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