The South Seas
The Pleasures and Perils of Paradise
Despite the old saw, “If it’s Tuesday, it must be
Belgium,” each day brought new insights into Polynesia and its people.
It’s difficult even in our own language to recall the names of obscure
places, and in a foreign tongue that difficulty is compounded a hundred
fold.
Hiva Oa, Hanaipa, Hokatu, and Hanaveve?
I tried numerous times to differentiate between these and other confusing
Marquesan island names and to recall special distinctions of each site we
visited. So did everybody else. But often this was impossible.
Nevertheless, in the short time that we had, we managed to absorb volumes
of information on the culture, history, art, and religion of the Marquesas.
This happened despite some obvious annoyances and physical discomforts.
But those were to be expected. Such as the sometimes sweltering heat and
high humidity. Despite the fact that we had arrived in the dry
season, hiking along overgrown dense jungle paths, bouncing uncomfortably
over rocks and potholes on dusty narrow roads in the back of a pickup
truck, or standing on tired legs through a long demonstration in the
oppressive heat of an open hut were exercises in endurance.
You’d get hot. Tired. Thirsty and sweaty. And you’d have sweaty tee
shirts and muddy shorts, shoes and socks to contend with at the end of an
active day.
Then there were the nonos, the nasty biting flies, and mosquitoes that
wanted to eat you for lunch. The guidebooks warned about them and
the guides gave tips on how to avoid them before every excursion.
So, we slapped away as needed, and for the most part, endured them better
than expected.
I wore long pants and long sleeved shirts when they were especially
annoying, actually only on two particular days. Before every landing I
slathered on repellent that contained deet. Surprisingly, these
annoying
hazards turned out to be less than minor irritants. I was amazed to
realize when I got home that I hadn’t suffered a single insect bite on
the entire trip! But then, I was diligent in covering all exposed
skin in order to turn myself into a no-fly zone.
And the sharks. I haven't yet mentioned the
sharks. They were there,
everywhere it seems, lurking in the ocean, according to our guide, Bob
Suggs. He warned us repeatedly not to swim out too far into
dangerous waters because shark attacks were possible, even in fairly
shallow seas. Needless to say, I obeyed him. A few people scuba
diving actually did see sharks. I didn't, and I'm not complaining!
So, what I’m leading up to is that this turned out to be truly a
once-in-a-lifetime trip. I took advantage of every opportunity to enjoy
each moment. And there were plenty of them.
The scenery was magnificent.
The serene beauty of jade lagoons and black sand beaches, soaring mountain
spires shrouded in mist, lush coconut groves and musty vegetation
bordering rugged mountain trails, impossibly jagged coastlines, panoramic
views of shimmering amethyst seas harboring our cargo ship in a bay far
below, and the sweet fragrance of flowers everywhere--tiari,
frangipani, bougainville, hibiscus and countless other plants too obscure
to name combined to assault our senses in every way.
We encountered numerous Marquesans eager to entertain us with their
welcome and war dances and traditional song and dress. We learned
through lectures ranging from early history and exploration, religion,
war, and art to tattooing and the practice of cannibalism.
At archaeological sites halfway up mountains and in the midst of
jungle
clearings, we learned about tikis—human-like stone statues carved in
basalt, the tohua-- open air platforms with rows of stone seats where
festivals were held, and the other places of worship, burial and
offerings. Each added to our greater understanding of the life of
the islanders.
One day, we wandered through the cemetery halfway up a mountain on Hiva Oa
at Atuona where Paul Gauguin is buried and visited the nearby grave of the
Belgian singer Jacques Brel. We visited the House of Pleasure where
Gauguin spent his last painful years and the new museum that houses copies
of his Tahitian paintings.
On several islands we were introduced to the works of Marquesan
artists who produce products of exceptional beauty. Stone,
bone and rosewood works of art were in abundance, and the artists who
created them showed us how. The traditional art of making tapa cloth
on Fatu Hiva island was of special interest. Watching how arduous it
is to produce this cloth from the bark of breadfruit and mulberry trees
and painting the cloth with a traditional design, led me to do what I said
I wouldn’t--I had to buy a piece from the artist. Mine is
from the bark of a banyan tree.
The famed black pearls of Tahiti also attracted many of us.
Sitting in our swim suits in a beach hut on a Tuamotu lagoon, we watched a
demonstration of pearl farming production It gave us a chance to run our
fingers through bowls of shimmering pearls. Later, in handicraft stalls
and sophisticated jewelry stores we checked out finished black pearls
ranging from $25 to thousands of French francs. We brought
home a few of these beautiful pearls of the sea.
Of course, we sampled Marquesan food to the maximum---some of us loved it.
At beach barbecues in Facareva and Takapoto, under pistachio trees in the
mountains at Taiohae, and more elegantly at Yvonne’s at Hatiheu,
Rosalie’s at Hakahau and Fourniers in Hane–several of the
best-known restaurants of the islands, we “pigged out” at Marquesan
banquets. We watched them dig up the pig during a traditional pig
roast, sampled breadfruit poi, tried curried goat, poisson cru, taro,
guava, banana po’e, and fish whose names we could not pronounce, and
nibbled on coconut in its many incarnations.
Perhaps my most vivid memory will be attending a Sunday morning service at
the Notre-Dame Cathedral de Illes Marquises at Taiohae Village.
Built in 1977 using stones of all the inhabited islands in the
archipelago, this historic Catholic church featured the bishop wearing a
brilliant red robe and a lei garland around his neck conducting the
service alternately in French and Marquesan. Ornately beautiful
religious wood carvings representing scenes from the bible decorated
interior walls of the church, and the pulpit consisted of a huge carved
eagle in flight. Both reinforced the beauty and sanctity of the
unusual service.
Three hundred or so churchgoers—women in colorful muumuus and woven
flowered hats and children in neatly combed hair and dressed in their
Sunday best, filled wooden benches and spoke prayers in the Marquesan
language. Most unexpectedly, we were treated to an incredibly
beautiful concert of hymns familiar to many of us—all translated into
the Marquesan language. The a cappella choir consisted of the
entire church. Demonstrating flawless timing and perfect three-part
harmony, they filled the hall with the harmonies of well-known hymns sung
beautifully in their native tongue.
As a music lover, I found this to be an incredibly rich experience--one
that seemed to highlight much of what I had appreciated on this voyage
that indeed turned out to be my own special journey to paradise.
I learned in many environments that an elegant simplicity, beauty and
desire to preserve tradition still exists among the people of these remote
Pacific islands. I hope these qualities don’t get obliterated in
the relentless rush toward modernization of our all-too high tech world.
Back to Home
(All photos taken by Roz Hiebert
or at least with her camera under her direct supervision.)
(c) 2003 
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