Neverneverland VI

Neverneverland part VI – Moorea   AKA   A wee temper tantrum followed by bliss.

View (up) from 3-coconut-tree-pass...
some peaks you just admire from below. 

No.  -  I don’t want to be here, on my last island.

NO.  -  I don’t want to have to go home afterwards.

NO!!!  -  I don’t want to grow up.

This photo may be a bit grainy but even a perfectly clear shot would likely not capture the rapture!

My hostel here has the feel of a cottage. I am sharing a huge ocean view room with two other women who are also travelling on their own and though we often go our own ways during the day we start together sitting on the dock side by side to watch the sunrise and finish together with a snorkel, a lazy beer or two, and a late meal.

I freely acknowledge that I am not going to summit any of the mountains here and so instead hike happily up to 3-coconut-tree-pass from where I can see both sides of the island and the horizon stretching off to infinity.

On my last day I swim with the whales. They are humpback whales, each the size of six elephants. They come up for a breath every 20 minutes or so and then sink back down into the water to relax; they are here for 6 months and will not eat at all during that time so spend much of it being still. They are huge and silent and oh so majestic. And we float up above them suspended, mesmerized, entranced, in awe…

I will pack up my stuff, start the slow trip back home, and hope I can remember.

And, perhaps, I will end my blog for this year here, with the blue sky above and the behemoths below. Humpbacks are like me, they only sing when they are alone, but, despite the silence, my soul is full of song and I am infused with a peace that words cannot describe.

With the possible exception of having brought my middle son along with me for part or all of the time, I would not, even if I could, change one single day of the past five months. I have not, I fear, learnt anything about myself. But I am thrilled to have been. And that, for now, is good enough.

Neverneverland V

Neverneverland V   AKA   Huaine - The Rural Isle

Home of the sacred blue-eyed eel, a descendant of Chinese dragons,

Hauine is rural. From the plane you can see fields...

,,, from the ground it is a wild green paradise ...

... and as you hike it the view just gets better.

There are so many marae that some are used by kids as forts...

... and others so neglected that they have overgrown in an AngkorWatish fashion.

And I learnt that cows eat palm trees...

... if they can reach them!

HOOK

HOOK   AKA   Neverneverland Part IV - three


If this is Neverneverland, I’d asked myself more than once, then where is Hook? (Why would I ask this? Why?)

I’d spotted one of the lost boys on Maupiti. Alain, my host there, was putting up a new gazebo and the ‘neighbour’s kid’ came over to help him thatch it (with Made in Canada fake plastic palm thatch. I am embarrassed my country makes such stuff but Alain says it’s cheap and wonderful, barely affected by UV, guaranteed to last 20 years!)  But I wasn’t fooled. I knew it was really a lost boy helping him. I even took a photo.

Lost boy on Maupiti.

My last evening in Bora Bora I’d been in the capital, right round the other side of the island, to go out to watch the Heiva song/dance/drum competition finals - an event which finished very late - and I’d forgotten to take my headlamp with me (which I have taken to holding in my hand and swinging back  and forth – like a Canadian or something - as I hoof it home after dark so as to be more visible on the unlit, sidewalkless, island roads) so, at dusk, before the concert, for lack of a better word, I’d scoped out the best place from which to start hitchhiking home - it turns out the capital of a small island is a tiny town and the best place was the only crossroad in the middle of town which was also at the very edge of town! – and, so, after the concert I stood there, under the only streetlight on the island, arm out, thumb up, hoping that I’d get a ride because, frankly, I really didn’t want to walk the 15 km home at that time of night.

Heiva dancers.

The second car to pass by stopped and I jumped in. The driver was a Frenchman about my age (I didn’t recognize him immediately because he didn’t have on his wig of long dark curly hair.) and within two minutes he was holding my hand and trying to place it between his legs and very shortly after that he had stopped the car for ‘one real kiss’. I got out. He said he’d only been kidding so, silly me, I got in again, and, of course, we repeated the dance, and, so, four minutes from town, I was back out of his car again. ‘No, come back in,’ he said, ‘it’s not safe here. It’s actually not safe.’ I told him I’d take my chances.

