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.

That was not what I had hoped 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.”

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.

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 about the examination 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, on Tahiti, is the capital of 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 a relief.

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.

During the journey and after arriving in French Polynesia, the pain slowly became less. I cannot say why. I was taking medication, and I was also relieved to be away from the stress I associated with home. Improvement during a holiday is not an explanation of its medical cause.

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.

I have written more about the atoll, its history and visiting today in my Tetiaroa guide. This story, however, is firmly back in 1999, when my immediate concern was getting there with both myself and my belly still reasonably intact.

But first I had to get there.

And that became its own little adventure.

Strong winds were affecting the islands that day. I remember them being described as coming from the south, but I cannot reconstruct a weather report from a journey in 1999. What mattered to me was whether the small-plane transfer to Tetiaroa would go ahead.

Knowing very well the discomfort such a flight in a small aeroplane 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 towards the small runway.

The runway looked very short to me from the aircraft. It did not offer much philosophical comfort, although my impression from the passenger seat was hardly a runway survey.

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.

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 aeroplane.

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.

As I remember it, she reassured me by saying that a new washing machine for the Tetiaroa Hotel would also be on board and that the extra weight would help. That is the explanation I remember being given, not an account of the aircraft’s loading calculations or a rule about flying in wind.

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

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.”

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

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.

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.

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.

She explained that I had diverticulosis and that it had developed into diverticulitis at the time of my departure. She discussed my diet with me and gave me much more reassurance than I had carried into the trip.

That was a great relief, but “harmless” would be the wrong description. NIDDK explains that diverticulitis is inflammation of the pouches and can cause serious complications. My frightened interpretation of the earlier appointment had not been a prognosis. My story is about that misunderstanding, not medical advice about flying with abdominal pain.

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.

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

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.

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.