As I go for a stroll Tuari, Claude's neighbour, calls me over. He points with pride to his small son and daughter, silhouettes fishing with rods in the sunset. Once he worked on a trawler from Korea. Now he is free, with no-one to give him orders. But every morning at half-past four, to make ends meet, his wife catches le truck to clean a school in Papeete.
Night falls without darkness.
Palm leaves burnished by moonlight clatter in the breeze. The stars are close, sharp, inquisitive, shining undimmed from horizon to horizon. Tahitians believe, with a touch of vanity but good reason, that to leave their island you must be a fool. And foolish I doubtless am to take a shot at proper tourism in Fiji. I listen to backpackers telling tales of where they have been and where they are going.