Rarotonga - The Last Dance

March 1

Paradise.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved

February 26 was a hot, sticky, tropical kind of day, the steamiest of our trip. It was our last day in Raro, and nobody wanted to leave. The prospect loomed large over us, and tempers wore a bit thin. I think it was the combination of uncomfortable humidity partnered with the general moroseness one quite naturally feels when facing a separation of thousands of miles from this amazingly beautiful, calm, peaceful place.

This guy poses in the 4 directions.
Here, I'm doing my best to cover his bits...

We started our packing while waiting for a couple of us to come back from a walkabout, and then we went to market in Avarua, it being Saturday morning. And, as you'll remember, going to market is what one does on Saturday mornings. We were all sweating profusely. I'm sorry to be indelicate, but facts are facts. There's no other way to put it.

I mentioned to one of the shopkeepers that it was an awfully hot day, and she smiled and said, “Well, that's what you came here for, isn't it?” Actually, no. But I suppose, generally, she does have a point. Most people would be here to escape winter weather. But the winter weather where I live is not of the sub-freezing, blizzardy variety.

Marumaru Atua, the Cook Islands vaka.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

We walked along the waterfront in Avarua, and guess what we saw? The vaka! There it was, at full sail, just outside the reef. It was making its way into the harbor, with a whole bunch of people on board. We watched (in the shade) as it approached the dock by Captain Jack's, and then we walked on over to have a closer look. I tried to imagine crossing the ocean on this vessel, but I couldn't quite picture myself doing it. Especially in high seas. The Voyagers are a brave and adventurous bunch!

Marumaru Atua at Treasure Island
(near San Francisco)
We visited, as promised. Can you spot Brown?
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

We took some pictures and then tried to think of something to take home to cook for dinner. Everything pretty much closes at 1 or 2 on Saturday afternoon so everyone can get ready for Sunday, except a few of the pricier places, and we needed to think about what we still had left to do in order to be ready to leave on time. Frankly, I thought I'd rather miss the plane, but then there would be the small problem of no money and no place to stay. Not a happy prospect, eh? But surely there's something an enthusiastic and vivacious person such as myself could do to earn a small but sufficient living here? Anyway, we had just eaten at the market, and nothing sounded good. So, we went home empty-handed, a development we would come to rue.

We went for our last snorkel, always sort of a sad and melancholy thing. Goodbye, big, beautiful fishes and other serene sea creatures. Goodbye, lovely coral heads teeming with itsy bitsy fishies of many colors and shapes. Goodbye, refreshing and clear lagoon. Goodbye, coral reef off in the distance, breaking up the thunderous waves that come crashing upon you. If you have tears in your eyes, well, so did I.

The light from the flash reflecting from the sky's tears.
A torrential downpour on our last evening in Raro.
Looks like snow, but it's huge raindrops!
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

Bob took the car back to the rental agency, and so now we had no transportation but our feet. So, we thought we might walk over to the PawPaw Patch for dinner. It was dark, but the PawPaw is an easy distance from the Coral Villa. Except that the skies opened up and started crying because we were leaving soon. I mean, buckets of tears. A torrent of emotion that kept on going, and going, and going. There was just no relief for the deep sorrow the island was experiencing. The downpour continued and did not stop. Somehow, I was able to draw solace from the fact that Raro was going to miss me just as much as I was going to miss Raro. And the rain continued. We were unable to go get dinner.

So, we finished packing and chatted while awaiting the shuttle to the airport. Such sad times! Rongo (the manager) came to bid us farewell and wanted to hear all about our adventures, which lightened the mood a bit. She is experienced at such things, and it showed. Thank you, Rongo, for making us feel so sure that we would indeed be back again, and soon.

Rongo and a friend on a
sunnier day.
Thank you, Rongo!
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

The shuttle arrived, we loaded up our bags, and we said our goodbyes to Rongo. It was so kind of her to stay with us until the bitter end. In retrospect, though, she probably needed to make sure we were actually vacating the premises! But she never let us think that at the time, not even for a second. The air conditioning in the shuttle was going full blast, and it was just freezing in there. Or so it seemed to me. I hadn't really experienced a whole lot of air conditioning while in Raro, preferring the sea breezes.

We got to the airport in plenty of time to check out the souvenir shops after checking in (a long line of dejected people, hating to leave). Harry got a Cook Islands Police hat, which he has since given to a guy at the VA [military veterans' clinic] who thought it was cool. Just sharing the love.

I purchased one last flat white, even though it's a hot drink and the temperature in the terminal was quite warm (no air conditioning there).

On the plane, I was seated next to a Rarotongan young man who works at the Rarotongan resort. We chatted about slow internet speeds and so on, and he talked about property fights and loose women and STDs and unwed mothers and lazy islanders...it was interesting, for sure, to hear his perspective on things. It certainly wasn't the picture I'd painted in my head and didn't match my experiences at all. Then again, I'd only been there two weeks. I wonder. At any rate, it just goes to show, there's always more to a story than meets the eye. And I still want to go back. So there.

Arriving in Los Angeles. There's snow on the mountains.
Feeling sad...
Photo taken by my Rarotongan friend with my camera.
He had the window seat.

