Bora Bora

The school teacher was herding children during the class, trying to manage the terrific din produced by the boisterous children.

She smiled and said, “at times like this my co-teacher and I tell each other someday we are going to escape to Bora Bora.”

I laughed. “I’ve actually been there.” I said. Her eyes wide, she asked about the trip. I told her it was beautiful, without elaborating much.

That statement was very true. During the time we were able to see outside, that is.

I visited the lush Polynesian island in the rainy off-season for work, and boy did it rain. Torrential downpours that happened sporadically for days, all the time we were there. Occasionally there were days that the sun shined through, and the over water bungalows dried briefly while I took a dip in the lagoon or caught a few rays on the deck. Those where the rare exception however. I had thoughtfully brought along a DVD box set of a television series to watch on the plane. (It’s a long flight, 14 hours from New York.) I carried a laptop for work, and it became our main entertainment when we were sheltering from the deluges.

The resorts were lovely but practically ghost towns. I saw nary a soul on our visit. Perhaps there were a few at breakfast, and a handful on the one night I remember attending the nearby restaurant.

I was a light eater on that trip, my east coast palate unprepared for the South Pacific cuisine.

I recall receiving my entree of Tahitian Poisson Cru: raw fish cubes marinated in coconut milk and lime juice. Memorable? yes, I certainly remember it, but I haven’t had the opportunity, or courage to try it since!