Rainbows, big fish and little glowy things in the water

‘Charmed’ is the word that comes to mind when I try to explain our recent trip to French Polynesia. To capture the experiences and emotions that each day unfolded before us would require a carefully orchestrated multimedia presentation. I will do my best here to describe our trip using only words and a few photos, knowing that I’ll fall short by only slightly enhancing the one dimensional view common when sharing memories.

Personally I’ll cherish these memories for as long as I am able, knowing all too well how the fragile human brain vents like a child’s birthday balloon. Ultimately my memories will fade into the photos, videos and stories I’ll share as a rambling old man. Maybe we’ll return to refresh or renew those memories but it’s unlikely because this was such a special trip.

To start, I’m tempted to document the trip in a detailed chronological manner, describing each passing moment, each perfectly placed rainbow, every sunset or passing manta ray, to try and save the experience as if I could capture and share the same first love warmth in my chest that many moments created. But I’m intentionally setting that impossible temptation aside. Instead, I will ramble through the memories as they dance like ghosts in the corner of a dusty room.

Scuba Diving

A turtle gracefully flew out of it’s place of slumber and launched down a coral cliff like a condor off a high perch in the Grand Canyon. Wrapped in a life preserving system that allowed me to witness this moment, the wonder of this trip to French Polynesia was now unfolding before me. I had only recently finished my certification in the cold murky waters of the Pacific Northwest and it was here in Mo’orea that I was experiencing my first open water dive. I wasn’t nervous (thanks to the incredible instruction from Austin at Aquatic Sports) but instead mildly excited with just a tinge of angst. Mo’orea Fun Dive had brought us outside the reef and tied up to a mooring buoy that in turn was silently attached deep below. The boat would rise and fall as swells arriving from thousands of miles away began their sudden lurch up, pushed by the coral below who sit steadfast to defy the swells progress, forcing one after the other into a violent explosion of white spray on the reef. We sat just outside this final event feeling mildly exposed. In this moment my calm was only due to a complete and blind trust that this was normal. Christian, our guide, and his jovial demeanor helped me maintain this calm and I carried this feeling right up to this brief moment with a gliding turtle.

Scuba diving is weightlessness, flying, and a warmth embrace all at once. You descend into nothing with no final thud on the sea floor. You fly through the water on wings of air filled lungs as each breath controls your descent or ascent. Slow breathing is key in making sure your time in this new world is as long as possible. You need to control your excitement and fear. At one point I was face to face with a lemon shark and no matter how many times you are told they are “just big fish” when a six foot carnivore in its home territory comes straight at you, it takes a lot to remain calm. But calm I was. As this beautiful creature turned to take a long sideways look at me all I saw was unguarded curiosity through stealthy grey eyes.

We later dove in Bora Bora within the lagoon, which meant a much calmer more tranquil experience. Here we’d be seeking spotted eagle rays, stingrays and Manta Rays. Deep below the snorkelers we arrived on the sandy bottom of the lagoon like astronauts on the moon. The dark blue water horizon faded into a smoggy blur. We had descended a coral cliff to this desert floor but now waited in the emptiness. After the Mo’orea dive full of constant stimulation I sat here feeling somewhat cheated. The guide was less engaging and proceeded to blow bubble rings using his hands to cup out-going, rising air and punching it into a perfectly formed bubble ring. A cool little trick that entertained or distracted me initially. He performed this trick multiple more times with no indicator that we’d be doing anything else other than sitting here. His antics began to became a source of agitation. Finally we started to wander around this landscape seemingly lost or like a parent playing hide and seek with a child hidden behind the house plant. What were we doing? We came upon a lone and very large sea cucumber. The guide picked it up and shook it at us like it was a fake rubber spider. I shrugged and turned to stare into the abyss. The other couple we were with took photos holding this animal that looked and acted more like a long pillow. I’m sure the sea cucumber didn’t care but it reeked of careless ignorance.

