Makin' the best of every virtue and vice (paradise)
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice (paradise)
To get a cheeseburger in paradise
To be a cheeseburger in paradise
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise
- Jimmy Buffett
We have fallen into a routine of snorkelling in the morning (while the conditions are at their best) followed by some sort of activity away from the hotel in the afternoon. We see as many fish on our walk in from the bungalow as we do underwater here.
Our first venture out was to Le Petit Village, one of three main “shopping” areas on the island which consisted of a 7-11 sized mini mart and handful of tiny souvenir shacks. Despite our best efforts, Linette’s search for just the right pareo (Polynesian wrap-dress) and black pearl continue.
In preparation for today’s adventure and as an homage to Jimmy Buffett, Mark realized his long-time dream of enjoying a cheeseburger in paradise. Mmmm...
Our attempts to converse in French have been met with mixed reactions ranging from total confusion to mild amusement to responses or menus politely offered in English. We’re pretty sure we haven’t inadvertently insulted anyone’s mother...yet. Optimists that we are, an almost complete inability to speak either of the local languages (Parisian French or Polynesian), we were determined to rent a dune buggy for the afternoon after hearing how much fun they were from a couple we met at dinner.
Apparently, there’s not a lot of emphasis on mechanical reliability in these parts. Within two blocks of leaving the rental place, the buggy began lurching and sputtering like a drunken sailor. To add to the excitement (read: danger) Mark’s Fireball cap flew off and landed smack in the middle of the road behind us.
Miraculously, no one swiped it or ran it over before we were able to retrieve it. Upon returning the sorry bucket of bolts to the rental agency, we were grudgingly upgraded to the luxury model.
It wasn’t quite the RX8, but it suited Mark just fine. This one had a gas gauge and – hallelujah – somewhat responsive steering. Within a few minutes, Mark got the hang of things and we were whizzing along at the posted 60 km/h speed limit, much to the chagrin of the local drivers who flew past us at their normal maniacal rate of speed (perhaps the sign meant 60 mph?).
In retrospect, we should have been more concerned when the brakes didn’t slow the buggy enough to safely make the turn onto the road leading up to the lookout point, Belvedere. We came back at it from the other direction, slowing early enough to manage the turn without flipping and headed up a long and windy one-lane road, dodging oncoming traffic at every 90 degree switchback along the way. We were already a fair ways up when it dawned on us that there might be a problem with the return trip. What goes up must come down...and hopefully more slowly. Rather than continue to increase our chances of dying this day, we thought it prudent to pull off and enjoy the view from where we were...which turned out to be about 50 meters from the top. We had to enjoy the view in turns as the vehicle could not be trusted to remain stationary, even with the emergency brake fully engaged. Here is Cook's Bay from the viewpoint.
It was a small comfort to hear from a passing couple in our same make of dune buggy that they had no brakes either as they began their harrowing descent down the mountain. C’est la vie. Ou la morde.
We fully expected to find the smoking ruins of their buggy as Mark rode what was left of our brakes, in low gear, slowly down from Belvedere towards Cook’s Bay. Instead we caught up with them at the petrol station. We exchanged the small nod of those who’ve stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale. Emboldened by our continued breathing, we carried on for a few more miles, retreating home in time for happy hour and a couple of extra strong boat drinks.
The view of Cook's Bay from the main road is beautiful. The movie The Bounty was primarily filmed right here!
...and the pineapples here...small but wonderful. They are like candy!
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