On-the-Road Tales

I had only a vague idea of what I had gotten myself into when the big green Kiwi bus swung by to pick me up. NZ is made up of two islands with a good distance to cover on land never mind the expanse of water to across in between them. Many people rent sleepervans or RVs to get around but for a more economical approach, there are private bus services catering to younger people and single travellers to help explore the country. You buy a pass and get on and off the bus as you wish, having up to a year to complete the journey. The drivers act as tour guides along the way, will prearrange all accommodations and book activities so it is carefree way to see the country especially on a short time frame. The downside – copious amounts of young, mostly English, gap year kids who are intent on partying themselves into a tizzy along the way.
If you wanted to do a study on binge drinking, this would be your research target right here.

The north island bus was not crowded so with penty of room, we headed out to check out the volcano outside Auckland, Mt. Eden. We continued onto Cathedral Cove, a beach with some rock cave formations where I found out the water temperature on the Tasman Sea is not the same as on the coast of Tahiti. As the New Zealanders say “it is fresh”, ie chilly. The driver, Jimmy, was a good humoured lad. In his other life, he was a skydiving camera man so he is a bit of a nutter but you would need it to drive 50 raging kids around the country. This was his 73rd trip over his 7 year career with the company. Each trip takes about 26 days so many of the drivers do not even have a house they just crash between trips!

I had some annoying youngsters sitting behind me, giddy from the first day on a bus and they were talking rubbish. I thought – what an intellectual shift to go from talking about Pinochet’s effect on the military mentality of Chile to who is shagging who on Eastenders. Lovely. We stayed the evening in at Turtle Cove Backpackers in Whitianga, lovely little fishing town in the northeast corner of the New Zealand.

I left Tahiti just after midnight on a Thursday and arrived in Auckland, NZ on Friday morning. I would have gone on thinking it was Thursday had I not overheard someone discussing the oddness of losing a day. Que? Oh yeah, International Date Line. Forgot about that, since I am not going back the same way I am all concerned about this loss of a whole day. Next round the world trip I am going to go the opposite direction to make up for lost time!

I passed through immigration and immediately fell in love with NZ with what I saw next – they had a free tea and coffee welcome station in the baggae claim!! I was getting to get on good in this country. They are wicked strict with customs, ie making sure you do not import any bad things into their country so I was grilled about fruits, foods and contact with livestock. They examined my Easter Island hiking shoes for environmental biohazard and then let me through after another scan. They had a tourism office in the airport which was open, had friendly staff and free phones to ring and book the hostels. I was gobsmacked at the ease of it all. I would look around when I heard someone speaking English since I had been doing that for 3 months but alas I quickly realized – everyone speaks English here, strange getting reaccustomed to your native tongue.

I picked up the phone and started ringing hostels asking thee primary question – Do you have laundry facilities? First one that sad yes, I hopped the bus downtown to. I had my first dorm in Tahiti but noone ever showed up to share it – it was fun while it lasted but privacy was about to become a distant memory. I checked into Albert Street Backpackers at 0830 and found 6 out of the 7 beds stocked with sleeping people and the room strewn with the contents of overflowing rucksacks. It has been a good 10 years since I Eurailed around Europe so I had to get back used to this lifestyle again. I threw my stuff down and went out, not willing to start crinkling bags to sort laundry and upsetting the bunkmates right off the bat.

I stopped next door to the travel agent and informed him I had 21 days in NZ and I wanted to see it all. I thought alloting 3 weeks for NZ would be plenty but he chastised me for the inadequate timespan. I could swing most of the country but would have to leave out extreme north, south, east, and various islands. I could live with that. I bought a hop on-hop off bus pass on ‘Kiwi Experience’ that covered, in 20 days, a majority of the North Island and South Island and a flight to get me back up north in time for my flight to Thailand.

I was not going to have time to see Auckland properly since I suddenly had a schedule and was leaving in the morning but one thing I wanted to do was the Harbour Bridge walk. You strap yourself to the side of a bridge and walk up the structure above traffic and water – sounded so cool and forbidden. Imagine being able to scale the Verrazano Narrows with a guide? Despite being on 3 hours airplane sleep, and it starting to drizzle I set out to make a booking – fortunetly for me probably, they had not availability left for the day so that experience will have to wait. I would quickly realize things deemed illegal and prosecuted in other countries are tolerated and even encouraged here in NZ. They allow you to walk above traffic on bridges, they have a bungy jump off the same commuter bridge and well as off a skyscraper in the middle of downtown, they have giant spring swing on the sidewalks and the list goes on. They are complete adhrenline (not knowing how to spell that word. i know my spelling looks like it sucks but it is usually my lack of typing prowess, sucky keyboards, and lack of patience to proofread posts) anyway adrenehlin (?not right either haha ) junkies. anything goes.