After he drove off I looked about. It was a very dark section of road. For the first time in five months, I didn’t feel completely safe.

Before I’d caught my breath, however, taken a step, or even considered if I was going to continue hitchhiking or just walk after all, a small pickup truck pulled over. ‘Where are you going? Do you need a ride?’ the driver, a Polynesian woman, asked. Her mother was in the cab beside her and her husband and two small girls were out back. I told her, and she said that that was just past where they were headed, so, gratefully, I hopped up into the back, and then they not only drove me all the way but also waited in the driveway until I was inside the bunkhouse. Go Polynesian hospitality! One solid vote from me!

(The bunkhouse felt even emptier than usual, and I’d told the Frenchman, whom I’d finally figured out was Hook, where I was staying, so as I got ready for bed I not only double-checked that the door was firmly locked but also pulled my whistle out of my toiletries bag and put it around my neck, just in case. I should have known Hook was a foreigner, and, darn, I’d not even asked him about his boat!)

Lagoon pics

Bora Bora Lagoon Pics   AKA Neverneverland Part IV - two

Bob feeds rays as sharks wait impatiently in the background.

Three rays come to say hello to me.

I have no zoom on my underwater camera so this guy is close!

Just one more showing rays and sharks...

Max asks eel if he wants to play...

.... and eel says yes.

Flippers and fish!!

A green turtle - called green because apparently the meat is green! :(

Even the things that don't move, like these clams, are fascinating!

Neverneverland IV

Neverneverland part IV – Bora Bora and the Bungalows

Bora Bora, everyone said, is horrible; too built up, too touristic, not worth going to. What? Who are these people? Bora Bora is amazing! So, yes, along with the fantastic reef and marvellous motu and stunning lagoon and lush forested interior it also has excellent hotels and a range of restaurants and a few fantastic boutiques, but, I, personally, don’t necessarily see this as a downfall. You don’t, after all, have to stay in the hotels if you don’t want to.

I, for example, didn’t. Though would have liked to. The island’s hotels’ iconic over-the-water bungalows are enchanting. I’d booked into the only hostel, of course, which was a bit rustic and ‘campy’, and, I’m a wee bit embarrassed to admit, I was the only one in my 19-bed dorm, so I didn’t even have any company, which to me is a large part of the appeal of a hostel, and, also, despite having a lovely dock, 4 boats, and 6 showers all to myself, I felt sort of like, no exactly like, the cheapest person on the whole island. I even looked into moving to somewhere over-the-water for my last couple of nights but my waterfront hostel cost $20/night (breakfast included) and the cheapest available over-the-water place - and I am absolutely awesome at finding last minute deals - was $600/night (no meals) and the difference just seemed too huge to contemplate. There is a mid-range option with many B&B’s at about $100 - $200 per night but many of these are tucked away in odd locations and so in the end I just stayed in the hostel despite the fact that it is the first place I have slept that does not make the come-back-to-right-here list.

My very basic, somewhat campy, lonely, 19 bed bunkhouse.

I went to take a pic of the cheapest available over the water bungalows - note lovely colours of lagoon and sky -
and was totally spooked because a ray (blown splotch in foreground) came to check out what I was doing!

Besides, the whole island was there to explore and who stays indoors in Bora Bora? I swam in the lagoon, walked the beaches, hiked the (easy) paths through the hills, went out one traditional dance show in a big hotel and another in the town square, meandered through the pearl market, poked my head into the boutiques, snacked at road-side stalls and beach-front bars, and, basically, loved it.

Yes, Bora Bora is a bit more built up than some of the other islands, but man, it’s awesome!

Neverneverland III

Neverneverland Part III AKA Raiatea – Spiritual Center of the Polynesian Universe

Teputeputea, Raiatea is the spiritual center of Polynesia. It is where the original ancestors first landed. It is where the first marae, or holy platform, was built. For hundreds of years whenever a new marae was built on any Polynesian island, including those as far away as Hawaii and New Zealand – which we now think of belonging to different countries of course rather than to Polynesia – it was essential that a stone from the original marae at Teputeputea was taken and included within the new one as both a physical and spiritual link to the center.

Marae at Teputeputea.

