Biking Around Bora Bora

There’s nothing worse that waking up early in the morning with a massive headache. Ok, well maybe there are a few things that are worse, but the point is that it sucks. You know you totally over did it the night before, you know you should of maybe taken a few Tylenol and drank some water before bed, but you totally didn’t.  Now you feel like a stiff, dried up sponge at the bottom of a crusty, dirty sink and all you can think about is getting as much water into you as soon as possible. The last thing running through you mind is “Hey, let’s go on a 20 mile bike ride around Bora Bora”. Some how though this is exactly what was about to happen.

            After hydrating in the crew mess and having a light breakfast of mostly bacon, I ring up the pianist in orchestra A.J., and remind him that we made plans last night in our inebriated state to bike around Bora Bora (It sounded like a better idea last night than it did this morning). We go down to the deck of the ship where they keep the bikes that they rent out for crew for $3 and wheeled them out the gangway and into a tender, a small boat that they transport passengers from the ship to the dock that is too small to dock the massive ships. On the way to the dock, a friendly passenger makes small talk with us and we explain that we plan to bike around the island. She mentions she went on the tour yesterday that went around the island and said it was mostly flat with the exception of one hill. “Awesome” I reply, as I don’t think I could possibly handle any hills in this ride I’m starting to have second thoughts about. We reach the dock, and unload our bikes and get our feet on the pedals.

            A.J. spots a tourist visiting center and I suggest we go there to pick up a map of the island as a reference and also to locate any special sights or landmarks. We pick one up and get on our bikes start our journey onward. Getting out of the small town was rough only because of the cars on the road kicking dust and gravel up and it getting into our eyes. The roads were barely paved and full of potholes, so your eyesight need to be functioning at 100% or you may end up head over handlebars onto the rocky pavement.

            Once you get out of the little town, it breaks away into tropical suburbia. Houses that looked like huts, or huts that looked like houses, with large, green lots that surround them. Curvy coconut, massive mango, and beautiful breadfruit trees consume their real estate as we ride by the houses. Just beyond the houses on our right side, we can see the ocean. Turquoise blue water that extends all the way to the outer edges of the lagoon, powder like white sands that meets the waters edge and slips beneath it. Its seriously like something out of a Corona commercial. Every bend in the road seriously reveals a new stretch of beach that was more gorgeous than the last. All the houses on the waterfront had some kind of boating or outrigger canoe equipment in the water or on their front lawn. Its obvious that the water is the Tahitian peoples main source for everything in their everyday life: food, sport, recreation, business ventures… everything. Their lives revolve around the water.

            We continued on and we lucked out with the weather this day as the last time we were here, it was pouring rain. Today, luckily, it was sunny, warm and humid. Quickly though, I realize two important things. First, I brought no water on this trip, and second, I didn’t have any sunscreen. I’m not sure which one was worse to be honest. In my dizzying state getting off the ship, I forgot those two, what seem now essential, materials. The bike helmet had a small, plastic bill in the front, which was able to cover maybe 30% of my face, but my forearms and legs were going to have to suffer until find a small store along the way. We agree to keep an eye out for one and we pressed on.

We keep pedaling at a fairly quick pace as we take the scenery in. In the distance we can see Mt Otemanu: the largest point in Bora Bora that overlooks everything in the lagoon. It sits at 2,385 feet and can be seen from almost anywhere on the island. Its slops, green with coconut trees and other vegetation until the very top, which gives away to cold, jagged grey rock. The summit on this day was surrounded by a thick, white cloud, which gave it an eerie, yet mystic look. Somebody had mentioned to me that it’s fairly quick to climb as it only takes a few hours and can easily be done in a day. I think that I will eventually try to make the climb, but not on this day. I have enough issues at the moment.

