Notes From The Field – Bora Bora

It is another one of those names that you’re not sure: Is it a real place, or have the
words just become a part of our language because someone needed a place name? Let me
assure you Bora Bora is real, one of the leeward side islands of the Society Islands that
make up French Polynesia. The correct name of the island is Pora Pora, which in their
language means ‘first born’, indicating it was the first island to emerge above the water
from the underwater volcanoes. The official language is French and as in most locals a
dialect has developed that fits the needs of the people. Because of the large amount of
tourism most inhabitants have some knowledge of English. I would not say it is a
working knowledge but they have some understanding and are willing to try their best.

We were scheduled for a snorkeling adventure from our cruise ship but the rain
put that in doubt for the afternoon. I dressed for the day in a t-shirt and swimming trunks
so that I could handle either the rain or be prepared to make the trip to the beach in the
afternoon. Sandra enjoys snorkeling. I tolerate the activity and sometimes I’m an avid
spectator on the shore waiting for her report of what is going on under the surface of the
water.

We took the tender into shore and were met with what residents of the island
consider a light rain. I would rate it a monsoon. Everyone that went ashore made their
way to Fat Albert’s, which was an establishment with free Internet and sold an assortment
of candy and convenience items. Most people on a cruise are much more important than I
am and need to be in touch with someone back home, or send them some pictures or
something. I find the world runs just fine without me having Internet conductivity and
made my way to the Post Office to buy some stamps. No, I am not a philatelist but on
occasion I do send a post card to people I know, and I find that some places just have
interesting stamps. I spent about five bucks on a good variation with a series of pictures
of birds and animals and put them in a plastic bag supplied by the post office to prevent
them from becoming a mass of glue and paper in my already soaked pocket.

I was wet so why waste my one-day in Bora Bora? I set off with nothing in mind
but to see some sights of the island. I heard a series of roosters crowing in the not too far
distance and headed off in that direction. Let’s be clear, I do not condone the abuse of
animals for human entertainment under any conditions. I do however enjoy a rodeo and
have been to a few bullfights and cockfights as a social event. They are a part of the
culture in these countries and I sometimes think these people have a better perspective on
the difference between people and animals than those who dress their dogs as babies and
push them in strollers. That is not the point of this document. I set off for the sound of the
roosters and was rewarded in a couple of blocks.

There it was, a succession of pens each housing a solitary rooster and each
making his voice heard above anything else. I smiled at the young men tending their
combatants and soon had an invite into the yard with access to the pens. I got my pictures
and found there were no fights scheduled for that day, so I moved on.

It became apparent I was off of the main street in an area reserved for locals, and
what I saw was poverty. People had very few earthly belongings. There were more
people sleeping in what they consider houses than there were beds. Funny how a smile
goes a long way when you have little else, and soon I was invited into a house where an
obviously proud grandfather showed me an about two-year-old, happily bouncing on a
bed.

I could not understand why, because all I had given was a smile and an offer to
photograph the pair; in return Popa presented me with a conch necklace, which I thought
better to accept than reject and offend.

It was nearing lunch and I stopped at a local place with an open fire and some
plastic chairs under a tent. My knowledge of French is non-existent and I am sure they
would not have called their cuts by the same names I was used to. I bought a meal for a
couple of bucks and was invited to dine at the only table in the tent, which till this time
was being used for prepping the meal. Utensils consisted of a plastic fork and when I
needed something more, the cook lent me her butcher knife. It was a bit more than I
needed, but I cut the meat, smiled and had a dining experience. I headed back to the dock
to find our snorkel adventure had been cancelled because of the weather and danger in
the water. I did not push the issue, ‘When in doubt don’t go out.’

We got directions to the world famous Bloody Mary’s bar and headed off to
experience the most well known place on the island. We arrived as the kitchen was
closing for the afternoon and would not re-open again till suppertime, which was about
the same time our ship was leaving port. We settled for a beverage and a view of the rain.

My experience of Bora Bora or Pora Pora, as it is correctly called, was exactly
that: it poured and then it poured some more.