Brett In The South Pacific (2)
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Brett is a friend who, after 15 years without a break of more than a week, quit his high powered job at an investment bank to get a different perspective of the world.
This is part 2 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
25 July 2001
Subject: Greetings from French Polynesia -
Greetings workers of the world, from the atoll of Rangiroa in the Tuamotu Islands of French Polynesia. An atoll, for you doughnuts, is, well, a doughnut, and this one happens to be particularly large and thin. In fact it is the second largest, with the enclosed lagoon measuring 25km x 75km, or comfortably large enough to swallow the island of Tahiti. The width ofthe ring of islets that encloses the lagoon is no more than a long par 3 at its broadest. I have never been in an atoll before, but it is most interesting to contemplate a life lived in a straight line.
In addition to the unnaturally natural beauty of the lagoon, which happens to be home to the world's largest population of the species of oyster that produces black pearls accounting for the atoll's relative affluence (undoubtedly it is the most well-off atoll in the galaxy), it also houses the famous Blue Lagoon. The Blue Lagoon is where a young Brooke Shields frolicked, mostly nude, with a young actor named Christopher, whose last name is unimportant because he never amounted to anything, and nobody went to the movie to see him anyway. Besides, I simply don't remember his last name. The Blue Lagoon is a lagoon within a lagoon at the outer reaches of Rangiroa, which is only accessible by boat since there are gaps in the atoll. It takes what The Lonely Planet describes as a 'potentially
uncomfortable hour'; by speedboat to reach the Blue Lagoon. Fortunately, on the day I went, it was relatively calm. It felt like being at the edge of the universe.
When last I left you, I was shortly en route to French Polynesia, and, specifically, its largest island, Tahiti. However, before I dispel a few Tahitian myths, my first shock came before the plane even touched down in the capital of Papeete. More specifically, I was
onfronted with my plummeting status by the landing card to be filled in on arrival in French Polynesia.
Under 'Profession', the French Civil Servants had listed no less than eight categories, presumably in order of merit 'Exploiteur (Agrarian, Fisherman, etc), Senior Manager, Middle Manager, Artisan, Employee, Retired, Unemployed, and other. Before gleefully ticking the 'Sans Profession'box, I stopped to wonder what type of people would sit around and think about ways to humiliate their fellow man. Reminds me of when the same civil servants got together and decided to make the Paris Metro one class of service, and promptly abolished first class! To this day, Metro tickets are stamped 2eme.
Now, about those myths. Sorry to say, but unlike Bougainville, I was not greeted by a topless dark-skinned nymph who proceeded to loose her saron in front of several hundred seamen. Instead, I was greeted to a rip-off cab ride to my hotel (never, ever take a cab in Tahiti). After the somnolent, intoxicating beauty of the Cook Islands, and Aitutaki in particular, almost anyplace could be considered a letdown. But I found dilapidated, and slightly seedy Papeete almost a refreshing contrast. Perhaps one can only really appreciate natural beauty when removed from it? Am I different in this respect from most people or is it a part of the human condition? And while on the one hand I long to return to Aitutaki, I know it will be there in the future, and I might not have the same positive experiences if I returned. Does that mean it is better left as a cherished memory? If so, that would confine the richest of one's life experiences to the scrap heap, or at least photo album, of memory. How then to build an enduring (and expansive) relationship through thick and mostly thin? The answer must be self evident.
Tahiti has a reputation for being expensive, and in some respects it is. However, it is also easy to get around the island via the excellently cheap 'Le Truck'transport system which is seemingly an all-cash mom and pop operation that constantly circles the island. I spent more on my five minute cab ride from the airport than I did for the ensuing two days to-ing and fro-ing about. Equally, on the waterfront each evening there are colourful, mobile restaurants called 'les roulottes'that serve up a variety of appetizing cuisine from Sushi to Steak Frites. Inter-island transport is also easy and accessible, and I would recommend spending no more than a couple of days in Tahiti before venturing to other islands, by boat if possible. Which is what I did in heading off to
Moorea.
While waiting to board the boat to Moorea, I wandered around the wharf (the same one where les roulottes appear each evening), and came upon an interesting sign that sums up the missionary effort in Polynesia, 'Chantier interdit au public, 'basically, no singing. When the missionaries arrived, they were hell-bent on civilizing the place, and perhaps they had a point since cannibalism was fairly rampant. But clothing people head-to-toe who had never worn clothes, and banning song and dance outside church in a culture that lived on such festivities does not sound like the right answer. I mean, it is just possible that taste buds would have evolved on their own. Fortunately, the Tahitians retain a good deal of their spirit, and on both legs of my journey to and from Moorea, the boat broke into song as soon as we pulled away from the pier. Funnily enough, it was not La Marseillese.
