The Dark Side

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The other side of Tahiti looks a lot like Mexico, except that it’s on an island in the middle of nowhere. Once you step outside the grandeur of $1000 per night over-the-water bungalows it becomes very apparent that French Polynesians are a simple people socially enslaved by the French to more or less function as Mexicans do in the United States.

Today marked our first day in Papeete (pronounced Pap-a-ate-a), the provincial capital of Tahiti. The seaside city reminds me of Tijuana except that the vendors hock cultured black pearls instead of chiclee and Chinese stars. After fumbling our way through an all French language menu and musing at the locals dining with us, we decided to stroll through downtown - Gina was determined to find her Christmas ornament or something we could fashion into one.

Each store we explored seemed to have something of interest. Unfortunately, we just couldn’t justify the vintage 1983 Korean version of Simon for $64 or the 9999 games-in-1 Chinese joystick which consumed 10 minutes of our day as Gina toiled with the original Mario Brothers. Several storefronts deeper into the city, we happened upon the Papeete Marketplace which reminded me of an enclosed flea market with aisles full of shells, fruit, fish and what appeared to be homemade Noni juice bottled in used Perrier bottles… and then there was the crippled boy, tucked between a stack of papaya and oyster shells.

To say that I did a double-take would be an understatement. The boy was a mere vegetable staring off into the distance, covered by a sheet up to his neck with a dilapidated wheelchair nearby. Gina and I surmised that there was nobody to care for the boy at home and that the family had little choice but to bring him along to the market each day.

The situation definitely wasn’t something you would envision while losing yourself in the turquoise waters prominently displayed on the Bora Bora hotel brochures.

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