I realize the title doesn’t rhyme. I’m
hoping you read it as if it does.
Pour yourself a cup of coffee (use creamer if you want to make us jealous) and channel your inner Moana and join us remotely…
This year’s adventure took us straight into the heart of French Polynesia… a little “Laura Laura in Bora Bora,” if you will. One group text a mile long describing in detail all the things each of us would be packing (including, but not limited to, a complete pharmacy and medical tape),
one quick little drive to SF, and an extremely uneventful 8 hour flight in the best way possible (imagine no crying babies, no seat kickers, lots of snacks) and we were in Tahiti! I don’t know about you, but turns out being serenaded by the local band upon arrival is a new thing I will now be expecting everywhere. Pull it together, FAT.
Our Papeete hotel was a quick cab drive away and was perfect for a one night stay. I was particularly fond of the Tahitian ingenuity of magic tricks! They threw a sheet over a piece of cardboard and said TA DA, there’s the fourth bed! It was genius! Nothing a little ibuprofen from the traveling pharmacy couldn’t solve.
After a quick stop at a Shell station to get someone a new toothbrush because their original was accidentally compromised, we headed for the ferry to Moorea with time to spare! We left the seasick (Heather) down below with the peons (although turns out the snack bar had CHICKEN BROTH FLAVORED CHIPS) and enjoyed a ride on the starboard side getting us to the most beautiful land of all… Moorea. Picture some mountains, some ocean, some roosters, some more roosters, just a few more roosters… and there you have it.
We hopped in a taxi with an English speaking delight named Jazliene. That’s what I called her. Some of us called her “what’s her face” and some of us called her by her actual name, but I’m not some of us. She got us to to our Airbnb by some miracle, since our directions said things like “if you get to the 37th rooster, you’re almost there”, etc etc. Our gracious Airbnb host, Antoine, was waiting for us… however, he only spoke French so he may have been livid and we’ll never know. What we DO know is he gave us a ride to the grocery store to grab the essentials (you know, like cheese and paper towels), as well as the scooter rental place. Poor Antoine had to be our liaison as we tried to convince them in English we were FULLY CAPABLE of driving two scooters whilst scooter man tried to convince Antoine we most certainly were not, only in Francais.
We won the battle but lost the war, as it turns out. (All French jokes aside.) We got our scooters, we regretted it, we had some injuries, some scooters crashed, an ankle was significantly bruised, some scooters refused to be pushed up the hill to the Airbnb… long story short, we returned the scooters for a car the next day.
Before that, though, we ate a lovely lunch beachside, pushed the scooters manually up a most massive hill amidst some feral dogs and an even feraler poultry situation, had a delightful cheese plate at a resort across the street while watching the sunset, did not panic at all over a couple foreign bugs, and called it a night.
Remember the scooters? They were the worst, right? Well, we left them with our friends at Moorea Fun Bike bright and early (imagine a French man clapping with glee and delight that we survived the night with those death traps), and Jazliene/whatever her name was picked us up and dropped us off down the way with a cheery, “The waterfall is that way, have fun!” The “trail” to the waterfall was basically a dirt road through some private property and included some super fun wildlife! By “super fun wildlife”, I mean pit bulls. And wild German shepherds. And chihuahuas. All the canine fun! By some miracle, we made it to a waterfall and had a lovely time playing a game of “I’m going to go for a swim right here wait was that a python or an eel HEEEEEELP”. It was really the best game ever. Turns out it was an eel. Jazliene told us later, “Heh heh, forgot to tell you about those,” which is code for “I almost let you get killed.” It was an eel, if you’re curious. No snakes on this island, according to Captain Ron (you’ll meet him later, promise). Jazliene picked us up on the side of the road afterward and dropped us back off at Moorea Fun Bike (yeah, the scooter place that nightmares are made of) in order for us to get our car. This is how it went…
Us: There’s no one here.
Nyrie: I’ll WhatsApp him. Hi, we’re here to pick up our car.
Moorea Fun Bike Guy (in French accent): Ooooh. We don’t have a car for you.
Nyrie: What? We are supposed to pick up a car today.
Moorea Fun Bike Guy (still speaking in French accent for some reason): We don’t have a car. Wait for me, please. I’ll be there in five minutes.
Us… waiting for five minutes…
Moorea Fun Bike Guy shows up…: Here’s your car!
Are you confused? Us too.
You know what else is confusing? When you’re trying to find a tour you booked over at some beach and you call the guy and say, “We’re parked by a blue van and there are some tires on the road.” Leo the tour guy said, “That’s a great spot, stay there!”
Who needs Google Maps? As long as you’ve got a blue van and some tires in the road for reference, it’s all good. The tour itself was for a sunset catamaran cruise. Sounds like a relaxing good time, yes? Not if you ACCIDENTALLY wear your shoes on deck (he hates that). Not if you ACCIDENTALLY yell, “You better hang on, spider monkey!” as you grip the underside of the net after cowabungaing into the water (he also really hates that). Regardless, hanging out on a catamaran net during a three hour tour of open water chasing the sunset was unreal.
After Leo dropped us off and practically peeled out to get away from us (which is not easy to do in a boat), we headed to the Hilton to see how the other half lives on this island… and to try their over the water crepe restaurant. It’s like trying to get into Fort Sumter. Lady at gate? Didn’t believe that we would attempt it without a reservation… until she called us in and, three cheers for us, there had just been a cancellation! Lady in lobby? Didn’t believe we had a reservation. Four cheers for us, she had to eat rooster when she found out we did. (No one eats crow around here due to the surplus of roosters). The crepe restaurant was great, with the highlight being reef sharks just under our feet, hoping to get bits of crepe. I guess they are French sharks. Le sharks, perhaps!
Back to Cook’s Bay for a night of falling asleep while blissfully listening to the waves and the crowing of very confused roosters who can’t tell time!
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