Ariving in Papeete, Tahiti, falls short of romantic Hollywood style South Seas billing. Bright sunshine lit up the mountainous backdrop. Development in the form of mostly ugly buildings has started to creep up into the dense rainforest below the peaks, an industrial port stacked high with containers marred the pristine bay, and 'almost highrise' shopping centres clog historic downtown. The churches are dwarfed, and palmtrees are replaced by traffic lights. Little elegant French shops are replaced with tourist stores, traffic is atrocious, and downtown is a sea of graffiti on mouldy walls. There is so much traffic, a local ambulance lights flashing and sirens blaring was stuck forever in one of those snarls.
The ship, enjoying a comfortable large dock in the centre of town, was welcomed by singers and a group of drummers, displaying the most fascinating and artistic tribal tatoos imaginable. Weather forecast broadcast aboard: a day of sunshine!
Papeete means 'water bucket', and the name likely refers to the traditional method of collecting water from a spring near the capital. Maybe the spring is long gone, but Papeete almost immediately turned into a water bucket, with tepid drizzle competing with tropical downpours as soon as we stepped ashore.
Not to worry - I had booked a little car on the internet a month ago...Europcar, a reputable outfit, that even sent me a confirmation via e-mail. Off I go, drivers license and copy of passport in hand to duck into the rental agency across the road (plugged with cars - the old typical mopeds are long gone). Car was ready, a Clio, putrid green in colour. I handed over my drivers license to the lady agent, who filled out the contract by hand meticulously and slowly. When she reached my birthdate she looked up and asked: 'Do you have health certificate?' I answered, 'no -why?'
Very apologetically she explained (of course all this goes on in French, as she does not speak nor understand English) that French Law requires anyone above a certain age to be 'certifyably healthy'. Well, I haven't had anything to complain about yet, and I certainly did not carry anything in writing proving my well being - but, not enough: no car for this old girl! She looked embarrased, wrung her hands, apologized even more, and I assured her, that it was no problem for me - I would take 'Le Truck' again. The next person loaded with snorkel gear waiting in line took the car - a rare commodity for people who had not pre booked.
I headed to the bus stop dodging the rain.
A number of pretty modern buses came by, most just commuter buses going from one end of town to the other. 'Le Truck' had evolved as well, no longer the wooden open sided contraptions where chickens shared space with passengers.
Finally one stopped going to Papenoo, near Point Venus. A good stop to revisit the place where Captain Cook, in the year 1769, observed the Transit of Venus. I got off at the Point Venus intersection, when the heavens opened up in earnest. I took refuge under a tree, and asked a fellow rainsoaked lady, how far to walk to Point Venus. She assured me it was 'Very Far, too far to walk', especially in the rain without an umbrella. So I waited again, for the half hourly bus travelling half way around the island, where a connecting bus would take me back for the rest of the circumnavigation. The bus stop of suburban Papenoo had me surrounded by a couple of high graffiti covered walls, a gas station, a laundromat and a grocery store - and one large mango tree, that provided scant shelter from the rain. Romantic - I swore I would take the next bus regardless of direction to get off that spot in the street.
About an hour and a half later the Island bus arrived, a little more 'ancient' than the air conditioned commuter buses. This one with open windows for air conditioning, filled with local people. Fine with me. I got on, paid my 450 Polynesian Francs ($5), when people beckoned to me and made room for me to sit down. As the only 'non local' aboard, passengers pointed out various landmarks, and in general were very sweet. Nothing much of beauty to see, except rain, mist filled valleys, road construction, some waterfalls in the distance, rivers running brown with mud, lots of decrepit looking houses and sheds, garbage heaps by the road, mould covered churches, and more dwellings made from everything from corrugated rusted metal sheets, to clapboard, plywood, bits of papered over glass and more graffiti.The rain did not help either....
What has happened to beautiful Tahiti...even the 'hotel area' looked decrepit and ugly, and some of 'the most luxurious' backed on concrete highways with even more graffiti on every suitable surface. If it was not covered by graffiti, it was covered by Kudzu, an invasive vine species that appears to take over the Island's green slopes, strangling trees, covering old abandoned buildings, blanketing existing plant life.
Eventually the bus turned onto the istmus between Tahiti Nui (the Big Island) and Tahiti Iti (the connecting Little Island) and it was time to get off and wait for the connecting bus. By this time I was almost the only passenger aboard, except for one guy who had fallen asleep laying across the rear bench. The bus driver got up, walked towards him, yelled something in Polynesian and the guy got up, and sleepily climbed off the bus as well. Ten minutes - in the rain - to wait for the next bus. Luckily there was a 'snack bar' open to the street.
A warm half French baguette, layered with fresh cheese, tomato and lettuce later (200 Polynesian Franks) I was quite happy - rain nonwithstanding. Eventually the connecting bus arrived and we drove on back towards Papeete, past the Gauguin Museum (no originals here) and the extensive Botanical Gardens (no Kudzu here) and an ancient Marae. I did not get off the bus, as it still rained buckets. Past FAAA, the airport, and back into town. Well, the adventure saved me a steep dailly fee for a rental car, and provided me with a reasonably comfortable and less pricey ride around Tahiti.
Talking about baguettes...they are home delivered, twice a day, freshly baked. However, if you want to get your mail, you need to drive downtown to the post office and pick it up yourself. The Tahittians have their priorities right!
I dodged the rain still pouring down, and skipped into the old Marchee. It has been replaced with a glass and steel structure, with looked tropically scruffy, but still was filled with fish, fruit and vegetable stalls on the ground floor, and with tourist souvenir stalls on the second.
Another change...the sexually explicit tikis, carved wooden traditional fertility statues, had lost their genitals, more so the males than the females. Now they are all unisex. Not a penis in sight! The tourists did not like to have one of those little wooden men with their larger than life private parts disturbing their Martha Stewart home decoration scheme.
The flower ladies still sit outside the market fence, under cover, and thread Tiare blossoms together and sell leis and crowns at all hours of the day - even Sundays.
Everything else, even the market, closes at 4 p.m. By that time I had puddle jumped the town without finding anything I wanted to purchase, and had taken refuge under a large awning for the obligatory consumption of one local Hinano beer. The rain was drumming on the cobble stones, and streets became somewhat quiet. I sat there, hoping for the rain to stop, until the waiters started stacking up the tables and taking the chairs away -they closed at 4:30. Nothing else to do but brave the downpour and race back to the ship.
I was totally soaked by the time I passed ship security, and the icy blast of airconditioning felt like an arctic shock after the tepid rain. Back aboard. Although I found the Tahiti 'expedition' interesting, I did not feel any urge to return to this part of French Polynesia in a hurry. So I kept my Tiare flower crown - purchased at the market, and emitting a tantalising scent of gardenias - to sacrifice it to the Ocean at a later stage. An offering of flowers to the sea gods means that one will return again sometime in the future.
