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.

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