Afloat on Society's Fringe - French Polynesia
Written by Amanda Jones for the Los Angeles Times
Having children changes everything. Take, for example, the notion of the vacation. When my husband and I added progeny to the mix, not only were we suddenly forced to seek child-friendly holiday destinations, but also we were faced with the concept the zealous grandparent. My parents live in New Zealand. They therefore feel gypped of time with our two daughters who live with us in California. My parents have resolved this by inviting themselves along on our vacations. My American in-laws happen to be chummy with my parents and don't like to miss out either. Hence, once a year, we gather somewhere overseas, en masse.
Despite parental protestations of "Oh, any old place will do darling, it will be lovely just to be together," requirements for these multi-clan holidays are in fact stringent. Destinations must be exotic yet not squalid, free of pestilence and sparsely populated by people and poisonous organisms. There must be water, balmy weather, identifiable cuisine, and the culture should not venerate weaponry. In today's world, that's a tall order.
The planning of these vacations always falls to me. Last year I needed a location suitable for two-year-old Sofia, four-year-old Indigo, my surfie husband Greg, my parents Margaret and Peter Crotty, and my mother-in-law Ellen Gibson, the latter three being aged between 68 and 78. My father-in-law chose to abstain, so we totaled seven.
Someone suggested Tahiti, and I initially cringed. Last visit, my husband and I had been engulfed by honeymooners -- hordes of clasping, thong-wearing couples careening about on jet-skis. After researching, however, I was reminded that there's more to French Polynesia than Bora-Bora. There were other, less-trammeled islands and they didn't seem as geared towards lovebirds.
Although most people refer to the islands as 'Tahiti,' the country is actually French Polynesia. Tahiti is merely one island in one of five island chains: the Society Islands, the Tuamotus, the Marquesas, the Gambiers and the Australes. Tahiti is in the Society Islands, as is Bora-Bora, Moorea, Huahine, Raiatea, Tahaa and a few others. Because our group spanned three generations, we decided to stick to the closely situated Society islands of Huahine, Raiatea and Tahaa.
In November last year we took the nine-hour flight from Los Angeles to Papetee, the capital of French Polynesia on the island of Tahiti, where we met my parents. We then connected to a 45-minute flight to Raiatea (RAY-A-TAY-A). The 18-seater plane flew over coral atolls which, from on high, looked very much like Petri dish amoeba. The blues -- ranging from turquoise to cerulean -- were transparent and intense, and the islands were thickly topped with palms and ringed with band of glowing white sand.
We would spend the first week of our trip sailing in and around Raiatea and Tahaa. The yacht would not only get us to places where there were no roads, but was cheaper than paying for multiple resort rooms and inter-island flights. Plus, by boat we could reach the small, white sand, palm tree fringed motus, or atolls that typically lie off the larger islands. In my opinion these atolls are the most seductive part of the South Pacific.
Greg and my father are experienced sailors, so we had rented a bareboat monohull yacht from Sunsail on Raiatea. Because we booked only two months before our trip, there were no large boats available. We were on a 41-foot, three-cabin Beneteau, and it proved to be far too small. It was a fiberglass hull with fully equipped galley, dining table-cum-spare-bed and two bathrooms. Next time I would add 10 feet for privacy, and probably step up to a catamaran.
After the Sunsail staff briefed us on boat operation, anchorages and navigation, we set out late in the day, sailing for an hour and stopping behind the motu of Tipaemau, off northeastern Raiatea. We arrived at sunset, dropping anchor in gin-clear waters, alone under a falling orange sun.
That night we mixed a batch of daiquiris and cooked steaks on the barbeque at the back of the boat. My mother, a gourmet cook, had arrived with bags heaving with foodstuffs and alcoholic beverages. She'd brought coolers of vacuumed-packed lamb and beef because she'd heard that meat costs its weight in gold in Tahiti. I, the dutiful daughter, had ridiculed her, embarrassed by the overkill. But when I saw the price of food in the supermarket in Raiatea, my mother had the last laugh. The Society Islands, which were a French colony from 1888 until 1957, imports most products from France. Think $10 for a jar of olives. Wine, however, was plentiful and oddly affordable, although hard liquor was twice the price of American stores.
We woke the next morning to a mirror flat sea and a cobalt sky. Tahiti has a year-round season, meaning that temperatures vary from about 72 degrees in July to 88 degrees in January. We were there in November, the tail end of the dry season when rain is expected, although only in short bursts. The forecast was for fine weather and I prayed to the god of family ties that this would persevere.
We spent the first couple of days sailing around Raiatea, the largest of the Society Islands at 140 square miles with roughly 7,000 inhabitants. There are no beaches on Raiatea's mostly volcanic shoreline, but it has dozens of motus within sheltered reefs, making it a perfect for cruising. Raiatea is sacred to Tahitians, and was once the religious and cultural center of traditional Polynesian life.
One morning, Greg and I went ashore at Uturoa, the only modern township on Raiatea. We rented a small jeep and drove the 42 miles of island road. Greg had heard there was surf off the southern coast, but, because of the reef, it was too difficult to get there by yacht. We passed riotous tropical greenery, roadside waterfalls, villages of small clapboard houses and waving locals. We found the surf, huge barrels rolling onto the razor-sharp reef. However, it required a motor boat to get out to the waves and the local fishermen were gone for the day.