When we were landing in Los Angeles (where the TSA people just about ruined our whole vacation, but I won't discuss that here), the mountains were snow-capped. My new friend had a hard time wrapping his head around that! “Is that SNOW?!” he asked incredulously; and, “I'm going to freeze!” he declared. I'm sure the friends he is visiting will be able to provide him with cold weather gear, if he needs it. Just because there's snow on the mountain tops doesn't mean it's cold down below at all. It's LA. Swimming pools. Movie stars.

Leaving Rarotonga was so hard. There's nothing new there. I seem to fall in love with every place we visit. The cultures, the foods, the views, and, of course, the people, all have their own charm and value. All so different, yet, in a strange way, all the same. The family of man. The children of God. Aere ra, goodbye, until we meet again.

The five of us on the beach. Happy times.
Photo by the neighbors from New Zealand. Thank you!

Rarotonga - Market Day and Te Vara Nui Village

Saturday, February 19

Saturday Market in Avarua
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

Kia orana! Everybody got up early this morning, and we went to the market in Avarua. Some vendors are here daily, but most are only here on Saturday. There were so many vendors! We stayed for hours, browsing here, browsing there, and making mental notes about what we'll purchase. Next Saturday at the market. Because market day is a big deal, and you don't want to ruin it by already having all your purchases made!

There's a covered stage set up conveniently in the middle of the market, and, on this day, there were young people who were doing traditional dancing as a fundraiser for a trip they were taking to another island. The little girls were too cute! I was trying to take photos but ended up accidentally turning on the movie function on my camera. It was a happy mistake, and I hope the video works for you.

A picture, in case the video doesn't
work for you. Aren't they cute?
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

There were lots of food vendors, and everything sounded really good. We finally decided on some meat on a stick ($2NZ per stick) and a fresh fruit smoothie. The meat was tender and flavorful and delicious, and the smoothy was wonderfully cooling. Just the ticket to refresh us and keep us going.

We came home from market, had a swim, then got ready for the dance show extravaganza. We had made reservations at Te Vara Nui Village (Muri) and went to pick up our tickets at the designated hour. Note to self: Bring a discount coupon for each person next time, as it turns out that the coupon is only good for one admission (unlike at home, where one coupon will get everybody in your party a discount). So, we only got one $10NZ discount. Ah, well. Live and learn. We mentioned to the nice lady at the desk that it might be a good idea and create less confusion if the coupon clearly stated “Good for one admission” or “One coupon per person” or something like that. She was unimpressed with our helpfulness.

The ticket we purchased included a cultural tour of the recreated Polynesian village as well as the dinner show.

Pretty fierce looking!
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

The cultural tour was very interesting and covered costuming and traditional medicines and traditional construction and fishing traditions and weaving with coconut fronds. There was a demonstration of how to climb a coconut tree, which you apparently have to do if you're going to harvest the green (“young”) coconuts that are so much a part of the diet here (and from which we get the coconut water that is all the rage to drink right now). They showed how to remove the husk from the coconut with a sharp stick, and how to open the coconut with a single blow from the back of a large knife, and how to make coconut cream from the coconut meat. They talked about the importance of coconut in their culture and about the value of coconut for nutrition and hydration. I was mesmerized, as I absolutely love coconut. The tour was well worth the expense, I thought. And when it was time for the dance lesson, My husband “volunteered” and was chosen. He was a good sport and actually seemed to enjoy it. And, of course, I enjoyed it tremendously!

My husband (center) getting his groove on.
Photo by Chris. All rights reserved.

Then came the dinner, which included lots of variety – fish in coconut milk, curried beef, chicken baked in the ground, lamb wrapped in taro leaf, and so on. Everything was delicious, well-presented, and plentiful. The bench tables were a little too close together, though, and that made it difficult to get up and sit down. But we managed. Where there's a will, there's a way.

The dance show was absolutely fantastic. I don't know how they can move like that in the first place, much less for an hour. The stamina required is amazing. The girls were stunningly beautiful, and the guys had those great thighs that Karen wanted to see. The fire dancers were unbelievable. This particular show is centered around local mythology and legend, so it tells a story rather than simply being a skillful demonstration of native dance. The musicians, drummers, and singers were also excellent, and the entire experience was one well worth repeating. I highly recommend it.

Dancing with the dancers. Notice the glistening skin.
Photo by Jo Gade. All rights reserved.

After the show, the dancers joined the spectators for a little social, and Bob and I were each invited to dance by one of the dancers. It was tons of fun, right up until it started being painful. The dancers moved gracefully, their exposed skin a glistening bronze sheen, while we laughed nervously, gasped for air, and awkwardly attempted to cool off by pulling the sweaty fabric away from our sticky, sweaty selves (not too successfully). However, it was a fabulously entertaining thing, and I'd definitely do it again. But maybe I'd wear fewer clothes. Don't tell my mom.

As I mentioned, the dancers were amazing. The professional dancers, that is. By the way, the gorgeous young lady dancing with Bob happened to be Miss South Pacific. How about that? Her name is Christine.

And speaking of Christians (“Christine” meaning “follower of Christ”), the Master of Ceremonies tonight made a point of making sure everyone knew that Rarotonga is a Christian island. There was grace said over the food, “as is traditional here in Rarotonga.” During the cultural tour, which was all about the ancient culture of the island, they started out by saying that the English brought the Gospel to the Cook Islands, for which they are grateful. And so on. How very refreshing. No wonder I feel so at home, at peace, here.

Tomorrow, Sunday, we're going to the church in our neighborhood. We're all looking forward to it, me especially!