I Can See Clearly Now - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

Let me commence today’s post with an observation, my dear reader. Moustaches. To echo the pathetic attempt to curb social drug taking by the Howard government of the ‘90s, “just say no”. To moustaches. You can make up your own mind on drugs. I’m not your dad, I can’t tell you what to do. To see a young man shuffling in for breakfast, squinting eyes and wearing the exertions of last evening’s festivities across his brow, is confronting enough. When that young man is also wearing a moustache that appears once to have sported waxed ends … no, no, no. It’s enough to put one off the bad coffee one is drinking. This is 2022, not 1922. It may be in fashion but fashion is not always in good taste.

Life has settled into some sort of pattern. Not completely regular and regimented but there is a pattern. Once again, I rose before Jayne to swim laps in the pool. Exercise always allows one to feel righteous. It also excuses any excess at the breakfast table. Today was a carbon copy of the last few mornings - cloudless, with a slight breeze. The pool was empty and the restaurant only slightly more populated by the early breakfast fraternity.

Laps achieved, it was time to shower, dress and return with Jayne for the breakfast dilemma. To omelette or not to omelette, that is the question? No omelette today, but a promise was made to the staff that she would have one tomorrow. There will be no omelette passing these lips. Or any other egg concoction, if I can help it.

We lingered over breakfast, allowing the tide to rise a little higher, in preparation for another assault on snorkelling. Today we opted to walk to the Island Bar, which has become a haven for yachties and other assorted ne’er-do-wells. Think Jane Austen gypsies, but more annoying and not so scary. Our reasoning revolved around the very limited areas of clear water in which to snorkel. If the visibility is low, there is little point being out there, particularly as Jayne is snorkelling without lenses, the contacts being safe and sound in Sydney (along with the Aeroguard). While the goggles have a magnification effect, it is not enough if there is no water clarity.

The breakfast bulbul planning his next attack.

The water closer to the island is a little clearer and we floated our way towards where the vision was best yesterday. Then we turned our attention to the coral that borders the deep-water channel that provides boat access to the marina. It was the clearest we’ve seen. Not brilliant, but very good. There were plenty of different coral varieties and colours. Orange, yellow, iridescent blue, purple and other less vibrant colours and more fish than we’ve seen all week. It was certainly worth the effort today and our 45 minute (self-imposed) time limit in the sun was soon reached.

The water clarity spawned today's title. Yes, dear reader, I know the Hothouse Flowers version is a remake, but it is one of the best versions. Have a listen.

We followed a slow drift back towards the beach in case there was anything else worth seeing. There wasn’t. The sun was high in sky and letting us know it was time to re-occupy the chairs on the verandah to read and relax until lunch/cocktail time.

Our allegiance for cocktails has switched from the Island Bar to the restaurant. There is no particular reason for this except that I am interested in the lunch options to minimise my dinner intake. I think it’s an age thing. For the last two days I have had lunch, coinciding with swimming laps of a morning. The cocktail today was unchanged from yesterday, a Blue Malolo. Jayne opted for the safety of a Pina Colada and I went for the experimental Island Itch. The passion fruit seduced me. Like many a seduction, it didn’t live up to expectations. Or so I’ve been told.

It has been firmly established on this trip, dear reader, that the less one does, the more exhausted one feels. In the mid-afternoon on our last full day, I am struggling to raise myself from the deck chair to walk the 20 metres to the lagoon to cool down. I am uncertain if this is just island malaise or the impact of the cocktail at lunch. It is an effort, but one must succeed.

Post-lagoon exercise, we are back lounging on the verandah. There is a new yacht in at the marina this afternoon and as the day winds down, they are winding up. Why is it people with appalling taste in music feel the need to share that fact with everyone? The music, if it can be called that, is, unlike the water, crystal clear and can be heard quite a distance away. Hoping they shove off soon. (See what I did there?)

