Will Gibson's South Pacific Journal

When I checked in the night before, I was surprised to learn that checkout time would be 10:30am, which would be midpoint of dive number 2. A problem. The proprietress was unwilling to extend the checkout time for me, but she did offer a solution which meant my day went as follows:

Wake at 6:00 am, giving me time to make and have a coffee in the bungalow’s tiny kitchen (but no breakfast).

Drop off my key at the restaurant. (The staff was in early prepping breakfast.)

Leave my overnight bag in the locked bungalow. (The housekeeping staff would move it to the front office while I was out – presumably before 10:30. I would return to the hotel after the dive to shower and change in their guest lounge, pick up my overnight bag and return to the ship.)

I set out at 6:40 am with my dive gear slung over my back for the 20- minute walk to Tipanier Beach Hotel and the dive shop. The sun was low, and the cool evening air still lingered, so the walk, though brisk, was pleasant. Along the way, I saw several wonderful, wonderfully large beach front properties.

I was the last of eight divers to arrive, and I quickly joined them in assembling and checking gear and loading it onboard.

I wished there had been more time to relax and appreciate the heavenly Tipanier Beach. (I would have a chance to do so later in the day, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.)

I was startled when the ride out to the dive sight headed East, back towards Opunohu Bay. We sped so far East that we passed the Volendam, coming to a stop at a dive buoy located midpoint between Opunohu Bay and Cook’s Bay. I literally could have jumped off the ship and swam over to the dive site, if such behavior was allowed!!

The visibility at the site was great, and very quickly after arriving at our 45-foot depth, we encountered a large green turtle napping on the ocean floor. Turtles are always comical in this state because they inevitably open their eyes at some point…. and then close them without budging any other part of their body, as if to say: “Oh, not you again.”

This site was a level white sand bottom punctuated with the tallest coral mounds we had seen on the cruise. They radiated with every tropical fish in the Fish of Tahiti guide. We also saw two white tip sharks on the move and one bigger black tip napping in a sandy clearing. 500 bar came all to soon, and we soon started our ascent.

I really liked this dive shop’s practice of not sending the boat out with 2 tanks per diver, doing the first dive, spending a surface interval on the boat, doing the second dive, and then returning to the shop. Instead, we took our first dive and then returned to the shop for the surface interval. There we enjoyed some hot tea, cookies, camaraderie and views of the beautiful lagoon.

Some might call it a “more civilized approach.” Others, a “more laid-back approach.” I call it one that offered equal time to the beauty of Moorea above the water as well as the beauty below. I think the French simply call it “enchante.”

That enchantment carried over to the 2nd dive where we encountered schools of large Lemonpeel Angelfish who swam with us, or us with them, not for a few seconds, but for several minutes over a significant distance. Had we become a member of their tribe? Or they of ours? Don’t know. Don’t care. All I know is that we were together, fighting the same currents, traversing the same space, living together some of the best advice I’ve ever heard: “Just Keep Swimming!”Profound? Yes. Sublime? Yes. But more importantly, a helluva lot of FUN!!

This site also offered a chance to see some extremely large surgeon fish. And in the finer details, I spotted a few Zebra shrimp hiding out.

We returned to Tipanier Beach around 11:15 am and by 11:45, I was heading out on the 20-minute hike back to Hibiscus Hotel. Five hours prior, the walk that had been so pleasant and full of promise for a beautiful day was now hot and sweltering and filled with thirst. My gear bag, its contents dripping wet, weighed me down. Trudging along, I passed a large public park and beach where I noticed three street toughs hanging out under some trees near the road. My thoughts didn’t linger on them, as I was focused on the Hibiscus Hotel, its cool lobby, a shower, and lots and lots of water to drink.

Everything was great when I arrived: my bag was stored in the manager’s office, towels and toiletries awaited me in the shower, there was even a complimentary shell lei to mark the happy occasion as I was collecting my things to leave.  So I was stunned, when after asking politely in French: “Est-ce que possible que telephoner un taxi pour moi, s’il vous plais?  I was told: “Non.”  Thinking I might be somewhat deranged from nitrogen narcosis and not hearing correctly, I repeated my question, only to get the same answer: “Non.”  

At that point I gave up trying to communicate in my host’s language and went directly to: “You mean I just spent $200 US to spend only 10 hours in your hotel and you CAN’T call a taxi for me?” 

“Yes, Monsieur, that is correct.  If you want a taxi, you can go out to the road and hail one as it passes.”  

I didn’t bother getting into the fact that it was now noon and broiling outside and that if there was a free taxi anywhere on the island, it would be at Opunohu Bay picking up my fellow passengers looking to take a spin around the island.  

