Reflections on Rarotonga (13 January 2008)

After my trip to Aitutaki, Air Rarotonga got me back here safe and sound, and as you can se on the left modelling the latest headgear - it smells lovely! Am here for a couple of nights and after almost 3 weeks in the Cook Islands, I am about to move on – next stop New Zealand. It’s been the relaxing time that I had planned – time to unpack the case for a few days at least, and take time to appreciate the beauty of the South Pacific. A few things to note for next time or for anyone else thinking of visiting here- be prepared:
· to slow down to Island time – nothing is done – or indeed needs to be done – in a hurry. A simple lunch of a sandwich and a coffee in town takes at least an hour – so sit back and enjoy!
· to bring your biggest credit card, Tahiti has always been known as the most expensive place; the Cook Islands is catching up and apparently is running a close second.
· to go back in time to the 1950’s where shopping is concerned. Not just the lack of shops, but the lack of choice! And no alcohol sold in the shops after 9pm or all day Sunday. The shops close at 12.30 on Sat and all day Sunday. We forget with the shopping hours at home how easy it is to get exactly what you want, when you want. If things run out here, there’s nothing to be done but wait 2 weeks for the next supply boat…. but in itself, that has a charm of its own.
· for rain – I know it’s wet season, but the amount of rain here was a surprise – I thought it would be showers with sun in between, but some of the time here it has been continuous. But on the upside, it’s always nice and warm and these weather patterns are unusual.
· to become a Christian! The Cook Islands, as a result, I suppose, of the missionaries, are strongly Christian. On Aitutaki at least, grace before meals was compulsory - before the Island Night buffet and the on board barbie, all were required to close eyes and bow heads as grace was said, and join in with the “Amen” at the end!
· to feel safe. As I travelled round the islands, it appears people leave their doors and windows wide open, even when no one’s at home. You can walk along in the dark quite happily, and everyone says a friendly “Kia Orana” (may you live long), the traditional Cook Island greeting as they walk or “scooter” by. Also there are no poisonous insects or snakes of any kind on any of the islands.
· to bring lots of mozzie repellent – they are quite persistent little things….
· to take trips to the other islands – there are a few more out there I need to come back to visit.
· to enjoy the spectacular sunsets, the amazing colours and warmth of the crystal clear water, the white sand, the peace and quiet. Kia Orana.

Shipwrecked! (10th January 2008)

