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| I will certainly miss this view |
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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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.
The little dude
The warriors
The women
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.
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