Escape to the South Sea

Islands How to Live Happily in a Tropical Paradise on $50 a Month, for Two

Condensed from an article in “The American Mercury” by Phillip Aquila Kempster.

I SHOULD like to be on a liner plough ing southwest' through the Pacific. As the water became a more and more brilliant blue each day, as the smooth trade wind became warmer, I should be filled with an inner content.

I should feel, despite the fact that my native city lay half a world behind, that I was coming home.

The legend of the South Seas has per sisted for generations. Almost everyone has been touched by the alluring vision of an island paradise, particularly when modem life becomes most oppressive. It is strange that only the merest handful have realised their dream. But there have been a few . . .

Some time ago, my wife and I decided that we weren’t getting as much out of life as we should, so we packed up and followed the sun. We lived for nearly two years on the island of Moorea, 12 miles across the channel from Tahiti. Our home, which we rented for $6 a month, was in a setting of exquisite beauty—green mountains towering at our back, coco nut palms around the house, and a stretch of white sand and turquoise water in front.

The house consisted of one large room, about 30 feet by 20, built off the ground on stilts. There was a little verandah in front, facing the beach, with overhanging eaves of palm thatch. The walls were plank for three feet, and above that, young bamboo reeds through which sun light and fresh air filtered constantly.

We partitioned off the place with cur tains. From packing cases we built book cases, shelves, etc. Two beds, a table, a few odd chairs, a gasoline lamp and a secondhand oil stove about completed the furnishings. The lot didn’t cost more than $3O.

We lived in what would probably be called a primitive style, but I wonder if you in the big cities, and you who are hard put to it to make ends meet in rural areas, are, despite the conveniences of your so-called civilisation, any happier.

In our island home we had just about everything we wanted, and we spent no more than $35 a month after the first month. They were the happiest two years we have ever known.

There is just one catch to pulling up stakes and coming to these French owned islands—you can’t make a living down there. Therefore, your first requisite is a certain amout of cash or an assured income. But dollars stretch a long way, with the franc so cheap. Your greatest outlay will be steamer fare. The French authorities insist that you either have a return ticket or deposit $9O when you land—to be returned when you leave. This is insurance against the islands being overrun with penniless beachcombers.

When you arrive in Papeete (a sleepy little French village of about 4.000 souls) you will probably go to a hotel for a week until you get your bearings. A comfortable room will cost 60 cents a day. In a week you’ll meet most of the foreigners worth knowing and hear all about the rest. You probably will solve

the transportation problem by purchasing a secondhand bicycle for $lO.

Meals at the hotel cost about 40 cents, but you can get good meals at the Chinese restaurants for 20. Your breakfast, con sisting of coffee, rolls, butter and fruit, will cost about 6 cents.

The early morning open-air market will be a revelation to you. Natives and Chinese travel ail night, bringing their produce for sale. The fishermen display a rare assortment, from the large meaty food fish, to octopus, and a sort of sea centipede which looks .horrible but is a delicacy to the Chinese.

Out in the country, where it is cooler, and rents less expensive than in town, you probably will pay 10 or 12 dollars a month for a house in which you can live

comfortably. It will be fairly well fur nished in simple style. Water will be piped from a mountain stream to a shower bath and the kitchen sink. There will be an outhouse in the rear.

You need not become accustomed to strange foods. You can get pretty much the same as you’re used to at home.

Meat and ice will be delivered at your door every other day. From a nearby Chinese gardener you can buy for 10 francs enough vegetables for a week. Tro pical fruits cost next to nothing. Avocados, mangos, papayas, bananas, oranges and breadfruit are plentiful.

Tinned New Zealand butter costs 30 cents a pound. Excellent French bread is delivered to you daily for three cents a loaf. Your coffee, raised nearby, costs

ten cents a pound, and if you roast it yourself in a pan over an open fire and then grind it, you will have a delicious brew. You can get American cigarettes for a dime, for they are minus the government tax stamp.

Clothing is no problem. A man can get a pretty good white suit made by Chinese tailors for $5. When in town I usually wore shorts, a polo shirt and Chinese sandals costing 50 cents. Most of the rest of the time I went barefooted, with a “pareu” wrapped around my waist and twisted to form a pair of close-fitting trunks. Shorts, shirts, sandals, lounging pyjamas, and a cotton dress or two suffice for most of the foreign women in the is- “ , ... . , . , ..

Your house will be only a stone’s throw from the sea, and the swimming in the

lagoon is as fine as any in the world.

The waters teem with game fish. You can catch them with hook and line or get a pair of goggles and a spear and go out with the natives. There’s a knack to it that way, but you’ll have a lot of fun learning.

All this can be yours at a cost of $5O a month—for two. If you are single, you can get by on $35. If you have a bit more money you can rent a furnished house with two or three bedrooms, fancy plumbing, electric lighting and all modern conveniences in Tahiti for $4O a month.

The Polynesian natives are a lovable, charming, if somewhat decadent people.

Treat them right and they are your friends for life. Their ways may be dif ferent from yours but—look around and see which is happier.

Language will be no obstacle. Much English is spoken, and you’ll soon pick up enough French and Tahitian words to get by. Practically all the storekeepers speak a little English and you will learn quickly to bargain with the Chinese in a pidgin dialect.

You will not find much night life along the unpaved streets of Papeete. You can go to the one motion-picture house for a couple of francs and see films of yes teryear. resurrected to delight the Poly nesian audience. Boxing programmes and horse races are staged frequently. On your $5O a month you will be able to en joy these little luxuries.

Probably one quarter of the population is white or part white. You will soon have a wide circle of acquaintances. They will drop in at your house frequently, and you in turn will enjoy visiting them.

You may hear lurid tales of the rainy season, but don’t let them scare you off.

A lot of water falls in December, Janu ary and February, but it’s not too bad and there is fine weather between rains.

The rest of the year is magnificent.

Life in the islands is simple and satis fying—if you’re the right person. If you can’t do without all the little conveniences of the machine age, don’t go. If you’re the ultragregarious kind, stay home and mill around with your fellows.

But if you’re another sort, you’ll find in the South Seas, a happiness that’s pretty hard to put into words; something real and vital that you’ll never forget as long as you live.