On-board the Aranui

It seems a shame to come back to French Polynesia, from Pitcairn, without seeing more of this far flung country. So, I’ve booked a twelve day cruise, which sails to the Marquesas Islands, via the Tuomoto Islands. This way I get to travel to more extremes, some different edges of the world.

Like the Pitcairn Silver Supporter, the Aranui 5 is part (bows) cargo ship and half passenger cabins and all the accoutrements, on nine decks (plus observation deck above). But this one has 108 cabins and can accommodate up to 295 passengers. Fortunately, there’s under half that number on board today.

There’s a petite blue plastic pond, which they’ve called a swimming pool, surrounded by utilitarian bars and sundecks. There’s a small gym and even a tattoo parlour. Comfortable, rather than luxurious. They used this boat as the Olympic Village for the surfing at Tahiti Iti. They’re obviously very proud of this. Olympic logos still decorate some of the doors.

The main challenge of a cruise, especially one of any length, of course, is ‘socialising ‘with the other passengers. Just under half of them are French speaking and they, for the most part, tend to act as if the rest of us do not exist. They certainly have no intention of conversing in anything other than their mother tongue, whilst on French territory. The majority of us are English speaking and the largest group amongst those, by a long way, are Australian. Some Americans of course, a few Kiwis, six Brits, including me and Steve, who is six foot five inches and therefore unmissable and also went to Pitcairn, a couple of Canadians and an Italian couple.

There are seven decks of cabins, with the more costly balcony adorned rooms up top, along with the presidential and owners suites. It passes the time to try and work out who is in which. The presidential suite is occupied by a blonde haired lady, who I understand is the daughter of an (ex?) German consul. That doesn't seem like celebrity material to me, but she definitely acts like a celebrity. She poses, smiles and waves at her 'adoring' subjects. The staff spend a vast amount of their time taking pictures of her in different locations; she was even singing and dancing in Reception with some of the musicians. And a photographer, of course.

But, I tell myself, up top is also more prone to the effects of the boat’s rock and roll. My cabin, on Deck 5, has loads of cupboards and a huge bed, so I’m happy. It’s obstructed view - which fortunately doesn’t mean that part of the window is covered, but there are suspended launches in my line of sight, to sea. It’s a little disconcerting to draw the curtain and find a member of crew staring in, as he dismantles the winch outside. But they wave cheerily, before carrying on with their work. It was a lot cheaper than standard double cabin - about the same as a single cabin.

Talking of singles, there are very few on the boat and little provision is made for us. We are expected to turn up to the sit down three course meals for lunch and dinner and just slide into a place, on one of the six or eight person tables. It’s a little daunting.

The group of Kiwis I next encountered broke off their conversation to chat to me for five minutes asking what I thought of the mornings’ activities. The rest of the time they acted as if I wasn’t there. If you end up with a French group they smile (if you’re lucky) and then ignore you for the whole meal. I suppose you can at least then read, instead of having to make polite conversation, especially when the buzz in the room is such that you can’t hear much of what they say anyway.

There are various lectures and activities on offer, as we sail, and daily briefings about what to expect from tomorrow’s programme and optional activities. The Polynesian guy in charge of these has a gentle, strongly accented voice, and speaks very slowly. It’s a challenge to stay awake. I have to check the accompanying information sheet afterwards, to see what I’ve missed. It’s packed with quaint English. The weather forecast is generally ‘rare showers.’ And usually they’re so rare that we don’t get any rain at all.

Papeete to Fakarava

We’re departing a very rainy Papeete, the mountains rapidly disappearing, the odd dolphin leaping to wave us off. And a procession of old sailing vessels from Moorea, glide past, rapturously welcomed by crowds on the shore.

The first day’s offering includes Polynesian dancing with participation (!), a very thorough mandatory evacuation drill, pearl selling, Happy Hour, karaoke and a Polynesian dance class. I’ll leave you to decide which of these on-board activities I participate in.

It also gets very choppy quite quickly. More rolling – deja vu - and some very green faces. But this time my Sea Legs are holding it off.

The Tuamoto Islands - in a Nutshell

• The Tuamotu Archipelago is a French Polynesian chain, of just under 80 islands and atolls, in the southern Pacific Ocean. This is the largest chain of atolls, in the world, extending (from northwest to southeast) over an area roughly the size of Western Europe.
• The archipelago's major islands are Rangiroa, Anaa, Fakarava, Hao and Makemo.
• The Tuamotus have approximately 16,000 inhabitants.
• Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Stevenson travelled among the Tuamotus (then called the Paumotus) on the yacht Casco in 1888; an account of their journey was published as In the South Seas.
• Jack London wrote a story, The Seed of McCoy, based on an incident, in 1900, in which a burning ship, The Pyrenees, had been safely beached on Mangareva. He set the climax on Fakarava.
• In 1947, the Norwegian ethnographer Thor Heyerdahl, exploring immigration routes, sailed from South America with a crew of five others, reached Raroia, on his raft Kon-Tiki.
• France conducted nuclear weapons testing on the atolls of Moruroa and Fangataufa.

