What a difference a day and ten nautical miles make. After Papeete's dubious attractions, Moorea welcomed us into its tropical gardens, rugged mountains shaped like serrated daggers, translucent waters and small town atmosphere. We anchored in scenic Cook's Bay, the other one being Opunohu Bay - equally scenic.
Tendering brought us to a small village pier, beside an abandoned hotel and another one still operating. A little bridge over the clear lagoon offered a sample view of the multitudes of colourful coral fish in the surrounding lagoon.
Flower adorned vendors hat set up tents and tables loaded with black pearl trinkets, iron wood carvings, shell adornments, pareus and t-shirts. Strolling past them, before reaching the one and only road circling the island three little tables acted as car rental offices: Europcar, Avis and one without a name.
I had pre-booked a car here just like in Tahiti (where I was deemed too ancient to drive without a health certificate). I headed for the no-name table manned by an husky, smiling Polynesian, and indeed it was 'Albert's' representative, French speaking with a smattering of English. I was in the right place, and I used my faulty French.
Yes, he remembered my booking - not a piece of paper anywhere, though. Within a couple of minutes, he filled in a little form with my name, drivers license number, birth date, type and plate number of rental car, and duration of rental. No small print. Price 6000 Polynesian Francs, taxes, kilometers and insurance (all verbal stuff) included. Something like $70, which was less than he quoted me via the internet. I handed over a 10,000 Franc note, he had no change. "Pay me when you get back", he suggested. He handed me a key, walked me to a little white 'Clio', turned the ignition - fuel tank empty.
"Drive to the gas station around the corner", he said, "there is enought gas to get you there. Fill it up with 1000 Francs, that is enough to drive around the island and leave it just as empty as you got it'. Of course, all this interchange happened in French.
He walked off and I tried to ease the handbrake. It did not budge. Another Polynesian man with baby in arms watched me, and I asked him for help. He came over, and tried to ease the brake. It did not budge.
Back to Mr. Albert again manning his open air office. Back to the car, a bit of rolling forward and he eased the brake loose.
I was off to the gas station, put in 1200 Francs of gas, just to make sure I would last the 30 or so kilometers. Hardly any traffic, speed limit 60 km, pleasant coastal cruising. No rain either. I meandered slowly along, stopping at quaint churches (no mould), little stone bridges where sacred eels swam in the clear river waters, a couple of small beach resorts, young people working on their lap tops on a beach side picnic table, a few small village stores and ever changing views of the colourful waters dotted with sailboats and out rigger canoes inside the all emcompassing reef. Inland, every bend in the road opened to another spectacular vista of deep green valleys, craggy mountains and peaks, and clouds snagging on the highest summits.
Being so small an island, it took no time to drive most of the distance around, and reach the Ferry Dock, where I saw the only large presence of cars: people who go day-shopping in Tahiti - via quick passenger ferry ride - leave their cars near the dock. Another larger ferry actually transported cars and passengers over to Papeete, a service that was unavailable in the Sixties, when I visited here last. A little further around the northeastern tip of the island is an inter-island airport, then 'the Hotel Strip'.
The coastal road rises high above lagoon level and a look out allows a vast vista of the emerald sea below, mountainous Tahiti in the distance, and the rows of hotel huts built over the water. Some international luxury outfit.
The old Bali Hai Hotel is supposed to be still open and one of the original Americans who ran it in the Sixties is still around serving drinks. However, it must have retreated into some kind of oblivion as I could not find the entrance, nor any other remnants.
It was only noon, weather benevolent, and I reached Cooks Bay again too early to return my trusty little Clio and plenty of gas left.
I restarted the 'round the island' with a difference - up into the hills to the Belvedere Lookout. The narrow paved road turned into a dirt track just after leaving the little village of Paopao behind. Potholes, creeks flowing across the road, hairpin bends, huge puddles...there were moments where I was not so sure, whether the little car wold ever make it. But after another hair rising bend, I reached a paved road. This one much narrower than before, but at least without pot holes. Instead the hairpin bends, switchbacks, precipitous drops increased. Now I was worried that the car would die on one of those steep inclines, in the middle of a scary bend in the road - and the handbrake would fail.
But - I made it, and was rewarded with a panoramic view from high above the two famous Bays of Moorea. A Holland America tour had brought a few cruise guests to this point - via four wheel drive of course. Everyone stood around amongst the clucking chickens (up here??) and oohed and aahed at the glorious vista, and one lady drawled, 'Is that our ship down there in that Bay?'
Another guest rolled his eyes and mumbled, 'Its the only ship in the only two bays, and there is nothing else around'.....locic again.
I asked the tour guide, what wold be the least 'exciting' route down to the coast. He said to head for Opunuho Bay at the dirt track intersection. And, lo and behold, after I negotiated the snakey descend to that point, there actually was another, almost straight, paved road back to the coast. My palms dried up, and I enjoyed my last couple of kilometers back to the tender dock, petrol tank back to previous level.
By now, Mr Albert had enough change on hand, I settled my account in cash, and that was it. No ageism on Moorea!
I'd rather spent a couple of days in this little paradise, than in somewhat decrepit Papeete...but we steamed out of Cooks Bay (Cook by the way never got here - he anchored in the adjacent Bay), through the opening in the reef into the wide ocean headed into the sunset and to the Tuamotu Archipelago.
