In which we return (again) for our last visit to Bora Bora, make our last stop in French Polynesia at Fakarava in the Tuamotu Archipelago, sail away in the wake of the Bounty Mutineers to Pitcairn Island, sail right past Pitcairn and on to Easter Island before cruising all the way to the coast of South America.
Last run in week 2 of my 9 week plan before taking the tender ashore. The weather – a little overcast, but so much better than last time we were on Bora Bora – was improving all the time, which was great as we had an in-land 4x4 trip booked for the afternoon. However, our first task was to withdraw some more cash so as not to find ourselves without should something irresistibly small and pearl-like jump off a market stall and onto Juli’s earlobes.
Cashed up, we made our way to our usual internet cafe to have brunch, check e-mails and upload yet more photos of picture postcard perfect sunsets over beautiful, palm-fringed, pure-white, sandy beaches. I had a huge bowl of the most delicious pork ribs in a sticky sweet sauce with pineapple and slightly superfluous slices of chorizo.
After the cafe, with time to spare before our tour, we looked around a few shops and market stalls and did, as it happens, find something worth parting with some of our dwindling pot of spending money for: a carved figure mounted on the end of a spear type thing made out of the pointy bit of a swordfish and something – actually a pair of somethings – small, round and dangly. The price wasn’t quite right, though, and the seller seemed largely impervious to Jedi mind tricks, so Juli told them we were just about to go on an excursion and that she’d think about it and maybe come back tomorrow.
Back at the pier we made ourselves known to the woman with whom we’d made the booking way back on our first visit to Bora Bora, who told us where to wait for our transport, which turned out to be a Defender 90 with a substantial roll bar, a natty paint job, but no roof, doors or glass of any kind. It completely looked the part for our private (just the two of us) island adventure and we thought it was great. (It didn’t have any seat belts either, but we didn’t care.)
Sandy, our driver (a local lad, not unlike the chap who had driven us round Raiatea) drove us out of town then, almost immediately, up a dirt track slash (semi) dried-up stream that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an off-road driving school, and which made our old track back home look like polished glass.
This ‘road’ took us up to some old gun emplacements built by the Americans during the second world war to defend their interests in the Pacific. The guns – still in situ – were never fired in anger, which is probably just as well, as the guns were old even when they were installed, having last been fired during the first world war. Sandy told us he has to be very diplomatic when he has mixed groups of American and Japanese tourists. One of the things he adds for the benefit of Japanese visitors is that the guns’ range was in any event less than those on the Japanese ships they were defending against. He also had an amusing anecdote relating to the original American landing force, who apparently turned up unannounced. Seems they loaded their boats such that the equipment needed to unload them had been loaded first and was, therefore, stuck behind everything else, which resulted in a week-long slidy-puzzle exercise. (I’m not sure he was a big fan of our American cousins.)
Next stop was the studio and garden of a local artist. Unfortunately, being a Saturday and the artist being a Seventh Day Adventist, he was not at work and his gallery was not open. However, we had a pleasant few minutes looking round his diminishing garden, which, quite evidently, was slipping down hill (soon to be followed by his home) towards his new neighbour’s plot who had excavated too much of the hillside between them in the building of their house. Other feature of his garden included a lovely old Series IIa of similar age and condition to us, well, me anyway.
[Incidentally, if you don’t know what a Defender 90 or a Series IIa are, go to http://www.thelandroverclub.co.uk/ or http://www.series2club.co.uk/ and learn about some classic British engineering history.]
From there, we headed off round the island towards the site of an ancient village, another of these marae I’ve written about before. Our progress was hampered, however, by the presence on the roads of a great many other vehicles. These were draped in various party political flags and banners in assorted primary colours and topped by slogan bearing tee-shirt wearing attractive young supporters playing music through huge sound systems at impossible levels. Sandy explained that this was all on account of primary presidential elections due to take place the next day, during which the sale of alcohol is banned, by the way. The different parties’ supporters were driving around the island’s roads in convoy, trying to out do each other in terms of numbers and volume. When two rival groups of supporters travelling in opposite directions met, they would engage in good natured banter and gesturing. At least I think it was good natured – no one shot anyone, anyway – only it’s hard to tell with Bonny M blaring out with an intensity that would challenge the decibel meter on an aircraft carrier’s flight deck.
Also on the way round, we stopped to pick up a young couple from in front of their hotel, who just flagged us down like we were a taxi. They were over from Las Vegas for a long weekend – not that uncommon, apparently – and wanted a lift to Bloody Mary’s restaurant. Since we were going past the door anyway, we said yes. Though we’d never heard of it (or her, apart from the character in South Pacific) Bloody Mary’s is something of an island institution. Tourists go there to have an eponymous drink (watered down, we were told) eat a burger (far from something to write home about, it seems) and buy a tee-shirt (doubtless overpriced).
Any way, we finally arrived at the marea, or a site in the woods, that Sandy and his uncle, on whose land it lies, believe to have been a marea. Sandy drove us up another track, stopped the Landy, switched off and said follow me. I have to say, I was a bit nervous about leaving our stuff unattended in the back of the car and walking off in to the wild woods with a complete stranger. (Later, Juli told me she was too, but never showed it at the time.) He showed us some very large stones, some with carved patterns on them, that looked like they’d been there for an awfully long time. One, he said, was a sacrificial altar of sorts, another a birthing stone (can’t imagine any woman willingly lying on a rock to go through that) and a third that he said was clearly a kind of throne. “Can’t you feel the power coming from it?” he asked. Not really, I thought. He and his uncle plan to excavate the site themselves – though they have no formal training in archaeology – rather than show it to whatever government department is responsible for antiquities. Sandy is concerned that, if they did, the government would take over and exclude him and his uncle. Possibly, but I recon the real reason is rather more prosaic: the government aren’t interested in the site because the site isn’t very interesting. But then: what do I know?
And that was pretty much it for the tour. We’d had a brilliant trip out with Sandy, who drove us back to the pier just in time for us to catch a tender back to the ship. Back on board, we looked at our photos of the day and got ready for an early dinner in the Grand Dinning Room, so we could be back in our room in time to watch Jack Reacher, a film we’d been wanting to see since it came out at Christmas. For one reason and another, it had been a while since we had dinner there, so all our waiter and sommelier friends from all over the restaurant came over throughout the meal to ask us where we’d been and how we were, etc. So much so that with all the chat, we missed the start of our film, so decided to catch it another time.
