Over the holidays, I explored French Polynesia. First stopping at the beautiful Bora Bora, and then made some friends on the ship so we could amble about the island of Raiatea, seeing the sights (and the locals). However, the trip takes a dramatic turn at Papeete – the capital of Tahiti – and I almost land myself in trouble with the port authorities.
After four days at sea (which was something of a relief after a long string of different ports) we entered French Polynesia. We’re spending 24 days in this country and visiting nine different ports, so I’m breaking it down into bite sized chunks.
Nothing boring in Bora Bora
Bora Bora (so good they named it twice) is the most beautiful place we have visited thus far. I went on a very laid back and mercifully short circumnavigation of the island with a small group of 8, organised by new friend Eddie. The attached pictures and video do the talking for this one…
(Jimmy) Riddler in Raiatea
We spent Christmas Day on the next island along. I only got off the ship to get my steps in with a three-mile walk, where I was delightfully reminded that I was in France by a local taking a piss in a most exaggerated fashion right next to the pavement in the ‘town centre’.
We remained in Raiatea for Boxing Day. On Christmas Day evening, I saw a post on one of the communal, ship WhatsApp groups; three people looking for a fourth to join them in a car they’d rented for Boxing Day. It’s great the way this works; I hadn’t met Kathy, Jim or Bill before, but we spent a lovely day together tootling right round the island, visiting a delightful botanical garden, a fascinating ancient marae – sacred, ceremonial places for worship and politics (when was it decided the two shouldn’t mix) – and catching some more great views. The only snag was that nowhere was open for food or even a drink. Fortunately, my travelling companions had breakfasted before they left the ship, and I’d grabbed a sandwich and an apple to take ashore, 7am breakfast being too early for my metabolism. Total cost $20 US each, quarter of the price of more ‘organised’ tours.
Tahiti tussle in Papeete
You thought Tahiti was a country in its own right, didn’t you? I know I did… It certainly contains the capital of French Polynesia: Papeete. I thought it was going to be fun to spend a couple of days over New Year in this busy port, but the best laid plans of mice and men…
By now, it has become almost traditional for most of my reports to contain some drama, and just when I thought this one was not going to offer anything up, I got involved with the authorities. We’re here for several days so I wasn’t in any hurry to leave the ship. Of course, I had done my usual research and discovered that craft draught ale could be obtained (at extortionate French pricing, of course) from a microbrewery a ten-minute walk from the port. Accordingly, at beer o’clock, I strolled off the vessel and made my way out of the port. So far, since leaving Australia, port security has been lax to non-existent. At the first gate there were two young female security guards, sitting playing on their phones. They paid me no attention as I walked past, and in the absence of any signage I turned right towards an obvious looking exit onto the main road running alongside the port. I had almost reached this when one of the guards shouted, and came running after me. She explained that I’d gone the wrong way and should have turned left and gone through a building, which also contained no signage. This probably pissed me off more than it should have done, but it was hot and humid, and I was thirsty.
“Why did you not tell me that when I walked past you instead of playing with your phones?” I asked, “Why is there no signage? I’m not going all the way back up there just because you’re crap at your job.”
She insisted, but I was ten feet from the exit.
“If you’re going to make a big deal out of this, I will report you,” I said.
“I will report you,” she shot back at me.
I walked away and through the exit onto the road. I wandered round the town for a while and then made my way to the watering hole. Returning after an hour or two and finding my way through the (still unsigned from the street side) port building, the two guards (now noticeably more attentive) stopped me at the gate. “What is your name,” said the one who’d chased me down.
“You don’t need my name,” I responded.
“Yes, we are going to report you.”
I didn’t like this. I could envisage this delaying me port side for ages. I made to go through the gate, and they tried to push it closed. I pushed with all my strength and got through. They grabbed one of my arms each. I wrestled myself free and ran to the nearby ship gangway, got on board, and reported the incident to an officer I have become on chatting terms with, who was fortunately on hand. He went and sorted it out.
When I saw him the next morning, he said that they had called the police, so I think my fight and flight response was the correct one. He assured me nothing further would happen and I was free to leave the ship again over the next couple of days. However, I canvassed opinion about this and the conclusion amongst me and my friends onboard was that this would be risky. I’m protected by the ship security whilst onboard but felt that showing my face port side again could be asking for trouble. What the port authorities say to a uniformed ship’s officer and what they say and do to me alone on the dock could be two very different stories. No big deal. I’d have liked some more craft beer but decided to just relax and make the most of the onboard facilities.