            We make a few pit stops to take some snapshots and also catch our breath. All the islands, and including Bora Bora, seem to have a large abundance of stray dogs. They roam the streets in three’s and two’s and one’s and are now what I have delegated them: “The Street Gangs of French Polynesia”. Some of them look nice enough to go over and pet, but only a fool would actually do it. Rabies, fleas, ticks and who knows what else comes to mind…

            After pedaling for about 45 minutes in seemingly flat terrain, we reach the one hill in the road. We pull into lower gears on our bikes and give it our best. At this point, im already really exhausted. I’m cover in sweat from the humidity and constant pedaling and by the looks of this hill; this could very well be my final resting place. We make in up halfway before I finally drop the bike into its lowest gear. Even the lowest gear was too much for me at this point. Huffing and puffing, trying not to give in to my instinct to quit and walk the bike up the hill. Every pedal I drop all of my weight into, trying to use all the leverage I have to keep it up. Finally, my legs give out. They have had about enough of this shit. I was about 40 yards from the top when I got off the bike and walked the rest of the way. I reached the top where some dude was blasting Bob Marley and burning something fragrant that I couldn’t figure out. I throw my bike down at the top in exhaustion and remove my helmet. Instantly, in the pit of my stomach, it starts convulsing. This feeling is all too familiar. It means a vomit is a brewing. I put my hands above my head and start walking around as I was taught in my high school track team. It seemed to help and after about 10 minutes, it looked like I was going to survive.

            We bumped into a few fellow bicyclists and we chatted with them. One older lady was from Montreal and she said she was enjoying her holiday in Tahiti. It turns out she was a passenger on the ship and she went on and on about the things she had done and seen on her cruise already. She seemed very cheerful and was pleasant to talk to. We told her we were musicians on the ship and she mentioned that she enjoyed our playing in the various shows on the ship. After a few minutes we said our goodbyes and parted ways.

            We coasted down the hill down to where I guess the have their dump. On the opposite side of the street they had a shack that had large, grey smoke coming out from it. Common sense suggested to me that the must be burning their trash. We biked through the smoke and the smell was really awful. I was almost ready to puke when we finally got out of it and made it to fresh air.

            A few miles down the road we finally see a small market. We pull off to the side of the road and walk inside. So exhausted, my eyes we larger than my actual thirst. I grabbed two large, 1.5 liter bottles and a can of Coke for some sugar. I walk to the counter, place my things on the counter, and she rings us up for 400 Francs. I ask her if they accept Visa cards. The woman, who obviously only spoke French and not a lick of English, called over another woman who explained that they only take Visa for purchases over 2,000 Francs. Luckily I had a 500-franc note and was able to pay with that. We paid and went outside to pretty much down our beverages as fast as possible. After I got my fill, I thought it might be a good Idea to get some Cashews or Almonds to munch on for energy. I go inside and find a can of Planters Cashew halves and also get some Macadamia nuts. I bring it to the counter and they ring me up for 1,650 Francs. I try to explain I only have a Visa card and I know that you have a 2,000 Franc minimum policy but I came in here and bought those drinks earlier and If they added it all up, it would have been over 2.000 Francs. It sounded like sound logic to me!... They weren’t having it. They refused me and I calmly placed the items back on the shelves. I walked out and may or may not have mumbled a few obscenities on my way out. A.J. and I looked at the map and gauged we were a little less than half way around the island. We took a breath, put on our helmets and pedaled on.

         The scenery never really changed through out the rest of the ride. Houses and small business along the side of the road the whole way. You would see some local people hanging out, smoking a joint, working on their house, crafting things out of wood or selling their local fruit from a make-shift food stand. The last 30 minutes of the trip the road became pretty rugged and bumpy which was not feeling great on my underside. When I thought we were about ¾ of the way around the Island, things started to look familiar and I realize, “Holy crap, we’re already back at the beginning!”. It somehow crept up on us and we finally made it. We stop at a small café, and have lunch in almost complete silence. A sign that both of us are just dead tired. We quietly paid our bill and made it back to the ship. A sense of accomplishment soon followed and as we got back into the tender boat. As we departed the dock, we noticed some locals in outrigger canoes and stand up paddle boards were riding in the wake of the boat. The passengers were thrilled by this and took photos of them (Ok, I may have taken a few shots as well!). We got to the ship and I returned the bike and stumbled into my cabin and passed out onto my bed until our Captains Circle Party set at 7:15pm. A day well spent.

