I shall return (Rarotonga)

I will certainly miss this view

And we're home again and almost back into routine. I awoke at 5am, contemplated going for a ride and decided against it and got up at 6 to do the banking and read the paper prior to going to the markets. The mundane can be beautiful. The final day in Rarotonga? It went something like this ...

The elusive eggs Benedict remained just that, elusive, quiche was on the menu. The weather had returned to the normal January pattern with showers interspersed by sudden heavy downpours that surprised us like the random rants of a passing drunk. Part of breakfast was spent in Trump-like behaviour attempting to keep the Indian Mynahs out of the dining area. As with Trump's wall I was unsuccessful and the feral bastard made off with a slice of cheese.

It was a major disappointment to see Indian Mynahs here, in fact, they were the bird that appeared to dominate the avian population. I'm certain they would have decimated native bird numbers as they invaded the island. Who would have thought it was a good idea to introduce such an invasive species? A man named Sidney Davis introduced 20 pairs in 1906 to combat insects on his farm. Hindsight is a marvellous thing, as is understanding diversity and ecology and not being a dick. Curiously, we saw no seagulls.

The sign says it all

One of the more unnerving aspects of life on an island such as Rarotonga is cyclone season and tsunamis. Our visit coincided with cyclone season and fortunately we survived unscathed. Evidence of protection against cyclones is evident everywhere, if you look closely. The tiles on the roof of the resort are actually screwed down to prevent wind lifting them off. There are a number of metal brackets adjacent to the sliding glass doors on our balcony to fit the shutters when the cyclone warning is in place. The stories the locals tell of cyclonic destruction and survival in such adverse weather are amazing. Removing all furniture from the ground floor of houses, placing up the shutters and then opening and closing the external doors to allow the wave surge to pass through the house.

Rarotonga has a main road that circles the island like a belt. From this smaller roads and tracks creep up the mountain side, some of which appears to be virgin jungle. On the road side are signs that indicate a tsunami escape route. It's not that complex - head for the mountains, but it provides a level of uncertainty and introspection when you pass such a sign.

Reading your smart phone screen Rarotonga style

10am was check out time and our transfer to the airport wasn't until 12:30pm. Time for a deep tissue massage. Relaxing? Well, not really, but the masochist in me loves them and I always feel better afterwards. Well, a few days afterwards. I'm still feeling it, as the current Toyota ad suggests, mainly in my shoulders.  Worth every grimace.

The airport check-in area was as chaotic as immigration. It was island time, chill, join the queue and be patient. About 30 minutes later we had our tickets and walked up to the departure terminal and went through security screening. By the time we made the plane our passports had been checked three times. Is this super security or just covering up in case some one is a little too relaxed - you make that call.

The plane was the same one we flew over on, an old 777 borrowed from Singapore Airlines because their brand new 787 Dreamliner had some "unscheduled" maintenance. It was more crowded on the return trip and the cabin resembled a pre-school. There were children everywhere, including the seat directly behind me. He made his unhappiness known by kicking the back of my seat on an irregular basis for the first hour or so. I'm not sure if he became bored with pissing off the entire row of people sitting in front of him; or if Jayne's ice-cold stare had the desired effect; or if it was the paralysis curse I placed on his arms and legs; or the smack across the back of his head that was eventually delivered by his mother made him rethink his annoying behaviour. In fact, I don't care, but I was very relieved when he stopped.

In news that will surprise all who know my recent flight track record, we departed early and conditions were so favourable that we were scheduled to land about an hour ahead of time. It wasn't quite an hour but we were home at about the time we should have been taxiing toward a gate. What a time to land in Sydney. It was so uncrowded at immigration we breezed through and straight to the taxi rank where again, there was no queue. If a holiday has to come to an end, and they all must, then this was the way to finish.

As promised, below are the videos from the Polynesian Night. There is a video featuring the girls, one of the boys and the final one is one of the little boy - he was a legend. And, no, the video of me has been permanently sent into the ether. I thought of auctioning it, but decided I needed to maintain my dignity. This has been a long and protracted process to publish these videos, the usual methods were unsuccessful. The solution was to publish on Youtube and provide hyperlinks. Enjoy.

The little dude

The warriors

The women

The title? Of course dear reader. I cheated and googled a song with that name. It's by a band called Gov't Mule. Nope, never heard of them either, but it suited a purpose.

And that my dear reader is it, for the time being. Douglas Macarthur-like I shall return in April for our first trip to Hamilton Island.

Until then

PS Couldn't recommend Flight Centre (Surry Hills) highly enough if you're looking for travel advice. The wonderful Claire who has looked after me for the last few years is moving on, but I'm sure Luvena will be able to assist with any enquiries.

Long Tall Gasses (I can dance) (Rarotonga)

Pretty flowers - nope, no idea.

And just like that, my voracious reader, the penultimate day of our relaxing holiday arrived. The weather, tired of being co-operative and near perfect, decided to behave like a capricious child. It began with wind and light rain squalls, settled down to cloud and then Jayne spoke to it sternly and it returned to perfect behaviour in the afternoon. By this stage we were settled on the balcony, wine glass in hand.

The title today is courtesy of Jayne, it is sarcastic as you will discover. Leo Sayer around 1975 I think.

