South Seas Part Five

The South Seas
The Pleasures and Perils of Paradise

Despite the old saw, “If it’s Tuesday, it must be Belgium,” each day brought new insights into Polynesia and its people.

It’s difficult even in our own language to recall the names of obscure places, and in a foreign tongue that difficulty is compounded a hundred fold.

Hiva Oa, Hanaipa, Hokatu, and Hanaveve?

I tried numerous times to differentiate between these and other confusing Marquesan island names and to recall special distinctions of each site we visited.  So did everybody else.  But often this was impossible. Nevertheless, in the short time that we had, we managed to absorb volumes of information on the culture, history, art, and religion of the Marquesas.

This happened despite some obvious annoyances and physical discomforts.  But those were to be expected. Such as the sometimes sweltering heat and high humidity.  Despite the fact that we had arrived in the dry season, hiking along overgrown dense jungle paths, bouncing uncomfortably over rocks and potholes on dusty narrow roads in the back of a pickup truck, or standing on tired legs through a long demonstration in the oppressive heat of an open hut were exercises in endurance.

You’d get hot. Tired. Thirsty and sweaty. And you’d have sweaty tee shirts and muddy shorts, shoes and socks to contend with at the end of an active day.

Then there were the nonos, the nasty biting flies, and mosquitoes that wanted to eat you for lunch.  The guidebooks warned about them and  the guides gave tips on how to avoid them before every excursion.  So, we slapped away as needed, and for the most part, endured them better than expected.

I wore long pants and long sleeved shirts when they were especially annoying, actually only on two particular days. Before every landing I slathered on repellent that contained deet.  Surprisingly, these annoying hazards  turned out to be less than minor irritants. I was amazed to realize when I got home that I hadn’t suffered a single insect bite on the entire trip!  But then, I was diligent in covering all exposed skin in order to turn myself into a no-fly zone.

And the sharks.  I haven't yet mentioned the sharks.  They were there, everywhere it seems, lurking in the ocean, according to our guide, Bob Suggs.  He warned us repeatedly not to swim out too far into dangerous waters because shark attacks were possible, even in fairly shallow seas. Needless to say, I obeyed him.  A few people scuba diving actually did see sharks.  I didn't, and I'm not complaining!

So, what I’m leading up to is that this turned out to be truly a once-in-a-lifetime trip. I took advantage of every opportunity to enjoy each moment. And there were plenty of them.

The scenery was magnificent.

The serene beauty of jade lagoons and black sand beaches, soaring mountain spires shrouded in mist, lush coconut groves and musty vegetation bordering rugged mountain trails, impossibly jagged coastlines, panoramic views of shimmering amethyst seas harboring our cargo ship in a bay far below, and the sweet fragrance of  flowers everywhere--tiari, frangipani, bougainville, hibiscus and countless other plants too obscure to name combined to assault our senses in every way.

We encountered numerous Marquesans eager to entertain us with their welcome and war dances and traditional song and dress.  We learned through lectures ranging from early history and exploration, religion, war, and art to tattooing and the practice of cannibalism.

At archaeological sites halfway up mountains and in the midst of  jungle clearings, we learned about tikis—human-like stone statues carved in basalt, the tohua-- open air platforms with rows of stone seats where festivals were held, and the other places of worship, burial and offerings.  Each added to our greater understanding of the life of the islanders.

One day, we wandered through the cemetery halfway up a mountain on Hiva Oa at Atuona where Paul Gauguin is buried and visited the nearby grave of the Belgian singer Jacques Brel.  We visited the House of Pleasure where Gauguin spent his last painful years and the new museum that houses copies of his Tahitian paintings.

On several islands we were introduced to the works of  Marquesan artists who produce products of exceptional beauty.   Stone, bone and rosewood works of art were in abundance, and the artists who created them showed us how.  The traditional art of making tapa cloth on Fatu Hiva island was of special interest.  Watching how arduous it is to produce this cloth from the bark of breadfruit and mulberry trees and painting the cloth with a traditional design, led me to do what I said I wouldn’t--I  had to buy a piece from the artist.  Mine is from the bark of a banyan tree.

The famed black pearls of Tahiti also attracted many of us.   Sitting in our swim suits in a beach hut on a Tuamotu lagoon, we watched a demonstration of pearl farming production It gave us a chance to run our fingers through bowls of shimmering pearls. Later, in handicraft stalls and sophisticated jewelry stores we checked out finished black pearls ranging from $25 to thousands of  French francs.  We brought home a few of these beautiful pearls of the sea.

Of course, we sampled Marquesan food to the maximum---some of us loved it.

At beach barbecues in Facareva and Takapoto, under pistachio trees in the mountains at Taiohae, and more elegantly at Yvonne’s at Hatiheu, Rosalie’s at Hakahau and Fourniers  in Hane–several of the best-known restaurants of the islands, we “pigged out” at Marquesan banquets.  We watched them dig up the pig during a traditional pig roast, sampled breadfruit poi, tried curried goat, poisson cru, taro, guava, banana po’e, and fish whose names we could not pronounce, and nibbled on coconut in its many incarnations.

Perhaps my most vivid memory will be attending a Sunday morning service at the  Notre-Dame Cathedral de Illes Marquises at Taiohae Village.  Built in 1977 using stones of all the inhabited islands in the archipelago, this historic Catholic church featured the bishop wearing a brilliant red robe and a lei garland around his neck conducting the service alternately in French and Marquesan.  Ornately beautiful religious wood carvings representing scenes from the bible decorated interior walls of the church, and the pulpit consisted of a huge carved eagle in flight.  Both reinforced the beauty and sanctity of the unusual service.

Three hundred or so churchgoers—women in colorful muumuus and woven flowered hats and children in neatly combed hair and dressed in their Sunday best, filled wooden benches and spoke prayers in the Marquesan language.  Most unexpectedly, we were treated to an incredibly beautiful concert of hymns familiar to many of us—all translated into the Marquesan language. The  a cappella choir consisted of  the entire church.  Demonstrating flawless timing and perfect three-part harmony, they filled the hall with the harmonies of well-known hymns sung beautifully in their native tongue.

As a music lover, I found this to be an incredibly rich experience--one that seemed to highlight much of what I had appreciated on this voyage that indeed turned out to be my own special journey to paradise.

I learned in many environments that an elegant simplicity, beauty and desire to preserve tradition still exists among the people of these remote Pacific islands.  I hope these qualities don’t get obliterated in the relentless rush toward modernization of our all-too high tech world.