From the Vault: Getting Lei’d

By Eilene Lyon

If my memory serves me correctly (and I won’t swear it does), this cowry shell lei landed around my neck when our flight landed in Papeete, Tahiti, at 3 a.m. on a December morning in 1998. Let’s just say I’ve had it so long I can’t imagine where else I would have gotten it.

We booked the week-long vacation on the island of Mo’orea through a travel agent. Remember those? That was really five days of vacation, plus two days to get there and back. A friend who’d been there recommended we take a cooler full of non-perishable snacks as food in Tahiti is quite pricey. Good advice.

Our beachfront resort was the only one on the southeast side of the island and the coral reef offered up magnificent tropical sea life to snorkel amongst. We had a snafu with our meal vouchers, but got that straightened out, via fax machine. Remember those? Our grass-roofed hut was comfortable, though the shower floor gave us a peep show of the ground below. Fortunately, it never sent us crashing.

We slept most of the first day away. I had never been on such a long flight and had not dressed for sleep or comfort. It was misery. At least I was not one of the unlucky souls who had boarded the Air France flight in Paris! They spent 24 hours on that plane. Oh my gosh.

There were a number of memorable events during that vacation, but one stands out. We had eaten supper and went for a walk on the dark beach, no moonlight. As we sat listening to the swish of the waves lapping at the sand, The Putterer turned to me and said, “Will you marry me?”