The story of the day is much like the others. The egg dish for breakfast was an unimaginative omelette. Really? They did omelette a few days ago. Where are the eggs Benedict I ask? Not that I'd eat it anyway. The rain continued intermittently after breakfast. It would stop long enough to lull you into a false sense of security to the point where you began to make plans and then you'd look up and it was raining again.

Peter Morgan's wife, Catherine, offered us some fresh local mangoes this morning. They have been given over a dozen of them and as she rightly notes, you can only eat so many mangoes. Yum.

Mid-morning housekeeping arrived and we decamped to the lounge downstairs and discussed holiday plans for 2020. It is a big year - someone is turning a nice round number and we will be celebrating 40 years of marriage (and they said it would never last). Yes, my numerically inclined reader, Jayne was 10 when we married, I was 11. Tahiti was discussed and I'd be happy to hear from anyone who has visited there. Or from anyone who has other holiday suggestions. Just a warning, cruises of the open sea kind are out. We are cruising from Darwin to Broome later this year as an experiment to see if I can cope being locked in a small space where I have to interact with people. I'm not fond of people.

Herman resting on the chair

It's a long way down

While we were relaxing and discussing holidays the beautiful Rowena brought the lunch menu over and suggested a cocktail. Why not? thought we. Who wants to guess what Jayne had? Hands down. Absolutely no prize for guessing, her 5th consecutive Piña Colada. I had the cocktail of the day, the name of which escapes me; it was an islandy thing with rum and fruit and stuff. We let more time drift past watching Herman attempting to get down from the seat of a chair. I would have marvelled to see him scale the leg. After a few attempts, I helped him down. Couldn't risk him getting a concussion.

There is another wedding tonight, that of Sylvia and Esau (they are Cook Island locals) and the wedding party are joining the guests for dinner at the Polynesian Night. The aisle-mapping coconuts have gone out, the bower is in place and table with photographs placed nearby. The wind has not subsided and the photos keep getting blown off the table. On the plus side, the weather has improved dramatically, the rain has gone and there are sunny breaks - and that is enough to keep my sunburnt legs covered and on the balcony.

The top of the bower

Inspecting the ancestor table

Sylvia walking down the aisle

One of the dancers

The evening's Polynesian feast was very diverse, occupying two buffet serveries and we were encouraged to go back as many times as we wanted - once was more than enough though due to the number and variety of hot and cold dishes - all local cuisine.  After the first course, there was an array of desserts to work through before the cultural performance commenced.

Prior to dinner, we were seated right at the front, adjacent to the dance floor and we decided to commence the night's festivities with the recommended cocktail - a Coconut Rocket, served in a coconut with coconut juice and rum among other ingredients.  Before we could place the order, Rowena inquired what I would be having along with Jayne's Piña Colada.  Jayne feigned being highly insulted that her order would be so predictable and this brought gales of laughter from Rowena as she went to procure the two rockets.  The verdict? Jayne will be returning to the Piña Coladas at the next opportunity.

The Polynesian Night was not dissimilar to the previous cultural night we attended. based on dance and drums. As mentioned, we were a lot closer this time as the pictures and video demonstrate and the noise from the drums was deafening. I felt like I'd been to a rock concert afterwards. They also had a couple of fire-twirlers; one was very good, one was slightly singed.

The drummers

Even the kids can do it

The difference between the performance of the Akirati troupe and that of the Highland Paradise was purely their focus. The latter focussed on the history of the Cook Islands, the former highlighted cultural differences across the islands, there are 15 of them, through dance and costume. There is some excellent video of the evening but I am unable to load it over here. It will be included in my final post.

There was of course ritual humiliation of guests who were forced on to the dance floor. We were warned prior to the performance that 'no' was not an acceptable answer. Unhappily I was selected, my bemused reader. I discovered what I'd always known, white boys have no rhythm. However, in that lack of rhythm there are degrees of non-syncopated movement. I was pleased to discover that I was by no means at the bottom of the rhythm gene pool. And there is video evidence, taken by my now former wife who was vastly amused behind the camera from the safety of the dinner table. And no, my eager reader, that video is not included in this post and will never see the light of day.

The next post will be from Sydney over the weekend, probably Sunday, as I try to retain the warm glow of this most relaxing sojourn. Internet access over here is fine, but you have to pay for it and our access is tied to our room at the resort. While we have ample time at the airport, the tale of the final breakfast, the elusive eggs Benedict, my farewell massage, abject boredom at the airport and the flight home will have to wait a couple of days.

Until Sunday

Fire or I'm on Fire (Rarotonga)

A yellow poinciana, stunning

Today dawned, apparently, my understanding reader, I was still asleep, so I didn't see it. It must have been the excitement of the cultural show last evening, or the pending cocktail party this evening, or the sunburn on the back of my legs. Ever careful with sunscreen in climes such as these, I forgot the back of my legs before yesterday's snorkelling adventure. Not to worry, pink is such a beautiful colour.

While we are on the topic of sunscreen, I would like to call out the claims on the packaging. Both varieties we have are 50+, both claim 4 hours water resistance and both claim they are non-greasy. Well, the last point might be personal opinion, but I call bullshit on the other two. At the cricket, we applied sunscreen at every break, every two and a half hours and didn't get burned. Bonus. A pity we lost the game and the series. In the water yesterday for less than an hour and a half and I got burned. Not even close to their 4 hour advertising limit.