Our guide’s bubble trick

With the sea cucumber silliness complete our guide finally pointed into the deep blue distance. Through the murky shadows I could see dark shapes forming. Slow moving bird shapes flying through space in an unorganized flock. It was short lived but it was the closest feeling I’ve ever come to being on another planet. I wasn’t prepared for how this would look. It wasn’t like looking at fish or birds. The environment, the movements, the fact that I was there breathing through an apparatus turned underwater into otherworldly. The surface, some 60 feet above, rippled and sparkled against the sun but looked more like bazaar clouds in a foreign atmosphere. The darks shapes were spotted eagle rays and after a moment they returned through the haze, closer and clearer. They were not synchronized but seemed in unison maneuvering with the invisible currents that flowed around us. Every so often one would suddenly head straight up and out of the pack and do a slow back flip, like an impromptu freeform dance move. I could have sat there for hours watching their meditative movements.

If you look very carefully you can see the shapes of the eagle spotted rays flying. They later came closer but moments after this first sighting my go pro ran out of room.

A view from above later captured as a snorkeler.

We headed back, working our way back up through a coral forest, just below the hordes of snorkelers. I stopped to gaze at a moray eel and glanced up to see a snorkeler swim by oblivious to the eel nestled in it’s rock. I couldn’t help feeling very happy about the weekends of scuba instruction, boring pool time and the cold miserable weekend doing my checkout that lead me to this beautiful place closer and more immersed in the sea.

Our final dive was also in Bora Bora on the northeast side of the island still within the lagoon. The goal was Manta Rays, the stuff of dreams. Our guide informed us that there were no guarantees we’d see a Manta Ray. Looking around the lagoon from the boat I found that the area felt small and contained and that seeing anything would be certain. But the recent dive, just on the other side of Bora Bora taught me how amazingly large the lagoon is once beneath it — there were times when the lagoon felt like the Tardis on Dr Who, bigger on the inside than on the outside. As I checked and put on my I gear I contemplated our role in nature. I prefer that nature’s patters don’t coincide with our odd desires to control it. Experience should not be bought or fabricated. On previous dives we learned that some companies feed the fish to attract them. None of the companies we went with did this practice. We also avoided the lagoonariums which are basically zoos designed for tourist who are unwilling, or unable, to go through the effort I was going through now. A quick google search will show people proudly holding stingrays out of the water or having a dolphin carry them across a pool. A dolphin, not local to the area, confined to a space barely the size of a neighborhood baseball field, circling round and round and round. Dropping backwards off the boat into the natural wonder of a million year old lagoon broke my mental rant.

Descending here was a very different coral environment than previous dives. As far as the eye could see were rolling hills of coral that looked more like oyster mushrooms in a forest of no trees. Because we were not that deep, the sun’s rays filtered through the surface casting ripples of light off the coral. I was so enamored by the coral that I almost missed the family of Manta Rays passing by as if on their way to drop manta Jr. off at school. Not a glance, nor a pause, just passing by. They were big and graceful. Beautiful animals at peace in a protected and pristine environment.

We continued to meander amongst coral canyons, mesmerized by the sheer beauty and quantity of it. Several other lone but more curious Manta Rays came across us turning to get a better look at the strange floating bubble producers. We were told to remain still and even hold our breath and just maybe one would pass just over you. However, the couple with us decided it was a good picture opportunity and proceeded to chase the Ray. The Ray turned to move away as the couple pursued relentlessly. We watched in disbelief until the couple floated back having either given up or getting the picture they so desired. Our guide scolded them underwater which is nothing more than a vigorous finger wag but they seemed confused by the gesture’s purpose.

It was small things like this that reminded me how callus and selfish humans are for the sake of capturing an experience. For example, during this same dive there was a moment when the coral opened up to a sandy bottom and someone (I assume a dive shop) had arranged a bunch of sea cucumbers into a shape of a Manta Ray. Do the sea cucumbers care? Probably not, but why go through this trouble? I suppose the couple with us gleefully took a photo of the ray shaped cucumber, but I didn’t take the time to watch. It was such a contrast to have seen such beauty in the Rays to moments later witness shaky human behavior. In such a pristine world we are merely uninvited visitors. Time and time again we seem to walk in like it’s our home, moving shit around and disrespecting the customs of the residence. It’s a tough balance, and even though I was there with the utmost respect I was still there, arriving by motor boat, blowing foreign bubbles in an otherwise bubbleless world. Tourism is an odd thing because in a world of greedy resource hungry capitalists, it seems to be the one thing that can stave off complete destruction. I should be happy that the couple was taking photographs vs trying to eat everything that moved.