Logic: Zed Hauteur: Won

So I threw my still dripping dive bag over one shoulder and my overnight bag over the other and started walking back towards Opunohu Bay and the Tipanier Beach Hotel.  By the time I reached the three toughs hanging out in the park, I was dripping more than my dive bag was.  I also realized I was flashing a lot more bling than I was when I passed them earlier.  While two licked their chops, one called out to me: “Hey, do you need a ride?”  “Oh, no thanks,” I said.  “I’m just going to that restaurant across the road to get something to eat.”  And then I crossed the road and went inside that restaurant. 

I wanted to stay, but it was too damn hot. There was no roof, just a pergola, which meant I’d look like a candy cane in the time it would take to have lunch. So up and out again to the pavement I went. The toughs were nowhere to be seen. I should have at least bought water!!

It was now 12:45 pm, and torrents of sweat turned my royal blue T-shirt to midnight blue. I attempted to hail every cab that passed; all were headed west, not east, as I had suspected they would be. The drivers all made circles with their index fingers as they passed, which I interpreted as meaning they’d catch me on the rebound. It might as well have meant “after 1 rotation of the earth I’ll be back” because there were never any cabs going my way. Finally, within view of the Tipanier Hotel, I felt sick and sought refuge in the shade of some bushes off the road. I took off my shirt to get air on my body. I had stopped sweating and was getting clammy: heat stroke. (NOTE: To those who don’t SCUBA dive: there are two types of divers. Divers who pee in their wetsuit, and divers who lie about it. It’s the inevitable result of a condition called Immersion Diuresis . The human body reacts to the cool water temperature by pullingfluids away from the skin and extremities and towards the organs at its core. This results in lots more urination. For this reason, one needs to pay special attention to hydration when diving. Obviously, I hadn’t done a good enough job today.)

I cooled off in the shade until I felt well enough to make the last 100 yards to the Tipanier Hotel.  I greeted the security guard in the drive who I had bid farewell to just a couple of hours ago.  “Je retourne pour dejeuner, s’il vous plais.”  

“Are you on the cruise ship?”

“Yes”

“Then you can’t have lunch.”

“What!?!”  

“If you’re on the cruise ship you can’t have lunch.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Speak to the hotel receptionist.”

Entering the office: “Bon jour.  I was here this morning for a 2-tank dive at your dive shop.  I’ve just returned from picking up my things at the Hibiscus Hotel, and I’d like to have lunch, if I could please.”

“Are you on the cruise ship?”

“Yes”

“Then you can’t have lunch.  You must have a reservation.”

Losing it: “Well, may I please be allowed to at least purchase a bottle of water?”

“Let me check with the kitchen” she says coolly as she dials.

(They chat in French.)

“Yes, you can buy a bottle of water.”

I pull my wallet and phone out of my bag and turn to make the corner in the direction of the restaurant.

“Monsieur,” she calls out.  “The kitchen says that you can have lunch.”

So I dragged my bags and myself down to the beach. I had thought the beach looked heavenly earlier, but it looked even better holding the promise of sweet, cold water.

The restaurant was filled with large groups of diners, eight to twelve at each table, apparently all local, or at the very least,French from the motherland. I found a table on the periphery near a covered patio directly overlooking the beach: it was blessed with a whiff of breeze. When my waitress-cum-nurse produced a large bottle of water, my first instinct was to drink it all down ASAP, but then I remembered to treat it as a transfusion and sip slowly.

By the time my lunch arrived, I was well on the way to recovery, and very, very hungry. I had been so focused on thirst that I hadn’t realized I was also famished!

Lunch at the Tipanier Hotel is a simple affair. There is only one item on the menu: Poisson Cru. On this day, tuna — the freshest tuna I’ve ever had! It’s offered as tartare, carpaccio, or poke Tahitian style in lime and coconut. Also, thankfully, a Trio plateis available which I leapt at. When my lunch arrived, I began to understand why access to this spot must be controlled. There was easily a pound of silken, sushi-grade blackfin in total amongthe three presentations on my plate. None of it could have been out of the water for more than a few hours. So yes, better to control the number of customers in advance rather than sending any home hungry when the tuna runs out! All was forgiven – well, at least for this establishment.

After lunch, I sauntered over to the Dive Shop and begged them to call a taxi for me, which they were happy to do so I needn’t have begged. It arrived about 15 minutes later and in another ten, I arrived back at the pier in Opunohu Bay. I tried to find my friend Paloma who had given me a ride the night before, but she was in Pape’ete for the day. This is her friend Marlene wearinga beautiful headdress or crown seen on many of the French Polynesian women.

I made it back onboard the Volendam around 4:00. Plenty of time to freshen up and then go to the aft deck for raising of the anchor at 5:00 and waving a fond farewell to the Xanadu that is Moorea. We were treated to a vivid orange sunset.

Well after the sun had set and we were far out to sea, Moorea’s saw-toothed mountains could still be seen.

It was hard to turn my back and put them behind me.

Mahalo and Aloha!