I am feeling a bit Jane Austen today, I'm sure you'll understand why, my Austen-loving reader. I don't mean in the sense that I'm sitting in damp stone room waiting for the rain outside to stop or the fire inside to warm-up while I do tatting, thinking carefully about prospective partners that may keep me in the manner to which I would like to be accustomed. No. In that Austen sense that nothing remarkable is likely to happen today but I shall write about it in minute detail anyway. Hopefully my blog won't be discovered years hence and used to torture school children and undergraduates in the same manner Austen's bat-shit boring scribblings were.

Sorry, I digress. I know you must be wondering how they cooked the breakfast eggs today. Sunny side up with a chorizo sausage; I wonder if Ms Austen ate them like that. It's back to the fruit and yoghurt for your correspondent.

One of the ancient gods - that is all.

An exhibit - I have no idea

Post breakfast we walked down to the Te Ara Museum which is situated about a ten minute walk from where we are staying. It is not the Museum of London and I'm sure they hold more original artefacts from the island than the Islanders themselves, particularly given the arrival of the London Missionary Society. The use of the term 'museum' is a bit of a stretch. Rather it was a short history of the habitation of the Cook Islands. There were a couple of exhibits, a series of aquariums showing different types and stages of reef development and a video of a recalcitrant girl who was attempting, (spoiler alert) unsuccessfully, to deny her tribal heritage. While it was interesting, they could have done so much more with a few artefacts from the past, carvings, small statues, models of the vaka (canoes) and explanations of their purpose. There were plenty of these available at the Saturday market.

The sunburnt skin was creating new shades of pink on our legs by the time we walked back to the resort. The only option to reduce the heat was heading back into the lagoon, after we had applied more sunscreen to our bodies than Nathan Lyon puts on his head. The water seemed warmer today and the cooler currents were sparse and we floated up and down the stretch of beach beside the resort. Unlike the locals we managed about 30 minutes in the water before wrinkling skin forced us back onto land. We have watched the locals in the lagoon from our balcony and some have spent just about all day in the water, seriously, only returning to shore to make their way home.

One of the more curious customs appears to be that each family has their own private burial area. Generally these appear to be on family land, close to the house, but not always. There are some that are on their own with no dwelling nearby. I have wanted to photograph one, but it seemed disrespectful in a way. Most of the burial sites are adorned with flowers, some have a roof over the area, some are just fenced off from the rest of the yard. I guess this care and concern for the dead aligns with the importance of their ancestry. Some of the islanders we have met are able to trace their lineage back to the 1300s and the king at the time. The headstones are interesting too, they contain the story of the person and their involvement or position in the community.

One of less showy burial areas - this was in a front yard

While waiting for the bus yesterday we discovered the filling station. These are spread around the island because although the water is filtered, it is not really of drinking quality. I have been drinking about 3 litres a day at $5.50 from the local store or $12 at the resort. Mid-afternoon I grabbed my empty bottle and walked down to the filling station and re-filled my bottle. A couple more days and I will have paid for one of Jayne's Piña Coladas.

By then it was cocktail time. Jayne confirmed her lack of adventure by having yet another Piña Colada and I had the cocktail of the day. I have no idea what it was called or what was in it, but it was delightfully refreshing and paired nicely with our lunchtime snack, or bar food, as it would be called in Sydney. Then of course it was time to rest and read. After my diatribe about the English and the destructive nature of christianity yesterday I was much amused by the opening pages of my next book, Three Cheers for the Paraclete, by Thomas Keneally. The early pages have a priest delivering a sermon about how christianity killed eros. Synchronicity, I'll bet Jane Austen couldn't top that.

The cocktail party wasn't well named. There wasn't a cocktail in sight. There was plenty of wine, beer and food and maybe 6 or so couples. We were given a talk about the resort and the island and had the opportunity to chat to other guests, where we learned about another great snorkelling site. That is on tomorrow's agenda, weather permitting, but the forecast is not promising.

After several Wolf Blass sparkling white wines accompanied by arancini and spring rolls, we wandered off in the direction of the Night Markets. These are purely markets at which you buy food to eat there and then. Anything I'd read about the markets talked of crowds, lack of parking, getting in early in case the food is gone, coming back another night because you saw something else that looked delicious. Nuh. Maybe it's the off-season, it is January and July is the peak season. There were more food options at the Saturday market in town. Parking was an issue, there were cars everywhere, but that was a reflection of the narrow road and lack of available places to park; not that we were concerned, we walked. The crowd was non-existent and there were no queues. There was nothing that particularly attracted us so we went to the shop next door and bought a bottle of wine to share on the balcony.

And finally my patient reader to today's title. Both songs were written by Bruce Springsteen, although The Pointer Sisters made Fire a hit. It is a suitable title, but given the attempts by the amateur fire-twirlers I thought I'm on Fire more apt. It was a close run thing at one point.

The balcony proved a wise decision because, as we were whiling away the hours enjoying the breeze and cooler night air, a group departed the island in the lagoon. Their canoes had lights underneath them, I assume to watch the nightlife beneath the surface. They landed very close to us and the fire-twirler we watched from afar the other evening was now putting on a show for us. A few of his guests made an attempt at twirling the fire and not incinerating themselves with varying degrees of success. Feelings moved from amazement to amusement to significant concern depending on who was holding the blazing stick.

