A Word or Two about Bora Bora

It occurs to me that my readers may not know much about the object of my desire, so here’s some information.

According to Wikipedia:

Bora Bora is an island in the Leeward group of the Society Islands of French Polynesia, an overseas collectivity of France in the Pacific Ocean. The original name of the island in the Tahitian language might be better rendered as Pora Pora, meaning “First Born”; an earlytranscription found in 18th- and 19th-century accounts, is Bolabolla or Bollabolla. The island, located about 230 kilometres (140 mi) northwest of Papeete, is surrounded by a lagoon and a barrier reef. In the center of the island are the remnants of an extinct volcanorising to two peaks, Mount Pahia and Mount Otemanu, the highest point at 727 metres (2,385 ft).

Here’s a photo from Nasa, showing the island and its surrounding lagoon:


And here’s a picture of the French Polynesian Islands, of which Bora Bora is part:


One of the most luxurious resorts on the island is the Four Seasons Resort. Out of curiosity, I fantasized pretended that I was going for a holiday from February 1 to the 15th.  Just me.  The cost:  $818.00/night cdn.  And I get breakfast.  That should round out to about a $10,000 trip, give or take.  My grass-skirted butt just puckered.

Here are some pictures of that resort from their website, just so you know what I cannot afford:


The over-the-water bungalow.


the bedroom…


my view….


I don’t know what this is, but it looks fun.

And that, my friends, is a wee glimpse of my paradise on earth.

Now I must unpucker my butt and find accommodations that are affordable.  There has to be an ole` grass hut somewhere…


I used to be a tahitian princess.

It’s true.
It is my considered opinion that I was once a tahitian goddess who mouthed off once too often, and as a consequence I was reborn as a Canadian.  Now, I love being Canadian:  universal health care, originators of peace-keeping and hockey, etc–but I hate our climate.  I envy all Americans who can move to a tropical paradise, like Hawaii, and still be in their own country.  Or , if air travel isn’t your bag, just jump in your car, drive due south, and find tropical weather.  I live in the southernmost part of Canada, so I’ve used up what few measly options available to a Canadian to find warmer climes.

I have good friends who are snowbirds–the term used to describe Canadians who fly to Florida for the winter season.  My sister is also a snowbird.  I think I’d like something more permanent, although escaping winter sounds good too.  Three months of summer–most of it in suffocating humidity–just ain’t cuttin’ it.  I want palm trees, blinding white sand, a grass skirt around my hips and corn braids in my hair (just kidding on the hair).