Some moments alone; Paul and Rondy arrive; Drive around Tahiti; Marae Arahurahu ; Shells on the surf beach at Papara; A picnic on a Tautira beach, Tahiti Iti; On the way to Papanoo valley; Point for Moorea
Some moments alone
Back anchored out toward the reefs opposite Taina Marina I sit on the cabin house amidships and write a long letter to my friend Martha’s daughter. What a difficult letter to write--to tell her that I’d received word of her mother’s death. I write in small print and fold the letter and put it in an envelope. I seal it with a sense of finality. A diamond in my sunrise.
I sit alone a long time and think of my brother Brian, who has only a matter of a few weeks to live. I cannot get myself to call him. I don’t have the courage. I rather let him be--so far away in the country of my birth, South Africa-- in his last moments with his family. The last time I called him was when we were on our way to Mexico from San Diego, and he was so happy to hear from me and so excited for this journey—underplaying the battle he faced.
I feel empty and numb and my heart beats fast and my breath is short and I feel my thoughts echo and have to put my head in my hands. I cannot face death. It is too overwhelming—too final. The absence left is too silent, and leaves too much darkness to behold.
There is weight on the shoulders of others, too, that is so hard to bear.
The sunlight beats down on waters blue. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the waves on the distant reefs. I am alive. But do not quite know how to acknowledge that. It is all too great. But I am one of the lucky ones in this world of fate.
Paul and Rondy arrive
"Haere mai, haere mai ra Come, be welcome
Haere mai i te fare nei Come to my house
Haere mai e tama’a Come share my meal
Haere mai, haere noa mai! Come, just come!"
These are Tahitian hospitality greetings taken from a handout at the visitor center.
We have visitors arriving from the Pacific North West (USA) and must get ready for the Zulu shuttle! We are going back to Moorea again soon for the third time. So back to Carrafour I go, the store that carries all one needs, not far from Taina Marina. I put a FP100 coin in a slot in the cart to get a shopping cart. That releases it from a chain of carts and I can buzz around with it in the store to my heart’s desire. I wheel the cart around and make choices of what delectables to buy, go through the checkout stand, and pack all items into bags I have brought. By now I have it down pat and put myself in fast forward.
I wheel the cart back to the marina, unload all on the dock, transfer to the dinghy—that I have radioed Russ to bring--and run the cart to a special spot at the back of the marina where I can ‘park’ it. I then put a sort of key into a slot and out pops the FP100 coin. Voila! What a system! Back to the dinghy I go and hope I don’t fall into the drink getting in, untie the lines and count on Russ to speed back to Zulu without creating omelets and smoothies en route.
Russ has his journey to the airport well practiced. This time he takes Le Truck there --a cross between a jitney and a bus, with brightly coloured wooden sides and open windows-- but hires a car to bring our friends back. I sit in the cockpit and see the plane carrying them fly low over the water toward the runway. It is dark and it won’t be long until they arrive. I hope they enjoy their stay. Here comes the dinghy!
“You have to be careful if you invite us down to Tahiti, because we might just accept.” Paul says as the dinghy bumps against the hull. I have to laugh as the suitcases take up more space than the three passengers! Rondy deftly stands on the Danish step and is on board in no time.
“Tea?” I offer after hugs and we find a seat.
Tea would be lovely after a full meal aboard the wonderful Tahiti Nui Airline flight they agree. We enjoy the soothing taste under the starlight.
“We’ve brought the wine and books and Lock Tite.” Paul says as he starts unzipping the suitcases to reveal Lipton’s green tea plastic bottles—filled with Yellow Tail Chardonnay-- and one of the book titles reads: The Sex Lives of Cannibals Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific, by J. Maarten Troost.
“We wondered about the kind of friends you have, who would send you books with this kind of title.” Rondy says as she laughs. I wonder too. But Mike from Lake Union Boat Repair knows the travel writer Maarten Troost is hilarious and one of the best.
“Oh no, one of the bottles leaked.” Paul says as he pulls his wet shorts out. The cockpit is a jumble. I feel bad they had to lug so much down for us plus coffee and tea from Patty, Russ’ sister, and other goodies. Soon though all is packed away and we find our places in Zulu’s bunks and close weary eyes for the night. Gently the boat rocks.
Drive around Tahiti
Up in the morning with a picnic packed and Dannel’s ‘hidden, Tahiti & French Polynesia’ guide book on hand. We’re ready to pile into the sardine can rental car for a tiki tour around Tahiti Nui (great) and Tahiti Iti (small). It’s a beautiful day.
