I went to Tahiti last month. That’s crazy to say. Who goes to Tahiti except honeymooners? Well, apparently, me and 13 of my friends. Not all 13 were friends on departure day, but they are now. It was a mutual friend’s birthday that brought us all to this teeny, tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Seriously, I think I went to brunch on my birthday with six people. But he gave us a year and a half to plan and save. And, clearly we love him.
Tahiti was a DREAM. For so many reasons. One being that we had our own private island. (That’s so crazy to say.) Ninamu Island Resort was bought by an Australian man (professional builder and passionate surfer) and his Tahitian wife in 2009. It had nothing on it. No running water. No electricity. Chris and Greta started to build (mostly Chris, and his mates, I’m guessing). Today, there are eight villas, plus a few beach huts and a great thatch-roofed communal space/lounge where you eat all your meals, lurk around the bar for midday mai tais that Chris pours between his surf breaks, play games when you need a break from the hot sun and party on the makeshift dance floor.
Over the course of five days, we snorkeled (every.single.day), paddled boarded (usually at sunset), swam (with sharks), managed to do one Pilates class despite having workouts scheduled every morning, befriended the island animals (dogs Coleman and Barbarella [not a real name] and cat Miss Manjie [also a made up name], took the boat out to explore nearby islands and coral reefs, drank, ate, drank some more, had a beach BBQ at the Blue Lagoon, walked along the beach and around the little island, and hammocked.
I didn’t open either of the books I lugged all the way to Tahiti. I got a terrible sunburn (day after day). I cried a little when my credit card statement came in. And I wouldn’t change a thing about a thing. Tahiti was a dream.
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