Highlights of Polynesia: A Slideshow

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Some of my favorite photos from beautiful Polynesia....

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To read my Polynesian blog, it's best to start at the beginning, with the earliest post, Rarotonga, Cook Islands. The Archive on the right will guide you. Enjoy!

Jeana

J

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Papeete, Tahiti

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I spot Daniel, the Port Lecturer, coming out of the afternoon buffet holding a bowl of fruit and a large black umbrella. It is a beautifully sunshine-y day, so of course, I have to ask. He motions for me to hold his fruit while he opens the giant umbrella above us. I have to giggle; he has differently shaped and colored buttons sewn inside it, all representing the different constellations of the nighttime sky! He rotates its handle and the umbrella twirls, demonstrating the effect of the earth’s rotation on the constellations’ locations at different points in the night.

I smile. Daniel is definitely an original – a unique mix of not only Peter Pan, but Mary Poppins. He practically tumbles down the staircases in his enthusiastic fervor because his eyesight is so bad and he is so disoriented at times that he can’t find his way to the promenade deck and sometimes bangs his head into the glass doors that actually open onto the deck. But yet he can turn on his laser and point out each and every visible star in the skies and tell me how many miles they are from not only Earth but from each other.

I am glad that Daniel has been on these journeys with me, for even though he no doubt “stole” passengers away from my lecture when it coincided with a port lecture, we have spent countless hours ruminating on the complexities of both the universe, and of life, shared drinks together up on the highest decks, and most importantly, he has kept me light hearted and mindful of how blessed we have been to be in this wonderfully magical part of the world.

I run into three of my favorite students. We chat for awhile, and they insist on having their photos taken with me. They thank me profusely and tell me they loved my classes. I tell them that they have made this last voyage a special one for me. I mean it sincerely.

On the promenade deck tonight, I am wearing the necklace that my student Lisa gave me earlier this afternoon when we said our official goodbyes. As it turns out, I didn’t need to shop in Moorea after all. As I see my reflection in the mirror in the elevator, I decide that it looks really pretty on me. It is definitely not one I would have selected to buy, but it seems somehow perfect for me.

Having said most of my goodbyes and thank yous to helpful and friendly staff and crew members, by early evening, I find myself hugging the railing as we silently slide into Papeete’s tiny harbor, the twinkling lights on the hills look spectacular. Daniel stumbles out onto the deck one last time with a few passengers in tow. He points out constellations that helped guide ancient navigators to the South Pole. It is a circuitous route and I have already lost track midway in this lesson. He explains that this is a necessary evil as the South Pole does not have a polar star as we do up in the northern hemisphere - our polar star, the one we commonly call the North Star, that bright twinkling light that guides us to the North Pole. I secretly smile at the thought that I will see it once again in just a few short nights.

Susana, a buffet worker from Hungary, and good buddy of mine, joins me on deck once the stargazers leave and we chat for awhile about our plans for the evening, an overnight in port. A few vendors are outside in the park by the pier, grilling up local dishes for the families turning out for the evening. No doubt, many of the passengers and crew members will also be out later in the evening to sample their cooking. An enticing fragrance of lemon, and cardamom and various other spices rise up from the smoke and fill the air. Susana and advises me to go only to “Mommy’s” stall as she makes the best smoked duck and fried rice. It runs about $20. That seems a little unbelievable to me -$20 for street food. But nothing is inexpensive in French Polynesia.

I think about my favorite Bangladeshian street vendor on 14th Street, with his wonderful fragrant yellow rice and lamb for only $4. I realize that I am starting to look forward to going home tomorrow, and this will be on my shortlist, that’s for sure, along with seeing my Aunt, reconnecting with my beloved friends, going back to Yankee Stadium, sangria and guacamole at El Cantinero, and salsa dancing with E. I find myself curiously reassured by a sentiment expressed by Clint Eastwood’s character Robert in “The Bridges of Madison County”, on the tv the other morning: “One thing you can depend on is change. For some, that may be a frightening thought. But on the other hand, it could be a comforting one.” I decide at this moment that despite my desire to remain here for just a little while longer, that change is, in fact, good.