As we were heading back we came across a second group (maybe it was the same group) of Manta Rays. This time the couple held back, either low on air, or satiated of photo opportunities. I floated holding my breath remaining still and looking face to face with a lone Manta Ray that held back. It didn’t pass over me and I couldn’t hold my breath long enough for it to come closer but being there suspended in weightlessness sharing even a brief moment with such a large animal felt more right than wrong. I’ll never forget it.

Boat Life

Life on a boat flows with the motion of the weather. You feel more in tune with the sea as the wind and waves gently, or not so gently, rock the boat. For our 10 days we tried hard to balance the desire to experience new sites and sounds with the relaxation of staying in one place. Typically over a 10 day period there is one place we decide to stay two days, two or three longer passages and all other days are a short jaunt from one anchorage to another. Our catamaran had 8 adults and 1 four year old. Some were sailers but most are there to enjoy the anchorages where they can walk remote beaches, swim warm waters, or head into cute remote towns. It’s a constant balance between many desires and needs but the experience is so unique and wonderful that the group settles into a nice rhythm of working together.

As a result each day comes with a set of decisions. Where are we going, how will we get there, do we need water or food, does the next destination take us long, what is the sea state, the wind or the weather in general? Before our trip we spent countless hours researching things to do or places to go only to find that, once there, our plans must change due to a strong north wind or a large south swell. Flexibility is part of the charm in cruising as it creates a sense of adventure without any major risk.

Typical view from our anchored boat

The whole gang waving to the drone. This is the remote bay where that night we experienced the bioluminescence.

Game night every night.

Some things, however, do seem to never fail. More than one spectacular sunset is pretty much guaranteed. If you don’t stay up too late playing Oh Hell or Rummikub you might even see a sunrise (which I prefer). We experienced more rain than expected, but the flip side was that we also experienced a rainbow every single day. Weather is the great magical view creator. Each day the wind and clouds would clash with the sun and mountains to build symphonic orchestras of beauty. We’d marvel, taking as many photos with our phones, knowing that those pixilated renditions will never quite capture the feeling in our hearts.

One particular evening late in our trip during the new moon, and being the only boat in an isolated bay, the world around us was pitch black. The day before there had seen significant rain and a huge swell had been pounding the outer reefs. During that same day we had demurred about the cloudy water and fast currents caused by the incoming flow from the sea and the mountains. It was the night and our nightly card game was only lit by the lights from our boat, beyond us was shrouded in a black curtain of complete darkness. Glancing up from my cards, looking out past the boat my eyes hit a wall of darkness. But the night was clear and the stars were amazing but we were caught up on a game. Sabine excitedly interrupted our game because she had noticed moving reflections in the water. Having seen them before, she knew they were bioluminescence (think fire flies of the sea).

Only a few here and there but she understood that a bit of agitation would light them up and that most folks probably had never seen this marvel before. Our quiet evening of games erupted into a full blown science experiment. I too had once seen this magic and jumped in the water create snow angels of glittering light around my waving limbs. The bioluminescence was dramatic and explosive, single color fireworks underwater. The simple movement of your finger would create hundreds of round white lights that would illuminate then disappear. Snorkel masks came out and soon everyone was in the water laughing like giddy children. We even pulled the dingy down and drove around looking like an inflatable passing comet as the boat, and especially the propeller from the engine, created a blueish white streak of light. Exhausted from too much joy, few spoke as we silently dried off and descended into our respective cabins to dream of being gods waving our hands creating new stars.

