Closing my eyes and taking a big sniff, I could swear there’s a whiffy blue cheese in front of me. But I’m not even close.

It’s a noni – a leathery green fruit with soft white flesh and big seeds, not unlike a custard apple – and it’s said to have been spread across the Pacific by Polynesian sailors. 

I’d never come across this tropical fruit before my visit to Tahiti, but it’s strangely fitting that it carries the aroma of a Parisian fromagerie; a metaphorical expression of the intertwined yet disparate cultures of mainland France and French Polynesia. 

While it’s often easy to forget that a slice of France exists down here in our hemisphere, Tahiti’s role in the Paris Olympics – as the location for the surfing competition – is a timely reminder. 

If you were to put a skewer through France on a globe, it would pop out on the other side somewhere in the vicinity of the 118 scattered islands that make up French Polynesia.

The relaxed island culture is as far removed from the bustle and grind of Paris and Marseilles as you can get, yet French Polynesia is part of France (maybe the name gave it away), and French Polynesians are French citizens.

But if you visit this South Pacific paradise – also known as ‘the islands of Tahiti’ – do you actually feel like you’re in France? 

Well, yes and no.

First up, the minute a local opens their mouth, you’ll hear the romantic inflections of French, the official language.

Merci, au revoir, s’il vous plaît – your pocketful of French phrases will certainly help, and the further you get from the trodden tourist islands of Bora Bora, Tahiti and Mo’orea, the deeper you’ll have to dig to facilitate compréhension. 

That said, the most common greeting is ‘ia orana’, the Tahitian version of ‘g’day’.

Travelling around, it’s clear the Tahitian language is incredibly important to the local ma’ohi’ people.

The fact the French government forbade use of the local language in schools until the 1970s is a sticking point. As is the fact that the French government tested 200 nuclear bombs in French Polynesia between 1966 and 1996, which comes up more than once in conversation.

Though many French Polynesians now have blended ancestry – most commonly Polynesian, French (European) and Chinese – few local-born people identify as French. 

“Look at me,” says our local guide, Heinui, who shows us around the Marae Taputapuātea, a UNESCO World Heritage site on the island of Ra’iātea, believed to be the birthplace of Polynesian culture.

Heinui’s arms and torso are adorned in traditional tattoos and he’s wearing a ‘hei’ – a wreath made of palm fronds. He pauses to draw a circle around his face with his index finger. “I have leaves on my head. Clearly, I am not French.” 

While Tahitians typically don’t identify as French, many French Europeans are drawn to French Polynesia, firstly, as tourists (outside Bora Bora, Tahiti and Mo’orea you’d be hard-strapped finding a tourist who isn’t French) – with some then deciding it’s too good to leave (in 2022, 8.8 per cent of French Polynesia’s inhabitants were natives of mainland France). 

It maybe French, but it’s a long way from Paris. Photo: Gregoire Le Bacon

Gael, our Polynesian guide from Mo’orea Fishing Adventures, who we join on a beautiful lagoon tour, swimming with black-tip sharks, green turtles and stingrays, laments the loss of Tahitian culture through colonisation.

“We don’t hate the French, and we understand why they want to live here, as it’s paradise,” he says, perched on the edge of his boat. 

With outstretched arms, he looks towards the rugged mountains that stretch towards the heavens like nature’s version of Notre Dame, towering over the sparkling, turquoise lagoon. “But it’s our country, it’s not France.” 

In the background, our skipper, Tau, splashes in the water, summoning stingrays, which he gently strokes as they glide past. It’s clear the ma’ohi people are at one with nature and their land, and their lifestyle is vastly different to those living in mainland France. 

Though there’s historical tension (and, let’s be frank, a little modern tension), French culture has permeated Tahitian culture, particularly when it comes to food.

Baguettes are served at nearly every meal (and are sold by the basketload at supermarkets, alongside an extensive range of pâté), and French wine dominates wine lists. It’s also not unusual to see steak tartare, crème brûlée and even foie gras on restaurant menus.

Baguettes compete with local produce in downtown Papeete. Photo: Getty

In downtown Papeete, if you took away the humidity and palm trees, you could almost be fooled into thinking you were in the south of France, with locals pecking each other on both cheeks in greeting.

Parisian-style street lanterns line the main boulevard and the harbour houses bobbing rows of luxury yachts. Walk anywhere beyond the waterfront however, and you’re back in Tahiti, strolling amongst stores selling black pearls and floaty floral dresses, and dodging the chickens and roosters that roam the streets.

As Tama, who guides us around the crystalline lagoon on the island of Taha’a surmises: “We’re French on our passports, but not in our soul”. 

So while French Polynesia certainly has a whiff of France, there’s a deep-rooted culture and connection to community, sea and land that can never compare to Europe – and its beauty lies therein.