Tag: Moorea

January #InkRipples continued: Still in Tahiti, Still Pregnant, and the Tsunami Was on Its Way

January 13, 2016 / Katie L. Carroll

Yup, another repost, but I had to make sure you got the rest of the story from last week. And next week, look for some new content here on the Observation Desk. So here’s the rest of the Tahiti tsunami story (telling this story always makes me want to give it a really cheesy, reality TV subtitle like “When Vacations Go Bad”).

Okay, so sorry to leave you in suspense for so long…where did I leave off? Right, right…French Polynesia, island of Moorea, tsunami sirens blaring in the wee hours of the morning. The hubby and I throw on some clothes (I remember to put on a bra, but totally forget about undies!) and grab the essentials: passports, a large bottle of water, medication, and some peanut-butter crackers (a pregnant lady needs her snacks).

On the way to the lobby we hear some people talking about taking a car up to Belvedere Point. Given the high-stress situation, I managed to refrain from laughing at them, but going to Belvedere Point would have been some serious overkill. Even if we had gotten a tsunami anywhere close to as big as the one that hit Japan, we wouldn’t have needed to go to one of the highest points on the island.

(This is the view from Belvedere Point. Way higher and farther from the water than necessary. When we had talked to the manager the night before, he had said worse-case-scenario, we would have to go up the resort driveway to the road.)

In the lobby, the manager makes an announcement that a tsunami is expected to hit about 6:00 a.m. and that all guests must go to the restaurant area. They don’t specifically say it, but we get the impression that it’s more precautionary than anything else, although some guests are starting to look very nervous. (Apparently, they didn’t have the luxury of a prealarm freakout like I had!)

We are actually allowed to go back to the room where we stow our luggage as far up in the closet as possible (just in case). We pack all our valuable electronics and some books and stuff in our backpacks (I still haven’t realized I’m not wearing any underwear) and head to the restaurant.

The next several hours are…well…pretty boring. I stare at the water, trying to detect any kind of measurable change, for so long that my eyes start to hurt. The resort staff gets the breakfast buffet ready as quickly as they can given that it’s still early enough that breakfast wouldn’t have normally started yet.

The only indication we ever get that an actual tsunami hit us (I think we technically got two tsunami “waves”) was when the water level in the lagoon went down just enough for some coral too poke out of the surface. A group of self-proclaimed geologists were sitting near us and they got all excited when this happened and starting documenting it all on their camcorders.

(That stuff sticking out of the water to the right of the palm tree is the coral that normally is under water. That was our only visual cue that we were in the middle of a tsunami.)

By about 9:30 a.m. the warning was over and we all got to go about our day in tropical paradise (and I finally get to put on some underwear!). So, like I said in the last post, it was a lot of build-up with little payoff thankfully. I’m okay with having experienced a tsunami measured in inches instead of feet.

January #InkRipples Bonus Post: That Time I Went to Tahiti and There Was a Tsunami

January 8, 2016 / Katie L. Carroll

Since #InkRipples is all about travel this month (and I wrote about books – shocker, me writing about books – in my official #InkRipples post “Traveling the World and Beyond”), I decided to offer you up some bonus travel reposts. This is part 1 of the Tahiti tsumani story that originally posted in March 2011, plus some pictures from the more relaxing part of the trip. Look for part 2 next Friday. Enjoy!

002 The wee hours of Friday morning. Sirens blare. Heart quickens. Body from dead asleep to pinpoint alert in seconds. I knew this could happen, but it doesn’t make my pulse pound any slower. I feel the hubby—it’s too dark to see—rise next to me. “Here we go,” I say, not exactly sure what we’re in for. I’ve never been in a tsunami before.

Now I’m not going to pretend like this is some harrowing tale of survival. It’s more a tale of apprehension and anxiety with not much dramatic payoff. I wouldn’t even call it a near miss. The hubby and I are alive and safe. Not like so many people in Japan. Still, I think our tale is one worth telling…if only to keep my mind from churning over the events and the television images over and over again. Writing this down is my therapy.

But let me go back to the beginning, where many—certainly not all—stories start. French Polynesia, island of Moorea, Thursday night. Some combination of jetlag, sun exposure, pregnancy—and yes, even the hubby has been extra tired from me being pregnant—and extreme island relaxation has lulled us into slumber at an early hour.

I wake around 10:00 pm to find the movie we were watching has ended, the television screen a blank blue screen. I flip to CNN, one of three English-speaking channels we have. 8.9 earthquake, Japan. My first thought Damn, that’s strong. At the time, I didn’t know that it was the strongest recorded quake in Japanese history. My second thought This is not good. Not good at all. Even a country so prepared for quakes must surely suffer from one so massive.