The islands

We circumnavigated Bora Bora, Taha’a and Raiatea by boat. By car we also drove around Tahiti and Mo’orea. Each island essentially has one road going around the island. Along this single road people would drive, walk or ride their bikes. Kids almost exclusively ride mountain bikes, and all of them do long casual wheelies down the road. At first I thought they were all born with this ability until I saw some younger kids practicing secretly in a hidden parking lot. The islands all have steep, seemingly inaccessible mountains in the middle that are shrouded in lush tropical plants. Around the base of each are lagoons of crystal blue water. Some lagoons are clearly better than others. Tahiti has the least lagoon space, but the rest are all fairly comparable but varied. Bora Bora’s mountain (Mount Otemanu) does stand out in terms of beauty, but truthfully, each island provided a daily jaw dropping display of nature that would change with each moving cloud or the suns proximity in the sky. Everything felt untouched and unspoiled. The single roads and small run-down homes that lined the shore disappeared under the wall of trees and vines that towered above. The lagoons were bursting with life and while seeing a single plastic bottle float by couldn’t help but be met with sadness, it was more coconuts and fish than it was signs of human disobedience. Several nights we anchored completely alone and all others included only one or two neighbors. It was a nice reprieve from the Mediterranean’s dutch party boats, french smokers with their cigarettes wafting over the breeze and idiotic last minute boats coming into a crowded bay recklessly anchoring too close.

Mount Otemanu’s peak obscured by a cloud waterfall.

Alone with Mount Otemanu’s in the background.

The town of Uturoa in Raiatea.

Typical road on the far souther side of Raiatea.

Papeete. The biggest city in French Polynesia.

We spent time on the islands before and after the boat and then of course each time we needed more food while on the boat, which was often. The islands are not wealthy and the towns and homes are old and dilapidated. The architecture is that basic remote tropical country architecture; square concrete buildings with steel corrugated roofs and lots of junk in the yards. I suspect because it’s hard to throw anything away (or it’s expensive) people hold on to things, letting them rust around the crowded outdoor spaces near their homes. As a result many homes resembled homes of American hoarders. Lots of stuff strewn about and forgotten. We were there during an election and there were three parties running; the status quo, the crazy father-in-law of status quo and the party seeking independence from France (at least that’s how we came to know them from talking with locals). The status quo won but the blue flags of the independence party were predominately flying from rusty poles of the poorest homes.

The food scene is limited mostly to tuna fish, steaks, rice and french fries. Maybe it was the season but it seemed there was more tuna than potable water. It was fresh and delicious and the most popular way of serving was in lime and coconut milk called Poisson Cru avec coco. We ate a lot of versions of this dish on each islands and most were very similar. One place in particular stood out in Mo’orea that none ever matched. Tama (our host at the Surf Inn) had recommended a small restaurant called “Restaurant Arii” that was close by. We planned a drive around the whole island but it was already late and we were hungry. We arrived at Arii five minutes before closing. Through broken English and hand gestures we were informed we could only get something to go. This was fine for us and we ordered the traditional Poisson Cru with coconut and something I had not seen before, “Poisson cru Chinois”. We sat outside waiting for our food feeling the humidity on our skin. The lady who had helped us brought out table napkins and silverware that indicated a change of heart. When the food arrived they looked like most other bowls of poke. Up to this point we’d had several other restaurant’s variations on the coconut recipe. Here, however, the tuna was cut to perfection and the mixture was less coconut and filled with complexity. The ingredients blended perfectly and I found my self drinking the coconut sauce alone or soaking it up with the rice. No other place matched this dish. The Chinois was more like a Thai papaya salad but not as spicy or pungent. Both dishes still top my list for the entire trip.

Overall the food scene was lackluster. I had expected more fruits and vegetables but found them to be oddly limited. This could have had more to do our schedule and timing. We were there amongst several French holidays and once on the boat timing an early morning arrival into a bustling town was difficult. I got the sense that there was just enough food for the locals and unless you timed it perfectly the window of opportunity was quickly closed.

Poission Cru avec coco

A sampling of different raw tuna dishes.

