Tahiti - The Gateway - Pardonnez Moi

I have to begin by saying that Tahiti is not one of my favourite places. It's not awful, by any means, but it's expensive, idiosyncratically French and it can be a battle to book accommodation with people, who don't exactly tell the truth. But it's the gateway to some much nicer and more interesting destinations. So, apologies for the comings and goings in this post.

The Big Hitters

The first time I fly into Papeete I'm going on to the Big Hitters of French Polynesia, Bora Bora and Moorea. The 'big island plane' from Rarotonga has 48 seats, but fewer than half of them are occupied. Presumably, no-one can afford Tahiti. (I’ve been warned that my credit card is going to take a battering.)

And it is like arriving on a different planet. It is all built up, proper airport, huge swanky resorts. Even a small traffic jam. Everyone is wearing hats, the men have little moustaches and they are all chattering away in French. And I walk straight through immigration, without even a stamp in my passport. (We are in the EEC at the time of writing this).

My hotel, for the one night, has given me a 'lagoon view' room. All I can see from the window is trees. On the upside, the porters are all wearing sarongs and nothing else. French food and sophistication and stunning tropical scenery. Sublime.

Next up, Bora Bora and Moorea.

Tahiti - in a Nutshell

• Tahiti is an island in French Polynesia, part of the Society Islands Group. There's a further subdivision within that of five islands known as The Windward Islands. That also includes Tahiti and Moorea.
• Tahiti is the largest island in French Polynesia, home to 69% of the French Polynesian population and capital Papeete.
• Papeete (Water Basket) developed, primarily, because the French moved their French nuclear weapon test range from Algeria, (which had won independence), to the atolls of Moruroa and Fangataufa, some 930 miles to the east of Tahiti. The two detonations were both followed by rioting, on Tahiti.
• Shaped like a figure-8, it's divided into Tahiti Nui (the larger, western section) and Tahiti Iti (the eastern peninsula). These are actually the remains of two interlinked, but heavily eroded, shield volcanoes.
• The high interior of Nui ( large Tahiti) is, unsurprisingly, largely uninhabited. And the south of Iti ( small Tahiti) is similarly unexplored. You can only get there by boat or on hiking trails.
• Tahiti is known for its dramatic volcanic peaks, lush valleys, black and white sand beaches, and vibrant coral reefs.
• The first European navigator to visit Tahiti, was British explorer Samuel Wallis, in 1767. He was followed by James Cook.
• Tahiti is often called the 'Island of Love' and serves as the gateway to the other islands of French Polynesia.

Tahiti, the Second Time

This time, in Tahiti, the main aim of my Round The World Voyage Three is to get to remote Pitcairn Island and that requires a boat from French Polynesia. As reckless Eric pointed out, in I’d go the whole wide world, it’s a long way to Tahiti. But he was looking for his true love. For me, it’s Manado to Singapore on Scoot, followed by Singapore to Auckland, on Singapore Airlines. Not so impressed with them this time. A toilet out of order. Dirty floors. Not all food options available and those that are frankly not very nice. It’s like flying British Airways.

Then, it’s Air Tahiti Nui to Papeete. My predictive text wanted to write Air Tahiti Nuisance. That’s a bit unkind. The flight isn’t bad at all. The cabin is cheerfully decorated, in turquoise, with bright greens and pinks and we all get a flower to put behind our ears.

Checking in is challenging though. The booths are supposed to open three hours before and they’re several minutes late. And it’s one of those flights where everyone has arrived early. The economy queue is daunting and I’m right at the end. I’m wondering what was the point in checking in online, when I notice a small sign which says Web Check In, next to another parallel channel. There are only two groups of people standing there. So what the hell. I join them. And they rearrange the queue dividers and let us through. Though that would be too easy. The check-in clerk operates as slowly as is feasible. And I’ve seen some slow clerks in my time. 12 groups must check in at the economy channel in the same time. There’s still no one behind me. Very strange.

Mahina and Pointe Venus

What’s also weird, is popping over the dateline. I started on Sunday afternoon and I’ve arrived on Saturday evening. I’m now 11 hours behind the UK and it’s dark when I arrive at my lodging, at Pointe Venus, at Mahina. A quick orientation from owner Guy who owns the very nice house, wooden floors and outdoor sofas bedecked with cushions, in front of my room, which is sandwiched between his home and and his garage. The soft black volcanic beach lies through a bolted door, sparkling, serene and silent.