July 14 is the most sacred day in the Polynesian calendar - odd coincidence that this is also Bastille Day – and so the day that the  replica pirogue, or great sailing canoe, was due to land at Teputeputea as part of its current voyage between the important Polynesian Islands, including of course, as mentioned above, Hawaii and New Zealand. It is sailing the traditional way using only the stars and clouds and waves to navigate. So cool. 

As I happened to be on Raiatea on July 14 I felt I had no choice but to make the 80 km trek to Teputeputea to welcome the pirogue as it arrived. There was a whole celebration planned with a full day of traditional activities; drumming, dancing, contests, food… definitely something perfect for a tourist! There are no busses on Raiatea, however, and renting a car just does not fit into my ‘frugal tourist’ budget, so I left early in the morning to hitchhike there. It was another lucky day for me as I was picked up less than 1 km from my campsite by a mini-van of women, staying at the same place as me, who recognized me. They were from the Gatineau area no less, in Polynesia doing yoga retreat, and were happy to have me with them.The pirogue was due in at 9 am, but, given the low winds, was a wee bit late, like 8 hours late, so it was especially wonderful for me to have this group to hang out with all day while waiting, and, too, to know that I had a ride home!

Kids wait to paddle out to greet boat at sea...

.... and elders wait to greet boat on shore.

I stayed, btw, at Sunset Beach Hotel, which is a bit of a misnomer as it a) has no beach and b) is a campsite with huts you can rent but no hotel to speak of. It’s wonderful. Built on an active coconut plantation it is huge, spotlessly clean, comes with free airport transfers and kayaks and snorkel gear and a great library, has a zip line into the water, great snorkelling, excellent staff, and, on top of all that, a huge help-yourself-table laden with fresh fruit galore. Who could ask for anything more? Definitely another spot to return to!

Neverneverland II

Chez Louise    AKA    Neverneverland II - Tahaa

On Tahaa I cheap out and camp Chez Louise for $10/night. I do, after all, have a tent which I am still lugging around and, besides, Lonely Planet says that this is the best place for sunset views.

Louise does not want me to take a photo of her and frankly I understand. The only word to describe her is bulbous. Also, she has many large warts, including a big hairy one on her lip and an enormous one on her nose, which makes it difficult to sit and have a conversation with her without thinking about ogres or witches. She raised two kids of her own and then adopted and raised 15 more. About the time the last of those left home her father died and left her some money so she kicked her husband out, bought an ocean front property, started up a restaurant, and has never looked back.

The place is pretty ramshackle but she is an excellent cook. Across the lagoon on a private motu is a very exclusive 5 star resort. Bill Gates goes there. And each time he does he has lunch at her restaurant at least once. Lunch is $65 a head, plus drinks of course. You pay your money and you get what you get, always seafood, but no choice. According to Louise Bill writes about it on the internet on one of those secret sites that you can only access if you are a millionaire. Certainly, while I am sitting chatting with her on broken beach chairs with the incredible view in front of us, the resort calls and books two couples in for lunch the following day. Louise comments that most of her business comes from there and I applaud them for recommending her to their guests, but, no no, she replies, the resort doesn’t recommend her, in fact they almost cringe when their clients want to eat anywhere other than the resort, but the rich and famous do their own research and demand to get taken! Louise loves it.

The first day I arrived with a take-out meal in hand for my supper but the second day when she asks what I want her to cook me for supper, and the real answer is an apple and a tall glass of cold iced tea, which I highly doubt is on her menu, I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t know if, as a campsite guest, I am expected to eat in her restaurant. I am tired and have been in every-ready-bunny tourist mode all day; there are no busses and few cars on Tahaa so I have walked far too far in the hot sun as I hitchhike from destination to destination and I am feeling a bit of heat exhaustion. I ask to see a menu but none exist so I claim I am not hungry. This is partly true, I certainly don’t want a big meal, I also don’t want to put her to a lot of trouble just for me (there are no other supper guests tonight), and, as well, I am doing my best to be a frugal tourist, if such a thing exists, and have no idea what supper would cost or even how to ask tactfully. Polynesian hospitality, however, does not allow a guest, even a paying campsite resident, to go without a meal, so Louise clomps off, whips up some fantastic delicacy, invites the neighbours over, and insists that I join them in the kitchen to eat, as, it is made very clear, a guest guest, not a restaurant guest.

