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My heart is heavy as we approach this most magnificent of all Polynesian islands, the one I have been so looking forward to. But I realize that after today, sadly, I will be leaving French Polynesia and returning home. I am struggling to focus and enjoy the moment. A Polynesian version of "Red, Red Wine” is playing on the Range Rover radio as everyone takes their seats for our 4 wheel drive adventure, and all I can feel is my “blue, blue heart”. However, not for long, as I am on my most beloved of tours on Moorea. I can’t believe I am actually taking this tour again! How lucky I have been on this wonderful adventure!
We climb slowly into the hills, the leaves of the trees swollen with grapefruit brushing against my hair. One giant ripe orb drops into the vehicle and into my lap. Our tour guide nods and smiles at me. It will be my first souvenir of the day from Moorea. We make our way among other trees - oranges and mangoes all around us. Deep red papayas and bright green limes spill by the roadside. I want to stop and scoop them all up and take them back to the ship with me, and then back to New York. It’s a veritable Garden of Eden.
Magnificent jagged peaks of the now extinct volcanic crater seem to leap out of the turquoise lagoon and grow to surround us. Before I came here last summer, I thought that the beauty that Moorea is known for was probably a bit overstated, like a movie with rave reviews, it can’t help but be a slight letdown. But not so for Moorea. It is quite surreal, this beauty that Moorea possesses. It captures my thoughts and steals me away from my sadness, at least for awhile. The shapes of a series of fantastically carved hills, one behind the other, rising in the distance, hazy in the early morning sunlight, a diffused glow on their unusually shaped slopes. I hear a cacophony of roosters high up in the hills, and the bleating of wild goats. A rivulet of perspiration drips down from the side of my neck to my bosom. It is wildly hot already.
We pass a profusion of miniature wild flowers creeping along the hillsides. Tall stems with tiny bouquets of fuschia and yellow buds dot the landscape. Suntana, our guide tells me. They grow like grass. More tall stems with tiny single berry red buds and puffy white dandelions grow harmoniously in the long wide stalks of lemongrass. It’s a very festive sight, kind of like a tropical Christmas arrangement on steroids. We stop at several lookout points for photos of the lagoon below. Turquoise gives way to azure in a splendid curved line.
We climb slowly into the hills, the leaves of the trees swollen with grapefruit brushing against my hair. One giant ripe orb drops into the vehicle and into my lap. Our tour guide nods and smiles at me. It will be my first souvenir of the day from Moorea. We make our way among other trees - oranges and mangoes all around us. Deep red papayas and bright green limes spill by the roadside. I want to stop and scoop them all up and take them back to the ship with me, and then back to New York. It’s a veritable Garden of Eden.
Magnificent jagged peaks of the now extinct volcanic crater seem to leap out of the turquoise lagoon and grow to surround us. Before I came here last summer, I thought that the beauty that Moorea is known for was probably a bit overstated, like a movie with rave reviews, it can’t help but be a slight letdown. But not so for Moorea. It is quite surreal, this beauty that Moorea possesses. It captures my thoughts and steals me away from my sadness, at least for awhile. The shapes of a series of fantastically carved hills, one behind the other, rising in the distance, hazy in the early morning sunlight, a diffused glow on their unusually shaped slopes. I hear a cacophony of roosters high up in the hills, and the bleating of wild goats. A rivulet of perspiration drips down from the side of my neck to my bosom. It is wildly hot already.
We pass a profusion of miniature wild flowers creeping along the hillsides. Tall stems with tiny bouquets of fuschia and yellow buds dot the landscape. Suntana, our guide tells me. They grow like grass. More tall stems with tiny single berry red buds and puffy white dandelions grow harmoniously in the long wide stalks of lemongrass. It’s a very festive sight, kind of like a tropical Christmas arrangement on steroids. We stop at several lookout points for photos of the lagoon below. Turquoise gives way to azure in a splendid curved line. 
We eventually trace our steps down the rocky hills and into the flat center of the crater that now remains. It’s a wonderful spectacle. Lowly pineapple plants flourish in the rich volcanic soil. They give way to taller bushes of pink and red ginger, and giant banana plants rise even higher for as far as the eye can see. Set free to explore this paradise, I get lost in the rows and rows of towering bushes, happily losing my way and my heavy heart. I am in the very heart of the crater, and serenading me, on all sides, are the massive sharp toothed edges of the mountains harshly formed when the volcano last erupted. And, of course, the most famous and glorious of nature’s sculpted mountains, Mouaroa, which Westerners fondly call “Bali Hai”.
Our final stop is the Marae Tetiroa, ancient Polynesian religious and ceremonial site, still half standing, hidden in the heavily forested hillside. We pick through the ruins and feed the starlings that flit around us. Eventually we climb back into the Range Rover. My thoughts are once again back to the sadness and nostalgia I feel at leaving, not quite sure when I will return. At just that thought alone, tears form in my eyes and they sting badly, a mix of salty sweat and tan lotion. I readjust my sunglasses so no one can see.I want to go back to the ship now, as it’s been a long hot day and I need to speak to gather my thoughts, take my place on the promenade for the most magnificent of the sailaways, with the sun setting behind Moorea, and Tahiti beckoning in the distance. Like a painful breakup, I ignore the local jewelry stalls at the dock and I don’t dare look back as I make my way to the approaching tender for the ride back to the ship. I had actually planned to shop here for a new mother of pearl necklace as I left my old one home (actually I couldn’t find it when I was packing), but my thoughts are much too scattered to shop now.
I take the seat closest to the exit so that I can be first off the tender and find my seat on the promenade for the sad journey back to Papeete.
Hugs,
Jeana
J
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