Not great quality, but you get an idea of fire-twirling

Until tomorrow

Bus stop (Rarotonga)

Pancakes, syrup and fresh fruit.

Today's title will become obvious my curious reader, but it is a nod back to the Mersey bands and the great Hollies. Curiously Herman's Hermits also did a version which is a lovey link to our resident hermit crab, Herman.

The day began as the others had, sleeping late and sleep-walking down to breakfast. The excitement for me my discerning reader is what they will do with the eggs. We've had quiche, scrambled eggs and an omelette.  Today's surprise was ... wait for it ... pancakes! Winner! And beautifully presented they were too.  Pancakes, fresh fruit and tea. A great way to commence the day.

The weather was as it has been since we arrived. Around 27°, breezy with cloud moving so quickly that it is generally sunny. And humid. Let's not forget the humidity. The sort of humidity that makes think you need another shower after you exert yourself by putting on your shoes. Not that it is such an issue because the lagoon and the sea breeze are a few steps or an open window away.

Today's activity, according to the resort, is cocktails. I think we can manage that one without too much trouble. It is a tad early though and we have a few things we need to get sorted for the remainder of the week. We set out for one of the local stores to buy our daily 3 litre bottle of water and check out which nights the Night Markets operate. We have a cultural experience tonight, will go to the  Night Markets for dinner tomorrow, after the cocktail party and then our final night here is the Polynesian night. All sorted. Oh, and a massage to kill time before we leave for the airport on Thursday.

The snorkelling we did yesterday was just a test case and following the recommendation from another holiday maker, today was going to be more serious. We swapped the reef shoes for fins and headed off to the point of the island to search for the coral outcrops. It took about 30 minutes to negotiate our way there, stopping to adjust goggles and talk about what we were seeing underwater. The number and variety of sea cucumber is amazing. There were also more small reef fish than I noticed previously. But this was nothing compared to variety of sea life that lived in and around the giant coral outcrops. the coral looked like massive pumpkins and there were fish everywhere. Small reef fish, larger fish that would have looked good on my plate, star fish, urchins and a particularly aggressive fish that we would call a leather jacket. A couple of them had a go at me for invading their territory, one swiped past my board shorts, but the bravest one actually bit Jayne on the finger as she trailed her hand behind her. When she turned to see what had happened, he was floating nearby, mouth open, daring her to fight.

We snorkelled to the far end and then out toward the reef

We spent almost an hour and a half snorkelling various parts of the lagoon. We paused on the island for 5 minutes on the return swim to de-wrinkle our fingers. Nearby there were a number of girls in bikinis. White and yellow are always my favourite because they are see through when wet. The other girls were wearing iridescent orange. I was bemused by the fawning boys with the cameras and poses the girls were doing until I realised it was a photo shoot. Excitement over, it was time to head for the other shore and have a swim in the pool to de-sand.

Cheers Amie, this one's for you

That done it was time for lunch and cocktails. Once again Jayne opted for a Piña Colada. However, ever the adventurer, I went for Amie's Mistake. I'm not sure if the mistake was making the cocktail or drinking too many of them, but this is the first cocktail I have had that tasted remotely alcoholic. Believe me, it tasted alcoholic.

Balcony time. The breeze is lovely as we sit and watch the passing parade below and while away the hours until tonight's cultural experience. Relaxing holidays are the best, but despite our best efforts and copious amounts of sunscreen, the sun is taking its toll and these afternoon hours spent in the shade are an absolute necessity. It's also allowing me to catch up on some reading my avid reader. I've made it back to the 1968 Miles Franklin Award winner.

Soon enough it was time to walk down the driveway to the bus stop (you see the link now) and wait in any available shade, or anywhere there was a breeze, for our pick-up to attend the Highland Paradise Cultural Centre Ka'ara Island Night. It was still very warm and there wasn't much shade or breeze and we had a 15 minute window to wait for the ride. He was 10 minutes outside of that, not bad for island time. While we waiting a lady turned up to catch the bus into town. The bus is supposed to arrive at quarter past the hour, today it rolled past at 5:16 and despite the fact that we were standing at the bus stop, it did not slow in its progress and sailed straight past us. The lady in question arrived at 5:20 and was very surprised when we told her that she had missed the bus. She went off in search of alternative transport home rather than wait for the next bus.

Safely inside our bus, the air con was blasting away at temperatures of cold I'd not experienced since Malaysia. It was, however, most welcome. We had a few more guests to pick up along the way and then Willy, our driver, talked to us about the island and the people and crops grown in the area as a taster for what was to come.

The view from Highland paradise

It was an interesting and an enjoyable night. There was cultural history and a short walk around the property, including a symbolic offering ceremony in the Marae, the meeting ground for the tribe's government. This was followed by dinner and then a show that traced the history of the people to the present time. The drumming and the dancing was absolutely amazing and it was an excellent way to convey the story. Danny, the MC and a descendant of the King from the early days was a good host and interspersed the history lesson with cheesy jokes. There was also the ritual humiliation of a few guests who were chosen as the leader of different groups, but it was all in good fun (because I was safely seated at my table - wrong demographic anyway, too old and grey).