CNN already has footage of not only the earthquake, but also of a devastating tsunami that hit northeastern Japan. A 10 meter wall of water. Tsunami warnings up for countries all across the Pacific. Then I think, Uh, oh. We’re in the middle of the southern Pacific on a tiny island. What does that mean for us?

003 The last tsunami to hit French Polynesia after the earthquake in Chili in February 2010 was measured in inches. I had looked it up because after I had heard tsunamis had been in the area, I had wanted to make sure my favorite tropical location was still intact. The remote location and the surrounding coral reefs had kept French Polynesia safe, but that didn’t mean we would get through this one unscathed.

I watched the coverage for about 30 minutes, my anxiety level rising with each development. Footage from the CNN newsroom in Tokyo.Deep breaths. Stay calm. Footage of the wave pouring into northeastern Japan. Keep breathing. Calm, cleansing breaths.Tsunami warnings for Russia, Indonesia, Australia, Hawaii, among other countries and islands. French Polynesia isn’t specifically mentioned, but my attempts to stay calm are failing. I’m in a foreign land. On an exposed island. A tsunami may or may not be approaching.

Time to get another opinion on whether or not I’m overreacting. Time to wake the hubby. He doesn’t seem to share my apprehension. Maybe he’s still half asleep; maybe I am overreacting. This annoys me. He’s supposed to be the one to freak out, not calm, collected, take-everything-in-stride me!

“Should we call the front desk?” I ask. “Or go down there and see what’s going on?”

I’m trying to hide my growing fear, to play this as if I’m curious and just want to be prepared, but a million things are running through my head that I don’t say. Do they even know what is going on down at the front desk? Does Moorea have modern tracking equipment for tsunamis? Do they have adequate warning procedures? The water is so close to our room. Will we have to evacuate? What will happen to all our stuff? Will we even know it’s coming, the water rushing in unannounced and we’ll all drown? Was it a huge mistake to come here while pregnant, putting my unborn child at risk?

008 The hubby seems mildly concerned. His calm demeanor only proves to grate on my already agitated one. He hasn’t been watching the coverage as long as I have. He didn’t see the list of countries under tsunami warnings. He hasn’t let his mind wander to dark places and worse-case-scenarios.

There’s no way I’m sleeping until we find out more information from the resort. I tell the hubby this. He says, “Okay. Let’s walk down to the front desk.”

I’m not sure if he’s humoring me or if he’s also concerned. Either way, I’m relieved to be on my way learning more. The manager at the desk is well informed of the situation. He explains how there are buoys off the coast of the islands that will give us adequate warnings, if we will even need them. He is the picture of calm. He doesn’t think there’s much to worry about. I feel better.

We go back to the room to sleep. We have a solid five hours before the alarms will sound…

Transformative Power of the Senses

April 12, 2013 / Katie L. Carroll

I’m always amazed at how a small detail—a sight glimpsed out of the corner of my eye; the whiff of an familiar, but forgotten, smell; a tickle of sound in my ear—can transform me to a different place. And not always a physical place, sometimes a place in time.

Honeysuckle, with its far-reaching sweet scent and sticky nectar, brings me back to early summer during my childhood. When there was always a tree to climb or a brook to explore or a patch of asphalt to skin my knees on. When the sun stayed up late and my parents allowed me to play outside until a late bedtime.

The album Little Earthquakes by Tori Amos transports me to a white mini-van packed to the gills with my family and our luggage. Cruising down the highway toward Florida, scenery rushing by as we drove south to Florida. My siblings and I singing “The Name Game” song: “Chuck, Chuck, bo-buck, banana-fana fo-“. My sisters and I cutting off and then cracking up when my brother—the youngest, who was only three—shouted out the swearword.

The view in Connecticut.

Today as The Boy and I walked to the beach, a puff of white in the space between two houses made me suck in a surprised breath as my mind traveled 6,300 miles to the island of Moorea in French Polynesia. Once we arrived at the beach, I stopped for a better look. Puff up those clouds a little more, change the gray waters of Long Island Sound to a see-through turquoise, substitute Long Island for an island in the South Pacific, and turn the rest of the slightly overcast sky to a pale blue…and I was in paradise.

The view in Moorea, French Polynesia.

Okay, I realize looking at the two pictures, the views aren’t even close to each other, but something about that quick glance set the gears in my mind turning and brought me to another place. Both sights are beautiful in their own ways, don’t you think?

What senses bring you to a memory?