MS Paul Gauguin   I had scheduled a one-week voyage on the MS Paul Gauguin in order to see the other islands, so while I started this trip on the Queen Victoria with my sailing 45, I was ending it on the Gauguin, sailing 46 for me.

The voyage was good, and I’ll be describing life on board as well as travel to the other three islands shortly, but in retrospect, and in all honesty, it was not a necessity, and a pricey way to get there. Moorea, right next door to Tahiti, is accessible by what seems to be a very comfortable ferry, leaving six times daily for the 30-minute ride. There are also ten-minute flights at half-hour intervals all day. Moorea is so small that a tour of the entire island would only take about a half day. Or, you could stay there and make Tahiti your day trip. There are several flights a day from Tahiti to Bora Bora, probably the best place to spend your time, and the local airline, Air Tahiti, also has a flight pass that includes all the islands we’ve mentioned.

You take the ship because you want the shipboard atmosphere and shipboard life. But I find it difficult to call it cruise. I had mentioned that the Hawaiian islands were so compact that you hardly knew you were sailing between them on the Pride of America except for a couple of partial days at sea. Yet Greater Tahiti is even more compact. Look how close Moorea is, and Bora Bora to Tahiti, the greatest distance you can travel, is only 210 km (140 mi), and we even split that up with a stop in Moorea on the way. Most connections were made as though we were sneaking away like “thieves in the night”, although, thank goodness, there were also here two partial days at sea.

The Gauguin, built in 1997, has been leased by its owner since the beginning to Regent Seven Seas, but the word is now out that that will end in January 2010, when the present owner, as I understand it, wants to do the same trip on his own.

The ship is compact, and I did like it, its facilities, and its petite size. It carries about 300 passengers and has two crew members for every three guests. Its rates are all-inclusive, including gratuities and all drinks. Since this trip involved both the QV and the PG, I’ll compare their lengths. The QV is 294 m (964.5 ft) to the PG’s 157 m (513 ft). This means that the PG is 53% as long as the QV, and also that the QV is 88% longer than the PG. The difference in hiking from one place on board to another is very noticeable.

LIFE ON BOARD Deck 8 is the highest deck that is fully used. It has a nice deck chair area, which I used twice to read, and a pool. Le Grill is the lunch buffet restaurant, and at the back is La Palette lounge. Deck 6 had the La Verandah restaurant, which you had to book. I avoid places like that, although I did dine there one evening when the Chief Dining Steward, who knew me by then, sought me out somewhere on the ship one afternoon and asked if I’d fill in that evening to complete the Cruise Director’s table. Do not be impressed by that, since this is not Cunard. Someone they’d sent an invitation to apparently declined, and they needed a warm body to complete the table, so I accepted. I didn’t particularly care for the Cruise Director, since she was far to effervescent and gushy for my taste.

Deck 5 had the L’Étoile restaurant, where I usually ate dinner. Like on the Pride of America, it’s open seating every night here. While I avoided that on the Pride, here I joined in, but asked the Chief Steward for a large table with 6-7 people, which is how he got to know me. The food was very good, and the socializing very interesting. The opposite end of this deck had the Grand Salon, which tried to also be a small theater. The entertainment remained simple, thank goodness, usually music or films. This is where they screened, and I saw, “The Bounty”.

The other decks were residential. I understand that many of the upper decks, which are very pricey, have verandahs and balconies. I’m used to that on Cunard, and didn’t need it. Decks 4 and 3 had beautiful cabins with a large picture window each. These cabins equal Cunard quality. I was on deck 4 within easy reach of the Purser’s Desk and Tour Desk. Deck 3 had the most unusual thing I’ve ever seen on a ship. While I was on board as a traveler, the majority of people were vacationers—beach goers, hikers, shoppers, snorkelers, scuba divers. Deck 3 had, at the very back of the ship, a retractable water-sports platform, from which guests, such as scuba divers, have direct sea access. I never saw it from the inside, or in use, but from the dock, when it was open it looked like a huge oven door that swung down almost to the water.

