French Polynesia, emphasis on the “French.”

Arriving in Papeete, Tahiti at 23:00 we expected a similar warm welcome to that of Easter Island. Obviously a much more developed region with a professional big airport, the reception was still restrained and with no sign of any adverts for accommodation we approached a couple of the tour reps and were met with blank expressions and shrugs. As one of the popular stop off points for round the world ticket holders and surfers alike it seemed surprising that there was nothing on offer and we finally, as the airport cleared, got a name of a hostel that we could give to a taxi driver there. The £30 fare for a 10minute taxi ride was our first indication of the cost of the area. The hostel that we arrived at was big but basic (note, en suite means a curtain around the toilet in your room, the shower was communal and cold at all times apart from 6:30pm, to 8:30pm, we thought that was a typo but it wasn’t), all this for US$50 a night and people sat on the veranda outside your window. Oh and the least friendly welcome ever from the woman in charge. That said, it was clean (apart from the insects, geckos and cockroaches) and really handy for the harbour front and main markets.

Papeete is a bustling city, the market itself a treat with fresh fish, fruit and veg stalls providing all the food you could want, plus a huge array of stalls selling allsorts of cooked foods from Chinese, to pizza, to crepes, all at a reasonable cost (especially by Polynesian standards). Outside is a whole area dedicated to pareos (that’s a sarong to the unitiated) and upstairs further stalls dedicated to local crafts, jewellery, clothing and suchlike. Ideal for any souvenirs of the trip, but we stopped at the purchase of a couple of pareos ready for our trip to the beach next day.

Tahiti itself, despite its fame for such, does not actually have many good beaches, but a 30minute ferry ride can take you over to Moorea, a neighbouring island, littered all round with beautiful sandy beaches and clear turquoise lagoons where you can snorkel amongst the coral reef and see the local sea life at close hand. Taking “le truck” around the island is by far the cheapest option, something we found out to our cost the second day, after getting off the last ferry that morning and seeing le truck full to busting we decided to wait for the next one. An hour later it returned but reported it wasn’t moving for another 2 hrs until the next ferry was due in so we opted for a taxi that must have cost nearly 8 times of the cost for both of us to travel in the bus. At least by then we were there for the rest of the week and we clambered out at Camp Nelson on the other side of the island. Here for less than $30 a night we had our own hut overlooking the beach, access to a communal kitchen and shower block (no hot water but with the heat of the sun that was quite a relief and pretty unnecessary) and less than a minute stroll onto a beach which during our entire stay had probably less than a dozen people, closer to half of that on it most of the time.

About 3 metres from shore was a thin stretch of dead reef which meant that a well of the local aquatic life could be seen by just getting your feet wet, while stood on there we saw stonefish (can be deadly if you stand on them and look like stone so made me a little paranoid about walking without shoes), moray eels, brightly coloured clown fish and even a stingray that was almost a metre in diameter. At night time with the sun painting the sky in all shades of orange, cerise and lavender, the colours were reflected in the sea and you could pick out the tips of reef sharks basking in the shallow waters off shore.

Our time was therefore spent, lounging on the beach, paddling/swimming/snorkelling, lounging on the beach some more etc., etc. Point to note here: When snorkelling wear a t-shirt (did that, so far so good) and preferably shorts, or at least full bottomed bikini. I had my one venture out in a string bikini and ended up with, as Rob described it, two edams with a dairylea triangle imbetween. Ow, ow and ow again. Fortunately it was a full day before we next flew but it still hurt for several days after that. In fact when we saw Liz and Noel that weekend in Auckland and showed her the picture of my poor bum in peak burnt state (we’ve all seen each other naked…. they know what we mean…) she said she’d have thought of admitting me to hospital for it. This is Liz who works as a burns specialist/plastic surgeon… like ow.