We opted to stay in non resort places, small structures clearly designed to house guests but not designed as a full blown hotel. Somewhere between a hotel and a bed and breakfast. The predominant hotel image in French Polynesia and Bora Bora are the picturesque bungalows over the water. I honestly feel that this image is part of French Polynesia’s woefully low tourism (200 thousand per year) compared to Hawaii (7 Million per year). The stigma of overly priced shacks perched over crystal blue waters might appeal to the rich and famous or wealthy couples looking to feel like they have been kissed by the gods of perfection. These perfectly manicured resorts with glorious food buffets, nightly fire dancers, and concierge services happy to get you or take you anywhere for a cost, have eaten away at the island’s beauty. On several occasions we’d kayak or drive past locals huddled on small patches of sand, grilling meat over a makeshift grill. The kids would be paddle boarding on a broken surfboard using pieces of wood as a paddle. They seemed happy but I was not convinced that tourism to this point has been a good thing. The many beautiful remote motos once destinations for locals are increasingly private, bought up by incredibly rich outsiders looking to build resorts or fancy homes so they can lay claim to the perfect French Polynesian dream. There does seem to be a shift in the tourisim winds.

As of this writing French Bee airlines has announced a new low cost option out of San Francisco and during our say we saw hitch-hikers and met surfers and divers that see French Polynesia as a humble adventure destination vs a glossy fabrication of a perfect vacation. Most folks we talked to wanted more tourism…but not as much as Hawaii.

We stayed in four places while in Tahiti, Mo’orea and Raiatea before and after the boat. Only in Tahiti did we stay in a hotel and it doesn’t deserve any mention. The two places in Mo’orea were great. In both I felt free and comfortable. Both on the water, nothing fancy, but accessible and real. The pier at Beach Resort Linareva stretched out into the lagoon like a snake out for a stroll. Solid but minimal, other guests would walk out there alone to swim or just gaze at the slow passing black tip sharks. The room was more home and the hosts were friendly but unassuming. This was our first experience with Mo’orea and I felt immediately connected. It’s also the place where I woke up to a full rainbow on my 50th birthday.

Deck just outside our room at Linareva in Mo’orea

Frequent visitors to the end of the pier

My birthday rainbow.

We later moved to the Mo’orea surf Inn located just down the street. The move was because I maintain a crazy desire to surf despite the ludicrous inabilities I currently hold. The inn was more community than hotel, but we instantly connected with the two American surfers and a local Tahitian tourism language instructor. Tama, the Inn host, was a thoughtful, very zen, person who would pause before every reply as if contemplating the magnitude of the universe before providing a response. The beauty of these places is the proximity to real life. Tama was on the compound with his daughter, and his brother’s family lived next door. I wandered out to test my skills on the slack-line and was immediately in a head to head competition with the kids. I was surprised to see the boys worse than me but when the girl gracefully walked the entire slack line I assumed being the oldest she’d had practice, but the look on her face and the others was of complete surprise. My guess was Tama put the line up because other surfers had arrived and recommended it but with normal life and school these kids had little time to slackline.

The next morning Tama took the whole crew out surfing (the two Americans plus Sabine and I). The waves were considered small so it was supposed to be good for me. But small does not mean less reef. I quickly learned that the waves in French Polynesia are notorious for being unpredictable. Sneaker sets were common place and I had to be on my toes. I tried, honestly I tried. I went out and paddled for a few but it was intimidating. The reef lurked behind me, a shadow under the water, and after a couple of waves caught me and tumbled me simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time I was shaken, uninjured but shaken. I moved further and further out to the right just outside of the breaks and closer to the boats. The closest I got to riding a French Polynesian wave was standing to late such that the wave slipped away like a feather in the breeze. Less fear would have had me on that wave but it was too much too fast and too soon.

Even with a week to learn I might overcome my fears, but the reef is ever present and even locals take a hit. I’m not sure I was ready for that reality, especially on my 50th birthday just days before a 10 days stint on a boat. Still, I was ecstatic about being out there. We even ran into a local surfer we followed on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/luna.isabellaa/). When chatting with her it was clear she was not used to random folks from Oregon showing up at her surf spot. Friendly to the core though and she gave me the best tip regarding reef breaks. “Head straight, then turn”. The trick, it seems, with reef breaks is that the wave curls around the reef. I never realized before that the ridable waves are predominantly at the entrances to the lagoons where the reef momentarily ends. All of this is based on limited observation but I never saw a single surfer surfing anything other than the breaks around the passes. And it was also always the left side as you exit. So the wave breaks around the reef creating a very different scenario for catching. But what do I know, I didn’t catch a single wave.

