Rarotonga!

I touched down in Rarotonga shortly after midnight this morning (-10 GMT [Hawaii] on Sunday mind you). Considering that I didn't do much research on the Cook Islands and this was a very impromptu trip, I figured whatever I was in for was going to be a surprise…pleasant or not. I sometimes feel embarrassed by the fact that I had never seen a palm tree up until August of 2007 when I drove to Fresno, CA at a failed attempt to buy an Airstream trailer. There were definitely no shortages of palm trees in this place however. One of the first things I noticed as we stepped out into the dead of a South Pacific night was the humidity and the trees. Having only been off the ice for going on 10 days, I'm still easily amused and excited by the simple things a lot of people take for granted. I thought New Zealand was green when stepping off our northbound flight from McMurdo. Well, I hadn't been to the Cook Islands then. Even amidst the low amber-hued light I could make out the colors that the trees and flowers blessed this little island with. Anyways, we stepped out into the night onto the tarmac and walked towards the terminal. Now Rarotonga International Airport isn't exactly Dulles. Our terminal was simply a large room probably 15 by 18 meters. As we walked through the doors, some old guy hidden behind a bunch of fake palm trees played us welcoming island songs as we gathered around the baggage carousel. He sounded and looked like an expat of some sort. By the look of his sun aged skin, it seems like he's been leading a healthy relaxing life here in Raro. My Osprey travel backpack was one of the first bags out on the carousel which was a first. My surfboard, however, took almost 30 agonizing minutes to come out to us. Travelling with that thing has been a pain in the ass. I constantly pray that it actually makes its destination…let alone in one piece. I grab my baggage and make my way to the "lobby" which is another large room that is open to the sidewalk outside. As I was told the night before when I made my reservations for Vara's, I searched around for a lady by the name of Lilly who would take me to my room. Lilly was an older Cook Island Maori (note: there are New Zealand Maoris and Cook Island Maoris…the Cook Island variety will make sure you know that if you were to make the mistake to call them Cook Islanders or Rarotongan) who happened to be the only person standing around waiting for someone not knowing exactly who she was waiting for. I asked her if she was Lilly and reply was simply, "Where are you staying?" I knew I was in good hands.

Two other people, a couple, were waiting in the van-looking mini-van used to ferry guests back and forth from Vara's to the airport. As I've found out several times so far, most shuttles are setup for the immediate loading of an 8 foot surfboard. So with a little ingenuity, some enlisted help from the couple I was riding with, and a few apologies here and there, I managed to fanangle the board on the ground next to the seats. After ramming the board into the bench seat in the back like some 17^th century cannoneer, Lilly introduced us to her granddaughter that was sleeping on the bench. Great, now I feel like an ass, I though. Her granddaughter raised her head to smile then rolled over and quickly went back to sleep. We took off for the lodge which was said to be on the other side of the island. For a small, south pacific island, there were a hell of a lot of vehicles on the road at nearly 0100 Sunday morning. Most of them being scooters, every vehicle was almost certainly full. 2 or 3 on a scooter, 3 or 5 in a car, 5 in the beds of pick-ups a lone, it seemed like everyone had a place to go; where to on such a small island, I had no idea. About 10 or 15 minutes in our drive, Lilly pulled over at a 24 hour convenience store. "Does anyone want anything?" she asked. I was dying for a proper meal as I'm sure the couple was too. Out of courtesy the three of us declined. She shut the van down and disappeared into the store for about 20 minutes. Throughout that time, her granddaughter woke up, stretched, stumbled over my surfboard, and climbed up in the front seat of the van to play on her cell phone and send a text message or two. This informality sorta stuck with me. I had only been on the ground for a little over an hour and I'm already deep into the "Island Way of Life" as was described to me by a few veteran Pacific Island travelers I met in the airport the night before. Lilly came back to van with a few groceries and continued driving us to Vara's. Vara's was a series of dorms, rooms, and bungalows situated on the beach as well as on the hillside on the opposite side of the road around the island. Excited to set my feet in warm sand and water for the first time in months, I quickly dropped my bags in my room, changed into board shorts and flip-flops (or "thongs" as the kiwis like to call them) and head to the beach somewhere beyond the rows of palm trees on the backside of the lodge. I walked around the outside of the lodge taking in the smell of the flowers around and the palm trees above. I walked onto the porch which separated me from the sound of waves washing ashore somewhere close when I heard a woman's voice from the shadows say "Hi!" A few people my age sat on a picnic table a few meters away in the dark talking about the day's events. Helen, a British girl introduced me to Edwin from Holland, and Ragan, an "Australian" with a peculiar European accent which I've yet to identify. I sat down told them my ridiculous story about how I was only there for a couple days, as well as why I was travelling and where I had been. Sure enough, on several occasions throughout the night, they continued to tell me I should have been there the night before. Well, fuck…

The next day, the morning wasn't exactly the sunniest but it was still beautiful enough.

