Back to Paradise, part 3

   Thursday, December 12th -- Moorea

  Moorea has been described as the most beautiful island in the world by no less than Arthur Frommer, the founder of the series of travel guides that bears his name. One does not have to visit every island in the world to doubt him. Few could possibly be any prettier than this one.     
    Just over 50 square miles in size and with some 16,000 residents, Moorea is only a few miles from the main island of Tahiti. Like many of these islands, it was formed eons ago as the result of volcanic activity. There hasn't been any of that for a long time, but there is a lot of rain; the islands average about 12" of rain in December, but the squall we experienced in Taha'a would be the only precipitation we'd have to deal with on this trip. 
     Sue and I were booked for different excursions this morning. She would head inland for a hike on the Three Coconut Trail, while I would do another dive. Like most cruise lines, Gauguin offered a wide variety of excursions for its guests, contracting with local providers for adventures ashore and in the water, even in the air with helicopter tours. The tours are designed to offer guests of any age and ability a chance to experience the beauty of the islands. The tour Sue chose was one of the most strenuous on the list.
     A van transported Sue and a few other hardy souls to Belvedere Lookout for a fabulous view, and then up a dirt trail to the ridge separating the island's two main peaks, Mouaroa (2887') and Tohivea (3960'). Along the way their guide pointed out many of the island's plant species. At some points on the trail the grade was steep and the footing anything but sure, but she soldiered on and made the entire 3.5-mile trek in good shape.

The entrance to the trail, at Belvedere Lookout

Mt. Tohivea awaits, daring the hikers to approach her.

The intrepid hiker on the ridge. 

   
   My dive turned out to be my deepest yet, just past 60 feet, and the first one in which I encountered sharks. Most of them were the smaller, non-aggressive black-tipped sharks, but there were a few larger lemon sharks, which can get up to 10 feet in length. Our dive masters assured us that any sharks we would meet would be harmless, but the first time you actually see them in the water---and you're in there with them---is a bit unsettling. Like almost all species of wildlife, though, on land as well as sea, if you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone. 
    

The black-tip reef sharks were numerous but passive.

The lemon sharks, though, were more curious.

Less intimidating: the sea turtles, especially this one we found in her cubbyhole.

There was animal life that didn't swim, too, like many varieties of anemone. 

My third and last dive of the trip was the best.

    
    After our morning excursions, the afternoon was another one in which to relax. Early in the trip I'd discovered that the ping-pong table was out of commission, a huge disappointment, but I got over that quickly as soon as I discovered the Gable biography, not to mention the interesting people that hung out at the pool bar every day. 
    Tonight's dinner was a salute to Polynesian cuisine and culture. I had the mahi-mahi steak, which was excellent, and our dining experience was enhanced by music and dancing provided by the ship's on-board troupe, known as Les Gauguines.

As always, the presentation of the food was an important part
of the dining experience on board.



They sang, they played, they danced, they were everywhere. But could
Les Gauguines play ping-pong? Alas, I would never find out.

     

    We retired after another full day, but with a bit of melancholy, for tomorrow would be our last full day aboard.



    Friday, December 13th -- Moorea

    We were determined to make our last day on Paul Gauguin our best yet. That would be saying something, so to make it unique, we decided against an organized tour and voted to venture out on our own, exploring the island in a rental car. So it was that Sue and I, joined by Steve and Barbi, came ashore and climbed into a small 4-door Fiat, surprisingly roomy, with a 5-speed manual transmission and, thankfully, air conditioning. I volunteered to drive; I think the last time I'd driven a stick-shift was on another trip, in 2010 with Sue and my parents in Italy, when we'd driven from the port of Ravenna on the Adriatic up into the Apennines to the microstate of San Marino.
    I was confident that navigating the roads--make that road--of Moorea wouldn't be nearly as challenging as driving the switchbacks up an Italian mountainside, and I was right. We sallied forth to circumnavigate the island, with Steve riding shotgun with the map and the girls in the back seat.
    Our first goal was to make it up to Belvedere Lookout, where Sue had started her hike the day before. The view, as she'd reported, was spectacular.

Barbi and Steve at Belvedere Lookout. Openohu Bay is in the upper left,
Cook's Bay at the right, with Mount Rotui in the middle.

    We went back down the mountainside and headed eastward around the island. It was a most pleasant drive of about two and a half hours, and nobody was speeding. Moorea has several resorts, a small airport and what surely is one of the world's most scenic golf courses, the Moorea Green Pearl Golf Course. 
    On the western side of the island we came to a small shopping area, Le Petit Village, and stopped to get gas and use the facilities. There were souvenirs to be had, of course, including a nice tropical shirt for yours truly. I was thinking of channeling my inner Magnum, P.I. look but Sue convinced me to go for something more subtle. 