We returned to the yacht and hauled anchor for Tahaa, which shares a sweeping lagoon with Raiatea. Like Raiatea, Tahaa doesn't have many mainland beaches, but there are serene bays and virginal motus. On both islands the locals live quietly and traditionally. The pace of life is slow, tourism is nominal and most islanders live off the land, fishing and growing their own vegetables. Tahaa is known as the vanilla island for its multiple vanilla plantations, although most of the islands' wealth comes from pearl farming.
Tahiti's black pearls are a vital source of income, and since the Japanese first introduced the trade several families have grown rich. Quality black pearls are beguilingly lovely and staggeringly expensive. I would suggest researching prices in the States before parting with a small fortune anywhere in French Polynesia.
Four days into the trip it was Sofia's third birthday and we asked her what she'd like to do. "Now that I'm three," she announced, crossing her legs, "I think I'll go out to dinner." Right. Looking around, that didn't seem like an option, so we radioed the Sunsail base to seek counsel. Indeed, there was the Tahaa Grill, a restaurant on Motu Atara off Tahaa's northeastern coast. My mother, whom the girls call Mopsie, baked a cake on board in the tiny oven, we sailed north and then rowed ashore to the restaurant in the inflatable dinghy.
Built of branches, palm fronds, and driftwood, the dining room of the Tahaa Grill was a charming open-sided palapa on the beach. The kitchen was in a separate hut. Owners Guiliane and Severine Tognetti are a Swiss couple who dropped out of city life, moved to this miniscule paradise and built the restaurant. Guiliane is the chef and Severine the server and bartender. With fresh lobster thermidor, mahi-mahi and shrimp on the menu, it was the best meal of the trip -- of course with the exception of my mother's lamb and beef. The birthday girl glowed and I overheard her say, "This is my favorite birthday ever." I doubt she actually recalled previous such celebrations, but it will certainly be a hard one to top. The following morning when lying on deck with a lollipop, the boat rocking gently and the warm breeze swirling her hair, Sofia, the new sophisticate, yawned, rolled over and said, "Life's good."
On board the boat we got along famously. Our parents had us as a captive audience in a distraction-free environment. "I haven't held this much of your attention since you were five years old," my mother-in-law told Greg. The only tense moment was when, in a rash move, I brought up American politics. Moral of the story: never discuss affairs of state with your mother-in-law when trapped on a small floating vessel.
We spent the rest of the week touring pearl farms, hiking Tahaa's inland trails, witnessing the painstaking processing of harvesting vanilla, swimming, fishing and eating lamb and beef. We also pulled in to inspect the new Tahaa Pearl Beach Resort and Spa, which was uber-luxe, with minimalist Asian-inspired suites with private pools and quintessential over-the-water bungalows.
We then returned the boat to Raiatea and flew to Huahine (HU-A-HE-NAY), a wild and lovely place with the most opportunity for outdoor activity. We had booked the Te Tiare beach resort, part of the luxurious Tahitian Pearl Resorts chain, accessible by a quick boat ride from Huahine's main town of Fare. French Polynesia's outer island hotels are typically resorts and very costly. The only other alternative are pensions, which would definitely not do for the parents. For a person who typically deplores beach resorts, I thought the Te Tiare was lovely. We had three garden bungalows because they were more spacious and safer than the over-the-water rooms. The hotel was elegantly casual, neither overdone nor cheesily cheerful. The menu was excellent Franco-Polynesian food, the best being poisson cru -- raw fish marinated in lime and coconut milk.
One morning while Greg went off in the hotel boat to find surf breaks, my mother and I caught the shuttle boat to Fare and rented a jeep, intending to explore much of Huahine's 45 square miles. Huahine is actually two unspoiled volcanic islands joined by a bridge. Huahine Iti to the south has the best beaches, and Huahine Nui, the main of the two islands, has inland hiking trails, luxuriant foliage and ruins from ancient Tahitian cultures.
We headed south first to Huahine Iti, navigating the narrow road past the wooded Mount Haoroa, beside crystalline lagoons, over coral embankments and through tangled jungle. Our destination was lunch at Pension Mauarii, a bungalow-style hotel on an idyllic stretch of beach on the southern tip of Huahine Iti. The hotel, which is booked months in advance, has an acclaimed restaurant and is a hangout for young French travelers. Built with exotic woods, thatching and bamboo, with shells imbedded in the walls, it was funky and fun, and the large bungalow would be perfect for a family. This was the only place I saw to rival the more expensive resorts.
After lunch we drove back up to the eastern side of Huahine Nui to see the ruins of the Maeva marae. Maraes are Tahiti's pre-missionary places of worship -- open-air platforms where gods were invoked, human sacrifices made, rituals held and where chiefs from all over the South Pacific met. There's not much left but a few upright rocks, but it came to life with a visit to the Maeva museum, with its renderings of hefty, leaf-bedecked chiefs and svelte grass-skirted women. The legends are true, Tahitian women are lovely. Most early sailors thought they'd found Nirvana when greeted by such beauties, who in those days went about bare-breasted. Of course the missionaries swiftly changed all that.
At the end of the day Mopsie and I returned to the Pearl to find the girls having a Tahitian dancing lesson from one of the hotel waitresses and the rest laying by the pool and trading clan scandals. It had been a peaceful and delightful vacation, with no human sacrifices necessary.