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The hand-printed pareos made in the French Polynesia region are seductive and stunning. Take a reminder of the islands' magic home with you-as a souvenir.

We couldn't have been more excited: After a long, cold winter, my husband, Greg, and I planned to take a relaxing vacation in French Polynesia. These islands, with their tranquil blue lagoons, palm-tree-fringed beaches, verdant volcanic peaks and gentle winds perfumed with tropical blooms, are justly famous for their seductive charms.

We wanted to see as much of this alluring region as possible, so we mapped out an itinerary that would allow us to sample three different islands: remote Rangiroa, lush Moorea and sexy Bora Bora.

As we stepped off the plane in Rangiroa and were greeted with necklaces of fresh tiare flowers, I felt a growing excitement. No more scarves and hats—for almost two weeks we would be soaking up the sun.

Of course, as is true of many couples, our ideas of relaxation diverge a bit. My dive-fanatic husband couldn't wait to get underwater. Rangiroa is the second largest atoll in the world, and one of the world's best scuba-diving spots. Its nutrient-rich waters attract an amazing array of fish as well as big predators, like hammerhead sharks and giant moray eels—and Greg was looking forward to seeing them all.

As for me, I was happy to stay on dry land. I kissed Greg good-bye as he headed off to join a group of divers, and then I set out on a rented bike to explore this sparsely populated, low-lying island. (It's flat, really—making it perfect for a casual bike ride.) I'd only ridden a few hundred yards when I came across a small roadside stand with a sign reading "Ocean Passion. Hand-painted pareos." Curious to see some of these hand-dyed wraps, I leaned my bike against a palm tree and rang the bell. A few seconds later, the stand's owner, artist Caroline Gripoix, appeared in the doorway.

"Bonjour," she greeted me, smiling cheerfully.

I noticed right away that the patterns on Caroline's cotton pareos reflected the island's flora and fauna, as well as the artist's love of the sea. One featured a sinister-looking hammerhead shark, another, a manta ray; and yet another, leaping dolphins. I bought the hammerhead design for Greg, and a lovely coral and orange number with big, bold hibiscus and tiare flowers for myself.

Caroline showed me how to wear my new wrap, twisting it around my waist so that it draped provocatively across my swimsuit.

"It's quite simple, really," she said. "You knot it here and here, give a twist here, and voilà."

Later that afternoon, Greg and I met up back in our overwater bungalow at the Novotel Rangiroa Beach Resort, and I practiced my newfound tying technique. Except I couldn't get it right. My husband watched with a bemused expression.

"It's fine," he said. But I knew better: The drape was wrong, the knot was too big, and the fabric didn't quite reach across my hips. Eventually, I gave up and followed him down to the hotel's outdoor deck for an alfresco lunch.

As we worked our way through bowls of sautéed shrimp in coconut milk, the shimmering lagoon beckoned. So, after we had mopped up the last of the creamy sauce with slices of baguette, we retired to a couple of beach chairs near the water's edge. I noticed a young girl wading in the foamy surf, a turquoise-blue pareo wrapped around her waist. Annoyed by my inability to achieve the same casual-chic look, I threw my pareo over my legs, to protect them from the sun.

That's when it hit me how incredibly versatile these basic swaths of cotton really are: Toss one over a bathing suit and you're set for the day; at night, a white or black version is a chic alternative to a flirty little sundress. They work as simple shawls, as light blankets and even as elaborate head covers. It's all in how you tie them. I opened my copy of Pareo de Tahiti, a small booklet that I had bought at the airport, and began to read, promising myself that I'd learn before I set foot on the plane to go home.

Tale as Old as Time

Too soon, it seemed, we were setting off for the pretty island of Moorea. Since there are no nonstop flights there from Rangiroa, we flew back to the main island of Tahiti and caught a ferry to make the 30-minute crossing.

