Actually back in New Zealand now. Nouvelle Zeland, Nueva Zelanda, Aotearoa... Call it what you will; I call it home.

But for now, here's my final entry from abroad (written mostly in Tahiti):

Ia orana!

Was greeted with typical Tahitian hospitality on arrival - there's a Tahitian woman who greets all visitors with a flower to put behind their ears before you even reach immigration. I was a little nervous as to how things would go after that, as I had no accommodation booked and feared that the one and only hostel in town might be booked out - it's the US summer after all. No such problem; in fact, I got a dorm all to myself, and soon experienced more of that renowned P.I. hospitality when the guy on duty invited me to eat with him: baguettes, of course. It's incredible here: a real melange of French and Polynesian culture. So for brekkie you're offered baguettes but also lemons for making Island-style lemonade, with water and sugar.

First though, I made a bit of a faux pas by asking a very controversial question to the Tahitian guy and a white guy who told me he was "French," but clearly living on the island. I was confused as to whether French Polynesian inhabitants were considered French, as in members of the EU, because that's how things had appeared on arrival. This offended the "French" guy - let's call him Pierre - who thought I was discriminating; "we're all French" he told me, "not 'he's Tahitian; I'm French.' All French." But this deeply offended the Tahitian guy because saying he was French was as bad as saying he wasn't Tahitian; "I'm not a French," he told me later.

At dinner, though, I met a French guy of a different sort - this one, a shrivelled old man with a severe addiction to alcohol but a "good guy" according to Pita, was absolutely in support of the Tahitian right to independence: "Ils ont la droit." It's a super controversial and highly contentious issue here. I'd be fascinated to know more about this modern-day colonial issue.

But, back to less political stuff. Sunday morning Pita walked me to the markets then pointed me to a church. He'd told me to wear white and take off my hat when I entered. But, this church was of the "old, old style" it turned out: women in gorgeous brightly-coloured dresses and hats like my mum would wear; men in suits. Oops. I felt a little out-of-place. But loved it all the same. Amazing, amazing singing; women and men sat in different rows, and a corner of the church at a time would take turns to sing. Beautiful. The service was in Tahitian, te reo Ma'ohi, and I was surprised at how similar it sounds to te reo Maori - I was able to make out the odd word, like "Atua," "tupuna," "haere mai" and "tapu." Probably if I was fluent in Maori I could have understood the general gist of the message; but I'm not so I couldn't.

Sunday arv, after a lunch about ten times the price of an Ecuadorian one (!!), I refused an offer to go to Morea, a nearby island, to discuss business with the Tahitian guy: a very entrepreneurial businessman, black pearl salesman and import/exporter. And then it began to pour. Tropical rain is warm, but oh so strong.

Monday morning I caught a ferry across to Morea, to hunt out a beach. It's very developed but has no footpaths - I may have been the first person to wander the 5ks to the gas station for food; everyone else seems to bus or drive.Food is really dear here so I decided to save some money and have a coconut for morning tea [see pic]. Now, anyone who has husked a coconut with bare hands knows what hard work it is. (Especially if you're lacking in arm strength like myself!) So, after twenty minutes of hard work, I had a newfound appreciation for my mum who once husked one for me. Now that was an act of love.

Having walked a long way in the heat, I once again experienced Tahitian friendliness when, on asking a guy - in my best (read: very poor) French - about the bus back, I was offered a ride with his family. I tried asking their little girl what her name was but figured she must not understand French yet, because she didn't answer. So I asked how to say "how old are you?" in te reo Ma'ohi and relayed that to her, but again she didn't answer. Turns out she speaks French only, and was just being shy. But I think most of the islanders here speak Tahitian amongst themselves, which I think is matai roa!

Nana for now.