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| A yellow poinciana, stunning |
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.
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.
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.
Until tomorrow
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| One of the ancient gods - that is all. |
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| An exhibit - I have no idea |
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.
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| One of less showy burial areas - this was in a front yard |
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.
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.
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| Not great quality, but you get an idea of fire-twirling |
Until tomorrow
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