A Beatnik, A German and a Dane Walked Onto an Island …

We arrived in Taha’a on Monday evening, after a lovely time in Huahine.  The sail across - 25 nautical miles or so - was brisk, in 15-20 knots of wind on an easterly broad reach.  Ile de Grace pushed merrily along at 6-8 knots on a full main and genoa.  The islands of Raiatea and Taha’a are in the same lagoon, two mountains divided by a deep and narrow passage, and together surrounded by a deep channel between the land’s edge and the outlining coral reef.

Approaching these islands is straightforward, but the underwater topography is more than a little interesting.  Coming across from Huahine, we were in 2500 feet of water, until just several hundred yards before the shallow reef surrounding Taha’a and Raiatea.  At that point, the ocean floor rises abruptly to sea level in the space of just a hundred yards or so – a large version of the “wall” we dove in Tahiti.  Imagine an underwater cliff several thousand feet high.  At the top of the “wall” lies a coral reef perhaps a few dozen yards wide, beyond which lies calm and shallow water, a sandy bottom punctuated by coral gardens, and then, a deep channel – perhaps 100-200 feet deep, and, just before the rising mountains of the land, the water again shoals quickly (perhaps within a few dozen feet) to waters just 4-8 feet deep.  This is the generic topography of these volcanic islands, and Taha’a/Raiatea are no exception.  Once inside the lagoon, the swells of the ocean disappear, and the water color changes from the deep blue of the ocean to the turquoise and aquamarine colors of postcards.  The lines between the colors are sharp and distinct, and allow for eyeball navigation:  stay in the darker blue waters and you’re fine.  Light blue moving to yellow (sand) or brown (coral) and you’re headed to the shallows.

Once through the passage, which trade winds and currents had cut through the reef, we circled clockwise around to the so-called Taravana Yacht Club, run by Richard, a displaced San Franciscan married to a Tahitian.  He’s an eternally jovial host, in constant motion, and us his story about moving to Hawaii  in 1969, and arriving in Bora Bora (the next island up the chain) via Hawaii.  Arriving in 1972, these islands were a different place, but one aspect remains constant:  generosity.  On arrival in a small sailboat (no engine), he experienced the Polynesian way:  a bundle of fruits was left on his deck each morning by a local fisherman headed out beyond the lagoon for a day’s fishing.  After a few days, Richard was invited into the fisherman’s home, and before long, Richard found himself a local girl to marry, and he now runs a distinctly American-flavored watering spot on the water’s edge.

That night, we arranged to join Richard and his merry crew for their weekly buffet feast, followed by an exhibition of local music and dancing.  The island of Taha’a has only about 5000 inhabitants, and before Richard, had no regular venue for their local artists.  

The locals’ passion for their music made up for their amateur status (no threat to the Heiva winners!), and the highlight came with an 8-9 year old boy spinning fire sticks in the Polynesian night.  They start everything early, and as a dancer, the same boy displayed some moves that might have landed him in jail in the US, and certainly led us to understand the mortified responses of the early missionaries in these parts.  (It having to do with explicit hip thrusts that would make any hip hop artist blush).

The next morning, we retraced our steps to anchor ile de Grace in the sandy flats behind the lagoon entrance, in the lee of a small motu (small island).  From there, we loaded the 20hp Honda onto the dinghy (we had purchased a 3.3 hp Mercury in Tahiti to have a spare engine as we head to more remote island groups, and to provide us a light and easy-to-deploy motor), and headed off to the Hibiscus Hotel.

Actually, it was the Hibisicus Foundation.  This is a small (!) non-profit located in the hotel of the same name, run by an ex-pat German named Leo, and dedicated to conserving sea turtles by purchasing local fishermens’ catches of same (live) and returning them to the ocean.  With a local market for live turtles, Leo has provided the fishermen an economic incentive to bring him the turtles that inadvertently end up in their fish traps.  He’s connected with worldwide turtle conservation efforts and surely possesses the region’s most comprehensive library of turtle-related research and literature.  The green turtle is reasonably common in and around the lagoons and out in the ocean; we see them periodically swimming near the surface.  They are called “green turtles” because of the color of their fat – their shells are often streaked with orange.

From Leo’s turtle sanctuary, we drove our dinghy out the bay and around the point to the Valle de Vanille, one of the larger vanilla plantations on Taha’a.  Along with Huahine, Taha’a grows most of the especially-strong Tahitian vanilla, and we were eager to learn more about this special orchid.  Yes – to our surprise, vanilla is an orchid, the only orchid in fact that has a culinary use.  There, we met Erik, a transplanted Dane and owner (along with his Polynesian wife) of the 2,500-plant plantation.  As an orchid, vanilla grows as a vine – hanging on other trees.  

The plant is allowed to grow for 2 years on its own, with continual pruning to encourage more flowers.  After it grows to a certain length, it’s allowed to flower (sun/shade proportions are crucial, and the recent clouding-over of these climes have challenged Erik and other vanilla plantation owners).  Then, manually, each flower (containing both male and female stems) is fertilized by opening the “female” bud and taking the “male” stem and inserting it into the female bud. 

In other island groups, such as Madagascar, butterflies provide the labor; lacking the same, humans are deployed on Taha’a.  Nine months later, the vanilla bean (one per flower) is ready for harvest, after which another several months of drying and preparation are required.

In each case – Richard, Leo, and Erik – a non-local married a local (only locals can own land), and in each case, the new locals have worked within the local norms and cultures – and in fact, have helped to deepen the traditions, cultures, marine, and plant life of the these islands.  It’s not easy to immigrate to French Polynesia – Richard said even discovering what the rules are is a multi-year challenge – but perhaps the challenges weed out the opportunists, leaving only a recovering Beatnik, a German, and a Dane on the shores of this volcanic island, just south of the tourist mecca of Bora Bora (of which, it is said, is only beautiful below the water).

Next stops:  Diving the reef wall of Raiatea, visiting the largest mara'e in French Polynesia, and then onto Bora Bora.