I’m out of bed even before I have had my second cup of tea because we are going exploring today. After a quick breakfast, we are, in time honoured fashion, just a few minutes later than Mike had planned – probably my fault as usual.
Carole and I do a bit more food shopping while John and Mike go and sort out the car. We spot a fresh vegetable stall opposite the supermarket, and rather than run the gauntlet of the flies in that particular section of the aforementioned shop, we choose a couple of lettuces and a bunch of green beans. Unfortunately the lady who owns the stall has disappeared off to the toilet (while we are busy choosing the best lettuce) leaving us in the hands of her dear friend, who, although very good at smiling, doesn’t seem able to serve. Ten minutes later, the stall owner re-appears (hopefully with nice clean hands) and relieves us (excuse the pun) of 820cpf (just over £6).
By the time we have finished the supermarket run, the boys have returned with a nice little car. Mike takes the shopping back to the boat while Carole and John wander through town and I stay by the car at the dock, watching the kids playing some kind of three a side football game. Today is apparently a day of festival, a commemoration of something historical we couldn’t work out, that involves an island half marathon (cycling and running), kids playing everywhere, strange Polynesian rap music (mixed even more strangely with French versions of old songs like “Itsy, Bitsy, Teeny, Weeny, Yellow, Poker-dot Bikini”), lots of communal eating and everything else being closed, as we find out later driving around the island. However, at this point we fail to understand the significance of ‘closed for festivities’.
We drive to the north of the island, past the airport (quite an impressive little building for such a small island) and along the strip of land between the sea and the large lake. Suddenly the vegetation on the side bordering the sea opens up and a beautiful deserted beach appears, with storm clouds in the distance.
The beach is an absolute treasure trove of coral and shells. We pick up a couple of nice pieces and take our booty back to the car.
A little further on we find one of the Marae sites. This one is unfortunately devoid of any information so we have no idea whether this is the full thing, or the only remaining part of a larger one.
Further down the road we stop at a bridge over a river. Here, stone fish traps have been built, as well as little huts over the river where fisherman wait to spear the fish as they swim past.
The heavens suddenly open and it absolutely throws it down. I am naturally first to the car, belting along as if I might melt (as if the heat isn’t causing that to happen to me already), while the other three wander along getting soaked.
Our next stop is an extensive marae that spreads on both sides of the road and down to the sea.
Walking back along the road to the car, hundreds of land crabs scuttle to their holes as we approach. One unfortunately, leaves it too late and is caught out in the open, and freezes as we near him, not sure which way to run. Mike bends down and aims a finger at him. The plucky little fellow raises himself up on his hind legs and waves a claw at Mike, looking as fierce as he can manage.
Having had our laugh, we stand back and watch him try to push himself into the nearest hole, which unfortunately isn’t big enough for him to get into. No doubt when we leave, he finds his proper home.
We come to the Belvedere view point at the top of Huahine Nui. I decide to climb up on the log rail to get a better picture which is probably not a good idea, but I do it anyway. Wobbling precariously (not helped by John whacking the pole – that’s another life lost) I get the shot. The view over to Huahine Iti is spectacular.
By now we are starting to feel somewhat peckish, and driving around, begin to understand the consequences of everything being closed for festivities. Even the bloody restaurants are closed. We can’t even find a supermarket now to buy some bread and ham. Every village we pass through has a communal eating area, full to the brim with locals all stuffing their faces. We start to wonder whether we can gate crash but they definitely have the air of “bring your own dish” and if we turn up empty handed – well, remember, the Polynesians used to be cannibals!
Eventually we arrive at the village of Parea. The bay here is where some of the other WARC boats have been anchored. We park the car and walk over to the beach, where, hoo-bloody-ray, there is a restaurant and it’s open. We sit quickly before they can say they are closing and order lunch. We all end up with sea food of one type or another. Sitting at our table on the beach, we can see Tucanon anchored in the bay.
We drive back towards Fare and I remember that there was a particular view we passed when it was raining that I would like to photograph now that the sun is out, so we drive back towards Maeva. Stage right, enter Elga.
Elga is a large, waddling, sarong wearing, toothless crone, with enough hair sprouting from the many warty moles on her face to make a wig. (It’s easier to see why Gauguin was attracted to 14 year olds when living in French Polynesia when you see some of the alternatives!) She steps out into the road in front of our car, waving her arms and gabbling in unintelligible French. Mike stops the car to see what the problem is, and Elga flings open the back door, suddenly knowing enough English to say “push up” and makes it very obvious that she is going to climb into the back seat regardless of whether Carole and I move. Realising that I am about to be sat on, I move over quickly and Elga heaves her not insubstantial bottom into the car. Breathing out enough cigarette fumes for us to be concerned about passive smoking, and pulling up the hem of her sarong to wipe the sweat from her brow, she tells us she wants to be taken to Faaie, a town some miles on. I explain that we are only going half that distance, but she is adamant. So am I. In the end, the only way we can get her out of the car is stopping a few miles ahead and telling her that this is where we are going sight seeing. She finally accepts this, and the last we see of her is her stepping into the road to stop each passing car. We watch from a distance noticing that we were the only silly blighters who actually stopped. Even the police car carries on its way. She must be known in the area!
We reward ourselves on the way back by buying ice creams in the only supermarket we have found open on the island. Back in Fare, the half marathon runners are arriving back at the finish line and the band is in full swing. We return the car to Avis and dinghy back to Jeannius.
Carole and John cook us a Mexican dish and not much later, we retire to our respective cabins.
No comments:
Post a Comment