A Society of Islands.

Our cameraman has abandoned ship after a month of cavorting both below and above the water, and we feel somewhat adrift. A couple of days ago, all three of us were still happily anchored at the mouth of Cook’s Bay in Moorea—which gives off a subtle White Lotus vibe – where we spent hours of tranquil, independent snorkeling among a variety of coral “patates,” as the French call the bommies. This is how we suddenly found ourselves “mask”-to-face with Nemo and his extended family darting in and out of their swaying anemone home. We also accidentally disturbed the slumber of a lemon shark, and we got to play kitty cat games with a curious octopus by dangling a string in front of its face. She stretched out one arm and used her suckers to check it out, all the while changing colors like a psychedelic lava lamp. 

Next stop: Tahiti Iti, aka small Tahiti or Tahiti Peninsula. There, we tried to fend off an overenthusiastic dive master who had the peculiar habit of pointing out the underwater marvels by forcefully grabbing us by the hand and pushing us in nooks and crannies to take a closer look at whatever was lurking in the shadows. When he yanked my hand over a weird freshwater column that came bubbling up from the ocean floor, my entire body shot forward with the momentum and got slammed against the rock coral after which it went spinning for some time like a lost satellite in space. The whole experience had a very strong Monty Python “Silly Walk” feel.

Due to the grabbing and pulling, we often lost control over our neutral buoyancy, with flailing fins all over the place. As a result, the already poor visibility got even worse with the swirling sand we displaced in our involuntary underwater antics. However, we did see a huge ray, which quickly cleared the way the moment it saw us flailing around the “patates.”

Towards the end of our second dive, the dive master had us crawling over the sea floor among the coral, battling a beastly current that nearly swept My Captain up & away due to a lack of diving weights. He had discarded a kilo at the dive master’s suggestion after the first dive. We should have known better. There was My Captain, struggling against both the current and his positive buoyancy, rapidly using up all that was left of his bottled air supply.
When he signaled that he would soon need buddy air, the dive master didn’t immediately extend his second regulator. Instead, he came floating upright in front of my struggling captain and began demonstrating how to breathe properly. He took a small inhale, then slowly removed his regulator out of his mouth to show how the exhaled bubbles continued gently, all while making slow circular motions with his index finger to stress his stressless breathing technique. Meanwhile, my gasping captain was down to the last bar of air, clinging to dead coral for dear life, on the verge of surfacing. Finally, the dive master put his regulator back where it was supposed to be -in his mouth- handed his spare one to My Captain and took him by the hand. Together, they covered the still quite challenging distance to the diving rib and back to the surface. Hand in hand like bro’s. My Captain is still recovering from the experience.

But the best thing about Tahiti Iti is “The Wave”. This year, France has set up its Olympic surf camp at the literal end of the road, at PK 0—point kilométrique zéro—in Teahupo’o. Here, the famous Teahupo’o wave crashes over a shallow and dangerous reef in a perfect left-hand barrel. Water taxis take you to the scene for a spectacular close-up of the daring and the brave. The day we went, The Wave was only half its usual height, yet it still left us in awe. Unlike the wave in Nazaré, Portugal, it’s not so much about the height but about the creation of a perfect glass-like tunnel of blue with raging foam at its lip. The Olympic competition will take place during a 10-day window from July 27th to August 4th. We’ll be cheering for Tahitian Vahine Fierro to grab the gold.

Talking about waves, entering the lagoon of Tahiti Iti was not for the faint of heart. There is only a small passage in between roaring rollers, which is intimidating as hell. But My Captain didn’t lose his bearing and once again we could safely drop anchor in a swimming pool-like sea. The drive with our rental car to Papeete in Tahiti Nui or Big Tahiti is pleasant and takes no more than 1,5 hours. Unless you stop for sightseeing of course. Moorea and Tahiti are part of the Society Islands, named by Captain Cook after his sponsor, the Royal Society. However, some claim the archipelago was named Society because of the different islands in the group -Moorea, Tahiti, Huahine, Bora Bora, Raiatea – lying so closely together that they form a kind of Society. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.

After a whole lot of ocean, hectic, chaotic Papeete in Tahiti came as a sudden shock to the senses. It also offered us a deep dive into Polynesian culture, thanks to the month of July being Heiva time. Polynesian dance groups of 100 individuals each practice all year long to compete for the prize during the Heiva festival in Papeete, Tahiti. We had tickets for “une soirée de spectacle,” when different dance groups perform their winning acts to an open-air audience of locals and tourists alike. It didn’t take long for us to join in the clapping and shout-outs of encouragement and appreciation.

Instead of the sweet ukulele overdose we had feared, the whole place thundered with deep drumming and fast-paced feverish beats. Hypnotic recitations in vowel-rich Polynesian introduced the different danced out stories. Aa’s, iii’s, ooo’s, and uuu’s boomed out over our heads. Fenua! (Homeland) Tane! (God of fertility, craftmanship and knowledge) Ia ora te huro! (Long live joy) Vahine! (Woman) Papatuanuku! (Mother Earth) When the scarcely dressed dancers, adorned with flowers and leaves and elaborate headpieces entered the stage with wildly vibrating hips (the women) and flapping thighs (the men) we suddenly felt compassion for the 19th century missionaries . We didn’t understand much of the stories the dances were depicting, but the body language spoke loud and clear. The exuberant Brazilians with their batucadas and samba would totally get it. As did we. C’était vraiment trés chaud.

The day after tomorrow, we’ll be picking up our brother (-in-law) and his wife for a more in-depth exploration of gorgeous Moorea. They are flying in from Seattle and eager to get going. A mere 3-hour time difference won’t be holding them back. The Society Islands are calling.