Noteworthy achievement of the day – Clean laundry!!!

I decided to fly back to Tahiti to store my bags in the airport before my middle of the night Thursday 0140 departure. I figured the $36 ticket was a good deal since the aerial views alone would be worth it. I got to enjoy the visual effect of the night’s rain with new cascading waterfalls bursting in random locales on the mountainsides. The shuttle van delivered me a full 15 minutes before departure and I was still considered early for my flight – different indeed to real life countries. The ticket counter lady inexplicably decided I only needed to pay 18$ for my ticket – maybe I was looking more desperate than I thought in my bucket washed rags! Security? yeah, not needed apparently, no checkpoints. I boarded the full twin otter and realized it was a single pilot operation. Yick — that is a lot of aircraft for one person to handle in weather. Fortunetly, the weather had improved and it was only a whopping 7 minute flight (done an incredulous 40 times a day). Views were ok and I offloaded my rucksack into short term storage in the parking lot of the Intl AIrport.

I briefly contemplated hiring a car for the daily rate of $100 to tour the island but I did not want to shock my system into navigating, operating machinery or negociating traffic considering my mellow week doing absolutely nothing. I jumped the bus into city centre and mosied about. Papeete was explored in less than 2 hours. Not much to see outside of the craft market. 2 hours down, 13 to go. In theory, could catch up on internet but at $16/hour that would just not be economical. Somehow I mentioned to waste the rest of the day and caught the bus back to the airport arond 2200. Had a very odd encounter with an american girl you just had to be there. Met my recently acquainted brasilian friends in the terminal which passed another few hours. Finally it was time to board my Air Tahiti Nui A340. I asked the flight attendent if I could pop into the cockpit to ck out an A340 and she said sure – we just have to wait until we are in flight. hmm. should be the opposite for security reasons but I was not complaining. Too bad I fell asleep and never got up there but it was the first flight in years I can remember being almost empty.

6ish hours and a few winks later, we were being warned to leave behind the flower we were given upon boarding as it is illegal to bring into NZ. That is certainly an odd airline practice – hand out flora to boarding passengers which is considered bio hazardous and illegal to import into the destination country. Bet a few unsuspecting tourists have walked off with the tiare flower tucked behind their ear.

Overall, I would not wish Tahiti on my worst enemy. Ok not that bad – but not my cup of tea at all. Pricey, francophones, and scenery that could be beat by a lot of island nations. Can not say it was a bad experience but paled in comparison to the rest of my trip so far. I did get to learn about the polynesian culture that originated the people of Easter Island and compare traits. Try out some wacky fruits. Practice my french. Swim in some wicked waters and finally be amused at The Swede’s blunt manner and satirical view on just about everything and everyone.

While Hauru Point was facing directly west, I was unable to get too many decent sunsets due to the fact it was lashing cats and dogs by late afternoon many days. Another benefit of Pacific life – tropical downpours. The wall opening in my room allowed me to fully appreciate the overwhelming volume of nature as the storms intensified through the night – usually at about 0300 am while slipping into deep REM. I would get up in the morning to find the tents outside flooded into oblivion. Eventually those people realized the weather was not breaking and moved into rooms. On my finally evening, I was chatting with Tina in reception and she happened to drop to The Swede and I that she heard a brief newsclip that there was an earthquake in Japan and that a tropical depression was headed for Vanuatu. She ended the thought by saying, ‘that could mean a tsunami here.’

What??? “well, it has happened before, but do not worry if that is the case the police will go around the island with a megaphone. We are ok because the campground owns land across the street on the mountainside and we can run over there.” As this ridiculous escape plan sank in, I wondered what in the hell I was doing on a speck of volcanic rock in the ocean. Ignoring news for the past 3 months did not seem like the best plan as potentially impending natural disaster raced towards us. The Swede was trying to grill her for more information but her response was “we will just have to wait and see.” Early predawn I was awakened by rain which eventually morphed into hail, thunder and fierce wind. Had I not known about the maybe disaster – I probably would have flipped over and went back to sleep. Instead I got up to look outside expecting water lapping at the door and grabbed my passport just in case. The sky was a sick sort of color but I was reassured that a large wave was not in sight. Wildly intense storm but it eventually passed and I was never so glad to see the break of dawn and brightening skies.

I never found out if Vanuatu got their depression or if the earthquake did much damage but it definately gave me a better appreciation of the necessity of early storm warning systems. Stateside, I take for granted a sturdy house resistant against floods and a car outside the door to get away from danger. When you are on an island, without any form of transport around it or off it – weather is a whole different beast. Still can not decide if it was better to have known what was coming and not be able to get further info or have been ignorant since I did not have much in my power to do anyway – but the feeling of uncertainity will not be one I forget soon.