A Vanikoro Flycatcher

One of the nice touches of the resort is the hibiscus flowers that are used to decorate the buré. They are placed upon the bed, the bar, the side table on the verandah, the bathroom – just about anywhere there is flat surface. Soaking up the scenery the other afternoon I looked at the grass in front of the verandah area. Hibiscus stamens in various states of decay littered the ground like the cigarette butts of a previous generation. I’ve seen very few people here smoke. We have a coconut ashtray on the verandah that I place the flowers in every day.

Pre-dinner, I summoned the strength to chase tiny little birds. The Fijian Parrot Finch was back in the area and I finally managed to get a couple of reasonable close-ups – I hope. I won’t really know until we’re back home and I’ve loaded the photos onto the computer.

Nailed it.

Our last dinner. Tonight was curry night. As mentioned previously they are obviously following a set program. I don’t get why this can’t be published to the guests. Regardless, dinner was lovely and the sunset stunning. We thought we would celebrate our last night with a relaxing bottle of red after dinner and listen to the local musicians. Well, that was the plan, but nobody came near us all evening. So, no red wine. 

We walked back to the buré where sometime later Jayne suggested someone was at the door. I thought it was the clicking frog until it spoke. Our final bill, minus tonight’s wine, had been delivered. Which also delivered a surprise. We had been moved from the 3:45pm Cat back to Nandi to the 12:15pm trip. That’s a whole lot of wait time at the airport that we hadn’t factored in.

Too tired to discuss this tonight, we opted to leave it for the morning.

Until next time.

If I Could Turn Back Time - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Island

I’m not sure if I am taking a while to adjust to Fijian time, (it is only a two-hour time difference), or if the heat combined with the humidity is what is making me lethargic. Perhaps it’s just island life, dear reader. Whatever, I woke with the sunrise this morning and loitered in bed until I was sure Jayne wasn’t waking. By 7am, I had crept silently from the bed, put on my swimmers, grabbed my goggles and towel, and walked quietly to the pool.

The tables were being laid for breakfast and the smell of bacon faintly scented the air. There was still a slight breeze as I slipped into the water to churn out 500 metres. The best thing about this is that it will be saved on Strava as twice the length because my watch is set to 50 metre laps, not the 25 metres of the resort pool. Officially today I swam 1,000 metres in less than 13 minutes. Happy with that, but don’t tell anyone, my trusted reader.

No idea. Pretty.

The main pool is very warm and extremely salty, even more salty than the lagoon. It was necessary to have a fresh water rinse off as I headed home. By 7:30 am, I was back stretched out in bed next to a still sleeping Jayne. I am a ninja.

For the first time since we arrived, we had no close neighbours. Sunday must be the major departure day. It would also explain the sparse showing at dinner last night, something that was replicated at breakfast. Although the reduced crowd didn’t discourage the resident cats or visiting birds. Jayne maintains that the animals know me because I’ve fed them. I accept that with the cats, not sure about the bulbul. However, this morning after I placed my muffin on the table and went to get the bad coffee and a cup of tea, a bulbul landed on the back of my chair. When Jayne didn’t provide instant sustenance, it flew directly to the granola station and had a couple of beaks-full before staff scared it away. I am not responsible for rogue birds, although I am happy because it is a native.

Another flower

After breakfast, we walked to the notice board to see what was on the published agenda today. Nothing particularly enticing, except the date was recorded as: Monday, April 9. Hence today’s title dear reader. Jayne remarked that they had turned back time and May hadn’t happened yet. It has nothing to do with Cher and straddling big guns. If it had, I would have chosen the Beatles’ Happiness is a Warm Gun.

It's island time

The breeze was quite strong still but we decided to brave it and go for a paddle in the lagoon in one of the double kayaks. Jayne, as agile as she has ever been, managed to fall out of the craft before she even got in. It was warm, I reasoned, she probably wanted to cool off before we worked up a sweat. She’s always been the sensible one. And work up a sweat we did, once Jayne managed to sit in the kayak, fighting both current and wind at varying times. We ended up beyond the Island Bar and made an interesting discovery. The water out there was crystal clear. Noteworthy for snorkelling, after the murky experience the other day. Eventually we manoeuvred the kayak so it faced the shoreline and began paddling again. I’ll be surprised if I don’t feel this activity in my shoulders tomorrow.