The meal was interesting. It was buffet style and probably contained food most people would recognise, but there was a twist. The chicken and pork was cooked in the traditional underground oven and there were other traditional dishes as well, taro leaves in coconut milk and raw fish for instance. It was tasty and very filling.

The Highland Cultural Centre is apparently charged with providing these experiences to all the island school students to ensure that their culture is keep alive for all. It is a pity that Australians can't/don't/won't recognise indigenous culture in the same positive way in Australia, but I assume that is part of our cultural background and the fact that the invaders stayed in big numbers and colonised the country.

We were deposited back at our door some time after 10pm, the last stop on our bus group.  We had offered for Willy to drop us at the roadside to walk back to the resort but he insisted on taking us to the reception door.

Warning: Political statement following: What I struggled with throughout the night was the role the London Missionary Society (LMS) played in the destruction of the culture that existed before they arrived with their prudish, puritanical concepts of sexuality and the superiority of their god. Seriously, a christian invisible god is better than an islander invisible god? Of course, I've long believed that many of the current world problems can be traced back to England. Let's think Australia still holding onto the monarchy and the near destruction of our indigenous culture; Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales speak for themselves; Israel; parts of Africa, India, Sri Lanka; need I continue? ... colonialism and its white-man superiority supported by christianity has much to answer for in today's world.

Fire-twirlers practising their art across the lagoon

Until tomorrow, when I may have calmed down a little

How Great Thou Art (Cook Islands)

Well, my dedicated reader I'll bet you weren't expecting a hymn for the title of any of my blog posts. Neither was I actually, Jayne suggested it. I was going for something more esoteric like Under the Milkyway by The Church. Why, you ask? Well, all will soon be apparent. Read on McDuff.

And as day 4 melts towards dinner dear reader we have developed a pattern, as I suspected we would. It became apparent this morning as we organised events for tomorrow.

The air conditioning was deployed last night to aid sleep and worked quite effectively until the wedding guests began their stagger towards their rooms at top volume. The cooler conditions encouraged sleeping a little later and put some pressure on us being ready for the day's activity. Today was church. Yep, you read correctly. It was even the activity recommended by the resort. It is Sunday, so why not?

The chicken superhighway

I am really going to miss my breakfast of fresh tropical fruit. Their egg fixation, not so much. There are chickens everywhere, did I mention that before? Free range, everywhere you look. I refer to the hedge outside the dining room as the chicken super highway. You can't see them but you can hear them clucking their way to and fro most times of the day. The cooked breakfast is an array of egg dishes, bacon is listed as a side dish. Today's dish: omelette and sausage. I'll pass.

Time for a dust bath

Bathing the kids

The church is hiding behind the poinciana tree

The target church in question is about a 15-20 minute walk back towards town. It's not the Catholic church, the Catholic church and the Cathedral are way too far to access on foot and it would be a risk to rely on the island bus service - if you want to get there on time. So we walked. The church is a big, stone, whitewashed building. It is traditional in shape with a high ceiling section down the middle and two lower ceilinged wings on either side. The central ceiling is pressed metal.

Due to the omnipotent heat, the doors were open front and back, and the windows were also open. There was very limited use of stained glass, some of which had been replaced by painted wood courtesy of a visiting cyclone. Every pillar in the church was adorned by electric fans spinning at full tilt.

This is the type of flower used to make a lei

It identified itself as a Christian community church - whatever that means. There were none of the statues that you might see in a Catholic or Anglican church. Aside from the flowers, the only decoration was a single wooden cross behind the very significantly raised pulpit, behind which the pastor disappeared when he sat down. But, there were flowers, everywhere, on heads, behind ears, across the front of the pulpit. I counted 12 flower decorations, but there could have been more.

The service was conducted in the local language, Cook Island Maori, with occasional translations in English. It commenced at 10am-ish and concluded at 11:15 - we scored a 15 minute early mark. Why would the resort recommend we attend church? Maybe they were trying to save my heathen soul. Actually, no, it was to hear the singing, which was truly incredible. The harmonies, sung in part, all wonderful. However, for us this was nothing so special - we have been involved in two parishes where there was a significant islander population and they often treated the congregation to such a spectacle. We did have one surprise though, part of the way through the service the pastor asked all visitors to stand up. He then explained the importance of singing to the community and told us we would have to sing then for them. It was so Glee-like, a sing-off to decide the champion. We were toast. Anyway, at least they chose an old hymn in a reasonable key, How Great Thou Art. I'm glad they hadn't told me about it before, otherwise I may not have gone. It was pretty cool.

Morning activity over, we declined the offer of morning tea and commenced our walk back to the resort. Not five minutes down the road, a car stopped and offered us a lift. The people are just so generous. We thanked our benefactor but declared we would prefer to walk - you get to see more of the country side that way.

Picture postcard shots everywhere you look

Then it was time for the lagoon. This time we grabbed a snorkel and goggles and splashed around for an hour or so, disturbing the fish and sea slugs. There were more fish than I thought and another swimmer suggested a better spot to snorkel. Apparently there is more coral, plenty of fish and the water is clearer. That will be for tomorrow, I don't want to overdo the sun.

