A Lot of Wonga in Rarotonga
Trip Start
Jan 02, 2009
1
34
Trip End
Dec 07, 2009
Rarotonga, Southern Cook Islands, Cook Islands
Monday, December 7, 2009
Accommodation is expensive in the Cook Islands, so we had booked a couple of nights at the Rarotonga Backpackers on the west coast of the island. We had our own self-contained hut right on the beach overlooking the South Pacific and next to the swimming pool. There were lots of animals wandering around the grounds (dogs, cats, cockerels, backpackers and chickens) and within a day of arriving, a very soppy stray dog and two hungry cats had practically moved in with us (a wise decision on their part seeing as we were the only people around who were prepared to feed them regularly). Apart from being awoken at all hours of the night by the bloody cockerels, we really liked it there so we decided to stay for as long as we could, which was six days before our hut was booked out again. Fortunately, just as we were in the process of checking out, the hostel had received a cancellation and they offered us a two-storey house a little further down the road for the same price. The place was a little rustic, but was large enough to sleep six people and sat on a deserted strip of beach amongst the palm trees. The front of the house consisted entirely of large glass windows that overlooked the ocean and from where we could watch the most spectacular sunsets in the evenings. It also came with a TV and DVD player which, if truth be told, is what really sealed the deal. We were more than happy with it and for the price, it was an absolute bargain (although we missed our dog and the two mangy cats). There was hardly anyone else around, apart from the four young Australian lads who were staying in the house behind us. Two of them sported very dubious looking moustaches and one of them resembled a young Arthur Scargill, complete with yellowing hair the texture of shredded wheat and styled in a fetching comb-over. We couldn’t decide whether he had lost a bet with his mates, or whether his hair was being serious. Either way, we decided to give them a wide berth.
We quickly discovered that Rarotonga only has one TV station which broadcasts a limited selection of programmes from Oz, a terrible soap opera from NZ and also various cheaply-made local information programmes. One particularly amateurish programme was about the devastation caused by tsunamis and what to do in the event of one occurring (basically run for the hills, unless it happens during the night when you are in bed, and then you should kiss your ass goodbye). As our house was only 20m from the ocean and we could hear the waves crashing loudly onto the reef from our bedroom, Tracey awoke constantly, convinced that our plywood beach house was going to be consumed by a huge wave at any moment.
What we wanted from the final twelve days of our one year trip was a quiet place to relax and get some sun before returning to London. Rarotonga turned out to be the perfect place to do just that with deserted, white sandy beaches fringed with palm trees and the crystal clear turquoise waters of the South Pacific set against a backdrop of jagged mountains clad in dense jungle. Rarotonga, although the largest of the Cook Islands, is very small. The circumference is only 32km and we could zip around the entire island on our scooter in around an hour. We found the island to be extremely clean and litter-free with very little traffic and was not too touristy or over developed.
Nosh and Justine had put us in touch with a friend of theirs, Vikki, who was the manager of a hotel close to where we were staying and who gave us lots of information and advice on things to see and do on the island. We were also given the use of her infinity pool which looks out over the ocean. We arrived during the week of the Vaka Canoe Races which is one of the main annual events in the Cook Islands. The canoes are the same six man outrigger canoes (think "Hawaii Five-O") that Nosh and Justine race in Sydney. On the final day of the races, we watched the "Round Raro" men’s and women’s races where teams race each other around the entire island. The races take approximately two and a half hours for the men’s teams and three hours for the women’s teams. In the evening, we went along to the closing party at “Trader Jack’s” which is one of the main bars in the town. We were both really up for a big night out, but unfortunately the band that had been hired to play at the party resembled a lame hotel cabaret act and were churning out naff soul hits from the Eighties, so we decided to leave and try one of the local nightclubs instead. The club we went to was playing terrible RnB (is there any other form?) and we decided that we would rather stick pins in our eyes than listen to three hours of totally crap “music” whilst also paying for the privilege. Our hostel had arranged to collect us from town at 2am and by this time, it was only 11pm. Rather than wait it out in RnB hell for the next three hours, we decided to try our luck at catching the night bus or getting a taxi home instead. After thirty minutes of waiting on the street with neither a bus nor a taxi in sight, such was our determination to avoid having to go back to the club that we decided to hitch a lift back. A couple of vehicles did pull over, but after clocking the state of Dean after a few beers, they hurriedly drove off again. Finally, after about an hour on the roadside, a taxi suddenly appeared and we managed to make it home with our eardrums (and our sanity) in tact and were happily snuggled up in bed shortly after midnight. What a couple of old farts!
