French Polynesia: Bora Bora

(Or Bo-ha Bo-ha in French)
The third and final island of my quick tour of French Polynesia would be the highly acclaimed Bora Bora. I caught a 45 minute flight from Moorea and, along with the rest of the passengers, I was glued to the window as the island appeared out of the clouds. It is a truly spectacular sight: a central green peak surrounded by a few beaches on the main island then a powder blue lagoon around the main island and finally a ring of thin islands that nearly create a complete circle around the island. The airport is actually located on one of the small islands, so, in true decadent Bora Bora style, a luxury yacht takes passengers on the 20 minute ride across the lagoon to one of the tiny towns, consisting of a few homes and a few shopping centers. With only about 5,000 people on the island, tourism is the focus of the economy and most everything on the island. Of course I found the cheapest place on the island, a hostel in a small house for about $36 a night. As in Moorea, my hostel was strategically located near one of the top luxury resorts on the island, The Intercontinental (no, not that annoying Christopher Walken sketch on Saturday Night Live fortunately). On another guest's recommendation, I simply walked into the resort and asked if I could look around, so then I stayed in high style for about an hour, admiring the white sand beach, overhanging, manicured palms and overwater bungalows with a view of the glistening green lagoon backed by the two peaks of the island. There were many honeymooners at the hotel, and it was easy to see why. This really was a tropical Eden, but you certainly had to pay the price, again with rooms in excess of $1,000 a night for the ones near the water. Across the tiny peninsula from the hotel, a group of people gathered to watch the wonderful sunsets over the West side of the island. To top off my great day in paradise, I finished with an amazing dinner: an overflowing plate of spaghetti noodles and pesto sauce, bought at the local market and cooked in the hostel for about $4, as opposed to much smaller portions at a tourist restaurant for 5 times the price. It doesn't get much better than this.

The next day, I wanted to see more of the island, and with a lack of public transport, a bicycle seemed to be my best option. The circumference of the island and coastal road is only 32 km (about 20 miles), so despite the heat and humidity, it was definitely feasible to ride around the island in half a day or so. After a late start and a lazy morning, I took off around the island around 10:30 or 11:00. Every turn of the road offered unique and beautiful views of the interior mountain and the surrounding lagoon, providing many photo opportunities and chances to take a break from the unrelenting sun underneath some of the surrounding palms.

Halfway through the ride, I found a nice bench overlooking the lagoon and decided to have some water and eat my massive lunch consisting of one apple. Just as I was finishing and warding off a few mosquitoes, a big truck pulled up and four people emerged. They all were staring at me as they got out, so I feared that I might be trespassing on their property or something. One of the bigger guys cam up to me, shook my hand, and said something to me in an interesting mix of French and Tahitian, of which I only understood the final word: mauruuru, meaning thank you in Tahitian - something I picked up on the flight over during the safety instructions. Then a young, very Aryan-looking guy came over and started speaking English. The young man, not more than 20 or 21, had a nametag reading Elder Jones, as he was apparently a Mormon on his mission trip for 18 months in French Polynesia. He spoke to me briefly about a few trivial things, but it was clear that he was still early in his missionary career, as his skills in keeping a conversation going were less than stellar (and this assessment of social skills is coming from an actuary). Next the good part: they were carrying plates of food to offer to the people they met, so I got a free lunch of chicken, potatoes and two rolls. Just as I started eating, something in French was said, and the group had to move on. Elder Jones finally mentioned 20 or 30 seconds about the Mormon church, gave me a card with a picture of Salt Lake City and the mormon.org website, and that was it.

Following my fortuitous lunch break, I moved around the Northern tip of the island, still a bit hot and sweaty but cherishing every moment of this amazing ride. Nearing the end of my trip, I found a surreal bay with a nice pier and a tiny hut, so I spent some time cooling off in the shade and even took a swim in the serene water, which is a big step for those of you who know about my (lack of) swimming prowess. The water was too incredible to resist, though. I eventually made it back to the hostel, a little hot, a little tired, a little sore, but it was definitely a memorable ride. As a side note, whenever I ride bikes for a long time, I remember that they aren't the most comfortable things in the world and some of the biking adventures in my mind might not be as great as they seem.

For my last day, I basically hung out at the tiny beach behind the hostel and relaxed before my evening flight back to Tahiti. Even after seeing the island for a few days, I was still amazed by the incredible natural beauty as I flew back to the main island of Tahiti. Not wanting a repeat performance of the airport fiasco, I was able to get in contact with a hostel - the same one I tried before who apparently didn't receive my email until the night after my requested stay, so they picked me up, and I listened to the many travel stories of the other guests at the hostel and their round-the-world trips. Thus far, there have been many Brits and Europeans but very few Americans, which has been kind of nice.

(Flying into Bora Bora)

(The amazing boat ride to the main island.)