In my conversations with islanders, I have begun to gain an appreciation, if you will, of the harmonic economic and social state for a small island nation. Those patently uninterested in economics should skip this bit.
Essentially, all land is still owned by natives, for example, in the Cooks it dates back to the original decreed lands from the six chiefs that divided the islands. Thus, the family unit produces what it requires, and nobody has the scale of land to cultivate in a modern sense of the word. Whatever each family produces beyond its immediate needs, it firstly barters with other families for goods/crops it does not have, and only secondarily looks to sell to market, making supplies unpredictable. Since the largest cash-based consumers are tourist-related (hotels & restaurants), both of which require certainty of delivery, the only option is to import. And that is why the rather odd sight of a local chicken nuzzling up to the base of a roasting spit of chickens is not as odd as it appears. The local chicken knows that it is safe and will die of old age or road kill. After all, why did the Rarotongan chicken [try to] cross the road? Because it was sixty.
So what does that leave for the islanders, and what does that say about their likely future? The businesses that can survive/thrive in the islands have to be based on one of two things: i) tourism, and ii) specialty items that can not be replicated elsewhere because of natural elements. A good example of the latter is the black pearl, the species which only exists in cold water lagoons of Polynesia. That leaves the islands exposed to, if you will, a leveraged bet on tourism and a strong economy without which both industry groups are devastated. It also means that the vast majority of people will, and arguably should, continue at a more or less subsistent level. From a land-planning sense it means that cities should not be promoted above villages, because a mere rudimentary infrastructure will be sufficient to attract tourism, while formation of a proper city will bring in less desirable elements that most tourists are seeking to avoid. The Cook Islands have done this well, with Rarotonga more of a large village, however, most south pacific islands seem to be going the wrong way on this as capitals in Fiji, Tonga, Somoa, and Tahiti are tawdry, polluted eyesores. How to stop the urbanization of the South Pacific? Now there is a worthy cause. Perhaps the eco-warriors should focus on a winnable fight rather than battling the G-8 in Genoa.
A few final words on the negative impact that outside institutions can have on this fragile dynamic. First, population growth has to be at a rate that the subsistent economy can sustain. Bang, in come the missionaries, family planning is banned, and kids are now a par seven in the Cook Islands. Most have to be sent to New Zealand where they are forming gangs that bring corrupting influences home upon their return. Second, the banks have gotten in on the act and started lending against property (which they can't legally buy, but can foreclose on and take possession due to an anomaly of law, oh no, not the lawyers!). Banks are offering cheap money to islanders who have ever had debt and don't have cash incomes. Popular conspiracy theory is that the banks just want to own the land.
But fortunately, much of the South Pacific is still idyllic, and Moorea certainly fits this description. Popular legend, and James Michener, have made Bora Bora the flagship island of Polynesia, but in fact it has nothing on Moorea. I have always wanted to try, but have always avoided going to Club Med for fear of wasting a vacation. However, with time as my ally, I decided to try the Moorea outpost. While I wouldn't go rushing back, it also proved to be a good change of pace as I spent a few days playing beach volleyball and tracking dolphins in the lagoons. Moorea is home to 25 species of Dolphins and Whales, the largest such diversity on the planet. The rather odd Brit who has run the Oceanographic Institute for the past 14 years is also quite a character. I stopped him while he was complaining about not earning enough to go on vacation, by asking him where one would want to go on vacation living in Moorea. His answer: Lake Tahoe.
I sense I am rambling so I shall leave you with a few observations: I) Slowly, a pattern has begun to emerge to my days, I dare say a routine. It is not at all the same, without being altogether different in an inexplicable way. II) The abruptness of hearing a phone ring is nearly as intrusive as the silence of the phone not ringing at home. III) I have not seen the film version of Captain Corelli's Mandallin, but have heard the ending is different from the book. I hope so, the ending of the book sucked and for me destroyed much of the first 400 pages. IV) Somehow, without any fuss, and against all expectations, everything in the South Pacific seems to run on time. For some bizarre reason, this is disconcerting and almost annoying.
