On-the-Road Tales

I arose and brushed my teeth on the terrace which looked directly out over the international airport, the guesthouse being perched on high up on the volcanic hillside. Not a bad view at the sink watching commercial jetliners takeoff and land. Grumpy man dropped me at the bottom of the road in front of the airport and showed me the bus stop. He became less disagreeable with time but I still missed my latin american country folk. I grabbed a $2.00 ‘truk’ into Papeete. The city is about 20 minutes from the airport and these converted truck/bus things are the commuter transport. I climbed on board with my backpack on. Well — You would think I had horns attached to my head. The entire bus is staring at me like carrying 15 kilos on your back is a most insane thing to do. I had to laugh at the irony. The locals are wearing skirt-like polynesian wraps – men and women, and the guy in the front seat has full traditional tattoo artwork all over his scantily clad body including elaborate facial inkwork. In other circumstances, I would not be the strange one on the bus!

I hopped off in town, stopped by the tourist office to make some inquiries and headed to the port to grab a ferry. Several travellers had recommended to head to Mo’orea, the closest island to Tahiti so I jumped on the next one out. The waters around the islands are surrounded by coral reefs so the typical images that come to mind for Tahiti of shallow turquoise waters are prevalent. Had some dolphinage following the ferry for a while which was a nice surprise. All the ferries fast, which take 30 minutes, or slow,1 hour, are the same price, $9 (strange to me but that must be a capitialist thought) The next one leaving was the slow ferry so an hour after pulling out of Papeete, I was on a lush, volcanic-peaked slice of the Society Islands. The info I had received at the tourist office less than 2 hours ago “that a bus met every ferry” was not even close to being true. At least in Peru, Bolivia you usually got no information at all which was better than looking like an organized country but really having no clue about tourism whatsever. Irritation of the sort would become a common theme here!

All the busses on the island are privately owned and I was told the bus might run in a few hours if the drivers showed up or felt like it or the moon was right etc.. There were two busses sitting in the parking lot so I decided to go straight to the source and approached them. One driver was inside sleeping with a pillow, another had all his kids on board, playing games and settled like they had been there waiting for a very long time. The drivers said said they might leave at 1500 which was a full 5 hours from now. My target ‘town’ was on the complete other side of the island and taxis were robbery. So I sat and waited hoping something would happen along with some other frustrated travellers. About an hour later, a fast ferry arrived and the drivers decided to mobilize. OK. For $3, I shoved my backpack in a compartment layered with no less than 3 inches of dust and climbed onboard.

I had seen some overwater bungalows pictured in the tourist office. Little wooden huts with reed roofs, high on stilts perched amazingly over the clear, teal water. They were so cool looking I thought I would treat myself by going overbudget and stay in one of these wild things. I inquired about the bungalows and was told they started at $500 a night in low season. yeah ok. I will reserve my judgements on what kind of idiot would pay $500 a night for any type of accomodation so moving on…I had to revert to plan B. I got off the bus at the first stop north of ‘town’ which I quickly realized as the bus drove off leaving me with my dust covered rucksack…was the wrong one. I started hoofing it to “town” which amounted to a couple of storefronts and pearl shops. The disgust I felt at the overpriced environment and french attitude was revolt so plan B, made up on the spot, turned out to be heading to the campground.

I stopped by Mo’orea camping. They did not rent gear but they had some dorms available so I booked in a night until I would figure out my next step. For a thrifty $12 a night I had a clean room, a communal kitchen, bathrooms not so far across the compound and a lovely little sliver of beach and blue water. Who needs hot water when you are on a tropical island? I took a look at the restaurant prices in the ‘town’ and quickly found the nearest supermarket. Luckily I had already stocked up on some supplies before I left mainland Chile so I had some pasta, canned fruit and cookies. Perfect ingredients for what turned out to be a week in my rustic setting.

It rained that afternoon but I was relaxing on the terrace overlooking the beach, catching up on some reading and trying to gauge the feel of the campground. Mostly french families on holiday. Since it is still a territory of France, many government workers in Papeete are on assignment from overseas so when they get a free weekend, they holiday on neighbouring islands.

After a 5 hour flight, we landed in Papeete, Tahiti. We disembarked into the humid night and were greeted with a local orchid, bright white and fragrant, and welcomed with a polynesian band. It took forever to get through immigration – reminding me it was like island life in the caribbean, unhurried and unbothered. Since I was arriving so late – I had arranged a room at the Airport Lodge guesthouse with airport pickup. I collected my bags, stopped at the ATM and headed outside. I found my transport and he was none too happy. After a few minutes brooding, he relayed how he had been waiting there for hours. I told him the correct time I was arriving, and he should know how long immigration and bags take so I wondered what was the problem. He snapped that he had arrived so early to get a good waiting spot right outside the airport. I was completely taken aback at the attitude and it suddenly dawned on me – I was no longer in South America where people were friendly, calm and not french!

Chile was slightly more expensive than the other S. American countries and I knew Tahiti was meant to be very dear (that means $$$ in irish slang) but I was about to suffer from some serious sticker shock the next few days. I was expecting a palace for the $50 I paid at the guesthouse. It was the cheapest place in Tahiti by about $100 so it was just one step up from backpackers, but I still had not adjusted to private, ensuite rooms for 5$ I guess. The disgruntled owner showed me my postage stamp sized room and went off to bed telling me he would wake me in 6 hours for breakfast. I did not really think it was necessary to get up at 0700 but when I tried to relay that point he told me if I wanted a ride to the busstop to leave his house, that is when he would be taking me. Alrightie – I wished I could get beamed back east! I went in search of the bathroom and found it but was unable to locate the sink. I wandered around and found it outside, on the terrace. Okay, guess you can do that in tropical environments.

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