When you imagine paradise, that perfect, palm-treed isle of golden beaches and blue lagoons that couldn't possibly exist, you are in fact imagining French Polynesia. Or Moorea, to be specific. Moorea, one of a group of islands in French Polynesia called the Society Islands, is so paradisical, so picture-postcard that it's almost plastic. Everything about this place is idyllic - the landscape, the beautiful people, even the tourists - and I am convinced it was an oversight that I was allowed to set foot on it at all. Certainly my first impression of the island was that everybody was perfectly-proportioned, sun-kissed and smiley, and that my blindingly white legs and sunburned squint marked me as an eyesore in an otherwise unblemished landscape.
I had never heard of the South Pacific island of Moorea until about three days before I arrived there, on a five-hour flight from Auckland. Tahiti was the only island in French Polynesia that had any kind of resonance for me, and even then the name only suggested palm trees and shampoo. For many, French Polynesia was put on the map in the 1990s when the French conducted nuclear experiments at Mururoa Atoll. Those of artistic inclination will remember Gaugin's famous Tahitian paintings, while others may be aware that Marlon Brando owns an island in the area. But most would be hard put to name more than one island in French Polynesia, and (fortunately) places such as Moorea fall into anonymity as a result.
Just a 20-minute ferry ride from French Polynesia's capital, Papeete (on the island of Tahiti), Moorea is the kind of place you thought Tahiti was going to be but isn't. A small island, only 32 square kilometres in area, and with a population of just under 12,000, Moorea is a nicely uncommercial but convenient tropical hideaway. Finding your way about the island couldn't be less of a challenge. There is effectively one road, which goes right around the coast (give or take a few smaller tracks that take you to viewpoints in the mountains and conveniently perfect photo spots), and this is lined with PK (Pointe Kilometre) markers giving you your distance from the airport in kilometres. Moorea is designed so that you can, if you wish, leave your brain at the door and step into a natural chill-out zone, where your only challenge is to find new and interesting things to do with coconuts on a daily basis.
But it does help to have money here. French Polynesia is not really designed for the budget traveller. Tahiti is priced outlandishly; we almost reboarded our plane after discovering the price of a cup of coffee. But Moorea is infinitely more accommodating for the financially challenged, with budget accommodation and plenty of free activities (if you count lying on the beach all day and floating in lagoons as being active). Most backpackers head directly to Camping Nelson, pitch their tents under palm trees about 30 yards from a golden beach with a sky-blue lagoon, pay the equivalent of about £3 for a carton of wine, and gorge themselves on coconuts. It's certainly not the worst option in the world.
We were saved from repeating this experience daily for the duration of our stay there by Jean Marie, a local man who picked us up from the ferry on behalf of Camping Nelson. He had clearly been told to look for any poverty-stricken backpackers who stumbled off the boat and bring them back to the only place they could afford on the island. On our drive back to the campsite, we discovered that Jean Marie was in fact a policeman, who spends little time policing and more time meeting tourists and bringing them hither and thither for the purpose of promoting Moorea, which he does with considerable panache. After dropping us somewhere under a palm tree, he offered to pick us up the following day and show us around the island. Which he did. It took approximately two hours, including stopping off at Belvedere, to look out over the mountains, and at various other hotspots around the island where you can view lagoons and beaches from every possible angle, if you can find a gap between the palm trees. In gratitude, we offered to buy him lunch. He accepted for dinner and we met later the same evening at a local restaurant, where Jean Marie provided us with more island lore. I even came away with a smattering of Tahitian under my belt, which would barely close after my meal of traditional poisson cru - raw fish steeped in coconut milk and lime.
During our brief time in Moorea, Jean Marie also took us to the local hotel, where we sipped Mai Tais and watched traditional dancers shaking what their mommas had given them. When we weren't getting a free lesson in Moorean culture from Jean Marie, we were hanging out at the local lagoon, swimming with the fishes or creating exciting and cheap dishes with our fellow campers using whatever we could accumulate from each person's store - usually involving plentiful pasta and coconut and copious amounts of wine. If you're not on quite as ludicrously tight a budget as we are, there are some activities that will cost slightly but are reportedly well worth it. Shark-feeding seems to be a popular way to spend your morning, bringing you into close proximity to massive mandibles while you offer them tasty foodstuffs from your hands. Fun city.
There's also the snorkelling option, although for such seasoned travellers as we have become, snorkelling is so Great Barrier Reef. If you're a surfer, you will also find some great waves according to our Californian camp neighbours, but apparently you have to paddle out for half the day to get to them.
In fairness, that's probably the most exertive thing to do on Moorea. Apart from that, it's all lolling about on the beach and lethargically dipping into the lagoon every now and again. Quite trying really. After four days, I was ready to pack my bags. Too much perfection can be damaging to a body. I found that after my short term there, I was dying to meet some ugly people and breathe in some polluted air. And I never, ever, want to see another coconut.
Fiona McCann is travelling around the world. She is at roundtheworld@ireland.com