Cocktail time. Jayne is in a rut - she had another Piña Colada. I had a Mango Colada and ordered some bar food while we dried off and watched the local dogs and chickens and children. Yes, dear reader, it may well be an over 18s resort, but they don't own the beach (sadly). It is a great spot for families and they utilise it every day. Post cocktails it was time for the usual desalination in the pool before we retire for an afternoon of reading and blogging. Who knows, I may depart from protocol and pop out with the camera.

Didn't happen; I grabbed a couple of shots from the balcony of the local dogs. They are all owned, but are free range like the chickens and can turn up anywhere. They like the resort. There is company, water is left out for them and they can swim. Or snooze.

Come and play with me!

Shhh! I'm tired.

The rest of the day proceeded as usual. Dinner, Peter Morgan was playing again tonight and the wedding guests were here for dinner looking far more demure than when we last heard them. It is always interesting to watch guests at such a function. Especially the awkward teen boy who is of no interest to the girls his age - they are after an older catch, but he is not interested in hanging with the younger children. Mum to the rescue to try and kick start the conversation with the girls. I'm not sure how it finished up for him because we retired for the evening. And unlike the previous night dear reader, we didn't hear from them again. The end.

Until tomorrow

Wedding Song (Cook Islands)

Coconut palms are everywhere

We bravely decided to forgo the air conditioning overnight. After all dear reader, we are on a lagoon near the reef with constant sea breeze. Perhaps not so constant. Certainly not as constant as Bright Star. There were some sticky moments but we survived the heat and vowed never to be so environmentally sensible again. When we retire tonight the air con will be on. Mind you, a simple ceiling fan would have done the trick.

Saturday is market day so we needed to be up early anyway. Well, early for Jayne, 7am. She does not acknowledge an hour like this when on holiday. The best thing about our accommodation is that it faces east and I get to watch the sunrise from my bed. About this Jayne is not thrilled. There will be accompanying photos later in the week - of the sunrise, not Jayne's unhappiness. That would be a quick way to end an enduring relationship.

The breakfast here is great. Fresh fruit forever: watermelon, paw paw, pineapple, passionfruit and fruit or coconut yoghurt accompanied by the usual range of toast. The hot part of breakfast is based around eggs. Unsurprisingly. Everywhere you look there are chickens, travelling singly or in groups. Hens just hanging out together or mother hens with numerous chicks. There are plenty of roosters strutting their stuff too. Thankfully, the sound of the waves crashing on the reef drowns the crowing of a morning. A good thing too, it saves me drowning them.

Breakfast over, we walked down the drive to the main road to catch the bus into the markets. We were sitting, waiting, wondering which bus would arrive first. There are two buses constantly circumnavigating the island, one clockwise and the other duped by Melbourne. (You don't get it? Seriously? Not explaining.) While we were waiting, a car came from the resort and they offered us a lift. It's like that over here, everyone is friendly. It turned out to be Peter (the singer from last night) and his wife Catherine. They spend a lot of time here, as you would expect, with Peter singing three nights a week at the resort during January and they provided us with lots of interesting information that we will use in the next week.

Watch your head. They make great wedding decorations.

It was very hot this morning so a lift was most welcome although it delayed our first ride on the island bus. The markets were large and sprawling and defied any attempt at logical navigation, although I'm sure we saw everything. There was food, fresh fruit and produce as well as cooked offerings to sustain the shopper. There were handicrafts, dresses, sarongs, jewellery (lots of black pearls), people touting their businesses for fishing, swimming with turtles, cultural experiences and lagoon cruises. It was an eclectic mix accompanied by the usual feeling of dejá vu.

Done and dusted with nothing purchased, we headed across the road to walk down past the retail shops. Eventually we located a store that sold reef shoes and purchased a pair each and then sought directions to where the bus, clockwise or otherwise, might be found and set off in search. What we found was Bergman and Sons, the black pearl specialists. A pair of earrings later, we caught the bus.

Once seated I began to survey my surroundings a little more closely. It was not a new bus. Tickets were paid for in cash and issued in paper. Novel. The bus driver stood up and said, "I'll be back in an hour" and walked down the stairs to nervous laughter. One patron suggested if he came back in an hour the bus wouldn't be there. We didn't put it to the test because he was back in a minute and we commenced the clockwise drive home. This prompted more observation. Clearly defined bus stops were in short supply. There appeared to be no method to signal the driver when you wanted to get off. Interesting. Then a woman stood and swayed her way down the aisle and the driver stopped the bus and she alighted. Ah! Old school. It was a pity that we weren't really sure where to get off. We passed the church that Peter and Catherine recommended we attend tomorrow morning, apparently it is amazing (not sure it will be for us, given the last two communities we were associated with had significantly strong Islander populations).

Exit for the bus safely navigated we changed and donned our reef shoes and walk/swam/floated across the lagoon to the island. The current was still moving quickly and we constantly needed to alter direction to make land where we had intended. There are not too many spots where it was deeper than 1.5 metres and it was mostly sandy. If there was a market for sea slug, sorry, sea cucumber, this is the place to be - they were everywhere. Big, black, slimy, sandy, ugly slugs on the lagoon floor. I've eaten them too and they taste worse than they look.

