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October, 2005. Papeete and Matavai Bay, Tahiti, French Polynesia.

"The view from le truck was just as deflating. Papeete seemed a congested, honking mess, combining Parisian insouciance with Cairo-like infrastructure. Cars double-parked on crumbling sidewalks; motorists plowed through pedestrian crossings; signs toppled from cement-block buildings. We climbed out at Papeete's central market and watched women whisk flies from fruit and fish. Then we wandered up Rue Colette and Rue Paul Gauguin, past peeling shopfronts and eateries called American Wave, Bip-Bip Burger, and Snack La Vague. No one returned my smile." -- Tony Horwitz, Blue Latitudes.

Thanks to an injured leg I spent longer on Tahiti than planned. I think it was six or seven days altogether, although I'd only anticipated two or three. Much of this time was unhappy: immobile, painful, isolated.

I agreed with Horwitz that Papeete is a unfriendly and sad city. It's as unlike Polynesia as the colonial authorities have been able to make it. Redeemed, of course, by the flashes of friendliness and warmth you find in people everywhere. The trilingual girls at the visitor center who helped me find a doctor for my injury; the friendly, happy lady at the local pizza take-out shop; the merchants who burst into grins and congratulations when I counted out correct change.

The south and east sides of the island are very different. The people are mostly Maohi, and they return your smiles.

The good news is that Moorea, a wonderful place, is just a ferry ride away.

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