I have a friend who lives in Toronto and regularly travels to England. She talks of the B&B owners as ‘friends’ and frequently re-visits the same places. It is a concept that I, until now, found odd. Here in French Polynesia, however, I see the light. Usually I always like to go to new places, even, for example, when going to Cuba, yet again, I want to stay in a different resort in a different town, but, were I to come back here, which I’d love to do, I have been made to feel so very much at home everywhere I’ve been that I’d barely even contemplate not returning to the exact same spots. 

Yup. It’s definitely all good! :)

Neverneverland

Neverneverland I   AKA   Maupiti

As the plane descends towards Maupiti I am almost too enthralled to remember to take a photo through the window. Below me is a place so amazing that I know it can’t be real. Here, in the middle of the blue ocean is a skinny reef protecting a large almost continuous motu, an impossibly turquoise lagoon, and a conical rugged green island. It looks like the set for a movie. If anyone were to show me a picture of it I’d recognize at once as a fake. The colours, everything about it - just not possible. Then I get it, this is Neverneverland.

Last minute photo from plane window taken almost as an afterthought.

I am met at the airport by Audine, proprietor of a lodge, have a garland of fragrant flowers put around my neck, and am whisked away by skiff to the motu where she lives and I will be staying. My hut is on the beach and my bedroom window looks out over the lagoon, the reef, and the open ocean. If I peer hard enough I can even see the next island over. (It too is too bizarre to be true.) Supper that night, family style at one long table, is an out of this world Chinese Polynesian American mix with amazing food from start to finish.

In the morning I walk across the motu and paddle a kayak five minutes out to a specified buoy. There I tie up the kayak and drop into the warm waters of the lagoon just above a cleaning station where the world’s largest rays come every morning. Within a minute an impossibly large creature flies gracefully in and then hovers as pilot fish eat the bacteria off its skin. I float for ages, mesmerized, as one ray after another comes to be cleaned.

NOT my best picture of the rays but the one that best shows their size. 

That afternoon I swim in the ‘gin clear’ water on the other side of the motu over coral full of weird clams with purple, blue, and green ‘lips’, and, of course, fish galore, I learn to paddle an outrigger canoe, I walk around the motu, and, though I hate to admit it even to myself, I realize that perhaps Sven was right, even if for the wrong reasons, and it was time for me to go; I am much happier off the boat, independent and able to shamelessly spend my time exploring, than I was on it.

Clam. 

Fish.

Following days I climb to Pan’s lookout (as I call it) at the top of the island, I cycle all the way round the bottom stopping to visit everything on the way; an art gallery, a site with ancient petroglyphs, a tiny store, an immense white sand beach, I go back to see the rays again… And, as usual, one day blends gracefully into the next until I have lost count. Audine and her husband Alain are the perfect hosts. I feel embraced by their hospitality, welcome in their home. When Alain wanders down the beach to visit the neighbours he takes me with him and we sit and chat and drink rum punches and watch the sunset and I want to stay forever. 

The view from Pan's lookout!

Amazing sky one morning...

... and another morning.

I want to stay forever.

Lava Tubes

Tahiti. Lava tubes walk. Do it. Just do it. If you happen to be in Tahiti, that is. Do not, however, attempt it on your own.

So. I crossed another thing off my bucket list today. I hadn’t actually known beforehand that it was on my bucket list but, well, it was so fantastic that it made it there retroactively, so to speak. What did I do, you might ask? I climbed up through a series of lava tubes. Sounds somewhat tedious, you might say. Then little do you know!

My guidebook recommends having a guide to do the lava tube walk, but, well, sure that my budget is blown though not really wanting to know by how much, I am firmly in frugal-tourist mode so instead of booking an expensive guide-led walk I merely took the local bus to where the map says the walk is supposed to start and figured I’d do my best on my own.

