The Tahiti Trip I Thought Might Be My Last

Some trips start with packing a suitcase, checking your passport, and wondering whether you packed enough sunscreen.

My Tahiti trip in the summer of 1999 started with an emergency doctor, a pain injection, a colonoscopy, and the quiet suspicion that I might be flying to French Polynesia to die there.

Not exactly the classic beginning of a South Seas holiday.

But then again, my life was never very good at following the brochure version.

The summer of 1999 had already been stressful enough. Work in the office was exhausting, not so much because of the actual work, but because of the atmosphere around it. The daily routine, the pressure, the same walls, the same faces, the same office rhythm that can slowly make you feel like life is happening somewhere else.

At the same time, my relationship with my girlfriend ended. So emotionally, I was not exactly dancing through life with a flower behind my ear.

I have to admit, back then I wasn’t the happy-go-lucky type. I tended to take things too seriously. I could overthink almost anything. Give me one small problem, and I could build a whole cathedral of worries around it. So when my body suddenly joined the drama, I was mentally very well prepared for panic.

A Mutiny in My Belly

A few days before my planned flight to Tahiti, something went wrong with my belly.

At first, I probably tried to ignore it. That is what we men sometimes do. We think that if we pretend not to notice something, it might politely disappear. But the pain did not disappear. It became worse. I had cramps and heavy abdominal pain, and one night it became so bad that I had to call the emergency doctor.

He gave me an injection to relieve the pain, and then he strongly suggested that I should have a colonoscopy.

This is not a sentence you want to hear three days before flying to the South Seas.

He said I was actually too young for what he was thinking about, but he mentioned an illness I had never heard of before. Of course, when a doctor mentions an illness you have never heard of, your brain immediately starts working like a very bad travel agency:

“Congratulations, your destination has changed from Tahiti to panic.”

I started to worry badly. Three days later, I was supposed to fly to Tahiti again. London, Los Angeles, Papeete. A long journey across half the planet. Could I really fly like this?

Fortunately, I got the colonoscopy the same day.

I don’t want to describe what I experienced here. This is still a travel blog, not a horror story with medical equipment.

After the colonoscopy, the doctor didn’t say much. Maybe he said more than I remember, but maybe I was too nervous to really listen. I only remember asking him the one question that mattered to me:

“Can I still fly to the South Seas?”

He looked at me with a kind of careful empathy. Then he nodded and said yes.

But it was not a strong, confident yes.

It was more like a yes with a silent “but” standing behind it, smoking a cigarette and looking serious.

To me, his behaviour signalled: “Well, if this is your last trip, at least you picked a nice place.”

Maybe I completely misread him. Maybe he was only tired. Maybe he had the face of a man who had already performed too many colonoscopies that day. But in my worried mind, it felt like a quiet farewell blessing.

I Told My Mother Nothing

I did not tell my mother anything about this diagnosis or my fear.

Maybe that was not very wise. But I did not want to worry her. And honestly, how do you tell your mother something like this?

“Mutti, I might be seriously ill, but don’t worry, I’m flying to Tahiti for six weeks.”

No. Better not.

So I continued preparing for the trip.

Six weeks in French Polynesia. What a dream. Tahiti, Tetiaroa, warm ocean air, lagoons, palm trees, coral sand, and the kind of blue water that makes you question whether Europe is really necessary.

But behind the excitement was this dark little thought:

Will I die there?

And then, in a strange way, I thought: well, if I have to die somewhere, French Polynesia is not the worst option.

There are worse places. A grey office in Munich, for example.

The Long Way to Papeete

Still in pain, but with medication, I made my way to London, then Los Angeles, and finally Papeete.

Papeete is the capital of Tahiti and the usual entry point into French Polynesia. It is not exactly the untouched postcard paradise many people imagine. It has traffic, shops, noise, humidity, and real island life. But when you arrive after a long flight and step out into the tropical air, you know immediately that you are far away from Europe.

That feeling alone was already medicine.

Luckily, on the long flights from London via Los Angeles, I got upgraded to business class with Air New Zealand Airpoints.

I must say: if you are travelling with belly pain and an unclear diagnosis, business class is a very civilised way to suffer.

You still have pain, but you suffer with more legroom. You still worry, but you worry while someone brings you a better meal. You still think about your possible death, but at least your seat reclines.

That is not nothing.

During the journey and after arriving in French Polynesia, the pain slowly became less. Maybe it was the medication. Maybe it was the warm climate. Maybe it was simply the fact that I was moving away from stress, heartbreak, and office air.

My body seemed to say: “Thank you. Finally, we are leaving.”

Direct Course to Tetiaroa

This time I wanted to go directly to Tetiaroa.

Tetiaroa is a very special atoll north of Tahiti. It is not like Moorea, with dramatic mountains rising from the lagoon. Tetiaroa is flat, made of small motus, white beaches, coconut palms, reefs, seabirds, and a lagoon that looks almost too perfect to be real.

It was once a retreat for Tahitian royalty and later became famous after Marlon Brando fell in love with the atoll while filming Mutiny on the Bounty. Many years later, the luxury resort The Brando made the place internationally known again, but in 1999, Tetiaroa still felt much more remote and simple.

For me, it was paradise.

And if this trip really had to be my last one, then Tetiaroa seemed like an excellent location for the final act.

But first I had to get there.

And that became its own little adventure.

French Polynesia was experiencing strong winds coming from the south, from the direction of Antarctica. In the islands, strong seasonal winds can be a serious matter, especially during the austral winter. Often these winds arrive earlier, around July, but that year they were delayed. The problem was not only that the beaches and palms were battered by the wind. The problem was aviation.

