Over-tourism is increasingly acknowledged as an ecological crisis. In the summer, much of Europe and places as seemingly far-flung as Machu Picchu feel they are under siege. With its approximately 20,000,000 annual visitors, Venice recently instituted a tourist tax to compensate for the environmental degradation that the swarms bring. French Polynesia is not that.
The five archipelagos traverse 2,000,000 sq miles of ocean in the middle of the Pacific, the world’s largest body of water. Widely scattered islands (118 of them) cover less than 1% of the Pacific Ocean’s surface. In 2023, there were only 261,000 tourists.
Having fought crowds in Seville in February, which used to be an “off” month, we were delighted to find our small ship, a 330-passenger Paul Gauguin, the only cruise in all but one harbor. Among our stops were the iconic paradises of Bora Bora and Tahiti. Privately experiencing their harbors, vistas, and landings made the moments feel uniquely special and inspiring.
Unless you live on the West Coast, where non-stop flights are available, the time and expense to get here from the U.S. are the only impediments to profound rewards.
The Land
Having been formed by volcanic eruptions pushing their way through shifting underwater tectonic plates millions of years ago, the islands follow a geological “formula.” Each chain is almost straight (as the plates progressed, in assembly-line fashion under the volcanic source). The result is mountainous, inaccessible, jagged, cloud-shrouded interiors encircled by narrow ribbons of flat land. The “ribbons” contain each island’s road, housing, and businesses. Sadly, this geologic happenstance precludes more than a few small, sandy beaches, making it our one disappointment with the trip. Some islands, like the Polynesian spiritual center Raiatea, don’t have any sandy entry points.
The dense vegetation is daunting; unless cleared, the jungle proves impenetrable, with undergrowth, overgrowth, and growth in between. Parking the car at a random spot means finding yourself next to a mango, papaya, or banana tree, a fact our rental car agents warned us about, adding that coverage from falling coconut damage was an additional expense.
The Sea
The waters around French Polynesia are home to 21 shark species and a reef system supporting 176 coral and 1,024 fish species. Visiting one of the islands means leaving the vast, cobalt-blue ocean via a gap in the barrier reef, locatable by the absence of a ridge of white-foamed breaking waves. Once inside, the water changes dramatically to a vivid turquoise. When they can enter at all, boats must weave their way through serpentine, natural channels, surrounded by ominous black coral-head outcroppings that are, thankfully, well-marked.
Observing Captain Michel Quioc give instructions from the ship’s bridge as we entered the lagoon surrounding Moorea, we understood that a single compass degree made a difference. He explained, “These breaks in the reef are convoluted because they were carved over millennia by rivers flowing from the volcanic mountains.”
The underwater world is infinitely more accessible than the mountainous one. During a single snorkeling excursion in Bora Bora’s nature-doc-worthy, clear water lagoon, we saw 20 eagle rays relaxing on the bottom. The rays appeared close, even though the water was 40 feet deep. We also encountered a female manta ray with a 12-foot wingspan, slowly swimming back and forth while receiving her daily cleaning by wrasse fish. An area known as “the aquarium” was inhabited by an overwhelming number of colorfully diverse fish. Finally, the most remarkable sight of all: a “coral garden.” Seeing such a diversely shaped, textured, sized, and colored assortment of inhabitants, all eight of us on the swim agreed it was more than enough reason to have traveled thousands of miles to witness this magic.
Memorable underwater sights are everywhere. On our first swim, in Huahine, there was bright purple coral just feet from a public beach, and in Raiatea, on an unplanned swim next to a commercial marina, we shared the water with yellow and white striped angelfish. Swimming in the shallows of a motu (island) near Taha’a, we spotted sand dabs that almost let us touch them before burying themselves.
Due to global warming, the water, which should range from 74-82 degrees, averaged about 84 dregrees, requiring no acclimation when entering or leaving it. We imagined ourselves as aquatic mammals, equally comfortable in the wet environment as on land.
Over the last few years, the French Polynesian government has instituted policies reflecting their concern for ocean conservation. They’ve eliminated foreign fishing fleets, net trawling, and long-line fishing. Additionally, 95% of the catch must remain in French Polynesia because seafood is an inexpensive mainstay of the local diet.