Jayne's cocktail of the day

Landfall achieved we circumnavigated the island. There is a ship wreck on the reef. On the lee side there are BBQs and tables and bush camp set ups that the lagoon cruise people use. We hear them as they beat their drums on the way over. And we hear them as they beat their drums on the way back, Sometimes there is a singing competition between barges. No I shall not be partaking of that experience, despite it being tagged, "hilarious".The swim back commenced further up from the resort so we could counteract the current and then it was off to the pool to de-sand and de-salt and have a cocktail. Piña Coladas all round. Very refreshing. As we people watched, preparations commenced for the afternoon wedding. Jayne watched one of the staff walk out with a large jar in hand with palm fronds growing out of the top. "Oh, look at that" she cried with some measure of envy. "It's a table decoration darl, not a cocktail" I mused. Much laughter.

Lunch over we sought advice from reception about a cultural experience for later in the week and enquired whether the afternoon wedding would impact on dinner arrangements.

And to Justin and Sam's wedding and the title for today, Wedding Song by Angus and Julia Stone. The benches were in place, the sand was raked, a love heart drawn around the bower, flower petals placed in bowls, the aisle was delineated by coconuts and every time everything was right, the picture was disturbed. Local dogs walked across the sand, a local child bolted from the water and walked the aisle, Herman turned up with the guests! However, he felt like he wasn't welcome, made it the edge of the aisle and turned back to the safety of his tree.

Herman beating a hasty retreat from the 'aisle"

It's fair to say that the wedding stopped everyone in proximity. Those floating in the lagoon re-focussed their attention,  guests at the Beach Club came onto balconies or went out to watch, passers-by waited for the bride to arrive. It's also fair to say that the weather stopped the wedding. Albeit briefly. A very heavy shower arrived post commitment statements that sent everyone inside. For three minutes before they re-emerged for the speeches.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, champagne, a nap, some reading and finally dinner. The guests retired from the reception around 11:30pm. If there were any dead sleeping nearby they would have been woken.

Until tomorrow

Escape or The Piña Colada Song (Cook Islands)

Sing with me: if you like Piña Colada and getting caught in the rain

Thank you for your patience dear reader. Internet access is not free in the Cook Islands and is not available everywhere. We were deciding what package to purchase when the delightfully helpful lady at reception informed us of a promotion. Buy three cocktails and you are given the equivalent of a week's internet, free. Clearly, that was an offer too attractive to bypass and also partially explains why there was no post yesterday. It also explains the title. Jayne had her first, but definitely not her last, Piña Colada. No need to mansplain today's title.

However, I digress. The last post concluded with us at the airport, yet to board the plane. We finished our pre-holiday champagne and wandered into a current of people that swept us towards our gate. It was quite crowded until the neighbouring area cleared. Then the announcement I knew was coming. "Flight delayed due to operational issues". Anyone who knows my travel history with work will be laughing now. Of course the delay was expected, I can count on one hand the number of times my planes were on time in 2018. We were pushed back, about an hour late.

The plane we finally boarded, was staffed by Air New Zealand, but bore the colours of Singapore Airlines - without the logo. Apparently there were maintenance issues with our original plane. Sadly, the ratio of children to adults was too high and the ratio of screaming children to quiet children even higher. Thank God for noise cancelling headphones, but even they struggled at times.

Flight time is 6 hours and was relatively uneventful. I watched two more movies that I would never pay to see. Had some dodgy food and a couple glasses of wine and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. Our first day in Rarotonga would be interesting, if not dreamy.

Immigration was an interesting experience. The locals and Business class passengers had their own dedicated line. The rest of us riff-raff lined up in the sheep run and slowly shuffled our way toward the front of the queue. It moved imperceptibly, with some people seemingly standing at the same counter forever. Once through we were greeted by our transport and I scored my first lei (but not last) on the island. It was made from flowers similar to that of the gardenia and the perfume was incredibly sweet.

There were other passengers travelling with us who were still drifting towards the immigration counter. This gave us the opportunity to watch the passing parade and make some observations about Raro. WHS as an industry has yet to arrive. Almost no-one, but tourists, wear helmets on motorbikes/scooters, seatbelts in cars are also superfluous. It is still cool, 60s style, to travel in the back of the ute, unrestrained. Thongs or flip flops are the preferred footwear - at work as well. The scene that left me amazed was the young guy in the back of the work ute. They had run a series of pieces of timber from the top roof bar through the table and over the tray at the back of the ute. This was tied off in one place, the middle of the tray. There was no flag signalling the end of the timber. Hmmm, not very secure, you're thinking. Incorrect. The apprentice was perched astride the cargo on top of the roof bar to ensure the wind didn't get underneath the load and lift it as they drove. His work flip flops clearly visible as they drove away.

About 30 minutes later we arrived at Muri Beachclub Resort (over 18s only). What to say? The room, the pool, the view, the lagoon? I'll let the pictures do the talking.

The lagoon from the balcony

The island across the lagoon

The view from bed

I'm sure we will develop a routine in time but today is about getting settled and having a look around. And dodging the rain showers that suddenly appear from nowhere and disappear just as quickly. Unpacked, we thought we'd walk the length of the lagoon towards the reef. This passes you by the edge of many other resorts, each of which is clinging to the shore in the shade of coconut palms. The water is warm and laps our feet to land's end and back again. The breeze is constant and much appreciated. Back at the resort it was time for a swim in the lagoon.