Fakarava -The Tuamoto Islands

Dawn, the next day, sees us sailing through the entrance to Fakarava Atoll, having reached the Tuamoto Island group. The Sky Bar, on Deck 9, is crammed with early risers, keen to witness the spectacle of passing through the gap, the Passe Garuae, the largest atoll opening in French Polynesia. It’s not really that exciting. This is the second biggest atoll in the Tuamotos, 60 kilometres by 25, just a rectangle of flattish land, covered in vegetation, surrounding a vast expanse of blue sea. Thankfully, that’s fairly calm now.

Catamarans are the vehicle of choice round here, bobbing on the water. The strip, on two sides of the atoll, which is home to almost 800 inhabitants, is so narrow, you can easily see the sea on both sides, The first tiny village is Rotoava. Neat and sleepy; it’s Sunday. The locals are lined up outside coral built, St John’s Church, in their floral best. On the lagoon side, small white sand patches of beach. interspersed with jetties. Some of the planks on those creak alarmingly. There are fins circling lazily beneath. The atoll is home to a very large population of grey reef sharks, which are protected.

I settle on a small section of shore and swim out to inspect the coral reef. It’s fairly ravaged, with just a few miniature clams and some brawling and swooping angelfish. But it’s pleasant enough, under the casuarina trees, the light dappling the jade water and joyful background singing from the church.

Heading to the Marquesas

Now, we're heading across open seas, from Rotoava to Nuka Hiva in the Marquesas. I’ve found a comfortable cushioned sofa, on the covered veranda deck, behind the main bar. It’s good to get some fresh air. My bathroom has already acquired that whiff of drains. Even on the veranda there’s a fly trying to crawl up my leg. How’s he managed to get out here ? …

I’ve paid an extortionate price for all day access to Wi-Fi in my cabin. I reason that it will give me something to do on the two long sea crossings between the Tuamotos and the Marquesas. It’s a day and a half each way. And I’ve got a backlog of programmes on BBC Sounds Catch Up waiting.

All the best laid plans. We’ve hardly embarked on our journey to the Marquesas, at a steady 15 knots, when the Wi-Fi disappears. Technical glitch, we're told, over the Butlins style tannoy, no Wi-Fi until we arrive now. So, it’s back to staring at a vast stretch of choppy ocean. Nothing in sight, except the crests of the waves. It’s sunny, but it’s too windy to repose up top. The water is slopping out of the swimming pool, creating a subsidiary paddling area, several centimetres deep, complete with wave effect.

The Sea Legs are both protecting me and wiping me out. I spend a great part of the day dozing on the veranda deck, or the sun deck (up top) and in my room and eventually have to be rescued by Coca-Cola. The constant but balmy wind doesn’t help. It’s strong enough to lift my dress, as I cautiously clamber up and down the exterior staircases. At least I have my swimming costume on underneath.

There's an entertainment team, on board, of course: musicians and the fashionable animators. Though I still haven't worked out what that actually means. It sounds a little scary. On offer, on board today, as we have a whole day at sea:
A coconut demonstration, a palm weaving workshop, a meet the crew session, a documentary on 15 fishing techniques in French Polynesia and music in the bar. Live music with ukuleles, drums and guitars pops up everywhere. We’re always melodically serenaded on and off board and into meals.

The Internet is still down, even when we’ve arrived at Nuku Hiva, our first point of call in the Marquesas Islands. It seems there’s a problem with the satellite and they were flying a guy out from Papeete to deal with it, when we arrived here. (Most of the islands have tiny airports.) But the Air Tahiti firefighters have gone on indefinite strike. (Well, this is France.) It’s not looking good for future communications.

At the Marquesas - Unloading the Cargo

Like the Pitcairn Silver Supporter, the Aranui is part cargo ship, part passenger cruiser. It’s designed only to take cargo to the Marquesas Islands and the crew leap into action before we’ve even moored at the quay. The huge cranes on board swing into action, depositing manned skiffs into the ocean, ready to assist with loading and unloading. There are two small launches and two motor driven pontoons to this end. And a whole flotilla of fork lift trucks. On the outer edges of the cargo section, two larger rectangular boats, with wooden benches to seat 40 and two mighty 200 HP engines. Those are the launches they use to take us ashore when we can’t dock. The French call them barges.

