A mountainous volcanic island six miles long and two and one-half miles wide, Bora Bora is surrounded by a coral reef providing but a single opening to mainland. You can ride a bike all the way round, a circumference of twenty miles. It is almost all flat. Inward from that road are Mt. Otemanu (2,385 feet) and Mt. Pahia (2,169 feet), both remnants of an extinct volcano. Both are usually cloaked by a cloud. Vaitape, the largest village, didn't really exist when I was here about thirty years ago. We travelled 150 miles overnight from Tahiti Nui to get here.

The first westerners were Dutch arriving in 1722. Then Captain Cook landed in 1777. In 1820, missionaries came. France finally annexed this place in the late 1800’s.

After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the United States put into effect "Operation Bobcat" which brought 4,500 troops here. They built a landing strip on the only place they could find, Motu Mute, a small islet abutting Bora Bora. There was no flat ground on the main island for a landing strip, a fact still true. Fortunately, this island never saw fighting during World War II.

James Michener was particularly fond of Bora Bora and his book, “Tales of the South Pacific” later became the hit Rogers and Hammerstein musical “South Pacific.” It is said that Bali Hai is, in fact, Bora Bora.

When I was here long ago, staying at the Hotel Bora Bora which is still here, the most expensive meal I had ever eaten was had at Bloody Mary’s Restaurant. It too is still here and still (reportedly) outrageously expensive. This is a place that is hard to get to so people have to have money if they want to be here. The 8,800 locals understand that and try to extract as much of that money as they can. There are only coconuts and fish here; tourism is far and away the main source of income for all who call this place home. The name Bora Bora, bastardized by Westerners who “discovered” the place, as is usually the case, is probably best written as Pora Pora, meaning “First Born.” But, it may also be Bolabolla or Bollabolla. Call it what you will, it may be the most beautiful place on planet Earth.

It was Mark who recommended that we book a Cunard excursion here. It was pricey but it sounded good: Lagoon Cruise And Picnic. I knew that it would be impossible for any excursion I undertook here to match the experience I had here thirty or so years ago. I was wrong. This day was magical.

We tendered off the Queen Elizabeth and made our way to a canvas roofed metal outrigger canoe. Our guide, Joseph, and his brother who manned the helm pushed us off from the dock and within twenty seconds one passenger announced that she had to go back. Ill or soon to be, this poor woman missed a magical day for the rest of us, twenty-one in number I think.

We first made our way across azure then emerald lagoon waters to an anchoring spot in three feet of water where we jumped in only to be greeted by scores of rays, each one hungry for either food or tactile attention. The warm water and nervous laughter of we explorers as rays first glanced across our legs and then nuzzled our middles looking for a human encounter. Their skin is slippery and pleasant to the touch but since the recent unfortunate encounter made by that television adventurer who died from a ray encounter, we are cautious…all of us except for Joseph, that is.

Next, we were off to shark city to feed black tipped lemon sharks. The arrangement was the same, anchor in three to four feet of water and don mask and snorkel. This time, however, we were directed to a rope stretched from our bow to an anchor point ahead of the boat where we lined up. Joseph tossed chum and whole bait -fish into the water and a couple of dozen three to four foot long sharks quickly arrived to cruise among us for a feast. The line up along the rope is designed to avoid an accidental perception of tourist as tasty treat and it worked. No snorkelers were harmed in the making of this fling.

Off again. This time to a spot of fifteen to twenty feet of water—still inside the reef—for snorkeling above the coral. Joseph knew where to find a moray and a few of us got a glimpse of the eel eating from Joseph’s outstretched hand. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of colorful fish darted among coral and the plant life that makes these heads their home. It was lovely.

All around the island there are hotels with rooms over water on stilts. We are told that these rooms for the rich and famous rent from from $1,000 to $2,750 U.S. a night. We saw where Marlon Brando lived—they said for seven years and where some of notorious vacationers stayed ranging from Jack Nicholson to Eddie Murphy. The hotel where I stayed thirty years ago has been destroyed by weather calamity and only its shell remains.

