The Godfather of Pacific atolls

Marlon Brando's South Pacific atoll is stunning. However, in a thank-you letter to its absentee owner, AUDREY YOUNG offers a few tips on how to improve the trip to paradise.

Dear Mr Brando,

I feel compelled to write to you after returning to Tahiti from a day trip to your stunning atoll, Tetiaroa, to say thank you, but also to raise a few concerns.

You've got to be admired for sharing your little patch of paradise. It's not every Hollywood star who would do that. I won't complain that you weren't there to lay out the welcome mat - that's asking too much of a recluse.

And I won't complain that it's a business and not a national park. I mean, you can't live on your reputation alone.

I was told you leave the day-to-day operations of the Tetiaroa tourism business to one of your sons, Tehotu.

I was going to write to him to say thank you for the day out, but then I thought about it. Your name is the draw card for visitors: "Marlon Brando's private atoll, "it says on all the brochures. So I thought you should know how it's all going from a consumer's point of view.

Cynthia, the Hawaiian woman at the airport check-in, says you have been too busy to visit the retreat for 10 years. I believe her because she has worked for you for 18 years and must know you pretty well.

She is excellent at her job, by the way.

You might remember the day I went to Tetiaroa because it was April 3, your 76th birthday. You weren't in Tahiti, Cynthia said, but she didn't know where you were. Maybe you were at your house in Hollywood.

Five of us were travelling together. It was a 10-seater plane and the flight was full.

Check-in was a buzz at first because Tehotu was sitting there, next to Cynthia, dressed in black, wearing shades and reading the newspaper. He looked like a darker, younger, thinner version of you, really. A very nice-looking young man.

But then I almost dropped dead when Cynthia dropped her bombshell. She said that because of weight limits on the plane, we all had to stand on the scales and tell her our weight. She didn't mean pop out the back and write it in code on a piece of paper. She meant jump on the scales in front of the check-in counter, facing out towards everybody, and tell her out loud what they said.

The colour drained from my face, or the blood rushed to it. I was too shocked to tell which.

When a 40-something woman is, shall we say, past her most svelte, it's an unusual punishment to make her climb on the scales in an airport and declare her weight, and even more cruel to make her do it in front of the hulking son of a famous film star.

You of all people, Marlon - may I call you Marlon? - should be able to imagine how mortifying that would be.

Would they make you get on the scales in public? Then it dawned on me. Yes, they probably would, and that's why you haven't been to Tetiaroa for 10 years.

Anyway, I mumbled my weight to Cynthia, and she looked upon me with pity. But I have to say I told her what I'm sure it is and not what those clapped-out old scales said it was. Perhaps they need a little reconditioning.

Better still, why not throw them out altogether and get a modern digital set which can be read only by Cynthia?

You must understand that we New Zealanders are especially sensitive, not just because so many of us were raised on butter but because we've also been raised on quite strict privacy laws.

I mentioned my little nightmare to Bruce Slane, our Privacy Commissioner. He did not offer the sympathy I needed but said overweight planes can kill. However, he suggested you use scales that face towards Cynthia.

After a 20-minute flight we arrived at the airstrip on Onetahi motu. We were allowed to wander around the hotel and poke about in the rustic, thatch-roofed bungalows in the grounds, all beautifully shaded by coconut palms.

My group teamed up with a bigger party of about 20, mainly French, for a boat trip across the lagoon to a white-sand bird sanctuary and then back for a catered lunch on the beach under the palms.

Two Tahitian youths took turns at the tiller and playing the ukulele against a brilliant aquamarine backdrop. Honestly, the only thing missing was the white border around the postcard.

Like most youths, they were pretty uncommunicative. It might have been helpful to know something about the bird sanctuary. But I don't suppose you go to paradise for a lecture from a couple of teenagers on the mating habits of the rare Tetiaroa brown petrel. It was enough that they looked lovely. The birds were quite nice, too.

If you haven't been there for 10 years, you might not know that lunch is served at the southern end of Onetahi, about a kilometre from the hotel, under a home-made flax canopy.

Your staff brings the meal down from the hotel in big serving dishes on the back of a tractor and trailer.

There is plenty of everything: tuna, prawns, chicken, salad, fresh tropical fruits and wine. The only thing missing is a toilet.

Cynthia said to go in the lagoon. But - this is my last grizzle - I don't think that is on. Tetiaroa might be paradise au naturel but I reckon it's paradise 2000 as well. If we're away from the hotel for four hours, is it asking too much to dig a pit toilet behind a couple of palm trees for a bit of privacy?

Or I could recommend a few New Zealand companies who specialise in portable chemical toilets.

Don't be concerned by my letter. I'm sure Tehotu has the business in hand.

All in all, it was a memorable day out. It didn't come cheap at $400. But as Cynthia pointed out, it would have cost only a little extra - $480 in total - to make a night of it in a double bungalow.

I would be more than happy to return to Tetiaroa to check this out. But why not go yourself and get the lie of the land again?

You have gone through some unthinkable tragedies associated with Tahiti in the 38 years since you fell in love with and married Tarita Teraiipaia, your co-star in Mutiny on the Bounty.

We know your son Christian from an earlier marriage was sent to prison for the killing of your pregnant daughter's boyfriend. And five years ago, that same daughter, Cheyenne, ended her own tortured life in Tahiti.

But if ever there was a place made for soothing an anguished soul, it is your own Tetiaroa.

I started out thanking you for sharing your atoll with the world. But you don't share it, do you? You are the one missing out.

Call Cynthia today.

P.S. If you really can't abide your own paradise, come for a visit to New Zealand. I promise we won't weigh you.

* Audrey Young visited Marlon's place courtesy of Air New Zealand and Air Tahiti.

Casenotes:

GETTING THERE: Air New Zealand flies Auckland to Tahiti four times a week. Fares range from $900 to $1500 return. Qantas flies three times with fares ranging from $1000 to $1149.

WHEN: Average temp, 28 deg C.

CONTACT: Tahiti Tourisme, 36 Douglas St, Ponsonby, Auckland (09) 360 8880, fax (09) 360 8891, e-mail: lolac@tahiti-tourisme.co.nz