无尽之夏

SCOUTING IN TAHITI By ARNOLD HANO A typical tropical Scont oat-ing: all fun and “no sweat.” Photos by DICK ROWAN As Boy Scout outings go, this one might be judged a flop. If the motto Be Prepared means organized planning, these Scouts were totally not. Where, after all, was the fuel to start the fire for the cookout? Where, in fact, was the food? Call those uniforms—otton shirts of every which color, sarong-like trunks of even brighter hues? And how do you expect to hike without walking shoes? These boys were barefoot. To which the Boy Scouts of Tahiti would respond with a grin: ”Aita peatea." No sweat. on this day in December — blue sky, puffs of cotton candy over 7,377-foot Mount Orohena, the air a tang of frangipani and lime—the Scouts had come from all over the island, as much as 30 miles, by bike, by motor scooter, by foot. A few had been rounded up by truck. They had risen at five A.M. in their thatched homes set up on blocks to keep out moisture, gulped a quick breakfast, and set off. Now they convened at a market in Papeete, Tahiti's capital, where they bought a bunch of banana-like plantains. In this land below the equator, 2,500 miles south of Hawaii, December means the beginning of Tahiti's summer. The sun would not splash down over the island of Moorea, 20 miles to the west, until eight o'clock. The outing would last until twilight: a hike along the rim of the flower-scented island, a plunge into the blue lagoon, body surfing at a break in the coral near Teahupoo, and board surfing at Va et Vien, a beach ogled by Bruce Brown, when he filmed his surfing movie, The Endless Summer. They would kick a soccer ball on a field ankledeep in mud. They would join a group of girls and women playing volleyball. No one would keep score. The idea was not winning, but playing. When the sun had baked their bronzed bodies, they would cool off in a waterfall near Vairao. One boy would seize a vine dangling from a tree, and — like Tarzan — launch himself into the air. Unlike Tarzan's vines, this vine would break. But the Tahitian lad would land on his feet, like a grinning cat. 12 月的这天，天空湛蓝，7377 英尺的奥罗 hena 山顶飘着棉花糖般的云朵，空气中弥漫着鸡蛋花和酸橙的清香。童子军们从全岛各地赶来，最远的路程达 30 英里，有的骑自行车，有的骑摩托，有的步行，还有几个是被卡车顺路接来的。他们凌晨五点从架在石块上防潮的茅草屋起床，匆匆吃了早餐便出发。如今，他们在塔希提首府帕皮提的集市集合，买了一串香蕉似的大蕉。在这座位于赤道以南、夏威夷以南 2500 英里的岛屿上，12 月意味着夏季伊始。太阳要到八点才会落到西边 20 英里外的莫雷阿岛，探险将持续到黄昏：沿着花香弥漫的岛边徒步，跳进湛蓝的环礁湖，在提阿胡普附近的珊瑚礁破浪处玩人体冲浪，在瓦埃 Vien 海滩玩短板冲浪 —— 布鲁斯・布朗（ Bruce Brown ）拍摄冲浪电影《无尽之夏》（ The Endless Summer ，1966）时，曾惊叹于这片海滩的美景。他们会在齐踝深的泥地里踢足球，和一群女孩、妇女打排球，没人记分，重要的是参与而非获胜。当阳光晒得古铜色的皮肤发烫，他们就去瓦伊劳附近的瀑布降温。一个男孩抓住树上垂下来的藤蔓，像泰山一样腾空而起。虽藤蔓断裂，但他像咧嘴笑的猫一样稳稳落地。 They fished for their dinner, to supplement the plantains (so who needs to bring food?), and they fed the fish entrails to a frigate bird perched on a rock. Which took care of garbage disposal. They gathered more food by climbing dizzying coconut trees. Dry coconut husks were lugged in armfuls to kindle the cookout fire. (So who needs to purchase fuel?) They unslung guitars from their shoulders and plunked away as they marched through the rain forest; others thumped wooden drums. They sang Island chants. (So who needs transistors?) They fashioned crowns of green ferns and white orchids, and set them rakishly on their heads. But do not judge them wrong. They are all boy, these Scouts. They came upon Acapulco Bridge, high above a shallow stream, and Scout leader David Tovai immediately dived off the bridge in a terrifying game of follow-the-leader. David is an 18-year-old who speaks French and Tahitian and will teach in the local grade school next year. But on this day he was not a would-be teacher. Over the side he went, 40 feet to the water, and nine boys followed. For 50 minutes the game went on, boys throwing themselves into the air to cleave the stream far below, swim their odd yet strong dog-paddle-like stroke to the shore, race again to the bridge, and over the side. They knew no fear of the water. Later, they walked barefoot on coral sharp enough to slice a Tenderfoofs soles to bloody ribbons. They did it all with a grin, their bodies relaxed. Aita peatea. No sweat. scouting IN TAHITI differs from Scouting anywhere else in the world, for nowhere is living so removed from the usual stresses of modern-day life. Tahiti has no neon lights, no elevators, no heavy industry, no billboards, no winter and, probably, no ulcers. You never see a beggar on the street. If a man is hungry, why, just across from Papeete's courthouse is a giant mango tree. Mangoes fall all day at your feet. If you don't like free mangoes, try