Day 12: in a flap

I was hugged by a stingray yesterday. I swore I wouldn’t do it. Just the idea of some big flappy thing – supposedly de-barbed – sweeping around made me shudder. (Even without a certain Irwin fellow’s demise.) The reality of the stingray encounter was even freakier than I imagined, with lots of little sharks and sea snakes to make it more squeal-inducing (and squeal I did, though not as hilariously as the Italian woman chased around and around by an amorous stingray). We arrived at Moorea in the early hours of the morning – our cabin was fortunate enough to be right next to the launch boat unloading area, so I didn’t really need to book that wake-up call with reception. Sprog 1, Sister, Pop and Nephew went on an expensive snorkeling trip. Sprog 2 and I headed to the wharf, hoping for an impromptu tourist trip. For two-thirds of the price of Sprog 1’s ticket we nabbed two spots on a boat to a stingray encounter area. After initially refusing to put her swimmers on, Sprog 2 was mad keen for a splash when she saw the sea life swarming the boat (well, more accurately, swarming the Tahitian guides and their handfuls of raw fish – the rays would plant themselves lovingly on the guides’ chests while chunks of fish were popped into their mouths). Everywhere we turned there were big, grey flappy things, brushing past our legs, undulating against our shoulders … totally amazing. Sprog 2 didn’t want to leave. Stage two of the trip involved being dumped for an hour on a grayish beach surrounded by rock-filled water. We stepped off the boat, briefly scanned the desultory area and got straight back on again. But hey, I figured we already got our money’s worth watching that Italian mama scream and scream and scream (oh, and touching the stingrays). Back on the ship for a late lunch, with gorgeous Moorea glittering around us, we decided we couldn’t be arsed sweating it back to the wharf for another explore. Instead we retreated to the cinema for the 4pm session of Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows 2. By the time we emerged, Moorea was gone. Ooops. Fortunately, Sister had taken photos of the lovely sunset for us to admire. We also had – direct from Las Vegas – Tony Pace “the man with the voice who just happens to be funny” centre stage in the Aurora Theatre to console us. Damn good Cher impression, Tony. And your Michael Jackson wasn’t bad either. Willie Nelson was never my thing. Today? A sightseeing tour of Bora Bora on something called Le Truck. Geez, it’s a hard life.