From sea to land
Yes, the most incredible pictures of Polynesia are
those aerial photographs which offer us hallucinating shades in blue and
transparencies palette.
Yes, indeed, these are the
same pictures that tourists discover in the 21st century when they are lucky
enough to day land on Tahiti. However…
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| All the beauty of an island... |
Yet that's by sea where an island must be accosted because it shows off
itself thus in all its serenity, its fragility, its harshness, its violence and
so, all its beauty.
From sails to wings...
It's by sea that the first inhabitants of our islands,
Ma'ohi ancestors on their fabulous travel sail outrigger dugouts, discovered
these unknown lands... Very many centuries later, it’s also by sea, and after
many months of very difficult navigation, that, the first Westerners set eyes
on what they didn't hesitate to describe as "paradise on earth"...
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| The first American planes arrive in Bora Bora... by sea! |
The first aircrafts to land on
the Polynesian countries belong to the US
army, in Bora Bora from 1942 to 1946. From them, follows an ocean of
aerial photographs, all to the glory of our lagoons and our islands, all of
which reinforce the Polynesian myth born of Cook's and Bougainville's travels
(among others)...
The Polynesian
islands by advertising views
Nevertheless: it's always by
sea, that the truth of the Polynesian islands are more available to the
traveler wanting to not be trapped by an inevitably misleading leaflet, because
obnoxiously simplistic...
From swell to the reef...
Whatever the ship on which you
are embarked -liner, schooner (Polynesian passenger-cargo ship), luxury yacht, gold plater, fragile skiff or
trip-sailboat, approaching an island still suggests the same fascinating show...
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| Blue, blue, and again blue... |
First there is this infinite
curve line, around us totally, parting just the blue from the blue. Whatever
the movements of the boat, wherever we look away, it's always there, unbroken: alone the clouds, white horses of foam and
the crest of the waves...
And lost in the heart of the
skyline, in the middle of the greatest among the oceans, it may happen that
this feeling of being nothing and nowhere lasts for days, nights, and days over
and over...
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| When the ocean makes up the horizon... |
Yet inevitably comes that
moment out of time when any sailor rubs his eyes to be sure not to be the
victim of a mirage: a tiny portion of the horizon seems thicker, like makeup,
highlighted by a brown line... As a hyphen in the middle of a blue line: the
Earth!
Finally: an island...
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| Before the sailor, the birth of an island... |
Hour by hour, the line is
going to thicken, turn into relief picture, become more accurate. Then it will
to rise, expand and become colors. Slowly the earth begins to take shape, to lose
its even color, this brown one sprung from blue and to adorn itself with green
and ocher... Before our very eyes, from the womb of the ocean, is given birth
to an island.
Into the depths of each of us,
the excitement of a next landing begins to give the crew a shake. However, we
aren’t at the end of our surprises...
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| Child of water: a dreaming silhouette |
Between the island and us, a
strange white line seems to get in our way...
From the open sea to the lagoon...
As a brow puckered on the
ocean, an eye of life on the surface of the large liquid desert, the island
appears now as resting on a white line...
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| From blue to blue, the colors of the dream... |
By moving closer on the rhythm
of the waves, the white line thickens and separates from the sea-mountain,
unveiling a new chromatic wonder. "Blue, again! ", according to
you... Yes, a blue palette, shimmering in other flat tints. Without a ripple,
without a hitch...
Between itself and us, the
island has developed its defenses. How to cross the reef without tearing the
hull of our skiff? How to blend in with the blue shades finally reaching these
dreamed beaches but still invisible?
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| Where is the portal, opened to the tranquility of the lagoon? |
Along the awash bulwark of the
coral reef, we are won by the fear of discover any flaw. Solitary motu *, as strange rafts hatted with
rare coconuts, are flush... Dreams of deserted islands, escaped the few
adventures of Robinson Crusoe, draw an oneiric dashed line on the real reef.
While hoping at least reach
the coast is shrinking every moment, a crack in the foam line tears us from the
torpor: the reef is opened, an entry is offered to us, the lagoon isn't longer
a dream but a protected haven from swell...
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| The long-awaited pass... |
Therefore remains to cross the
pass so unveiled.
Move away the reef a bit,
point the stem of the boat to the lagoon so hoped, pinpoint a rocky outcrop
well drawn on the blue sky at the top of the island, take it as bitter and ride
the wind swell for finally caressing the blue dream...
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| Blues that will make you doubt your eyes... |
High tide, the current urges
us fairly well between coral fingers. The boat stabilizes, we reduce the canvas
and slow down the pace, slipping almost on its way, amazed by the magic of the
place: a new range of translucent blues now. On sandy bottoms, sometimes
strange shapes in orange hues, almost red, are straying up in dark shadows... After
all protected, we are on the lagoon...
