The sun is breaking through the clouds

Lyric is from “Little Trip to Heaven” by Tom Waits, one of the first songs I learned when I started taking voice lessons.

Day Fifteen

I am writing this early in the morning on the final day of our honeymoon. We leave this evening and arrive back in New York tomorrow (Wednesday) evening, after three flights and a six-hour time change. This was a lot easier than it sounds coming here; going back might be a little harder as it can be when the time change works in the other direction, but it will all have been worth it. The photo below is what I am seeing from my writing desk at 6AM.

We had rain and overcast skies on our last days of vacation, but this place is beautiful regardless. The last two days, the sun eventually came out for at least a little while. I have a lot of catching up to do here and will try my best to piece it all together.

After our day with Patrick and Marama, we returned to the resort where we had a dinner reservation in the most elegant of the four restaurants here. This one offers various chef’s tasting menus; we love this sort of thing, though it can admittedly be time-consuming. Before dinner we went to the lagoon-front bar where people go to watch the sunset over an aperitif. We arrived thirty minutes before our reservation and were given prime seats with a view. A server delivered the drink menus and said he’d be right back.

A few minutes later, a couple I’d noticed earlier walked to the edge of the dock, and the man got on his knee. The woman (these people were probably about ten years older than us) made a joke to the crowd which, by now, was watching. She got a laugh and so she continued, saying things like, “I don’t know, should I push him in?” [laughter] “I mean, it’d be pretty easy, right?” [laughter] “Hey—what are you doing on your knee?!” [laughter]

Finally, she said yes, and the poor guy slipped the ring on her finger, hoisted himself up, and requested a bag of ice (just kidding).

At this point about fifteen minutes had passed since the untimely disappearance of our server. The newly engaged couple settled down and were holding hands, watching the sunset. A woman came over to them and spoke for a while and Bryan and I figured they were friends who were all traveling together. Otherwise, why would you interrupt a couple who’d JUST gotten engaged and were enjoying a quiet moment? Then we heard her tell them she was from Denver. Her husband/partner/traveling companion came over and the two of them talked and talked and talked and the just-betrothed listened and nodded and listened and nodded and we waited and waited and waited in vain for the triumphant return of our server.

This resort has a tradition, we would soon learn, in which they “christen” the sunset by popping the cork of a bottle of champagne with a saber. Lo and behold, our long-lost server stood in the middle of the deck explaining to the crowd in French and English the origin of this tradition; Napoleon would open a bottle of champagne with a saber whether celebrating victory or acknowledging defeat. Our guy popped the cork over the thatched roof of the restaurant to a cascade of applause and raised glasses, by those who had something to raise.

It was now the hour of our reservation, and the prodigal son returned to take our order. When we explained that we’d hoped for a sunset aperitif before dinner and that it was now time for us to sit, the staff was fiercely apologetic. The restaurant manager came over and said this was unacceptable—we understood, we are on island time, this was not a travesty—but he gave us a free round anyway, which he invited us to enjoy on the (now dark) deck for as long as we wanted to.

We went instead to our table, where our server, Camille, explained the menu to us. Camille was the third young woman in a row we’d met that day who was newly arrived in Bora Bora from France – one from Nice, one from Paris, and Camille from Bordeaux. When the manager came back to check in on us he told us that he is new here from Bretagne (Brittany), and that his girlfriend is the restaurant’s sous-chef. We ordered the “Discovery Menu,” which is a daily tasting menu according to the chef’s whims. We had it that night and again Sunday night and it was completely different each time—an amuse bouche, an appetizer, two main courses, a pre-dessert palate-cleanser, a dessert, and a post-dessert confection. These are manageable portions, unlike other tastings we’ve encountered, and so we got to enjoy and appreciate each bite.

One could opt for wine pairings, and Camille told us that one of the top sommeliers in Paris, Xavier Thuizat, had visited the restaurant two weeks earlier and reinvented their wine program. He’d offered up some unexpected, “perfect” pairings, including a rosé from Provence served with grilled octopus.

The chef at this restaurant is Nicolas Nguyen. He is Vietnamese-French, and his food reflects both of these cultures with nods to Polynesian cuisine. This first night one of the dishes was his version of chicken Fafa, the chicken-and-spinach dish we’ve had a few times (including at our lunch on Patrick’s motu). The “spinach” is actually the leaf of the taro, and the dish is sublime. Chef’s version was in a light broth flavored with lemongrass. Sunday night we had his version of poisson cru, which traditionally is served in coconut milk and citrus. In this variation, we had small glasses of thick, sweetened coconut milk which we were to sip before each bite of tuna sashimi, over which the server had poured fresh cucumber water. Dinner starts with bread, French baguette, rye baguette, or another daily offering, and three kinds of butter: plain, red curry, and truffle.

