora Yacht Club and decide to walk into the central area of Vaitape. We each don a rain jacket of sorts. Ness’ one does not have a hood and I am too lazy to dig out the umbrella. We are wet before we start.

We take a cursory look around the club. It is early morning so things are quiet. The little garden off the side lends itself to tranquility with an oriental mask resting on the whitest of white sand. The deck is built out over the water, which adds to a restful place for the salt-worn sailor to take respite.


Sarah and Vanessa inside the Bora Bora Yacht Club. We are wet before we start our walk into Vaitape.


Outside the club this oriental mask lends serenity as it rests on the whitest of white sand in a tranquil garden.


The deck is built out over the water, which adds to a restful place to for the salt-worn sailor to take respite.


I snap a shot of the sign to the entrance of the club as we leave.

It is POURING now. We are wet as water rats. I walk ahead fast. Ness is last. We walk and walk and walk. And as I walk I catch images in my mind’s eye along the way: small boats are ‘slung up’ rather than moored; little children play at the water’s edge; tuna is cut up by fishermen; a rain-drenched flower is striking in its beauty.


Small boats are ‘slung up’ rather than moored.


Little children playing in the warm rain and water.


Fisherman cutting up the day’s catch.


A rain-drenched flower, name of which defies me, is striking in its beauty.

At one point I stop and look back and don’t see any sign of the troops. I start to retrace my steps along the circular road that runs around the periphery of the island. A grass-covered ditch lies between the road and the bordering houses. There is a coke bottle or water bottle or other piece of garbage thrown here and there in the ditch--a sorry sight to see, but I turn a blind eye.

The high hedges are abloom with hibiscus: red, gold, peach. The little houses are basic, sweet little structures with open windows and curtains that blow in the wind. Some people have little stalls alongside the road with fruit and vegetables from their gardens for sale. One garden has a giant breadfruit tree with roosters strutting around the base showing off their red feathers proudly.

A car comes to a halt alongside me. Who could this be? I see the smiling faces of my family. In I get, wetter than wet. Vanessa and Sarah laugh at the sight of me. Not pretty. I look like some dark, wet piece of moss. The driver, a lovely young Polynesian woman, smiles at me as she pulls back out onto the road. A short drive later she drops us in the central area explaining a few points of interest, in French of course.

We see larger fruit and vegetable stalls on the side of the road: one with taro, bananas, pamplemouse and the other with lovely tomatoes, green peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, and more bananas. All at a gazillion FPFsssssss, the vendors nonchalantly quote their prices with a smile--sometimes toothless. C’est rien. (It’s nothing).


Vegetable and fruit stand alongside the road in Vaitapa, Bora Bora.


Tables laden with fruit and vegetables, alongside the road in central Vaitapu.

I browse the small shops: clothes, shell jewelry, pearls for the well heeled tourists with mega francs to spare. I watch as those from the cruise ships shop at Sibani Perles, Tahiti Perles and Paradise Perles. I can just window shop for now. I’ll have to dive for my own string of ‘sea diamonds’ (pearls).

Under the eaves of the pearl shop I find the trio eating hot Panini sandwiches. It looks good so I get one too, although the French bread has little nourishment. I am hungry enough and order a Tomato and cheese Panini. We wander into the Chinese food market and out again. It does not look that appealing and nor do we.

How wet do we want to get? We are dry enough to get wet again so make haste to walk back to the yacht club and Zulu. Once on board, we change our clothes and I put on hot cider from the good old North West and pull out my treasured packet of caramel popcorn. It is movie time! We put on ‘Across the Universe’ and snuggle up to watch it as the rain pelts down. Then nap time.

There is no interest in getting into Bora Bora—code named Bob Cat--and the World War II story. How in about 1942 4,500 US servicemen came ashore to run the first refueling base for defending an arc from Hawaii to French Polynesia to Fiji and New Zealand. When the Captain hops the soap box and starts on war stories, the crew runs for cover.

Nor is anyone really interested in Bora Bora being a film set in paradise for the making of the films Hurricane and Gilligan’s Island. Perhaps having a cool drink at Bloody Mary’s from the latter film sparks interest. It still stands on the sand floor with thatched roof and coconut tree stump bar stools. But that does not happen. We are more interested in the water that surrounds us, and the tiny fairyland motu.

Ian’s motu (for want of a name)


We anchor close to this motu. I call it Ian’s motu as it is here I rowed a shore with him in 1979.