Hope everyone is well. Off to Fiji.
Brett
This is part 2 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
25 July 2001
Subject: Greetings from French Polynesia -
Greetings workers of the world, from the atoll of Rangiroa in the Tuamotu Islands of French Polynesia. An atoll, for you doughnuts, is, well, a doughnut, and this one happens to be particularly large and thin. In fact it is the second largest, with the enclosed lagoon measuring 25km x 75km, or comfortably large enough to swallow the island of Tahiti. The width ofthe ring of islets that encloses the lagoon is no more than a long par 3 at its broadest. I have never been in an atoll before, but it is most interesting to contemplate a life lived in a straight line.
In addition to the unnaturally natural beauty of the lagoon, which happens to be home to the world's largest population of the species of oyster that produces black pearls accounting for the atoll's relative affluence (undoubtedly it is the most well-off atoll in the galaxy), it also houses the famous Blue Lagoon. The Blue Lagoon is where a young Brooke Shields frolicked, mostly nude, with a young actor named Christopher, whose last name is unimportant because he never amounted to anything, and nobody went to the movie to see him anyway. Besides, I simply don't remember his last name. The Blue Lagoon is a lagoon within a lagoon at the outer reaches of Rangiroa, which is only accessible by boat since there are gaps in the atoll. It takes what The Lonely Planet describes as a 'potentially
uncomfortable hour'; by speedboat to reach the Blue Lagoon. Fortunately, on the day I went, it was relatively calm. It felt like being at the edge of the universe.
When last I left you, I was shortly en route to French Polynesia, and, specifically, its largest island, Tahiti. However, before I dispel a few Tahitian myths, my first shock came before the plane even touched down in the capital of Papeete. More specifically, I was
onfronted with my plummeting status by the landing card to be filled in on arrival in French Polynesia.
Under 'Profession', the French Civil Servants had listed no less than eight categories, presumably in order of merit 'Exploiteur (Agrarian, Fisherman, etc), Senior Manager, Middle Manager, Artisan, Employee, Retired, Unemployed, and other. Before gleefully ticking the 'Sans Profession'box, I stopped to wonder what type of people would sit around and think about ways to humiliate their fellow man. Reminds me of when the same civil servants got together and decided to make the Paris Metro one class of service, and promptly abolished first class! To this day, Metro tickets are stamped 2eme.
Now, about those myths. Sorry to say, but unlike Bougainville, I was not greeted by a topless dark-skinned nymph who proceeded to loose her saron in front of several hundred seamen. Instead, I was greeted to a rip-off cab ride to my hotel (never, ever take a cab in Tahiti). After the somnolent, intoxicating beauty of the Cook Islands, and Aitutaki in particular, almost anyplace could be considered a letdown. But I found dilapidated, and slightly seedy Papeete almost a refreshing contrast. Perhaps one can only really appreciate natural beauty when removed from it? Am I different in this respect from most people or is it a part of the human condition? And while on the one hand I long to return to Aitutaki, I know it will be there in the future, and I might not have the same positive experiences if I returned. Does that mean it is better left as a cherished memory? If so, that would confine the richest of one's life experiences to the scrap heap, or at least photo album, of memory. How then to build an enduring (and expansive) relationship through thick and mostly thin? The answer must be self evident.
Tahiti has a reputation for being expensive, and in some respects it is. However, it is also easy to get around the island via the excellently cheap 'Le Truck'transport system which is seemingly an all-cash mom and pop operation that constantly circles the island. I spent more on my five minute cab ride from the airport than I did for the ensuing two days to-ing and fro-ing about. Equally, on the waterfront each evening there are colourful, mobile restaurants called 'les roulottes'that serve up a variety of appetizing cuisine from Sushi to Steak Frites. Inter-island transport is also easy and accessible, and I would recommend spending no more than a couple of days in Tahiti before venturing to other islands, by boat if possible. Which is what I did in heading off to
Moorea.
While waiting to board the boat to Moorea, I wandered around the wharf (the same one where les roulottes appear each evening), and came upon an interesting sign that sums up the missionary effort in Polynesia, 'Chantier interdit au public, 'basically, no singing. When the missionaries arrived, they were hell-bent on civilizing the place, and perhaps they had a point since cannibalism was fairly rampant. But clothing people head-to-toe who had never worn clothes, and banning song and dance outside church in a culture that lived on such festivities does not sound like the right answer. I mean, it is just possible that taste buds would have evolved on their own. Fortunately, the Tahitians retain a good deal of their spirit, and on both legs of my journey to and from Moorea, the boat broke into song as soon as we pulled away from the pier. Funnily enough, it was not La Marseillese.