But tonight, my last night in Polynesia, my heart is reserved solely for Tahiti. As it turns out, I have a hot date with some of the Blue Boys in downtown Papeete. We will roam among the street vendors and perhaps have a few Hinano beers, and eventually, I will be sure to steer them to “Mommy’s” for that scrumptious smoked duck.

Hugs,
Jeana

J

Ia orana, te Vahine Tahiti
goodbye my lady Tahiti

ia orana tiare, e Moorea
goodbye tiare, flowerof Moorea

aue aue te noa noa te tiare Moorea
fragrant flower of Moorea

ia orana ua here I au ia oe Bora Bora
goodbye to all that I love in Bora Bora

Na temoana e ua reva ta' u tana iti e
From the ocean one day I will return to you

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Moorea, French Polynesia

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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 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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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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Raiatea, French Polynesia

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I am awake earlier than I had planned – 5:45 a.m. to be precise. I quickly showered and dressed and went out on deck with coffee and muffin. Rushing to see our approach into Raiatea, I even forget to put on make up! That never happens. Now, ordinarily I would reluctantly retrace my steps back to the cabin. But then this is no ordinary journey. I decide that I will greet Raiatea in my most natural state.

It was well worth my hurry as I was greeted by the chirping of exotic birds flitting through trees as we pulled into port. Lush hilltops lined with flat top acacia trees, lanky palms poking through the brush in a haphazard way. I settled on to a deck chair and was greeted by the new bosun, probably not really “new”, but since my favorite bosun and good buddy is no longer here, off sailing on the Queen Mary, everyone seems new to me. The new guy is not too bad, Vincenzo, from Italy, a cheerful and friendly disposition. We watched the roosters, the earliest risers on Raiatea here to greet us, cross the decorative stone sidewalks at the pier, a few of their distant relatives cackling on the hillsides in the distance. Little does Vincenzo know he will soon find me on the promenade deck more than himself, and will soon be addressing me as “Principessa”. I decide I’ll break him in slowly.

One by one, the blue boys emerge, big smiles. Why not? Raiatea is one of the few ports where we don’t tender, but instead pull up to the dock. Life is immensely easier for the blue boys today. In addition, Raiatea is also an overnight stay, so even though there is no real “action” in town after dark, save for one smoky bar, the blue boys have been known to drop off fishing lines from the side of the ship during the day and in the evening set up a makeshift grill on the barrier rocks on the outskirts of the port for a Philippine style bbq, the highlight being the freshest catch of the day. I remember fondly the one I was invited to attend on my last journey here, when we celebrated the promotion of the staff captain. A party for just the deckhands and the resident deck lounger! What fun!

It is quiet and very primitive looking here in the early morning. The only thing stirring right now are the palms swaying in the gentle breeze and the cawing and clicking and pitched sounds of the feathered residents. An occasional whistle to the left, and in the distance, a faint response. An orange and green bus meanders slowly down the one main road encircling the island, shuttling children off to school.

Whereas in the Caribbean, the locals depend heavily on tourism, there are no natives on the pier to greet us when we arrive in Raiatea. Just one or two teenage boys sitting leisurely under a large straw hut that doubles as a bandshell, drinking what appears to be the remnants of last night’s local brew. The stores at the port are shuttered closed, indifferent to our arrival. It is not so much that the people of Polynesia are indifferent to the tourist $ that we bring, or that they are perfectly self-sufficient people, but rather that the French government heavily subsidizes the islands to a point that no one really needs to work here to survive. They can be cheerful when they want to be, but never overbearing or laden with tourist trinkets to force on us. They are okay whether we come or don’t come.