We take the dinghy over to the motu closest to Zulu, and step ashore. Tie a line to a coconut tree, and start walking around it. I find a place to cradle my head against a bent coconut tree and listen to the wavelets breaking on the shore. The others walk on around a way.

I don’t ever want to leave. But I say that about every gorgeous spot. I feel caressed by the breeze and listen as it rustles the leaves in the trees. Bora Bora means first born. This has significance, as it was with my first born—Ian-- that we touched these shores so long ago. We swam alone with manta rays in 80 ft of crystal waters with not a boat in sight. It was here on this very motu after rowing ashore that I sought shelter under swaying palms from a tropical downpour. I remember how when the rain abated and I rowed back to our boat we were followed by two sharks (not black tipped). I stayed calm and hoped the sharks were not in the mood for munching on rubber dinghies. This motu--where I now rest my head in the crook of a windblown palm trunk-- is indelibly inked in my mind against apricot skies. It is here now that I drink in the magic beauty one more time. I call it Ian’s motu.

Russ, Sarah, and Vanessa return. They met local fishermen who live on the motu, and who offered them one of the fish they had just caught. “No merci.” They reply. How kind can people be? They wade out into the cool waters and I continue to dream on yesteryear.

Sarah comes back in a hurry saying she nearly stood on a stone fish. She is animated and warns Ness and Russ. The stonefish is a menacing creature about five or six inches long and resembles a stone. It is found in shallow, calm water, and their natural camouflage makes them almost impossible to see. This fish can be deadly. I have witnessed the result of a yachtsperson standing on one and 3 months later, after an initial bank of 8 injections and unbearable pain, her leg was still swollen to twice the size and red as a beet.

Tomorrow is another day and we must take leave of this jewel motu, and we motor back to Zulu a short way. Rowing with four of us would be a bit of a chore. We sit in the cockpit and watch the motu transform into a silhouette against the sun set skies. Indelible.


We sit in the cockpit and watch Ian’s motu transform to silhouette against the sun set.

Motu Tevairoa

“Let’s go to that motu.” Russ proposes the next morning pointing to one down from Ian’s motu. But that motu is Tevairoa and has the Bora Bora Pearl Beach Resort on it. It is exclusive and I don’t know that non-guests can go ashore I think aloud. That does not faze Russ. It should not.

We have a hearty breakfast, load the dinghy with snorkel gear and motor on out. There is a Belgium family of three on the pearly white beach when we get there. They’re off a catamaran. He talks with Russ briefly about his windsurfer friend, whom Russ had rescued a few days earlier when the sail and mast came apart and the current was taking him to places he would rather not go.

We see local women sweeping the beach. Russ and the girls start walking toward them and promptly get shooed away like horse flies. Understandably some locals live there, but they are paid to keep the beach looking like it was just taken out of saran wrap for the pampered hotel tourists. Oops there is a leaf. Sweep it up. Another has blown in to take its place. Sweep that one up too. You missed a footprint. Imperfection won’t do. Here is a description of the resort from the guidebook Hidden, should you be tempted to book a vacation:

“Bora Bora Pearl Beach Resort

$$$$ 50 units on the southern tip of Motu Tevairoa www.pearlresorts.com.
Here you’ll find 50 gorgeous over-the-water Polynesian-style bungalows whose presence blends well with the magnificent colors of the lagoon. Ten suites sit on the white sandy beach—all facing Otemanu, the monolith that dominates Bora Bora. The units have incredible outdoor bathrooms adorned with coral, shells, palms, bamboo and driftwood in a private garden. Add a Jacuzzi and you’ve got quite a scene. Twenty additional pool fare suites open to a private tropical garden with a swimming pool/Jacuzzi. The bungalows are equipped with ceiling fans and air conditioning, with the shower set in the back of the suite in a small garden. The restaurant offers good French cuisine and a once-weekly Polynesian buffet.”

I want to check in right now! Smile.

Russ as usual ignores the ‘shooing-of-us-away’ and anchors the dinghy off shore a way so as not to raise temperatures. The Belgium family smile. They had just gone through the same story, but are still sitting on the beach with their dinghy pulled up beside them.

We snorkel in the gorgeous water and play ‘stand there, no there, I want to take a picture’. We swim and snorkel and float and dream dreams as we look out over the endless blue lagoon fringed with waves breaking white on the reef in the far distance. We don’t want to leave here either. Here are some of the pictures to capture the beauty beyond what words can tell.


On the southern tip of motu Tevairoa--just around the point--the Bora Bora Pearl Beach Resort is located facing Otemanu, Bora Bora’s monolith.


