Tahiti was hot

Monday 7th November 2005

Normal sort of stuff really. We pop up to the bridge now and again to make sure the boys are doing their jobs. Happily we can check up on some of the running repairs being made without even leaving our deck chairs. Today’s major consideration was that we may be passing between two of the beautiful Pacific islands during lunch! Fortunately a crisis was avoided as we didn’t pass them until after lunch. [Was this arranged by the officers so that their lunch was not disturbed? They did after all turn the ship so the barbecue could be lit.] Its real paradise island stuff. Long white beaches, blue seas, lagoons and a few very expensive looking resort type hotels. The weather is really hot, but whilst we are under way we don’t notice. We do however have to be very careful about standing around in the sun. It really doesn’t feel hot, but the sun is directly overhead and very fierce.

Tuesday 8th November 2005

As advertised, today is Tahiti. We are due to take our pilot on board at 0530 and be alongside at 0700. Happily the actual times are a little later, but as the clocks go back an hour every couple of days we often wake at 0500 anyway. Time enough to get up and apply super strength sun protection gunk, and let it dry whilst we drink a cup of tea. Tahiti rises out of the mist with heavy rain clouds hanging over it. Our pilot joins, exuding confidence [unlike Mr Machismo Panama] and steers us into a very small harbour. No huge gantries here – our on board cranes will have to do the job with some help later on from a large mobile dockside crane. Instead of handling one box every two minutes, the actuality seems to be one every ten minutes. This is why we have time to spend in Papeete. Its an ill wind.

The local customs and immigration are on board at 0700 and so we will be able to go ashore as soon as they have dealt with the huge pile of passports in front of them. Happily we now have the opportunity to rectify an anomaly. The fearsome United States immigration service that requires us all to attend for interview at US embassies and supply fingerprint and iris recognition data [plus significant costs for the paperwork] and further interviews at port of entry, failed to turn up when the Utrillo left Savannah. Well I suppose it was a Sunday evening. Terrorists take note that US Immigration can’t be bothered at week ends. Anyway the upshot of this is that we have all be immigrated into the US but have no exit stamps. As far as the US is concerned we are still there! We didn’t go ashore in Manzanillo and so Tahiti is our first landfall. Hanging around outside the captain’s office produces the opportunity to ask the immigration officer for entry stamps. They weren’t going to bother this being a French boat, and assumed it was for souvenirs. They were amused when I told them that it would enable us to prove that we were in Tahiti according to the boats schedule. I still expect that we will have a great deal of trouble with the US immigration authorities as we try to prove we have not overstayed our ‘welcome’

We have been advised to take a taxi into Papeete as it will be very hot. All the passengers leave at slightly different times, and we left around 0800. We thought we’d walk. We can see the town, and it doesn’t look all that far, and its early in the morning – and so we set off. Walking through container movement is always a little harrowing, and we have to slink out of the dock gates as the immigration officer put entry and exit stamps in at the same time to save every one further angst – unless we were asked for our papers that is. Still, it’s a very laid back place. By the time we’ve gone 1km we’re very hot and wondering why we thought walking was such a good idea. Container ports are always at the end of large gloomy industrial estates and are distinctly thin on pavements and well endowed with huge container lorries coming and going. No-one goes there without their own transport – except us. In the past when we’ve changed our mind about this sort of thing we’ve just called up a cab, but our super work-in-all-countries phone doesn’t work here. We’re pausing by a roadside stall, but until we get into town we haven’t any local money. At this point a local woman stops her jeep and we gratefully accept an air conditioned ride into the centre of the town. Her husband is a gardener at the town hall, and so that’s where she drops us. Pretty place and we are amused to discover that Papeetian formal work gear is a short sleeve shirt, shorts and flip-flops. Sometimes not even the flip-flops.

We have been warned that Tahiti is now only a tourist island. And so it seems. The shops are of three main types – amazing electronic stores selling enormous sound systems and ‘boom blasters’, Tahitian shirts and dresses [but none in Kit’s size and too heavy fabric for Liz] and black pearl jewellery shops. None of which interests us much. The central market is in two distinct halves. One part sells oils, lotions and carvings to the tourists and the other sells fantastic food. We really yearned for an apartment with a kitchen, but what are we going to do with a slice of the freshest tuna we have ever seen, or a pint of coconut milk. I’ve never seen a parrot fish before and whilst ‘the locals were friendly’ I didn’t like to photograph their stalls without buying anything.

Cash machines solve our local currency problem. What a convenience. Goodbye travellers cheques. As we’re wondering what do to, we chance upon a local bus stop. The busses are old Mercedes pick-ups and have a distinctly shaky body bolted on the back. Almost windowless and cool. One promises a trip past the airport and the university of Polynesia to the Carrefour. A chance to replenish camomile tea stocks! What a great ride. Rolling about all over the place, past houses that back onto the ocean with no walls – it clearly doesn’t ever get cold here. The locals get on an off trampling over all and everyone as they do so. Each ‘bus’ is I think owned by its driver and as soon as one bus leaves, the next draws up to the stop and after its had a few minutes waiting there, the next in line starts hooting for his place at the stop.

It is however boiling. Still, we can indulge our favourite pastime of ‘local watching’ in the café inside the Carrefour. Very peculiar as its just the same as being in a French provincial supermarket, except for the parakeets that are flying about and the appearance of the locals. Old French people who have retired there [after civil service postings and liked it? Needing the heat?] younger French wives[?] whilst their husbands are working at running telephone companies or television stations and Tahitians looking much more comfortable in the heat in bright clothes.

Rickety bus back into Papeete. Great ride. It drops us by the internet café, and so a good deal of time is spent there, checking email, updating the blog, arranging accommodation in Melbourne, cold beers in a cool breeze. Liz checks out the shops while Kit computes. It’s a pleasant spot, and we can see the Utrillo being loaded across the bay. Not us sweating in the sun. At last, a light lunch. Two salads – one a salade niçoise that was – of course – made with stunningly fresh tuna. The best either of us have ever tasted.

Walking around the town we bump into several crew members – all sweating buckets like us. Except chef, who we can only assume is used to sweatshops. Interestingly we saw repeatedly a young American couple who were with us on the bus and got off at the airport. Liz must have seen them back in town at least three times after their airport descent. The girl looks distinctly miserable. I hope they’re not relying on standby flights that are not materialising.

Finally around 1700 we give into the heat, take a taxi back to the boat, air conditioning and cool wine in our room fridge. Chef has already apologised for there only being a cold supper, but again we’re relieved. Liz is exhausted and retires early while Kit and Raymond spend time on the bridge ensuring that the dockers don’t mess up the loading. Another different way of doing things. The locals ride around on the roof of the boxes, swing them into place almost losing toes as the boxes drop with a crash; fork lift trucks rush about with two containers perched, empty boxes are lifted aboard two at a time with only four wires holding them both. Still no-one died whilst we were watching, so maybe they know what they’re doing.

We stayed on the bridge to check the work of the captain and pilot, but as they didn’t bump the boat into anything, after a while we enjoyed the cooler evening as we left the town lights behind. We’re glad we came, but I don’t think we’ll be visiting again – at least not when its as hot as this. Gaugin might have loved it, but we just sweated with the other tourists.
+