The White-faced Heron turned from Jayne, embarrassed.

By the time we returned the Kayak I was hot and sweating. If only I’d had the foresight to get into the water before we set out. We made use of the shade from the coconut palms on the stretch of sand in front of our buré and discussed the clear water. The tide was high so it was good time to snorkel - at least we wouldn’t need to walk most of the way out to the clear water – if it still existed. I collected the flippers and goggles, we re-applied sunscreen and went in search of underwater worlds.

The water wasn’t much more than waist deep, chest deep in some spots. The lack of clarity continued as before; visibility was less than a metre. For either Jayne or I to locate the other required a head up out of the water. Or an accidental collision – there were a few of those. Until about 150 metres from shore, there was little to see. The water was clouded with silt and the seabed populated by those curious little fish that dig holes and then sit in their entrance. There were very infrequent beds of seagrass and occasional pods of weed.

Then, inexplicably, the water became crystal clear. The pods of weed increased, followed by pockets of fledgling coral and bay clams. There were a few interesting fish near these tiny outcrops, but they too were small. Everything appeared in scale. We were probably approaching 200 metres from shore and still hadn’t reached the deep-water line. Time to go back. Sunscreen doesn’t last forever and we’ve been badly burnt snorkelling before.

What an active morning! Time to chill with a book on the verandah and wait for lunch and check out the cocktail of the day. I’m reading Girt Nation by David Hunt. It’s the third book in his unauthorised history of Australia. It’s a pity that historians didn’t write texts like this when I was at school way back last century. If you ever want to laugh and depress yourself simultaneously, the Girt series is for you. It explains a lot about Australia’s current political and social situation.

With only a couple of days remaining, today we opted to have lunch for the first time. Perhaps because of the radical exercise of the morning. Who knows? Anyway, we shared tonkatsu sliders and halloumi salad, paired with the cocktail of the day for me, a Blue Malolo and Jayne had a Tropical Splice. She wouldn’t try mine because it had been poisoned by the addition of Banana Rum.

Back on the verandah, we decided we would have another go at snorkelling off the Island Bar’s beach tomorrow. Hopefully, the clarity of water out there will allow a better view of the coral than we experienced last time. And then … read … siesta … a little of column A, a little of column B.

An afternoon lap of the tourist inhabited area revealed the Fijian Parrot Finch, a recognised subspecies of the Red Faced Parrot Finch. It’s the same bird we saw at the Sheraton on the main island. I’ve done some checking since then. I didn’t have the big lens with me, so I’m hoping I jagged a decent photo. Sorry, that section should have come with a bird-nerd alert.

Not quite as good as I had hoped.

Another relaxing afternoon on the verandah as the sun moved towards colouring the western sky. That means dinner. And in another piece of exciting news, they now have the Pinot Gris in stock. It was very good. Probably not as good as we thought, but hey, it wasn’t one of those herbaceous, sugar laden NZ sav blancs.

There were a few new faces at dinner tonight, our penultimate dinner. Not to mention there was another group of travel agents from the States or Canada – Ok, I can tell the difference, but I just don’t care that much. There were about ten of them and, if they were on a similar program to the last group, it means 8 resorts in 8 days. That is a schedule that does not vaguely interest me. Gruelling. It’s like speed dating, or a sample plate; it might pique your interest but in the end, you will be unsatisfied.

My phone takes a better picture than my camera

Unlike us. We are both satisfied and sated after our day’s activity, dinner and another knockout sunset. It has been spectacular every night, better than anywhere we’ve seen. Don’t try and hide in the corner Santorini, I’m looking at you.

Time for a new camera

Until next time.

I'm on an Island (Hamilton Island)

Today's title is a retrospective nod to that great British band the Kinks. Do some research you millennials, they were excellent.