Marae Arahurahu
Russ finds marae (archaeological site) Arahurahu by accident and swings the car onto a left hand side road. We park the car and peruse hats woven from the Pandanus tree arranged on a long table, and goods in a little stall. Rondy and I try some hats on and she takes a picture of me in a freshly made one, still green. The gents walk on into the marae.
Handmade hats laid out on a long table for sale at the entrance to marae Arahurahu.
Rondy takes a picture of me in a hat freshly made from pandanus.
Suddenly a young Polynesian woman launches into a Kilkinny cat fight with a gentleman that could have turned ugly, and Rondy and I make for the ceremonial site to get out of ear and eye shot. We become one with the Tikis.
The marae is located in a beautiful lush valley with steep cliffs. There is wild ginger, young pineapples, and the ubiquitous Tiare Tahiti blossoms that inevitably fall to the ground like perfumed snow. The marae was restored in 1954 and is sometimes used during Heiva festival for ancient ritual reenactment. A walk around in the quiet of the morning is peaceful.
A Tiki in the shade of the marae Arahurahu.
This site at marae Arahurahu is sometimes used during the Heiva festival to reenact ceremonies.
A Ginger flower in the sunlight.
A young pineapple growing on the marae grounds.
The ubiquitous Tiare Tahiti blossoms fall on top of the marae like perfumed snow.
We come across two Yankee chiefs wearing a Tiare Tahiti behind their left ear, which means no promises have been made and that their hearts are for the taking. If worn behind the right ear, it means they have sealed their love.
The following explanation of the Tiare Tahiti is taken from a sheet of paper on Tahitian hospitality I got at the visitors center.
“As for the half-opened Tiare Tahiti (gardenia tahitensis), given today as a sign of welcome, it was once the traditional symbol of a very strong feeling of love or friendship for the recipient. It is said to be the first gift of ‘Ta’aroa’, the creator god, to the idle and arrogant deities in heaven who kept fighting for eternal life. The beauty, purity and sweet fragrance of this flower brought them unknown feelings of plenitude, humility and goodness. Its intoxicating charm brought back order, peace and love in the skies.”
We come across two Yankee chiefs wearing the Tiare Tahiti behind the left ear, meaning hearts are for the taking.
Shells on the surf beach at Papara
We stop at the surf beach at Papara where Sarah and Dannel visited with us on a rainy day not too long ago. Now the day is sunny and the blue water makes for pleasant surfing. White breakers wash up on the black sand beach to create lacework edges. Paul goes on a barefoot walkabout and finds some large shells—name unknown, emptied of their creatures, with operculum on the side.
Rondy and I follow him and each pick out a perfect, beautiful shell for ourselves and place them on the wet, black sand to photograph. They each will add the finishing touch to Rondy’s patio or garden and continue with us on our journey across oceans wide, in memory.
We take some operculum too. Gifts from the ocean blue of the South Pacific. Up along the beach I point to a small shelter from the rain Russ had found for us on our previous gray day visit to Papara. We rest there momentarily.
“I’ll shout you an ice cream at the little shop.” Paul offers. It sounds tempting and we sit down to taste the cold chocolate and strawberry flavors that melt in our mouths, and watch the waves of the sea come and go for their eternity.
Paul goes on a walkabout on the black sand beach and waves wash up with lacework edges.
I photograph my shell in the wet, black beach sand.
Rondy and Paul rest momentarily under the beach shelter. She shows off her shell.
Paul's ice cream time: chocolate, strawberry, and chocolate flavours melt in the mouth.
How can a day have so little time? There are many points of interest to consider. We must continue on, but where to go: The Mataoa garden with tropical plants and flowers, bird of paradise, orchids, vanilla? Roadside stands? The fern grotto? Musee des Coquillages (shells)? The Paul Gauguin Museum with none of his original paintings?
We’ll bypass all these places of interest, except for fruit and vegetables at the roadside stands and the fern grotto, and find a picnic spot. We’re getting close to Tahiti Iti and head eastwards in the direction of Tautira.
Roadside fish stand. FP2500 = US$30 approximately for one fish.
Is it a hen or rooster growing in this tree at the fern grotto?
A picnic on a Tautira beach, Tahiti Iti
It was around Tautira that Captain Cook anchored in 1773. His two ships drifted too close to the reefs while the crew were playing host to Tahitian visitors, and they ran aground. Lady luck was with them as smaller vessels kedged them off and he only lost an anchor. When he returned in 1778, he found and retrieved the anchor!
We find a sandy beach shore wedged between the green mountains and the sea, with picnic tables and colourful pirogues (outrigger canoes) pulled up on the shore, and shade trees. The wind blows strong. We hang onto our caps and watch the parasailor blazing trails over the choppy lagoon.
