Saying Good-bye

As my stay on Rangiroa draws to a conclusion, I have no cause to complain about anything. In scuba diving I've learned a new skill, and in a simple budding friendship I've been reminded of the meaning of true love at its simplest form. In addition, I've eaten wonderful meals, surrounded by glorious scenery. I've met and chatted with interesting Europeans/Americans, and made day trips to the island south with churches and stalls that breathe only Polynesian culture, and improved my French to the point that the language once again invades my dreams. I've gotten "away from it all" as thoroughly as it's possible to do in a short span vacation, and feel rested, alert and calm.

In my journal I've written: "A visitor must stay in Rangiroa at least eleven days; on day three I began to misplace things - camera lens cap, stationery, broken watch and I worried about it. I searched desperately, castigated myself for not being more careful. By day five, I was still losing things. By the sixth day I wanted to lose me and not be found until I've missed my plane back to anywhere else on earth, because wherever that is, it's not here."

Still, one experience is missing. Except for my encounter with Luci, we have failed to spend a significant time finding out about Rangiroa. Like so many places where a genuinely traditional culture interfaces with a budding tourist industry, the local life is off-limits to the casual visitor. And how I see Rangiroa - the aloofness is provocative. One cannot visit such a place without wondering what it would be like to have been born and raised there. On my final day in Rangiroa, I am granted a memorable friendship with Luci, who so enthusiastically invited us in advance to stay with her during our next trip to Rangiroa. The handmade pearly shell necklaces and the Tiarre (Tahitian flower) tiara for Temure (Tahitian traditional dance) that she has carefully made for me sat well nested on my bun-up hairdo during our departure. The look that passes between us bridges barriers of language and particular experience. We are, in addition to everything that makes us different individuals, involved in the same universal human adventure: not islands, after all, but part and parcel of a greater, encompassing whole.