Merci My Velo

Seven Days
One Week

We’re no longer trying to pour an ocean of water and juice down our throats to combat persistent feelings of internal drought. The traffic is murmuring—annoying still—but more of a dull din than a deafening drum. We have figured out a few things and maybe by the end of the month, there will be a phone line and internet at our “compound,” Chez Chambers, our gated and fenced piece of Tahiti, with completely obstructed views of everything, the place where temporarily our only source of news and most of our contact with the outside world enters through our gate sometime in the early evening. As soon as Eric’s chirpy step hits the tile of the porch at suppertime, we’re all there clamoring for stories, information, updates. And then it is almost dark. And then it is dark. It gets dark here between six and six-thirty.

We have learned a little so far:


1. Geckos are cute, but they sure do leave lots of signs of their existence. Namely lots of something that has to be swept out of your closet. Yuck.

2. “Don’t stand under the coconut tree with anyone else but me…” No really, you shouldn’t stand under coconut trees. The boys were posing under one at one of the public beaches. One of the young guys hanging out there with other young guys—the only type of persons we seem to see at the beaches right now (school is still in session) made a point of coming over and telling me that the coconuts could fall on my little boys’ heads. And hurt them. Bad. I listened. I got them to move. Quickly.

3. French words for turkey, blackberry jelly and ice cream. All very important.

4. Government subsidized commodities. Very important. Look for the red tag so you know that you’re not paying completely ex-pat induced incredibly inflated prices for things. The good thing is that most of the basics—everyone gets some help with. The down side. I have yet to find any non-refined flour. Yet. We did find a small can of instant oats. Like about two cups worth. You guessed it. Not a government subsidized commodity. Fruits, veggies. Not much help there either. It may just be more work to get my kids to eat whole and healthy than even in snack-ridden, high fructose America. Probably more on this later. Six dollars got us 20 eggs. It is an island, but if you love white, fresh baguettes, then you’ll never be hungry. They’re always around fifty cents.

5. Even though I instinctively start thinking in German the moment I hear someone speaking in French, English is still more useful. Somewhat. Got to learn a LOT more French.

I’ve managed to wash several loads of laundry and hang the clothes. I think most of the clothes were mostly dry when I put them in our closets. I even snuck in an extra load of things today and was quite pleased because it was sunny and I just knew those towels would dry in record time. Well, it just couldn’t be that easy. The neighbor with the perfect paradise house and the ocean view with the hammock to lie on while listening to the waves. Yeah. That neighbor. He turned on his sprinkler. When I went out to check on the clothes, I took a full jet of water in the face while standing under the clothesline and discovered that my neighbor was watering my laundry as well. Even on the sunny days, the laundry has issues!

But you can’t rain on my parade or sprinkle on my laundry to sour my mood today. I have a bike! Pedal power. Freedom. There is more to this island than the mere kilometers I’ve jogged or the small distances I manage with the boys. Eric brought me home a bike yesterday. Hallelujah!

I woke up ready for my wheels. Lucky me, it was a gorgeous day. It was the kind of day you would order from your weather catalogue under the heading perfect. Not too cool, not too hot. Pleasant breezes. Sunshine. That blue in the sky that says happiness. Maybe THIS is the island dream that everyone thinks of when they think of living somewhere tropical. Maybe you get thrown a few days here and there like this so that you don’t completely give up on the volcano mountains. I’d begun to feel very skeptical. Most of my week had been spent being barked at or spent in our enclosure.

So I got away. As far as I wanted to pedal. I saw things. An amazing Catholic stone cathedral. A father going on a morning baguette run with a baby in arms and a toddler in tow. A girl selling bags of oranges (for $25) and mangoes and papayas. A man cutting shrubs with a machete. One our churches with signs out advertising a genealogy open house. The shimmering white city hall in Paea with it’s blue trim. Schools embracing the open air. A couple working on the concrete outline of their new home. A favorite place for people to ride waves. Smoke from trash fires. Houses clear up on the tip top of the mountain. A man tending small plants in his garden. A teenagers flirting while waiting for the bus. A school. Graffiti. It felt so good to move. To feel the wind lift my hair. To go past bustling neighborhood stores with Saturday morning shoppers. To catch a smile here and there from someone. I might like this place yet. At least sometimes.

I bought two mangoes from the girl with the fruit stand. Five dollars. My perfect day breakfast. I love mangoes. It’s probably my greatest love of all things orange that I love. I have a very long list of orange loves. These mangoes. Decadent. Juicy. Delicious. I ate both of them sitting outside on our porch. I scraped every last bit and squeezed the skins for any extra juice I may have missed. I slurped the juice from the plate and licked my fingers. In my heaven there are ripe mangoes like that. I’ve only ever had mangoes that good once in Germany when my friend Matthias had somehow gotten hold of an entire box of mangoes delivered somehow very ripe and fresh from somewhere where they grow those little golden mangoes. We sat outside in the sun and ate the entire box of them for lunch that day. Just the two of us. One sitting. I’m constantly looking for that variety of mango in the states and they’re very rarely to be found and the most common mango are the harder green-red skinned variety. But today again, after all the packing, flying and waiting, those mangoes were meant just for me. Perfectly delectable. A pat on the back along with the extra slice of sunshine to let me know that come what may—language barriers, diesel fumes, funky smells in the new house, I can have my moments and lick my fingers for the sheer utter joy of it all.

The day is ending with a sparkling stars reaching for us while from a neighboring house, the gentle sounds of ukuleles, drums and voices harmonize with the ocean waves. Between songs the wind catches the congenial laughter of friends at ease and twirls it into the palm leaves. I will rest my head on the arm of the man I love and drift into my own dreams.