TAHITI 2018 STORY

Tahiti. The name conjures images of gorgeous palm trees and lush fauna so luminous as to dazzle the senses, gently wafting sensuously in the breeze, as they frame a crystalline azure beach with only a slight hint of a wave, encased in a perfect temperature for exploring on foot, or underwater. All together in what a tropical paradise should be, and is. That having been written, and now having been read, tack on meals created by French chefs. After all, Tahiti is part of French Polynesia. Realize that what they are preparing are fresh island vegetables, and seafood, accompanied by just-picked island fruits. Along with the gastronomical adventures, toss in being able to snorkel with sharks and sting rays without cages, and the picture starts to take shape. No Toto. We are not in Kansas.
After eight hours and twenty-four minutes in the air, leaving from LAX, we arrived at Papeete airport, where we immediately began our Tahitian acculturation process. Since verbal communication seems to be the best way to get things going, we learned the three Tahitian words that would get us through the immigration mambo.

HELLO….IA ORANA
THANK YOU…..MAURUURU
YOU’RE WELCOME….AI TAPI APIA

Rolling the “rs” is essential. Thus mauruuru, if you’re not careful, sounds like a jumbled mess. Following the immigration process, and mauruuruing everyone within earshot, we were, along with the other passengers, herded into a catamaran at the ferry dock that took us to the Intercontinental Hotel on the island of Moorea, where we checked in and were, after a less-than-brief period, accompanied to our Over The Water Bungalow (OWB). During our waiting period, we used our time to pick up some supplies for the OWB….Spirits, fruit, and other sundry snacks. Our first look at our OWB left us breathless. It was more wonderful than advertised. Yes. There is a flower in my hair. Naomi’s had fallen off. Please notice the ladders. That’s how we were able to go simply from our living room into the lagoon. Thus, no sandy beaches with which to contend.

Now, safely ensconced in our thatch-roofed sanctum, it was time to unpack, have a “sip,” and take a dip. This was one of the many views we got of Flute Fish and coral beneath our OWB. This is not an artist’s rendering. This is as it was.

After drying off, and, of course showering, it was time for our first Tahitian dinner, an “International Buffet.” When they say “international,” they mean it. They had everything from Texas-style BBQ, to sushi, to Italian pastas, salads from every clime, and desserts to put a diabetic into a coma in two spoonfulls. The entertainment was a Tahitian dance show, complete with a Tahitian Ukelele, Percussion, and Vocal quartet. The dancers were wonderful. The quartet was superb. We learned that they tune their eight-stringed ukuleles differently than the Cook Islanders and Hawaiians. For you musoids, here is how they do it, and why they sound almost “mandolinish.” Top string…SOL. Second string…DO up a fourth, not down. Third string…Mi up a third. Fourth string…LA down a sixth. Like the Cook Islanders, they use fishing line for their strings. I guess it keep expenses down. It also sounds great. French and Tahitian are the native languages of the locals. However, they speak enough English to swing with the tourists, as we try to get by in their native tongues. It’s a fun-style polyglot. After all, nobody can get enough “thank yous,” “your welcomes,” or “hellos,” during the course of a day. I’m putting this picture in here because the dancers are much prettier than the quartet.

After over nine hours sleep, we were off and running again. Following breakfast, we met up with the guide for our “Blue Lagoon Tour.” And that’s exactly what it was, and then some. The tour included a visit of a motu (private island), which was by most standards gorgeous, along with sight-seeing along the barrier reef, which was also a gasser. These attractions could only be followed by something “way off of the map.” Yes. We were taken to an area in the ocean where we could snorkel with sting rays, or as some people call them, “Flying Pizzas,” due to their shape, and the way that they breach the surface of the water. Also in attendance to make the snorkel scene spicier, were several Blacktip Reef Sharks. Yes. Sharks swimming around, and among us. We were told that it was okay to pet, and feel the sting rays, (just don’t touch their stinger), but not okay to touch the sharks. I guess the sharks have an agreement with the tour guides that states, “You and your clients don’t touch us, and we won’t eat you or them.” At first it was a bit daunting swimming and diving with these erstwhile stars of a movie of the past. However, after a while, it was simply a matter of shooting pictures and videos of them while underwater. It was quite palpable that parents kept a sharp eye on their children, who were swimming and diving down as if they were in their own pool at home. There were no “floaties” here, just masks, snorkels and swim fins. Thank goodness these gentle giants kept their end of the bargain, as did we and our co-divers. Is there such a word. Oh well. There is now.

Being our thirtieth wedding anniversary, after their barbecue and beverages, we made it back to our bungalow, where we were greeted by an ice bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne cooling in its midst, accompanied by a nice note from the management of the Intercontinental Hotel. This could only be followed by a wonderful Tahitian dinner, which it was. After such a hard day at play, it was time to enter the arms of Morpheus for a good rest.

This is Mr. Stingray, and our guide, surrounded by children.

This is Mr. Shark, surrounded by nobody at the moment.

Anniversary Time.