And they’re unloading all manner of surprising goods, aside from the dual food supplies. There are several cars and pick-ups (the French government subsidises them), stacks of washing machines and a helicopter being released from their containers today. Lined up alongside: a racing canoe, cement, sugar and a series of freezer and cooling containers. They’re also taking on board copra and fruit. Fascinating.

The Marquesas Islands - in a Nutshell

• The Marquesas Islands group is one of the most remote in the world. It lies about 850 miles northeast of Tahiti and 3,000 miles southwest of Mexico (the nearest continental land mass).
• The islands in the group fall naturally into two geographical divisions. One is the northern group, consisting of Eiao, Hatutu (Hatutaa), Motu One, and the islands surrounding the large island of Nuku Hiva: Motu Iti, also called Hatu Iti; Ua Pou; Motu Oa; and Ua Huka . The other is the southern group, consisting of Fatu Uku, Tahuata, Moho Tani (Motane), Terihi, Fatu Hiva, and Motu Nao (also called Thomasset Rock), which are clustered around the main island of Hiva 'Oa.
• With the exception of Motu One, all the islands of the Marquesas are of volcanic origin - a centre of upwelling magma, called the Marquesas Hotspot.
• Alternatively, legend has it that 'Ono, the god of creation, promised his wife to build a house in one day, so he gathered together land and created the Marquesas Islands, which are all named after parts of the house, Nuku Hiva being the roof. Everything he had left over, he threw to one side and created a dump, which is called 'Ua Huka’.
• Latest studies indicate that the first people to arrive here came from West Polynesia, around 2000 years ago, only later colonizing Tahiti, Hawai'i, The Cook Islands and New Zealand.
• The peoples, of the Marquesas Islands, 2000 years ago, were tall and stocky and believed they were the sole inhabitants on earth. They were once great navigators, but lost the ability until the skill was rediscovered when Hawaiians visited. Just like Moana.
• On 21 July 1595, Spaniard Álvaro de Mendaña de Neira stopped at Fatu Iva and called the islands Los Marquesas, after the Viceroy of Peru.
• The population at of the Marquesas Islands, at one stage, was much larger, in the hundreds of thousands, but the peoples were decimated by disease, brought by whaling ships, as well as the introduction of alcohol.
• There have been ongoing discussions about separation of the Marquesas Islands, from the rest of French Polynesia. The main impetus seems to be a desire to remain a part of France, should the rest of French Polynesia attain independence.

Nuku Hiva

So, here I am once more, in The Middle of Nowhere. Nuku Hiva is the largest island in the Marquesas group. In fact, it’s the second largest island in French Polynesia, after Tahiti, with over 3,000 inhabitants. It’s volcanic, velvety and lofty, rising to 1223 metres in Mount Tekao, and stunning. Further swathes of acacia, topped by other vegetation. For the most part, the mountain sides drop straight into the sea. There’s unexpectedly a central plateau, with horses, introduced in the nineteenth century, by the French colonists.

We are organised into a motley, but gleaming, fleet of four-by-fours to see all three main municipalities. Mostly pick-up trucks, but some properly fitted out for excursions, with covered benches on the back. The drivers are all beautifully dressed, in different versions of the same pink floral material. They’re nearly all women. Our driver, Eti, sports a pink top and jeans and a matching head garland.

The first, harbour village, is Taiohae, by far the largest settlement and the administrative capital of the Marquesas. Hence, various Tiki statues and the town hall (mairie). Looming over the little harbour, Tiki Tuhiva at 40-foot-tall, is the highest contemporary sculpture in the Pacific. It shows a female Tiki being protected by a male warrior.

Before we can set off from here it’s obligatory to see a craft market. Trestle tables laden with jewellery and expectant stallholders. Cruise ship day is very important for the economy. I’m more interested in watching the locals gutting fish by the quay. They throw the entrails into the water, where a shoal of sharks circles and battles to reach them first. But I do hope somebody else makes some purchases.

Next stop, is the municipality’s Cathedral of Notre Dame. The majority of the population, converted by missionaries, in the nineteenth century, worship here. The inside of the wooden building isn’t terribly exciting, except that Baby Jesus has a lot of hair and is clutching breadfruit. (Breadfruit is very spirituality significant in Polynesia, symbolising the ancestors' struggles to get here as well as links with nature.) But it has an endearing twin towered entrance gate.

Then, over the first of the jaw-dropping valleys, past plunging waterfalls, to another craft centre, at Taipivai. The roads are traumatic and dramatic; thank god I’m not driving. Hairpin, after hairpin, winding over the steep valleys. Wild pigs saunter across the bends, munching.

The best views of all are back to the rock formations, edging the beautifully circular bay. The market at Taipivai specialises in bijouterie, made of seeds. Outside the oval building, there’s a stone commemorating the visit of American author, Herman Melville, who abandoned his whaling ship (aged 23), on this island, with Tobias Greene, and lived in the village, in 1842. His book The Taipi describes his time here. He’s not the only literary connection who the island boasts. Robert Louis Stevenson also landed here.

