An Hour With Paul Gauguin

Wednesday 3 January

What a difference an hour makes - not having to book out of our hotel room until 11.00 meant that we could have leisurely morning, repacking all our gear – there seems to be more to get in after each stop. And there were transit rooms which could be used as often required throughout the day. Tahiti is more classy and sophisticated than the Cook Islands – but of course far more expensive - particularly in the resorts with their glitzy receptions, impressive pools and well appointed rooms - even though Papeete is still very “colonial”.

Once we had checked out and deposited our luggage with the concierge, we wandered around the grounds to seek a place in the shade. When we woke up this morning there were lots of clouds hovering close to the coast and the winds were much stronger and coming from the opposite direction of the last few days. By the time we sat under the palms on the lawns the clouds had arrived overhead, and sure enough, the moment we got the cards out, the winds blew even stronger, scattering the pack, and it started to rain – just a short shower, but enough to send us scurrying to an early lunch.

As we were not due to be taken to the airport until 22.40, we had booked a tour of the island for this afternoon and by 13.00 we were waiting in the lobby, with a few other people for the minibus. Ten minutes later, one of the ladies in Reception came to tell us she had heard that the coach would be at least another ten minutes, as it had mechanical problems. Soon after 13.30 it arrived, and already more than half full. We drove through Papeete town – all the shops seemed to be open today, and it was fairly busy – to the other side of town to collect even more people.

The tour followed the coast road to our first stop at the top of the cliffs where we could look across the coves and beaches back to Papeete and see in the distance the faint outline of the island of Morea (because of the public holidays, we didn’t have a chance to visit this island, but those people we spoke to who had cruised, thought it the most beautiful island in this chain). We could see the reef at the edge of the lagoon, weaving its way around the coastline, a thin line of white separating the shallower turquoise waters from the deeper, almost navy blue ocean.

Our next destination was the “Blow Hole” a little further along, where the coast starts to turn southwards. The road at this stage was very adjacent to the rocky coastline on one side, with towering mountains of black lava rock rearing up on the other (no room for hard shoulders here). The “Blow Hole” was at a sharp right-angled turn in the road, at the entrance to a deep-set bay, where the incoming sea crashed through the rocks and under the road. Every fourth or fifth wave was bigger than the rest, and the white foam torrent rushed in and thumped the rocks with a loud hollow “whooump” sound and then emitted a huge hissing belch of spray into the air on the far side of the road, up the side of the cliff. Smaller waves produced smaller belches, not quite so impressive. There were also several other smaller blow holes in the rocks themselves, where spray was shot into the air after the wave arrived. All along the coast and in the small bays we had seen lots of people in the water with their surf boards, trying to ride the curls – some more successful than others. Surfing is the second most popular sport in Tahiti, after canoe racing. We watched the waves in a fascinated trance for about ten minutes, before being called back to the coach.

We traveled on down the east coast, where houses lined the road in an almost continuous band, making it hard in some places to separate one village from the next. One village had what looked like American mail boxes outside the houses, painted cream – a long tube on a post. These were for the baker to deliver his bread – two French sticks per household, in the morning before breakfast and in the afternoon before tea. About half way down the coast, we turned off the main road, on to a small bumpy track, the guide was pointing out different trees and plants – which sounded like a horticulturalist centre – orange and grapefruit trees, bananas, papayas, mangoes, even avocados all growing prolifically along the wayside, ginger flowers (not related to the root we eat), birds of paradise, hibiscus and even roses making a colourful border amongst the grasses. Our next stop was at a waterfall, which streamed 1,500 metres down the sheer side of a mountain, bouncing off the rocky wall into a pool at the bottom. We had to walk up the creek, through the rain forest to reach the waterfall, past palms, eucalyptus trees and ferns, all seeking a little sunlight.

As we drove on, we could see an “island” very close to the coastline, but as we got further south, we found it was actually joined to the mainland by a thin strip of land. As we were on the afternoon tour, we couldn’t drive round this “island”, but it looked similar to this part of the island, with tall hills in the centre, but sparser habitation around the coast. It started raining as the road turned again, this time along the south coast. We soon stopped in a large parking area which served two visitor attractions – the Gauguin Museum and the Botanical Gardens. One of the reasons for taking this tour was to find more about Paul Gauguin’s life in Tahiti. We had just an hour to visit both sites, and unfortunately we never made it into the Botanical Gardens.

