Bora Bora, French Polynesia

Wed. 4/23 Bora Bora- French Polynesia

We arose early, eager to face the coming day. At 6 a.m., the Dawn Princess had sailed into Vaitape Bay on Bora Bora. We prepped for the day and headed to the deck 14 lounge for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. The erose, emerald remains of an ancient volcano rose up in front of us, cloud shrouded, mysterious and tolkienesque in the early morning sun. From the high deck of the Dawn Princess, it looked like we were entering one of those mysterious isles that you see in King Kong or Jurassic Park. The scent, on the ocean breeze, was pregnant with the healthy rot of tropical jungle just tweaking our nostrils. We ate quietly, our eyes never far straying from the jagged, emerald peaks of Mt. Pahia and Mount Hue.

Just off the bow of the ship a jagged and erose peak, with a phallic shape, rose needle-nosed into the surrounding sky. It is the fabled Bali Hai. Even the name fires up the imagination. I had recognized the craggy skyline from a modern painting by an Italian artist named Freshcetti, I think. This particular erose formation had probably fed the imagination of a thousand painters and artists over the centuries. We were here finally in this exotic port. A smaller cruise ship, the “Paul Gauguin” already lay at anchor nearby. She is an older and newly refitted vessel from the former Renaissance lines.

The island of Bora Bora is in itself tiny. Its 27 sq.miles hold some 7,000 souls and an indeterminate number of visiting tourists. The bay in which we were anchored, and most of the visible island, once were ensconced firmly in the center on an ancient caldera of a volcano that had risen some 13,000 feet into the Polynesian sky. The deep blue of the bay gave indication of its depth beneath us. It had also provided an excellent location for naval refueling and provisioning for U.S. war ships bound from the continental United States to Australia during W.W.II. 5,600 Seabees had been stationed here during the conflict. The natives say that as a reminder, the soldiers had left behind 100 children of mixed parentage. Most island nations can relate similar stories defining their gene pools.

We boarded a ship’s tender for the 20-minute ride into the docks of Vaitape village. Our tour guide, an elegant, French & English speaking Polynesian woman, met us and ushered us into the amusing “le Truks.” They are small trolleys, with wooden super structures and open windows, resembling an old hay wagon with a roof. The sturdy vehicles were clean and comfortable with seat pads, not anywhere near as Spartan as the guides had warned us. Many of the passengers had brought towels to sit on in anticipation of hard wood “splinter seats.”

Our guide pointed out to us a number of feral dogs running free. It was becoming a problem on the island she said. In the not too distant past, dogs had been items on the Bora Bora menu. When Brigitte Bardot, the French actress, had visited the islands, she took up their cause. Now they are uneaten and becoming something of a problem to care for.

We were circumnavigating the 22 miles of the island on an attractive ocean road. The Palm trees and the vegetation here are lush and green, a result of the 74 inches of annual rainfall. We drove by and admired Papaya, Banana, coconut and the famous breadfruit trees for which the HMS Bounty had come to the Society Island looking in the 1800’s. Everything grows abundantly here. The guide pointed out the Noni trees. A small fruit issues from them from which various lotions and palliatives are made. It apparently has great medicinal effects but had a malodorous side effect that wrinkles the nose. A goodly quartering ocean breeze kept the island from over heating. It was nearing the end of the steamy summer season here (Dec.-April) The Spring season is reportedly much cooler.

The Sheraton, on Bora Bora, sits on a small Motu (islet) just across the bay. It is a collection of those lovely, small grass-roofed huts that sit out on piers right over the ocean. The tab was a respectable $500-$800 a night for those fortunate enough to be able to stay there. It is an eye pleaser to look at across the turquoise bay. Bora Bora has several large and very posh hotels that cater to the carriage trade form all over.

The driver pulled along the side of the road and bade us look at the ubiquitous holes all along the roadside. They are the homes of “tupa crabs” she explained. To entice them forth, she threw several over ripe bananas and their peels onto the sand. Almost instantly, a small army of these crabs crawled forth from their burrows and began dragging the fruit and peels back into their holes. It was humorously horrific. It reminded me of all of those 1950’s science fiction movies, where giant crabs had crawled all over Manhattan dragging screaming citizens into giant burrows. The crabs are apparently nocturnal creatures and come forth at night o feed on the fallen fruit of the many trees I had noticed.