I had some issues with the ship, which I discussed with the Cruise Director. She was the type of overly bubbly person—that might be in the job description--who tries to give the impression that it’s a perfect world where nothing can or should go wrong. You’re on vacation!! (I wasn’t. ) Have fun!! (I was.) Anyway, I wasn’t pleased with the fact that there were mostly Americans on board, especially given that it’s a French (Tahitian) ship. I suppose that’s the reason why the shipboard language is exclusively English, since I’d expected a little more French onboard, and why the US$ is the onboard currency. I got hold of the passenger list, by requesting it, and there were some fourteen nationalities represented, but mostly in twos and threes. My tally was this: of the nationalities showing more than 3%, 75% were from the US, 7% from Canada, and 6% from Japan, largely because of a Japanese tour on board. There were a mere four from the UK, and four Germans; no Australians or New Zealanders, which bothered me, since they’re so close to here physically, and to some extent, Tahiti is dependent economically on New Zealand. She assured me that at other times, the latter two nationalities were well represented.

And then there were the Gaugines. These were about eight local young women in costume who made themselves useful throughout the ship, helping with tours and such. They also put on a musical show or two. My beef was that this was entirely sexist, to attract the male viewer with hula-type dances. Why were there no Gaugins mixed in with the Gaugines? Well, she claimed they used to have some men, but they would get into trouble, fooling around, while the women followed the rules better. A likely story. Couldn’t they have found some responsible Tahitian guys? How come ATN flight attendants are integrated male-female?

Talking about musical shows, the Gaugines put on two dance presentations in the Grand Lounge, but much better were the local troupes that came on board the last two nights, first in Moorea, and then when we were back in Tahiti. These were mixed groups, and did similar Polynesian dances as I saw in Samoa. As to costumes and steps: in addition to grass skirts, there are grass “mini-skirts” worn around each arm above the elbow. The men also have grass mini-skirts around each leg below the knee. The most common movement the women make are very rapid hula-style hip movements, while typical for the men is the continual bringing knees together and apart.

THE LANGUAGE FACTOR The greeting in Tahiti is a wish for long life: Ia Ora Na (literally, The Life Long), which is sometimes written as two or even just one word. A common joke among English speakers is that it’s easy to remember, since, when spoken quickly, it tends to sound like “Your Honor”. I mention this particularly because of one passenger who was proudly showing me a tee shirt he’d bought with the greeting written on it. He told me that the salesman told him that the greeting was DERIVED from the English term “Your Honor”. What drivel, what trash is so often presented to travelers (or to use that other T-word, tourists), and how grossly naïve those travelers have to be to swallow that garbage. Every once in a while I hear people either spouting nonsense they were told and that they believe, or misrepresenting what they thought they heard when traveling, and mislearned.

On a couple of occasions, it was in the daily bulletin that some Gaugines would be giving “language lessons” in Tahitian in La Palette. On the day I went, two were, but this has to be taken with a grain of salt. I applaud that the ship wanted to offer this sort of thing, and I applaud the couple of teenagers who were sitting at the other table doing their best. But all they had were lists of words and expressions in Tahitian, French, and English, and the Gauguine was just having the people repeat after her the Tahitian words off the long lists. In the superficial way inexperienced native speakers were “teaching” others three long pages of Tahitian words, the “learners” would have absolutely no retention. At most they’d leave with a warm and fuzzy feeling for having tried, which I suppose is OK, too. Far better would have been a short back-and-forth dialog to learn, to come back the next day to practice, or perhaps just adding some basic numbers together.

Well, I knew enough when I sat down at the next table that I wasn’t having any of that nonsense. What I did do was to take a look at the list of words they offered, find ones that interested me, and discuss them and how to say them. I already knew, and have mentioned that man/woman were kane/vahine, just a slight variation from Hawaiian. But when I found a word with a glottal stop in it, such as ho’e (“one”) and actually pronounced the stop, she smiled and raised her eyebrows.