Imagine my surprise, when I venture through it again mid morning, next day, in search of some quiet respite, to find it absolutely packed with bodies. Pointe Venus, it seems, is one of the most popular beach spots on Tahiti. There are shacks, food trucks (known as roulottes and usually specialising in poisson cru or poke) and a restaurant. A playground, a little harbour, and a famous lighthouse. This is a historic spot. There are memorials to Captain Bligh, who landed here on his last voyage, to load up with breadfruit (appropriate) and to the anchorage of The Beagle.

But the reason everyone comes, is the views. Towering trapezoid basalt peaks, almost silhouettes on the skyline. The tallest is Mount Orohena, at 2200 metres, the highest point in French Polynesia. And, there's my old friend Moorea, out to the west, sitting on the horizon, with its Bali Hai peaks.

The noise on Pointe Venus Beach is pretty loud. Some of the groups are providing their own music. Boom box or live (with and without amplifiers and speakers). I’m not sure if this is weekend party atmosphere or whether the fact it’s Father’s Day has contributed to the vibe. There are small marquees arranged each side of the main drag from the large point car park to the centre of Mahina. Most of these are offering beverages, iced lemon, ice cream, cooked food. A few have baskets of flowers.

Mahina is mainly a town of domestic dwellings, of all shapes and sizes. The drag takes me to two large supermarkets where I can stock up at a price. And then it’s a lazy day, as my bug is not shifting. It’s not been helped by the yet again change in time zones and the noise last night, until well after midnight, most of it emanating from my host’s quarters. The property description says quiet hours are from 7pm to 8 a.m. Hmmm.

The micro ants which follow me everywhere are marching across the draining board. I think they’ve come up the plug hole.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire….

My Gallic host, who has an I’m living my best life bare belly on view much of the time, isn’t super reliable. Booking.com tells me he accepts cards. He tells me it’s cash only. The property description says there’s a washing machine. There is, but not in my room. It’s off the garage and is full of the hosts clothes. He frowns when I suggest using aforesaid advertised appliance. The clothes don’t get removed. The kettle has a broken switch and won’t turn itself off, unless I remove it from its stand. And I’m not even going to bother asking about the iron – there is a small ironing board.

So it’s with some trepidation that I inform him that I’ve lost my key. I’ve no idea how. I haven’t really been on the planet for several days because of my jet lag. He’s not amused. Says he doesn’t understand why I need one anyway and that he doesn’t have a copy. I end up bunging him 45 pounds for the lost key. It was the change from my room fee (paid in cash) so hard to negotiate.
But my Gallic friend is all affable now. He says he's bringing me some free supper! Chicken and taro, with rice, duly arrives.
Tomorrow, Pitcairn.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire….Part II

Back from Pitcairn and another guesthouse. I’m taken there by taxi driver, Little Miss Sunshine. 'I’m not driving you anywhere unless you find the telephone number, so I can call them. These places are in the middle of nowhere. If you’ve only got a large bill you need to stop at a filling station and change it. I can’t. It’s not allowed to take two parties at the same time'. (No one else seems to mind.)

To be fair, my lodging is in the middle of nowhere, up a steep winding road. Tahiti is astronomically expensive, and this time I’ve found somewhere out of Papeete town, on the mountain slopes. I’ll be ok, it says it has a restaurant and café. Except it doesn’t. That’s been closed for a year. It would be good if Maison Taino had announced this fact, on their several listings. Hostess Valerie tries to bluff it out at first. ‘Everyone who comes to Tahiti gets a car. You have to.’

Later, she has the grace to blush and orders me a taxi to take me into town for dinner. Driver Hans is more amenable, but it comes at a price. That’s 50 USD return and it’s only a few kilometres down the road. ‘It’s evening,’ Valerie says, having previously told me it will be cheap, only 10 USD each way. The meal was nearly 50 USD. That’s one expensive dinner. The portions at least are huge – Pacific Chinese - and I’ve brought back enough for another two meals. But it’s not very pleasant cold; it wasn’t great when it was warm.

I’ve tried to investigate car hire, but that's exorbitantly expensive. Valerie, anxious to make amends and also to get me out of the way, finds me a half-price deal for two days. Right hand side of the road, mountain roads and manual drive is going to be fun.
Meanwhile, I’m resting, by the pool, which does exist. I’ve still got the cough. The Wi-Fi here is shockingly slow to non-existent. ‘Fast full fibre’, it says on the listing. There’s a safe, but it’s shut closed. There’s the teeniest bin you ever saw in your life. Just the one, in the bathroom. It’s a fight to open or close the curtains; the pole is too large for the holes. I have a kettle, tea bags and a bottle of water in a fridge. But no mugs or glasses.