That evening we had dinner in the Grand Dinning Room, where I had two of my most favourite things to eat: crab salad and roast lamb. (In my diary, I see I’ve written “+ several puddings.” I think we must have had difficulty choosing and the waiters brought us a selection.” All in all the perfect end to a perfect weekend, and what would have been my mother’s 89th birthday. You can bet we raised a glass to her.
A much calmer day today after the excitement of the previous weekend. I went for a run and we had breakfast in bed. Juli had her hair cut and we watched ‘Quartet’, a lovely film (directed by Dustin Hoffman) set in a home for retired musicians with a cast filled chock-a-block with various luminaries from British stage and screen, including at least two Dames.
We had tea with a Canadian couple we met who’ve travelled extensively but were both originally from Yorkshire. The man, a retired professor of pathology, was a bit like Tom Courtney, who was one of the stars of Quartet.
After dinner, Raymond, one of our usual waiters (now known as the amazing Raymondo) performed a trick that required him to balance eight diner forks on a single toothpick stuck in the top of a wine bottle, a feat he somehow managed to pull off on a moving ship.
Like Rangiroa (and almost s big) Fakarava is an atol. Curiously for something formed originally around a volcano, this one is roughly rectangular, not that you can discern that from sea level.
Our ship sailed through the pass into the lagoon at about 7.00am, at a stroke doubling the atol’s population. The whole of Fakarava – especially the lagoon – is a UNESCO Biosphere and the thing to do here is dive. (Richard, you’d love it, though I think there’s only one hotel and not a lot else to do here, Gill.) We don’t dive, but we’re both now fans of snorkelling, and the ship’s information sheet on Fakarava told us that sealife within the lagoon is so abundant, to see it, all you have to do is wade out a few metres and look down. So we dressed for swimming and packed beach bags.
Once open tendering was called, we headed ashore and, after giving the few market stalls there the once over, headed along one of the atol’s very few roads in search of a beach. We didn’t need to walk far before finding a small patch of sand with a bit of shade. There wasn’t much coral to speak of, but what little there was, was just a brief paddle from the shore and sheltered quite a few fish including the tiniest (about an inch and a half long) black and white striped ones we’d seen.
There were some bigger fish too, including a lone shark patrolling up and down the beach, just beyond paddling depth. I couldn’t tell you what kind it was, but it didn’t seem terribly interested in us, which was a relief. There were also lots of pale blue ones about a foot long, and some others, slightly longer, whose colour matches the sand exactly, so despite the perfectly clear water, you really only see their shadows.
Back at the pier, Juli – now a seasoned snorkeler – bought some loose pearls to make into earrings for herself when we get home, before we took the tender back to the ship. On board, after lunch (Mahi Mahi) there was an announcement to the effect that Dottie, our cruise director, had either been injured or taken ill and would be leaving the ship to be transported back to Tahiti – Fakarava has a narrow airstrip with beach either side of it – for further treatment/investigation, with the expectation of her returning when the ship reaches Easter Island. Meanwhile, the assistant cruise director – known simply as ‘JR’, and whom Dottie had said previously would only become Cruise Director “over [her] dead body” – was to assume her duties. We’re now fully expecting to wake up in the shower and discover that the entire trip has been a dream.
After dinner (in Red Ginger – delicious Malaysian Beef Panang) we had a second go at watching ‘Jack Reacher’. This time it cut out after half an hour, resumed a little later, but stopped entirely just before the end. Third time lucky?
[Clocks forward one hour.]
Had a late breakfast in bed watching JR do the morning programme of events broadcast; he’s a way to go before filling Dottie’s shoes.
Later we had a visit from the assistant head of Housekeeping. In the middle of each cruise segment, all passengers receive a comment card for us to note anything we’ve noticed that, if fixed, would enhance our cruise experience for the rest of the trip. They seem genuinely keen to receive our suggestions, so we always try to think of something to write. To be honest, though, it’s hard to come up with much, and yet we feel obligated to try. Juli had mentioned that sometimes the linen (bath mats, robes, tablecloths) is a little more warn than you might expect on a five star vessel. On one occasion we had a tablecloth that was way beyond what you’d even put out at home to the point of being see-through; a very minor niggle, but, as I’ve said, trying to find things to write about is difficult. Any way, we had this visit and got talking to the woman, a Romanian, about our travels and ended up getting her all nostalgic for home when we started talking about how much we’d enjoyed Romania and that we’d love to go back there one day to explore the countryside some more.
During the rest of the day, we did some of the usual ‘at-sea day’ activities: went to a lecture (about Captain Bligh and the Bounty mutiny – part one) sat in the Library next to Baristas and watched some TV including a Mark Walberg and Russell Crowe film, Broken City, all of which helped pass the time.
It was sometime during all of this that we learned we wouldn’t be stopping at Pitcairn. Apparently someone had fallen and broken their leg or something when the ship lurched (the sea had gotten a bit more wobbly since leaving Polynesia) and had to be taken, full steam ahead, directly to Easter Island, which has a hospital and an airport should medical evacuation prove necessary. (Pitcairn has neither.) Sorry for the casualty as we were, you can imagine our frustration at missing our quite likely once in a life-time opportunity to visit this tiny bit of British Overseas Territory.
[Later in the cruise, we learned two things about all this. Firstly that no cruise ship had been able to land passengers on Pitcairn in the last five years – they don’t tell you that in the brochure – and that, in fact, there had been three medical emergencies: the broken thighbone (apparently a woman had tripped over her husbands foot – supply your own conspiracy theory here) another passenger had broken their hip in a separate incident and a third, possibly more seriously, had some kind of problem with their kidneys. They say bad things come in threes. Let’s hope they’re right.]
Dinner in the Grand Dinning Room: Lobster. You know, I’m really not sure what all the fuss is about.
[Clocks forward another hour.]
Missing out Pitcairn meant arriving a day early at Easter Island, but not until about midday, half-way through Sunday Brunch, in fact. ‘Land a-hoy’ we cried, to no one in particular. As it happens, Easter Island was first discovered by Europeans on a Sunday, Easter Sunday, 1722 in fact, from which it gets its modern name.
Once we’d finished brunch, we went down to the Marina lounge to collect our tender tickets. There was already quite a crowd and we had a corresponding long wait before our ticket colour was called. After a very bumpy ride over a relatively rough sea, we entered the harbour through a very narrow gap between some scary looking jagged rocks with huge waves breaking over them. We eventually landed at around 3.00pm, which gave us just three hours to explore the town, Hanga Roa, the only settlement on Easter Island.