Another spectacular valley, with more sea views, over the far side of the island, to a soaring jaggedly peak framed bay, Hatiheu-Aakapa. It’s a giant volcanic amphitheatre. Here, there’s Tohua Kamuihei, an archaeological site of some 600 years. The visit begins with a display of shell blowing and Marquesan dancing, to drums, under a magic banyan tree which was once, apparently, surrounded by skulls. The dance is very reminiscent of the haka, done by men in grass skirts. The culture on these islands had all but disappeared after the arrival of the missionaries, but is being resuscitated.

There are three levels to the Tohua Kamuihei site, which might even be three different sites. No-one is quite sure. In front of the banyan tree was a pit, used for the bodies after human sacrifice, and there are also dug chambers, where the breadfruit skin was fermented. Also, moss covered petroglyphs, alongside stick figure motifs and fish carvings on two dolmen. Commoners lived below, the priest up top. Along with thousands of mosquitoes, sand flies called no-nos and ants. We’ve all been warned to slather on the repellent.

The guides’ talks are very slow and soft, the English broken. It's a struggle to listen and I'm worrying I’m getting bitten to boot, as I perch on the hard stone wall. I can already see huge pink welts rising on the pasty calves of the shorts wearers.

Polynesian lunch at Chez Yvonne, close to the gorgeous sandy beach at Hatiheu. With more Polynesian music. Everything on the menu comes with coconut milk. Delicious poisson cru (like ceviche), goat (bony and fatty) and banana pudding.

The last stop, yet another craft centre, at Taiohae. After we’ve wandered all the stalls, we’re allowed to return to the boat.
We’ve got a Polynesian buffet, by the pool tonight, with Polynesian entertainment. More drums and ukuleles. We’ve been invited to order head garlands to wear, at 25 USD per pop. There’s talk on how to wear a pareo too. It’s possibly Polynesian overkill, today.

The Internet has come and gone, making more false starts than Keir Starmer. And I’ve just been brought a special present by one of the crew. It’s a presentation box, containing a clear paperweight, demonstrating the inauguration of the Aranu, in 2015 , with a model of the boat inside. I don’t know whether to be pleased or offended. I think it might be an incentive to give the cruise a good write up. But it weighs a ton. I will need to dispose of it before I get on my next flight.

Ua Pou (WaPoo)

I’m going to have to be careful how often I use the word stunning. Ua Pou is the third largest island in the Marquesas Archipelago, population over 2,000. But the melange of incredible basalt spires, peaks and pillars which greets us, as we sail into capital, Hakahau, is astonishing, easily giving Mervyn Peake a run for his money. The cloud capping them just low enough to be equally annoying and mysterious. The highest mountain here is Mount Oave, topping Nuku Hiva’s tallest by 7 metres. Ua Po means two pillars. Which two I’m not sure. Wikipedia says there are twelve of them altogether.

Each island has its speciality. Ua Po is famous for tattoos and sculptors, as well as garnet phonolite, known locally as flower stone, and only otherwise found in Brazil. So, today’s activities focus on the craft centre, in Hakahau.

It seems that all the large villages boast a hill top cross. Some of the passengers climbed up the path to the one here and accompanying views across the bay, just after breakfast. I wasn’t going to try it, but excellent sightings are reported, so I set off later in the morning. There’s a stream of people going in the opposite direction. ‘You thought you’d wait for the heat,’ they mock.’ It’s thirty Celsius, which isn’t too awful, but the humidity is high, the air weighing heavily on my shoulders.

Too late, I discover an enticing little strip of sand complete with bendy palms, leading to the village centre. The sound of singing directs me to the craft centre, tropical fruit tasting (on banana leaves) and more Polynesian dancing. Apparently, the performance here is the best one, including the famous local ‘Bird Dance’. I will have to take their word for it. It just looked like a more energetic haka to me. More Polynesian food: banana, sweet potato, taro. The pork, in sweetish brown sauce, is exceptionally good.

Another four-wheel drive tour, this time to Hakahetua, a small village, in the north. There are stops at various scenic viewpoints, mainly to admire the basalt pillars. Then there’s the diminutive airport strip and several more beautiful beaches. Though one is named Shark Bay, which suggests that swimming may not be an option. Many of the thousands of trees dotting the lower slopes have not sprouted yet this year. There has been a drought.

Tiny Hakahetua has more great peak panoramas, some sandstone cliffs and the only non-seasonal river on the island. Frigate birds wheel overhead. We congregate in another craft centre; there are coconuts to drink and another singing performance, this time by the drivers, who are mostly male today. It’s joyful and passionate, so I forgive them.