I didn’t get off to a lightning start as I couldn’t for the life of me find the path, which, oddly, was a good beginning to a fantastic day as a 4WD SUV with a couple of teenagers, uber-rich ultra-agreeable Chinese-Haitian teenagers it turned out, plus one French guest, stopped and asked me if I knew where the path was, and, since I said I was looking for it too, they said I should jump in and we’d all look together, and that, for sure, was beyond lucky.  

Eventually we found the start of the path. It was down what looked like a driveway, past a locked gate with a phone number on it that you had to call to get a pass, and then 11 km up a very steep very rocky lane (which we drove).

I was prepared in that I had my keens on and that I had a water bottle with me and, even, go me, my headlamp. The boys were a little better prepared, they had towels and waterproof cameras and a change of clothes to keep in the car, a backpack full of baguettes, nutella, and three choices of cold meat out of which to make sandwiches (which, of course, we all shared at some point) and, best yet, one of them had done the hike before.

The walk went up a steep rocky stream bed through what looked very much like a pre-historic jungle with gigantic ferns and vines all over the place and lots of moss covering many weird and unidentifiable plants. You really felt that dinosaurs could poke their heads out at any moment. It involved a lot of scrambling, countless steep slippery little cliffs with knotted ropes attached so you could get up, some swimming across deep pools between canyon walls, a couple of waterfalls that you had to go under and through, and, then, of course, the lava tubes themselves. Going through the lava tubes was pretty much like the rest of the path; steep inclines were involved, clambering over rocks, though water, up little cliffs aided by ropes, etc, etc, except that they were these natural rough tunnels, formed when lava was pouring out of the volcano millions of years ago, and they were dark, as in very very dark. It was amazing. The real Tahiti.

And, as usual, I would NOT have been able to do it on my own. The kids I was with were, apparently, happy to have me along with them - certainly all of us spent most of the day laughing – and if they minded having me there they hid it well. It took hours. We were pooped, all of us, when we got to the lookout at the top and found the trail down and by the time we’d driven back to the bottom of the access road it was dark.

So, in summary, if you happen to go to Tahiti, do do the lava tube walk, but not by yourself!

Since I wasn't smart enough to take my waterproof camera and the boys,
rightly so, suggested I leave my real one in the vehicle,
the only photo I have is the four of us after we have returned,
happy and tired, back to the trailhead. 

PS I cannot emphasize how wonderful the hike was, nor how much fun I had with the teens, and I don’t know what it says about my personality that I can engage so successfully with such totally random companions for an isolated day but just cannot manage to manage long term relationships, or even medium term ones. I am reminded of a friend who refuses to read short stories because she doesn’t want to become emotionally involved with characters that will be gone from her life after so little time – I am sure she would not want to travel as I am. I get back to the hostel and have a new roommate, another crew, a 27 year old who has been crewing continuously for many years on a series of different sailboats. She jumped ship here, today, after 4 months being a paid nanny on a boat, has already started looking for another to join, and she talks about how crew are always in temporary relationships that don’t lead anywhere…

I am more and more sure that I don’t want to live my life on my own, taking the bus to the bottom of the trail and just being lucky in meeting such awesome companions for the day, more and more sure that I don’t want, even, to crew forever, sliding in and out of working relationships with people who will, eventually, pass by like ships in the night. I think of Sven telling me, before our relationship started to slide of course, that he was not happy, and I realize that money, though it might help, is obviously not all of the answer. I had wanted to have a clear plan by my 50^th birthday, an idea at any rate for how to spend the next 25 years, and, though I do not yet have one, I am more and more sure that, although I might well end up spending them alone, it would not be my first choice.

Tahiti

Regrouping in Tahiti AKA Time to get over it and get on with it

It's all good

I was lucky. I got the last seat on the weekly flight from Hao to Tahiti. And my bag, weirdly, weighed in at 10 kg so I didn’t have to pay extra.

I arrived after dark and sat in the almost empty airport looking online for the perfect place to stay but didn’t find it. The airport is 10 km from town and the buses had stopped running for the day and most places seemed only to accept phone reservations and I was without a phone and my skype is broken and so in the end I splurged and stayed at the airport hotel - which was wonderful, btw, with heavenly sheets and an endless granite bathroom countertop and a fabulous breakfast included – and I didn’t go into town until the next morning to look for a more convenient and cheaper option.  

