My dad nearly had a heart attack when I told him I hadn’t been in the water yet. It was several days into my trip to Tahiti and apart from my random stroll through the shallows, I hadn’t been swimming once since I arrived. My dad, on the other hand, would’ve gone straight from the airport to the nearest surf break. Even if you’re not a total ocean baby like him, most people would’ve been focused on beach time. That’s kind of the point of a destination like French Polynesia. But I, in my infinite weirdness, was focused on the unique inland adventures available in Tahiti and would make up for my lack of water time later on.
I love the experience of connecting with nature in a new destination, so I set out to do some hiking in Tahiti. While there are tons of beautiful pathways in the mountains and a local who knows the land can easily find their way around, the trails are a bit tricky to navigate as an outsider and most hikes require a guide. Of course, I’ve done many hikes in other destinations that “recommend a guide” and turn out to be very easy, so when I read some reviews that suggested a guide, I thought eh, I’ll probably be fine.
*Insert Morgan Freeman Narrator Voice: she would not be fine*
On the morning of my hike, I took the local bus downtown and made my way to the city hall to obtain a permit for the hike. Hovering on the steps, a security guard asked what I was doing there. I told her first in broken French then in English that I needed a permit, but she didn’t understand. After a few more failed attempts, I started marching in place, swinging my arms back and forth, desperately repeating “randonnée” while pointing toward the mountains. Finally, she understood and brought me inside to the people with the permits.
Armed with my entry ticket, I walked out of the city and through local villages some four kilometers to the trailhead where another security guard eyed me skeptically. “You know the way?” he asked in French. I smiled unconvincingly and nodded. How hard can it be? I thought to myself. The answer is, hard. It can be very hard. This point was driven home for me when a French couple pulled up in their car just as I was about to start the trail to ask if I’d seen their son who was supposed to be back about two hours earlier. This is totally not a bad sign, I thought to myself and proceeded.
The trail started out on a deceptively easy dirt road that eventually turned into a very slippery jungle trail, which was still not the hard part. I was soaked within minutes and I couldn’t tell if it was my own sweat from hiking, the heat and humidity, or because it was lightly raining and misting the entire time. Later on, the answer would be because I fell in the river, but I’m getting ahead of myself…
After a while of normal hiking on the wet jungle path, things got a bit trickier. The trail went from a narrow dirt path to the slippery edges of a river before it began to zigzag across the river. The only reason I made it as far as I did is that some kind souls had left rock piles and a colorful ribbon or two in strategic locations. Here’s what the “trail” looked like:
My stress at constantly trying to figure out where the trail went next and my exhaustion after hours of walking got the better of me when I lost my grip on a rock and slid into the river. I squealed as I realized I had fallen in chest-deep, the clear and harmless water splashing just below my phone, which was sitting comfortably in my sports bra pocket. My phone was safe and, unlike other rainforests, there are no anacondas, piranhas, or other scary creatures lurking in the shadows, so I had no reason to panic. I did, however, have reason to believe that I was too tired to keep going.
Perfectionist Adrienne hates the idea of not finishing something, but Travel Adrienne understood that sometimes it’s okay to stop. Particularly when one is tired and alone in the jungle. I took a deep breath, ate my protein bar, drank some water, and accepted that I needed to turn around.
Shoot, I thought. Where is the trail?! I spun around, soaking wet at this point, unable to determine where I came from or even where I would go next if I wanted to continue, my tired and anxious state impeding my ability to be patient and think clearly. Slowly and carefully, I made my way back across the river and managed to identify where the trail picked up again but not how to get myself there. Fed up with Mother Nature’s tricks, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and launched myself up a hillside, shoving through the brush and multitude of spider homes (sorry, little guys). Finally, I found myself on a path again. I pressed on and eventually made my way out past the (rightfully) skeptical security guard, through the villages, into town, and into a taxi to take me home.
When I told my guesthouse host that I didn’t finish the hike, he said he was impressed that I navigated city hall and got myself as far as I did without any help so, you know, small wins. I am sad, of course, that I didn’t make it to the waterfall, but I’m proud of myself for listening to my body, and I did enjoy the adventure of getting a little lost in the mountains! Plus, I made up for it with a proper guided tour the next day.
The tour I did with Ia Ora Na Tahiti Expeditions was one of the best things I did in Tahiti.
I stood in the back of a pick-up with seven French tourists, holding onto the bars as we drove through the mountains and valleys, my French friends yelling out “Attention!” when a low branch was coming toward us or “Cascade!” when they found another waterfall. Our guide pulled over now and then to teach us about the history and culture of French Polynesia. He identified edible and medicinal plants and detailed the many beautiful traditions the Europeans had banned and destroyed on the islands. He emphasized the importance of maintaining a strong connection to nature, decrying modern-day pollution and waste. Nature has everything we need, why do we treat it as our personal garbage can? He asked, disappointed in humanity as a whole but hopeful for a better, greener future.
He taught us about tattooing, one of the many beautiful Polynesian traditions that suffered after Europeans found their way to the islands, but which has seen a resurgence in recent decades (see my other post on tattooing here). He told us the story of his own tattoos, which were done using traditional tools and the soot of burnt candlenuts as ink. He taught us which trees could serve as telephones by banging a rock against the trunk, the sound reverberating across the valley. His parents still use this method to call the chickens home at the end of the day. He showed us which leaves could be used as giant umbrellas or parasols, which plants could be woven into an artful crown to keep the sun and rain out of your face, and which fronds could be tied together to serve as a tablecloth, plates, and napkins.
We stopped often for photos and nature lessons, and we eventually made our way to an old village in the mountains for a dip at a waterfall and an amazing lunch. Our guide had made loaves of coconut and manioc (cassava) bread, as well as a treat made of tapioca flour and coconut milk. We also had fresh pineapple and giant white pamplemousse, eaten like an orange. It was all so fresh and delicious. I wish I could eat like that every day.
After lunch, my arm started to hurt so I went to the bathroom and noticed several bites, a stinging and itching sensation spreading from my arm and shoulder to my breast. I ran back to my guide to ask if he had a first aid kit pointing to my irritated skin. He pulled out an unmarked plastic bottle filled with a dark oil, which he told me was his own homemade tamanu oil. Well, it can’t hurt to try, I thought, so I took the oil and rubbed it all over my arm and chest where the pain was at its worst. The stinging continued but it wasn’t nearly as bad, so I put a second layer on about an hour or two later. When I eventually returned to my guesthouse that evening, I looked in the mirror to find the bites were completely healed. You couldn’t even tell where they’d been on my skin. I now trust tamanu oil with my life. I later relayed this story to a local driver in Moorea, telling him I was convinced it was magic. He replied, “I can confirm. It is magic.” So, there you go. Tamanu oil: magic healing elixir of Polynesia.
Despite the bites, I continued to have an amazing time driving through the mountains in my leaf crown, counting waterfalls, and taking in the stunning views as I learned more about the incredible island and its people. There’s really nothing better than getting to a know a place through the eyes of a local.
Now do you understand why I felt drawn to the island’s center rather than immediately diving in the water? How could I say no to those views and experiences? I’m so grateful to our fantastic guide and his partner for showing us around and teaching us about their beautiful island. Not to mention feeding us an incredible meal and introducing me to the magic of tamanu oil. It truly was an exceptional day!
And… having got my fill of inland adventures, I set out the next day for my overwater stay in Moorea. To be continued in my next post…
Handstands & Hostels 
One thought on “Getting Lost in Tahiti’s Mountains and Valleys (Literally)”