SLOW MO IN THE SOUTH SEAS

One afternoon not long ago, my wife and I were coming out of the Caprice des Iles, a pleasant, casual island restaurant, after lunch on the veranda. The blue South Pacific was twinkling under a gentle breeze. The sun was so bright, the air so humid, the hills so green and overgrown that photosynthesis threatened to become audible.

Amid this seeming paradise, our waiter sidled over to me like a racetrack tout and said in suave, French-accented English: “We have live music tonight. American girl. Autoharp. Interesting.”

As the waiter reached the last word of his autoharp suggestion, one of his eyebrows arched like a furry little Arc de Triomphe, suggesting, I think, that as long as I remained on this island, I was unlikely to encounter another entertainment option of this magnitude.

Later, when friends asked exactly what we did in Moorea, Mary Frances and I tried to give the flavor of the place by describing this moment. But when we finished jointly recounting this snippet, they were still waiting, the same unspoken word spelled out on each face. And . . ?

And nothing, OK? Narratives just don’t hold up too well on Moorea because you’re always making plans and forgetting to follow through, or hearing things and neglecting to act on them. We didn’t go back to hear the autoharp. (Does anyone anywhere ever go back to hear an autoharp?) We lazed in the lagoon, on the sand, in lagoon, on sand, in restaurant, in room, on sand, in bar, on sand, in lagoon. . . . So when, in the middle of this blue-green blur of non-achievement, that waiter offered his little tip, we each knew, given the pace and tenor of the place, that this odd but modest moment would have to stand as our Vacation Anecdote.

But a great vacation need not produce a great anecdote. And though some worldly types may view Moorea as a sort of Polynesian second banana--the tiny sidekick to Tahiti or the perennial beauty-pageant runner-up to its other famous French Polynesian neighbor, Bora-Bora--Moorea remains a world-class producer of languor. And a great vacation does need languor.

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So, Moorea. It lies about 15 miles west of Tahiti (the capital of the Society Islands, still under French control), about 100 miles southeast of Bora-Bora. Its shapely volcanic contours are clad in lush greenery. Deep blue lagoon waters lick at its beaches. A single, 39-mile-long ring road carries virtually all of its traffic. Air and water temperatures hover about 80 degrees year-round, although there’s more rain from December through April.

I don’t really understand why, but daylight seems brighter here, and night darker, than anywhere else. Most Californians arrive via an eight-hour flight from LAX to the Papeete airport on Tahiti, then a 10-minute hop from the big island to its tiny neighbor. So far, French visitors outnumber Americans.

There are 15 hotels and about 11,000 permanent residents, many of whom take ferries each day to jobs on Tahiti. The highest volcanic peak reaches about 4,000 feet, a fine sight, I’m sure, from the yachts that congregate in Moorea’s twin bays, Cook’s and Opunohu. (Those names notwithstanding, it was in Opunohu that Capt. Cook anchored in the 1760s.)

Unlike its Caribbean counterparts, Moorea is not heavily trafficked by cruise ships. Only one--the new, smallish and quite pricey M.S. Paul Gauguin--has a long-term French Polynesian assignment. So instead of large gaggles of cruisers on shopping missions with tight schedules, Moorea sees twosomes and foursomes who have no appointments. They walk and bike around the ring road, sharing the shoulder with stray dogs, chickens and children (half the island’s population is said to be under age 20), stopping to eat when the aroma of seafood or pizza and French fries becomes too much for them.

One day Mary Frances and I did bestir ourselves to plunk down $20 and paddle a pair of kayaks out in the lagoon, but less than halfway through our allotted two hours, we got hungry and paddled back in. Another day we meant to rent bicycles . . . but never got around to it. We did sign on for a daylong circle cruise around the island (about $40 a head, lunch on an outlying islet and snorkeling included). Out on the water, we spotted a pod of cavorting dolphins and then beheld, beneath the fine mist of a blowhole blast, two very large humpback whales, perhaps 15 yards from our boat. Which was invigorating, but required no actual effort on our part.

We could have hiked, taken four-wheel-drive excursions, ridden horses, signed up for diving instruction. But we didn’t get around to it. As several Moorean waiters can attest, we also made no advances on the French language. Aside from Mary Frances’ attainment of her deepest tan in years, we basically achieved nothing. It was great.