It seems such long time since the Cook Islands my dear reader, although it was only three months ago. This feeling has no doubt been exacerbated by work. The changes have been as difficult to deal with as the right wing of the federal Liberal Party, and as much fun. Although I have landed in a good place with good people. However, following the removal of the king I contemplated moving my life to Syria, as that at least would provide some comparative stability, but no my astute reader, that is not where I am heading. A short break in Hamilton Island should restore my wellness index.

Thank you internet for this image

Despite having travelled to many islands off the coast of Queensland, Hamilton, until now has eluded us. Too many friends have suggested we should put it on our travel itinerary and so we have. All the essentials are packed, our bags have been checked, I was tested for explosives and failed. Now that test is one from which you don't want a positive result. And now I sit people watching in the Qantas Lounge, nursing my carry-on bag which contains not one, not three, but five bottles of 2008 vintage Drappier champagne. Excessive you say. No, I respectfully disagree. I had intended on taking only three bottles but was advised to take one bottle for each day. Sound advice from a seasoned traveller. Who was I to disagree?

There is the usual eclectic crowd wandering the lounge. Suits, jeans, tattooed middle aged women, running shoes, the occasional person clothed as if they dressed after an explosion at Vinnies, (think '70s maths teachers), but NO thongs - this is Qantas. There is also at least one screaming child, who, no doubt, will be seated behind me on the plane. Thankfully our accommodation at the Beach Club is adults only. We have done our time in family friendly places, and anyway, we are no longer friendly.

I have seen many unusual sights in airport lounges and today contributes another. A man has just arrived in shorts and T-shirt with a camera on a very large tripod. He set the camera up and is taking shots of the food station. Interesting.

Alas, the screaming child has departed the lounge and will not be seated near me on the plane. Despair not my sensitive reader, another screaming child has replaced the previous one. And so it goes. The plane was dominated by children, who thankfully, were well behaved and subdued once we gained altitude.

In another example of first world problems, the snack on the plane was a choice of quiche or corn frittata. Really? Way too much egg action for my taste buds. I believe every egg should have the right to become a chicken.

The view from the verandah

First impressions of the island are favourable. The Beach Club looks great, we were welcomed with a glass of champagne - clearly they identified my weakness. We are on the ground floor with direct access to Catseye Beach, although initially the rain kept us in our unit.

The rain soon disappeared and the sun returned so we ventured down to the lounge for a cocktail and food. Jayne had a French Colada and I had the Spritz to go with some delectable squid and rosemary salt chips. Very nice. The sun also lured people to return to the infinity pool. It's heated so it's swimmable no matter what time of year you visit.

Then it was time to explore our end of the island. The walk to the Marina and the hub of activity was less than a kilometre, although there was a rather steep hill to negotiate. We have dinner reservations already for this evening so it was really a case of seeing what else was there. There is choice a plenty from the world-food pizza to Italian, seafood and even Mexican. And there is a variety of price points too.

The island boasts "no cars" in a similar way to Lord Howe Island boasting "very few cars". Hamilton may have less cars than LHI but the proliferation of golf buggies creates traffic chaos. This is made worse by the footpath constantly disappearing and re-appearing on the opposite side of the road. 4pm at the wharf was obviously peak hour. There were buggies and the island shuttle buses everywhere.

The natives appear friendly

Exercise over, it was time to resume the relaxing holiday pose and we repaired to our unit for champagne on the verandah in preparation for dinner.

We were warned not to leave the doors open when we go out. It may well be an obvious and sensible security precaution, but we were told it was to stop the cockatoos coming in and ransacking the room. They looked friendly enough when marauding hordes of them descended upon us, clearly in the hope of getting fed...  We will be closing the doors religiously whenever we are not around to guard the perimeter.

I was just about to upload a couple of photos when I discovered the attachment I need is safely back in Redfern. Nice work Apple, let's keep changing the plug-ins so people have to buy more attachments. No point using the camera for blog pictures, they will all be taken on the iPhone.

Until tomorrow ...

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