Our catamaran docked at Moorea just as the sun was setting, and the jagged mountains were dramatically silhouetted against the pink-red sky. It was dark by the time we checked into the Intercontinental Resort and Spa Moorea, and the lush grounds glowed romantically with the flickering flames of tiki torches.

I awoke early the next morning and stepped onto the balcony of our oceanfront room. Directly below me, lovely flower-edged paths wound among thatch-roofed bungalows, some set on stilts on tiny little islets connected to the mainland by wooden bridges. In the distance, waves broke against the outer reef. As I sipped my coffee, I read the daily activities schedule and planned my morning—Greg was, of course, going diving again. First up for me: a visit with local artisan Marie Desgeans who, I had heard, is famous across the island for her pareos, and who visits the resort several days a week to sell her wares.

I found her down on the beach, hanging a selection of tie-dyed wraps on a line stretched between two coconut- palm trees. As she waited for customers, Marie gave me a brief history lesson. The modern pareo dates back to the old days, she said. Long before Europeans introduced cotton to the islands, in the 18th century, Tahitians wore loose-fitting garments made from tapa, bark from the mulberry tree that was pounded to a pliable, wafer-thin consistency. The sheets of tapa were stuck together with a paste made from boiled tree sap, and then spread on the ground and painted with vegetable dye—red from ginger, yellow from hibiscus, brown from nuts—and left to dry in the sun. Often they were imprinted with pieces of foliage or seashells.

Marie's technique, which she learned from a local Tahitian woman, closely resembles the ancient method. First, she helps clients choose colors and come up with a design using linoleum cutouts and decals, which they lay out on the sand next to a piece of black carpet. Next, she dips a length of white cloth into different bowls of paint for a tie-dyed effect, spreads it flat on the carpet, then quickly transfers the pre-arranged design onto the cotton, where it takes about 20 minutes to set in the blazing tropical sun.

"You need to work quickly," she explained. "There's no time to think."

As she helped a mother and daughter pick hues to match their swimsuits and gave suggestions to a honeymoon couple on the placement of initials and dates on their commemorative wraps, I noticed a sky-blue and teal pareo, edged with dolphins and sea turtles. Naturally, I couldn" head back up to the hotel without adding it to my collection.

In the afternoon, with my new purchase in hand, I joined a group of hotel guests in the lounge for a pareo-tying demonstration. This time, I followed along with my pareo, mimicking each step as a young Tahitian woman executed several cute styles.

Later, in the privacy of my guest room, I tried to re-create the most basic shape, a one-shoulder drape. It wasn't perfect—about one step up from a paper bag—but I had to smile. At least I was making progress.

All Wrapped Up

We spent the last few days of our French Polynesia idyll on the enchant-ing island of Bora Bora, where we settled into a luxurious garden suite with a private plunge pool at the Bora Bora Lagoon Resort and Spa. Together, we paddled around the island's coves in an outrigger canoe, snorkeled among the coral reefs and relaxed by the pool.

On our last morning, we lingered over a long breakfast in the dining room, watching the sleek yachts and fishing boats out at sea. As we wandered through the main lobby on our way back to the room, a table piled high with bright pareos caught my eye. They were beautifully done—made of whisper-thin cotton and decorated with simple, almost child-like graphics in bold colors. The designer, an older Tahitian woman, introduced herself to me as Mama Angel. She grinned happily as I picked one out, and pointed to a picture of a beautiful young girl dressed in a pareo of a similar style. Using simple hand gestures, I asked if she would show me how to tie it.

As others had done before, she patiently took me through the steps—wrap, twist, drape, knot, voilà. Except this time, she did it over and over again until, finally, I had it down cold.

That evening, I put on my latest acquisition, a sweet cotton wrap created by Mama Angel. I tucked a hibiscus flower in my hair and slipped on a pair of white flip-flops. As I walked along a palm-tree-lined path, inhaling the delicate scent of jasmine, I realized that in just 24 hours I'd be home, dealing with the pressures of everyday life. But for now, dressed in my simple pareo, I felt as happy and carefree as an island girl.