Did lots of exploratory walks and swims around Hauru Point where the campground was.
Took a jeep 4X4 tour of the island in the afternoon with 6 other tourists and met (surprise) a pilot and a lovely brasilian couple. The island has these lush green mountains, rivers, and temples where they used to sacrifice people as offerings to the gods etc. The jeep climbed up through the forests and we got a great overview of the bays and saw the island Marlon Brando owned. Then we climbed down inside the volcanic crater and were able to appreciate the enormity of the cone and you could imagine the force of the explosion that created the land we were standing on. Went to a polynesian dinner and dance show one night in which they cooked the food in an underground oven (yummy) and they jumped around in costume with lots of fire twirling involved, very neat. The islands are famous for their black pearls and perfect ones can sell for tens of thousands of dollars each. We got a demonstration at the polynesian village of the pearl farming process, ie helping out nature to make sure the pearls come out they way jewellers want them. After much research, it was determined the little sand seedling-ma-jig they use to oyster pearl making process comes from Mississippi. Nice. Skipped out on that purchase.

Otherwise, the island was rather quiet. A respite for retirees and honeymooners, not much night life or day life for that matter going on in Mo’orea. My accomodation turned out to be as good as any with a great waterfront and perfect perch to check out stars at night. No one turned up during the week share my dorm so I had the room to myself – well me and mr gecko. Yes, I rushed in the first night to shut the windows so not mozzies would come get attracted to the light. I quickly realized this was a futile attempt since there was a huge chunk of wall missing above the door for…well I have no idea the purpose – let the breeze through? Anyway it served as a personal gateway for my lizard friends. I decided there was really nothing Mr Gecko could possibly want from me, so I dozed off hoping whatever critters planning to join me during the night were not too poisonous or scary looking.

My hopes of fluffly, downey soft, freshly laundered clothes were dashed this morning after a trip to reception. No machines but there was a “laundromat” down the road and they would swing by and pick up your clothes – sounded to good to be true. And it was when Tina handed me the price sheet. $7.50 per item to wash, $7.50 per item to dry but hey – only $3.50 per piece to iron! Are you kidding me? This place must be kept in business by the idiots renting the bungalows for 1/2 grand a night.

So I headed to Tem, the groundskeeper, got myself a bucket and broke out the camp soap. You do not realize laundry is a luxury until you are on week three of salty, sun cream, sweat infused clothes sporadically caked with earthen materials and dusted with a fine layer of volcanic soot. Sink scrubbing and bucket washing just do not have the same effect as a Maytag. Additionally – nothing ever really dried properly so there was a faint musty smell lingering. Yep – life on the road. All those ‘living vicariously’, make sure you try that at home to get a real sense of nomadic life! Still, just an observation, not a complaint. Images of Peruvians washing their clothes in rivers and laying them on the banks to dry are still fresh in my mind and I know machine washing is a luxury.

The swede and I swam out to a “motu” or small island with some snorkel gear and checked out wildly coloured coral and fish along the way. The waters in french polynesia are virtually your own personal aquarium with exotic plants and animals are around. Out on the island, there was an abandoned cabana. My new friend filled me in on some of the politics. Apparently, there was once a Club Med on Mo’orea. The property was owned by an old woman and rented to the resort since non-locals could not own property on the island. When she passed away, it was divided among various relatives and offspring. At some point, when the club med lease came up, the owners got greedy and demanded a huge increase in rent from the super resort chain (probably assuming they would never jeopardize their popular property). Well, Club Med called the bluff and pulled up stakes to establish on another island where they would not be strong armed into more money. Everything that could be removed was – roofs, piers, courts. They left behind hundreds of cabins which have since fallen into disrepair. We journeyed to go check it out and it was a pitiful sight. In some cases, only the wall safes remained standing in the middle of the woods. It seems like such a waste, shame something else could not have been done with the place.

There is a Tahitian polynesian word something like ‘faa’, which describes the feeling one gets of general laziness and nonchalantness in the warm humid island environment. Well, it did not take long to kick in. Tahiti was not an intended destination for me, no real desire to ever set foot near the place but the only flight west off of Easter Island was to Papeete. I thought it rather silly to land there, spend a night and then move on so I alloted a week on the islands. I thought about shooting over to Bora Bora but quickly lost all desire to do anything even mildly constructive so I decided to bum around the Mo’orea for the week.

The campground locals were generally confused because the first few days I walked around saying hola and gracias to everyone. Slowly, my french vocabulary started reviving itself but it was a tough switch. 6 years of french and a summer in Dijon meant I could get communicate but it was way too much effort to socialize in french so I was super glad when a Swede showed up to camp. I got a good dose of Nordic personality -ie I never got his name because he believed this was useless information. It is true most interactions formed with people while on the road are fleeting and brief and you will never see them again but social politeness usually means you at least exchange names. His manner towards society’s norms was decidely curt and while it was refreshing in some instances and annoying in others – It was certainly amusing all around and gave a good perspective on the Swedish demenour.

