Bora Bora, French Polynesia

Small white birds with thin long tails sail here just above our heads, occasionally swooping down close enough to our vehicle, daring us to swipe them. The brush is tangled with swarms of dragonflies as we climb higher and higher on this bumpy trail, but they are completely oblivious to us, darting to and from the wildly colorful and fragrant bushes of hibiscus and bougainvillea. Pinks and purples and yellows as bright as the French Polynesian sunshine! Every so often we spot a wild rooster pecking around in the brush.

I had forgotten to put on sunscreen before heading off for my 4 wheel drive excursion on the beautiful island of Bora Bora, and already I feel my cheeks burning brightly. I am not in the back, but rather, in the passenger seat next to Guy, our Polynesian driver, but as the roof cover and the windshield have been folded down, I have the best seat in the house.

We climb higher and higher and stop several times for magnificent vistas. We rumble down and circle the island along the shoreline. We stop at a small sand bank littered with holes the size of half dollars and throw flowers that have been hanging from our jeep onto the sand. As if on cue, tiny crabs emerge from the holes and feverishly grasp onto the garlands, dragging them back down into the ground, no doubt a fabulous feast for these hard shelled critters! Across the lagoon I can see the most famous of Bora Bora’s mountains, Otemanu, “the big bird of the house of birds”.

Later in the afternoon, I skim the shoreline barefoot, after having seen enough of the black pearl demonstration. I have seen it several times before anyway and I am eager for some time off on my own. My eyes follow tiny translucent fish that dart around my toes, their miniscule florescent yellow tails and bulging black eyes are the only way I can identify them through the crystal clear water at my feet. I am noshing on chunks of freshly cut grapefruit, the size of which I have never seen before, along with strips of sweet coconut. Earlier, for the first time, I had eaten a chunk of the heart of the coconut, and it reminded me strangely of marshmallows.

I find myself in the company of an ancient Polynesian deity who sits silently in the sand, ever gazing out to sea. Warm water laps gently at my ankles and I wish I could just drop face down into it and cool off my bright and burning cheeks. I bet he does too. I decide that next time I come here (which will be, oddly enough, in just 10 days), I will forego an organized tour and take the local shuttle to Matira Beach and spend the day frolicking in the calm turquoise water and lazing under a smattering of palm trees. It’s a beautiful beach, and oddly free of tourists.

I meander a little while longer by the edge of the pearl farm. Hand carved tree barks are lined with oyster shells, strung by sail cord and decorated with colorful fish netting, their mother of pearl interiors glinting as they sway at different angles to the sunlight. I am ever conscious of the rustling of the coconut palms above me, and when I look up I see a bunch of bright orange “teenagers”. Since I have been here, I have learned how to tell the age of coconuts by their color and size.

On the way back to the tender, after a hot but incredibly moving day on this beautiful island, I am certain to gather a fallen breadfruit leaf to take back with me to the ship. Soon, I promise myself, I will have those unsuspecting blue boys fanning me while I take my throne on deck.

Hugs,
Jeana

J

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