WeddingHoneymoonVacation Review: TAHITI

   First in a 5-part series recapping my weddinghoneymoonvacation in the South Pacific that spanned five countries, 10 time zones, 11 airports and countless memories. It's our vacation virtual slide show, from the comfort of your own couch.

   *Paradise sometimes arrives via houseboat. But, alas, the usher to our South Pacific excursion instead showed up in a housecoat ...

   *Tahiti is to tourists as Valentine's Day is to ...

   *Who knew that in Tahiti resided the world's oldest ...

   *Screw Tahiti, when in this part of the world you gotta sneak away to ...

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   First in a 5-part series recapping my weddinghoneymoonvacation in the South Pacific that spanned five countries, 10 time zones, 11 airports and countless memories. It's our vacation virtual slide show, from the comfort of your own couch.

Sybil, extremely happy at this Tahitian waterfall

   Paradise sometimes arrives via houseboat. But, alas, the usher to our South Pacific excursion instead showed up in a housecoat.
   And broken glasses missing the left arm, leaving them resting uneasy and gotch-eyed on her squinty face.
   Oh, and sporting a grumpy disposition that clearly transcended the barrier of her speaking .01% English and 99.09% French.
   After a three-hour flight to Los Angeles and then another 9-hour trek to Papeete via Air Tahiti, Sybil and I were anxious for a shower, some breakfast and then a lot of, well, vacation. Not that the flight was bad. These days international flights over the Pacific are like being in your own mini-home theater. In the backs of seats are personal video systems where you can watch movies, listen to a variety of albums, play interactive games like poker or blackjack or tic-tac-toe, or just be amazed at the views from the plane's external cameras.
   Tahiti immagracion, turns out, was a breeze and as we headed to our hotel in a taxi we were immediately confronted by the staples of the country: Chickens. Dogs. Bread. Rain. And mini-Peugeot cars.
   All were everywhere.

Slightly more scenic than McKinney

   We arrived at our supposedly charming bed 'n breakfast - Pension de la Plage - just past 7 a.m , as alerted since July and repeatedly in reservation emails outlining our accommodations. But our presence was treated as though we were surprise solicitors, intruders even. In fractured English the matron of the manor answered (sorta) our urgent questions.
   Us: Rooms? Her: Not yet.
   Us: Breakfast? Her: Thataway.
   Us: Luggage? Her: Here. Dogs.
   Us: Alcohol? Her: Quoi?!
   Welcome to Tahiti.
   It's located in the warm waters of the South Pacific Ocean, south of Hawaii, east of Australia and - in every way - a million miles from Dallas.
   We were quickly baptized in the unwelcoming arms of French Polynesia. Make no mistake, Tahiti is beautiful. But it's no more prepared for - or accommodating to - tourists than Tyler.

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Our "charming" hotel view

   Left without a room. Given chunks of pineapple and bread to nibble on. And forced to entrust two friendly dogs to watch over our luggage, we tip-toed into Tahiti ... and into traffic! There is one main road that encircles the island, and it's a two-lane highway as busy as 635. As we walked to find liquor - and perhaps a better hotel - the beach, the ocean and a glorious view of the island of Moorea were to our left. But we didn't dare sneak a peak, lest we be run off the shoulder of the road by one of the countless zipping Peugeots.
   Fortunately, it got better.
   After flirting with upgrading to a hotel that was $150 more expensive - in Tahitian XPF currency that's ... I have no idea - we took our bottle of liquor, water and pretzels and went back to Pension and checked into our room. $106 USD a night in Tahiti gets you this: No a/c. A giant ceiling fan that hums like an airplane engine. A shower with no door. A toilet that must be flushed five times. One towel. And zero help from the "front desk."
   We poured a couple water bottles full of Sybil's homemade "rum", put on our swimsuits and bravely crossed the Tahitian terror of a road toward the beach. Finally, vacation.

Tahiti, from its highest point - Plateau Taravao

   Though the beach was narrow and littered with hard, irritating pebbles, we hopped in a two-man kayak and paddled toward the gigantic waves breaking along the barrier reef a half-mile from shore. The view back toward Tahiti was breath-taking. Clear water. Mountains. Hang-gliders appearing through the clouds. And, of course, rain.
   Taking shelter in another bed 'n breakfast, I devoured the most delicious Mahi Mahi in some sort of vanilla sauce and enjoyed a Desperadoes beer, which was infused with lime and tequila. It was here that we encountered two opposite characters that helped shape our opinion of Tahiti - Eugen and Granny Grunt.

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$113 USD. I think.