Valerie tells me there are no mosquitoes up on the mountain. But next morning I’ve maybe a dozen itchy patches on my arms and legs. I’m saying nothing. My complaints about the Internet didn’t go down well. I’m told I’m the first person ever who’s had a problem. Despite the fact it works perfectly well when everyone else goes out. Otherwise, my lodging is perfect. Tahiti is not for the faint hearted.

Tahiti - Lush and Luxuriant

The words lush and luxuriant were invented to describe Tahiti. The vegetation is extraordinary. The slopes are double swathed in creepers, acacia and coconut palms. Layer on layer. It’s impossible to make out the shape of most of the hills beneath, except for the very high angular peaks. The velvety folds soar in to the air, home to numerous waterfalls and precipitous hiking trails.

The road sweeps round the base of the double volcano which is Tahiti, forming a 60 kilometre long, diagonally orientated, figure of eight, with the bottom missing. There’s no road at all in the south-east. This narrow plateau is lined with vivid crimson and custard yellow crotons, hibiscus and other exotic blooms. It’s a riot of colour. The road is frequently interrupted by bridges over fast running rivers. There are strips of beach, mainly black volcanic sand, sometimes backed by swards of green, with picnic benches.

The sea frequently laps the side of the road. At times, the road is built across it. The reef is visible all round and the breakers for which Tahiti is famous roll across it, onto the shores. Settlements come and go, denoted by churches with lurid walls (orange and purple) and narrow frilly spires. Mopeds zip in and out of the cars, appearing from nowhere and rarely checking their route first and cyclists take whichever side of the road they fancy.

Driving Round Tahiti

I discover all this lurching round the island in my rental car. It’s not the most auspicious of starts. I had forgotten that the clutch was the left hand pedal and couldn’t understand why the gears wouldn’t engage. I have my foot on the brake, instead of the clutch. The kind man at the rental office explains. Then I can’t find reverse. When I understand that I don’t need to start from fifth gear then that falls into place too. It’s a very long time since I drove a manual car. If I was the man running the car hire place I would have changed my mind about renting to me. I judge him for letting me go ahead.

It turns out that most of the Tahitian drivers are pretty tolerant too. I collect hardly any blasts of the horn or tail gating. So, I proceed reasonably well, anti clockwise round the island, to avoid capital Papeete and also so as to hug the coast. Third gear seems to be interchangeable with fifth, but the car protests politely when I’ve selected the wrong one and I chug along out of town.

The coastal route is still very busy in the north and I’ve missed the entrance to the first beach I want to stop at. My lady navigator tells me to turn right, but there’s no right opening available that I can see. I stall. Right in front of a police car turning out behind me. The two officers jump out and interrogate me about my intentions. The beach entrance is back behind, they say, you’ll need to go along this road a little and turn round. Then they look at me, sigh and go into the middle of the carriageway and stop the long lines of traffic, while everyone waits for me to do a three point turn.

My driving improves as time goes on, but I wouldn’t say I cover myself in glory. There are so many traffic light controlled road works that I have to assume some sort of command over my vehicle. As is so often the case nothing is signposted in advance, it’s hard to find spots to pull off when you see something of interest and there are very few places to stop and take refreshment.

Exploring Tahiti

First stop, the white sand Vaiava Beach, for great views of Moorea. Then, the three Mar’aa Caves. These are grottoes carved out in the bottom of the cliffs, filled with pools of water (some brave souls swimming) draped in ferns and with waterfalls cascading over head. It’s begun to rain now, so it’s difficult to tell which water is coming from the sky and which from the mountain above.

Next, it’s the black sand surfing beach at Tahara’a – plenty of valiant souls here too, trying out the waves. Vaipahi brings water gardens. It’s a good day for them; more cascades and linked lakes. Pretty and soggy. I’m trying to take photos of some proteas and birds of paradise and discover that the ground to the side of the path isn’t especially solid either. I’m soon up to my knees in mud. At least I can wash it off in one of the pools.

Next, I’m at the centre of the figure of eight, crossing into Tahiti Iti. Far fewer people, thank goodness, and a string of beaches with scattered booths, selling trinkets and snacks. The road finishes at Teahupoo, with a children’s fort, a café, a surfer statue and an Olympic Rings sign. That’s because this is where they held the surfing event for the Paris Olympics last year. I’d have a better look at the venue, but it’s now raining so hard the sea is just a blur.