From the lagoon up to the earth...
“Helm hard-a-starboard…!”
This howl loaded of anguish
comes breaking the wonder. As long as the anchor isn't dropped into a white
sandy bottom close to the beach, we will be in danger: the fabulous brown and
ocher mass of coral heads ("coral potatoes") dangerously threatens
the integrity of the hull. We must at all costs avoid them.
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| But where is the channel…? |
Moreover it's also necessary
to move away as much as possible from the clearest water areas, at the risk of
running aground on a sandbar... Browse a few cable lengths away that still
separates us from the beach is far more dangerous than slip on the long and
powerful Pacific swell...
Put a little bit of canvas, a
man at the helm, another at the bow with a sounding line, good eyes and a
strong voice to prevent about rocks and shoals... At hand, the beach never
seemed so distant...
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| At closer to the
lagoon labyrinth |
The clearness of the water
gives us the sensation of flying over canyons drawn by coral heads. Fabulous
landscape which alas fear of sinking prevents us from appreciating its true
extent. And every time we dare to take our eyes off the seabed, the coast is
proving a little more...
Three or four dozen fathoms
from us, the water becomes transparent and highlights an unbelievably sandy
beach of dazzling white; it changes from incredible lagoon blues to plenty
improbable greens. This time there it is: the horizon got lost...
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| At last arrived... |
It's time to drop anchor.
Once the boat well secured at
rest on its moorings, embedded on our dinghy, we are sailing the last fathoms
towards dryland...
From beach to mountain
...Dazzled by the violent
white sand, we need some time to get used to walking on solid ground again.
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| ...And in a few moments, the first steps on the island... |
Our lifeboat moored, our
amazed eyes forget a moment the white beach and the green rainforest to find
again the blue of which we just go out: first those of the lagoon, then those
more dark of the ocean and finally those speckled sky with orphan clouds.
Around ten meters away from the
place of our landing, a river emerges from the forest and languidly through the
beach to dilute without fuss into the blue lagoon. A sweet and fresh water,
almost cold, shamelessly is licking the feet of a few misguided mape amidst coconut trees.
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| A river: the path to the heart of the island... |
No path along the banks. The
urge to ascend this river to the interior of the island, therefore requires us
to take off our shoes...
On three or four hundred
meters at most, the river is lazing and stretches, stroking gardens and fare ** flooded with flowers and trees.
But things change quickly...
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| From blue to green... |
Around us, the valley narrows.
The river bed has nothing indolent and we're having to look up now to even
taste the blue sky. The rainforest growing in height, as if to fight against
the vertiginous peaks that dominate us as we continue to climb, slipping on the
black stones of the stream bed.
The blue universe of the sky
and lagoon, forgotten: now we drown in a sea of green. The heat is stifling
here, oozing, boring. We have, without realizing it, swapped our Robinson's
costumes for those of a group of Indiana Jones, in search of some unknown
insular diamond...
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| Slowly, the canopy ousts the sky blue... |
Above us the forester dome is
closed. We are moving in a clammy darkness where the blue completely disappeared.
The rustle of the alizé in the canopy
becomes pervasive, even deafening.
This noise isn't only the
wind: there is something else, but what?
We go on walking. The slope
mellows and vegetation changes, becomes sparse, even if the sky is always
hidden by the foliage. We are now in a mape
forest and can finally leave the river bed: again walk on land.
Along the river, the path we
are following now continues to rise. In this hot and sweaty atmosphere we keep
on our progress, bundled up in this sort of unremitting rumble getting
louder...
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| The white waters, an offering of the mountain |
Here, the muddy path skirting
a rocky outcrop is covered with a thick foam of an amazing dark green... A few
more steps and here we are frozen in a state of amazement and wonder!
From land to water...
The forest is behind us.
Before our incredulous looks, impressive cliffs, torn by turbulent waters, are
gushing tens of meters above our heads...
When the mountains
weep life
A multitude of rainbows in the
sky arise from the spume; and the water, all this water, soft and fresh,
collapses into a kind of small lake that seems to wait for our good will, to
relieve us finally fatigue and heat of
our ascent.
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| In the iridescent arms of the island... |
Immersed in this miraculous
water, we raise our head and realize finally what place that hugged us.
Above us, black carvings on
the blue of the sky, mountains, and steep peaks seem completely inaccessible.
No doubt that they are so.
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| Thus, the island forever keeps its secrets... |
One thing is certain: we are
at the heart of the island...
Glossary:
* Motu: islet, land mass on the reef of an atoll.
** Fare: traditional house of Polynesia
An article
of Julien Gué
Translated from French by Monak
Copyright
Julien Gué. Ask for the author’s agreement before any reproduction of the
text or the images on Internet or traditional press.
