Message in a Bottle

While in Ha'apai, I spent a lot of my time there exploring the beaches that extended seemingly endlessly to the left and right of my "resort." Only once did I see another person on the beach (and that's counting the other guests, who spent most of their time at the expat drinking hole). On my last day in Ha’apai, the tides lined up well for a walk on the beach past a few places that had stopped me at high tide. I didn't get much further, though, before I found a message in a bottle! There were always liquor bottles on the beach, but this one was corked with a note inside. I was soon deep in thought about the likelihood of finding a treasure map, or a beautiful castaway who needed rescuing.

The cork came out easily enough (credit the Swiss Army), but getting the note out was a pain. I thought of just smashing the bottle, but I want to be part of the solution to broken glass on the beach, not the problem! I finally got it out with homemade driftwood chopsticks, though it was a little worst for wear. The note was in French, and read (as I could make out):

"Hello from the ocean, 3 July 07 from French Polynesia. My name is Paul, I am 7 years old, I was born in [not sure], and I think throwing garbage in the ocean is bad. If you agree then phone me [some massive pacific number] or even if you don't agree. Talk to you soon, Paul."

I put away my eye patch, and the hopes that the note would prove to be my "in" with the Pacific pirate community as some kind of anonymous pirate-y letter of recommendation. But still, pretty neat, I thought. Although using an empty liquor bottle thrown in the ocean as your method of explaining your anti-littering stance is kinda like using a loudspeaker to tell your neighbours you want noise control laws.

In November 2009, my last month in Tonga, I called Paul.  His Mom answered the phone and didn't speak a word of English. With my awkward French, I explained why I was asking if her now 9 year old son was home, and put her mind at ease.

Just as she began to get very very excited about the message, the credit on my phone ran out. I biked furiously to the nearest Chinese shop, bought 20 pa'anga worth of credit, and called again.

I finished my story and we exchanged e-mail addresses, though I haven't heard from them again and the e-mail I wrote down didn't work (I blame my poor recall of the French alphabet). Who would have thought that it's about $3 a minute to call French Polynesia.  Obviously, I haven't phoned again. Still, now Paul knows someone found his letter and called, even if we never had time to discuss my own stance on ocean littering.