Hiva Oa (Long Roof)

Heading south east, in the boat now, we dock at Atuona on Hiva Oa at 3 a.m. and the cargo shifting vehicles are busy at work, beneath my window, long before it’s light. Hiva Oa is the second largest of the Marquesas Islands, the peak here, Mount Temetiu reaching 1276 metres and towering behind the bay. (They’re pretty consistent in height, across these volcanic islands.) Atuona has another port on a river. More frigate birds aloft, watching for smaller birds to rob. Spectacular ridges and dots of islands.

Paul Gauguin

The highlight of Hiva Oa, according to the tourist board, is Paul Gauguin’s grave, close to that of Belgian singer Jacques Brel, in a cemetery, up the slopes. A hike to see it is offered. I opt for the bus. Then, a ten minute drop-down walk, to the main town centre, around a headland from the port. Here there’s a Paul Gauguin Museum (life story told with reproductions and no originals at all) and a Jacques Brel Museum (a suspended plane and a few artefacts), set in some pretty tiki decorated gardens. However, given Paul Gauguin’s history it’s all a little uncomfortable. I’m unsure if I wish to celebrate his life and his paintings have never really attracted me anyway.

Yes, Gauguin (1848-1903) is a hugely significant figure in European art. His paintings at auction realise staggering sums of money: in 2022 one changed hands for over US$105 million. But Gauguin is described as ‘a violent, fist-swinging thug, a paedophile and a serial rapist.’ He dumped his wife and five children in Europe, to escape debt, leaving them in poverty and went to live in Hiva Oa, where he married three native children, the youngest 13, the others 14. He used them as models for his paintings, depicting erotic fantasies, had numerous children with them and infected some of them with syphilis, before he died, aged 54. The museum even features his ‘House of Pleasure’.

Jacques Brel

I’ve never heard of Jacques Brel before and I’m not much wiser after my visit, as all the signage is in French. Wikipedia tells me that he is the third most bought recording artist from Belgium. He suffered from ill health and lung tumours and came to live in the Marquesas with his wife, against the advice of his doctors, who thought the climate bad for his condition. He actually died in Paris, but his body was flown back here. The grave is marked by numerous decorated pebbles.

Although Gauguin and Brel are both synonymous with Hiva Oa and lie close to each other here they never actually met, living in different centuries.

Atuona and Back Again

The cultural centre, opposite the museums, is a sprawling affair, with several craft areas, behind a tiki decorated green. Ongoing guitar music goes without question. The bus back isn’t for some time, so I make another rash decision and decide to walk back to the ship. The route looks flat on the map. It isn’t. And it’s moving into heat of the day time. There are beautiful views of the lofty Hanakee Motu, in the bay and the frigate birds are performing. But, I’m so relieved to get back on board that I trip on the steps, bang my camera and stub my toe. My toe seems to have come off worst. I think that’s probably the right way round.

Tahuata (Dawn)

Tahuata, the smallest of the Marquesas Islands is just four kilometres and half an hour’s sail away. More towering mountains and ridges, no space for an airstrip here, but some gorgeous sandy bays, perfect for yachties and more coral than anywhere else in the archipelago. The only real settlement is Vaitahu, where we land.

No pier at Vaitahu. We come ashore in the launches. The cargo is landed from outboard driven pontoons, also carried on the ship. The fork lift trucks zip around manoeuvring the cargo up the narrow quay to the eager islanders. It’s like Christmas for them.

This is the site of the first French settlement in the Marquesas. The oversized church, was built by the Vatican and has a massive stained glass window. Another craft market and still more guitars. The speciality here is bone and some of the earrings are pretty enough to buy.

Fatu Hiva (Finish the Roof)

Lush, Fatu Hiva is crescent shaped, the southernmost and most isolated of the Marquesas. You can only get here by boat; the closest land is Hiva Oa. This is a double volcano island, its only two villages nestle in the hollows of their calderas.

The specialty craft on Fatu Hiva is tapa, where the women weave plant fibres into fabrics, with designs based on traditional tattoos. Capital Omoa is surmounted by yet more breath-taking pillars, and a rocky peak they claim has a profile like one of the moai on Easter Island. There are frigate birds overhead. You know the rest.

Further up the west coast, the only other village is Hanavave, set on The Bay of Virgins. (It was originally called Bay of Penises, after all the pillars, but the missionaries deemed this unsuitable.) A ten-mile hike is offered between the two, but I’ve declined this tempting offer and I’m taking a 4WD trip to soak up the scenery instead. It’s an exceptionally rewarding trip. We wind high into the mountains, parallel with dinosaur backs and snake ridges, as the slopes tumble into the sea beneath.

