June 18, 2012

Journal notes:

• Tahiti and Mo'orea
• Ed and Christine, the newlywed mounties
• I take one heck of a walk for a glass of juice

Pictures:

Washing the anchor while moored

Poisson de Tahitenne

Pineapple and papaya juice

My alarm wakes me at 0600. Today is going to be a big day, I can tell.  I jump in the shower and wash quickly, dressing in white linen shorts and my green long sleeve linen shirt, rolling the sleeves up past my elbows.  I meet Harvey and Eric at breakfast.  I have two eggs and two sausages.  The eggs are underdone - even the whites are still clear in places, and let's not even talk about the yolks.

The messman, Roman, comes in as we are finishing up, and tells Eric the captain wishes to speak with him.  There is a phone on the wall next to our table.  He speaks for a few seconds, in French, then hangs up and tells Harvey and me that we need to go up to the Captain's office.  There, we meet with the port agent, a Frenchman in his younger 30s, wearing a CMA CGM polo shirt.  He makes small talk with Eric and the captain, and eventually Harvey or someone asks if there is anything we need to do pertaining to Customs and Immigration.  He tells us we are free to go ashore.  It is 0745, and we agree to meet downstairs at 0800.

I return to my cabin and pack up my laptop, swim trunks, and towel.  I hope to find an Internet cafe and catch up on emails, update my blog, et cetera.  Making my way to the gangplank, I find Harvey and Eric are already on the ground waiting for me.  There is no cab or public transportation to be found, so we walk probably a mile or two around the harbor to the main island.  There are no gantries on Tahiti - the ship's cranes are unloading containers as we leave.

Eric explains that there is little worth seeing in Papeete.  If we want a real island experience, we should take the ferry to Mo'orea.  We agree and stop at an ATM on the way, to withdraw some francs (they don't take other currency here), then head to the ferry office.  It's a big building, very attractively constructed of wood.  We buy round-trip tickets for 1000f each way, and proceed to the gate.  The guy taking our tickets is Tahitian, younger than me, and very effeminate.  After we pass the gate, Eric explains that the firstborn male is often raised as a girl in Tahiti, and they have a rather large gay population as a result.

The ferry ride is pretty uneventful.  It is a catamaran, fully enclosed.  In the aft end is a snack bar where they sell sandwiches and drinks.  I buy a 20 ounce bottle of water for 150f.  They have paid wi-fi on board, but free access to Google services.  I get a lot of emails on my phone.  There is satellite TV, but it cuts out every 5 or 10 seconds, so I don't pay attention.  A couple of Chinese kids in their early 20s sit in the row behind me, taking pictures, until a stewardess comes over and asks them (in English) to please close the window.  She wears a blue dress with white floral print, her shirt sleeves pulled down to expose bare shoulders, and her head is crowned with yellow and white flowers.

We reach Mo'orea and Eric buys a bunch of bananas from an old woman (in her late 60s or early 70s), so he can ask her how to get around the island.  She suggests taking the bus.  We are joined by a young white couple, who we learn are Ed and Christine, both working for the police in Toronto.  I introduce our group and ask if they are on their honeymoon.  They answer that they are, and we wish them congratulations.  They speak extensively with Harvey, with whom they find an immediate kinship.  Eventually, ater about 15 minutes, we reach the Hilton, where they have three nights booked (they are here for 18 total, and have just checked out of a hotel on Tahiti).  We disembark as well and wander the resort while the newlyweds check in at the front desk.

There is a shop which sells drinks, souvenirs, and the like, across from another which sells jewelry - mostly black pearls, which I later learn are unique to these islands.  I buy two bottles of sunscreen and a postcard.  We check out the beach and get a few pictures, and it's not long before Eric tells us he's going off on his own.  Harvey and I decide to have lunch at the Hilton on the beach.  He has a panini and I order a local dish (Poisson de Tahitienne - raw fish and vegetables in coconut milk, served with rice) with the local beer (Hinano) and coffee for dessert.  I insist on paying.  Harvey objects, until I remind him that he paid for the cab in Kingston.  A family of Texans is seated next to us, and I am struck by the odds of finding other people who say "y'all" so far from home.  Our Canadian friends are soon seated, and Ed comes over to chat for a minute, noting that they could have upgraded to a hut on the water (note: by "on the water," I don't mean on shore; the huts are on stilts which are seated in the lagoon, and connected to land by a pier), but Christine thought the $500 price too high for a three-night stay.

After lunch, Harvey and I part ways.  He wants to make the 2:45 ferry back to Tahiti so he can shop around and do some emails.  I've forgotten all about my hammock plan, and decide to follow Eric's example, walking around the island.  I take a lot of pictures, mostly of the mountains.

I take the first left I can find, about an hour's walk from the Hilton.  It's another two kilometers (and some change) up the mountain roads to Lycee Agricole de Polenisie Francaise, an agricultural high school.  I am hot and tired, and very fortunate that they have a juice bar.  I buy a glass of pineapple and papaya juice on ice.  Finishing it, I get a picture of myself standing with the girl behind the counter, before trekking back to the Hilton, 8 kilometers from the farm school.

I arrive back at the Hilton at 4:00 PM, and ask one of the girls at the front desk to call me a cab.  It's 3500f to the ferry, and we have to stop at an ATM so I can get money for the fare.  We arrive at 4:40, five minutes before the boat leaves.  I give the cab driver a pretty nice tip for getting me there on time, then board the boat for Tahiti.  This is the last ferry of the day, and if I'd missed it, there is a good chance I would not have been able to make it to the ship before its departure in the morning.

Disembarking from the ferry, I find a brewpub across the street, called Les 3 Brasseurs.  I have a sampler of beer and a pizza, buy an hour of Internet access from the local wi-fi hotspot, and chat with my mother and brother until I'm cut off and head back to the ship.  Just before getting to the gate, I hear drums playing.  Following the sound, I find a Polynesian drum and dance group rehearsing.  There are perhaps 25 musicians and about a hundred dancers, men and women alike.  I pull out my camcorder, but a quick head shake from one of the dancers tells me all I need to understand, and I put the camcorder away.  I watch them rehearse for twenty minutes or so, before making my way back to the ship.  For all my walking, I have blisters on both feet, and my left heel is raw and bleeding.  Exhausted, I head straight for bed, stopping briefly to chat with Ordinary Seaman Joey Binangbang, who has been here all day, with no shore leave.  Such is the life of a seaman.