Those of you who know me well and my love of reality TV will not be surprised by my excitement today. But let me start at the beginning. It was a rather strange morn on Aitutaki – I awoke to a strange sky – a yellow thing, little white fluffy things, and rather large patches of blue and no pitter patter of raindrops on the roof – yes, sunshine had arrived, and it looked like staying that way. In fact it was a picture perfect South Pacific day – the colours of the lagoon more turquoise than ever, the huge sky melting into it, and those lovely cloud formations that seem so much a part of the picture you have in your mind of what the South Pacific should be. The perfect day to be out on the lagoon. I was recommended to go on the Vaka Titi-ai-Tonga, a 70ft double hulled traditional Polynesian boat. It was these Vaka’s or boats that sailed 1000 years ago to populate these spread out islands, navigating only by the stars. Frankly, they must have had a few down days not going very far, the weather and cloud cover means that there aren’t too many stars out most nights, so navigation must have been a touch difficult at times. And at first sight, the Titi-ai-Tonga looked like it had been built and sailed 1000 years ago too. But telling myself that it was very calm, we were staying within the lagoon and there was a good lunch on offer, I decided to go for it. I walked around the beach to where it started from – and was accompanied at the water’s edge by schools of small white fish swimming along purposefully in line, looking for all the world like commuters crossing London Bridge on the way to work. After travelling to the southernmost point of the lagoon through amazing waters, the captain announced that we were making our first stop of 2 islands before lunch. When he told us that these were the 2 islands used in Channel 4’s “Shipwrecked – Battle of the Islands” 2007 I was beside myself with this unexpected bonus! I watched this religiously for 3 months this summer, making sure it was on Sky+, including the Sunday night repeat in case Sky+ failed. In fact the beauty of the islands that I had seen on the tv was a contributing factor to my coming to the Cook Islands in the first place. So off I stepped onto Shark Island (originally the boy’s one at the beginning of the series). There are still a few remnants left, and the attached pic is me sitting proudly on the little bench used for the necklace ceremony when the Saturday beach party was on Shark. For me an even better “seat” picture than sitting on “Diana’s seat” at the Taj Mahal. Sad really, but there you are. Then onto Tiger Island (these aren’t the actual island names, but the team island names used in the series – never did find out their real ones). I always wanted to be a Tiger (their necklaces were better…) and here I was, living my dream. And I was not disappointed – this island was even prettier, with a little baby island on one end. But I understood now how they all seemed to suffer so badly from insect bites, as I remain the food capital of the South Pacific mozzie world, despite my approaching Deet poisoning from the amounts I am using! But at least I came away with a true Tiger souvenir, a few more mozzie bites. Since being here I also have a fuller understanding of their culinary issues whilst they were shipwrecked here – I thought that the tins of tuna, lambs tongues, rice and sweetcorn supplemented by the fish they could catch and the coconuts they could collect were just a ploy by the production team to make life difficult for them – but now I know better – they seem to be the only things in the shops. So after such excitement, how could my day get better? A little later we moored in the middle of the lagoon for snorkelling, whilst some real tuna (not out of a tin, what a novelty) was cooked on the on board barbie, and that together with salads, doughnuts and bananas (I know, an odd combination, but it worked) was prepared. As we ate, we were transported to One Foot Island, another amazing tropical Paradise with warm seas for a 2 hour stop and a chance to snooze on the beach. Not sure why, but you can have your passport stamped here. I chose to leave mine safely behind in case it got dropped in the sea – and god knows what sort of questioning you would get from US immigration in the future with such an odd stamp… So finally back to base and an early meal at Samade on the beach – another Cinderella moment – I had to get back before dark as without any scooter lights to guide me in the dark, I may never have found my way home.

Off road again... (9th January 2008)

Readers will know that I have been off road several times since this journey began, but normally in the blingmobile with Ant for moral support in Argentina. But now I was on my own. The pattern of weather in the Cook Islands hadn’t changed – I awoke to the pattering of rain on the roof – the grey skies looked set for the day. So what to do – no more reading of trash novels on the verandah for me. My first thought was to hire a car and explore, but forward planning let me down again. My driving licence was safely ensconced in the safe deposit box on Rarotonga. Not having hired a scooter in Rarotonga, I had also not taken my bike test there so couldn’t hire one of those either. So all that was left was a push bike. Apart from cycling in China this year, the last time on a bike was more years ago than I care to remember. The only bike available was a mountain bike so I went for that – not sure what the gears were for or even how they worked, so I just got on and pedalled. Originally I was just going into town and back, but decided that it would be more fun to cycle right around the island, and the rain wasn’t really that bad. My A Level geography told me that if I stuck to the coast road and kept the sea on my right at all times, I would get back to where I started, and it should be level. The map looked simple, about 2/3 tarmac road, and 1/3 not, whatever that meant. I started well, going at a good pace to find the internet café (no WiFi here) to do a quick e mail to Mum and it was quick, at £1 for 5 mins it was the fastest ever! A few kms further on I got into town – not a lot to stop for, a small wharf, no shops to speak of but a band playing at full tilt under a gazebo, with no one but me listening… On I pressed, and started to realise just exactly what non tarmac roads are. Basically bits of coral and rock, lots of potholes turning into mud and bits of grass. No houses, just coconut palms right to the edge of the beach and quite a few goats. But I had reached the point of no return – I must get back to tarmac soon I thought. I obviously underestimated my road speed (no yellow jersey for me….), and even though on the map I should have returned to civilisation some time ago, the mud was getting worse and worse, as the rain got heavier and heavier….. But I finally reached the bit where the road turned slightly inland and turned back to tarmac for a while – but sadly there was a rather big hill in front of me – so no choice, I either retraced my mud kms or went bravely up the hill –too late now, but if only I knew how those gears worked it may have been a little easier. But as the rain got even heavier, I must have been getting lighter by the minute with all the calories expended. Suffice to say after 25kms, and wet through, I had done it – I had circled the island with no more injuries than a rather sore bum – I had discovered that mountain bike saddles are not the most comfortable way to travel. Just to prove it, the pic shows said bike parked gratefully by my hut at the end of my journey - it looks even more worn out than me!