Heading back from a session. Tama at the wheel.

Anchored just outside is a great vantage point.

In Raiatea we stayed at a lovely home/hotel called Chambres d’hotes resembled the rustic homes of my childhood in Santa Fe. The place had a large central area with an open kitchen and was decorated with mostly wood artifacts from years of travel. On each side was a room and bathroom that looked out over the water through a patio. Roland and Marie were the proprietors and we quickly learned that Roland was a bit of a celebrity on the island being a well respected sailor. While seemingly humble and quiet he didn’t waste any time to mentioned the fact that he had won the Tahiti pearl regatta three times in a row. I would have loved to dive deeper into his life because it was clear he was also well connected to the larger sailing world, but our time there was short and he was busy getting ready for the Regatta starting the next day. I also learned that the on board photographer for AkzoNobel was there between race legs of the volvo ocean race. A race that Sabine and I were following very closely so learning this was our celebrity fantasy. Of course, I learned this while offering to shoot some drone footage of his place only to find out that probably the best drone flyer had just been there.

The view from our room at Chambres d’hotes.

Roland showing us how bread fruit is made using prehistoric tools.

We did hit up the resorts on occasion when we need a brief escape and some good coffee and a bowl of ice cream. Most are not exclusive and walking in grimy from the boat or a drive around the island doesn’t deter the enthusiastic welcome and open smiles. They resorts are not overly stuffy or posh. They are clean and organized and I can see the allure if all you want is a complete stress free disconnect from your troubled lives. They became for us islands in their own right providing a place that was always open, always cool, and always spoke english.

The People

One thing I hope French Polynesia people never lose is their absolute friendliness. I never felt that the flowers in the hair, the fire dancing, the “hello” spoken in traditional Tahitian or the tattoos were there for the tourist. Everyone we met seemed to care less we were there but not in a negative way. They were living their lives in this remote location and the fact that we had arrived pale skin and wide eyed, meant little to most people. That didn’t stop them from smiling and helping when asked. For the most part people don’t speak english. Most tourist are french and there are a lot of french citizens retired here. There is pride in the dancing, vanilla, pearls, language, tattoos and history. I saw two fire dances; one was at a large resort and came with lots of fanfare. As per the new tradition tourists are dragged out to emphasize that the seemingly simple dance was harder than it looked. All dances end in a fiery display of speed and agility. The other dance we witnessed was a small family affair with a single dancer. The singers and guitars were out of tune but once the drums started the young 18 year old put the resort dancers to shame.

18 Year old fire dancer

I learned a lot while in French Polynesia, I learned that vanilla is grafted and must be manually pollinated during a flowers single day of life. I learned that flowers on the left side meant you were single and on the right you were taken…or maybe it’s the other way around. I learned that pearls come in many different colors and that the nucleus comes from Mississippi oysters. Each terroir (land) creates different pearls. I couldn’t help but get a black pearl for my wrist.

Colorful pearls.

My black pearl taking one last look at it’s home country.

In the end I feel I’ve left so many experiences out, aimlessly adrift seeking greater recognition. I still lay awake processing the days and nights that unfolded over 20 days. It’s unclear if I’ll ever return. There are still too many places to see and even home provides similar joys when working the garden or walking the streets of bustling Portland. Life is too short, but no amount of extended or infinite length would allow a single person to capture everything. 50 years is not old, in todays terms, but as I reflect back on a month in Greece as a 16 year old with my parents, I can’t help but notice and feel the differences. The sun is not so kind to me now and the pressures of work never fully leave me when on vacation. The days are relaxing and enjoyable but there is now a constant, even desperate attempt to hold onto each moment. My 16 year old self didn’t understand the importance of the experience and thus simply was the experience.