The island’s most sociable beach, and a favorite of locals, is Temae, with long white expanses of sand near the airport and the Sofitel hotel. Naked children bound through the surf, French snorkelers emerge from tame expeditions. Between customers at the snack cart, the proprietor broods over her next move in a checkers game.

The best place for a broad view is the Belvedere Lookout, whose panorama takes in both bays and the exotic landscape that cradles them. And there’s a bonus: At Le Snack Car du Belvedere, a mainstay at the site for 12 years, you can get a sandwich, a crepe, an ice cream and a piece of fruit for $8, slouch in a plastic chair under a parasol, and watch the chickens patrol the area. Behind le car, the proprietress paints pareos, which are also for sale.

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For those looking to be entertained, a few of the hotels stage Polynesian cultural shows: tiki torches burn, girls and women dance in coconut-shell bikini tops, men drum, twirl flaming batons and lift heavy rocks. In its own mini-lagoon, the Beachcomber Parkroyal’s Dolphin Quest operation houses a handful of dolphins that cavort and pose in the shallow water with tourists who pay $65 per adult, $45 for children 5 to 12.

At Tiki Theatre Village (admission $10), about 40 artisans etch tattoos, sculpt and demonstrate various islands arts. We wandered the village on a slow day in the company of a bare-chested guide named Fred, who looked like Mowgli from “The Jungle Book” but was actually an erstwhile Parisian who had arrived three months before. Pausing for juice, we watched a boy inexpertly rehearsing his stick-twirling, then settled our gazes on a tall, handsome man, also lunching, whose body was covered by tattoos in traditional geometric patterns. Mr. Polynesia 1989, whispered Fred. (Tiki Village stages Polynesian shows on Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.)

Are all tropical island holidays alike? To some degree, yes. Here, as elsewhere, we brought easy books, comfortable sandals, sensible hats. We fell asleep at odd hours. But at least when compared with California’s favorite tropical islands, Oahu, Maui and company, French Polynesia is different. To begin with, it’s two hours more of flying before the wheels touch down, the ramp rolls out and someone drapes the hibiscus lei around your neck. But there’s more than that.

Even now, with the French hoping to replace the islands’ lost military revenues (largely from staging those much-protested, now-discontinued nuclear tests) by luring more Americans to their corner of Polynesia, the tourist’s Moorea is a slower, wilder, less posed and more pricey place than the tourist’s Hawaii.

To be sure, there are drawbacks to this. Order a cheeseburger just about anywhere and the tab is likely to reach double figures. A banana split at the Hibiscus Hotel’s Sunset restaurant? Ten dollars. Spend $400 a night for a luxury bungalow and you’ll still probably get molasses-slow service in the hotel lobby and restaurant. No attitude, but no alacrity either.

Similarly, you can spend $280 a night for standard double accommodation at the Beachcomber Parkroyal (that’s the brochure rate) and be directed to a drab, quasi-kitschy box that looks suspiciously like a Howard Johnson’s room with bidet. The Parkroyal’s bungalows are better. But after sleeping at the Parkroyal and investigating elsewhere, I think a big spender’s better choice would be the stylish Sofitel on the other side of the island. And there are more several modest, sometimes downright rustic hotels around Moorea, such as Les Tipaniers (see Guidebook), which rent garden bungalows for less than $150 nightly, some with kitchenettes. If we go back, Les Tipaniers is where we’ll stay.

You can rebel against the idea of paying $30 for a 15-minute taxi ride, as I did, but you may find yourself signing for a Europcar rental at--pick your poison--$140 per day for two days; or $60 per day, plus roughly $1 per mile. (Considering that and the gasoline prices of about $4 per gallon, we probably should have conceded some independence and relied instead on Le Truck, the public bus service, which makes five to seven circuits per day at $2 per ride.)

But hey, it’s only money, and the baguettes are only 40 cents. And the damage can be contained if you take one of many weeklong air-hotel packages offered for $1,000 per person or less, and you do a lot of lunching on bread and cheese.

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Even if you spend more and risk recurring sticker shock, the place is a good bet to tranquilize you. Moorea moves much more slowly than Tahiti, and because it’s bigger than Bora-Bora, it offers more beach acreage, more places to stroll and hike, and about twice as many hotels, restaurants and shops. Despite the acceleration of construction in recent years, there’s not one hotel on Moorea more than three stories high. There’s no McDonald’s, no Hyatt, no Hilton, no Hard Rock Cafe, no Senor Frog’s. There is a Club Med, whose 350 rooms make it by far the largest hotel on the island. And there’s a flourishing souvenir trade: Black pearls figure prominently, as do brightly colored pareos, which locals and foreigners alike fold into shawls, blouses and skirts.