Following another day of snorkeling, and other funzies, we decided to try fish ‘n’ chips Tahiti style. We were not disappointed. They used Parrot Fish, which is wonderful. After lunch, we were back underwater for more exploration of the area under our OWB. Later on, we had an interesting dinner that included fried breadfruit, which takes me to a bit of the history of French Polynesia.

In 1789, Captain Bligh, of “Mutiny on the Bounty” fame, introduced pineapples to Tahiti. This was a lot nicer than what was brought to the islands by Captain Cook in the 17th Century….Guns, G-d, and Gonorrhea, during their search for gold and trade routes. The island population, was approximately 90,000 before Cook arrived. By the time he, and later, Bligh finished with the islanders, their population stood at approximately 2,000. The British not only infected the islanders, but clamped a damp on their native religion, and language, forbidding its practice. As most oppressed people do, the islanders practiced their faith in secrecy. The Brits also forbad nudity in public, more specifically, topless ladies. When the French took over, under Napoleon in the early 19th Century, the bans were lifted….Vive le France! The people of French Polynesia have thrived since then, as has their language and religion….Mauruuru!

After a few more days of fun in the sun, it was time to bid parahi (farewell) to Moorea, and take off to Bora Bora. Apparently whoever named the islands liked Bora Bora so much, he/she named it twice, kinda like Walla Walla, Washington, but that’s another story.

The flight to Bora Bora was a short one, but filled with incredible sights to be seen from the window seats. We came to find out that this was just a prelude to the all-too-real phantasm that awaited us. The island, environs, and the people, of Bora Bora defy hyperbole. Upon arrival at the Bora Bora airport, we were once again herded, along with our fellow travelers, into power boat that whisked us to the island itself, where we were greeted by a very colorful staff, accompanied by a glass of fresh fruit juice. The Intercontinental leaves nothing out when it comes to pleasing their guests. An interesting aside: regardless of where one looks in Bora Bora, and/or Moorea, the colors of the trees, et cetera, seem, in today’s parlance, “Photoshopped.”

It is said that “Into each life some rain must fall.” Well, that’s exactly what happened when we arrived at Bora Bora (BB). Just as when the sun shines, it shines like something out of a Techicolor extravaganza, when it rains, it’s like a vintage Sidney Greenstreet movie…. the word torrential was used quite a bit that day. Nonetheless, we used the “heavy-hosing” backdrop time to unpack, relax, and make our plans for the next few day. The first order of the day was to check out the local environs for room supplies…..chips, fruit, booze, and kitch. Just like in Moorea, we found “The place.” The prices, like Moorea, were rather exorbitant. But that’s to be expected. Just about everything is imported, other than the fruits and vegies. We made our purchases and then retreated to our OWB for some quiet time. When we awoke, it was time for cocktails and dinner. And what a dinner it was. For starters, they presented us with the finest Carpaccio outside of Rome, garnished with marinated Jerusalem artichokes exactly as they are served in Rome, along with capers, arugula, and fresh grape-tomatoes. The main course was Mahi Mahi cooked to perfection, with the usual accompaniments.

This was the path to the restaurant. Can we say, “Lush?”

Us at dinner.

Along with rain, sometimes it gets a bit breezy. Other times the winds hit pretty hard, making for some formidable waves. On these occasions, we went into our “champagne cork in a flushing toilet” mode. Did we let that stop us from trying to take underwater pictures and/or videos? Yes. Thus, we just swam, and enjoyed the views, as we also envied the fish who could have cared less about the wind and/or waves. At times, it was like being in the midst of an aquatic treadmill, as we were kicking and stroking, but going nowhere. Hey. Calorie burning is calorie burning.

Breakfast the next morning turned into quite a funny situation. The buffet featured, among other things, miso soup and rice, along with Japanese pickled radish. Needless to say, we zeroed in on this immediately, and brought it to our table. When we asked our waitress for some pickled ginger (gari shoga) to go with it we were rewarded with giggles until she understood, so we thought, “pickled ginger.” Yes. What you see here is a bowl of freshly shredded ginger, and a bowl of freshly sliced pickles. No wonder they thought we were being silly. After a bit of “Fractured French,” and some sign language, they caught on. From then on, upon being seated for breakfast, one of the ladies would dutifully show up with pickled ginger (gari shoga), wasabi (Japanese horseradish), and soy sauce (shoyu), along with chopsticks (hashi).

A bit of a musical sideline. During our meals, soft ukulele music was wafting gently through speakers in the background. Everyone commented on the lovely “island music” to which we were listening. Upon paying a bit of attention, I realized that the “island music” that we were hearing were ukuleles playing San Antonio Rose, On the Road Again, Jambalaya, Your Cheatin’ Heart, and other “island favorites.” Upon sharing this tidbit with our compatriots, there was a lot more listening, and a bit of giggling. Ah yes. Music knows no bounds. Hank Williams meets Hula Hatti.

The winds died down. So we were back into searching the lagoon for more goodies to photograph. We didn’t have long to wait. As we snorkeled our way through the gorgeous clusters of coral and beautiful indigenous fish, we came upon an eel that looked like something out of a 1950s Japanese monster movie. Needless to say, we gave it a wide berth, as would any cowardly snorkelers. What a classic example of “Beauty and the Beast.”