Just up the road, we stopped by a small collection of stalls that were selling “Tapa Cloth.” It is highly colored, with many native images splashed across their willowy surfaces.. The cotton sarongs are a staple of the island’s clothing for women. They can be folded and worn in a dozen different ways. They are also light and cool and fit the tropical heat nicely. The women vendors gave demonstrations of how they dyed the colorful garments in a process similar to “Batik” in the Caribbean.. We enjoyed the stop but were sweating profusely under the tropical sun. The bus proceeded along through Faa Nui village. The guide pointed out that all islanders who pass on are buried under small, roofed tombs in their front yards. It apparently encourages the children to hang onto the properties for generations. As odd as this custom might seem back home, here it seemed perfectly normal. We didn’t think it odd to see the well-tended graves in the front yards of the prosperous looking homes. We also neither saw nor encountered beggars or pan handlers of any kind during our stay on the island.

As we got under way, the guide pointed out the construction of several sturdy masonry homes. These were provided by the government, at a cost of $2,000, to any of the islanders whose homes are destroyed by the various hurricanes that sweep over the island. Tongue in cheek, the guide explained that, like most social programs the program has those who used it unfairly. The Bora Borans called these homes, the French equivalent of “re-election homes” for the propensity of mayors to award these homes to certain favored islanders during re-election years. It is a system of practical politics even in the tropics.

Near the end of the tour, the guide stopped by the most famous eatery on the island, “Bloody Mary’s.” It is a grass roofed, sand- floored and quietly elegant restaurant made famous by James Michener and others. A large wooden gargoyle sits in front of the restaurant, near a wooden sign carved with the names of all of the “famous” people who had dined here. We entered and ordered two delicious bloody Mary’s. ( you thought maybe we would drink diet sodas in a place like this?) The cost was $12. We enjoyed them and our surroundings.

Soon enough, Le Truk dropped us off in Vaitape village. We stopped for a café au lait in a nearby restaurant. French is spoken on the island exclusively and French Polynesian Francs the currency of choice.. We cooled off from the sun and then decided to walk the roads for a bit to see what local culture we could absorb. The homes looked prosperous enough, with their stucco walls and tin roofs, used to catch the rainwater. The ubiquitous dogs were lying languidly or exploring diffidently all along the route. The traffic was both swift and steady as we walked the roads with their too narrow shoulders. We were happy just to be alive and in such an exotically beautiful destination. The store signs, and everything else, are in French. You have the feel of being someplace distant and far away. The local school had let out for lunch and the kids were walking the roads like kids everywhere. They looked happy and prosperous.

Pleasant as this Polynesian paradise is, we were wilting under the steamy tropical sun. We caught a 1 P.M. tender back to the Dawn Princess where we drank lots of water and chilled out in the welcomed air conditioned bubble of the Dawn Princess. We decided to visit the La Scala pizzeria on deck 8 for lunch. It was charming and we enjoyed the small gourmet pizzas they had to offer.

We sunned for an hour on deck 12 before enjoying a cooling dip in the small pool. You would need leather skin to sit out in this sun for any length of time. The tropical heat had tired us and we had a lengthy conversation with Mr. Nelson in the late afternoon, in our air-conditioned bubble of a cabin.

We were sitting at the windjammers bar at 5:30 P.M., talking to the kids from London, Jazz and Janice, as the Dawn Princess weighed anchor and motored from Vaitape Bay on Bora Bora. The sun was fast setting. We all watched the magnificent daily performance with the proper appreciation due it. For reasons, unknown to me, the sun sets earlier here, by some 45 minutes, than in the Northern climes. No one else seemed to know the reason either. The Southern Hemisphere star show rose on the horizon and we looked up at these strange constellations for a time before heading back to our cabin to shower and prepare for dinner.

The Florentine room was as good as its previous nights for dinner. Shrimp cocktails, lentil soup, Alaskan crab legs and a wonderful black forest cake made for an elegant and relaxing repast. It had been a long day in the tropics and we were yawning even at this early hour. We walked topside to once again admire the stars emblazoned across the inky night of these former Society Island in French Polynesia, glad that we were here and together. Then we retired to our cabin to read for a time and fall into the arms of Morpheus at sea off Bora Bora.

-30-

Joseph Xavier Martin