coconuts, limes, oranges, grapefruit, bananas, plantains, papayas, breadfruit. Hang a light from a canoe at night, and lure the fish close to the surface. A swiftly thrown spear, and you have dinner fbr a family. Gather a bag of dried coconut meat — copra 一and take it to town, to sell. You have money fora month. So relax. Relaxation is a way of life. The Tahitian is ruled by a condition of the spirit pronounced, roughly, “Few” strikes Tahitians the way flu strikes the rest of us. When it hits, you lie down and rest until it goes away. "Few" distracts tourists, particularly Americans. A typical scene goes this way: American tourist, at a restaurant: "Waiter, please bring me some eggs." The waiter disappears. Literally. He just does not come back. He has decided Doing what comes naturally, Scout dives off Acapulco bridge. Coconuts are free for the taking in island's fruit-filled jungle. he'd prefer lying on the beach to working in the restaurant. “Few” has struck. The tourist grumbles to the management. "Few," explains the manager, who himself now goes into the kitchen to prepare the eggs. Unless "few” hits him on the way. The Tahitian has a proverb that goes: The seashell murmurs for him alone who knows how to listen. Listening to the seashell takes time, patience, a relaxed attitude, an almost unmoving stance, an absorption in nature, and a disregard for the din of the man-made world. Tahitians, by and large, listen to the seashell, and to the sea. Tahitian Scouts listen to the seashell, and they know about "few." On the day of the outing, with American photographer Richard Rowan along, the boys suddenly decided to pitch their first camp along the edge of a rocky path. Rowan naturally wanted the best pictures he could get of this lovely island, and suggested the boys go just a hundred yards farther. "There's a magnificent spot ahead,” he urged. "Waterfall, shade, soft ground. Great color.” The boys grinned. "Aita peatea" No sweat. They stopped where they were; they camped there; they sank to the ground and became part of the earth. They are capable of taking communion wherever they are. Then they rose up and advanced the hundred yards and made their second camp. They had accommodated both "few" and the photographer. A few weeks before, a hundred Boy Scouts— there are approximately 300 Scouts on Tahiti, including 180 Cubs—ferried to the island of Moorea, on a tree-planting project, which is like bringing coals to Newcastle or sands to the Sahara. Moorea is a virtual forest. The boys spent a week on Moorea, and when the project had ended, they'd planted exactly one tree per boy per day. In the same time, they could easily have planted ten times as many. “Why kill ourselves?" one Scout said. "We can always go back and plant more trees.” Yet they are true Scouts. A tourist, riding his bike on the path that circles the 402-square-miIe island (slightly smaller than the city of Los Angeles), developed a flat tire. A Scout came along on his motor scooter. Although it meant going a half hour out of his way, the Scout strapped the disabled bike to the scooter, and drove tourist and bike to the bike rental place for repairs. It is the Tahitian way to be of service. There is no tipping on the island of Tahiti, and not simply because waiters wander off to the beach instead of to the kitchen. Tahitians enjoy helping others. Scouts enjoy it even more. It all seems so natural. Everything seems natural to Tahitians. The Scouts attended a film on underwater life, explaining scuba and skin diving. The boys laughed quietly among themselves, amused that anyone has to learn to dive. To the Scouts, sea activity is easy as drawing breath. They know almost from birth how to sail, how to navigate by night, how to fish, how to build dugout canoes. On a recent outing, the Scouts noticed a pirogue—a dugout canoe with an outrigger — in trouble on the coral reef. A tourist had missed the break in the reef and was now stuck high and dry. The boys swam out, helped the tourist to shore, and brought in the pirogue. Quickly they lashed the vessel together with coconut fibers until it was again watertight. The Scouts will obviously exert themselves. An outing may be a hike across the island, which means leaving the easily traveled path and cutting through seemingly impenetrable rain forest. On one such hike, across the island's 20-mile diameter, the boys had to ford a single twisting river 80 times. They climbed 4,000 feet, to the river's source, an icy lake at ridgeline. They swam the lake, camped for the night on the other side, and the next morning