Walking along the front, we came across a campsite and wondered about staying there for a night,maybe tomorrow. We made some enquiries and sure enough they had space for us. Walking a bit further, through the town, we passed by our first Moai, one of the nearly 900 carved stone statues the island is famous for, then past an unusually cheery cemetery and on to a group of five more Moai on a platform known as an Ahu. Unusually, these five (at a place called Tahai) are all different sizes and may have been made to represent a family group. There’s lots to say about Moai, too much for this post, so I’ve reproduced the ship’s information sheet and uploaded it as a PDF on our Google Drive for you to read if you’re interested or ignore if you’re not. [Click here for the moai factsheet.]
Back at the pier, Juli negotiated a good price for two mini Moai (still pretty big, though, and one’s for you, Gill) to get our major souvee shopping out of the way, so that we wouldn’t have to carry them as well as the tent and all our sleeping stuff later. Also while I queued for the tender, Juli tried to organise a trips for the next couple of days with the various taxi drivers and tour operators hanging around there touting for business. None of them would settle for sensible prices, however, so we decided to leave it until the next day and see what could be arranged through the campsite, which we noticed had posters up advertising half and full day excursions.
Back on board, after another bumpy ride, we assembled and packed everything we’d need for the next two days and enjoyed a G&T on our balcony before dinner in Red Ginger.
First run of week four. Blimey: haven’t run so much since school.
After breakfast, we went down to the Marina Lounge for our second dance lesson, this time to learn to waltz. The class started off easily enough, but our tutor – the new Assistant Cruise Director, who joined the ship the day before – built on the basics, then added more tricks and it all got a bit too much for me. I’m ashamed to say that I ended up walking out, which was rather embarrassing for Juli. Sorry about that.
While Juli went to the gym and read, I slept for most of the rest of the day and managed to miss the napkin folding lecture I’d been looking forward to. However, when Rudi, the manager of the Grand Dining Room, came over to us during dinner to ask why we’d missed his presentation, he gave us an impromptu demonstration of his favourite fold. Others of our waiter friends spotted this, and very soon we were surrounded by half a dozen waiters each vying to out do each other with their skills. Poor Prasad, in whose section we were sitting, was going frantic as tables he was trying to re-lay were repeatedly stripped of their napkins.
I wish we’d had a camera to record all their creations, but we didn’t. Instead, here is a photograph of I took of the sunset – one of the most perfect of the entire trip – that we enjoyed earlier in the evening.
Back in our room, there was a telephone message waiting for us. Juli had asked if she could have a copy of the navigation chart for the Polynesian section of our voyage and the message was to say that one was available to collect from reception.(Ask and ye shall receive.)
For the rest of the afternoon, I blogged some more while Juli stitched (and we both ate Chocolate: the last of our bilby) until it was time for dinner in the Polo Grill. (Only so-so.) On the way back, Juli collected the navigation chart, which will make a nice souvenir for our wall. When we have one, that is.
And that was that for our epic voyage across the world’s largest ocean. (And a whole series of the world’s longest posts to go with it.)
As I write this, we’re ashore in Peru on the eastern edge of the Pacific. Next time I write, we’ll have passed through the Panama Canal, and be about to begin our voyage up the western edge and across the Atlantic.
So long, land lubbers.
TTFN – N
[Click here for more photos from the Pacific.]
Days 308 & 309 (Bora Bora)
Last run in week 2 of my 9 week plan before taking the tender ashore. The weather – a little overcast, but so much better than last time we were on Bora Bora – was improving all the time, which was great as we had an in-land 4x4 trip booked for the afternoon. However, our first task was to withdraw some more cash so as not to find ourselves without should something irresistibly small and pearl-like jump off a market stall and onto Juli’s earlobes.Cashed up, we made our way to our usual internet cafe to have brunch, check e-mails and upload yet more photos of picture postcard perfect sunsets over beautiful, palm-fringed, pure-white, sandy beaches. I had a huge bowl of the most delicious pork ribs in a sticky sweet sauce with pineapple and slightly superfluous slices of chorizo.
After the cafe, with time to spare before our tour, we looked around a few shops and market stalls and did, as it happens, find something worth parting with some of our dwindling pot of spending money for: a carved figure mounted on the end of a spear type thing made out of the pointy bit of a swordfish and something – actually a pair of somethings – small, round and dangly. The price wasn’t quite right, though, and the seller seemed largely impervious to Jedi mind tricks, so Juli told them we were just about to go on an excursion and that she’d think about it and maybe come back tomorrow.
Back at the pier we made ourselves known to the woman with whom we’d made the booking way back on our first visit to Bora Bora, who told us where to wait for our transport, which turned out to be a Defender 90 with a substantial roll bar, a natty paint job, but no roof, doors or glass of any kind. It completely looked the part for our private (just the two of us) island adventure and we thought it was great. (It didn’t have any seat belts either, but we didn’t care.)
Sandy, our driver (a local lad, not unlike the chap who had driven us round Raiatea) drove us out of town then, almost immediately, up a dirt track slash (semi) dried-up stream that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an off-road driving school, and which made our old track back home look like polished glass.
This ‘road’ took us up to some old gun emplacements built by the Americans during the second world war to defend their interests in the Pacific. The guns – still in situ – were never fired in anger, which is probably just as well, as the guns were old even when they were installed, having last been fired during the first world war. Sandy told us he has to be very diplomatic when he has mixed groups of American and Japanese tourists. One of the things he adds for the benefit of Japanese visitors is that the guns’ range was in any event less than those on the Japanese ships they were defending against. He also had an amusing anecdote relating to the original American landing force, who apparently turned up unannounced. Seems they loaded their boats such that the equipment needed to unload them had been loaded first and was, therefore, stuck behind everything else, which resulted in a week-long slidy-puzzle exercise. (I’m not sure he was a big fan of our American cousins.)
Next stop was the studio and garden of a local artist. Unfortunately, being a Saturday and the artist being a Seventh Day Adventist, he was not at work and his gallery was not open. However, we had a pleasant few minutes looking round his diminishing garden, which, quite evidently, was slipping down hill (soon to be followed by his home) towards his new neighbour’s plot who had excavated too much of the hillside between them in the building of their house. Other feature of his garden included a lovely old Series IIa of similar age and condition to us, well, me anyway.
