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.
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.
