Rarotonga

The flight from Tahiti to Rarotonga was a rubber-band job, almost empty, and a bit bumpy over the ocean. Once more we were met by posters and leaflets advertising dengue fever, which is all the rage at the moment. There’s not much you can do to avoid being bitten by mosquitoes, but we stocked up on incense coils and insect repellent, and hoped for the best.

No flowers on arrival this time, just a ukulele. Still streets ahead of Heathrow. The owner of our bungalow had sent a van to pick us up, and soon we were installed on the beach. Wonderful beach and idyllic setting, but let down by the fact that the water in the lagoon is very shallow and full of coral. Not good for swimming, but we went out and bought reef shoes which made a big difference.

The weather was not kind to us during the four days we spent at the Tiana’s Beach Bungalow. It rained for much of the time, and was overcast for the rest. It shows in the photos. But we were happy to relax and do very little, which is thoroughly in the spirit of the Cook Islanders’ way of life.

We took a bus into Avarua, the main town. There is a single road running round the coast, and buses run in both directions; the destination panel on the front of each bus announces either “CLOCKWISE” OR “ANTICLOCKWISE”. The island is so small that it does not really matter which way round you go, you always get there in the end.

It was pouring with rain in Avarua, so we visited the museum and the library. But the most interesting building was the church, built in 1853 of crushed coral and lime like so many of the early missionary churches in the south Pacific. Peter was particularly interested in the churchyard whose tombstones contain a snapshot of island history since the arrival of missionaries in the early 19th century, including a memorial to the first missionary. Our hero in this case was Rev John Williams, sent by the London Missionary Society (LMS) to bring light to the heathens of these islands. For the next 50 years he and his Bible-bashing band ruled the islands with an iron fist, destroying all the old customs, traditions, social order and artefacts. His success was such that he was then sent to convert Vanuatu, where he was promptly barbecued and eaten. Not before time.

If he had been a Catholic, he would undoubtedly have been canonised, and herein lies another tale. It was the protestant missionaries who called on Britain for protection, to avoid the Catholic French from gaining a foothold. Thus The Cook Island became British and not French. Skanked again!

Whatever one may feel about the activities of the London Missionary Society, its legacy still pervades almost every aspect of life in the south Pacific. Amazingly, even Tahiti is 70% protestant. All the islands are devoutly Christian, and churches are everywhere and well attended.

However, Tangaroa escaped the purge and is still going strong. He was the chief pagan god, with special responsibility for the sea, fishing and fertility. His effigy even appears on one side of the Cook Islands $1 coin, with his massive willy well in evidence. The Queen, on the other side, does not look amused. Unfortunately, his modesty is frequently preserved nowadays with a grass skirt, in the absence of suitable fig-leaves.

We walked up the road each evening to the local restaurant, and strolled back along the beach under the starry sky just like young lovers. Crabs and hermit crabs accompanied our every step.

Peter went scuba diving just outside the reef. A wonderful dive over vibrant coral reefs. But there was a big swell running, and the tiny boat was bouncing about alarmingly. Peter fell heavily when getting back on board after the dive, and he thinks he has cracked a rib. He can’t laugh, sneeze or cough. So please refrain from jokes in your abundant emails!

We have enjoyed our short stay on Rarotonga, but it is not quite paradise. Will we finally find paradise on Aitutaki, the next island on our Pacific route? We’ll let you know.