Rarotonga and the Cook Islands – Mar 17, 2008
The Cooks are an independent country consisting of fifteen islands of varying size loosely affiliated with New Zealand. Rarotonga, the largest and most economically dominant of the group, is our chosen destination.
It is best thought of as the top of an enormous ancient volcano standing 17,000 feet above the ocean floor, the first 14,750 feet of which is under water. The remainder is a group of weathered and eroded peaks, saw toothed, craggy, and razor backed, clothed in dense tropical jungle. The island’s circumference at sea level is just twenty miles but at a depth of 13,000 feet is thirty-one miles. Like all similar islands in this region of the world, it is surrounded by a shallow lagoon protected by an off lying reef not more than a half mile to seaward.
In the main town of Avarua is a commercial harbor whose entry is just barely wide enough to permit Indigo to enter safely and turn around. At the entry, just to starboard, is a breakwater made of heavy stones piled up above the thundering surf. Perched upon this are the remains of a quite recent shipwreck. About a mile to the south is yet another shipwreck, this one piled up on the reef. But our trusty captain is undeterred and guides us to the town wharf with great skill.
Ashore, some of the crew and I took a guided tour around the island’s circumference, which lasted far longer than ideal. (“This is our electric plant. Here is a defunct hotel.”). One sweaty day, I walked nine holes of golf on the island’s only course set in the midst of an array of 100-foot high, fully wire guyed radio antennae. On five of the holes, you have to hit at an antenna and hope to miss it and its supporting wires to land safely in the fairway.
The crew and I had dinner at several fine restaurants, one of which included the sights and sounds of wild (free range?) chickens rooting about and at sundown fluttering awkwardly into tree roosts. After dinner, we attended popular festivities at the Banana Court bar and disco. There we encountered at the inevitable pool table a friendly group of very short guys from Fiji and the Philippines here for work.
One of the island’s attractions is that the people speak English, if of the New Zealand variety. After struggling with my bad French and their broken English in French Polynesia, this place is a dream. It did take some getting used to, though, to see dark skinned, Maori-like Cook Islanders spouting Kiwi English. Another pleasing aspect of the place is that it has a pleasing aspect, again unlike FP. Yards are tidy, homes and shops painted, gardens neatly trimmed. The Brits have left their mark here, as the French have left theirs in FP. But after a few days here, with some well deserved and needed time off for the crew, we move on to the island of Nuie (nu way).