The People
For centuries, Westerners have fallen in love with the romance of a ukulele-playing, lei-clad, welcoming people. Historically, ship-wrecked sailors, taken with the beauty and the culture of Polynesia, have chosen to remake their lives on these islands. This remains true today. Throughout our almost three-week visit, we met numerous ex-pats who embraced the Polynesian lifestyle, often marrying a local and remaining to raise their families.
Unlike Hawaii, where most of the land is owned by newcomers, biologist Dr. Michael Poole, an American who lives on Moorea, told us that locals retain 85% of the land. And, although French is taught in school, people converse in Polynesian. The culture feels intact. Many women wear hair flowers, and not for a tourist photo-op. Flowing, floral-printed garments are seen everywhere. Children learn traditional dances and practice for months for inter-island competitions. We even watched an outrigger race one day from our boat.
Paul Gauguin embraces this by having six Polynesian performers travel with the boat. Along with providing entertainment, they give classes in ukulele playing, otea-haka dance, pareo tying, language, lei making, shell and seed jewelry, and hair picks.
According to an on-board “enrichment lecture” from noted archeologist Mark Eddowes, Polynesian genius exhibited itself in discovery and navigation. Without the help of a written language or metals, they explored the vast waters in sailing outriggers and “discovered” New Zealand and Hawaii. Using the stars, winds, waterborne markers, and currents, their world expanded to include islands thousands of miles away, primarily for trading and new population settlements.
The Transportation
Traveling between islands in Polynesia is typical, with planes, ferries, and charter boats serving all the major ones. However, the tourist infrastructure leaves much to be desired. While Bora Bora offers luxurious over-water cottages from top-shelf hotels, many other islands depend on small pensions and a handful of lackluster vacation rentals. Raiatea, for example, boasts a UNESCO sacred archeological site but lacks notable restaurants or hotels.
Chartering a catamaran is an option for sailors, with leading companies having bases here. However, with speeds averaging 7 knots/hour, exploring more than a few islands would take weeks. Given the vast distances, island approaches through treacherous reefs can be tricky. On land, cars are a necessity to explore beyond tiny towns.
If sailing isn’t your forte, aligning your schedule with interisland ferries or planes presents challenges, as they don’t run daily. A local businessman shared that even simple items like nails or screws can take up to two weeks to arrive. He counseled “patience.”
For us, small cruise ships are the ideal way to see Polynesia. A boat this size has amenities (spa and gym), activities (diving, snorkeling, and numerous land-based excursions), lectures, and infinite culinary selections (the executive chef told us he’d developed 2,000 recipes that range from vegan to steak with foie gras). Yet, it is small enough to thread through the reefs for inner-harbor anchorage.
Following the cruise, we had a few land-based nights in Moorea and discovered another plus for life asea. No matter the wind direction, there is always a breeze on a boat, so it doesn’t matter whether the boat is on the windward or leeward side of an island. Also, the ceaselessly astonishing, iconic Polynesian views are front and center from every deck.
On land, however, half the island is on the windless, stiflingly hot, and humid leeward side. Also, from land, you’re likely to have a view of the water, missing out on the towering, cloud-covered volcanic peaks, one of the primary reasons to be here.
The Ship
Our ship was purpose-built with a shallow draft for these waters. Other cruise lines seasonally move their fleet to varying international locations. This boat stays in Polynesia.
Launched in 1997, it resembles a mid-century ocean liner in many ways, feeling like a large yacht, not a Disney or Carnival Cruise boat. The cabins have ship-wright-quality mahogany cabinetry. Some of the graceful wooden deck chairs are reminiscent of sea voyages past. (The crew knows the lost art of varnishing.) Rather than anodyne, tropical graphics, passageways, and cabins are decorated with beautifully framed, historically evocative Polynesian lithographs.
What’s the first thing people discuss when reviewing the highlights of their cruise? Probably the nearly ever-present food and drink. Like on all cruise ships, there’s an overabundance of choices, magnified by the fact that executive chef Paul Elias has to satisfy French (foie gras please), American (beef!), and a variety of other palates, as well as people with dietary restrictions. However, his CIA training, time as the Kennedy’s private chef, 11 years with Paul Gauguin, and 35 well-trained long-time staff enable him to make all this food prep appear easy. When possible, he sources locally. Almost all the fish are sustainably caught in nearby waters and served fresh. Ninety percent of everything is made from scratch, even the multi-layered Middle Eastern dessert baklava, which requires time, skill, and patience. One day, chef Elias gave the passengers an impromptu demonstration of how to filet an enormous moonfish, destined to feed 70 people that night.
