One afternoon we took a hike around the north end of the island, looking for the ruins of a two-storied temple site, known locally as a marae—which was rumored to be in that area. The road along the shore narrowed to a trail and in an hour or so we were walking single file along faint paths. At the end of the trip, we found a small settlement with the ever-present Chinese store, but no marae—and no one who could tell anything.
Disappointed, we started back. A good-looking young Tahitian, his guitar slung over his shoulder, flashed us a smile and stepped off the path to shake hands with each of us as we passed, according to the hospitable custom of the islands, and to wish us “Iorana!—Good Day!” When we asked him, in halting French, if he knew anything about the lost marae, he answered in quite understandable English and volunteered to take us there!
The marae, it seemed, was across the lagoon on a wide stretch where the fringing reef had risen above the sea and was covered with undergrowth and trees. Getting there was no problem at all. Our guide simply commandeered a pirogue, complete with boatman, and arranged for us all to be ferried across, three in each load. Reassembled on the other side, we set off across the hundred yards or so of trackless vegetation, accompanied by a host of interested Friends and Acquaintances of our new-found guide and/or the boatman. Each had equipped himself with a musical instrument of sorts, and our South Seas safari was accompanied by an impromptu orchestra composed of guitar, dry sticks, flat stones, hollow coconuts, and an empty kerosene tin.
In this irreverent fashion we reached the ruins, a rather extensive edifice of volcanic rocks in a fair state of preservation though, of course, quite overgrown with plants and even trees. Our guide led us to the top and, with a sureness born of knowledge, lifted aside a slab of stone. From a cavity beneath he lifted out two gleaming skulls, handling them with a lack of awe that showed scant regard for the last two chiefs of olden times, whose remains he claimed them to be.
I examined the relics with interest, the anthropological side of my nature uppermost, and decided that if these were indeed the skulls of Tahitian chiefs, then chiefdom in those latter days must have followed the female line. None of the natives seemed to know or to have any interest in the history or legends surrounding the people who had built the structure long ago.
The next day, with Ted at the masthead to con us through, we worked our way down inside the reef to the south end of the island, where the charming little village of Haapu nestles in isolated quiet. No roads connect it with the outer world and only an occasional visit from a motor launch, with mail and supplies, keeps the people in touch with the world outside.
Here we tied up to the dock and took our first stroll down the main street between rows of woven and brightly decorated native huts, many of them raised on stilts. Everywhere we were given a warm welcome. Haapu struck us at once as the kind of South Seas community we had read about and dreamed of and we gladly accepted the urging of the villagers to make ourselves at home and stay awhile.
Our location once again was central, right next to the community laundry—fresh-water tap on the shore beside the dock. Here the housewives gathered every morning for washing clothes and gossip and Barbara, who had not done any laundry since Mooréa, took her sack of dirty clothes ashore and joined them. Soon she was the center of an ever-increasing throng and I strolled over to see what the excitement was about.
Now, it should be explained that the women of the Societies do their washing by first soaping the clothes thoroughly on a large flat board or stone laid on the ground and then they pound the soap in—and the dirt out (or such, I suppose, is the theory)—with a rounded wooden stick. No wonder they were impressed by our American know-how and the laborsaving devices enjoyed by American women! With envy and admiration they were watching Barbara scrub our dirty boat clothes with efficiency and ease on a corrugated washboard before rinsing them in a galvanized iron tub!
In Haapu we had our first taste of real entertaining. It was simple to issue invitations: we just sent Jessica up on deck with the portable phonograph and told her to start playing records. Within minutes villagers had begun to gather and soon the party was in full swing. Breaking it up was not so easy, for in spite of frequent showers and the coming and going of the dinner hour no one deserted.