Out with the cold Hinanos and the baguette of course (wish they put some rye in it), cheeses, olive tapenade, salami, fruit. We are roughing it! Bon appetite!
A Polynesian gentleman approaches the head of the picnic table and decides to give me the French greeting of a kiss on each cheek. Ditto for Rondy. Then he stands and stares with a vague point of interest. I feel loathe to offer him a Hinano, and after awhile he leaves. Russ calls him the mayor. We contemplate what challenges this unknown soul.
Our view from the picnic table.
One of many pirouques pulled up on the shore.
Paul and Russ crack a Hinano each at the picnic table.
Satiated and nourished, we hop back into the rental car and drive on to toward the end of the road. Some Tahitians are husking coconuts in a grove. A small church stands silent. A sign on the wall says mass is at 10.
Notre Dame-Des Paix-- a small church at the end of the road stands silent.
On the way to Papanoo valley
We drive North up the Eastern shore of Tahiti Nui. Imagine a figure 8 somewhat on its side, with the lower circle of the number smaller than the top. The lower circle is then Tahiti Iti, and the larger top circle Tahiti Nui.
Pass the place where Captain Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, the French explorer, anchored in 1768. He commanded the vessels Boudeuse and Etoile and did not realize Samuel Wallis, the Englishman, had beat him to it. Bougainville was a distinguished scholar and quickly had a working knowledge of the Tahitian customs. He was not the best of seaman, however, and succeeded in losing about six anchors in ten days, so undoubtedly his stay was short! Captain Cook managed to get one of these anchors in 1777 for his own use.
Russ picks up the pace and we stop at the great blow hole, which was not in the mood to blow very hard this day. See some people on the reefs with sticks looking for octopus? Do a cross between a sprint and a walk to see the Fa’aurumai waterfalls. There are three of them and somehow I have lost the thread of the love story, which in the end cast the players over the cliffs and they were turned into three waterfalls. I think I’ve fallen short on this story. Excuse the pun.
I stop and study the wild flowers and we all push on to the car so we can drive through the Papenoo valley and into the interior.
Tahitians looking for octopus on the reefs.
One of three waterfalls that personifies characters in the love story.
Wildflower at Fa’aurumai waterfalls.
Wildflower at Fa’aurumai waterfalls.
At last, after asking numerous times, we find the turnoff to the Papenoo valley. This is the biggest valley in Tahiti formed by a volcanic crater. The slow winding river’s mouth is the hole in the crater wall. It runs somewhat sluggishly.
Light is drawing long shadows now. Either I am tiring or the valley is not that striking. We cross the new narrow bridge over a muddy river. There is a ribbon of a waterfall, some tall peaks, but mostly the drive into the interior is uneventful.
So push on past Pt. Venus—named by Captain Cook-- and through peak hour Papeete traffic. Fill the rental car with gas and on to the airport to drop it off. It is like directing Cleopatra to organize a lift back to Taina Marina. Transfer all the fruit and vegetables and picnic paraphernalia, and the precious shells to the car of the agent’s associate. Nightfall is here.
Speed off into a breakneck stop-go traffic jam. Breathe deeply. The French driver is animated and frustrated. He is going nowhere fast. When at last he reaches the marina, it is time for a Gitane (cigarette). Our drive around Tahiti is over. Thank you Paul and Rondy for sharing.
Point for Moorea
The next day we hop a new spiffy bus, on its maiden route, and head for downtown Papeete. Rondy takes another 'hat picture' of a polynesian passenger. What a priceless smile.
Rondy takes a ‘hat picture’ of a Polynesian bus passenger.
Rondy and Paul go their way and Russ and I attend to the ‘checking out’ process with the usual arrogant French official. Make it difficult for us. Don’t give us our bond money back. Make us get it in Bora Bora by September 4. Mercie bien pour rien! Thanks for nothing.
Walk a gazillion blocks to the other side of the harbor to get a form filled as duty free obligation for my pearl. The office is hidden in a nondescript building with a sweet little beaurocrat, who could not care less, but went through the motion of filling out the form. We brighten his day by commenting on a picture hanging on his wall. It is his ‘farm’ in France.
Got to attend to all the details so we don’t have the French armada after us as we leave. I am truly weary and low on energy..
Let us get out of here. We haul up the anchor the next morning. There is a boat at the fuel dock. We’ll skip getting fuel or water, even though the latter is real low. Do like the French. Wear more perfume in lieu of showers. Conserve water. Out through the pass. See the surfers riding the waves. Point for Moorea.
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