carved their way down the trailless interior to the shoreline. Tahitians are rugged. The island has a rugged history, and these boys are part of the history. In prehistoric times, the first Polynesians took to the sea off the coasts of Asia, and paddled halfway across the Pacific ocean, a feat that ranks with man's most incredible endeavors. They found this sweet-scented island, shaped like a fat-handled skillet. But not all of them remained on Tahiti. “Few" had not yet become "in." Some got back in their outriggers, and paddled 2,500 miles north> to settle the Hawaiian islands. Those who remained behind went through a bloody period, where Polynesians built lava-rock temples to the gods, and laid human sacrifices on their altars. Worse yet was the invasion in the 18th century by European adventurers, fighting for control of this stopover in the Pacific, with its splendid harbor and its endless crops. These Europeans—mainly Spanish, French and English —brought diverse gifts; firearms, dysentery, measles and whiskey. The common cold killed Tahitians by the thousands. But it was not all sordid conquest. White missionaries also brought Bibles, and not only had they soon converted most Tahitians to Christianity, they also taught them to read. In 1842 Tahiti became a French possession, and the national holiday of the island is July 14, Bastille Day. To celebrate Bastille Day, the Tahitians hold their annual fete. La Fete is one of the world's merriest holidays, to Tahiti what Mardi Gras is to New Orleans. During the eight-day Fete, Boy . Scouts don their uniforms for the one and only time of the year—short-sleeved shirts, blue shorts, blue-and-white striped ties, calf-length socksand— Trunk-framed surfer at beach near Tairei. Lunch is laid on a palm-frond table. yes! —shoes — tight, hot,bunion-raising shoes. The Scouts enter the fruit-carriers^ races, a pole on their shoulders, 50 pounds of fruit balanced on the pole ends. “Few” is put to rest for eight hectic days. Scouts heave razor-tipped javelins at coconuts on trees. They paddle outriggers to the shore in races that churn white the otherwise placid lagoon. In teams of three, they whiz through coconut-husking contests, splitting open the shells and removing the meat so swiftly the fingers blur. At night, everybody dances. Men, women, girls, boys. They dance the watusi, the twist, even the waltz and foxtrot. But mainly they dance the famous tamure, a full-blooded rhythm so sinuous it makes the hula look like a minuet. And everybody eats the Tahitian-style luau, tamaaraa—with such delicacies as roast suckling pig, raw fish marinated in lime juice, and a dessert made of bananas and papayas. An American pronounced it, "finger-lickin' good." Which is how it is eaten. The other near-360 days are more normal, for the Scouts. They attend school (barefoot, of course) from eight A.M. to 4:30, with a long break at midday for a traditional siesta. Most Tahitians leave school when they are 12 but the Scouts invariably go beyond. Church is also important to these boys. The church serves as the community headquarters. When a local church recently needed repairs, a Scout troop turned out to paint the church (white stucco, with bright blue and red trim; like those of the United States, the colors of France are red, white and blue). The boys play soccer the way Americans play baseball, except without the same urge to win. Tahitian youths are superbly built, tall and muscular, and—a tourist noted—would make superior athletes "if they had Vince Lombardi to push them.” The boys earn spending money by working either with their families—picking fruit, weaving mats—or else they take part-time jobs in Papeete, on construction projects that have sprung up now that France uses the nearby Pacific as a nuclear-bomb test ground. The Tahitians don't much like the presence of what they call Le Bombe, but they do not protest. When a Tahitian Scout was asked by a visitor, “what would happen if the Tahitians ever decided to overthrow French rule? Would they stage a revolution?” "A sit-down strike, perhaps. But a revolution, never.” This is the Tahitian way. "Few." No sweat. Taking things easy. Doing what comes naturally. The Scouts of Tahiti would indeed make superior athletes if they had an American coach to goad them on. But, then, they wouldn't be Tahitians any more. And they seem fine enough, this way. American author Robert Louis Stevenson once stopped off at Tahiti and was impressed by the Tahitian people. They were, he said, "God's sweetest works.” ■ BOYS' LIFE FEBRUARY 1969