Polynesia's Pacific bounty

For Paddy Masefield, South Pacific is no longer just a musical: it’s where he found a collection of islands as varied as the recreational opportunities they offer

Perhaps I’d watched too many films of Mutiny on the Bounty; but I’d always imagined the Tahitian islands to be paradises of white sands, turquoise waters, fruit laden palm trees and endless sunshine. I was right about the first three, but the trade winds that traditionally blow soothingly from the East, were, even to the surprise of the locals, unseasonably strong – though you could still cook an unscreened duck in a day outdoors!

However, as I’ve ended up in the most expensively priced “water bungalow”, built in traditional materials on stilts over the coral lagoon’s still waters, and my accessible decking ends in a small ladder putting me instantly among a myriad of small multi-coloured fish, I decide to forego sun-lounger occupation for a range of different day activities.

I’m staying at the InterContinental Moorea Resort, where amazingly the lack of an accessible requested beach bungalow results in an upgrade at no extra cost to double the price accessible accommodation, and free room service! Moorea, 11 miles by frequent ferries from the better known Tahiti, is just one of the 130 islands comprising still colonial French Polynesia. Islands so scattered that on a super-imposed map they would extend across the whole continent of Europe.

Moorea’s volcanic peaks rise like a shark’s jaw from the island’s basaltic base. So, forsaking the 37 mile long road that encircles the island’s flat perimeter, my wife Caroline and I set off on horseback into the incredibly lush interior (the basin of the old volcano), to trek among some of the very pineapples, vanilla, bananas, mangoes and ma-payas (the male pa-payas don’t fruit!), brought to the island in vast double-hulled canoes by its first inhabitants as late as 800AD, and recently developed as plantations. And sitting on something warm and breathing is a great swap for a wheelchair!

Though, an even more astonishing stance a day later, was finding myself kneeling on a sandy seabed, below five metres of water, wearing only an ancient-style diver’s helmet on my shoulders. Even stranger to discover that due to the force of oxygen pumping around my face, I could even moon-walk! But was almost knocked over backwards by continuously encircling touchable giant rays, whose undulating wing flaps have the feel of feathery mushrooms.

The also-encircling coral reefs on these types of island, we learn later on a catamaran trip, are only broken where rivers of fresh water meeting the sea have prevented coral growth. So we start not in Cook’s Bay – we’ll meet the Yorkshire seafarer’s name throughout our travelling – but in Opunohu Bay, where Captain Cook actually first made landfall in 1777. Sheltered by steep and ancestrally important walls of forest, this fulfils more of my expectations. Not surprising then that Mel Gibson’s version of Mutiny on the Bounty was largely filmed here. On the outward passage we pause to snorkel over a miniature alpine range of coral outbreaks, and I’m delighted to discover that whichever way up my 82 kilo body finds itself, it was built for floating! Heading out into the ocean leads us to a small motu (island), itself part of the reef. We stop again, and I’m urged to drop straight into the water. It’s only waist high, so I can swim, kneel or float as I google a megabyte of small sharks and more rays, all partially domesticated by the regular attractions of the crew’s feeding.

By the time we pay for our one hour interaction with confined dolphins, I’m beginning to wonder if this is Disney Circusland or wild-life experience. However, most of our dolphin time is spent being taught their physiology and habits, close up and hands on. Learning that they never fully sleep, closing down just one half of their body and one eye at a time. I’m also relieved to find they are in effect ‘rescued’ cetaceans – two are retired from the US navy, where presumably they worked for Seal platoons! In fact, these creatures are here as part of a vigorous conservation programme for island schoolchildren to learn to preserve their fragile marine ecosystem, including turtles and whales in summer, paid for by tourists’ encounters.