Island Night (8 Januay 2008)

The weather in Aitutaki is meant to be better than Raro’ as there isn’t that big mountain in the middle collecting rain one side and then dumping it on me on the other – so it was a little disappointing to settle on the sun bed under the palm tree with a good book only to have to keep running back to my verandah to shelter from the rain. But it was still warm, the sea was still blue, so I took a damp walk around the beach to find a spot of lunch at the Boatyard café. Lots of fish in the shallow water, and an alarming number of small crabs scuttling about. Don’t know what they’re called, but they are a dark colour, except for one bright pink claw that looks like they are carrying around one of those sweetie prawns we used to buy as kids. After lunch took a longer walk towards the town, and on several occasions was offered a lift by local people on scooters, in vans or cars. There’s no bus service here as there is on Raro’, so it’s lovely that people offer you a lift. Didn’t accept as the purpose of the walk was to burn off some of the calories from the rather large ham and pineapple toasted sandwich I had just consumed… The other restaurant in the vicinity (apart from the flash hotel across the inlet, there are only the two) was the Samade on the beach. In fact the tourist literature proudly points out that there are now 11 places to eat out in Aitutaki, a cornucopia of choice! Tuesday is the Samade Island Night. Never been a real fan of these “cultural evenings” and resisted going to one when in Raro, even though everyone will tell you that they are worth doing. I thought perhaps on the smaller island I would find something more genuine, and not a professional troupe. I was right! We started off with the buffet – again not one of my favourite things, but it was brought out just before we ate so seemed fresh. But it’s odd, in a place that’s surrounded by the bounty of the lagoon, fish and seafood don’t seem to feature much. One of the dishes was a large “seafood” salad with rice which looked really good – but on eating, I found that the seafood was crabsticks. Now I’m partial to a crabstick and they can often be found in my basket in Adsa’s, but when in the South Pacific I did expect something a little more local. But it tasted good. And after dinner the show began. No stage here – the buffet tables removed from the sand floor and the drums set up. It was a cast of thousands, the older men playing the local drums and the women singing fantastic Polynesian harmonies and song. The dancers appeared, the women in their long grass skirts and half coconut bras – I always thought the coconut bras were just tourist tat, but no. I understand they used to use pandanau leaf ones but the fashion for half coconut ones came across from Tahiti in the late 1990’s, much to the disgust of some local traditionalists. But like a Chanel classic, this fashion is here to stay. Whilst the drumming and singing by the elders of the group was perfect, the dancing by the younger members wasn’t quite as together! A ragtaggle of sizes, ages and shapes did their bit – like the curate’s egg, graceful in parts but less together in others. And the smell was interesting – the powerful smell of jasmine from their beautiful floral headdresses, leis and waist flowers mingled with something a little less floral – an opportunity here for Sure deodorant! But I enjoyed it. It turns out, talking to the 2 girls who service the rooms (well, “servicing” is used loosely, she asks if you want new towels and that’s about it….) that it’s a family troupe, and I recognised both of them as having danced the night before. It’s a family and the dancing is a part of that. She did say rather sheepishly that they had all been so busy they hadn’t had time to rehearse, so perhaps weren’t at their peak – I didn’t disagree! That night they were dancing again at the flash resort across the way – justice I guess, the cheap rooms got the rehearsal, the flash place got the best! But I wouldn’t have changed it, knowing it was a family thing rather than just a performing professional troupe made it much more enjoyable. But it was a late finish – 9.30pm and the sun had long set. It was a walk of about 100 metres back to my hut, but was really difficult. I have never been in such complete darkness before, no ambient light, and of course my forward planning failed me yet again – the small torch I had was nestled safely in my big bag that I had left behind in Rarotonga. I couldn’t see my feet, let alone the way forward. But as the evening had just finished, I was able to advance a few yards every so often as a lone scooter drove by and illuminated the path. Anywhere else in the word I think I may have felt a little frightened, but not here.