I fill the previous photo setting with a shot of my pearl girls.


Sarah and Vanessa lazing in the water wonderland, so refreshing.


The endless blue lagoon off motu Tevairoa.


Sarah is back on the unswept part of the beach drinking in the view.

Motu Toopua

We start the engine and Russ brings up the anchor. So he thinks. It is wrapped around a coral head. We aren’t going anywhere. He and Sarah dive into the water with snorkel and goggles on to see which way the chain is wrapped. Russ gives hand singles and a few yells for how to steer Zulu in a circle and unravel the chain. Both climb back on board and we motor across the pass and follow the red and green markers through the narrow channel to the most pristine spot a good way away from the Sheraton Bora Bora Nui Resort and Spa on motu Toopua. We drop our hook. We can’t get enough of the motus.

“This is it. Home sweet home.” Russ often says as he completes the anchoring exercise.

And what a home it is with 360-degree ‘rooms with views’. We look to the left and front and see gradation from blue to turquoise with a speck of a sailboat beyond the reefs and the virtual breath of the island of Maupiti in pastel on the distant horizon. We look to the right and see a see a classic ketch as if mounted on a background of blue. We look behind us and see Mt. Pahia and Mt. Otemanu, and the Sheraton resort bungalows over the water.


Bora Bora lagoon gradation from blue to turquoise with a speck of a sailboat beyond the reef.


See a virtual breath of the island of Maupiti in pastel on the distant horizon.


A classic ketch as if mounted on a background of blue.


Mt. Pahia and Mt. Otemanu peak out from behind Motu Toopua.


The Sheraton Resort bungalows over the lagoon.

We fill our days with swimming, anchoring the dinghy close to the reefs and snorkeling, daydreaming on deck and looking out across the waters, reading, preparing meals with heart. Each day blends into the next. It feels as if we are enclosed weightless in a giant paper weight with blue water and skies, and some invisible hand keeps turning the weight over so the skies run into the water and the water into the skies.


Vanessa frozen in blue water time.


Sarah bobs on the side tube of the dinghy at anchor near a reef.


Sarah at the helm of the dinghy returning from the reef.


A perfect day to day dream on deck.


Vanessa reading while Zulu is at anchor on still waters.

“Look at the catamaran. There is a photographer on top of the mast!” Sarah exclaims. We had been out with the dinghy steering closer to the bungalows over the water for a change in pace. And in passing we’d seen a person on the decks of one of the double-story bungalows--with a private pool--in a white towel gown leaning over the railings in a Tom Cruise-style—I picked a Hollywood name out of the blue-- looking at the beautiful waters below.

“I don’t think Tom Cruise would be staying at the Sheraton!” Sarah chimes in. “More like Justin Timberlake, Brittany Spear's singer friend." Smile.

The paparazzi or media were in action filming or photographing whoever was trying to enjoy a peaceful morning in luxury land.

“Perhaps they are filming a travel-accommodation advertisement.” I thought out loud. But no, the Cat and photographers looked too eager and the person of interest went back into his digs, while the Cat meowed around awhile longer.

Enough action for the day, the girls are back on board. Russ and I motor on further in the dinghy and watch dark clouds move in—blowing across the blue skies--until all is gray. I photograph Zulu with the two girls in virtual silhouette form on the foredeck and catch the rainbow as it casts subtle light over the now distant luxury bungalows of the Sheraton resort. We have taken the dinghy far afield.


Dark clouds move in behind Zulu at anchor. The two girls stand at the mast.


A rainbow casts subtle light over luxury bungalows of the Sheraton resort on motu Toopua.

Bora Bora Yacht Club

It is time to quicken the pace. Pull up the anchor and motor close past the resort. Enough of this lazing around in shades of sea and sky-blue wonderland in a sun-kissed state of bliss. Vanessa, Sarah, and I are tasked with standing up at the bow to look for coral heads as we round the point of the smaller motu Toopua Iti (iti means small or less). We hand single: this way or that way and Russ steers the boat accordingly.

Us girls look over the sides and are thinking this is looking way too shallow when some fishermen in a small boat wave us their way with animated hand signals. Russ is quick to respond and turns the boat accordingly.

“Those fishermen saved our butts!!!” Sarah exclaims bluntly. Ness just looks on awestruck as we avoid becoming close to one with the reefs on either side of us, and ease into deep water along the island front, comfortable we now have the markers to go by. The girls smile and joke and pose with a Trademark Bora Bora backdrop to end the short ride to the yacht club.