[Incidentally, if you don’t know what a Defender 90 or a Series IIa are, go to http://www.thelandroverclub.co.uk/ or http://www.series2club.co.uk/ and learn about some classic British engineering history.]
From there, we headed off round the island towards the site of an ancient village, another of these marae I’ve written about before. Our progress was hampered, however, by the presence on the roads of a great many other vehicles. These were draped in various party political flags and banners in assorted primary colours and topped by slogan bearing tee-shirt wearing attractive young supporters playing music through huge sound systems at impossible levels. Sandy explained that this was all on account of primary presidential elections due to take place the next day, during which the sale of alcohol is banned, by the way. The different parties’ supporters were driving around the island’s roads in convoy, trying to out do each other in terms of numbers and volume. When two rival groups of supporters travelling in opposite directions met, they would engage in good natured banter and gesturing. At least I think it was good natured – no one shot anyone, anyway – only it’s hard to tell with Bonny M blaring out with an intensity that would challenge the decibel meter on an aircraft carrier’s flight deck.
Also on the way round, we stopped to pick up a young couple from in front of their hotel, who just flagged us down like we were a taxi. They were over from Las Vegas for a long weekend – not that uncommon, apparently – and wanted a lift to Bloody Mary’s restaurant. Since we were going past the door anyway, we said yes. Though we’d never heard of it (or her, apart from the character in South Pacific) Bloody Mary’s is something of an island institution. Tourists go there to have an eponymous drink (watered down, we were told) eat a burger (far from something to write home about, it seems) and buy a tee-shirt (doubtless overpriced).
Any way, we finally arrived at the marea, or a site in the woods, that Sandy and his uncle, on whose land it lies, believe to have been a marea. Sandy drove us up another track, stopped the Landy, switched off and said follow me. I have to say, I was a bit nervous about leaving our stuff unattended in the back of the car and walking off in to the wild woods with a complete stranger. (Later, Juli told me she was too, but never showed it at the time.) He showed us some very large stones, some with carved patterns on them, that looked like they’d been there for an awfully long time. One, he said, was a sacrificial altar of sorts, another a birthing stone (can’t imagine any woman willingly lying on a rock to go through that) and a third that he said was clearly a kind of throne. “Can’t you feel the power coming from it?” he asked. Not really, I thought. He and his uncle plan to excavate the site themselves – though they have no formal training in archaeology – rather than show it to whatever government department is responsible for antiquities. Sandy is concerned that, if they did, the government would take over and exclude him and his uncle. Possibly, but I recon the real reason is rather more prosaic: the government aren’t interested in the site because the site isn’t very interesting. But then: what do I know?
And that was pretty much it for the tour. We’d had a brilliant trip out with Sandy, who drove us back to the pier just in time for us to catch a tender back to the ship. Back on board, we looked at our photos of the day and got ready for an early dinner in the Grand Dinning Room, so we could be back in our room in time to watch Jack Reacher, a film we’d been wanting to see since it came out at Christmas. For one reason and another, it had been a while since we had dinner there, so all our waiter and sommelier friends from all over the restaurant came over throughout the meal to ask us where we’d been and how we were, etc. So much so that with all the chat, we missed the start of our film, so decided to catch it another time.
***
The next day, our last on Bora Bora, we had to get ashore as soon as possible in order to meet up with our second tour round the island – this time by boat – which we’d booked at the same time as our 4x4 tour when we first arrived on Bora Bora. Today, the weather was even better than yesterday, which was just perfect for seeing all the fish and coral in the lagoon that circles the island.
We’d set the alarm for 6.00am to ensure we were up with enough time to dress, have breakfast and be down to collect tickets for the first available tender, all of which we managed to do. Mind you, even with the ticketing system, it’s still a bit of a bun fight, so we weren’t on the very first tender, but we still got to the pier with time to spare. Phew.
Once the tour boat – a long motorboat with a roof for shade and an outrigger for stability – was full (about 15 passengers and crew) we sped off across the shallow lagoon to our first activity: swimming with sharks and rays. On the way our captain and guide introduced himself and explained what we were going to be seeing and doing. He was another local and spoke his broken English with such a strong accent that it was hard to understand what he was saying at times, but his enthusiasm was such that we knew we were going to be in for a fun morning. As we cut through the water, which was so clear you could easily make out the bottom, he would sing to us, accompanying himself on the ukulele. This he continued to do throughout the trip while his second in command, a boy who looked to be about 17 but was probably older, steered the boat. Both of them were brown as nuts, thin as rakes and swam like fish.
So, to these sharks and rays. We were told that the sharks were called black tipped sharks – not hard to see why when we saw them – but I don’t recall being told what kind of rays they were; I only know they weren’t sting or manta rays. The sharks were about four feet long and the rays about two to three feet across and mid grey in colour. Mind you, when we first stopped and anchored, there were none to be seen, but I think they knew we were there all right and what our presence meant. In a word: breakfast. Not us, you understand, but the scraps of bread and fish the crew started to through overboard. Soon we were surrounded by rays and the crew jumped in to show us that it was perfectly safe. The Sharks were a little more standoff-ish, but to be frank, that was fine by me. In my head, I know that they wouldn’t run trips like ours if they started loosing too many tourists, but, well, they’re sharks, right? I’ve seen Jaws.
It was amazing.The rays are really inquisitive. Their backs (tops) which we were encouraged to stroke, felt like thick velvet. I got some great underwater video of them and some slightly less great video of the black tipped sharks too. The trouble was framing them when you can’t see the view finder due to the bright sunshine, even underwater. Honestly, just that swim and snorkel was worth the price of the whole trip. However, we weren’t done yet, not by a long chalk.
Next stop was what they call their coral garden. To be honest, we’d been spoiled by the amazing coral in the Whitsundays, but there was still plenty of both coral and fish to see and I literally had them eating out of my hand. Best of all, though was that Juli decided to give her snorkel and mask another go and did her first bit of independent snorkelling. Once again, girls, if you’re reading this Brenda and Yvonne, thanks so much for your help there.
The third stop was a second opportunity to swim with sharks and rays, but I was a bit to tired to go back in, so stayed on the boat and took pictures and video of Juli in the water. By the way, it was here that Juli got talking to a German couple who turned out also to be cruising all the way from Sydney to Southampton. We’d heard there was another couple on board, and here they were on our excursion too.
