Moorea is a heart-shaped island in French Polynesia, a thirty-minute ferry ride from Tahiti, where eight saw-toothed ridges of green volcanic rock rise out of a lagoon and two deep bays cut into the northern coast side by side. The skyline is the first thing: the crossing from Tahiti ends with Moorea's jagged peaks lifting straight out of the sea, usually trailing a collar of cloud, and among them Mou'aputa, the pierced mountain, with a hole punched clean through its summit. In the Tahitian story the hero Pai threw his spear from Tautira, some fifty-five kilometres away on Tahiti, and drove it through the peak. A road winds up into the green interior to the Belvedere lookout, where Cook's Bay and Opunohu Bay open side by side below you, split by the sharp ridge of Mount Rotui, with pineapple fields on the valley floor and the reef drawn as a white line around it all.
The lagoon is where the days go. On the north shore you wade waist-deep into sandy shallows where blacktip reef sharks slip past your legs and broad stingrays glide over your feet, unafraid, because they have been fed here for years; the water is warm and clear to the bottom, and the reef beyond keeps it flat. From July to November humpback whales come in from the open ocean to rest and nurse their calves just outside the barrier reef, close enough that licensed boats carry swimmers out to float beside a mother and calf in the blue. Trails climb from the valley floor into the saw-toothed interior toward Mou'aputa and the ridges, through forest and past the stone platforms of old temples. The reef itself is one of the most closely watched on Earth; a long-term study set up in 2004 has followed how it copes with storms, bleaching and recovery. Moorea is the island Tahitians go to for the weekend, and its lagoon is the reason.