“Apropos, Apropos, this the Bob the Cat”.
“Apropos, Apropos, this is Bob the Cat”. No reply. Matias shakes his head, handing me the VHF.
“It’s not working, mummy”, he exclaims.
It is a bright blue afternoon, hot and windy, the white sand of the idyllic atolls around us gleaming in the sun. We’re anchored in a shallow part of the lagoon on the western side of Bora Bora, and Matias and Lukie really want to play with Jacintha, the 8-year old from the neighbouring boat Apropos. We’ve met Jacintha and her parents Karen and Jim from time to time since the Marquesas, and the boys are excited to play again.
I hold down the transmit button on the VHF. “Try now”, I say, miming “Apropos, Apropos, this is Bob the Cat”.
“Apropos, Apropos, this the Bob the Cat”, he repeats.
A crackle, and then we hear Jacintha’s voice: “Bob the Cat, this is Apropos”.
“Apropos, this is Bob the Cat”.
“Bob the Cat, this is Apropos”.
And so it goes for a while – I gently suggest they change to channel 14 for this enlightening conversation and leave them to organise their play date. It’s great for the boys to see familiar kids; when we left Jacintha last in Rangiroa, Tuamotus, they had several good games on the go and we were hoping to bump into them again.
And here we are, in Bora Bora, the quintessential tropical island. Bora Bora looks just like a postcard – steep green hills surrounded by a blue lagoon, the edges of which are dotted with tiny palm-fringed motu. It is without a doubt the most touristy island in French Polynesia and caters mainly to the excessively wealthy. In our few days here we’ve gotten the gist of the version of a tropical Pacific holiday paradise sold by the major hotel chains – rows of cute little thatched huts on stilts, tastefully furnace, extending out over coral reefs into the turquoise lagoon. Reclining sun chairs on the small wooden decks out front, fish gathering in the shade around the concrete pilings holding up the long jetty. Newspaper of your language of choice discretely tucked under the door in the morning, dinner in the evening at the restaurant at the end of the pier, overlooking the lagoon. It is lovely, calm and laid back here, with a lingering expensive aftertaste.
On our first day in Bora Bora we picked up Ed, who will sail with us to Tonga, and then left for the eastern part of the lagoon to spend his first and Pete’s last day looking for large marine animals, the only part of the standard Bob the Cat experience package that we hadn’t been able to deliver on yet. Luckily, Manta Reef on the east side of the island did what it said on the packet, sporting a large manta ray patient enough to let us snorkel with it for a good half hour before it disappeared.
Thus satisfied, we dropped Pete off at the airport the following morning and went to anchor on the west coast of the island, joining Jacintha and her parents. It was a lovely spot, not far from the shallow area where the tour boats gather to feed the stingrays, a surreal experience that we promptly gate crashed the morning after. In a sandy bay with water shallow enough to stand up in, seven tour boats were anchored, guests hanging over the edges, cheering as buff young men and one small woman wearing traditional tattoos, sumo top knots and tiny loin cloths stood waving their hands around like magicians, distributing small fragments of fish to clusters of hungry rays flocking around them. As the guides waved their arms, the rays rushed over to suck at the fish, almost jumping out of the water.
Some of the tourists joined in the water fun, snorkelling around taking photos of the rays. As I jumped in and followed a pair of rays I suddenly found myself confronted with a solid pair of male buttocks only scantily covered by a purple loincloth. The owner, a tattooed Bora Bora sumo-wrestler complete with topknot, had rays swarming all around him. Straight in front of my eyes was one confused specimen enthusiastically sucking onto the thin strip of cloth wedged between his butt cheeks. Attempting retreat, I furiously flailed my arms, slapping (surprisingly slimy) rays to the side and hoping desperately to avoid physical contact between my face and his private parts, slowly making way through the thick soup of hungry rays despite their best attempts to push me forwards. I decided that it was probably best to keep a distance to the tour operators, and sat back to watch a tiny female guide not far away, entirely overwhelmed by huge rays, ten of which were vigorously attacking her, shimmying out of the water and up her body in an attempt to get more food. Elegantly bending backwards until her face was almost under water to the accompaniment of sweet ukulele tunes from her fellow tour guide, she provided great photo opportunities for the applauding well-nourished tourists on her boat.
Several round black tip reef sharks were cruising around too, each with two or more remoras shadowing them, ever alert although rather full-looking – imagine their lives: free food on offer for a couple of hours twice a day, 365 days a year. Given this abundance of food, it is a mystery to me why the rays seemed to be starving, but the sharks kept their impulses under control and stuck to quietly patrolling the grounds, ensuring that everything was in good order, much like police at a music festival keep their keen eyes on intoxicated teenagers.
The kids were excited to see the rays, although a little apprehensive.
“Wasn’t there a man that died from being stung by a sting ray?” asked Lukie, brow knotted, just before jumping in.
“Yes”, I replied, “but don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand”. And off we swam, rays brushing up against us on their way to the near naked guides, Lukie extending his hand to touch one as it tries to manoeuvre in on a group of fish-dispersing tourists.
The rest of our time on Bora Bora was spent on more mundane tasks: doing laundry and provisioning for the trip to Tonga; spending hours in vain trying to use the wifi of various establishments for weather and blog updates. When a rain storm delayed our departure for Tonga by a day, we went back to the bay where Jacintha’s boat was anchored.
And now, to the boys’ delight, she is coming over, armed with her swim suit and ideas for a new play for them to perform to interested adults, this one a fusion of Star Wars and Oliver Twist. Jacintha has become an avid Star Wars fan since we saw her last and her and the boys spend hours debating the finer points of Anakin’s turn to the dark side, interspersed with enthusiastic light sabre fights on the trampoline and a fair bit of water play. It is great to have an old playmate around, and before we leave we make firm plans to catch up with Apropos in Tonga.
SV Bob The Cat 