Then, a launch trip back to meet the ship at Hanavave, where we started our adventure. We get a close-up view of the increasingly majestic basalt formations. Baroque cathedrals, with folds of flying buttresses wandering into the sea. Small caves peek at the waterline and a limestone door shows us the way to the ship’s anchorage.

Ua Huka (Sacred Silo or Leftovers)

The last Marquesas island to be visited, back in the north of the archipelago, Ua Huka, is one of the smallest. Here we’re at anchor, in the port of capital Vaipaiee. Well almost. There’s a very narrow sea passage to a shallow ‘Invisible Bay’. The ship enters and then executes a spectacular 180 degree turn (as they describe it) in the passage, sending out the pontoons with mooring ropes, so that they can attach to each side and make sure the ship doesn’t crash into the steep cliffs. There’s an impressive swell (What a swell party this is..) and getting into the launches involves timing and jumping. Mind the gap! There are some very tense faces.

Ua Huka has a very different landscape. Slightly more rolling, with plateaux and far less vegetation. The island’s emerald expanses are home to 700 people, numerous goats and over 1,500 wild horses, who greet us, standing proudly in silhouette, on the high land, at the edges of the pass. They are the descendants of those originally used for transport, by the colonists.

Ua Huka is also famous for its collection of tropical plants, in the arboretum. We’re taken there in the usual 4WDs. I’ve got too used to ignoring the ‘rare showers’ weather forecast, but today it manifests as heavy showers. And I haven’t come prepared. the stand out plant for me is the golden shower tree. That seems appropriate.

Then, down the coast to a communal island centre, very upmarket. Beautifully thatched buildings and open spaces, with tiki facing out to sea. The whole is perched above a bay, with rocky islets and wild horses, gathering in a gulley below. The airport strip beneath them reminds us that we’re living in the twenty-first century. This was the first airport in these islands. A very strong wind blows up. At least it dries my tee shirt.

Next up, Hokatu, yet another craft market, with live music and a petroglyph museum. The latter has a few two dimensional replicas, with some photos of the original sites. And regular readers of this column will know that I struggle to get excited about petroglyphs at the best of times.

Finally, back to Hane, a handicrafts centre, it goes without saying, a sea museum (canoes and shells) and some very welcome lunch.

Back, Across the Pacific

After six days in the Marquesas, we’re back again, ploughing over endless empty seas. Except for one enormous cargo ship, which fills the horizon for a very long time. Thankfully, the wind and tides are with us and there’s isn’t much of a roll today. No Sea Legs required. The Wi-Fi is working and all is well with the world. A day and a half sailing will bring us once again to the Tuamoto Islands. This time to Rangaroa, the largest atoll in French Polynesia.

Rangaroa - Paradise in the Tuamoto Islands

There’s a selection of excursions at Rangaroa. One, astonishingly, offers wine tasting. Apparently, the greatest challenge to be dealt with, when growing grapes on these islands, is land crabs. They bury under the vines. More understandably, there’s also rum available.

Anyway, I’ve chosen what has to be the best option. A motor boat trip to the Green Lagoon. First, an in-vain dolphin spotting expedition. Apparently they like leaping the waves at the entrance to the Tiputa Pass. But today, the waves are too high, and they’ve gone elsewhere for their thrills. Then, snorkelling in what they proudly dub The Aquarium.

I think this is taking things a bit far. There’s little living coral and medium sized fish, snappers and parrot fish, meandering on the reef. A couple of white tipped nurse sharks on the drop off. But it’s scrimmage snorkelling. A dozen of us instructed to keep together and follow the guide and his large rectangular buoy. Sadly, he doesn’t seem sure where he’s going and tells us all the things we should have seen, when we’re back on the boat.

Then, the motorboat heads off to the Green Lagoon, the other side of the main village. This is a little piece of paradise. Exquisite opalescent swirling blue water, lined with bendy palm trees and shimmering white sand. Small shoals of fish nibbling at the edges. It isn’t green, but I’m not going to make a thing of it. It might even make My Best Beaches in the World list.

Bora Bora

A final stop at Bora Bora. It was stunning (OMG) last time, but it's cloudy and drizzly and not shown at all to best effect today. Perhaps you should never return to somewhere when you've had a really special time? Read about my last visit here.

And so my cruise, in the far reaches of the world, comes to an end. There have been more adventures. I've seen some stunning sights, sweltered on mountain roads, been stalked by a Canadian Buddhist and spent some fun times with an Australian couple, Vicki and Michael. Vicki gives me plenty of advice, so we've dubbed her Mum (She's further up the page, with Steve and I.) But now it's back to Tahiti.

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.