During dinner service there was a singer who sang jazz standards, Frank Sinatra, “Imagine,” and chanteuse versions of pop songs like Toto’s “Africa” and “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” She was talented, singing along to pre-recorded tracks at a perfect, understated volume. We would hear her again last night when she performed at Burger Night, which we didn’t attend, but whose sounds and aromas wafted toward our table at a different restaurant.

While I am sitting here writing, a beautiful spotted ray just swam by.

At breakfast on Saturday we met Chloe, one of the resorts “butlers” (this is what Kenny who gave us the tour and Nicolas who hails from Belgium are as well). Their job is to coordinate activities and special requests and to generally check in on guests and make sure that tout va bien. Chloe comes from Sinaloa, Mexico, which she acknowledged upfront is “famous for the wrong reasons,” but said that she never felt unsafe there and she recognizes that this is a privilege not everybody shares. She introduced us to the resort’s resident cats, Tuna and Salmon; Bryan had seen a guest feeding sashimi to one of them a few days earlier.

Our plan for the first part of the day was to take the resort’s 10:30 boat to the main island of Bora Bora, where we would then take a shuttle the 25 minutes or so to the downtown, a small strip of shops, galleries, a couple of restaurants, and some practical storefronts—the bank, pharmacy, Avis, supermarket. While we waited for the boat Chloe gave us and the other guests venturing into town maps with her recommendations circled. With regard to the many pearl shops we’d encounter, she said, “They all have beautiful things. If you see a pearl or a piece of jewelry you like, get it. You can’t go wrong.”

The boat trip is very short, not ten minutes, and the taxi driver narrated our trip into town. He pointed out a service station and told us that gas prices are exactly the same all across French Polynesia. We passed houses with zinc roofs:

Many had surf boards out front, brightly colored clothing drying on lines, dogs … so many dogs …which we now have been told mostly belong to people, they just have free rein of the islands and many don’t wear collars. This is comforting and makes sense, as most of the dogs we’ve seen look to be content and cared for.

Do you recall the young man, Temaiana, who had just lost his grandfather and slept by his grave? We have better context for this now; our driver explained that there are no cemeteries on Bora Bora, people are buried in their family gardens. Indeed, many of these homes have land and are surrounded by lush trees and beautiful flowers.

We also passed some of the roof-like structures with coconut husks drying like we saw in Raiatea, and we know now that they will be exported to Tahiti to be turned into oil.

In town, we went to a few stores that were recommended: Bora Originals and La Galerie, both of which have clothing and accessories designed in-house and with local artists, and one we found on our own: Bora Home Galerie, which is part art gallery and part jewelry shop with one small rack of dresses.

Coincidentally, we’d met this designer – she has a studio and shop, Ma Robe à Moi, at her home in Mo’orea that we happened upon while driving around the island. She hand-paints the clothing and bags that she sells. We told this to Virginie, the proprietor of Bora Home Galerie, and she said how much she loves her designs.

Among the art that Virgine and her partner sell are these intricately carved wooden sculptures, of manta rays, sharks, a whale … created by Pierre Kaiha, a master carver from the Marquesas. One or two of these may be coming home with us …

There is a church whose stained glass windows look out onto Mount Otemanu.

We like checking out supermarkets in other countries, and so we stopped into the Chin Lee market (also to get lip balm for Monsieur S and hair pins for moi – to attach the flowers I’ve gotten every time I’ve seen them, in markets, gas stations, boutiques). Most of the supplies here are flown in from Tahiti, and if not local products, are flown to Tahiti from points much further away. They have many of the same brands that we find in France – the cold cuts, snack foods, packaged coffees, and so on — and a surprising number of gluten-free and vegan options. They also have a steady supply of fresh-baked baguettes; people here take their daily bread seriously. I felt a bit like a fumbling tourist as I maneuvered past people doing their errands, but everyone we encountered was friendly and gracious. A little ‘ia orana and mauru’uru go a long way. Really, I think this is universally true – when traveling to another country, at the very least learning “hello” and “thank you” will greatly help you.

After lunch at the Aloe Café (where we had the tuna burger that was reminiscent of a Big Mac with a far fresher and healthier protein), we took a quick trip down an alley to find some Love City

And then made a final stop at the studio of Jean-Pierre Frey, a local painter whom Bryan had read about in the Air Tahiti magazine on the flight over. Here we met his assistant, Charlotte, who lives in Bora Bora and comes from near Saint Tropez (the Mo’orea of France). What Charlotte told us which we hadn’t known is that Jean-Pierre passed away unexpectedly in June. She will keep the studio open for as long as she can and will continue to sell his lithographs. We bought a small one called Vahine Collages – vahine is Tahitian for “woman”.