[Turns out there’s a third couple – Canadians, apparently – with whom, at the time of writing, we’ve still to make contact.]
Next, we moved on to an area of the lagoon they call The Spa. Like on the beach at Luck Bay on Australia’s south-west coast, the sand here is so fine that you can scoop it up in handfuls from the bottom like mud and apply to your skin like a spa treatment. Of course, my skin’s perfect, so I stayed on the boat and took these pictures of Juli receiving an exfoliating massage from the practised hands of our young helmsman, or, at least, I think that’s what he’s doing.
From the spa we sailed on past many of the high-end hotel bungalows on stilts there are on Bora Bora. Some are huge with extensive decks and even their own swimming pools.
Our last stop before completing our circumnavigation of the island, was at the tour company’s own private motu (islet) in the reef. Here we had time to stroll, lounge, use the facilities – definitely a loo with a view – and enjoy some fresh fruit to take away the taste of salt water. How marvellous to be able to offer: ‘would you like to visit my private Polynesian island?’
Back on land, we had time for a quick bit of shopping – yesterdays' pointy thing plus some dangly baubles (though not for Juli’s ears) still no cheaper, but hey: we’re never coming back here – before having lunch back on board. Oh, and this time I remembered to soak my camera in freshwater, so we were able to review the photos and video of our second brilliant day on Bora Bora.
That evening we had dinner in the Grand Dinning Room, where I had two of my most favourite things to eat: crab salad and roast lamb. (In my diary, I see I’ve written “+ several puddings.” I think we must have had difficulty choosing and the waiters brought us a selection.” All in all the perfect end to a perfect weekend, and what would have been my mother’s 89th birthday. You can bet we raised a glass to her.
Day 310 (cruising to the Tuamotu Archipelago)
A much calmer day today after the excitement of the previous weekend. I went for a run and we had breakfast in bed. Juli had her hair cut and we watched ‘Quartet’, a lovely film (directed by Dustin Hoffman) set in a home for retired musicians with a cast filled chock-a-block with various luminaries from British stage and screen, including at least two Dames.We had tea with a Canadian couple we met who’ve travelled extensively but were both originally from Yorkshire. The man, a retired professor of pathology, was a bit like Tom Courtney, who was one of the stars of Quartet.
After dinner, Raymond, one of our usual waiters (now known as the amazing Raymondo) performed a trick that required him to balance eight diner forks on a single toothpick stuck in the top of a wine bottle, a feat he somehow managed to pull off on a moving ship.
Day 311 (Fakarava)
Like Rangiroa (and almost s big) Fakarava is an atol. Curiously for something formed originally around a volcano, this one is roughly rectangular, not that you can discern that from sea level.Our ship sailed through the pass into the lagoon at about 7.00am, at a stroke doubling the atol’s population. The whole of Fakarava – especially the lagoon – is a UNESCO Biosphere and the thing to do here is dive. (Richard, you’d love it, though I think there’s only one hotel and not a lot else to do here, Gill.) We don’t dive, but we’re both now fans of snorkelling, and the ship’s information sheet on Fakarava told us that sealife within the lagoon is so abundant, to see it, all you have to do is wade out a few metres and look down. So we dressed for swimming and packed beach bags.
Once open tendering was called, we headed ashore and, after giving the few market stalls there the once over, headed along one of the atol’s very few roads in search of a beach. We didn’t need to walk far before finding a small patch of sand with a bit of shade. There wasn’t much coral to speak of, but what little there was, was just a brief paddle from the shore and sheltered quite a few fish including the tiniest (about an inch and a half long) black and white striped ones we’d seen.
There were some bigger fish too, including a lone shark patrolling up and down the beach, just beyond paddling depth. I couldn’t tell you what kind it was, but it didn’t seem terribly interested in us, which was a relief. There were also lots of pale blue ones about a foot long, and some others, slightly longer, whose colour matches the sand exactly, so despite the perfectly clear water, you really only see their shadows.
 |
| Nice Coconuts |
Back at the pier, Juli – now a seasoned snorkeler – bought some loose pearls to make into earrings for herself when we get home, before we took the tender back to the ship. On board, after lunch (Mahi Mahi) there was an announcement to the effect that Dottie, our cruise director, had either been injured or taken ill and would be leaving the ship to be transported back to Tahiti – Fakarava has a narrow airstrip with beach either side of it – for further treatment/investigation, with the expectation of her returning when the ship reaches Easter Island. Meanwhile, the assistant cruise director – known simply as ‘JR’, and whom Dottie had said previously would only become Cruise Director “over [her] dead body” – was to assume her duties. We’re now fully expecting to wake up in the shower and discover that the entire trip has been a dream.
After dinner (in Red Ginger – delicious Malaysian Beef Panang) we had a second go at watching ‘Jack Reacher’. This time it cut out after half an hour, resumed a little later, but stopped entirely just before the end. Third time lucky?
[Clocks forward one hour.]
Days 312 to 315 (cruising the South Pacific)
Had a late breakfast in bed watching JR do the morning programme of events broadcast; he’s a way to go before filling Dottie’s shoes.Later we had a visit from the assistant head of Housekeeping. In the middle of each cruise segment, all passengers receive a comment card for us to note anything we’ve noticed that, if fixed, would enhance our cruise experience for the rest of the trip. They seem genuinely keen to receive our suggestions, so we always try to think of something to write. To be honest, though, it’s hard to come up with much, and yet we feel obligated to try. Juli had mentioned that sometimes the linen (bath mats, robes, tablecloths) is a little more warn than you might expect on a five star vessel. On one occasion we had a tablecloth that was way beyond what you’d even put out at home to the point of being see-through; a very minor niggle, but, as I’ve said, trying to find things to write about is difficult. Any way, we had this visit and got talking to the woman, a Romanian, about our travels and ended up getting her all nostalgic for home when we started talking about how much we’d enjoyed Romania and that we’d love to go back there one day to explore the countryside some more.
During the rest of the day, we did some of the usual ‘at-sea day’ activities: went to a lecture (about Captain Bligh and the Bounty mutiny – part one) sat in the Library next to Baristas and watched some TV including a Mark Walberg and Russell Crowe film, Broken City, all of which helped pass the time.