As opposed to more-formal cruises, the atmosphere is casual. It encompasses not only the dress code—flip flops allowed everywhere except two of the three dining rooms at dinner—but the banter and comfort level passengers have with the crew, many having worked for Paul Gauguin for more than a decade, enhance the experience that French Polynesia is a relaxed, welcoming place. Especially helpful are the onboard excursion directors, all Polynesianians who had lived on the islands we visited. They provided inside info on what to see and do.
Paul Gauguin has an extensive dive program with four certified onboard instructors, making them one of the few that doesn’t contract out to local dive companies. They believe the continuity of instructors ensures safety and learning. Depending on the itinerary, 5-10% of the passengers are on board to dive. When in port, the ship’s stern transforms into “the marina” with multiple dive boats and all the required scuba gear. Lessons are given to pool-trained beginners. Turtles, sharks, dolphins, manta rays, and shear reef cliffs are the sighting goals.
In our nearly three weeks there, we had several transformative experiences prompted by the stunning, natural beauty of the sky, land, water, and underwater world. You would have to be a jaded, calloused soul not to respond to Polynesia. However, unlike ship-wrecked sailors, Gauguin (the painter for whom our boat is named), and the many ex-pats we met, we couldn’t remake our lives on these islands. But we understand why they did.
Inside Marlon Brando’s Legacy Private Polynesian Oasis
We were aloft in The Brando’s private plane for fifteen minutes, flying over French Polynesia’s unique cobalt blue water, when we spotted an oasis of pale jade and turquoise in the distance. It had to be Tetiaroa, an archipelago of 12 motus (islands) 30 miles from Tahiti. It’s a captivating sight. No wonder a smitten Marlon Brando knew he had to buy it.
Brando’s legacy of authenticity and sense of place are hallmarks of one of the world’s most unique and completely private resorts. It’s where Barack Obama spent a month writing his memoir, and A-list celebrities often reside.
What makes the Brando unique is not the world-class villas, the award-winning food, the 1:3 guest-to-staff ratio, or the amenities like the sybaritic wellness center located at the spiritual epicenter on a lily-pad-surrounded island or the green mission. It’s the fact that The Brando facilitates the Tetiaroa Society’s extensive agenda of habitat restoration, reef preservation, biological research, education, and cultural preservation. They collaborate closely with the Nature Conservancy.
Sixty percent of Tetiaroa Society’s operating budget comes from The Brando—the remainder from grants and donations. For example, impressed by the Society’s mission, Johnny Depp recently made a $200,000 contribution.
Brando owner and Polynesian multi-hotel developer Richard Bailey told Worth, “My goal is for the guests to discover the island because it’s a natural history treasure, both in and out of the water.”
Millennia before Marlon chose Tetiaroa, the atoll was the meeting ground for Polynesian royalty. We heard they came from thousands of miles away to arrange marriages, settle tribal feuds, and restore themselves at the sacred site. Another likely scenario is that it was the “Hamptons” of nearby Tahiti, a place of beauty to relax and have fun. Either way, it was ideal and has archeological remains to prove it.
Guests can sign up for tours of the lagoon and islands (we saw bright orange coconut crabs on one), cultural immersions, and bird watching. We were offered a 6:00 am wake-up call if hatching turtles were spotted.
The resort operates advanced energy-saving systems. We toured its SWAC (saltwater air conditioning) plant, where cold water from great ocean depths cools fresh water that air-conditions the entire complex. Polynesia’s largest solar array provides most of The Brando’s electricity needs.
Sylvia Earle, Jacques Cousteau’s heir apparent, has named Tetiaroa one of her Mission Blue Hope Spots, meaning it’s a place where people can live in harmony with nature.
Richard is extremely pleased with this and other positive feedback his project has received, saying, “My hope is to offer guests the chance to have an exquisite and ethical vacation.”