Strong winds can create wind shear, and wind shear is not exactly what you want when flying in a small aircraft to a tiny atoll in the middle of the Pacific.

Knowing very well the discomfort such a flight in a small airplane could provide, I entered the Twin Otter of Air Moorea rather cautiously.

Air Moorea was the small airline that connected Tahiti with nearby islands like Moorea and Tetiaroa. The Twin Otter was the kind of aircraft that makes flying feel much more personal. You do not just board it. You sort of make a private agreement with fate.

With me were around seventeen other passengers, mostly heading to Tetiaroa for a day tour. They probably expected a beautiful lagoon day. I was sitting there thinking: “Wonderful, I survived the colonoscopy, and now the wind will finish the job.”

But at first, the flight was relatively calm.

Slowly we approached Tetiaroa. From the air, the atoll looked beautiful, but also wild that day. We could see how the strong wind battered the beaches and bent the palm trees. The lagoon was not the calm turquoise dream I had imagined. It looked restless, alive, and slightly annoyed.

Then we started the landing approach toward the small runway.

The runway on Tetiaroa was only about 500 meters long. That is not a runway that gives you a lot of philosophical comfort. It is more like a strip of land saying: “Do your best.”

The pilot tried to land.

Failed.

The wind was too strong.

Then came another attempt. Maybe even one more. I do not remember every detail clearly, but I remember very well the feeling that this was not going according to the brochure.

Finally, we returned to Tahiti.

So that was how my possible last trip started?

I could not even reach my destination.

The Washing Machine of Destiny

Back at the airport in Papeete, I stayed for another attempt.

This time it would be with a smaller airplane.

Now, in normal life, when a flight has already failed because of strong winds, and someone says, “Don’t worry, now we try again with a smaller plane,” this is not automatically reassuring.

But then came the explanation from the lady at check-in.

She told me it would be safe because the new washing machine for the Tetiaroa Hotel would also be on board. It would provide enough weight to help against the wind shear.

I looked at her and probably thought: “So my life now depends on a washing machine?”

There are moments when travel becomes deeply philosophical.

You ask yourself big questions.

Who am I?

Where am I going?

And is this washing machine heavy enough to save me?

I imagine somewhere in aviation school they do not teach this sentence: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard. Our safety today is supported by household appliances.”

But this was French Polynesia, and somehow things like that felt possible there.

So I boarded again. A bit scared, of course. Maybe more than a bit. The flight was bumpy, and the landing was not exactly smooth. But we made it.

I arrived on Tetiaroa.

I survived.

At least that part.

Back in Paradise

And then I was there.

Back in paradise.

Tetiaroa, even in windy weather, had that magic. The motus, the lagoon, the seabirds, the feeling of being far away from everything. It is a place where the outside world becomes very small. News, offices, bills, stress, relationship trouble — all of it feels like it belongs to another planet.

And I thought again: what a beautiful place to die.

But the strange thing was, I felt better every day.

The pain became less. My energy came back. No signs that I would die anytime soon. My dramatic inner movie slowly lost its budget.

In fact, I had one of the best times I ever spent in Tetiaroa, maybe even in French Polynesia at all.

I made a lot of friends. I enjoyed every moment. Maybe because I had arrived with this fear in the background, I appreciated everything more intensely. The sea looked bluer. The palm trees looked more alive. Conversations felt more meaningful. Even simple meals tasted better.

When you think a trip might be your last, you do not waste so much time complaining about small things.You do not stand in paradise and think:

“Hmm, the Wi-Fi could be better.”

You just live.

And maybe that was the gift of this whole crazy situation. I had been scared, but because of that fear, I enjoyed the island as if every day really mattered.

Six Weeks Later

The six weeks passed.

As always, paradise has one big disadvantage: eventually, you have to leave it.

I flew home. And despite my earlier fears, I was still alive. Not only alive, but actually kicking.

A few days after my return, I went back to my doctor. He was not there, but his substitute was. I asked her directly what was going on with this illness. I told her honestly that I had thought I might not come back from my trip.

She smiled.

That smile already told me that maybe my imagination had once again produced a drama series where only a short medical note was required.

She explained that I had diverticulosis, and that at the time of my departure it had developed into diverticulitis. She told me that if I behaved with my diet, I could still get old.

So in the end, it was kind of harmless.

Or at least, not the immediate death sentence my brain had created before flying to Tahiti.

Of course, it was not completely harmless either, as I would learn eleven years later. But that is another story.

Looking Back at That Trip

When I look back now, I can smile about the absurdity of it all.

The office stress. The breakup. The belly pain. The emergency doctor. The colonoscopy. The doctor’s careful “yes.” My secret fear. The long flights. The business class upgrade. The wind from the south. The failed landing in Tetiaroa. The smaller airplane. The washing machine that apparently became my aviation bodyguard.

It sounds almost like a comedy, but at the time it was serious for me.

And maybe that is often how life works. While we are inside the situation, we feel the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty. Years later, we can finally see the strange humor in it.

This trip did not become my last trip.

But it became one of the trips I remember most vividly.

Not only because Tetiaroa was beautiful, but because I arrived there afraid and left feeling alive again. For a few weeks, I lived with more awareness than usual. I enjoyed the people, the lagoon, the wind, the remoteness, and every single day as if it was a bonus.

Maybe sometimes we need a little scare to realize how much we still want to live.

And maybe sometimes paradise is not the place where we go to escape life.

Maybe it is the place where life reminds us that we are still here.