In the end, of course, I chose to stay in the only hostel in the city. It is not, in any way, like a 5 star beachfront resort, which is, I assume, what most people think of when they think of Tahiti, but it is cheap, and clean, and within easy walking distance of the town, and has tiny bedrooms but a huge communal lounge, with six or seven tables and as many couches, where everyone gathers to relax, use the internet, eat, drink, and play cards…

Hobo, Tahitian style...

Canoe racer, Tahitian style.....

The first few days I was still reeling, in shock at finding myself kicked off of the boat. I rushed around trying too hard to pretend that I didn’t mind, taking lots of photos but not getting any pleasure out of anything. Then, slowly, I settled down and started to chat with my fellow hostellers  (one of whom had crewed from South America on a Danish sailboat and another of whom rented a car for the day and drove all round the island and took me with him) and other tourists (I walked past a young woman at a sidewalk cafe having a HUGE sundae and stopped to comment on the size of it and she was so happy to meet someone else who spoke English she invited me to join her and I had a Sundae too and we chatted for hours) and even, since I speak the language, the locals.

In Chile everyone said, ‘Go hiking!’, and I did, and it worked out well enough.

Here everyone says, ‘Go visit the other islands!’, and, though a wee voice inside me says that that is what I was supposed to be doing on Sven’s boat, I nonetheless decided that I ought not cut off my nose to spite my face, and so bought an Air Tahiti ‘pass’ for $480 CAD which allows me to fly to 7 different islands. Ben, bless his soul, managed to re-book my flights home for me a bit early both letting me have a stop-over in Vancouver to visit my best friend and getting me back in time for Summerfest. So, given my new fixed timetable, I set up my ‘pass’ flights to the various islands and booked accommodation on each of them – a few campsites on the beach, a couple other hostels, a home-stay, a guest house or two, and even one honest to goodness, though not 5-star, resort – and I have as my only goals for the next few weeks to do a bit of snorkelling, climb to a few look-outs, relax, and, of course, try to get one facebook-postable brag-photo from each different island!

It will, I think, although it is not exactly what I had intended to do during the month of July, be good. In fact, the more I get used to the idea, the more I like it. I love being a tourist and will be able to be one to my heart’s content. I won’t have to waste any time waiting on anyone else’s itinerary, I will free as a bird. A bit lonely, perhaps, but, let’s face it, I was lonely on the boat too. (And at home, come to that. I guess wherever you go there you are.)

Yes, I have decided, it will be fantastic!

And, then, in August, my only goals will be to see friends and family, make up for lost time over the spring… also fantastic!

(I’m not sure how all of this will fit into the new fiscally-responsible budget that I set at the beginning of the year but I will worry about that later. Roll on September - it will definitely be time for me to be back earning money rather than spending it!)

Me, hot and sweaty on a hike...

A random view downwards.

So now, knowing that I will be lounging in lagoons most of July, and visiting friends and family as much as I can in August, and working in September I have suddenly gone into ‘super tourist’ mode and am ‘doing’ Tahiti like no one ever has before! Seriously. Yesterday, for example, I took the bus 49 km to the water gardens, amazing tropical water lilies and the like, and then did a 2 hour hike straight up a stream into the hills and then out onto a pine covered ridge and back down, and then hitch-hiked to the best snorkelling beach on the island, where, of course, I snorkelled. I then hoofed it 4 km in the hot sun to the small but fantastic island Museum. And, after a quick respite at my hostel for a shower and such, went out with my roommate to a 3 hour Heiva performance, Heiva being the annual Tahitian song and dance competition. I was so tired I almost didn’t go but was glad I did because the positive energy there was totally contagious. There were dances with 100 dancers on stage, solo dances, traditional singing, lots of drumming, bits that were more like theater with myths being acted out... The costumes were out of this world. Also, this being Polynesia, the dancers, unlike in Las Vegas, were not all rail thin. Many were large. Often the lead dancer was large. Very large. And man could they move!

What you can't tell from a photo is how heavenly the flower market smells!

Yes. It is all good.