The tree house. The Carlson who lives.... Did anyone dream as a child of building a small, cosy house somewhere behind a chimney on an old roof, or among the spreading branches of a tree? And did anyone actually build one? At last, we have visited that very house belonging to a traveller and adventurer who lives in a tree in the jungle of a tropical island.
After spending nearly five days at Moorea and doing a thorough job of roaming the valleys and hills of the most beautiful island in the world, we and the crew of Blagovestiye were getting ready to leave for Tahiti. But someone who emerged from the depths of the sea right astern changed our plans. It turned out to be Zhenya, who has a tree house.
The mountains of Moorea from the sea
Zhenya arrived in Tahiti by hitching a ride on a yacht back in July. With a parachute, a mess tin and a tent. The parachute was for jumping off cliffs; the tent was a temporary home. The plan was to find a sturdy tree beside a cliff, build a house among its branches, sleep there at night and fly beneath the canopy by day.
There was no suitable tree on Tahiti, but nearby was the island of Moorea, whose sharp peaks promised both a tree house and an adrenaline rush. A suitable sheer cliff rises to the left of the entrance to Cook's Bay. A road through a pineapple field, then a path through the island jungle—and there it was, the tree of his dreams. A painted wall from an old bungalow became the floor; the roof and walls were made of palm leaves. From an abandoned, half-submerged yacht, our Robinson fished out a few dishes and an aluminium saucepan, put a spirit burner inside it, and voilà—a stove. Rice and tea go in the army mess tin.
Nobody's Going Anywhere
Why not? I say. Let's not weigh anchor now; let's do it this evening. Zhenya has a point—we'll move over to Cook's Bay, pay him a visit, then in the evening we'll unfurl the sails, spit on the engine three times so it doesn't conk out again, and off we go!
The children are always up for anything, Max approves, and Andryukha, after some thought, yields to the gentle but powerful force and gives the go-ahead. Zhenya the forest man dashes off to fetch his bike, and with his transport mounted in front of the mast, we set off for Cook's Bay.
On the way, Zhenya confides to the young sailors that he isn't just anybody, but a real pirate. And it is entirely possible that his tree house is somewhere near buried treasure. Young Ladunya is filled with determination to look for it.
While the first party—Zhenya and the children—teleports ashore, I have time to cook dinner for the hungry wolves we will resemble when we return to the yacht that evening.
Approaching the Sacred Tree
As promised, first it is about fifteen minutes along the ring road, past two churches.
“See that little building by the church? I used to keep my parachute there; it's a convenient place to spread it out under the roof. But one evening the local pastor spotted me here while I was taking the parachute away, and then again in the morning when I came back for it. So the pastor thought I'd spent the night here. And he started shouting. Well, I don't understand French, so I explained to him that only the parachute had spent the night here. But he kept shouting anyway—it was hard for him to change tack so quickly.”
We turn off the main road onto a dirt track running alongside a pineapple field.
“Stay close together and don't touch the pineapples, or you'll anger the neighbour. Though actually nobody here likes him. So everyone else doesn't mind me living above him. But he's angry—he used to be the top dog, and now somebody has moved in higher up than him.”
View of the bay and pineapple fields
We climb up the brow along the edge of the field. Even from here, the view is like Paris—“see it and die.” What will it be like higher up?
In places we have to scramble to reach the house, and our fearless young sailor whimpers that her sandals are slipping on the slope.
We almost run nose-first into the sheer cliff, and there it is—a huge banyan holding the St Petersburg adventurer's dwelling aloft on its stilt-like trunks. Incidentally, in many countries, from Thailand to Mexico, the banyan is revered as a sacred tree. Spirits, saints and Holy Spirits live in it. So this Polynesian tree house has grown in exactly the right place :).
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The House That Zhek Built
We took off our shoes at the entrance, as one should, and all eight of us went inside, including the owner. Natasha had taken the ferry to Tahiti early that morning—work.
On the pedestal-stool are a couple of books; useful odds and ends sit in pockets on the wall; there is a hearth, a camping mat, a tarpaulin and a torch. A terrace with the finest view on the island, and a fresh breeze! The owner spent about a month building his little house, scraping together materials from wherever he could find them. In heavy rain it gets wet here—the builder has not yet mastered all the intricacies of laying a watertight palm-leaf roof, or perhaps he does not need to. He can't spend his whole life building huts; it is time to head farther out into the ocean. Before cyclone season, our pirate plans to teleport aboard some yacht heading towards New Zealand.
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The Founding Father's Story
Zhenya is not only a BASE jumper (incidentally, he has already jumped from his Moorea cliff fourteen times), but also an engineer. Back home, he designed keels for sailing yachts. They say that with his keel, boats from Moscow and St Petersburg became Russian champions. Afterwards, this living legend worked in Japan on a contract. He used to enjoy going for bicycle rides at night. No, of course he returned the borrowed bike to its place by morning—nothing criminal about it )). But one day the police nabbed him; there were also some problems with his documents, and as a result our dear thrill-seeking engineer was ceremoniously deported from the Land of the Rising Sun. Well, what else could he do? He had to make a couple of quick jumps from towers in his historic homeland and then clear off to sea. It turns out that for a while he lived and sailed aboard the yacht Smetana, whose owner, Ilya, we became friends with on Fatu Hiva ... It's a small ocean world :).
That very Ilya and our young sailor setting off on a hike on Fatu Hiva
The first time he leapt from the cliff on Moorea was frightening—the height is relatively low, and you have to pull the ripcord in the second second of the fall. What if there isn't enough time to bleed off speed and you end up smashed flat? But there is enough time, and our super-jumper manages to land in the pineapple field, neatly between the rows. Only once did he drift into the pineapples themselves. There is not much joy in that—the plants are covered in some serious spines, and the pleasure of landing arse-first among them is highly questionable. But the owner of the field is still furious; he isn't used to people flying back and forth over his land.
Tasks, Plans and the Pirate Cat
Before leaving Moorea, Zhenya has one important task: a rat needs to be eaten. Why should it rustle around at night and steal food? Of course, he won't be the one eating it. A kitten has already been ordered from Tahiti for that purpose. The kitten will undergo initiation by rat, be christened Pirate and become a true sea cat—it will set sail with its owner. Until then, life without a cat just isn't the same. Incidentally, an acquaintance of ours who works for an environmental organisation on Tahiti says that a cat would spell certain doom for Moorea. They have spent years trying to eradicate cats from the island, because these animals, which are not native to the islands, devour rare tropical birds...
Don't imagine that all our friend does in the tropics is risk breaking his neck and live rough in between. Zhenya found work as an electrician at a hotel. You couldn't find a competent electrician on the island for love or money, and our dashing pirate is an excellent engineer. Everyone wins: the owner pays the illegal worker several times less, while the worker gets cash in hand, no questions asked. Enough for rice and tea.
Zhenya sees us all the way to the pier. After a hug, we agree to keep in touch and definitely meet in New Zealand—with him and his as-yet-virtual pirate cat. And just let them try refusing visas to all of us! Though come to think of it, I don't think they let cats into New Zealand... 🙂
The Tree House: A Photo Report
The designer floor in the house
View from the path
The village and a piece of the cliff Zhenya jumps from
The owner on the terrace
The view of us
The owner on the terrace
The edge of the terrace
Chief designer
A pull-up-bar swing for stretching his back
Guests
And another angle