Facts and Factoids

• French Polynesia is currently an overseas collectivity of France (which means it is semi autonomous) and its sole overseas country - a special designation.
• It consists of 121 islands and atolls, which stretch an astonishing 2,000 kilometres across the South Pacific Ocean. Including the ocean, the whole of French Polynesia is equivalent in size to Europe. The islands are divided into five groups: the Society Islands, the Tuamotu Archipelago, the Gambier Islands, the Marquesas Islands and the Austral Islands.
• In the 1960s, the tourist overwater bungalow (as seen below), was created on the island of Moorea.
• It is thought that the word “tattoo” derives from the Tahitian word tatau.
• About 10% of the population of French Polynesia today is Chinese. The Chinese were brought to the area, in the mid-1800s, to work in the plantations.
• Tahiti is home to The Pearl Museum, the only museum in the world dedicated solely to pearls. Pearl diving was astaple industry. So, French Polynesia's nickname - Pearl of Polynesia - is doubly suitable.

A Very Brief History of French Polynesia

• It's believed that the islands now known as French Polynesia, were settled as part of the Great Polynesian Migration, which began around 1500 BC. (Austronesian peoples navigated by the sun and stars to find other islands in the South Pacific Ocean. The first islands of French Polynesia to be settled, were the Marquesas Islands (in about 200 BC). The more southerly, Society Islands were discovered around 300 AD.
• European encounters first began in the Tuāmotu-Gambier Archipelago, in 1521, with Portuguese Ferdinand Magellan, on behalf of the Spanish Crown. The Spanish were followed by the Dutch. In 1722, Jakob Roggeveen (for the Dutch West India Company), charted six islands in the Tuamotus and two in the Society Islands; one of these was Bora Bora.

• The first European navigator to visit Tahiti, was British explorer Samuel Wallis, in 1767. He was followed by James Cook. The first actual European settlers (but not for very long) were Spanish, followed by Protestants from the London Missionary Society and then French catholic missionaries. The island kings and their subjects were converted and France annexed the islands, gradually expanding, despite resistance from the kings and the odd skirmish with the British.
• The first official name for the colony was Établissements de l'Océanie (Establishments in Oceania). In 1946, Polynesians were granted French citizenship and the islands' status was changed to an overseas territory; in 1957, the islands' name became Lynésie Française (French Polynesia).

What to do in French Polynesia?

Take in the Polynesian culture, enjoy the incredible scenery, enjoy water sports and generally have a good time. You will need a well stuffed wallet. and for most of us, it's a long way to travel, so make the most of it while you're there.

Read about my trips to French Polynesia:

• Bora Bora
• Moorea
• Tahiti
• Tuomotos and Marquesas
• Gambier Islands

Bora Bora - OMG

From Tahiti to another island - Bora Bora.

Bora Bora - in a Nutshell

• Bora Bora is in the Leeward Islands, in the Society Islands.
• Another contender, after Aitutaki, for most beautiful lagoon in the world. It's a very close call. The views from the air are sublime.
• This is an extinct volcano (two peaks, Mount Pahia and Mount Otemanu); surrounded by a fabulous deep blue lagoon and scattered motu (islet reefs), with the turquoise shallows on the edge of the lagoon.
• The airport is on one of the motu, rather like the one in Gizo, in The Solomons. But here the motu is part of the outer reef and the boats meeting us are all tricked out speedboats.
• Just to spoil things a little, I've learned that the Tahitian language only has 14 letters. Apparently, ‘b’ isn’t one of them, and iconic Bora Bora is actually called ‘Pora Pora’, meaning ‘first born (of the Gods)’.

But onwards and upwards. I have joined the jet set and I have an overwater bungalow. They were invented in French Polynesia. How can you not? I'm at the Pearl Resort, on Motu Tevairoa.

A Room on the Water

OMG, possibly the most wonderful room I have have ever slept in. The volcano peak is framed in the window. I can sit in bed and look at it. Or I can sit in the bathroom and look at it. I have my own private jetty and sun deck, so I can snorkel or swim to the perfect powdery white beach. There is coral beneath my room and I have a glass coffee table that I can slide back to feed the fish below.

The same fish keep loitering there, luminous jade edged trumpet fish and angel fish. I can also watch them through the bedside table or the ledges round the bath; there is even a spotlight to illuminate my coffee table reef at night. The room is all Polynesian wood, art and weaving. And it has a TV. There are even ice machines in little thatched huts along the decking.

The Bronzed and Beautiful at Play

I sit on the restaurant terrace and watch all the guests parade into dinner. It's like Paris Fashion Week, as they saunter along the catwalks, in all their designer gear. There are no overweight female tourists here - though quite a lot of evidence of surgical intervention. Interestingly, quite a few of the men, even the young ones, are sporting little pot bellies. I suppose that's the affluent lifestyle. And, as usual, many of the locals are amply proportioned.