            

An Evening in Papeete

Well finally last night I was able to get off the ship. Ive been aboard here for 10 days and most of them I was unable to get off the ship. Three stops in Hawaii, and 5 gruesome sea days relocating to the French Polynesian Islands. Our first stop was the other day in Bora Bora… where it was pissing rain. And I don’t mean the little Los Angeles drizzle I’ve grown so fond of either; I mean hardcore, monsoon style rain. Other, more experienced crew told me that even though this is the summer season, its also their rainy season... yippie…

Next stop was in Moorea, which is smaller island close to Papette and the weather looked promising from the ship. I got onto a tender and it cruised over to the small, local dock. As soon as I stepped off the tender, like a flip of a switch, as if someone was watching me and was waiting to unleash the cruelest practical joke they could possibly think of, it dropped rain the likes no one has ever seen. After learning that the town was a one-mile walk from the dock, I turned right back around and headed back on the ship.

Later that day we relocated to Papeete. After finishing 2 production shows, the buzz going around with the crew was everyone was going out to this club called Paradise after hours. The band and I pregamed at the crew bar for a few hours and waited for some of the dancers and other crew to arrive so we could potentially all go over there together. A few Jim Beam shots later we were ready to head out. Our drummer François suggested that we go to a bar before hand, that is right next to Paradise and shoot a game of pool and head next door after. One last round of shots and we were on the gangway getting off the ship.

Stepping into Papeete was pretty awesome. Lots of exotic flowers everywhere, coconut trees overhead. It reminds me of what Hawaii had probably looked like once upon a time before Europeans came over and literally raped everything. The town was built up a bit but nothing as bad as say… Honolulu. Some night clubs, a few restaurants, some places to buy pearls riddled the damp streets of this small city. The local people seemed mostly friendly and saying hello in French to us as we stumble by. Luckily for us, our drummer François, hailing from Montreal, and being totally French Canadian as shit, spoke fluent French, which goes a long way here. He drops a few French words here and there and he gets a huge response from the locals as we pass by. I can tell already that this will be our ace in the sleeve for the evening.

Tahiti also has a lot of beautiful women as well. Once again, reminding me of the women from Hawaii in their over all look and color of skin. The three of us, Francois, the band’s pianist A.J. and myself find our selves walking behind a most luscious posterior and it beaming in all three of our attentions. A.J. jokes “bet you a hundred bucks its guy”. We all laugh and I quickly respond “I think I know a female body when I see one”. After a few blocks walking behind her, she stops and looks back to reveal that OMFG THAT’S TOTALLY A DUDE! I couldn’t believe it. My marine like scoping of women from behind had completely failed me. We all laughed and Francois tells us that Tahiti, especially Papeete, has a TON of transvestites. I recalibrate myself and start to notice that indeed, a third of these so-called women around me are actually full-blown dudes.

We finally roll up to the bar and walk inside. It ends up being a quaint little dive bar with a pool table off to the side where some local people are playing a game. The bartender, also a transvestite, remembers Francois from earlier ship contracts. They share a lively exchange of French greetings and magically, a pitcher appears in front of us. We sit down and take in our surroundings. A mix of young, 20 something year olds and shady looking 45 plus year olds occupy the bar stools and make for an interesting collage of visual stimulus. We start talking music (as most musicians do when you get a few drinks into them) and also checking out passing beauties out of the corners of our eyes. Francois is a bit older than A.J. and I, and also much more bold. I notice as beautiful, young woman pass by him, he gives their asses a nice squeeze. Now I have always heard of some people try this technique but always figured it ended with them getting their faces dented in by a furious, feminine fist in return. However, this seemed to work fairly well for him and one of the girls later came back (who was for sure a woman by the way) and Francois said MAYBE two or three words in French and she takes him in her arms and gives him a kiss. Sitting there shocked, A.J. and I look at each other in amazement and are speechless. All I can think of is “my god, I gotta get a French Rosetta Stone”.

