You can cycle around Bora Bora in a couple of hours. Hopped the shore party tender (a privilege awarded to the splattering of crew who could make it up for 6am and be bothered to wait around for the undetermined ETA of local officials) Already a stinking heat was competing with the air con through the gunport doors. Half way across the bay it suddenly occurred on me that I was Really Rather Ill (there was a ferocious 'thing' going around the ship that cruise) And by the time we made land I was positively delirious. Undeterred though I hired an antiquated beast of a bicycle, more beast of burden, plucked a large red flower from a bush, stuck it behind one ear as was the wont of the local girls and wobbled off. A thoroughly glorious morning, Bora Bora is true paradise on a stick and the onset of delirium served to only heighten the experience. Managed to circumnavigate the place intact and close to harbour stopped at a shack where an angel here on earth served me a cold beer and Cerviche (raw tuna marinated in coconut and lime juice) Divine. Just divine. I think I was offered a job, which I think I duly accepted. It seemed wholly feasible at the time, visas shacks and work permits mere bagatelles. Then passed out on slip of beach for about three hours. Struggled into port in time to return trusty steed and wait for the last tender. Then I spied men by the side of the road through fish tails tied to a stick. They were blowing through conch shells to alert the village that the evenings catch was in.
Some day, I should like to live in a place where a man blows through a sandy conch shell to let me know that the shops are open.
Photo: Margaret O'Hare (Bora Bora, Society Islands)