So here’s what I knew about Tahiti.

Bubkus. To be honest, I was only vaguely sure that it was in the Pacific, as opposed to the Caribbean. Here’s what I know about it now.

What we think of as “Tahiti” is actually French Polynesia. And “Tahiti” is merely one of the many, many islands that comprise French Polynesia, which is scattered across a massive portion of the Pacific Ocean. There are basically three sections (by basically I mean “more than three, but three big ones”). The Society Islands include most of the resort destinations: Tahiti, Bora Bora and Moorea (not to mention the late Marlon Brando’s private island Tetiaroa). The Tuamotu Archipelago contains lots of the best diving locations, including Rangiroa. And the Marquesas, which include Nuku Hiva and Hiva Oa, are the more rugged islands that were featured on Survivor.

The view from my backyard...

My adventure began with an eight hour red-eye from Los Angeles to Papeete, Tahiti (the only “city” you’ll find in French Polynesia). Let me just take a moment to sing the praises of two drugs. Ambien is a tiny little pill, but it has the magical power to transform an endless, sleepless, jet-lagging flight into what is basically teleportation. You sit in your seat, you take the pill, you close your eyes…you open them and you’re there. Awesome.

Side note…if you haven’t read Stephen King’s short story The Jaunt…you should.  It haunts me to this very day…

After landing, we jumped on what would turn out to be the first of about four hundred thousand small plane rides, this time heading from Papeete to Bora Bora.  Our accomodations were the luxurious overwater bungalows at the Intercontinental. I checked in, put my bathing suit on, walked out the back door of my bungalow, and jumped in the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to get used to the brilliant color of the French Polynesian water. Depending on the depth, it’s either deep blue, sky blue, turquoise blue, aquamarine blue, or some other alien-world shade of blue. The depth changes abruptly, so the water changes color along clean lines, as if someone carefully painted each lagoon.

After a short swim, the wonderful madness began.

Our two main guides for our trip were Franck Priot of Film France, and Jonathan Reap of Tahiti Tourisme. They were a pretty amazing duo. Franck’s job was to design as many possible inspirational and educational moments into each day, and Jonathan’s job was to figure out exactly how to do it. In theory, it’s a recipe for disaster, but in practice, they were brilliant. Franck planned every moment of every day as if our lives depended on how much we could possibly experience. Jonathan…well…Jonathan is basically the Mr. Wolf of French Polynesia. If you need something, anything, at any time of day or night, he’s your man. He solves problems. He makes stuff happen.

I’m not sure, but I think Jonathan knows every single person who lives in French Polynesia. And they all owe him favors.

Between the two of them, Franck and Jonathan could pretty much get us into (and out of) as much excitement and trouble as they desired. Case in point: the jet skis. Our first mission, undertaken just hours after arriving, was to jump on jet-skis in the lagoon in Bora Bora and then ride out into the open ocean and arrive at the atoll of Tupai.

Here are some facts.

None of us had ever been on a jet-ski. People aren’t traditionally allowed to jet-ski out of the lagoon. There were reports of 3 meter swells in the ocean. The Coast Guard was advising against the mission. And people aren’t normally allowed to set foot on Tupai anyway.

Just prior to the madness...

To which Franck and Jonathan said, “N’importe quoi.” And off we went.

I have to say that it was a wonderful feeling to be free of the normal American bubble of fear-of-litigation. Within minutes of learning how to jet-ski (sit down, press accelerator, hold the hell on), we were all catching air, getting smashed in the face with seawater, slamming into massive waves, chasing our guides at absurd speeds, wind screaming in our ears, our asses banging against the seat…

I loved it. Nick Schenck actually got tossed off his jet-ski. Our guides finally gave up fighting the waves and said we had to head back to the lagoon. Franck announced that this first mission was a “failure,” but he couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a complete success. My heart was pounding, my legs were aching (all of us were muscle-cramped for days), my eyes were burning…but I was already in love with this place.

A simple observation: if you involuntarily shout “OH!” more than ten times in an hour, you’re getting some living done.

Please, no more, I beg of you!

After our jet ski adventure, we took a boat to a private motu (motus are small atolls), where we had a traditional Polynesian lunch. This was the first of many meals that centered around poisson cru (literally “raw fish”). Polynesians are very proud of this–their most famous dish–which is typically a mixture of raw tuna, onions, lime juice and coconut milk. It’s quite good, especially when someone cracks open a fresh coconut, grates the inside of it using a traditional tool, then squeezes the coconut milk right into the tuna. On the other hand, every single person we encountered in French Polynesia fed us poisson cru. Every…single…person.  It was as if they hadn’t considered that other Polynesians would have had the same idea. So while I really enjoyed poisson cru, by the time we had our fifteenth serving of it on day 7, it was a bit much.

Got bad enough that we eventually decided we would name ourselves The Poisson Crew. I know…but trust me, it’s very funny…if you’re really tired and eating poisson cru. Again.

Up next…swimming with sharks. The real ones.

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