The outcome of this session was two things I was very pleased about, one about Tahitian, and the other about French. But first let me mention about human perception and language. Sometimes one language will make distinctions that another language will not. This can irritate language learners sometimes, but actually it’s a wonderful look into the human mind.

For instance, all Germanic languages (and probably many others) make a distinction as to what’s at the end of your hand, and what’s at the end of your foot, so that you have ten of each: English: finger/toe; German: Finger/Zehe; Swedish: finger, tå; Dutch: vinger; teen. On the other hand, the Italic (Romance) languages make no such distinction. In Spanish and Portuguese the word is dedo, and you have twenty of them, five per hand and foot. In French you have a doigt (DWA) and in Italian a dito, and also there are twenty of each. In a sense, in these languages are saying you have twenty “digits”, with no reason to specify. If it is necessary to be more specific about fingers and toes, Spanish will talk about dedos de mano or dedos de pie, but really all you’re saying is “hand dedos” or “foot dedos”.

Now, if we understand that different languages can look at the world differently, and that demonstrates the diversity of the human mind, let me be specific about two things I found interesting in Tahiti. We had talked in Hawai’i that “wai” means water, as in Waikiki, and that it was used frequently in place names, since Polynesians, being island people, are literally very close to the water. In Tahiti, the same word is “vai”, and also appears in place names. The ferry to Moorea docks there in Vaiare, and another town is Vaianae.

But on the word list, the line for “water” and “eau” in Tahitian was listed as “vai; pape”, and I asked her why there’s a difference. I find the distinction very interesting. Pape is water you can drink, while vai all other water in life. So if you look at the ocean, river, or lake, you’re looking at vai. But when you’re thirsty, pour yourself some pape. This means that, when I stopped at that spring in Tahiti, I drank, and got splashed with, pape. In town, that spring near the government building provides pape—and that’s how the town got its name. The word for basket is “ete”, and drinking water was collected in a water basket, a pape ete, and that’s how Papeete got its name. Moorea has a town named Papetoai.

The other point is that through Tahitian, I learned something about French. On the line for “hair” there were also two words in Tahitian, so I asked about it, and it turns out that “rouru” is hair on your head, in other words, hair you comb, and get cut, while “huruhuru” (note the duplication) is hair anywhere else on your body, in other words, short hairs, hairs that get pulled when you tear off a band-aid—and also animal hair. Then I noticed that the French column read “cheveu, poil”, and I learned that coincidentally, French makes the same distinction. I’ve always known that you comb your cheveux, and I’ve known that that pesky word poil also had something to do with hair, and now I know what it is. That’s why a hairy guy is called a poilu in French! You’re not talking about head hair when you say a person is hairy.

SOCIALIZATION Over the years, it’s struck me more and more how many interesting people you meet as you travel, and I’m speaking primarily about everyday people telling about themselves. Although I’ve had luck meeting people in airports and on planes, the likelihood is greater to meet more people on slower, more relaxing modes of transportation. Trains are great to meet people, and ships are even better, because of all the time you have living together in one moving “village”.

The ancient Greeks devised the concepts of the macrocosm (“large world”) and microcosm (“small world”), where common life patterns repeated themselves larger than life size in the universe or smaller than life size in a drop of water. Following this, life on board a ship is definitely a microcosm of life in the outside world, and I was able to notice this more than usual the Paul Gauguin. There was everything in this microcosm; people told me about hope, resolve for the future, divorce, death, war, and everything else that’s in the full-sized world. The below is just a sampling.