Lest we forget, the national beer of Tahiti. Here it is, “Hinano the Beer of Tahiti.” Once again, irrefutable proof that man does not live only by pineapples and bananas. As with any other country, there is competition among sportsters. In lieu of football, they have spear-chucking at a coconut.

None of them hit the coconut while we were there. But they came very close. We would not want them using us for target practice.

The remainder of our stay there consisted of snorkeling, relaxing, and enjoying the various shows, along with some of the finest meals this side of where-ever. We found some interesting shells, empty and occupied as we dived down a bit deeper. Here are some samples. The large one is a clam shell with nobody home. The small one is a hermit crab with the hermit wondering why we were bothering him/her. Do hermit crabs have genders? Something to ponder while analyzing belly-button lint.

We had one last day of water sports, during which we took this picture of our OWB. Yes. It really is that beautiful, peaceful, and all-around idyllic.

After we packed, maururued and parahied with our new found acquaintances, we were shuttled off to our flight back to Papeete, via Tahiti Air, where we connected with Tahiti Air Nui. The reason for mentioning this, is that Tahiti Air has small commuter planes. Tahiti Air Nui has big international planes. We learned that “nui” means big. How about that? Another Tahitian word to add to our less-than-vast Tahitian vocabulary. At the Papeete airport, there was a Tahitian band to bid farewell to some of their friends and family. It was really quite something to see and hear. These folks don’t hold back. They wear their hearts on their sleeves.

We were now off to Los Angeles. Yes. The City of the Angels. It has changed dramatically since we left in 1989. Well hey. So have we. After the usual routines, renting a car, finding our hotel, and unpacking, we decided on a “real, genuine L.A. meal.” Yes. El Torito for chips & salsa with Margaritas. As you can see, we were a bit tired from the trip, along with a bit of jet-lag. After an extended stay in “dreamland,” we were on our way to the San Fernando Valley for a gathering of our friends who still live there. It was great to see old familiar faces, and some young ones too….Yes dear hearts, Valleyites have children too. We caught up on numerous stories of stuff that went on in our absence. It’s nice knowing that people still care enough to take time out from their usual schedules to hang with us. Sadly, our ranks are being thinned out by the “Grim Reaper,” illness, and prior commitments. To put this caper together required one phone call to our longtime friend, Tony Farrell, who took care of the invitations, and room reservation. This was not his first time in this role. He’s done this for us on numerous occasions before without fail. At one point, I said to one of the stalwarts in attendance that I was going to order an “adult beverage.” He responded, “I don’t think that they serve Ensure here.”

I neglected to mention that our hotel for this caper is located near LAX. So, after a few hours of hanging out and story-telling, we had to beat it back to our hotel for some dinner and rest. For those of you who don’t know Southern California, check out a map, and bear in mind freeway traffic at its height.

Up bright and early for some genuine “Tommy Tourist” action. We finally got to see the Walt Disney Concert Hall. It’s absolutely astounding in scope, comfort, tasteful décor, and any other accolades one might want to throw in. The attention to detail for both, the performers and audience is spot on perfect. It’s as if someone said, “Let’s make a perfect setting for the arts to be presented,” and then went ahead and did it. As you can see, it was designed by Frank Gehry, the same architect who created “Fred and Ginger” in Prague, along with many other man-made monuments to unbridled imagination and foresight.

From here, we walked to the Grammy Museum, another bastion for the arts, and the artists, past and present, who created the music of our, and past generations. It was wonderful to see all of these great artists being enshrined with their awards, along with sound clips of that which made their names global household words. I had the privilege of playing and recording with many of them. Seeing the displays brought back a lot of wonderful memories for me.

These sites really were a feast for the senses. Satiated musically, we had an espresso, and got “our place” on the Freeway, which at that time, and most other times, resembled a still-life painting. Once again ensconced in our private sanctum, after dinner, we made a bee-line for the “Land of Nod.” The next morning, we made our trek into Downtown L.A. to visit a friend of mine from the fourth grade, Stephanie Sebastian Greer, and her husband Tom. Steffi had a wonderful career as a concert pianist. She was a great player in grammar school, so her career was no surprise to anyone who had heard her play. It was great seeing this wonderful lady from my distant past. She and her husband, when we arrived at their doorstep, were in the process of moving to Palm Springs, California. We had a lovely brunch with them. The vibe was just great. As we left, we wished them well in their new clime. It gets pretty warm there.

Finally we got to hear some live jazz. Ken Tussing, a trombone player who was in the Ray Charles Orchestra when I was playing in it, invited us to a rehearsal. They were rehearsing at the Musician’s Union, Local 47. It was the Bobby Chavez L.A. Mambo All-Star Orchestra. A number of the musoids in the band recognized us, and greeted us royally….Yes. A lot of jive asides. They really played right in the pocket. If you’re ever in L.A., look up the AFM Local 47, and go hear some great music in the “making.”

After this adventure in sound, it was time to pack and get ready for our flight home. All in all, this trip was a ball. The magic of “Tinsletown” hasn’t worn off. It’s just gotten slicker. The name, Tahiti, and all that it conjures did not disappoint on any level. The only sad part is having to say “Parahi.”