It was sometime during all of this that we learned we wouldn’t be stopping at Pitcairn. Apparently someone had fallen and broken their leg or something when the ship lurched (the sea had gotten a bit more wobbly since leaving Polynesia) and had to be taken, full steam ahead, directly to Easter Island, which has a hospital and an airport should medical evacuation prove necessary. (Pitcairn has neither.) Sorry for the casualty as we were, you can imagine our frustration at missing our quite likely once in a life-time opportunity to visit this tiny bit of British Overseas Territory.
[Later in the cruise, we learned two things about all this. Firstly that no cruise ship had been able to land passengers on Pitcairn in the last five years – they don’t tell you that in the brochure – and that, in fact, there had been three medical emergencies: the broken thighbone (apparently a woman had tripped over her husbands foot – supply your own conspiracy theory here) another passenger had broken their hip in a separate incident and a third, possibly more seriously, had some kind of problem with their kidneys. They say bad things come in threes. Let’s hope they’re right.]
Dinner in the Grand Dinning Room: Lobster. You know, I’m really not sure what all the fuss is about.
[Clocks forward another hour.]
***
Went to listen to part two of the Bligh/Bounty lecture this morning. The lecturer seems quite a fan of the infamous Captain and a lot less so of Mr Christian and his fellow mutineers. She lost our sympathy though when referring to the rape and child abuse scandal that came from the Island a few years ago when she seemed to be justifying it as just the traditional behaviour of another culture. As an audience member called out, some of the children involved were only seven years old.
Another run then more TV: the end of an apocalyptic Gregory Peck black and white sci-fi film called ‘On The Beach’ and a mid-life crisis movie called ‘This Is 40’.
[Hang on: I have to break now for afternoon tea… Back again, all caked up.]
We had to pop in to see the Oceania Club Ambassador later in the day to straighten out some confusion over how many ‘Cruise Credits’ booking our 90 day trip had earned us. A letter we received whilst on board seemed to credit us more than we thought we were entitled to. We assumed it was one point per cruise segment (i.e. five) but it turns out it’s done on length of cruise, so longer cruses earn you more points. Our two Grand Voyages (Sydney to Papeete and Papeete to Southampton) rated a total of seven credits, just missing out on an eighth by one day. (Seems they don’t count the day you disembark. Curses.) Not that it matters: I don’t imagine we’ll ever do this sort of thing again, but it’s the principle of the thing, don’t you know.
After that we opened our third complimentary bottle of champagne, which we’d been saving for full moon, and got ready for dinner in Toscana. As I’m sure I’ve commented before, It’s all go.
***
For some inexplicable reason, I awoke really early (like four o’clock early) so, not wanting to disturb Juli, went to read in the Concierge Lounge. This is the day we should have arrived on Pitcairn, so maybe my subconscious was getting me ready to go ashore or something. Instead we had another day at sea. This meant more of the usual: a bit of TV (part of ‘Pitch Perfect’, on the basis of which we’ll not be bothering to catch the rest) a bit of lunch, a bit of blogging and, for no particular reason, finally making a start on the Haig's chocolate Bilby we bought in Sydney for Easter.
As we sailed temporarily south and out of the tropics, we watched the Howard and Brando version of ‘Mutiny on the Bounty’ (good but scarcely compensation) and got ready for dinner in the Grand Dinning Room, where Raymondo the Marvellous amazed us with more tableside tricks involving a disappearing coin, which magically reappeared in my jacket pocket. Apparently he’d planted it there something over an hour before when he’d seated us.
[Clocks forward yet another hour tonight.]
***
Third run of week three, a bit of breakfast in bed and just time to put some laundry on to wash before the mid-cruise Safety and Emergency drill, our fifth since leaving Sydney.
After that, I finished the laundry and blogged while Juli went to the gym. When she got back, we went to a wine tasting event, which wasn’t quite what we were expecting, but still enjoyable, of course. That was followed by lunch and a bit more blogging before going to our first Captains Cocktail Party: free drinks for ‘Elite’ members (5 or more credits – that’s why they matter) of the Oceania Club. We’d had two previous invitations, but one or other of us had been ill on the day so couldn’t attend. Juli wasn’t sure what to drink, so asked the bar tender for something fizzy and fun. She came away with a glass of Champagne. Very nice though not massively original, but apparently his initial suggestion had been a can of Sprite. Still, if he’d been Australian, she probably would have ended up with a pint of larger.
[Clocks forward a fourth hour since leaving Tahiti.]
Day 316 to 318 (Easter Island)
Missing out Pitcairn meant arriving a day early at Easter Island, but not until about midday, half-way through Sunday Brunch, in fact. ‘Land a-hoy’ we cried, to no one in particular. As it happens, Easter Island was first discovered by Europeans on a Sunday, Easter Sunday, 1722 in fact, from which it gets its modern name.Once we’d finished brunch, we went down to the Marina lounge to collect our tender tickets. There was already quite a crowd and we had a corresponding long wait before our ticket colour was called. After a very bumpy ride over a relatively rough sea, we entered the harbour through a very narrow gap between some scary looking jagged rocks with huge waves breaking over them. We eventually landed at around 3.00pm, which gave us just three hours to explore the town, Hanga Roa, the only settlement on Easter Island.
Walking along the front, we came across a campsite and wondered about staying there for a night,maybe tomorrow. We made some enquiries and sure enough they had space for us. Walking a bit further, through the town, we passed by our first Moai, one of the nearly 900 carved stone statues the island is famous for, then past an unusually cheery cemetery and on to a group of five more Moai on a platform known as an Ahu. Unusually, these five (at a place called Tahai) are all different sizes and may have been made to represent a family group. There’s lots to say about Moai, too much for this post, so I’ve reproduced the ship’s information sheet and uploaded it as a PDF on our Google Drive for you to read if you’re interested or ignore if you’re not. [Click here for the moai factsheet.]
Back at the pier, Juli negotiated a good price for two mini Moai (still pretty big, though, and one’s for you, Gill) to get our major souvee shopping out of the way, so that we wouldn’t have to carry them as well as the tent and all our sleeping stuff later. Also while I queued for the tender, Juli tried to organise a trips for the next couple of days with the various taxi drivers and tour operators hanging around there touting for business. None of them would settle for sensible prices, however, so we decided to leave it until the next day and see what could be arranged through the campsite, which we noticed had posters up advertising half and full day excursions.
Back on board, after another bumpy ride, we assembled and packed everything we’d need for the next two days and enjoyed a G&T on our balcony before dinner in Red Ginger.