  
   One of Moorea's most spectacular resorts is the InterContinental Resort & Spa Moorea, a sister resort to the one Sue and I had stayed at on Tahiti. We paused to get a view of their over-the-water bungalows.

    

    We finally arrived back at the pier where Gauguin's tender would pick us up. Waiting for us were the usual local vendors with their displays of pearls and other native art. One of the things Sue and I try to do on every trip is bring home a piece of art, and our collection ranges from a German cuckoo clock to a large fan Sue got on the Indonesian island of Bali. Early on during the cruise I'd noticed that Polynesian woodworking is exquisite, and I picked up a very nice manta ray on Raiatea. Much of the woodwork looked like this: 

The Polynesian tiki, or in Tahitian, ti'i, represents the first man
or woman of creation.

    
    At the pier, two of the Gauguines were ready with cold water and wet cloths for our faces and necks. Both were very welcome and so was her smiling face.

       
    Back on board we spent another leisurely afternoon in reading and conversation. Our final dinner that night was in one of the ship's two specialty restaurants, La Veranda, where we were joined by two friends we had made on the voyage, Carlos and Rick from Florida. Before we dined, many of the ladies and not a few of the gents took advantage of a class in how to make a lei from flowers in the hallway outside the restaurant.

     The final show in the lounge this evening was a Polynesian folkloric dance troupe, O Tahiti E, to be followed with an appearance by the newly crowned Mr. Tahiti 2014 and his friends, performing a Marquesian Haka dance. It was a bit too late for us, so we bade farewell and turned in. I figured the ladies might regret it, so later I found Mr. Tahiti's site. Apparently he and his mates have put together a calendar for the new year. 

   
    As for the haka, it is a Polynesian warrior dance that was made famous in recent years by the New Zealand rugby team, the All-Blacks. They perform it on the field before the start of a match, and if you're on the opposing side you have to be of stout heart not to feel intimidated. You can see a YouTube version of the haka here. It must've worked for the All-Blacks, who captured the 2011 World Cup of Rugby on their home turf with a bruising 8-7 championship match win over France, after which the team performed another haka for its fans.

     
    But we were in dreamland by the time all the fun took place down in the lounge as our vessel plied its way slowly the few miles over to Tahiti. 


   
    Saturday-Sunday, December 14th-15th -- Tahiti to home

    Paul Gauguin came into port in Papeete early in the morning and we prepared to disembark. Fortunately, unlike the very large cruise liners, we didn't have to report first thing in the morning. You have to put your luggage outside your cabin door by around 9pm the previous night, but the next morning you can have a leisurely breakfast and say your goodbyes without feeling rushed.


Clouds hung over the mountains as we pulled into the Papeete harbor.

While we waited to disembark, Sue took a crack at the ship's
communal jigsaw puzzle.

   The disembarkation went smoothly and we took a cab back to the Intercontinental for the day. Our flight to Los Angeles would not leave till nearly  midnight, so rather than spend a dozen hours or so sitting around the airport, we decided to grab another afternoon alongside the pool. This time we had a panorama room, even better in some ways than the bungalow we'd stayed in during our first two nights in the islands.

   The pool was just as inviting as it had been a week before. By about 7:30 we were ready to make our final goodbyes and took a cab to the airport. Then it was only a matter of waiting for the flight. We tried not to think of the 24 hours or so we would spend in transit.
    There's no way to deal with the 8-hour flight to Los Angeles except to sleep through it as much as possible, and fortunately that wasn't a problem. I'd deliberately avoided taking a nap in the afternoon just to make sure I'd nod off once we got into the air. When we arrived at LAX it was about 10 in the morning local time and things were busy. We had to pick up our bags and then check them again for the flight to Minneapolis. Then a short wait at the terminal, and we got to spend a few more minutes chatting with our friends Barbi and Steve, who would be on the same flight on their way home to Richmond.



Ever the traveler, Barbi kept her neck pillow in place between flights.
Or maybe she just forgot.

   
    From Minneapolis it was another two-hour drive home to frigid northwest Wisconsin. When you return from the tropics in the winter, there's nothing quite like that first blast of cold air you feel when you exit the plane onto the jetway. Fortunately we'd parked in a covered section of Park 'n Fly and the car started reliably on the first try. It was nearly 9pm when we got close to home and the thermometer in the car registered 22 below zero, meaning we had experienced a temperature drop of over 100 degrees in less than 24 hours.
   Welcome home, indeed.

    As we've settled into another brutal Wisconsin winter, one thing that keeps us warm is our memories of the islands. We made some great friends and enjoyed some of God's most wonderful creation. Someday, we shall return.
    Is tomorrow too soon?