Hold Onto Your Hat: Our Wild Ride Through Tahiti

Whilst the family were here, we decided to take on the highly recommended 4WD safari adventure through the wild, leafy, spine-tingling heart of Tahiti. Because nothing says “quality family bonding” like being flung around in a topless Jeep for eight hours while riding through natures real life version of Jurassic Park.

Enter Noa, our driver and part-time stand-up comedian. He rocked up in his topless 4WD (the car, not him—just clarifying) and had memorised all our names within five minutes. By minute seven he was belting out songs with words that were synchronized with whatever was happening around us, telling jokes, and gently mocking us all in the most lovable way. We knew we were in for a ride—literally and figuratively.

We started off by crossing the island to the East Coast (we were staying on the West), giving us the chance to see the “other side of the tracks”—or at least, the other side of the palm trees. Then, disaster! Kate’s Calvin Klein cap flew off her head and into the highway like a rogue frisbee. “STOP! THE HAT!” she yelled. Noa didn’t even hesitate. Pulled a swift U-turn, leapt out of the car (again, something he does a lot) and sprinted into oncoming traffic. Not Sydney-level peak hour, but still—there were cars. We were yelling, “Leave it! Save yourself!” But back he came, triumphant, holding that cap above his head like it was the Olympic torch. Heroic. Kate was delighted. I sprouted three new grey hairs.

Next, Noa pulls into what looks like a quiet suburban street. “OK everyone,” he says, “I’m taking the roof off. Seatbelts off. Stand on the seats if you want!” OH. GOOD. We haven’t even hit the dirt tracks yet and already I’m thinking about chiropractor bills.

And then—boom—we’re on roads that are less road, more geological trauma. Craters, not potholes. We were bouncing around like popcorn in a microwave. Who are these people standing up? I was gripping the seatbelt like it was a parachute cord.

First stop—feeding the dogs. Yep, Noa carries a bag of dog biscuits and regularly pulls over to feed the local strays. Saint Noa of the Pooches. He did this multiple times, and honestly? My heart.

As we bounced (and bounced) our way into the Papenoo Valley, Noa turned into a one-man botanical garden guide. Every few minutes he was stopping to show us something new—plants, flowers, berries. But the best bit? He came prepared. Little tubs of things for us to taste. There were these sour berries that nearly turned our faces inside out… until he gave us “miracle fruit.” Eat that, then re-try the berry—and bam! Sweet. Tastebud witchcraft. Took Rowdy a couple of Miracle Fruits to sweeten him! His tastebuds that is.

From jungle cancer cures to baby bath calmers, shampoo, handcream, rope, Noa had a remedy for everything. The man was like a rainforest pharmacist crossed with David Attenborough.

As we drove deeper into the jungle (thank god for the mozzie repellent), it got more like Jurassic Park by the minute. Towering cliffs, endless waterfalls, vines everywhere. We even crossed a river and drove through a lava tunnel. Noa joked about bats (that actually didn’t exist, thank goodness). I was more concerned a large ugly dinosaur might lunge out and eat our baguettes.

Ah yes—lunch! Rather than eat at the mystery “resort” hidden deep in the jungle (how do people get there? and how on earth did they get all the building materials in), we packed our own gourmet delights. Cheese and Vegemite baguettes, the height of French-Aussie fusion. It was nice to sit down, if only to give our internal organs a chance to resettle. The beers barely touched the sides. Bliss.

Back into the bounce-mobile. “Send a helicopter!” I whispered dramatically to someone. But no such luck.

As stunning as the scenery was, it was eerily quiet. Apart from chickens and dogs, we saw no animals. Not even a bird. Made me wonder—what do the animals know that we don’t? Should we be worried?

Final stop: a stunning waterfall with a natural swimming hole. Noa invited us in for a dip. I passed. The only thing wetter than the pool was my seat after a few hours of jungle jolting. But Hayley, Michael and Livvie jumped in and swore it was worth it. Maybe next time. (There will be no next time.)

Thirty-seven kilometres and eight hours later, we emerged back into civilisation, emotionally and physically rattled—but smiling. Noa was a legend. We were wrecked.

Late in the evening and worn out we decided dinner was vending machine pizza, (a big mistake but that story is for another time) and I’ve never been more grateful. All I wanted was a hot bath, a bucket of Radox and possibly a new spine.

Still… what. a. day. yet again

Whats the best or most terrifying family adventure you have had?