(Me at the bungalows of the Intercontinental - taken by a Japanese guy after some quick advice on how I'd like the picture framed...a little shady, but not bad)

(Stormy skies after I left the picture, though the rain was very, very brief and light)

(The inside of my hostel - my room was upstairs behind those curtains)

(The pier and view from my final break during the bike ride around the island)

(The sunset from the beach across from the Intercontinental - everything is better there, even nature)

(A final, sunny picture of the same area - I liked that palm tree)

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French Polynesia: Moorea

So, after a sobering and unrestful night at the airport, I boarded my morning flight to Moorea, just 7 minutes away by plane. Normally, I'd opt for the option of the cheaper boat ride, but my island flights were cheaper when booking an island pass, so this part was included, and it saved me from having to take a bus or taxi to the dock. Also, it allowed me to stay in the airport long enough for the cafe to open where I chose two dark chocolate filled pastries and some mango/orange juice. Tres bon. Despite the rough introduction to French Polynesia, Moorea quickly turned my whole attitude around with its stunning landscapes.

Within 5 or 10 minutes from the airport, the transfer bus rounded the corner, revealing Cook's Bay, of course named for the British sailor who explored much of the area. The deep blue water sparkles, surrounded on both sides by thick green vegetation and unbelievably steep, looming green mountains. Even after seeing hundreds, maybe thousands, of pictures of this during my years of travel research, it was so much more impressive in person to get the feel of the magnitude and natural beauty of the place. I can't imagine the overwhelming awe that one must have felt upon discovering a place as magnificent as this. I continued on the ride, and luckily I found my hostel for the night to be friendly, surprisingly nice, and, most importantly, available for the night. The hostel has a nice view overlooking the water halfway between Cook's Bay and Opunohu Bay, a similar bay about a mile or two from Cook's Bay. I started the day fulfilling one of my many lifelong travel dreams: kayaking in Cook's Bay. The hostel had a few kayaks that were free, so I grabbed my camera and immediately headed out. Initially it was slow going, as the water is quite shallow and there are many reefs reaching up to the surface that must be dodged. Then, for a second, I was happy to be moving into some deeper, darker water. This sensation didn't last long, though, when I realized that Moorea is one of the places that people visit to do shark feedings, so not only are they around, they are accustomed to going near people for food. I picked up the pace with my paddling and soon rounded the corner of incredible Cook's Bay. I sat in the bay for a while, marvelling at the scenery, taking in the fact that I was truly there, paddling through the blue waters. Deciding not to stay idle for too long, I headed back to the pension/hostel for my next adventure of the day.

I set out on foot towards Opuhonu Bay, to see how it compared and, of course, to try to get more pictures. The tropical sun and humidity are apparent the moment you start walking, but how could I not explore a place like this? My first stop was the Sheraton Hotel for a nice tour. Everything about the place is luxurious, from the pool to the thatched hut restaurant on the beach to the overwater bungalows. I acted like I fit in and took a nice tour of the facilities for about an hour. Pictures of these overwater bungalows have always enchanted me, so another goal of mine was accomplished by actually seeing them in person...staying in them might be a different story, as the prices are astronomical - some of them started at about $1,100 per night. After my brief stay in the paradisiacal hotel, I returned to reality and continued walking.

I found a nice little place service pizza and sandwiches or a decent price according to their outdoor menu, but there were no workers to be found. Further on, I found a good local cafe that served chow mein, rice and bread, all for about $7, which is a great deal in this expensive area. I was even getting full during the meal, but I definitely wouldn't leave anything on my plate, since I knew I'd be hungry later. I found my way to Opuhonu Bay, and it was almost as impressive as Cook's, though not quite as grand. Palm trees lined the shore and despite the lack of beaches on most of the island, people were still everywhere, playing in the water. The interior of the island features a jagged peak known as the shark's tooth, and it was another familiar image that I'd seen over and over in pictures but was finally able to see the real thing. After that, I headed back to the pension and relaxed for the evening after my long walk. I was joined in the dorm room by a French couple and briefly by a French mother and daughter who apparently found me unbearable, as they changed to a private room just a few minutes after checking in. They couldn't get away that easily, though. The next morning as they were leaving and despite a language barrier, I managed to talk my way into a ride to the airport. Even though they were only going part of the way, the French lady drove me the whole way, which was quite nice. Merci boucoup. It's amazing how things always seem to work out when you're travelling. Divine intervention, providence, luck, skill...any of the above. Except when your things get stolen at the airport, then not so much.

(The upstairs hostel room in Moorea, taken from my bed - the opening overlooks the water.)

(Kayaking in Cook's Bay - note the stylish towel protecting my neck from sunburn and adding a tropical feel)

(The bungalows and beach of The Sheraton, taken from one of the walkways to more bungalows.)

