An iPad screen etched with ‘Zoe’ and a loud floral shirt, Vaya was waiting our arrival. A short man, maybe 5ft 6 and with dark, greasy hair, this lad was some character. Able to talk for the isle of 6,000 and with the comic flair of a poor to middling comedian, we really had landed on our feet. Vaya walked us briskly to his Chevrolet, speaking so fast even he had no idea what question he had asked. At one stage, we were hiring a scooter from a friend of his, the next it was a boat. The car was flung into drive and before we knew it we were on a whistle stop tour of the local town. He pointed out the obvious - the post office, clearly labeled post, the pharmacy - donned with a huge green cross, and the supermarket, boarded with more branding than most Tesco’s at home! We then stopped to visit his mate in the car office - promised an unbeatable price for a scooter hire - before being whisked off to the beach. AS we hurtled round the corner at some pace, Vaya took to off-roading to take us a little closer to the beach edge. The car just halting in time, before slipping into the sea. We stopped for all but thirty seconds and the man had us in reverse, careering towards the road again. It was rather erratic, to put it lightly. We were then driven to his house, a large thing behind some gates. We raced into the drive, took a quick look through the windscreen, barely catching sight of the front door never mind anything else, before we were once again on the move. Rolling backwards out of his drive, we finally were taken to the little Airbnb pad we had booked for the next few days.
Moments from the house, the beach was calling. A narrow stretch of sand was all it was, with remnants of previous volcanic activity littering the shallow shores. Large, flat rocks lay dormant on the sea bed, creating pools at low tide. At high tide, waters obviously flood these rocks, leaving these natural pools - the perfect depth to bathe after a long day. With a beer in hand, and having lost all my manhood having to ask a local for an opener - only for him to pop it with his bare hands - we slid into the pools.
Water barely covered our bodies but gave us the refreshing quench we were after. The pools were occasionally cooled by the interfering waters of the breaking waves, lapping over the rocks. Besides this welcome distraction, the only other thing on our minds was the sunset. Perfectly aligned with our little pools, the sun was setting on another spectacular day. The rolling clouds were lit up by the sun, as the water glistened. How lucky we were to have this on our doorstep.
8am and Vaya was honking. He came crashing through the gates, keen to check the water was working and coming through hot. Luckily for our sake it was, I am not sure what we would have done if it weren’t. After a scorching night, with no aircon, we were awake and kicking - to check the water with the man, before being escorted to the rental garage, where to collect our transport for the day. With that we headed to the northern tip of the island, waters flanking us on one side and the jungle covered hills flanking the other. Immediately, we noticed a difference to any of the other islands. The population was minimal and the flowers and vegetation incredibly diverse.
A 20 minute scoot had us at the end of the road. A sign read ‘ne passe pa’. But, we had been advised that behind the barrier lay a derelict hotel, from which some of the best snorkelling in the world is reachable. We dutifully followed the sign and carried on, driving past shells of buildings and barren pools. An eerie place to be frank, which lacked energy. We rolled through at a slow pace, imagining what it must have been like once. Lavish rooms with sea views, now cavities in brickwork. Sea bungalows, which once provided honeymooners with breathtaking views, were now nothing more than stumps in the sea.
We parked up and lay the towels on the narrow sands. The snorkel was wrenched from the back pack and we were off. Known as the Jardin de Coral this is a must visit if you are on the island. Less than 15 minutes north of Fare, this isolated strip of coastline enables you to view some spectacular marine life, moments from the shore, whilst the other side of the beach offers steep drop offs in deep blue waters. We spent a good few hours observing the fish, swimming in the sea and laying under the swaying palms - before a light shower triggered us to be on the move.
Headed in totally the wrong path, but enjoying a rather scenic route, we continued to follow the direction we were going. At times, it was rather hard to maintain focus on the road, as incredible islands with gorgeous beaches and various shades of blue waters came into view. A short roll down hill lead us to a dead end, where a pontoon jutted out into the sea. Beneath, crystal clear waters floated by housing an abundance of fish. We simply couldn’t move on, this place was too beautiful. With some Dairy Lee equivalent cheese and a stale baguette in the bag - we decided this was a good a spot as any to have a bit of lunch. As the waters rushed past and the sea birds flew above, this was paradise.