Charlotte told us that the real meaning of ia orana (spelled many different ways, it seems, depending on what sign you read/site you visit) is more than a greeting, that it is actually akin to, “I give my heart to you so that you may have a beautiful life.” As we left she said, “Prenez soin de vous” — take care of yourselves.

We took the shuttle back to the boat and the boat back to the resort and decided to snorkel in the lagoonarium – the portmanteau given to the private, enclosed lagoon Kenny pointed out to us on our first day, with over 100 species of tropical fish and Moana, the sole Napoleon fish who resides there.

Presumably because it was late in an overcast day, the waters were a bit cloudy, yet we saw many species including the local celebrity – he was sticking close to the dock-side, like an observer, the lagoonarium mayor, watching the others. There were very big blue fish that someone told me are jacks, as well as smaller fish of every color. Swimming over the coral we saw more of the green- and blue-lipped clams, and I spotted one of the three moray eels, which was quite a bit larger than I’d expected. As you swim through this lagoon you hit areas that are very warm and very cold. It was all quite beautiful and an excellent place to practice snorkeling as it is safely contained – but we would have an even more incredible experience there the second time we went, on Monday (yesterday).

When we got back to our bungalow, before dinner, we released our leis (from both the resort and from our boat ride to Raiatea) into the water.

On Sunday it rained and while I stayed in the bungalow and wrote and read, Bryan took a Jeep tour of the main island. Much of this island’s infrastructure was developed by the U.S. Army and Navy during the Second World War. This includes the airport, the first one in all of French Polynesia, as well as the introduction of a desalinization plant to create drinking water. On his tour he visited bunkers and cannons, like the one pictured below; there are a few still on the island overlooking the lagoon and motu that we are on.

The jeep tour traveled on Circle Island Road, which our military built. Allegedly at this time there were 1000 residents of Bora Bora to 5000 troops; our boat captain, Teiva, told us that this is why today you see many Polynesians on Bora Bora with dark hair and light eyes.

Bryan’s tour guide told him that there are now 10,000 people on Bora Bora—and 9,000 dogs. He says that the dogs belong to everyone. When Bryan told him about our day with Patrick (a local legend, whom everyone we spoke with seems to know), and how incredible it was to watch him in the water interacting with the rays, the tour guide said, “He has those rays on his payroll.”

When he returned in the afternoon we had our second Polynesian massage—and it was every bit as relaxing and therapeutic as the one we had in Mo’orea. In the evening we had a reservation once again at the restaurant with the tasting menus. It was raining now, and so no one was on the deck for sunset aperitifs—we went instead to the bar area, where we were the only patrons. The bartender, Damian, explained that he gets very few customers in the rain, that people cancel dinner reservations and order room service. (Photo below is from two nights later, when it was not raining and so people were out). We were happy to venture out in the rain, and have also been happy to walk the grounds rather than get rides in the golf carts the staff drives. We’ve been surprised by how few people we’ve encountered doing the same. Walking to and from dinner along the moonlit water has been an integral part of this whole experience.

Damian is from the south of France and has been with the resort for a year. He is an expert mixologist, the hostess, Julie, told us, and one of the special aperitifs is called, Your Bartender and You. This is where you tell him the elements you like – sweet, spicy, bitter – the spirit you would like to drink – white rum, vodka, gin, etcetera – and other pertinent details, and he creates a specialty cocktail for you and writes down the recipe. He learned mixology in Australia seven years ago, lived there for a while before traveling through South and Central America, back to France to see family, and then to Switzerland, where he and a partner opened a cocktail bar just before Covid. When they had to shut down, he decided to move to Bora Bora, as one does. Julie, our cruise director, said that Damian is a treasure for the resort, that there are a lot of jobs one can do here even if their heart is not in it, but that his is not one of them.

It is clear that he loves what he does, and in fact the vast majority of the people we’ve met seem to feel the same.

Perhaps because of the snafu a few days earlier with the sundown aperitif, we were asked to wait a few minutes until the right table was ready, and when we were seated it was a perfect table. The room has glass panels on the floors overlooking the lagoon, and our table was a corner one facing the water. There was a bouquet of ginger flowers

and again we had Camille as our server.

I still have a day and a half of vacation to describe, but right now I am going to sit outside because the sun is peeking through the clouds. I shall return.