Yesterday I arrived in Bora Bora. I flew from L.A. to Pape'ete, Tahiti, where, despite it being the middle of the night, I and the other passengers were greeted on arrival by a French Polynesian band and a group of women in traditional dress each placing a hei of gardenias around each passenger's neck. I have to say that while the greeting was incredibly gracious, the pungent smell of the gardenias made me kind of dizzy but I didn't want to be disrespectful and toss them. By the time I got to the luggage area, I was so bedecked in heis, I looked like a float in the Rose Parade.
I stayed in Pape'ete overnight. After only a few hours of sleep, I boarded a small prop plane and flew to Bora Bora, landing on a tiny island that was not much more than a sun-baked landing strip and a small terminal building. I was expecting to see Tattoo pointing up at the plane as we approached. After landing, it was on to a luxurious yacht to head to the resort. Upon boarding, I was presented with more beautiful-but-wheeze-inducing heis and a vanilla tea that was lovely but, I have to say, not my thing (regrettably, I "accidentally" spilled the tea overboard and was not able to enjoy it...).
Bora Bora is a group of volcanic islands surrounded by a reef that encases the whole area creating a giant lagoon. On the center island, two volcanic mountains jut up into the sky.If paradise was lost, I think I found it. This place is so beautiful that it doesn't seem real. The waters are a mix of mesmerizing greens and blues that are so vibrant, it's as though the water has been dyed.
The resort buildings are on stilts over the water. When the yacht docked, I was led to the lobby - an open air structure over the water teeming with exotic fish. After checking in, with my heis flapping in the breeze, I was whisked away by golf cart to my bungalow.The staff are so friendly. As you pass them, they blurt out "hello" in Tahitian, which is spelled "Ia Orana" but phonetically sounds like "yo-rah-nah!". And when said while zipping by in a cart, it sounds more like "Yo Momma!".
The resort is nestled on a secluded beach at the base of a hill. There are several buildings that house restaurants, an awesome tiered infinity pool, and these walkways that jut out into the water like spines leading to bungalows that are attached like ribs to the spine. The walkways and bungalows are elevated above the water.
From the outside, the bungalows are thatched-roof wooden structures that look very rustic. Inside, they are anything but. Wow. My bungalow is decorated in dark woods with white curtains billowing from the ocean breezes. There is a living room with a sofa that has built-in end tables with glass tops that open to the water below so you can feed the fish. There is a huge canopy bed. The bathroom is stone-clad with glass on the floor next to the tub looking down into the water. It makes you feel like you are floating in the ocean. At one end of the bungalow, there are floor-to-ceiling windows opening to a private deck that lead down stairs to a water level swimming platform. At night, you can turn on lights that illuminate the water below the bungalow and fill the room with shimmering blue reflections. Spectacular. I don't want to leave this place. This is bliss.
After I arrived yesterday, I fell asleep on a lounge chair on my deck. I think I was dreaming about this place not being real, but rather a colossal human-made theme-park joke, where Disney characters come through your door and put on a show. Then, out of nowhere, this deafening clap of thunder launched me out of my seat. It was all too real. I screamed like a school girl and, I think, peed a little. That night there was a violent thunderstorm but in this setting in my bungalow oasis, it was incredibly romantic and again seemed like it might just be special effects for a theme-park attraction.
Anyhoo, today is a spa day. The spa at the resort is high on a hill not surprisingly in a lush, tranquil setting. I'm told this is a revered, spiritual area for the locals. I'm greeted by my therapist who is a gentle giant - big muscle guy but soft spoken and so polite. He leads me to a private bungalow room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out to the mountains and lush, green foliage. The massage table is set up in the middle of this beautiful space.
So I drop trou', and while with my pronounced tan lines I must have the whitest butt he's ever seen, he keeps it cool and goes to work, plying me with a mixture of cocoa and coffee oils that makes me smell like a Mocha Frappuccino from Starbucks. The massage is fan-freakin'-tastic.
Afterward, we start to chat. He tells me a bit about life in French Polynesia and I answer his questions about my impressions and where I'm from. In the course of our talk, I mention the storm yesterday. He hesitates as if he's processing whether to tell me something. He then rather sheepishly begins to tell me a story.
Yesterday, he and his colleague were giving a couples massage to a Japanese husband and wife in the very room where we are now. The husband fell asleep and was snoring loudly. When the big clap of thunder that launched me out of my lounge chair happened, the hubby yelped, jumped up, and fell off the massage table. He then picked himself up, ran screaming and butt-naked across the spa room, smashed into a sliding glass door, and fell in a heap on the floor. He was shaken but not hurt. My therapist and his colleague tended to the guy and after a bit, the couple left. The therapists then noticed that on the glass door against which the guy splatted, there was a greasy massage oil outline of his body, like a Keith Haring drawing (Google it). They both lost it and fell to the floor laughing.
When he finishes the story, the therapist looks at me quietly to gauge my reaction. I look over at the door - the scene of the crime - and look back at my guy. We both burst into laughter. You can't make this stuff up.
Nana!
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