For more ambitious purchases, look for the sign marking Kilometer 25 (all mileage is counted from the airport, then keep an eye out for the Galerie Api and the pink bathtub in its beach-adjacent garden. Proprietor Patrice Brendel has assembled an inventory of 18th, 19th and 20th century Pacific Island art that ranges from a $25,000 Gauguin block print to a selection of signed lithographs ($400 each) by Francois Ravello, an Italian who is probably the island’s most prominent living artist. His images are usually casual island scenes, rendered in a thick-lined style that suggests cloisonne enamel work or stained-glass.

We managed to resist purchasing art or pearls. Our minor splurge came instead at the Moorea Distillery and Fruit Juice Factory above Opunohu Bay, where Mary Frances, lured by the sleek colored bottles and exotic island liqueurs and spices, laid out $65 for a bagful of things.

Surveying the well-stocked warehouse (and vaguely making conversation), I asked the woman behind the counter the largest amount she’d ever seen one customer spend. Once, she told me, a man came in from a luxury cruise ship and spent $30,000, all on drinks. Hundreds of bottles.

“He was a big drinker,” the lady said.

Perhaps. Or maybe he was just looking ahead to that day when he reappeared at home, tan and rested. Someone would ask exactly what he’d been doing on Moorea, and all he’d have to do is grin and hand over a bottle.

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GUIDEBOOK

Polynesian Playground

Getting there: Air France, AOM French Airlines and Air New Zealand fly nonstop from LAX to Tahiti, with low-season (January-May) round-trip rates beginning at $768. (Holiday season rates will be substantially higher.) Moorea is another 10-minute flight away from Tahiti via Air Tahiti, about $30 each way.

Packages: Before you book flights and hotels separately, consider a package deal that combines lodging and air fare, often with substantial savings. Beginning in January such packages can begin as low as $800 per person, including air fare from Los Angeles, for seven nights on Moorea and one on Tahiti. For travel in late November or December, prices for a comparable trip are likely to start about $1,400 each, and availability is low. Among the leading package-tour companies for French Polynesia: Fantasy Holidays, Islands in the Sun, Jetset Tours, Pleasant Tahitian Holidays, Runaway Tours, Tahiti Legends, Tahiti Nui’s Island Dreams and Tahiti Vacations. Most work through travel agents, not directly with travelers.

Where to stay: If you’re living it up, consider the Hotel Sofitel Ia Ora (telephone 011-689-41-04-04, fax 011-689-41-05-05), where 20 over-water bungalows (about $420 per night) were added in late 1996. In all, there are 110 bungalows, an international restaurant, bar. Rates for two: $225 and up.

Club Med (tel. [800] 258-2633 or 011-689-55-00-00) is the largest lodging on the island, and offers multiple water sports. Package rates start at $1,763 per person, double occupancy, for a seven-night stay in a garden view room, including round-trip air fare from LAX and all meals.

Hotel les Tipaniers (tel. 011-689-56-12-67, fax 011-689-56-29-25) is easier to overlook, sitting between the Beachcomber Parkroyal Hotel and the Club Med, but worth finding; 22 bungalows with restaurant (see below) and bar. Free use of bicycles and outrigger canoes. Accommodations basic. Rates of about $110 for a garden bungalow (with kitchenette, sleeping up to four people), $15 more for a beach bungalow.

Where to eat: Les Tipaniers (local telephone 56-12-67) has a pleasant, low-key Italian restaurant; dinner main courses about $9.50-$21. Caprice des Iles (Km 5; tel. 56-44-24), located across the road from Cook’s Bay, has European dishes, Polynesian salads; dinner main courses $9-$23. Alfredo’s (about Km 8; tel. 56-17-71) features Italian seafood, pastas and pizzas; dinner entrees $11.50-$21.50. Club Bali Hai (Km 7.5; tel. 56-13-68), has a breathtaking sunset view of Cook’s Bay; fresh pineapple juice $4.80, mai tais $7.

For more information: Tahiti Tourisme, 300 Continental Blvd., Suite 180, El Segundo, CA 90245; tel. (310) 414-8484, fax (310) 414-8490.