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Pacific Journal Rarotonga
5.
Air New
It’s a short flight, and we remain in the same time zone, but we are tired
when we arrive on
Pacific Resort, Rarotonga,
Location: 21:15S; 159:30W
(GMT – 10 hours) 2.80 NZ$ =
£1
I wake about 7.00 and read until Sue comes round.
She has had another bad night: sinus, cold, nausea.
We both have a cold, and I have accumulated a few mosquito bites which
are bothersome. The heavens open as
we get ready for breakfast, and we take umbrellas although we only need to go a
few yards. The open-sided covered
breakfast area is surrounded by ponds with fish and tropical gardens.
When we have eaten we get an induction talk from Poco, but in trying to
make it interesting he throws in so many quips that in the end we are not sure
what the hotel has to offer. There
are two other middle-aged / elderly couples from the 
but first we just walk on the beach. There
are two islands (motu) in the lagoon,
and the beach is white sand, fringed with palm trees.
All the buildings (including our hotel) are low-lying and don’t impose
on the view. Apart from the grey
clouds it’s idyllic, and after the manicured gardens of the
We have lunch at the Barefoot Bar, on the beach.
I have marinated raw fish (again) and Sue has chicken in rice paper
rolls. It seems a long time since
our last decent meal, and so we also have a bowl of chips.
We explore the hotel and look at the pool (which has no-one in it) and
the shops. The lushness of the
rampant vegetation makes the grounds seem more extensive than they are.
There are rustic bridges over ponds and channels, and the whole effect is
very tropical. Most of the rooms
overlook the gardens, and with the overcast skies they look as though they might
be dark and gloomy. We are glad that
we have a beachfront room. We go
back there to read a bit, doze a bit, and then I take a kayak out to the reef.
The years of canoeing at
Friday night at Pacific Resort is Island Night, and we have been advised to make
a reservation. Our hearts sink when
we realise that we are sharing a table with two other couples.
I sit next to Phil from Southend and Sue sits next to a Dutchman who,
with his wife, is renting a house along the beach.
It is too noisy for my hearing aids, my left ear is still suffering from
the cabin pressure of the flight, and I don’t hear any of the conversation
except what Phil says. I’m
unsociable at the best of times but my deafness makes occasions like this a real
ordeal. The noise abates whilst our
host welcomes us, explains what will happen, and then says grace.
The meal is uma kai ~ meat and vegetables wrapped in banana leaves and buried
with heated river stones in a pit in the ground.
Disappointingly, we don’t see any of this, and the buffet is set out
like any other buffet. Sue doesn’t
eat much meat and there aren’t many dishes for her to try.
She is really suffering with her cold, although mine seems to have
receded, thanks perhaps to Sue’s Echinacea spray.
When the puddings arrive Sue decides enough is enough and goes back to
bed. I stay for the puddings and the
entertainment. There is traditional
Polynesian dancing, similar to that we saw on
Saturday 3 March
Sue seems brighter this morning but she is still coughing.
We have breakfast and she decides she will take the bus ride with me into
town. Avarua consists of one main
stretch of shops separated from the sea by a sleepy dual carriageway.
There are several streets heading back towards the hills, but
they don’t go far. I get some cash
(no problem with the ATM this time) and we walk round the market and the shops.
Sue buys a black pearl each for Sally and Mandy, but otherwise our only
purchase is postcards. We have lunch
at Trader Jacks on the edge of the little harbour.
We have seafood chowder but the fish (mahi
mahi) is not very exciting and Sue leaves most of hers.
The buses run in both directions round the island (32 km in all) and we intend
going back to the hotel the long way, but we discover that the anti-clockwise
bus doesn’t run on Saturday afternoons. We
have a long wait for the next clockwise bus.
By the time it arrives there is quite a crowd (no semblance of a queue)
and I wonder if we will all get on. Being
British, we are not good at pushing people aside, and so I am really wondering
whether Sue and I will get on. We
do, although the first people on board are the last to arrive.
The driver is an elderly gentleman in shorts, a flowered shirt and
shades, and when we are all sitting comfortably he turns up his music, stands up
and shakes his limbs loose with a bit of boogie.
An old lady in a flowered hat remains seated at the front but joins in
anyway. On the way the driver stops
for a couple of tourists, although they are walking and haven’t signalled for
the bus to stop. He asks them
where they are going, and tells them to get on the bus.
They seem reluctant, but they get on and he doesn’t ask them for any
money. They get off with us after a
few miles. It would have been a long
walk for them.
Sue goes back to bed, and I go for a swim (no encounters with trigger fish this
time) and then I read on the beach. I
fall asleep and wake myself by snoring. I
look around furtively, but no-one is staring at me.
Perhaps it was a gentle snore, although it must have been loud enough to
penetrate my deafness. We saw some
sunshine earlier, but it has been overcast most of the day.
We shower and go to check our emails.
The computer is in a room that might have once served as a broom
cupboard. It is stifling, even with
a fan going and the door open. Sue
discovers that the last batch of emails she sent from the Intercontinental
arrived blank, so we have to resort to using my Hotmail account.
Then we go to our reserved table for two in the Barefoot Bar.
We eat dinner and watch dusk settle on the lagoon as the motu
disappear from view. Later, the moon
shows fitfully behind the clouds and we can just make out the beach on Motu
Koromiri, the island we want to visit by kayak.
We walk along the beach in the moonlight, the breeze rustling the palms.
Sunday 4 March
Sue had one extended bout of coughing but other than that had a good night.
It sounds wild outside. It’s
overcast when we get up, with rain in the air.
After breakfast we send more emails and as there isn’t an
anti-clockwise bus on Sunday we catch the clockwise bus round the island.
The driver is the boogie dancer from yesterday.
When we get on he gets off and goes to the shop for food and drink, which
he brings back to the bus, snacking as we go.
The majority of the islanders, and no doubt quite a few tourists, are at
church at this time of day, and so the bus is almost deserted.
We sit near the front and get a running commentary from the driver; a
round-the-island trip with commentary for $4.
He points out the area where he was brought up, tells us how much beach
homes cost, and slows down so that we can see a car that ended up in the ditch,
although we don’t know whether it was last night or last year.
He stops outside one house and toots his horn.
No-one appears, but he conducts a conversation with someone in the house.
“That’s my cousin” he says as we drive off.
We find out that driving is a part-time job for him.
As he did yesterday, he appears to pick people up without charging them,
and when he does charge it is either $4 for the round trip (or any part) or $6
for a return. One small group asks
to go to Avarua, but when we arrive and they get out they mill around
uncertainly and the driver leans out and tells them to get back on the bus.
They do as they are told. As
we drive past the churches we sometimes get glimpses of the congregations in
their Sunday best, but we don’t hear any of the massed counter-point singing
which, apparently, is traditionally performed fortissimo.
We have lunch back at the hotel, in the Barefoot Bar, entertained by a
music-making family. The smallest
member of the family isn’t performing, he’s tucking into a bowl of chips,
and occasionally Mum breaks off to attend to him. It’s raining now, so we go
back to the room for a read and a sleep. It’s
fine again by mid-afternoon and so we take kayaks out to Motu Koromiri.
We have the island to ourselves. We
head for the next motu, but the water gets choppy and Sue feels out of her comfort
zone. Still, we don’t feel we are
doing too badly for a couple of pensioners.
We have cocktails before dinner. Sue
enjoys her chicken pasta but leaves most of her panna cotta.
The waiter notices, and when Sue admits to being disappointed with it he
says he won’t charge for it. Then
it’s time to pack again for another departure.
Next
leg:
6.
Rarotonga to