In my conversations with islanders, I have begun to gain an appreciation, if you will, of the harmonic economic and social state for a small island nation. Those patently uninterested in economics should skip this bit.
Essentially, all land is still owned by natives, for example, in the Cooks it dates back to the original decreed lands from the six chiefs that divided the islands. Thus, the family unit produces what it requires, and nobody has the scale of land to cultivate in a modern sense of the word. Whatever each family produces beyond its immediate needs, it firstly barters with other families for goods/crops it does not have, and only secondarily looks to sell to market, making supplies unpredictable. Since the largest cash-based consumers are tourist-related (hotels & restaurants), both of which require certainty of delivery, the only option is to import. And that is why the rather odd sight of a local chicken nuzzling up to the base of a roasting spit of chickens is not as odd as it appears. The local chicken knows that it is safe and will die of old age or road kill. After all, why did the Rarotongan chicken [try to] cross the road? Because it was sixty.
So what does that leave for the islanders, and what does that say about their likely future? The businesses that can survive/thrive in the islands have to be based on one of two things: i) tourism, and ii) specialty items that can not be replicated elsewhere because of natural elements. A good example of the latter is the black pearl, the species which only exists in cold water lagoons of Polynesia. That leaves the islands exposed to, if you will, a leveraged bet on tourism and a strong economy without which both industry groups are devastated. It also means that the vast majority of people will, and arguably should, continue at a more or less subsistent level. From a land-planning sense it means that cities should not be promoted above villages, because a mere rudimentary infrastructure will be sufficient to attract tourism, while formation of a proper city will bring in less desirable elements that most tourists are seeking to avoid. The Cook Islands have done this well, with Rarotonga more of a large village, however, most south pacific islands seem to be going the wrong way on this as capitals in Fiji, Tonga, Somoa, and Tahiti are tawdry, polluted eyesores. How to stop the urbanization of the South Pacific? Now there is a worthy cause. Perhaps the eco-warriors should focus on a winnable fight rather than battling the G-8 in Genoa.
A few final words on the negative impact that outside institutions can have on this fragile dynamic. First, population growth has to be at a rate that the subsistent economy can sustain. Bang, in come the missionaries, family planning is banned, and kids are now a par seven in the Cook Islands. Most have to be sent to New Zealand where they are forming gangs that bring corrupting influences home upon their return. Second, the banks have gotten in on the act and started lending against property (which they can't legally buy, but can foreclose on and take possession due to an anomaly of law, oh no, not the lawyers!). Banks are offering cheap money to islanders who have ever had debt and don't have cash incomes. Popular conspiracy theory is that the banks just want to own the land.
But fortunately, much of the South Pacific is still idyllic, and Moorea certainly fits this description. Popular legend, and James Michener, have made Bora Bora the flagship island of Polynesia, but in fact it has nothing on Moorea. I have always wanted to try, but have always avoided going to Club Med for fear of wasting a vacation. However, with time as my ally, I decided to try the Moorea outpost. While I wouldn't go rushing back, it also proved to be a good change of pace as I spent a few days playing beach volleyball and tracking dolphins in the lagoons. Moorea is home to 25 species of Dolphins and Whales, the largest such diversity on the planet. The rather odd Brit who has run the Oceanographic Institute for the past 14 years is also quite a character. I stopped him while he was complaining about not earning enough to go on vacation, by asking him where one would want to go on vacation living in Moorea. His answer: Lake Tahoe.
I sense I am rambling so I shall leave you with a few observations: I) Slowly, a pattern has begun to emerge to my days, I dare say a routine. It is not at all the same, without being altogether different in an inexplicable way. II) The abruptness of hearing a phone ring is nearly as intrusive as the silence of the phone not ringing at home. III) I have not seen the film version of Captain Corelli's Mandallin, but have heard the ending is different from the book. I hope so, the ending of the book sucked and for me destroyed much of the first 400 pages. IV) Somehow, without any fuss, and against all expectations, everything in the South Pacific seems to run on time. For some bizarre reason, this is disconcerting and almost annoying.
Hope everyone is well. Off to Fiji.
Brett