From Rarotonga 2009

From Rarotonga 2009

From Rarotonga 2009

Vara's was situated on a lagoon about ½ or ¾ a kilometer across. An uninhabited island sat off the coast about a kilometer or so away. Beyond both sat the reef circumventing the island that created the waves certain parts of the island was known for. I thought the place would be packed. Surprisingly, even on the couple of resorts I could see further down the beach, there weren't that many people on the beaches. There were people, yes, but it wasn't crowed like, say, Tahiti or Fiji would be. Shortly after I got up, Helen and Edwin came out. We sat around and talked and they took me over to see Matt. Matt, was an Australian expat who had been living and working on the island for the past couple of years. His entire job was to staff the "shack" from which you could book trips around the island as well as rent or hire snorkels, fins, etc.

The "shack" that he worked out of was a 6 meter cargo container someone (maybe even him) built a tin roof hanging over a deck around the entire thing. He/they then cut holes out of the side of the container to fit a window in, nailed some shelves on the inside and, voila! You have a beach side tourism agent. His job was pretty easy: play music and hang out 5 meters from the sea's edge until someone came up to book a snorkeling trip or something. I hung with Matt a lot throughout my trip. For one we had a lot to talk about between the two of us: island life, travelling, Australia, the States, etc. Another reason was we had nearly the exact same taste in music. I mean the man knew regional bands (like Dispatch for example) or sometimes even underground bands from the states that I've grown up on. Anyways, our morning was spent playing cards and enjoying each other's company and the sound of the sea. For some reason, card games in the tropics almost always involve throwing something small at something bigger. We played over 5 different card games that involved the loser trying to toss a small rock at a coconut some 10 meters away. Hours later we went for lunch and came back to figure out what to do with the rest of the afternoon.

As I learned in Christchurch, I have some time to spend on my board to figure out its performance.

From Rarotonga 2009

When I first took it out, I looked like a drunkard trying to ride a unicycle for the first time. It was this reason that I decided to wait for a future return to Rarotonga before hitting the waves over razor sharp reefs. However, I felt now was a perfect time to get in a small cardio workout by paddling across the lagoon to see the waves up close and personal. I grabbed my rash guard, put a little more wax on my board and hit the water. The water was warm; very warm as a matter of fact and it felt pretty good. On top of that, the water was a light opaque green and very clear. The lagoon itself, at least the part I paddled around in, wasn't any deeper than 4 or 5 feet at it's deepest point. As a matter of fact, halfway across I noticed a few people walking back and forth across to where I was headed. I stopped to take a break a few hundred meters across and to also let a few friendly windsurfers cross my path. I continued on only to get out and walk when my strokes would bottom out into the sand. It felt like I was in some Robinson Crusoe story when I made it across as I was the only person on this part of the island at the time. I walked through the bushes and the stands of palm trees to come out to another white sandy beach littered with pieces of coral spit up from the ocean. I ditched my board into the bushes behind me, sat down on the beach, and just absorbed the sound of the waves crashing and the sight of the Pacific Ocean. I've had many tranquil moments over the past couple months but nothing like this moment. It was refreshing. It was peaceful and just what I needed. As I sat there, I started to notice the wildlife around me. The snails clinging to the rocks as the tide went out. The hermit crabs dragging their homes through the sand. The fish in the shallows safely out of the reach of larger predators they share the waters with. Hopefully, the next time I come back, I'll have the forsight to bring a dry bag or a waterproof camera so I can share photos of that part of the island. After an hour of just sitting and thinking I walked and paddled back to a point further up the beach from Vara's so I could walk back and see what the other hotels and resorts are like. A lot of them were pretty luxurious: a complete turn-off to me. I hurried back to my low-end singles friendly lodge.

The rest of the evening was relaxing. More cards, more hanging out, more getting to know each other. We had dinner together, we drank beers, and we enjoyed ourselves well into the morning. Life is good in Rarotonga…