Years after an idyllic honeymoon ensconced in a beach bungalow, I returned to the Hotel Bora Bora. This time, though, I arrived in the back of a pickup truck, jammed in with a fire dancer and his troupe. It was a banger of a truck, growling and aromatic as it sped along in the moonlight, everyone singing.

I found myself in such grand company thanks to Patrick Tairua whom I'd met at the Le Maitai Polynesia Bora Bora after his show there. He was breathless from exertion and gleaming with perspiration. His tattoos shone like wet ink. No wonder -- he had just vaulted up a palm tree, hacked down some coconuts and torn one apart with his teeth. He had juggled torches lit at both ends, walked on fire and swallowed flames, all to the wild beat of sharkskin drums. He does all this a couple of times a night.

Because I am from Hawaii and dance hula, he invited me along to his next show. There's a carefully nurtured sisterhood and brotherhood among Polynesian dancers, and that was all the credential I needed.

"My grandfather was the best male dancer in all of French Polynesia," Patrick said. "He told me I was chosen to dance. Parents and aunties took us to Heiva every July. Half the island would be there. They'd watch the dancing with us and point and comment.

Heiva Rau is a two-plus-week festival that celebrates Bora-Bora's cultural traditions. Baraques, stalled festooned with flowers, serve as restaurants, game halls, bars, dance floors and pool halls. Everyone plays Tahitian roulette, and the winners take home bags of rice, tins of corned beef and whole suckling pigs. The highlight of the festival, however, is always the dancing. Everyone comes to watch, sing and move to the music they've heard from the womb while their mothers danced the aparima.

We pulled up to the Hotel Bora Bora and rushed through the lobby to the beach. The luau was already pulsing, mai tais flowing. Patrick was borne in upon the shoulders of two other fire dancers. Everyone gasped. I stood ankle-deep in the lagoon and remembered that long-ago honeymoon when my husband and I had gone for a midnight swim and how the wind sounded in the thatching at night.

On that first visit to Bora-Bora, my husband and I had ridden around the island on old clunky bicycles. The same melancholy fragrance of frangipani was in the air, the same rich, clean scent of the tides and the coconutty breezes.

I recall gazing upon the jagged peak of Otemanu and thinking it was so dramatic -- and familiar -- that I must have conjured it from some imprint made on my soul before birth.

At Vaitape, we discovered the Chin Lee store, where we picked up just-baked baguettes, a slab of the creamiest Camembert and a bottle of French champagne. We pedaled home and picnicked on the deck of our own bungalow over the lagoon, dropping crumbs to schools of gem-colored fish.

Over the years, I've become a Bora-Bora regular, visiting during many passages of life. Love remains the best excuse for an escape to this storied island, and a bicycle the most intimate way to get acquainted -- although a pickup truck full of dancers on a moonlit night isn't too bad, either.

PLAN YOUR TRIP!

Why Here? The island landscape is like a perfectly painted picture of Polynesian paradise, and it's a place we all dream of -- c'mon, admit it.

Why Now? For two-plus weeks, Bora-Bora -- and Tahiti -- celebrates its culture, traditions and native identity during Heiva Rau. This year's festival starts June 29 and culminates July 14. Expect everything from fire walking to fireworks; and you may even win a pig. tahiti-tourisme.com