WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2:

We’ll be taking a day-long tour of Moorea to attain a better overview of this island and the people who live here. Tara and the kids are excited. Me too.

Our tour guide Derek Grell is an American who has lived in the islands for 25 years. Joined by two American couples staying at the hotel, we climb into his eight-passenger, open-backed Land Rover Defender. Derek doesn’t take credit cards, but drives us to a bank ATM machine.

We quickly find that our guide is a walking French Polynesian encyclopedia, who has studied history and carbon dating to the point he strongly argues with some of the commonly accepted anthropological history.

Sixty thousand people lived on Moorea in 1777. White men brought disease that killed 99-percent of the island population. Today, about 14,000 people live here.

We visit beautiful white sand beaches on the windy side of the island. Here the coral is naturally ground into sand. Derek explains that in the mid-eighties a 40-foot tidal wave flattened this side of the island. “The natives were surfing through the palm trees,” he says.

Various small communities dot the water’s edge as we make our way around the island (39 miles). Having passed through a town, you see a sign with the town name crossed out, which means you’ve reached the city limits, so to speak. I find this amusing.

A waterfall high in the mountains offers only dribbles, but the hike to get to it is spectacular.

Tara and Richard attacking a Tiki idol.

Moorea is one of 118 islands that make up French Polynesia. Many students from the outer islands come to Moorea to the Agricultural School to learn how to improve and support their communities back home. “These kids are the hope of their people,” Derek says. “They’re not used to seeing white people, so they’ll be especially attentive to you.”

As we tour the grounds, the teenagers all smile and wave at us. “Can you imagine this happening at a school in California?” I whisper to Tara. At a snack stand, we have pineapple shakes before proceeding higher into the mountains.

We drive past many homes where men and women are working in their yards -- often raking. “Because they have nothing else to do,” Derek says. He goes on to explain, if a dry tree leaf falls in your yard and rolls up, followed by rain, it’s a mosquito breeding environment. With the houses so open, the mosquitoes are drawn in by the light at night.

Next on our itinerary is a visit to a sacred site -- a marae high in the mountains. This is important to Tara and me, because we’re investigating the possibility of offering a seminar on Moorea. Meditating in sacred sites would be an important part of the activities. There are evidently over 200 maraes on Moorea, but only four have been uncovered and restored.

Throughout the “Society Islands” of French Polynesia, maraes are huge stone constructions, which would be likened to temples in other cultures. A rectangular area is paved with flat stones and surrounded with low walls in an open area. An alter stands at one end. The size of the structure reflects the importance of a particular clan. Because the traditions of the Polynesians were transmitted orally, we have only limited knowledge of how the maraes were used. They were certainly for worship of their many gods and other important events took place here. Leaders were chosen, councils of war convened, weddings were performed, and blessings sought. A platform within the marae is for offerings, which probably included human sacrifice on some occasions.

Tara and Cheyenne slip away from the group to do their own meditation in the marae.

The last tour stop is a pineapple factory where we sample six kinds of rum drinks. Tara shakes her head and tells me she’s ready for a nap. I purchase a bottle of “Ava Tahiti Moorea Coco,” which is distilled right here. It costs $30 US, but later I see it for $14 in the Papeete Airport gift shop. Dah!

In talking to Derek, I learn he’s about to sell his home and 12 acres high in the mountains overlooking Cook’s Bay. After 25 years here, he is ready for a change and will return to his homeland with his wife and children. The cost of a home on 12 acres in paradise, including dozens of ancient petroglyphs: $160,000 US.

Back at the hotel, Tara and I talk about our experience. To us, the island certainly is not “touristy.” If the world holds together, this place will eventually be overrun. But not today. “This is probably what Hawaii was like 40 years ago,” Tara says.

Some of Derek’s words stick in my mind: “The goal of the islanders is to do as little as possible. They think we’re crazy to hustle our way through life until we’re old and it’s too late to enjoy the time you have left.”

But I decide that if I had to choose between my kind of hustle and raking leaves to avoid mosquitoes, I would choose hustle.

Back in our bungalow, I apply ointment to my sunburned face. Although I used sun block all day, my tan base wasn’t enough to deal with this level of sun exposure.

Dinner is at Alfredo’s French restaurant. The meal is a gourmet experience. But my tuna in mustard sauce is so delicately flavored, I’m once again reminded that decades of eating spicy Mexican food may have burned out my taste buds for more subtle fare. I am probably a “culinary peasant.”

After dinner on our hotel deck, I talk with Kris Stewart, a 22 year-old from Vernal, Utah who is staying at the hotel. He says, “You’ve been all over the world, right?” I nod. “Do the people in other countries like us?”

“They do in Ireland, Scotland, England and Australia.”

“What about France?”

Oh, don’t get me started.

Kris tells me of his intense encounter with a Frenchman who wanted his seat on the plane. “I showed my boarding pass to Grandpa Napoleon,” he says. “But the guy insisted I give up my window seat. The flight attendant verified the proper seating, but the minute she left, the guy tried to force me to move.” He eventually gave up and another Frenchman sat down in the aisle seat and placed his bags on the middle seat. When someone came to sit in their assigned seat, the Frenchman wouldn’t give up the comfort of an empty seat beside him and told the passenger to go sit someplace else. Eventually the plane filled and he had no options.

No resistance. No resistance. Peace light and love.

Tara and I finish off the evening drinking red wine on the deck over the sea.

Tara and Richard on the deck of Hotel Kaveka at sunset.

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of Dick’s Moorea Journal

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