We had been worried we wouldn’t be able to book a tour in Huahine, because—literally, there is one tour company on the island, and they can’t go unless at least 6 people sign up. But, our second day in Huahine we got to take the lagoon tour (which I would recommend you do on every island) so I guess enough people rallied.

All the lagoon tours follow a similar format. You get on a boat, drive around the lagoon to see places of interest, snorkel in a couple of cool unique spots, eat lunch on a motu (little island off of the main island) snorkel again—or feed sharks or visit a pearl farm, or all of the above—and then go home.

Our lagoon tour in Huahine was strange . . . and I feel that the strangeness was a reflection of how non-touristy the island was. First of all, the guide didn’t seem like he liked any of us, and had a really weird way of dealing with people. (This made me particularly nervous because we were supposed to be getting in water with sharks, and that seemed like a bad idea if our guide didn’t like us.)

Our tour guide was a big Polynesian between 30-40 years old, and his side-kick—this old French dude—was a bit leery. When I boarded the boat the French guy helped me in and mumbled something under his breath at me, which I always find creepy.

The Polynesian introduced himself, indicated that the tour would be in French, and had Dan, myself and a German girl (the only non-french speakers) move to the front of the boat. I caught him saying in French that the French speakers would have a better view from the back of the boat and everyone laughed. I must have made a facial expression because he looked at me and said, “You speak French?” And I said, “Enough to understand that—” And he just turned around.

Throughout the first half of the morning no one said much on the boat. We went from site to site by boat (and by “site” I mean landmark or interesting hill, because there are no structures.) There were 4 villages like Fare on Huahine, and some are only accessible by boat. But, even if you made it to one of the villages, there wouldn’t be anyone there.

As we passed one part of the island, I heard our guide say that Huahine means “sex of women” (vahine is woman in Tahitian). It is named this because in a particular bay, one of the sides of the mountain looks like a naked woman lying down with her mouth open, and the other side has a big penis-shaped hill. As I heard our guide explain this in French, I remembered reading something about it in Moon Tahiti, and went to take a picture. I heard him say something mocking-sounding about a photo, and everyone laughed, and I couldn’t help but think he was taking a jab at me. He then gave his spiel in English about what the mountain meant, and said to me specifically in a really derisive tone, “Go on. Take a picture.”

As we continued our tour, I noticed a guide had a shirt with Tahitian writing on it, and when I asked him what it meant. I thought it was a friendly gesture on my part but he turned around and said “It’s political. I will not talk about it.” Later, at our first snorkeling stop, the German girl asked how long we’d be snorkeling and he wouldn’t tell her. He said at one point in an unfriendly voice, “Don’t think. I will think for you.” I started feeling like, no matter what we said or how hard we tried to be friendly, this guy did not like us English speakers. Which was completely counter to anything we had previously experienced on the islands. By the time we got to lunch, I felt pretty uncomfortable. But then over lunch, he suddenly opened up. Apparently his “ex-step father” was the president of Tahiti 30 years ago, and he owned 3-4 houses on the island. He taught our group how to make poisson cru, the local specialty, and started talking with Dan about his 4-wheel drive, with tinted windows and an awesome sound speaker. He also made a lot of Asian jokes, which seemed odd and out of place, but at least showed he was trying to joke around with us. . . The whole thing was so bizarre, and made me wonder why he was doing tours in the first place.

The creepy old French dude, who had been sort of useless all day, finally revealed his purpose at the end of the tour, when we realized he was the guy that fed the sharks. So I guess that worked out too. By the time they dropped us back off at the dock of our resort I felt like everyone was getting along, but I was ready to be back on my own turf (if our beach bungalow counts as “my own” turf.)

Upon reflection, I think that is one weird/interesting thing you have to accept about traveling in distant, foreign places. People might not always like you—no matter how nice you are, and how much you want to understand and get to know their culture. I guess in some places, my very existence could be offensive, and that’s something I need to accept. In this particular case, I wasn’t sure what we finally did that turned him around, but I was glad it worked.