Even though both of us are confirmed atheists, Nosh had persuaded us to attend a church service on Sunday morning, purely to listen to a traditional Polynesian church choir. The first missionaries arrived in the Cook Islands in the 1820’s and the majority of the Islanders are now Christian with all evidence of traditional Polynesian religion wiped out. The service we attended was held almost entirely in Maori so we could understand very little of what the pastor was saying, but Nosh was right - it was worth going to for the beautiful and uplifting singing. However, we did have to put up with an American Evangelist preacher from Hawaii banging on for half an hour at the end of the service which ruined the experience somewhat.
During our time in Oz and NZ, we had gone quite a bit over our travel budget (quite some feat seeing as for most of our time in Oz, we didn’t have to pay for accommodation). As we had pretty good kitchen facilities, we decided to try and eat in as much as possible in order to try and claw back some cash. Unfortunately, the Cook Islands are heavily dependent on imports, mainly from NZ, so the cost of food in the supermarkets is pretty steep. Also, the choice is somewhat limited with rows and rows of such culinary delights as corned beef, spam, tinned spaghetti (and Tracey’s personal favourite, tins of whole peeled lamb tongues) lining the shelves. We pretty much lived on cereal, tuna sandwiches and variations on tuna with pasta during our stay. On the occasions when we did eat out, the food in the restaurants was pretty good, although again, not cheap. One evening, we went out for a “progressive dinner” which involved being driven around the island and stopping at a different local home for each course of a meal, all the while being serenaded by our driver and hosts. All the ingredients were produced locally, the food was delicious and the hosts at each home were really warm and welcoming, although we could have done without the three renditions of “Please Release Me” throughout the course of the evening.
We spent our days lazing in hammocks, reading, watching movies, swimming, snorkelling and fishing. The shallow waters outside our beach house absolutely teemed with fish, so much so that even Dean managed to catch a couple. Not content with torturing the fish directly outside our house, Dean also decided to go on a deep sea fishing trip one day to torment the fish beyond the reef. He managed to catch a 25lb Wahoo (which is similar to a giant mackerel) which we cooked up for supper the following evening.
December is the beginning of the wet season (and also potentially, the start of the hurricane season), but thankfully we only experienced a couple of days of cloud and rain. During the rest of the time, the sun shone and the temperature was perfect – warm enough to wear practically nothing during the day and cool enough to be able to sleep comfortably in the evenings.
Feeling very relaxed and with our tans sufficiently topped up, we left Rarotonga on a late night flight to L.A. which took nine hours. After a five hour wait at LAX, we then boarded a ten hour flight home to London where we were met at the airport by Dean’s mum Gill and his cousin Vicky.
Our one year round-the-world trip had finally come to an end. We had survived a mad sleep-deprived driver in India, extreme partying in Thailand, tarantulas and scorpions in Cambodia, crossing the roads in Vietnamese cities, eating fishheads and beetles in Laos, flying phlegm in China, excessive drinking in Hong Kong, living in a shoe-box in Japan, life in the Big Brother house in Singapore, malaise in Malaysia, leeches and ticks in Borneo, boredom in Brunei, rabid dogs in Bali, sleep-deprivation in Java, filthy bathrooms and monsoons in Sumatra, broken campervans in Australia, kayaking through a freezing hailstorm in New Zealand and twelve days on a diet of tuna and pasta in the Cook Islands. Miraculously, our relationship had also survived spending twenty four hours a day together, seven days a week and, more often than not, in extremely close proximity. Would we do it all again? Absolutely (although maybe in shorter bursts in the future).
Thankfully, we have arrived home safe and sound and with all our belongings in tact. We have gone over budget, which was mainly due to the weak Pound and the terrible exchange rate we got everywhere we went. (We calculated that if we’d embarked on this trip two years previously, it would have cost us around a third less). But it was worth every penny, as we have had the most amazing experiences, seen the most incredible sights and met some fantastic and inspiring people. We have also had the opportunity to catch up with quite a few old friends around the world. And best of all, it’s not “back to reality” just yet. After a month of catching up with family and friends in the UK over Christmas and New Year, we have three months of skiing in Canada to look forward to. But that’s another story………………