And on the 8th day God created Aitutaki Lagoon (7 Jan 2008)

….or so they say in the brochures – and as we came in to land on elastic band airways it was easy to believe the hype that this is one of the most beautiful lagoons on earth. Rarotonga is a circular island with a fairly narrow lagoon all the way around, Aitutaki, some 225kms north is a hook shaped island surrounded by a huge lagoon which is 12kms from north to south, and 15kms wide at the base. The view was stunning – this huge expanse of still turquoise water, paler in some places and deeper in others with tiny green dots (the motus) edged in the whitest sand ever. As I started the day I was a little concerned when my pickup from the hotel for the airport was scheduled for only 40 mins before the flight was due to take off – what about getting there, what about check in, what about security? But I needn’t have worried – the plane holds about 30 people, and as for security checks – well they don’t need those here it appears. Show ‘em your e ticket, no need for identification, get your boarding card that looks like a bus ticket and on you get….. In fact I was there far too early, but good people watching whilst I waited – a smattering of tourists but mainly Cook Islanders garlanded in fragrant leis and headdresses (men and women) either going home or going to visit relatives. The smell of frangipani will forever remind me of Air Rarotonga. I was also relieved – the publicity photos for Air Rarotonga all show sleek (but small…) planes that appear to fly by magic – there’s not an engine to be seen. But the good news is that there were 2 propellers, one on each wing, so I was safe to go. But perhaps I am being a little unfair on Air Rarotonga. The plane appeared in reasonably good nick and the pilots sounded reassuring. But no real safety briefing as such – just “read the info in the seat pocket about the brace position” and that was it. Given we were to fly over such a large expanse of water, I would have preferred to know that there were life jackets under those seats…. But as you are now reading this you will know that the flight was safe and uneventful – they even have a trolley for tea and coffee, and offer you a sweet before landing – never really understood that – I know the principle is to help with any ear pressure problems as you descend through the stratosphere, but at the height we were flying (much less than a jet where you don’t get the sweet, and it felt not too far above the sea) I can’t really see the purpose. Baggage reclaim is fun too, about 3 mins after you get off, your bags (not tagged by the way, with so few flights I assume that is deemed unnecessary too) appear on the little truck – Heathrow could learn a thing or two. So I was whisked off to Ranginui’s Retreat – 6 villas (ok – huts!) just a few miles from the airport – what a wonderful setting on a small inlet on the lagoon, pale sands, blue water. It must be the best location on the island as taunting me from across the small expanse of water (about 30 metres) was the island’s best 5 star jobbie with over water bungalows, the lot. So I took stock, what did they have that I didn’t? Well I certainly had about £400 a night more money in my bank account, my £50 v their £450. I had a great little hut, they had little huts (ok – villas!). Mine was detached, theirs were “semis”, I had a little kitchen so I wasn’t dependent on the vagaries of room service, they didn’t. They have the only private pool villa on the island (dread to think what that would cost), and I had my own little pool (see pic) just 2 steps away from my front door (ok it was shared by all 6 huts, but the hotel was quiet). I had a flush loo, so, I assume, did they – I had upgraded to the one hut that had a flush loo, all the others had “environmentally friendly compost” ones – I’m all for saving the planet, but not when it comes to a toilet….. OK, I didn’t get a nightly turndown with a choc on the pillow, but the little shop in reception did sell Kit Kats. So all in all, after checking the bed was clean (it was perfect) and said loo actually flushed (it did), I was happy, and settled on my verandah to take it all in. As dusk descended it was so quiet, even the insects seem to be quiet here. No barking dogs – there are none anywhere on the island. Apparently years ago, there was a leprosy outbreak and they thought the dogs were the cause – so they got rid of them all, never to return. As the darkness came, all I could hear was the odd splash as a school of fish took a flight out of the water and then splashed back…

Happy New Year (Jan 1 2008)

