Unforgettable Travel Encounters: Is the World Really This Small?

Some people bring home shells, postcards or a suspiciously heavy suitcase. I seem to collect people — and then bump into them again when the world has absolutely no business being that small. These unforgettable travel encounters began in the South Pacific in the 1990s, with a sailing trip, a few airport surprises and one very quiet meeting that took me rather longer to understand.

From a sailing trip in Fiji to an airport in Los Angeles

On my first big South Pacific journey in 1995, I took a short sailing trip in Fiji. Among the passengers was a young German couple. More precisely, he was living in New Zealand, while his girlfriend was still in Germany. Travel already seemed to be doing its best to complicate their geography.

A year later, on my way home from Tahiti, I was at Los Angeles airport talking to Maimiti, the Tahitian dancer whose first journey abroad became a flight to remember. Suddenly, someone interrupted us. It was the very same man from the sailing trip.

I remember getting goosebumps. Of all the airports, all the days and all the people passing through Los Angeles, there he was. Apparently, the Pacific had not finished introducing us.

We had a longer chat on the flight to Frankfurt and left the arrivals area together. His girlfriend was waiting for him. The look on her face when she saw who was walking beside him was rather wonderful. She had come to collect her boyfriend and received an unexpected reunion as a bonus.

A tap on the shoulder in Tahiti

In May 1995, while staying on Moorea, I met an artist couple in a bungalow just one along from mine: the Austrian painter Alois Nimmervoll and his Chinese wife, Ling Nimmervoll-Peng. Alois painted a great deal during their stay. They told me they usually returned every two years, because he had fallen in love with the island. Having developed my own rather serious attachment to Moorea, I understood perfectly.

Exactly a year later, in May 1996, I was sitting in the arrivals hall at Faa’a Airport in Tahiti, waiting to continue to Moorea, when somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I turned round. Alois and Ling. Again!

The best part was that we had just travelled on the same jumbo jet from Los Angeles to Papeete without seeing each other. They had been in the very last row. Thanks to an upgrade through Air New Zealand’s frequent flyer programme, I had been in the very first. We had managed to cross an ocean together while remaining almost as far apart as the aircraft allowed.

Their return was a surprise in itself: this time, circumstances had brought them back after only one year. After that happy airport reunion, we met again on Moorea, and later in Munich and in Linz, where they lived. Those meetings were planned. By then, we had decided to give coincidence a little help.

The woman sweeping the arrival area on Tetiaroa

One of my most special encounters happened during my first visit to Tetiaroa in 1997, when the atoll kissed my soul. After a walk that had left me overwhelmed by its beauty, I returned towards the old hotel and met a woman sweeping the small arrival area beside the airstrip.

We chatted. She was quiet and seemed rather reserved. I told her she looked familiar, and she gave me a gentle smile. I still had not worked it out. It took the barman to explain that I had been speaking to Tarita Teriipaia, who starred alongside Marlon Brando in Mutiny on the Bounty.

So there I was, on an atoll that already felt almost unreal, casually chatting to someone from the film that belonged to my South Pacific dreams — and failing to recognise her. Excellent powers of observation, Andi.

Over my later visits, we met several more times and became a little better acquainted. At least, she knew I was the fellow who kept coming back. I even offered to build a website for the hotel free of charge, as it was struggling to attract guests.

She needed to discuss the idea with Brando. As I remember it, the answer was a no: he didn’t want an influx of visitors. I understood. Part of me wanted to help the hotel; another part wanted this quiet place to stay exactly as it was. Paradise presents some awkward marketing decisions. At least Tarita and Marlon Brando had a conversation about me. Not quite a Hollywood breakthrough, but I was prepared to count it.

A family connection to Captain Cook?

On that first South Pacific journey, I also met an English family stopping in Rarotonga on their way to start a new life in New Zealand. We crossed paths during my day trip to Aitutaki. I was actually reading Captain Cook’s logbooks during that trip, in a German edition of his Pacific voyages. So when the wife spoke of a family connection to Cook, she certainly had my attention. One moment he was in my holiday reading; the next, he had entered the conversation. I remember something about several “greats”, although I can no longer be sure of her exact wording.

At the time, I accepted the story. I even thought I could see a resemblance in her nose, which tells you everything you need to know about my qualifications as a genealogist.

A small historical note: the Captain Cook Society explains that Cook has no direct descendants, as none of his children had children of their own. There are living relatives through his wider family. That may well have been the connection she meant. I cannot verify her family history or the precise relationship, but I still remember that intriguing holiday conversation.

The people who travel home with us

Looking back, the scenery was extraordinary, but the people gave those journeys another life. A familiar face in a distant airport. A friendship beginning again with a tap on the shoulder. A gentle smile from someone whose face I should have recognised.

There were more encounters like these. Perhaps I will tell you about them another time. For now, I still find myself asking the same question: is the world really this small — or have I simply spent enough time hanging around airports?