Sunday, 10 October 2010, the Rotterdam threaded her way through the narrow entry of the reef surrounding the islands of Raiatea and Tahaa, both mountainous and rugged. We docked, really DOCKED, at Uturoa, the main port. For a welcome, the heavens opened and drenched us in a tropical downpour, a group of colourfully attired Polynesians sang, drummed and danced, and then the sun emerged again together with a couple of mystical rainbows.
Sunday in French Polynesia: the town is shut down, the churches are busy, the marked locked up. No cruise ship could upset the sacred custom of Sunday for Church and Family
Nevertheless, a few enterprising locals had set up shop for flowers, souvenirs, and pearls, a couple of portside bistros had opened their doors, and the rest of town did not rise from the reigning tropical torpor. I entered a small art gallery, where the Fench owners explained, that it would be impossible to attract any employees to work on a Sunday. A little further down the road, a little church conducted 'polynesian mass', with a dress code requesting either flower leis or flower crowns. The congregation sang Polynesian hymns, accompanied by guitars, and swayed to the sweet sounds, holding hands.
Raiatea is the 'sailing capital' of French Polynesia, and a forest of masts from one of the many marinas rose beyond a bend in the road. The control tower ot the local airport could be seen from town.
As there was no local bus transport, I had booked a tour of the 'sacred island' to visit one of the many Maraes, ancient ceremonial meeting places.
Raiatea was known as Havai'i Nui, rush of the big water, where chiefs from the remotest islands of Polynesia would meet to conduct sacred ceremonies, exchange oral history of their tribes, and compete in dancing and singing, and feast for days.
The Rotterdam just stayed for a day, and then glided through the crystal clear waters of the lagoon to exit into the ocean again and head for Bora Bora, wich could be seen on the horizon.
