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This dismay is understandable. The main island and nearby Moorea—James Michener's Bali Ha'i—comprise the classical setting of the unspoiled Polynesian dream: dazzling beaches, translucent water, rich landscapes with green-yellow vanilla patches. Living up to legend, the people are warm, easygoing, unobsessed with the failures of yesterday or the portents of tomorrow. (Though the women are shapely, they are not all beautiful; and most wear conventional clothing—more or less.)
There are other attractions in Tahiti. Tourist companies run two-night excursions to Moorea ($88) that include native dances and feasts that are more enjoyable than Hawaii's. In the valleys are deep, clear pools where a swimmer can splash beneath waterfalls; along the reefs are mahoa, pink-shelled snails that can be gathered and eaten raw or fried in butter; in the lagoons are fish easily speared; near by are bananas, papayas and limes for the plucking.
At night comes frenzy. Quinn's Tahitian Hut swarms with people eager for entertainment after a hard day at the beach. The favorite dances, the otea and the tamure, are frankly erotic, but with all the hip quaking and knee knocking, much more innocent and enjoyable to watch than Elvis Presley. When Quinn's closes, the natives and travelers move on with their guitars and their cases of Hinano (the local beer) to other places—often in the middle of the road—to continue their happy partying. After that, there is always the possibility that everybody will want to go swimming before calling it a night.
Such pleasures serve to ease Tahiti's few discomforts. There are only 275 rooms for tourists on the island, though promoters are doing their best to put up 200 more before the big tide washes in this summer. Most popular place is the Hotel Tahiti (18 suites with bath, $20 a day, without meals), and it is plainly not yet the Tahiti Hilton. Most hotels feature an awesome variety of roaches, flies and hairy spiders.
The invasion of the popa'a (white man), even in the pre-jet phase, has already caused changes. M-G-M has been shooting a movie in Tahiti for months (TIME, Feb. 10); and while in native lingo Hollywood is still the term for jail, it is also beginning to mean cash. The influx of money has created the desire for more, and youngsters who were once content with innocent native life are looking around for new ways to earn more money. The pull for tips is growing. Even the dancing and feasting sometimes lose their improvised quality and become mere attractions on a package-tour agenda.
But Tahiti conservatives believe that for quite a while their paradise will remain relatively intact, and they secretly hope that the cost of jet fares will discourage a lot of people from taking advantage of all that Tahiti has to offer.
Greece Haunted Harmony