Then, Joseph says we’re heading for the extended family home on a private island just inside the reef which surrounds the island. We, along with two other boatloads of adventurers, are greeted there by gracious hosts who prepare us a midday bar-b-que of fish, beef, chicken and homemade sausages alongside potato salad, slaw, ceviche, salad, breads and more. Dessert of the sweetest pineapple we’ve ever tasted, watermelon, coconut and mini banana was brought round to finish the feast.

Not finished, they then put on a show of sorts demonstrating the many ways a colorful piece of cloth—a Paiea?—two meters by three meters can be worn as t-shirt, sarong, dress, skirt, headdress and more. It was great fun and Gloria was chosen to take center stage during the production marked by humor, fashion and music.

While at their island, we saw more sharks, rays, and now turtles, all being fed by the family members.

Back in our boat, we completed our island round trip to be dropped back where we started in Vaitape village. We shopped and found practically nothing—not even a coffee or glass of wine—so returning to Queen Elizabeth became the obvious choice. We retired to Deck Nine’s Lido Restaurant for tea and scones and sandwiches before hopping into the hot tub to enjoy the sail away sights which included a delightful sunset.

Revealed by many tense public address system pages, it seems that Mr. Harold Hatwood (or something like that) of Deck Six failed to be aboard. We left anyway. See you in four days in Hilo, Harold.

Oh, what a wonderful day. Now, for the rest of the story. For the entire day the sun failed to shine and showers came and went, some heavy and some light. No matter. No wet weather could dampen this day. It was idyllic.

I would say that Bora Bora is the most beautiful, friendly and inviting place I have ever been—both then and now. If you can scrape together a bundle of money, come here and leave a bunch of it in trade for memories worth every Pacific Polynesian Franc.  

(Gloria here…I loved Bora Bora! It is truly paradise. The clouds and on and off again rain didn’t diminish the fabulousness of this beautiful island. So much of it is just as you might picture it, perfection. We probably had the best tour, bar none, of the entire ship. Perhaps sixteen people, on a native boat, with a ukulele playing and singing native guide, who was both funny and caring of his cargo. The first stop, swimming with the manta rays was   great. As an avid non-swimmer that has always been in charge of “watching the bags” on the beach blanket or boat while everyone else snorkels, I have to say it was incredible to climb down the ladder from a boat in mid-ocean, (okay so about 500 yards) and still be able to put my feet on the bottom of the ocean bed. Thank you atoll. I got to behave like a big girl touch a manta ray. A first. Next stop sharks. Here the water was muck deeper so I was camera person…and bag watcher…it was okay. Terrific to be so close to sharks and see them fight for the food, the birds were fierce competition, but mostly the sharks won. Then off to snorkel among the Moray eels and coral…I stayed on board. No complaints from me, I swam in the Pacific…far out to sea. Our friends Mark and Keith were with us, Keith is almost as tentative about the water as me, so we had a good time on board when the depth of the ocean wasn’t to our liking. Then off we went to the private island that is home to our guide; Home to his grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews and his three brothers. Other than some passengers from another tour boat being territorial over the picnic tables for a short time, we enjoyed a lovely barbeque of things both known and unknown.    I couldn’t do the raw fish salad and something else that appeared a bit mysterious to me, but overall yummy. The sweetest pineapple known to a human taste bud accompanied also sweet grapefruits, bananas and coconut, all grown around us on the property. Ultimately back to the ship…tea time, a lovely cup of tea, then off to the deck and a plunge into the hot tub since we were still in our swimsuits. Never mind the rain and the wind that whipped up, the hot tub was hot, sun was setting Bora Bora was aft of the ship as we sailed away. I’ve always found that there are good conversations in a hot tub, and this was no different. We soaked until Mark and Keith plunged into the swimming pool and that signaled the time for a very hot shower that had my name all over it. It’s repetitive to talk about our dinner, the good company, hearing about Gira’s day, although she spent half of hers trying to find her dropped camera that was wedged in between the windows of her tour bus, and how we went to a show from there. I will say though that the show was a couple from France that have been a part of Cirque de Soleil, and what they did for 45 minutes left me speechless.   We all loved it, we were all too tired to play trivia until midnight, and so our day was over. A special day indeed, thank you Cunard, thank you Bora Bora, thank you Joseph our ukulele playing guide, thank you Mark and Keith for continuing fabulous company and mostly thank you to Mr. Russell who made this trip possible.)