If Moorea is mountainous, Rangiroa in the Tuamotus is as flat as can be.
Rangiroa or Ra'iroa means 'large sky', and the sky does rival any horizon to horizon expanse of the Prairies, where instead of wall to wall wheat fields, we have reef to reef lagoon with numerous flat little dots of land surrounding it. Maximum elevation 6 feet, another candidate for submersion in global warming. The total landmass of all these specs of land is only 40 square kilometers.
Rangiroa is the second largest atoll in the world, and it consists of 240 motus (islets), separated by more than 100 hoa (tiny channels). The lagoon is immense, 1600 square km, and the islands being so low, one cannot see from one side of the lagoon to the other. The stunning array of translucent colours of the lagoon and the surroundiing ocean mesmerize the visitor.
Our ship actually entered at slack tide through Tipute Pass, which runs more than 10 knots current at maximum run. Heaven for dolphins playing in standing waves, heaven for divers and drift snorkelers 'shooting the pass' on the rushing current through a plethora of sea creatures and corals, highlighted by numerous sharks, eagle rays and tuna on the ocean side of the pass, and millions of colourful tropical fish and coral on the inside of the pass. Endless white sandy beaches, backed by waving palms and flowering hibiscus, frangipani, tiare as well as breadfruit, lime and mango trees complete the picture of South Sea paradise.
We tendered to a dock, which was mostly taken up by a small delivery freighter unloading consumer goods and loading copra. The rest of the dock was crowded with small fishing skiffs, glass bottom boats, and water taxis - not much room to squeeze in a tender, especially as the small space of surrounding deeper waters was also restricted by coral heads, shallows and bits of reef.
Avatoru Motu, where we landed, is about 12 km long and in most places no wider than a football field. Half the population of the 'capital' of Tiputa and the port of Avatoru had gathered and set up shop near the small concrete pier. A tiny restaurant sat on stilts suspended above the brilliant clear lagoon. The Tuamotus had opened for business.
I had not booked a tour, which were mostly geared to divers and snorklers, so set out to find 'transport' to explore at least this little motu. One of the famous 'Le Trucks' was parked near the pier, with a couple of ladies holding up a piece of cardboard, advertising 'Village tour which guide $12 (1000 Francs) and which Beech $15 (1200 Francs)". That was all the (grammatically challenging) English there was. As soon as I spoke French with them, the two ladies captured me and conducted their onslaught of questions from the visitors to my (grammatically challenging) French translation. I soon got in the swing of it, and answered everything from where to, how long, are there shops, what is there to see, how do we get back, where is the beach.....and of course, everyone spoke at once. Between the three of us, we figured out a 'ticket' method, to identify the 'village' tourers from the 'beech' tourers, as there were no wristbands or stamps or tickets. Some Franglish later, we used a permanent marker to paint a V or a VB on everyones wrist, depending on their 13 or 15 dollar fare. Change was another matter - dollars and francs all mixed up, and almost no one having small denominations. I sacrificed my stack of US Ones in exchange of the first large bill presented by a potential passenger. And the local lady handling the cash got the register going. Some people thought I was the 'official organizer', but I clarified that I was just a shanghaied helper...that elevated my 'position' to the point that everyone promised to buy me a drink back on the ship.
Anyway, after a while Le Truck filled up with passengers all dripping with sweat (it became searing hot in no time), and I was invited to sit with the guide ladies 'avant' - gratis - and keep up 'le traduction' for the duration of the bumpy ride.The lady read from a prepared handwritten script, pointing out island airport, school, dispensary, church, Hotel Kia Ora under construction - they all seem to be under construction or closed - power generating plant and post office. She gave me the bit to read that said: "Once in a lifetime, Tuamoto people travel to America. They like to visit Costco, Walmart, Seaworld and Disney on their vacation". Well, Paradise is in the eye of the beholder I suppose.
I translated information about economy (Fish, Copra, Pearls and Tourism), schools (primary, high and 'college' on the island) religions (the whole gamut) and 'shopping opportunities' in Avatoru (postage stamps, and groceries and beer), number of flights from the airport (30 local flights per week), other cruise ships (maybe four a year), banks (two) etc etc. We stopped at Avatoru, a tiny settlement, where the road for this particular Motu ended. There was a 'marina', which constisted of a short concrete pier, where fishing skiffs seem suspended in emerald coloured water. Beside the pier side bistro, was a toilet, which did not flush.
As there was no shopping to be done (an absolutely must do for many of the female passengers) everyone admired the shimmering colours of the lagoon, and after an ear splitting whistle from the driver, we all climbed back on Le Truck and headed for La Plage. The guide ladies asked me - quite concerned - if I was getting off at la plage, and leave the truck. No - I was staying on. Relieved, they asked me to remain for the NEXT load of tourists. Well, why not.
In sight of the ship, almost walking distance away from the tender dock, the bathers got off at a dreamlike georgeous beach. Here again, my limited translation services came in handy regarding info about pick up later: 'More or less every hour, the bus just turns up, someone hollers youhou, and then bathers can get back to the tender.'
And so it went, I did another 'tour of duty' this time quite 'the expert', and we had a happy bunch of people aboard. In Avatoru, I led the charge to the grocery store, where a bunch of people satisfied their shopping addiction/thirst by purchasing Hinano beer and Coca Cola.
The guide ladies invited me for lunch (poisson cru for me), which they bought at Avatoru Bistro, whilst the driver took this bus load for an bonus turn through the village past another dock where copra was being loaded. Guide ladies with a cardboard box filled with our lunches back aboard, we trucked back to the 'beech'. We picked up a few passengers from the first tour, amongst them one couple who promised to 'pay at the finish of the tour because they had no correct change' and dropped them off at the tender dock. The couple with 'no change' disappeared without further ado amongst the dock side shopping tents, and the ladies were somewhat shocked at that affront, but did not run off in hot pursuit. I felt embarrassed, the 'guides' had been honest and trusting, and my fellow passengers too cheap to pay their modest fare.
Well, I had a fun - and delicious - lunch in the back of the truck with driver and ladies, when I asked to be retired from duty. They graciously accepted my resignation, and I wandered off to grab a water taxi ($10 for us, $ 6 for the locals) across the churning pass to the adjoining Motu, to visit Tiputa. More churches, neat houses, a dock with more copra being loaded, coral fences around properties, a large shady tree beside an artisan building, which was open. A few tourist stragglers wandering through the neat little town, then back onto the same water taxi. The driver, tatooed from head to toe, had 'rested' in the shade until he saw me returning to Tiputa dock.
Open air shops were busy, the little bistro at the tender dock was crammed full with visitors, drinking Hinano, eating Poisson Cru (the ones in the know) and Hamburgers and Fries (the ones not in the know) and watching the living aquarium below the porch railing: every fish imaginable, even a large stone fish who looked like a sandy piece of coral (their sting is extremely painful, worse than a scorpion) and a few sting rays frolicked in the crystal clear waters.
And so - a day in Paradise came to an end, we weighed anchor to catch slack tide again (the Captain was on time) and left for the Marquesas....