Happy New Year to all my readers if there are any out there…. A quiet New Year’s Eve for me as usual, chatting to the English couple next door who now live in New Zealand, and quietly reading on my terrace. At midnight, there was the sound of the odd firework, but that was drowned out by the noises of the roosters and chickens which are everywhere, and very noisy. And at 12.05, everything returned to normal, with just the sound of the waves crashing against the outer reef – bliss! I have made a few friends here in Paradise – not given them names yet, but my 2 faithful geekos appear each night to eat as many mozzies as they can – but frankly they are not doing too good a job! I am obviously the culinary delight of the mozzie world, and despite lashings of Bushman deterrent (strong enough for the Aussie bush apparently…..) they have taken a liking to me. I think the rainy season has something to do with it too. This New Year morning started off fine, bright and sunny, but whilst at the bar up the road (no, not for a drink, it’s a wireless hotspot and I was Skypeing Mum – honest. View from said spot before the rain came shown in pic), suddenly a fierce wind blew up and the rain started. Before it got too heavy, I decided to get back to my little “house” about ¼ mile away, but wasn’t quick enough. It was an interesting experience – like walking in a warm power shower that was turned on to full. But the local people riding by on their scooters (the main means of transport) didn’t seem fazed at all. Drowned rat is the look du jour........

Island Time (Dec 30th 2007)

I’m relaxing into Island time – the Cook Islands seem to have a rhythm of their own – and it’s a slow one. It’s a strange place – a mountain rising from the sea, surrounded by a narrow coastal strip of land, surrounded by a white sand beach, surrounded by a turquoise lagoon, surrounded by the Pacific Ocean – and miles and hours from anywhere (nearly 4 hours from Auckland). Rarotonga, the main island is not what I expected. As it is the largest island in the group and the capital, I think I expected something more Bali like, with lots of touristy things and at this time of year , lots of Aussies and New Zealanders here for the holidays. But no, the tourists are here, and given they outnumber the islanders it’s strange that you don’t see them. There are very few large hotels, places to stay are mainly like the place I am in, and the narrow white beaches surrounding the island are always empty. The Cook Islander’s appear to go on with their daily life with the tourists as welcome, but temporary guests here. Their culture remains strong, and again it’s different, as you walk past the small houses the music you hear is not western pop but local Polynesian. At sunset, you see people wading across the shallow blue lagoon, fishing. Fish and the ubiquitous coconut are a staple of the diet – the only things that don’t need to be imported. And no fast food either, no Mc Donalds, Burger King, or Kentucky fried chicken here. But not sure it’s too good a diet to be on, whilst it sounds healthy, generally the Cook Islanders are quite large – perhaps that’s just contentment and the slow pace of life. It struck me as I took a long walk down the beach today that this must be the only “tourist” spot in the world where there are no bars, restaurants or hawkers of t-shirts and pineapples anywhere on the beach, a pleasant change when you want peace and quiet but less welcome when you fancy a sunset cocktail at 6pm! The round the island bus runs like clockwork, and is mainly full of tourists, but that’s the only time you see us “en masse”. And the bus driver is really friendly, stopping wherever you want to be dropped off. The main “town” (actually the town, there is only the one) is the smallest I’ve ever seen in any of these islands, just a few shops, a petrol station and the usual small government buildings. The Cook Islands Parliament is a long, low wooden structure, and whilst it’s based on the Westminster system (they send an MP to New Zealand), it’s as far away from Big Ben as you can get. Today, Saturday, is market day, so there I was on the 8.30am bus into town. The market was a mix of Abbeville Road Farmer’s Market and the Button Street Car Boot sale – fresh produce mixed with little stalls selling local arts and crafts. The shopping here is no more promising than it has been anywhere else so far, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that I resisted the temptation to buy a grass skirt and a bra made of 2 halves of a coconut on a bit of string! But I was tempted by the outfit in the attached photo – a grass skirt ensemble made from recycled bin bags, but yellow just isn’t my colour…. At the heart of the market was a bandstand, just like the one on Clapham Common, but instead of kids running around it, it was being put to use with a band; a group of Rarotongan’s playing musical instruments, singing and dancing. The swaying rhythms of the dance were so graceful, and the audience was mainly made up of local people in a break from market shopping, with just a sprinkling of tourists – you get the feeling that it is a scene that has been played every Saturday morning for decades.
Am thinking about Ant and Derek – tonight is the night that they camp on the Antarctic ice on a day when the sun doesn’t go down.