THE COLONEL There was a very friendly guy traveling alone at the dinner table one evening. It turns out he was a USAF colonel on R & R for a couple of weeks, so he wasn’t in uniform. He had been serving two tours in Afghanistan, so had come right out of a war zone, and he’d be going back. He said he was about to be 52 and I found him interesting to talk to, especially when he revealed his hobby. We were all surprised to hear that while in Afghanistan, he’d gotten a deep interest in quality antique rugs, often called Persian rugs. He’d bought and sold them, and had become quite an expert. He’d sent rugs home for himself, and had helped friends and family buy theirs. Although he was a military career man, I told him I was sure that when he left the military, although he wasn’t planning on turning his hobby into an importing business, that was a very strong possibility. When the discussion continued about antiques, I mentioned the Antiques Roadshow on TV, both the US and British versions, and several people around the table were quite familiar with it. After we each discussed our favorite episodes, I asked the table what we all learned from the show that you should do when you acquire a boxed item, and several of us chimed in at once: Keep the box!

He also mentioned in passing that he’d been widowed within the past year and a half, so afterwards I stopped him to compare notes on being a widower.

Several nights later the next table over was celebrating a birthday, and I turned to see that it was the Colonel’s 52nd. I went over to congratulate him, and told him that if anyone gives him a birthday present, Keep the box!

THE TRUCK DRIVER On another evening, I was chatting with this woman on my left, and in the course of the conversation she mentioned that she’d moved to California with her child after she’d been divorced. I said: Good for you!, explaining that if she’d found she was in a bad situation that it was good she’d had the courage to change her life. She also mentioned that when she got home to California and went back to work, she’d have to go back to her routine of leaving for work every day at 3 AM, dropping off her kid and arriving at work at 5 AM. I asked her what she did for a living and she paused with a smile, but then told me she was a truck driver for a major oil company, which turned out to be Chevron. Again I said: Good for you!, explaining that I enjoy seeing people in non-traditional jobs. She said she doesn’t usually get that reaction.

I asked her if she was planning on getting re-married, she said she’d like to, and I said I have this very nice Air Force colonel I could introduce her to. At that point she said a very interesting thing. I had noticed on deck one day, when we were all wearing shorts, that the colonel had a hand-sized tattoo on his right calf. When I mentioned the colonel to her, I was surprised to see that she had noticed him herself and had considered getting to know him—until she noticed that tattoo, which was a total turnoff for her. This goes along with my point on NZ television. A tattoo makes a statement, perhaps one of independence, but it may make too strong a statement. The colonel seemed to be a really nice guy, yet she turned him down even before she ever spoke to him because the tattoo made what for her was the wrong kind of statement.

THE WIDOW One time sitting next to me was what you’d describe as a “white-haired sweet little old lady”. We were chatting, when her friend across the table pointed out that not only had this lady been widowed within the past half-year, but that this was her first cruise, and first time out of the US. I congratulated her for going ahead and doing something new, and asked her what her husband’s name was, and she told me. I suggested to her that when traveling and talking to people, she should always mention his name, just as I always mentioned Beverly’s name, since it “brings him along on the trip.” She protested that he’s always “with her”, and I agreed, but if she mentioned his name, he’d also be “with” the other people at the table.

THE VOYAGERS Things weren’t always so serious. I was talking to a nice couple who enjoyed traveling a lot, who’d been on 29 voyages together. I congratulated them, saying that I’d reached 47, and we chatted about them, since I don’t often meet other travelers who keep records like that. One thing we agreed on: we count every single overnight trip on water, even if it’s only one night in a cabin on a ferry.

THE SICK HUSBAND Not all encounters are at dinner. On the bus tour around Ra’iatea, a woman was sitting next to me that I got to know. Her husband was sitting one seat over, and didn’t talk much. Some days later, we were sitting in La Palette, and I asked if they wanted to play Team Trivia, at which point he said he was tired and asked to be excused.

This is where she teared up, and decided to confide in me, so I listened attentively. Her husband had recently been diagnosed with non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. Not only is it fatal, but it’s genetic, so he is not eligible for a liver transplant. He may only have months to live, but since they had already planned on going to Tahiti, they went through with the trip. As I reflect on the matter, it’s their last hurrah together, and I wonder how this disease being genetic will affect their adult children and grandchildren. I did what I could to comfort her, but what can you say?