We pull up anchor and motor close past the Sheraton resort toward rounding the point of the smaller motu Toopua Iti.


Sarah is looking for markers, while Ness looks for reefs.


The darker shade in the water indicates shallow reef, which we definitely want to avoid.


With the red marker in sight, the girls can now ease off of watching for reefs.


Time for fun now that Sarah is off watch. Look Mom no hands.


Picture time for my pearl girls against the Trademark Bora Bora background.

We drop anchor in deep water off the yacht club and neaten up and choose a necklace or two to wear, add blush to the cheeks and gloss to the lips and a touch of perfume, and voila we are ready for our last night in paradise.

People are just beginning to sit down to dinner on the deck of the club. The French like to eat late. Inside the club a band is playing a Damien Rice song called Volcano. The singer has longish brown hair with gentle features and sings with heart. The backup band is all Polynesian playing the latest French, British, and American music.

We sit at the bar and order some drinks. A Chinese-Polynesian young man sits down with his French friend next to Vanessa. He is immediately in awe. He leans back on his stool to gain better perspective of her. He’s had a little too much to drink beforehand, and seems to be three sheets to the wind at present. Vanessa just smiles. He orders her a coconut rum drink with a fancy umbrella and cherry touch on the top. His English is minimal and so is her French. Vanessa is far from interested. But what does she do now that he has bought her a fancy pricey drink without asking?

More people filter into the club: Italians, Germans, French, Polynesians, and cruisers-- a cosmopolitan feel. They are dressed in casual chic, looking cool cat, except of course for cruisers who always look a bit creased and crumpled around the edges. Everyone is friendly, which makes socializing easy, even though the language barriers are somewhat challenging. You can break any barrier with laughter.

Sarah and I keep close tabs on Vanessa. She’s succeeded in cutting loose from the Chinese- Polynesian suitor. But what is this? She has another chap in tow now. This time a placid German with light brown hair and brown eyes and dressed all in white. He wears a permanent soft smile and follows her around like old faithful.

It is people watching time for sure. A handsome Polynesian man and his wife sit down at the bar. I comment on his amazing face tattoo and tell him about the striking tattoos I saw in Nuka Hiva, Marquesas. He tells me his cousin is a well known artist there and did his tattoo. I then recognize that the cousin is the same person who tattooed our cruiser friend, Hans, off the S/V Babalu.

This gentleman also is a tattoo artist and I’ve seen him advertised in Moorea at MataTiki, Marquesan Tattoo. His hair is tied back in a long, beautiful curly pony tail that hangs like cut crinkle paper down his back. One side of his face, neck, behind his ear, and his upper arm is tattooed. His wife has narrow, tattoos that spiral down around her left arm and leg like vines—a live walking art gallery.


I catch a shot of Marquesan tattoos on this tattoo artist.

In comes Joel, an American cruiser looking quite sporty with long baggy white shorts and a bright lime green singlet. He is in his late fifties I guess, and is on the serious lookout for a woman cruising companion. His last young South African woman crew mate suddenly had to return home after just three weeks of cruising with him in the Society Islands. Go figure. Joel has three guys for crew also: a German, Italian, and Irishman who shed light on Joel’s moves in friendly jest. As the Australians say--say no more.

“Drive me back home!” Joel snaps to his crew. He has had his fill of the international set at the club and seems desperate to leave for the quiet of his sailboat. The animated young German crew mate takes Joel back to his boat, and Sarah and I talk with Joel’s other two crew members: the sweetest Italian--I never did remember his name-- slight of build and with the most amazing sea-green-hazel eyes, and black curly-haired Brian, the Irishman.

They talk of diving at the pass and seeing all kinds of sharks AND seeing a whale! And other stories of days in the life of being crew aboard sailing vessels with various and sundry captains. I then realize who Brian is.


Sea green-hazel eyes of the Italian crew mate off American cruiser Joel’s sailboat.


Irish Brian originally crew off S/V Inherit the Wind telling Russ the tale of the 58-day crossing from Costa Rica to Nuka Hiva, baling water every 10 minutes.

“Russ! This is Irish Brian who took 58 days to cross the Pacific from Costa Rica with Sylvan--from Quebec, Canada--on S/V Inherit The Wind.” I make the introduction.

We had met Sylvan in Daniel’s bay, Nuka Hiva, Marquesas and heard his story of how he and his Irish crew mate had to pump the bilges every 10 minutes to stay afloat and how the straw that broke the camel’s back was when the barrel of food passed to them on a line from a freighter got lost and how Brian jumped ship pronto when they reached Nuka Hiva.