They shut the pool table down before we could game in. We finished our drinks and headed next door. The place was packed. 500 people or so and a mix of people from locals to cruise ship passengers and crew. Classic nightclub set up. Dance floor, trendy looking bar, music too loud and a light show to put weaker man into a seizer. One bonus is the stripper poles around the place for some drunken women (or men), to try to get their sexy on. Tonight however, we had one drunken guy with a gnarly handle bar mustache in street cloths bobbing and weaving somewhat to the music. I get to the bar and try to order Jager bombs for the band. The bar tender looks at me with a puzzled look as I tried to order and I try to order a second time. She says she has no idea what this is. I tell her politely that it’s jagermeister and red bull. She comes back with “I don’t know what Jagermeister is”. I don’t know what Jagermeister is? Are you kidding me? What kind of bartender has never heard of Jagermeister? Taking into consideration that im not in the states anymore and that might be something they might not get in the far corners of the world, I quickly change my order to 3 shots of Jack Daniels. She takes a few moments and returns with 3 glasses of Jack and a bill that has the number 58 at the top. I drop 3 American 20s down and give it back to her. A.J. looks at me looking sort of mystified and asked “ Did 3 shots really just cost $60?” I think about it and return with “maybe it was 60 francs?”. Either way something didn’t add up. She returns with a single, 500 Franc note. Looking at it with one eyebrow raised I have no idea where to begin. I couldn’t recall the current exchange rate from Francs to US dollars and I had not the Internet access to look it up. It was way to crowded and loud to try to start a discussion with bar tender about exchange rates so I let it slide. I told the band that I am NOT buying the next round.

We find some of the dancers from the ship and find the couch where the crew is hanging out. I see a few familiar faces but not nearly as many as was promised hours ago aboard the ship. I’m trying find a few ladies that work on the ship that I had taking a liking to in the last 10 days, one of them who promised me she would be coming out tonight, but none of them were in attendance. I hangout for a little bit and watch the dancers on the dance floor. The locals women have an unusual, yet sexy style of dancing that I can only describe as a mix of hip hop and hula dancing that kept me intrigued. I can assure you, this looks way better than it sounds. The men looked something more like dying mosquitos fluttering than some artful display of physical expression. After a few moments meditating on this, I get bored and decide to get A.J. and Francois and get out of here. I find them and A.J. is telling me Francois is working on this girl and he’s also really trashed. A.J. and I agree that we want to leave, and say good-bye to Francois and leave him to his work.

I mention to A.J. that im kind of hungry and we should find some food. We remember passing a bunch of food caravans on the way to the club and we decide to try our luck with that. We roll up to the aroma of mouth watering Chinese food. I get excited and pick a caravan and grab their menu. Skimming through the menu, I find a spicy chicken dish that sounded appetizing and A.J. gets steak and fries. We sit down and watch the magic of the chef, who cooks almost everything on this giant wok that is placed over an open fire in the street, prepare feast after feast of this amazing smelling food. I look around and almost everyone who has food has some kind of meat over a mountain of French fries. The fries looked pretty appetizing but I was almost sure that my meal did not include them. We get our food and we dig in. The food came scalding hot but I was so hungry I just didn’t care. Eating away as it burns my toungue, it tastes fine. Nothing to extravagant but does the trick. I look over at A.J.s plate and his comically large mount of fries that fills his plate. I con him into sharing some of those fries so I take a few.

Now I like to think that I’ve had some good fries in my day. I’ve had In-N-Out, 5 Guys, Mc Donalds, Four Burger in Boston, and they were all excellent fries. The fries off of A.J.’s plate easily trumped them all. These may have been the best fries I’ve ever had.  First off, from what I can tell, they don’t deep-fry them in a deep fryer. They put them in the wok and cook till brown and serve them that way. Second off they use, from what I can tell, zero salt. Its not that they need it either, they’re freaking amazing with out it! Who would of thought fries would taste better WITHOUT salt!? Third, and most of all I think, They use some special oil in the wok that gives the fries their taste that you don’t get anywhere else. Perhaps it’s a local oil extract that only gets grown in the deep crevices of the green, misty mountains and is harvested only by moonlight on the crescent moon cycle by beautiful, nude Polynesian woman. My imagination runs wild as I try to come up with a reason why these fries are this freakin’ good.

We finish up our meal, say thank you to the chef and the waitress and make our way back to the ship. Reminiscing on the highlights of the evening and laughing at the humorous events, we agree that the evening was in general a success. Papeete is one pretty cool town. A mix of paradise and city, it gives you both tropical surroundings as well as night life options to keep you busy for at least a few years. We’ll be back here a few more times before we relocate to Hawaii again in March. I look forward to it.

Pool table at the bar

Tahitian beer.

Francois catching up with his lady/man friend.

The magic beer.

Paradise Night Club.

Caravan food!

Spicy chicken on my plate and "The World's Best Fries" on A.J.'s Plate.

The chef doing his thing.