THE DERMATOLOGIST [also known as: The Bitch from Hell] I think you’ll agree from these stories that there’s a microcosm of real life to be experienced on a voyage such as this. But if you picture it’s just sweetness and light that surrounds all the conversations where you get to know people and their histories, I’ll end with this experience.

I’ve always been lucky on Cunard ships where you’re assigned a table for the voyage. There might be the odd person out of seven or eight who doesn’t have too much to say, or who you may not be too enthusiastic about, but there are enough others to make conversations enjoyable. I have heard about people being very unhappy with being with a specific tablemate they didn’t like, but the solution is simple. You just ask to have your table changed. On the Queen Victoria this trip, a woman joined our table who was in that situation at her old table. Off course, it’s easier still when you’re at a different table each night, so you have to suffer a clunker only once. But even once can be too much.

This one evening we were seven at table, three couples and I. To my right was what seemed at first to be a charming woman, with her husband next to her. Chit-chat went around the table, and it turned out that both this woman and her husband were dermatologists. It was a commuting marriage. The husband, who was rather nice, lived and had his practice in Oklahoma City, while the wife lived and had her practice in Portland, Oregon. They apparently got together most weekends.

Not only were they professional people, but they both frequently lectured at medical conventions. This impressive background made the intolerant discussion that followed even more surprising. Somehow you expect more from educated people, but that, too, is a stereotype. For most of us, if you hear different opinions from your own, and if you don’t agree, you debate the matter politely, and then let it pass.

As she and I were making conversation, I was amazed to find how incredibly opinionated and disparaging she gradually became. It turns out that everything I said was wrong or foolish, it seems. It went something like this:

That stopped her on that particular point. I knew what she meant. Many people use the word “semantics” in that meaningless way, but at least I felt I could make an issue of it.

Leaving the subject of travel, she moved us into the subject of language (!!!). She declared that she’s a stickler for CORRECT usage of English, and can’t STAND when people misuse words. So I laid out my philosophy on her.

There is the subjective side and the objective side of this issue, and any reasonable person has to consider both. Subjectively, I’m as strict as anyone. Language usage is one way (also housing, cars, clothing) we demonstrate our status and how educated we are, so we tend to be extremely conservative. I for one would not be caught dead actually saying “between you and I” in a sentence, or “I could have went”. At this point she was still with me. This much she must have learned from her English teacher, who was validly teaching her this conservative way to speak, but apparently didn’t impart to her what really happens to language over time. Actually, many educated people are in this situation.

But subjectively, we have to realize that language changes, like a river flowing by. If it didn’t, we’d still be speaking Old English. In a couple of centuries, some of those things might evolve and become everyday usage for everyone. Even her husband agreed to that, but she started to giggle, and kept on. Did I say she was loony? Well, a professional, educated loony, anyway. And antagonistic, and antipathetic.

Before I left the discussion to talk to others and enjoy my dinner, I gave the self-declared “language expert” one question. In modern English, the who/whom distinction has died out in everyday usage, but “whom” isn’t entirely dead yet, since you can use it under very formal circumstances. “Give this to whoever gets here first”, is what any English speaker would normally say, but let’s say, for the sake of argument, you did wish to make the who/whom distinction. In that sentence, would it then be “whoever” or “whomever”?

The “language expert” frowned and didn’t answer. Then she declared it a trick question. I told her what it would be, and why, and we dropped it. But this woman had tried to disparage and one-up me specifically on my subjects of travel and language.

Has the reader decided between “whoever” and “whomever”? And why? The answer is “whoever”. Don’t be misled by just thinking of the phrase “to whom”, since this sentence doesn’t say that. The person you’re talking about is “whoever gets here first” (technically: “whoever” is the subject of that phrase), and you’re to give it to that person (technically: the whole phrase is the object of “to”, not just that first word).

Language expert indeed, that one. Perhaps she should stick to dermatology. But loonies travel, too, and at least it got my juices flowing, and I held my own.