***
The Grand Dinning Room was virtually deserted the next morning at breakfast. Possibly everyone was keen to get ashore, but we thought we could relax a little and waited for initial rush to end before going ashore.
At the campsite, we put our tent up and went to see the site manager about trips. He had a phone around, but had a hard time finding anyone he knew who hadn’t already been booked by the ship. However, he suggested that, if we didn’t mind waiting until after he’d been to collect some new arrivals from the airport, he would take us to the nearest sites himself in the afternoon. As it happened, this suited us perfectly, as it gave us time to draw out some more cash, buy some food for the next morning and have a bit more of a look round town. We arranged to be back at the campsite to go with him at 2.00pm, meanwhile, he promised to keep trying to find someone to take us further afield the next day.
Around town, we had a look round most of the shops – sometimes just to avoid a couple of rain showers – and popped in to take a look at the church, which, like some of the others we’d seen in Polynesia, had art and statuary which borrowed quite a bit from local tradition and beliefs, including the cult of the birdmen, of which more later.
Just time for a quick lunch (hotdogs) before heading back to the campsite, where the site manager was waiting with the good news that he’d found a guy to take us round the island the next day for a reasonable sum. Hoorah! but back to today.
First stop was Rano Kau, an extinct volcano – one of the three main volcanoes chiefly responsible for forming the island as it is today – which now acts as one of the main freshwater reservoirs for the island. I forget how big it is, but, standing on the rim of the crater, it’s impossible to get all of it in one picture, even with an 18mm wide angle lens, if that means anything to you. Big, is what it means to me. From there we drove on to the near by partially restored village of Orongo. Perched high up between the rim of the volcano to one side and formidable sea cliffs on the other, what we saw was a collection of low, round, grass topped, dry stone structures over pits with tiny entrances that reminded us a lot of the prehistoric houses on Orkney you may well have seen. Not much more than man made caves, but probably affording at least some shelter from the elements and making the best use of locally available materials.
I mentioned the Birdman cult earlier. It seems that it was here that the right to rule your clan was determined by your ability to scale down the cliffs, swim with the aid of a sort of reed surfboard to a small island just off the mainland – more like a stack, really – climb up its sheer cliffs, steal the egg of a particular migratory bird, climb back down again, swim back to the mainland (avoiding the sharks) and climb back up the formidable sea cliffs, all without breaking the egg (nor your neck, obviously) and do it faster than any other challenger in this annual race. The winner became the new birdman and clan chief. Well, it avoids vote rigging, I suppose. Still, I can’t help thinking you’d most likely go through quite a few perfectly able candidates that might otherwise have been an asset to the community, but what do I know.
Last stop was a cave eaten out of the lava by centuries of crashing waves, where we were shown some ancient birdman paintings on the roof of the cave, while the sea continued to pound the rocks around us.
Back at the campsite, we thanked our guide and, with perfect timing, were able to find a supermarket, buy the things we needed for tomorrows hearty breakfast (ready for our full day trip round the island) an still make it back to the five moai at Tahai and photograph the sun setting behind them. Something we couldn’t had done without staying on the island overnight. From there, we walked back to camp via dinner at a very nice but quite expensive French restaurant, from where we could see the lights of our cruise ship, which had been joined in the bay, rather less picturesquely, by an oil tanker.
That night, tucked up in our tent, we struggled to sleep. I’d like to recount that this was due to the excitement of being on Easter Island or the joy of camping again, but, truth to tell, it was in fact a combination of the relentless but irregular sounds of the ocean meeting the shore just a few metres across the road from our pitch, plus the drone of the eco resort next door's generator running all night. Ah, the peace and tranquillity of getting back to nature.
***
A bit bleary eyed, we dressed, washed ten got the tent down and packed away before having our shop-bought breakfast and waited for our much anticipated trip round the island and all the wonders within it. While we waited, I checked my camera and discovered that, no doubt due to all the sunset pictures I’d taken, my camera battery was seriously depleted. I would have to be very economical with my pictures today. The same thing happened – entirely my own stupid fault – at Angkor Wat. How is it I manage to do this on the most important days? I also discovered that I’d left my torch inside the now folded and packed away tent. (“Oh, I wondered what that bump was.”) Still, at least I know where it is.
Our taxi – our driver was also the island’s computer repairman, but drove when business was quiet; apparently most islanders have to have two jobs – arrived promptly at 9.30am. Concerned that his English might not be good enough, he brought with him a friend to provide commentary. He really needn’t have bothered: he was more than proficient and his friend – a holidaying surgeon, apparently – really no better.
First stop on the far side of the island was Aka Hanga, where two moai (now collapsed) sat on opposite sides of a small bay. There was also a small cave there and more dramatic coastal scenery to admire. From there, we past several small ahu without moai as we drove along the coast towards one of the highlights of the day: another of the main volcanic craters and moai quarry – sometimes called the moai factory – at Rano Raraku. Here there are dozens of moai of different sizes and at various stages of completion. They are also arranged (or more likely abandoned) in the landscape, up an down the hillside, at all sorts of angles and buried (or subsided) in the ground at various depths. It’s here too that the unique kneeling moai – thought to be the last moai made – is to be seen.
Not far (visible) from Rano Raraku is Aku Tongariki, a restored standing row of 15 well preserved moai. Prior to their restoration in 1996 – principally by a Japanese team – these had been toppled by warring tribes and then washed inland by a tsunami. It’s amazing to imagine a wave of any size having the slightest impact on these now towering monoliths.
From Tongariki, we drove on along dirt tracks, past the third main volcano, Poike, the oldest and largest of the three, towards a beech at Anakena. On the way, we stopped to look at some petroglyphs (difficult to make out in the noon day sun) at a place called Papa Vaka, and were shown a group of round, magnetic stones within a dry stone wall circle called Te Pito Kura, which we were told meant ‘The Naval of The World’, although, rather confusingly, that’s what we were told the pre European name for Easter Island, Rapa Nui meant.
[Rapa Nui is also the name of the original inhabitants of the island, and of their language.]
At Anakena, a group of seven moai and their ahu have been restored just back from the top of the beech. The interesting thing about these moai is that there were found buried under the sand, and have not, therefore, been eroded so much as the others by the islands weather. Instead, they have sharply defined features as if they had just been carved and set there.
