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Few jewels are more mesmerizing than the iridescent Tahitian black pearl. Explore the island where these glorious gifts from the sea are produced.

No matter how many photographs you've seen, you're never prepared for the beauty of the French Polynesian islands. There are so many shades of blue in the lagoons the English language doesn't offer enough words to describe all the nuances of color. Add to that the sparkling white of the ocean where it breaks on the distant reefs, an azure sky, and the dark silhouette of jagged, green, volcanic mountains, and the result is pure brilliance.

The islands are so mesmerizing that you'll want to take something home, something remarkable and more permanent than coconut soap or a pareo, the printed cotton wraps that native women traditionally wore. The answer: a gleaming black pearl, cultured in one of those breathtaking lagoons.

Black pearls—which are really not black but dark gray with green and purple and teal highlights—are cultivated at Tahiti's underwater farms. These farms are located mostly on the string of atolls that make up the Tuamotu Archipelago, which is one of Tahiti's five archipelagos. The largest concentration of these businesses is on the island of Manihi, a small atoll that's a one-hour flight from the international airport in Tahiti's capital city, Papeete. Here, the constant flow of seawater results in water so rich in nutrients and marine life that the lagoon is like a massive aquarium, perfect for pearl cultivation. I traveled to this exotic part of the world expecting a relaxing vacation in a truly remote paradise (and I got it), but the discovery of these mysterious, glamorous legendarily rare gems made my trip all the more magical.

The End of the Earth

As my plane descends toward Manihi's small airport, I look down at the narrow green strip of island between the lagoon and the endless South Pacific. I can't help but think that this tiny atoll in the middle of the ocean is truly is as far away from what's known as you can get. We land, and as I exit the thatched hut "terminal" I see a small bus and a young French woman from my hotel, the Manihi Pearl Beach Resort, who decorates my neck with a lei made of fragrant plumeria and tiare Tahiti, a member of the gardenia family and Tahiti's national flower. Intoxicated with the scent, I climb onto the bus for the short ride to my retreat.

After a welcome drink of tropical punch, the bellman escorts me to my over-water bungalow, plops down my suitcase and dramatically sweeps open the sliding doors to the wood terrace. We walk out and look down at the teeming fish in the lagoon below. "Welcome to Manihi," he says, grinning. "Beautiful, no?" Then, he races off, because tipping is not the local custom. I'm left staring at the palm trees arching over the water, the creamy beach, the patches of live coral and a lazy parrot fish gliding by.

Almost Paradise

In an attempt to stave off the inevitable jet lag, I go to lunch at the hotel restaurant, which looks out onto the shimmering turquoise lagoon. It is there that I get my first glimpse of the local treasure: The woman next to me is wearing a magnificent black pearl ring, as exotic and sophisticated as white pearls are dainty. At first glance, it sees to be dark gray, nearly black, but it has deep-green-to-teal highlights that drew me in. I find myself peering unapologetically into the luster, my nose mere inches from her hand. I'm interrupted by my waiter delivering my plate of poisson cru, a fabulous concoction of raw fish marinated in tangy lime juice, then mixed with creamy coconut milk. I eat my poisson cru in silence, grinning like an idiot.

After lunch, I decide to check out the resort's jewelry boutique. There are inky pearl earrings, extravagant strands of gray-purple pearls and—most surprising—incredibly beautiful single pearls sitting in ring boxes as though they are as valuable as engagement rings. (Those individual pearls started at about $150.) The shopkeeper tells me many people buy the loose ones, then have them set back in the states by their own jewelers. As I listen to her explain how the pearls are cultivated right here on the island's tiny farms, I think it seems odd that the elegant pieces in the cases had their start in what was basically a shack with a pier by the sea. I decide to sign up for a boat tour a local pearl farm.

Pearls of Wisdom

Our tour guide is Lowana Carrion, a stunning young French woman, who is spending a year on Manihi learning the family business and quickly becoming an expert. She begins her lecture with a fact that shocks most people: Tahitian pearls are actually cultivated from beads that are made from the shell lining of Mississippi River mussels, and imported from the United States. The size of the pearl is determined by the size of the bead, which is painstakingly grafted into the oyster's gonad. As time goes by, the oyster forms layers of nacre, also known as mother of pearl, around the foreign object. The more layers, the richer the luster and more rare—and valuable—the pearl.

What has given the pearl its air of eroticism is its purported need to be worn next to the skin to maintain its luster. But, even if you're not a pearl lover, once you find out how difficult it is to produce a perfectly round one, you'll probably come to the realization that nothing else—surely no pareo or pod of vanilla, no matter how fragrant—could symbolize the exotic beauty of the islands the way these pearls do. Of 25,000 grafted oysters only 30 percent will give pearls, and of that 30 percent only 10 percent will have any value. Of those, only three percent will be round. So, after the three and a half years it takes to cultivate the pearls, only 125 will be the top-quality "A grade" that smart buyers seek.

Of course, you can buy inexpensive pearls from folks selling them in touristy gift shops and markets, but Lowanna explained why that's a bad idea: The pearls aren't fake, but they have been extracted from the oyster prematurely, before growing thick with nacre. Over time, that thin layer of nacre can wear away and, within a few years, you could end up with nothing but the original Mississippi-born bead.

Many shops in Tahiti suggest having your pearl x-rayed to make sure it has the proper number of layers, but Lowana gives that idea a Gallic look of contempt. "If you can see yourself reflected in the pearl," she announces, "that's high-quality luster. How do you decide whether or not to buy a pearl? If you fall in love with it, you buy it."

The next day I take a break from my pearl stalking expedition to take a snorkeling trip across the lagoon from the resort. You'd be hard put to find a more beautiful spot. The water teems with fish and coral, and the aqua water ripples over diamond-white sand. We take a break from fishing for our lunch to go for a swim. (In paradise, there's always time for play.) When I get tired of swimming and snorkeling, I sit waist deep in the water, drinking champagne and watching as schools of fish darted by.

My Black Beauty

I spend the rest of the week relaxing on the beach during the day, watching the sunset each evening from my bungalow—and thinking about purchasing a pearl. On my final day on Manihi, I return to the resort's jewelry store and buy one. The pearl costs me $300, but it's round and dark as night, with hints of green and aubergine. In my mind, I see it alone at the center of the string of cream-colored Mikimoto pearls my parents gave me when I was 10. I know that after I return home, whenever I look at the pearl I'll see the lagoon, the white sand, the discarded oyster shells and the palm trees curved by wind over the stunning blue water. I'll be able to smell the tiare and the plumeria and the salt air, and I'll be back in the South Pacific again.