I am happy to report that I did receive a tour again! This time, a sunset sail on the lagoon. This works well for me, as I can relax on board today, and get some work done on deck in preparation for the upcoming new voyage. It is not so far away. Later this morning, I’ll walk into town and buy some flowers from the ladies who sit on benches by the stores with their babies in tow and weave headdresses and garlands. And, of course, some French wine! After all, Raiatea and Papeete (in Tahiti) are really the only two ports on this cruise with anything faintly resembling a grocery store.

The ship’s chimes sound and the captain’s voice is heard, advising passengers that they can now disembark for the day. It is already 30 degrees Celsius, 86 degrees Fahrenheit. A new day is underway in Polynesia.

Hugs,
Jeana

J
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At Sea in the South Pacific

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My favorite thing to do in the whole world is to sit on the deck of a cruise ship, watching the waves crash and ebb, whiling the day away. The sun starting out in one corner of the sky, eventually traversing the landscape and ending in the other. In the old days, traveling as a passenger, there was nothing more relaxing to me. The music of the surf gently coaxing me into a brief daytime slumber.

These days, however, I always start the day up at the crack of dawn and, I admit, a little restless, wondering what the new day will hold in store. And whether it's after I come back from a tour in port, or even more specially, when I finish up a long successful day of classes, and I steal away to the deck, it's just these late afternoons that I so cherish, just as the sun is inching downward in the sky, burning even more intensely, much like last gasps of air, a deeper shade of gold, then orange, and ending in a crimson splendor. And so I always end the day with a genuine serenity and a swell of gratitude, knowing I have such special fortune to be able to experience these moments, the most special of all moments on the voyage.

And I stay until the sun is long gone from the sky, leaving only streaks of deep magenta and orange across the horizon, and illuminating the entire sea with a surreal rosy glow, brilliant remnants of a day that has sadly ended all too soon. A quiet dinner on the aft deck terrace, a glass of wine, comfortable conversation with a crew member or a passenger who shares the same evening ritual. A travel magazine to peruse, or a journal to update, and stolen glances at the moon, the stars, and their reflection on the calm ripples of the dark evening sea beneath us. Then back to the Promenade Deck for my “nightcap”, a deck chair pulled close to the rails, so close to the sea, I can barely feel the faint spray of sea salt caress my cheeks.

But tonight, it would be different. Tonight I run into Daniel, the port lecturer on board, Bright and bubbly, dancing blue eyes. British, but raised in French Polynesia. He dashes out on deck, laser in hand, dragging along an unsuspecting passenger or two and a crew member, Dave, the magician, in tow. He reminds me of Peter Pan, childlike wonder tucked up neatly in a man’s body. Practically gushing over in excitement, he points out the stars in the night sky and offers up some anecdotal information about them.

The magnificent Southern Cross, the most famous in the southern hemisphere’s night sky. It actually has five stars, not four, the fifth faintly twinkling, so much further distant than the rest. It appears on the Australian flag. Alpha Centuri, the lowest star on the horizon, the closest one of all to earth (didn’t your fifth grade science teacher tell you that?), who, along with Beta Centuri, tagging beneath the Southern Cross, form what looks like the strings of a magnificent kite. Daniel has lost Dave, who tries to act interested but seems to be secretly trying to figure out how to make himself disappear. A magician’s trick he has not yet mastered.

Nevertheless, he has captivated me. He quotes to me passages from the journal of Joseph Banks, second in command to Captain Cook on the Endeavor, as they traversed these same waters, so long ago back in 1769: “A place cannot be dreamed any more beautiful than this!” It seems to be as true today as it was way back then.

I returned to my cabin later than usual to find a mess of chocolate hearts left on my pillows by my cabin steward Cristoph. Three on one pillow, four on the other. I am wondering if he just had a few extra left in his bag to get rid of, or if he has also spent some time with Daniel and is now recreating the constellations on my pillows.

Hugs,
Jeana

J
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