Now here is Brian, who has his version to tell. I photograph him telling his tale to Russ, but did not listen. His expression is all telling. Not one of us can read the future though: in late September, thereabouts, Sylvan would step off into his dinghy—in lieu of a life raft-- with his little dog and EPIRB, and watch his S/V Inherit the Wind sink in the waters off Tonga. The Tongans rescued him. What will fate present each of us?

While Sarah goes to rescue Vanessa from the German suitor, I take a last picture of the tattooed Marquesan and his wife sitting on the couch. The club is now bursting with international buzz and the band announces that they will play their last set. It is time to go. To leave all the characters and their stories behind on the shores of Bora Bora. To leave while the music still plays on.


Sarah has rescued Vanessa from her suitors.


The Marquesan tattoo artist with his wife in Bora Bora—a sitting art gallery.

“Drive us back home!” We demand of Russ, mimicking Joel. But this time it is the crew demanding that the captain drive them home. Smile.

Into the dinghy we get, on with the motor, out across the deep waters. We seriously just miss getting hit by the fast hydrofoil ferry plowing the deep waters and unwisely do not have running lights for our dinghy—a real near miss. And a MUST fix.

Russ accelerates and swerves, and creates a wake of our own to close the gap between the ferry boat, Bora Bora shores, and our ‘home sweet home’ afloat.

The full moon rises behind the giant rock monolith of Otemanu. It is a stunning sight. I sit in the cockpit with Vanessa and contemplate this last night. Always there is a sense of loss, yet gain, when leaving a place.

Bora Bora is alluring and, together with Tahiti, spells the South Pacific. Select all the words in your vocabulary that equal spectacular beauty and they will be inadequate to describe Bora Bora and its crystal blue lagoon. Seeing it yourself, from the water especially, is the only way. It is stunning, breathtaking, amazing, dramatic, fantastic. Heaven and paradise combined. This is my point of view.

For Russ? He will not be sorry if he never comes back. Paradise here, he feels, is paradise lost.

Back to Tahiti via Moorea

We take our leave through Teavanui pass and watch Bora Bora grow small on the horizon. The overnight motor sail by the light of a full moon peeking through the clouds on flat, shining seas is smooth and with little wind. Russ and I stand the watch and let the girls get their beauty rest.

I cast my eyes on the horizon and watch Moorea take center stage. In the distance I seem to see water spouts, as in whales! But might I be hallucinating from fatigue of night watch?

“We’ll pull into Moorea for the night, and continue on to Tahiti in the morning.” The captain proclaims. That pleases us all and our very short return respite to Opunohu bay’s blue waters is the cherry on our island cruise cake.

Morning has come. We must take leave for Tahiti once more. The skies become gray and the winds pick up. We sail close along the reef line and as usual, Vanessa stands on deck and quietly points toward the reefs. What does she see now?

“A whale.” Vanessa quietly says.

We watch it swimming close to the reefs, sounding, and then to Sarah’s absolute glee it comes alongside Zulu. That sets her into virtual flight she is so excited.

“I’ve never seen a whale before!” She exclaims overjoyed for the experience and jumps up and down on deck with glee.

The wind picks up and perhaps there is a gentle rain. Tahiti is in sight, and as if calling for our attention, becomes a rainbow in and unto itself. I have never seen a land rainbow before. Then it is as if an invisible hand lifts the indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red colours from the land and pulls them into an arc across the skies.

I want to hold onto this moment, where moisture and light and prism forms colour. I want to hold on to the greens and blues of the jewel islands visited; to Ian’s motu, and motus Tevairoa and Toopua Iti; to the full moon rising behind the giant rock monolith of Otemanu; to the whale. I want to hold on to my sweet pearl girl daughters and our time together in the South Pacific. But it is as with the dream upon awakening. It comes to an end.

It is a wild ride through the pass closest to Tahiti’s Taina Marina. Huge swells move through the passage and break on either side of the reef. Many surfers have gathered to ride the waves. Russ calls for quiet as he turns the wheel of Zulu back and forth trying to keep her moving through the pass. We’re in at last! Into the gray afternoon where Tahitians paddle their outriggers through the waters of the lagoon, where we find a quiet place to drop the hook, and where sadly the time has come to let go of our daughters –to bid them farewell and adieu until we meet again.


Tahiti land rainbow.


Tahiti’s land rainbow broadening.


The rainbow shines down on Russ, Vanessa, and Sarah, standing on the bow.


Outriggers inside the Tahiti’s gray lagoon on our arrival.