Bora Bora

It started with a picture, as most great journeys do. I had wanted to visit Bora Bora ever since I saw it photographed in a compilation of the “world’s most beautiful places” long ago. But it seemed distant and expensive, and my honeymoon was long past. Still, I continued to look for excuses.

Last year my wife and I decided to celebrate the 20th anniversary of our first date; Gallery 8 was history, so we chose to upgrade since we couldn’t replicate. I learned that the Four Seasons, arguably the world’s best large-scale hotel and resort operator, would be opening in Bora Bora. We decided it was time.

As we flew out of LAX, the markets were crashing, our savings were crumbling, our assets were tumbling, and we wondered not only whether we were doing the right thing, but who would want to read about such a vacation in the new reality. I came home assured that experiencing a dream destination remains an essential part of a traveler’s life, and that we value quality even more when the dollars we spend on it seem so precious.

Most Americans visit Bora Bora on their honeymoon—and if not then, never. It’s a puzzlement. I’d like to think I got more out of the experience at 45 than I would have at 25. If you love beauty, you will love Bora Bora. If you love simplicity, you will love Bora Bora. If you love luxury, you will love Bora Bora. If you love indolence, you will fit in just fine. It is the marriage of these qualities that defines the Bora Bora experience. Still, no one would come here if not for the island’s singular vistas.

The silhouette of this iconic South Pacific island, with its craggy profile set against a sky of changing color and a lagoon of crystalline blue, is hypnotic. Most of the resorts built in the modern era locate off-island, on motu (small reef islets that encircle the island), so that guests can look at Bora Bora unobstructed all day long. It’s a unique kind of stupor.

If you are interested in the fascinating cultures of French Polynesia and the lives of the native peoples, that can be experienced at less cost with greater ease on any number of sister islands. Bora Bora, ringed with resorts and dominated by expats, is a place to recharge. It’s where we chose to decompress from a decade of parenting, demanding jobs, and the to-do lists of vacation destinations filled with experiences. So we turned off CNN and got on the plane.

Visitors arrive at dingy Faa’a International Airport on Tahiti, the largest island of French Polynesia. It’s a jarring transition when you’re primed for paradise. The cluttered streets of Papeete confirm the guidebooks’ caution that French Polynesia’s capital is not its high point. A pleasant half-hour or so in an Air Tahiti puddle jumper leaves you at the Bora Bora airport, built by the U.S. military during WWII. (The functional terminal is notable for crabs skittering across its tile floor.) Do your best to get a window seat on the flight in, as the views of the island from above are unmatched. Bora Bora was of strategic importance during the battles of the Pacific because the island is so contained by impassable reefs that there is only one navigable entrance, making it easy to defend.

You arrive or leave Bora Bora airport by boat or plane, as it is on a motu. Apprehensive after Papeete, I was relieved when the Four Seasons’ wooden skiff met us with cold towels, drinks, and a helping hand with the luggage. The contrast to Papeete was night and day—the sun always shone during our five days on Bora Bora, the winds were refreshing, the colors ever-changing, but never gray.

At rack rates (a hotel’s top price for a room, which nobody’s paying these days), Bora Bora’s premier resorts charge $1,000 a night for an overwater bungalow. The cost of a visit is high for good reason: French Polynesia requires massive levels of environmental remediation in exchange for permission to build overwater. Virtually everything except seafood is shipped into the country. And as a department of France, there are the attendant taxes and fees of a European nation.

Given the price, I was shocked to read reports on TripAdvisor of offhand service, French desk clerks who claimed not to speak English (Bora Bora’s primary guest is North American), and other indignities at the vaunted St. Regis and its siblings. At $1,000/night, everything less than perfection is an indignity.

The Four Seasons did not disappoint in any respect. We never experienced anything but genuine interest in our happiness and an eagerness to meet our expectations. Immigration rules required Four Seasons to import staff with French passports (mostly from its Provence resort and the George V in Paris), though its clientele is primarily North American, so there’s a certain European formality that clanks.

All the resort’s lodgings are overwater bungalows connected like a string of pearls along a wooden walkway. I expected it to seem gimmicky, but it was glorious. Shedding the dark wood Polynesian pallor of previous eras yet shunning the minimalism of spots such as the St. Regis, the Four Seasons’ rooms are warm, light-filled, and exceptionally commodious, with spectacular views, dive platforms, sun decks, and large living rooms and bedrooms that can be closed off from one another.

The resort’s spa (with yoga) is idyllic, overlooking the spot where the open ocean crashes over the motu, offering a hypnotic contrast to the placidity of the Bora Bora lagoon. There’s a refreshing and pleasant pool with drink service, and the lagoon beach is everywhere, the clear water akin to a warm, salty bath. Since my visit, the resort has better differentiated its slightly formal restaurants, adding Polynesian music and beachside grilling. Sushi and Asian-style tapas are now offered at the lagoon-side bar for those desiring a casual meal.

The one essential off-resort experience is a tour (with snorkeling) by lagoon boat. The Four Seasons has added a staff marine biologist to conduct tours. Sea life includes baby sharks and rays, although there are also places where the shark-phobic can find only brightly colored fish.

I’d also consider an island tour, though Bora Bora is thin on “attractions,” and shops and eateries tend to come and go. The Four Seasons’ concierge is as well equipped as anyone to connect you with the best guides, experiences, and dining options, though don’t expect too much in the way of cuisine. Menus in Bora Bora are limited and often seem disconnected from a sense of place. Chefs bemoan difficulties in obtaining the simplest ingredients and describe a cartel-like system whereby local farmers and fishermen limit supply. Others suggest the locals merely end their harvest for the week when sufficient monies are in hand, no matter what the demand.

On the last day of our stay, we packed with CNN on in the room. The Dow’s plummet continued, chronicled by the second. We had arrived tense and uncertain, but after five days in the most beautiful place in the world, nothing was going to unnerve us. At least not for a few more hours.