A quick dip in the sea and we were off, headed for the smaller island of Huahine Iti. Connected by a bridge - the smaller isle is home to the better beaches and quieter shores. The heavens opened, drenching us in warm, tropical rains. With the road becoming exceptionally slippery, we pulled over to the roadside. As the rains passed, we emerged from under the trees to get moving once more. Only, this time, the two wheeler wouldn’t start. We attempted a kick start and the thing could only give a disgruntled groan. We rolled it along the road a little further, looking for some help. No one was in sight - but we could hear some Tahitian styled music, booming in the distance. We rolled the scooter a little further and tried to kick start it, adjacent to where the music was being played. Sadly, the kick start was to no avail. I trudged up the small drive, met by a rather large man, overweight and with a grey beard.To picture Santa is probably not a bad guestimation of what this geeza looked like. Sat on his terrace, probably a good few beers in, I persuaded him to give the rental company a call. He begrudgingly did so. Help was on its way.
Whilst we waited, the gent offered us respite from the sun, sitting with him on his terrace. Before long, we were talking about his family history, his career and his beliefs. A son of the former president of French Polynesia and with Norwegian Heritage - the half an hour wait passed rapidly. Growing in confidence and amicability, he was soon on his feet, hobbling around his veranda to collect props and ornaments to divulge his family history a little further. Next up, he was cracking coconuts and forcing us to drink from their inside. Once again, the cloud, created by the scooter, provided one of the moments of our trip.
Help arrived in the form of a scruffy bloke, dressed in white overalls, caked in grass stains and engine oil. Before even consulting with me, to what the issue was, Felipe P had the screw driver to the petrol tap, was removing the front cover and trying to take off the seat. I told him the problem was with the starter - to which, he slammed the seat shut…only to lock the keys inside the seat storage. The solution, to go back and get another scooter, 40 minutes in the other direction. To get there, it was balls out and top speed, the door swinging open round bends and the gear stick - literally just a stick of metal poking through the bonet. A blessing in disguise, as Europcar after some heated negotiations in grammatically hideous French, agreed to let us use a scooter the following day at no additional cost.
Bright and early, we rose to collect the scooter. With the garage a little walk away from our house, we decided to hitch a ride. An ex-postal van sauntered past at a leisurely pace and I decided to throw the thumb out, with little hope of the gent pulling over. Nevertheless, as quick as the thumb was out - the indicator was on and he had pulled over. With only one seat, I had to make do with the back of his van. A strange place really, like a dog behind bars, squatted next to airbeds, razors and card board boxes. I asked if he worked for the post office and he said no. We never found out what he did exactly - so sadly I can't tell you why he had the concoction of items that he did in his van. Needless to say, we saved ourselves a sweltering 35 minute walk!
With our own wheels collected, we skipped down to some of the best sand kissed parts of the pacific. Offshore reefs created shallow, calm waters for us to cool off in and the comfy sands made for perfect sunbeds for the morning. The southern coast line seemed to be a frenzy of ridiculous beaches - we ensured we sampled each and every one on our return. Our favourite, the Mahana near Pravea. Beautifully untouched and sweeping around the lagoon bay, this place is something else. The shoreline drops off gradually, providing deep water to swim, or shallows to hang out and splash about. Off shore, a gay couple returned to their floating bungalow. A permanent residence, complete with front and back garden, kitchen, bathroom, garage….well, they tied their boat up and a pretty sought after pool. What a place to call home.
Huahine is the place to drop into if you are in this outcry of the pacific. The sea is an unworldly colour and the beaches are desolate. To rival the beach vibe, the little town of Fare is lively, with locals heading out to fish in their canoes from any available patch of sand, allowing visitors to grasp a little snippet of unadalturated Polynesian culture. With Air Tahiti calling, for another 15 minute jaunt in the sky - Vaya arrived, for one last ride. As we said our farewells, he produced two shell necklaces as a thank you for being such great guests. His parting words - “come back when you are married” and with that we were off!