The road along the east coast of Iti is equally wild. The upper slopes here smoothly emerald at times. It finishes at Tautira, suddenly petering out under palm trees. There’s a public park with picnic places, food trucks and more panoramas back up the coast and across the volcanoes.

Back on Tahiti Nui, it’s bucketing down again and I’m driving through floods. The road surface is littered with branches and palm fronds. The blowhole, Trou du Souffleur, at Arahoho is closed off with metal screens. It’s deemed to be dangerous. due to falling rocks. There’s another small and picturesque double fall at Vaihi. But the number one waterfall on Tahiti, which I’ve serendipitously left to last, is actually three waterfalls, up a side road, into a valley at Faarumai. All in all, it’s been a very watery few days. I’m drenched.

The rain hasn’t stopped the homeless dogs and ubiquitous chickens greeting me at each attraction. The canines are melancholy and hungry, wandering the road lethargically, but recklessly. The cockerels as vibrantly colourful as the foliage, bobbing in and out of the puddles and newly formed streams. Their cock a doodle doos reverberate throughout the nights.

Back at the ranch (I made it in one piece) Valerie asks about my travels. ‘I had lunch at Terre-Mer on Thursday ’ I say. She looks puzzled. Eventually, I show her where it is on the map, the picturesque Baie Phaeton, a pleasure boat dotted inlet between Tahiti Nui and Tahiti Iti. ‘Oh, Terre-Mer’, she exclaims. Grrrrr.

Next, a cruise to the Tuamotos and Marquesas islands.

Papeete

Back in Papeete, I’ve booked a hotel directly opposite the cruise terminal, so I can wheel my bag directly there. Except the ship docks at the cargo quays, in the Industrial Zone, 25 minutes’ walk away. Rai, the taxi man takes Steve, Toni and Ishau, who are staying at the Kontiki Boutique Hotel and me together. I’m at the Maitai Express. (That was expensive enough). And we all arrange airport pick up trips with him the following days.

I’ve no idea what Toni and Ishau’s surnames are. I just know they’re from Australia, Ishau is Toni’s daughter-in-law and she’s of Taiwanese origin. I’m lucky and I get checked in straightaway and back online. But then I get an email message to say that I should get to the airport the following morning an hour earlier than I had planned. The flight is at 7 a.m. with French Bee. AAArgh. And I don’t have lovely Rai’s phone number to tell him. I know Ishau took it, so I call the Kontiki and describe her and Toni to the receptionists. After much giggling they locate them in the café next door and I’m able to get the contact details. Phew!

Exploring Papeete

Time to explore Papeete on foot. It’s cloudy, sticky, humid and bustling, utilitarian rather than charming, with plenty of shops and small arcades. Escalators to encourage shoppers who might be getting too weary. There’s an unmissable large central market, mainly food and food stalls, with some tourist handicrafts thrown in. I meet Toni and Ishau there for some poisson cru (rather too much raw onion) and a final good bye.

The catholic cathedral is surrounded in green netted scaffolding, but there’s another pretty pink protestant church. And several blocks of government buildings, ranging from the assembly building, to the colonial presidential palace, to the ugly and mammoth French Haut Commissariat. There’s a monument opposite this, with a cockerel up top. Appropriate, considering the many which wander the streets, even in the city, loudly proclaiming their presence.

Otherwise, the main attractions in Papeete are the leafy parks, running alongside the large cruise port and further north. Statues, commemorative plaques, playgrounds, canoe launching sites. Bougainville, to the north of the busy through road is named after the French explorer. Closer to the water, the Paofai Gardens And there are several outdoor gymnasiums. They’re called ‘Aire de Fitness.’ A nice bit of franglais. Around them, stray dogs and gymnasts lie sleeping together on the grass. Competing to see who looks the most exhausted.

I keep crossing paths and waving at fellow cruisers. German Ute is at my hotel and we sample cocktails at the guide book cited Bora Bora Lounge, which is in an alley adjacent to our accommodation, along with a line of other night clubs. It doesn’t bode well for a good night’s sleep. Worse for wear, we stumble across the promenade to the roulottes which have set up for the evening in Place des Vaiete. It seems an appropriate way to end my Polynesian sojourn.

San Francisco and home. Though, on this flight, not even the Polynesians have flowers in their hair.