What’s a Morning Hike to the Airport without A Beer Break?
What’s a Morning Hike to the Airport without A Beer Break?
Lager in Tahiti
Trudging uphill in the Tahitian sun with 30 pounds of gear on my back, I began to reconsider the wisdom of my decision to walk the three miles to Faa’a International Airport. Before setting out, I had told myself that I needed the cardio after three listless months on a sailboat. True though that may have been, the ambition of an hour-long hike in flip-flops began to outweigh my motivation as soon as I left the breezy shade of Pape’ete marina and the waterfront Pa’ofa’i Gardens.
Vehicles, mostly old Defenders and Land Cruisers, rushed by me on the left, along the ring highway. On my right, green-blue Nanuu Bay stretched out towards the coral reef that circled the island. I was tempted to risk the 15-foot drop down a rocky cliff to take an impromptu swim, but container-ship traffic reminded me that the bay was nigh flammable with diesel and jet fuel. I sighed and soldiered on.
Before getting off the boat, I had raided the icebox for two cold cans of Hinano Lager, the ubiquitous beer of Tahiti. We first encountered it when we touched land in the Marquesas five weeks prior. It’s the kind of light, inoffensive lager that sits well on a hot day. The thought of them gradually warming in my pack weighed heavily on me. It was 10:30 am on a Monday, and I still had two long miles left in my odyssey.
A line of shacks crested ahead of me, crowding the path haphazardly. They hung over the cliff, stitched together out of old wood and corrugated tin. Peppy Tahitian music drifted out of the nearest one and I could smell a wood fire burning. As I crossed in front of the open structure, a half-dozen disheveled local drinkers looked up from their mischief, smiling amiably.
“Hey America, come, join us. Cheers!” called their leader, gesturing with a glistening pint bottle of Hinano.
I laughed and paused. My flight wasn’t for a few hours.
“Cheers!” I called back, turning to join them. “But I’m Canadian,” I clarified in my clumsy French.
“Even better! Teva, get Canada a beer!” the leader told a sozzled sidekick who didn’t look particularly impressed with the thought of giving away his breakfast stock.
I waved him off with a thanks and set down my bags to dig out one of my still-cool cans of Hinano.
“Manuia! Cheers!” We quietly appreciated a sip before making a round of introductions.
The leader, Regis, who had his own name tattooed on his arm, explained that they were fishermen. I asked when they did their fishing, and was met with a round of humming and hawing and the international hand gesture for “well, you know…” I laughed again, and told them I was a writer on similar terms.
They liked that, and we raised our beers in a salute to Monday mornings under the Tahitian sun.