The current was moving very swiftly and easily took your feet out from under you and swept you away. Some people were getting into the water allowing the current to take them downstream and then having travelled far enough, would get out and walk back to where they got in and repeat. One woman we watched did this for hours on end. In fact her floating transcended our impromptu nap. Following our swim, we repaired to the pool to rinse the salt and sand away. Swimming pools at an adults  only resort are such calm, peaceful places. We had the pool to ourselves.

Herman the hermit crab

And with that we suddenly both very tired and broke one of our travel rules: no naps on the first day in a new time zone. Neither of us slept on the plane and had been awake for over 24 hours. Nap time. Awakening much refreshed, we went back downstairs to the bar overlooking the lagoon and began the difficult work of acquiring free internet access. While we were burning the hours, not the calories, we made a friend. A very determined hermit crab emerged from the shrubbery and made his way across the sand towards the water. The timber platform proved no challenge as he hauled himself up one side and gently let himself down the other.

Jayne suggested I should assist Herman  but I declined to interfere with nature and besides, he provided entertainment while we drank our cocktail of the day - a mango concoction, made by Ti the Fijian bar tender, who chatted about all the Campbells he had come across in life, both here and in Fiji.  More importantly, he made really good cocktails at happy hour prices which qualified us for the internet in our room - winners all around!  Luckily, Herman's slow progress to safety meant there was time for a second cocktail - the aforementioned Piña Colada for Jayne and a chilled Rosé for me.

After the pre-dinner drinks, it was time to go for dinner. Tonight's menu was entitled, "Pig and Prawn" with a selection of 2 sized rib dishes and barbecued prawns cooked with a choice of four sauces, accompanied by a diverse selection of side dishes.  It was a day of firsts - Jayne's first Piña Colada and I was coerced into trying ribs for the first time.  Not sure I see what all the fuss is about - I prefer a rare steak any day. The evening was very pleasant, accompanied by live entertainment provided by a self-accompanied male singer, Peter Morgan, whose repertoire was reminiscent in style of Stylus, one of the most underrated bands in Australian music history (IMHO).  Looking forward to hearing him perform again.

Day One on Raro concluded with French champagne on the balcony, Stylus playing on the computer in the background and then sleep.

Until tomorrow

My island home (Cook Islands)

And with the click of a button on the keyboard we are back dear reader. We are momentarily leaving our island home (thanks Chrissie Anu) to spend time on another. We are flying to the Cook Islands, specifically Rarotonga. Uncharacteristically we are not flying Qantas, a decision we have regretted in the past (I am looking at you China Southern), but we believe the national airline of the 7th state, New Zealand, should be OK. The clincher was the direct flight from Sydney. Whether I will regret sacrificing the status points will become apparent later in the year. However, at this stage with all the flying I do for work, the concept of a direct 6 hour flight has much appeal. (I did have a picture of the island inserted here but the dodgy wifi at the airport dropped it so you'll have to resort to Google)

Of course the other issue in being unfaithful to Qantas is that we forgo Lounge access and must spend our time with the great unwashed hoi polloi in the meandering corridors and sterile halls of the airport. Well, we will have do that, but first we need to find a place to sit, rest and ponder our forthcoming holiday over the obligatory pre-departure bottle of champagne.

The cab trip to the airport was remarkably event free for a Friday night. There was next to no queue in customs and security was passable except they had a thing for men. Every guy had to go through the body scanner and they only selected males for the explosives test. There were four of us tested for explosives - with the one tape. It's akin to using the same mouth piece to breath test four people.

Once through it was straight to the duty free to buy some alcohol to take with us. "Duty free". Bullshit. The alcohol is cheaper on the way back into the country and it is certainly cheaper at Dan Murphy's. For example, a bottle of Penfolds 389 was a bargain at $100. Mind you, it costs $70 at Dan Murphy's. We also picked up two Handpicked reds for the super price of $39.95 each. A true bargain at the Handpicked cellar door in Chippendale where they retail for $24.99 - and that is without our 25% member discount. I will NEVER purchase here again.

If you haven't been to Handpicked I highly recommend them. Excellent wine and cheese, wonderful friendly staff, it's a great way to while away a lazy Sunday afternoon. and they have wines from all over Australia as well as some other international places.

What an absolute rip off. I'm banking on the wine being pricey at Rarotonga. if not I'll have to drink more to drown my sorrows. Just think about it - if the wine is that expensive here, duty free, imagine what it will cost in a spec in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Fear not dear reader, I shall keep you well informed. The lesson however, is NOT to buy anything at duty free at the airport on your way out of Sydney - it is cheaper at the retail outlet.

Currently we are drinking a sub-standard champagne in some bar area being serenaded by someone's badly behaved screaming brat. Hopefully they will move on soon and will not be on our flight. I have become ambivalent to life in the Qantas Lounge but that is rapidly being reviewed. The crowds and the noise ... not my scene. That could have been the blog title.

So dear reader, our flight is at night. We depart on Friday at 9:15pm, if we are on time and fly across the magical International Date Line and arrive at 6:30am on the same day we left, Friday.  Time travel is not so hard, just confusing. I mean if Bill and Ted can do it. Hopefully we will get a little sleep on the plane. If not, I predict snoozing by the lagoon when we arrive. Actually, I predict that anyway.

That's about all for now. I will pick the narrative tomorrow in Rarotonga and provide you with any news worthy events that occur between now and then.

Until tomorrow,