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French Polynesia: Tahiti/Faaa Airport (yes, three a's)

Bonjour,
Another late Air New Zealand flight delivered me to the outskirts of the capital city, Papeete at 12:30 in the morning. (they stop flying to Tahiti in April, so I got lucky). Again, I had contacted a hostel via email with no response, so I was hoping for a pleasant surprise at the airport, but I was certainly disappointed. First, it took me five minutes to get through customs as the officer apparently didn't understand my outgoing ticket until talking with his manager. Then I found only representatives from a few luxury hotels and a not-so-aptly named information booth that was of no help. A fellow backpacker was also looking desperate, and I mentioned to him that I might just sleep in the airport. After seeing a few others laying out on the floor or benches, I decided my best option was to find a place to sleep for a few hours and then take an early flight to one of the other islands, since Papeete is certainly not touted as an interesting or attractive city. Also keep in mind that this is not a nice carpeted airport with air conditioning - it's an open-air building with tile floors and hard metal seats, so sleeping at the airport was already not going to be as luxurious as it initially sounded. I also didn't know the policy on sleeping there, so I didn't want to pick an obvious spot that would get me in trouble. Around one corner, I found a spot with a few rows of seats and some open space that was already being used as a sleeping area by two men that appeared to be homeless. I decided against laying on the hard, dirty floor, so I picked a chair, locked my bags together and wrapped them around my leg and propped my head up on my arm. I had heard of certain airports being dangerous to sleep in, but Papeete never seemed to make it on that list. Even so, I was a little worried, but I clutched my bags between my legs and hoped to get a little bit of rest. Just before falling asleep, I saw the other backpacker, a 20-something traveller from the German part of Switzerland, place his sleeping mat on the floor directly across from me. He then wedged his huge backpack between the wall and a row of chairs.

I finally fell asleep about 1:15 am, but the 'sleep' was far from restful. Every 20 or 30 minutes, a combination of paranoia and uncomfort would awaken me, drifting just far enough into consciousness to open one eye, take a look around, feel for my bags, realize how much my neck hurts due to the sleeping position, check my watch, then fall back asleep. Right around 3 am, I did my obligatory scan of the surroundings, and I noticed that something looked different. Not only had the Swiss traveller changed sleeping positions, something else was different. I opened both eyes long enough to realize that his bag was no longer behind those chairs. I immediately tried to rationalize the situation, thinking that he may have laid it down next to him out of sight, or he found a locker in which to store it, though I know that both of those hypotheses were quite unlikely. Next, I checked for my bags, and they both seemed intact, though I still didn't have the awareness to check the contents. Despite being locked and between my legs, the zippers could still open partially, and they were accessible from the opening under the chairs behind me. As I fought feelings of sleep, I tried to think about what to do and finally found that all of my belongings were still with me, though I had a horrible feeling that wasn't the case for the other guy. About five minutes later, I saw him turn over, glance up where his bag should have been, quickly pop up and check around the other sides of him, then the look of panic/disbelief came over his face, in what would have to be one of the worst feelings of his life. I felt so incredibly bad for the guy as we sat on the bench and talked about what to do.

He flagged down a cleaning lady and told her his story in somewhat broken English, since neither of us speak French. She went off to get someone else, while he and I stayed behind, scanning the area, hoping to find some clue or remnant. He told me about his previous time in New Zealand, upcoming two weeks in Tahiti, then four month stay in the US and Canada. We were trying to figure out how it would work, since everything: his clothes, shoes, tent, camping gear, fishing pole, wallet, credit card, passport, 20,000 Swiss Francs, camera...everything was gone. He mentioned how he had his money and id cards and passport in a travel pouch around his stomach, but he took them off and put them in his bag before going to sleep. He had taken off his boots and placed them on top of his bag. He had thought about tying a rope inside his bad around his stuff and his arm, but he decided not to do so, since he felt his spot was safe enough. Now, he was left standing there at 3 am, barefoot with a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, the sweater he had used as a pillow, and the sleeping mat from his camping gear as his only possessions. That was it. I still felt so bad for him, but at a point like that, there is really nothing much to say, so I mostly just sat back and listened.

Soon after, an airport official came by and told us that sometimes there are "steal guys"(thieves), and that they'd be looking into it. He did seem to care and tried his best to help, but there was not much to be done. Also, our area was one of the few without security cameras, though we convinced him to check the tapes of the nearby cameras to see someone walking off with the bag. Next, they would contact the Swiss Consulate, but that wouldn't open until 7:30 am, another few hours away. Wishing I could do something to help, I sat there with the guy for a few hours and gave him my second pair of shoes/hiking sandals, but I wished I could do more, realizing how much something like that could completely ruin and turn around a trip. Also, he'll have to buy some of his replacement gear in Tahiti, which is definitely not a cheap place. A little scared and a little shocked, I went to the Air Tahiti booth when it opened and booked my ticket to Moorea, Bora Bora and back to Tahiti to complete my four day trip.

(Greeters playing traditional music at the airport.)

(I was sleeping in the chair two to the left of the green guy, and the Swiss guy was laying on the floor in between the chairs and the guy on the phone)

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