The staff are all togged out in their floral dresses. Both the men and women have long hair (often wound into a bun) and flowers behind their ears. I've discovered  that putting a taire (the national flower of Tahiti) behind your ear  is used as a symbol of your relationship status; if it’s behind your left ear you’re taken, behind your right and you’re single!

The flip side to this paradise? OMG (again) is it expensive. My buffet meal last night (with Polynesian dancing) cost £70 flat rate. Time to start that diet I think. There are plagues of flies that descend instantly if you attempt to eat outside. Water bungalows are pretty noisy at night, with the wind and the sea, not to mention the clattering of suitcases being rolled across the wooden walkways. The only English TV Channel is CNN and I can only stand five minutes depression. I also have another dodgy stomach.

The Bora Bora scenery is lush and dramatic. Some gorgeous white beaches. Out in the lagoon I can see the bungalow dots of the various motu based resorts. Private island Motu Tapu, just inside the lagoon entrance, has views across to the unmissable, in all senses of the word, Mount Otemanu. The motu was the private beach of Tahitian queen Pomare IV in the nineteenth century and is everything you’d expect from a small tropical island.

Bora Bora - Le Tour Propre

I need to see the lifestyle of the locals too though and, another Cycle Tour beckons. The road round the main island is exactly 20 miles long, just like Rarotonga. And this is France, so it's only appropriate.

I am well prepared this time. Sunscreen, water, map, shorts. I even work out which way the wind is blowing and head off into it so that I shall have the easiest leg to finish. Except that it doesn't work out like that. The wind is over 30kph and coming from the west. (It's been buffeting my bungalow all night). The island is long and thin and north orientated. The upshot is that the wind seems to be against me for most of the journey.

The road is mostly flat, as I circumnavigate the volcano, but there a couple of hills. So I push up them and resume my journey at the top, reaching for the brakes as I career down. Except that there aren't any. Not supplied on this bike. Terrifying. I discover that the only way to stop is to leap off the saddle, trying to avoid getting my calves bashed by the pedals in the process. I nearly end up in the water a few times. The car drivers come pretty close and almost force me into the deep drainage ditch the other side too. It takes a huge effort of will to finish this one. So I award myself the King of the Mountains green jersey. This is especially appropriate, as I spend most of the journey trying to cycle past one or other of the peaks.

Life on the Island

Inland, the locals live a less luxurious lifestyle. The major settlement, Vaitape, is on the western side of this island, opposite the main channel leading into the lagoon. Most dwellings have corrugated tin roofs and the people surround their houses with colourful pot plants. And, deja vu, the odd cockerel running around. Washing lines are laden with bright tie dye and floral patterned clothes. There are numerous old cars around, some piled up alongside the houses. There are also family graves, with headstones in front of some of the dwellings.

The small schools are just for primary aged children. The secondary school is on another island and the state pays for the students to board. They get to come home every five weeks or so. The islanders survive on fish and coconuts. Some of the men are bringing in today's catch, gutting the fish on the edge of the lagoon. They use little boats that are hoisted up on double wheeled winches, keeping them out of the water unless they are needed.

OMG Bora Bora Part 2

OMG, lagoon cruises here are amazing too. The coral is mainly soft pinks and purples, very Rennie Macintosh. There don't seem to be huge numbers of small fish, but I have been snorkelling with rays and sharks this morning. The sharks are reef sharks and lemon sharks; the reef sharks are dainty with dark pointy fins, while the lemon sharks are larger and keep their distance. There are small sting rays named Julie and Samantha (for some reason) who come to be fed; they are soft and velvety. However, the truly incredible experience is swimming with the manta rays. They are huge and so graceful.

Adieu to Bora Bora - Heartbreak

Some joker has set the alarm in my room to go off at 6 a.m. every day. And all my efforts to turn it off, including disconnecting the power, have failed. But at least I'm up to see the sunrise over the mountains and have a last sun bathe on my deck. It's breaking my heart to leave my beautiful room on the water. All in all a great deal to see and much character in evidence,

But I can't declare Bora Bora the lagoon winner; it really is ridiculously expensive. As I said, this is France, but it's not in the EEC, so the currency is the pacific franc. They'll accept euros as well then? No, but they'll take American dollars. For twenty dollars, in the supermarché, I purchase three cans of coke, a small tin of cashews and two bottles of local mineral water. The roughly 70 pence change is just enough to buy me a plastic carrier bag to put it all in.

On the plane trip, nearly all the passengers sit on the right hand side of the plane to get their last glimpses of Bora Bora. I am so concerned that the plane will flip over I almost say something to the stewardess. And I sit on the left, resolutely denying myself the view. But there was no accident, obviously. Moorea next.

(Read more about French Polynesia here.)