The Swede, as he will thus far be referred to, does not do scandinavian winters and spends 3 months in some island chain around the world. This year, it was the society islands aka french polynesia. I could not imagine that long here but he travelled via ferry, cargo ship and airplane to many different islands (there are hundreds altogether) and camped around. I was glad for the company in the french abyss, especially one who knew the island. In a major bonus – he knew how to cook. So we bought groceries and he would drum up steak, pasta, all sorts of dinners and make creative hibiscus flower arrangements out of campground communal kitchen materials!

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.

I met Dominique in the morning to go horseback riding up the north coast all the way around to Anakena. There are no roads on this section of the island, and from my hike the day before, I know trekking it would take hours and hours in unmerciful sun so we opted for horses. I always think this is a good idea until I mount these maniacal beasts. We suited up and were introduced to our Rapa Nui guide and his faithful dog companion. When we asked the horses names, we were told Manu and Manu. Apparently, all horses are called Manu to this guy – probably means horse in Rapa Nui but I did not ask. The guide was a man of few words and I did not get the feeling his greatest joy in life was escorting fearful broads across 16km of rugged terrain for the next few hours.

We ambled out of the horse paddock – and it was all downhill from there. The horses, which I am pretty sure I learned and apparently forgot from my experience a few months ago in Peru, are intent on being competitive with each other. They do not want the other one to get ahead, get around, go faster, cut them off etc. So within a few minutes, the nutjobs were cutting each other off, thus squishing our legs between equine hindquarters. The rivalry heated up and what started out as a trot for each to get ahead soon developed into an all out gallop. This being my 4th time on a horse, with a backpack on a not so comfortable saddle – I was not at all prepared for this. Naturally I screaming for dear life in whatever language came out which was of little use since I am positive if the horse would respond to anything it would be Rapa Nui. Holding on to the reins and saddle with both hands did not give me quite enough leverage to yank back on the bit and save myself. Eventually, in what seemed like an eternity, the guide appeared and cut off Manu. My hear was palpitating and I wondered how I was going to survive the next few hours. Manu was not at all pleased with me and would try to trot or gallop, stumble, stray at any opportunity. Nice – not a horse person I guess or at least I need some lessons on how to handle them a bit better! We followed the coast, stopped off at some ruined platforms, and ate lunch while checking out some petrogylphs on rocks and in caves.

The land was filled with big chunky volcanic debris and was quite steep compared to other parts of the island. In one section, right below a volcanic crater, there was a flat plain with a small house. It had a wicked ocean front view and an incredible panorama. Someone had decided to raise cattle and horses in this area isolated for hours from any other people or form of transportation. Apparently, it was an illegal area to settle according to Chilean government but I am not even sure they know about it. It was a little section of paradise I wish I had taken a picture. Unfortunetly – there are no photos of this trip. My camera did not appear since possessed horse threatened to bolt at any minute I let both hands go of the saddle! We eventually, at a quicker pace than I was comfortable with (should have called it horseback running instead of horseback riding) landed at Anakena. We were given the option of riding the 16km back or getting a lift in a truck. There was no frickin hestiation there – call the blasted truck! I was so not getting back on that thing. As it was – I was going to be sore enough after the last 5 hours riding and worse being completely tensed up!

We got back to town, grabbed some famous empanitas, and I went home to pack. I bid a sad farewell to my lovely hosts and I taxiied the 10 minutes over to the airport. Only one plane in at a time or sometimes even for the whole day so no such thing as gates or anything. One day earlier in the week – there was a group from National Georgraphic that arrived as well as one of those Abercrombie & Kent “Around the World in 40 days” charter airplane deals. They sent ahead 14, (read 1-4) inspectors to the hotel they were staying at to inspect every sheet, pillowcase, towel, silverware and make sure it was up to snuff. Ridiculous. That is not travelling if someone is going to de-culturize the experience before you arrive. Anyway – point being it was a big day at the airport with all that traffic…

My LanChile 767 landed and they changed crews. Dominique and I were ambling about and when we came out of the restroom, the entire lounge was empty, all the pax gone. We nearly missed the bloody plane – boarding on airstairs from the front and back goes a lot faster apparently than jetways. We ran across the tarmac and jumped on before they pulled the stairs. I would have felt pretty stupid missing the plane when there is only one in the whole airport.

Sad farewell to Easter island and South America. Probably the most fluent in spanish I will ever be unless I move south of the border! Onto the next section of my adventure not believing how fast exploring the first 5 countries went!