   Granny Grunt, an old, hunched-over woman who just had to be related to our hotel's keeper in some way, ran the bed 'n breakfast across the street from Pension. It was on the beach. It had a kayak for rent for $5. And it had a restaurant, perched high for a nice view of paradise. But Ms. Grunt was a beast of a bitch. Without ever making eye contact with us - much less uttering a word - she fumed over the fact that I didn't buy my initial Desperadoes beer, but instead had a local give it to me for free. In her mind, that was lost revenue.
   And in a slow-paced world where only one person per family works, children smoke pot, men jam in parks with guitars and make-shift basses of broom handles, rope and mop buckets, and every single meal revolves around a giant loaf of french bread sold on every corner, there is little to do other than stew over lost revenue.
   Our Granny Grunt translations came from Eugen, a friendly Brazilian who spoke six languages and desired nothing out of life other than some decent waves to ride his paddle board (think standing on a surf board using one wooden paddle to navigate). In short, for us he saved Tahiti.

Two dorks and a grotto

   The next day we hopped in his Peugeot for a tour around the entire island. Things we would have never seen because, trust me, there are no tourist maps or guide centers or mopeds to rent or even souvenir shops. For $15,000 XPF (about $170 U.S., I think) he showed us the world's oldest turtle (185), a sacred ground where not that along ago Tahitian cannibals held human sacrifices, gorgeous waterfalls, a creepy-yet-cool cave (or "grotto"), the highest plateau on the island and the beach beyond which each August surfers arrive to ride the biggest waves in the world.
   Not unlike Fast Times' "Spicoli", Eugen was always happy and irrationally positive. His equivalent to "yes" was "100 percent." As in, Hey Eugen is it dangerous to hang-glide off those mountains? "Oh yes, 100 percent." As in, Hey Eugen does it rain here 50% of the time? "Oh yes, 100 percent." His English was also amusing, like when he compared Sybil's beauty to that of "Audrey Repburn." But the guy is a life-saver of a tour guide. If you're ever headed to Tahiti, look him up: eugeniodecampos@hotmail.fr.
   In Tahiti there is no dress code. No tipping. No strong rum. And, despite them running around everywhere, not much chicken on the menu.

He looked dead to us

   Mostly, there are vowels. Every word seemingly begins with an a,e,i,o or u, has several of the same crammed together in the middle, and then ends with a couple more. Vanna White would hate it here, because everyone is trying to buy a consonant.
   We didn't know what to expect from Tahiti. Our dreams didn't go much past white sand, blue water and cold drinks. Honestly? It fell short. One day we went for a jog along the beach road, but were quickly dismayed by the smell of trash and car fumes and the lack of a pedestrian-friendly path.
   Sensing our disappointment, Eugen pointed toward the giant mountains looming in the distance to the west.
   "You want really nice? You go there," he said. "Moorea."
   "Better than Tahiti?" I asked him.
   "100 percent."
   The next morning we hopped on a ferry for the 12-mile ride to Moorea. Now we're talking.

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Behold, Jurassic Park

   Jurassic Park.
   At least it looked like it, with its pristine white beach, palm trees and lush, green mountainside rising up to kiss the blue sky. Yes, this was more like it.
   Having no hotel reservations, we struck up a conversation on the windy ferry with another honeymooning couple from Chicago. They were headed to the Hotel Intercontinental and, now, so were we. Hotel crashers, as it were.
   Slipped the shuttle driver $2,000 XPF and next thing you know we're riding around gorgeous blue bays of water, looking for prehistoric monsters atop the remote jungles and headed to the Intercontinental. We spent the day sipping Sybil's homemade rum out of our plastic water bottles, laying on the beach under palm trees, frolicking in the warm ocean and swimming in one of two vanishing-edge swimming pools. Other than the old European couple in the thong and the Speedo, it was Utopia.
   For lunch we rented bicycles and rode 15 minutes to a joint called Snack Mahana, right on the beach and secluded from everywhere. It was so perfect that we forgot three things:
   1. America.
   2. Our intense sunburns.
   3. The fact that we were supposed to check out of Pension because we're headed to Bora Bora tomorrow.

The ol' pool-pool-beach-ocean trick

   Not a care in the world on the ferry back. I was dreaming of our wedding in 24 hours while Sybil laughed off breaking her flip-flop and making do by covering her foot in a plastic baggie. But once Eugen picked us up and dropped us back at Pension, it dawned on us ...
   "I've been pounding on door all day," said Vincent, Pension de la Plage's co-owner and somehow husband to the hideous housecoat madam.
   I guess you can call it a good day when you're so detached that you blow off your itinerary. We told Vincent our tale, asked to pay only half a day and ...
   "Okay," he grumbled. "You win."
   With that we frantically packed up, called Eugen and headed to the Tahiti Airport Hotel. Not a bad way to spend your last night as single folks.
   Because in the morning, it's off to Bora Bora.

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