Back on good roads again, we drove through a forest of eucalypts planted by a no doubt well meaning Englishman in the 19th century. Unfortunately, their fallen leaves have turned the soil acid, and so are gradually being felled and replaced by a native species.
Our final stop of a long hot day was to see the only moai on the island that face out to see. At Ahu Akivi (which is in the middle of the island, so they’d have to face the sea no mater which way they were orientated) there are six moai in a landscape which reminded us very much of Northumberland or Southern Scotland, or our old home in the North Pennines, complete with cows, though no sheep. In fact, we wondered why this obviously fertile, green and pleasant land did have more livestock on it. The answer seems to be to do with the fact that incomers and outside are prevented by Chilean law to own land, and, or so we were told, the indigenous islanders – descendants of the original Rapa Nui who, legend has it, cut down all the trees – aren’t much into animal husbandry. Apparently they ate all the sheep Europeans brought to the island.
Back on board (in time for afternoon tea in Horizons) I snoozed while Juli looked through the very nearly one thousand photos she took on the island. (No flat battery in her camera.) Diner was grand dinning room, where Raymond was practicing napkin folding in preparation a demonstration of the art tomorrow afternoon. Can’t wait. (No, seriously: I’ve highlighted it on our daily schedule.)
[Clocks forward a fifth and final hour. No more changes now ‘til Lima.]
Days 319 to 322 (cruising the South Pacific)
First run of week four. Blimey: haven’t run so much since school.After breakfast, we went down to the Marina Lounge for our second dance lesson, this time to learn to waltz. The class started off easily enough, but our tutor – the new Assistant Cruise Director, who joined the ship the day before – built on the basics, then added more tricks and it all got a bit too much for me. I’m ashamed to say that I ended up walking out, which was rather embarrassing for Juli. Sorry about that.
While Juli went to the gym and read, I slept for most of the rest of the day and managed to miss the napkin folding lecture I’d been looking forward to. However, when Rudi, the manager of the Grand Dining Room, came over to us during dinner to ask why we’d missed his presentation, he gave us an impromptu demonstration of his favourite fold. Others of our waiter friends spotted this, and very soon we were surrounded by half a dozen waiters each vying to out do each other with their skills. Poor Prasad, in whose section we were sitting, was going frantic as tables he was trying to re-lay were repeatedly stripped of their napkins.
I wish we’d had a camera to record all their creations, but we didn’t. Instead, here is a photograph of I took of the sunset – one of the most perfect of the entire trip – that we enjoyed earlier in the evening.
***
Late start this morning. Juli went to find a spot to sit and read while I got back to the blog. I needed to check something with her and found her in the terrace cafe about to have lunch. I hadn’t meant to, but some how found myself sitting down to join her.
Back in our room, I continued to blog until it was time to go upstairs to the Horizons Lounge for a gala tea time. This is something they do every now and then when, in addition to the usual teatime fare of sandwiches, cakes and pastries, they pull out all the stops and decorate the place with carved fruit displays, ice sculptures and an even greater variety of treats to tempt you.
After tea, I relaxed in the bath with a book about travelling across Canada in a campervan, followed by dinner in our favourite speciality restaurant, Red Ginger. Unfortunately, it was very busy and noisy this evening, particularly the table next to us, so we didn’t have as lovely a time as we had hope for.
Sometime during the night, we crossed longitude 90 degrees west: still a quarter of the way round the world to go with only 40 more days in which to do it.
***
Run number two of week 4 (a bit easier) followed by kippers for breakfast. In the morning, Juli picked up a needlepoint kit and went to the gym, while I picked up some DVDs for tomorrow and blogged. In the afternoon we watched a movie on TV called Rapa Nui about Easter Island, by (but not staring) Kevin Costner.
Later, per the instructions contained within a letter we’d received the night before and asked not to share, we went down to join a small group of our fellow passengers waiting in the Grand Foyer, under conditions of complete secrecy. Intrigued? Read on.
I’ve mentioned the mid-cruise comments cards we get each segment and the feedback Juli had given about the occasional substandard quality of linen on board. I used my comment card to request a galley tour. (Also a tour of the bridge, engineering, cold storage and refuse facilities. In fact anything to help us learn more about how this floating town of 3,000 works.)
The secrecy aspect is because they don’t as rule offer these tours. The reason being, they have concerns about security and health and safety. I don’t really understand that; either it’s safe and secure, in which case why not offer the tour more widely, or it isn’t, in which case don’t run them at all. One of our small group (about eight of us) knowledgeably informed me it was illegal under anti-terrorism legislation since 9/11. Well, if so, it didn’t stop Celebrity taking hundreds of us through their galleys on the Singapore to Sydney cruise.
Anyway, there we were and off we went. Senior Executive Chef, Laurent Trias, took us to the galley complex between the two speciality restaurants on deck five, Jacques and Red Ginger, which also serves the Grand Dining Room on deck 6, via an escalator, we discovered. We also learned that the ship has an entire deck devoted to cold storage, with section at different temperatures to enable them to store just about anything at the optimum temperature. We were given lots more info, but I’ve probably said too much already.
Back in our room, there was a telephone message waiting for us. Juli had asked if she could have a copy of the navigation chart for the Polynesian section of our voyage and the message was to say that one was available to collect from reception.(Ask and ye shall receive.)
For the rest of the afternoon, I blogged some more while Juli stitched (and we both ate Chocolate: the last of our bilby) until it was time for dinner in the Polo Grill. (Only so-so.) On the way back, Juli collected the navigation chart, which will make a nice souvenir for our wall. When we have one, that is.
***
[Last cruising day before South America.]
Very lazy morning. Skipped breakfast, did some laundry and blogged while Juli finished her needlepoint kit. Lunch was in the Grand Dinning Room for a change, followed by Episode IV of Star Wars on DVD (May the fourth be with you) back in our room.
In the evening, we took full advantage of free cocktails being served in all the ship’s bars to thank us passengers for our understanding over the change of itinerary, followed by an Indian buffet in the Terrace Cafe. A curry at last, albeit very much toned down for cruise customer palettes.
And that was that for our epic voyage across the world’s largest ocean. (And a whole series of the world’s longest posts to go with it.)
As I write this, we’re ashore in Peru on the eastern edge of the Pacific. Next time I write, we’ll have passed through the Panama Canal, and be about to begin our voyage up the western edge and across the Atlantic.
So long, land lubbers.
TTFN – N
[Click here for more photos from the Pacific.]
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