By now I’ve discovered that most different Polynesian languages use no more than nine consonants; placing an unusual strain on the five vowels. So I rarely manage to say “good evening” as it translates into “ia orana oe i tei po”. And I choose not to say “good morning” after crossing to Papeete, the capital of Tahiti, where we have pre-paid for accessible transport to a hotel for one night, only to be met by a minibus driver who is convinced he can personally throw my 70 kilo electric wheelchair on top of our luggage, upside down and forced in by kung fu kicks. Result: he leaves bags and chair on the quayside and drives off. This leads to one of the highlights of my journey as we sweep into the ultra-posh Radisson Plaza’s forecourt in a very battered pickup fish truck, with Caroline and chair in the back, and myself with enormous and drunk French Polynesian fisherman and his bait sloshing round up in the cab.

Interestingly, this is our first negative reaction to disability. Elsewhere we find immensely strong hands available, but only when asked. There is no doubt that as the tourist trade dips 40 per cent here, the ongoing process of accessibility will be speeded still further – hastened by French Polynesian anti-discrimination laws.

So I am never a freak show. Sadly though, most local disabled Polynesians do not have the same confidence and are rarely to be seen in public places.

Seventy-five per cent of French Polynesians live on Tahiti; mainly in urban Papeete, with most contact lost with their cultural traditions. Our hotel exemplifies bland international Americanisation. The Radisson chain boasts 1,000 hotels worldwide. But perhaps not all offer accessible rooms as vast as ours with twinned queen-size beds and two toilets!

We abandon thoughts of roaming in town streets named after Joan of Arc, General de Gaulle and Marshal Foch, to swim in the surf on one of Tahiti’s few black sand beaches, as before dawn we’re on Air Tahiti Nui, bound 600 miles west to the adjacent 14 Cook Islands. Here we are booked into a beach bungalow with self-catering facilities. And this is Pacific paradise! Rolling down the short strip of sun-bleached sand between our veranda, the palms and the lagoon affords the opportunity of snorkelling until a spectacular sunset. “Happy hour” arrives as the tide goes out and the fish rise. It’s also a great time for a mile or two of kayaking, or paddling an outrigger canoe.

On our first evening I take my own seat at the front for a traditional “Island Night”. I’m wary of cultural shows, as the one presented on Moorea seemed more like an under rehearsed tourist tit-bit. But this one blows me away. The total population of the Cook Islands is only 16,000, with 8,000 on our chosen capital island of Rarotonga, many of whom are caught up in some way in three months of preparation for traditional shows and competitions twice a year. I’d compare it with Rio “Carnival”, except that here tradition replaces novelty, most of the family play guitar, ukulele or – the most exciting of all – loud percussive wooden drum blocks.

This is not a history lesson, but the very best form of community theatre with a big band sound involving five to 75-year-olds.

This is an often overlooked corner of the Pacific, though the better known islands of Tonga and Samoa to the west are less geared up for tourism. Post independence in 1965 the Cook Islands federated with New Zealand (to the south) so even the Island Night’s leading drum instructor, Kevin, has a Kiwi twang.

So if you fancy beach bumming, boozing and sun burning in an English speaking resort, this might be the place for you. In which case, make certain you catch Air Rarotonga’s island-hopping 45 minute service to Aitutaki, very possibly – as the lager advert might say – the most beautiful island in the world, and experience this spectacular atoll, in which the lagoon is the heart of the island and water taxis the preferred transport.

Whereas, if you’re seeking a different lingual and cultural experience then try Moorea, fast replacing Bora Bora as the place to honeymoon!

It’s never going to be cheap flying to the other side of the world. Flights with Air New Zealand helpfully list all disability services they will, and won’t, offer. The average price of a return ticket to Tahiti and then to the Cook Islands is about £1,200.

We chose more expensive accommodation with water, surf and sunset views. £2,682 for two of us for nine days in Moorea and £1,124 for four days in Rarotonga. But accommodation is also available from £20 a day upwards, from backpackers’ lodges or B&B, to a holiday hotel on a catamaran.

TIPS – “Make-your-own package” operators such as Trailfinders can offer many options. But each travel agent only has contracts for a certain number of rooms in certain Island resorts. So demand email contacts and write directly to resort managers about access and other disability requirements.

If you can avoid a stopover at L.A., choose any other route. Los Angeles airport is undoubtedly the most intimidating, bureaucratic, and unhelpful of any I’ve flown to. The Americans with Disabilities Act is nowhere in evidence.