On entering the museum, we were led by arrows to the art gallery, which disappointingly only displayed one original painting by the artist. There are several others who either painted in Tahiti or were influenced by Gauguin. His painting was in a dark area, not lit (for preservation reasons), and was really dark itself, showing two Polynesian women dancing amongst the trees on a beach – very similar to many of his other works. There were some pen and ink drawings/sketches by Gauguin and a couple of sculptures attributed to him. From here we “taken” to the exhibition of his life – his grandmother was Peruvian and he attributed his affinity to the Polynesian people to his ancestry. Having a hard childhood, he served in the French navy, where he was commended for his service, and made several visits South America. After his service he settled in France to work as an accountant, returning to Peru a couple of times to visit his relatives there. He married a Danish lady and had four children, but became restless to find his destiny in life. He gave up his job, left his famil, and traveled around Brittany and the South of France, painting, and meeting with other painters of the period, such as Vincent Van Gogh. Theo Van Gogh (Vincent’s brother) helped him stage a couple of exhibitions, but these were failures, his works did not sell and he became more and more depressed. He wrote a book explaining the philosophy behind his paintings, most of which showed South American influences, but still people did not understand them and success eluded him. He believed that if he went to Tahiti he would be able to produce paintings that would be accepted, but the Tahiti he found had changed from his earlier visits, to become more commercial, more “westernized”, so he moved on to the Marquesa Islands, which were far more primitive. He lived alone in a native hut and continued to paint for the rest of his life, plagued by drugs and alcohol. By this time he had very little money and lived on the bounty of others. He died at his home on the Maquesa Islands at the age of 55 from a heart attack. His death was not recorded in France until four months after he died.

In this part of the exhibition there were lots of prints of his paintings, (no originals), and photos of his early life in France. Gauguin looked every bit the aristocratic Frenchman, good looking, with a long thin nose and a bushy moustache, wearing frock coats. But his work lacked the themes and styles acceptable to the French in the late 19th century – even today a lot of people do not like his work - and he himself, never found what he was looking for in life. A very sad tale.

It had rained quite hard whilst we were visiting this museum, but others on the tour had made time to see the botanical gardens. From here it was a long ride back to the hotel along the western coast of the island. The sun was shining again by this time and we saw many people visiting the shops to buy their provisions for their evening meal, or at the stalls buying the fish caught earlier in the day, or at the bakers collecting the traditional French “sticks”. There are many styles of houses on the island, mostly single storey, from ones that looked as if they were made from builders’ left-overs, to very smart European chalets and “haciendas”, with beautifully tended gardens. The whole island is very French (hardly any concessions to recognize other languages) but is somehow attractive and pleasing to the eye – not sure what makes it different from the Cook Islands, but outside of Papeete, it seems softer and exactly what you imagine life in a rather remote French village should be like. We would definitely have liked to explore more of this island – because of the public holidays some of the other museums were closed) and perhaps visit one or two of the neighbouring islands – maybe if we return one day.

Back at the hotel, it was a warm, still evening, so we sat out on the top balcony near Reception, watching the sun go down (still nowhere near as impressive as the sunsets in the Cook Islands, although some guests were continually taking photos of it) and playing cards, until it was time for dinner. We felt quite scruffy not changing tonight, but were given a table in the centre of the restaurant where we could easily see the stage for the show starting a little later. I chose steak (a change from the beefburgers which seem to have become a bit of a ritual for me before flying) and Colin had French onion soup with crusty cheese topping and a dessert of tarte tatin with ice cream, both arriving at the same time. The show was a display of Tahitian dancing and singing (the same as appeared at the New Year’s Eve party at this restaurant) which was colourful and noisy at times and helped pass an hour until it was time to shower and change for the airport.

The large minibus arrived for four of us and in no time at all we joined a throng of others waiting to check in for our flight – a large Boeing continuing on to Santiago after dropping us (and many others) off at Easter Island. On joining the queue we immediately saw a sign which said that all bottle, tubes, sprays and containers over 100ml of any liquids, creams or lotions had to be placed in the stowed luggage. In order to save weight in my case, I carried all my chemisty bits in my hand luggage, and Colin also had lots of sun tan lotions, midgey sprays, as well as his washing gear in his bags. When we reached the desk (there was not room beforehand, as everyone was packed tightly together in the line) we had to repack our cases – for me, swapping cubes of clothes (which the lady also searched) for my banned substances, as I pushed and heaved trying to fit everything in the case. By the time we moved forward my case was even more overweight. At the check-in desk, the man accepted our cases (mine had yet another heavy tag attached as it now weighed in at 30 kgs), before we took them through to the security check before being man-handled on to the plane. We were sent in the opposite direction, where Colin was stopped because of his belt, which they insisted he removed, and his hand luggage was again searched, because of his empty water bottle. Other people carrying plastic bottles of water had them confiscated. They were being very strict here – far more so than at any other airport we have visited. At last we reached the departure area where bodies were lying sleeping on the chairs as if they had been there a long time, although we had less than half an hour before boarding, at 00.05.