Only
as we leave do I realise that the language of the Cooks is a version of Maori,
and accounts for the close association between New Zealand and these islands which
was re-inforced when they became a protectorate of NZ early in the 20th
century.
A close link between the Cooks and New Zealand |
All Cook Islanders have automatic NZ citizenship and most of the
businesses in the islands are run by Kiwis. Even the currency is mostly NZ,
though there are some curiously-shaped coins (including a triangular $2 piece)
peculiar to the Cooks.Another south Pacific oddity is the proliferation of
churches – especially the evangelistic strains.
Every other building on the
island seems to be a place of worship.The LMS certainly started something when
they first reached this fertile territory in the early 19th century.
It
is raining unseasonally as we touch down in Rarotonga but we elect nevertheless
to hire a rusty open-topped Daihatsu (which in Kiwi style we christen the
‘Silver Shitter’) to drive round the island during our 20 hour transit, into
which Allie fits her obligatory swim whilst I sit on the sand with a Hawaiian
beer.
Later we ran into the San
Francisco aged hippie lady who encouraged us to go to
an island dancing competition in Avarua later in the evening.
When we reached
the venue, however, the lady with the lei on the door said the start would be
delayed because not all the teams had arrived. 45 minutes later we were still
waiting and so decided to cut-and-run to
get some sleep before our 0300 wake-up for the flight to Tahiti via Auckland . A night of wild
weather and I wonder if our flight might be delayed.
ALLIE: DAY 66: Friday, 20th
of April
Return to Rarotonga, a scenic drive around the island and fare-well to
the Cooks
on our way back to Roratonga |
We try again to board the Saab
340 to fly back to Rarotonga and this time we are on the list! Great. Land
exactly after 40min but in drizzle. What sort of a Polynesian weather is this?
It had rained heavily all during the night in Aitutaki and now here as well?
Anyway, we hire a little jeep (it’s silver and so we name it the ‘silver
shitter’ just as Andy Nicholson had named his old car!).
But it does it’s job
and we drive back to our previous hotel, the Paradise Inn.
After searching town for more
efficient internet cafes (which indeed there are) we do a drive around tour of
the island. It’s only 30 km round-trip and even with stopping at churches,
beaches (a quick but wonderful dip), a little waterfall, a coffee and the airport
for Phil to take pictures it only takes us 2 hours.
It’s incredible how many churches
there are. There must be at least 30 churches of all denominations on this
little tiny island.
There are the seven-day Adventist, the church of the latter
day saints, the evangelistic churches, the Catholics and God knows who else.
People really seem to be very religious. As I enter a shop to buy some drinks a
local walks in and greets the shopkeeper with “Hallelujah, Praise the Lord,
Amen!”.
Some of the churches date back
the 19th century. They have thick white stone walls and are
surrounded by large cemeteries. Actually the whole island and every household
is full with graves. There are some really interesting ones with hand-painted
decorations, heart-shaped and full with plastic flowers (a bit of a strange
thing in a tropical country, but maybe the real flowers don’t keep long enough
here).
A huge cruise ship has docked at
Avarua harbour and the little town is flooded with fat Americans. “Darling, do
you think we have enough time to look into this souvenir shop? I’d love to have
some of those gorgeous black pearls, aren’t they wonderful, love?”
I escape by walking along the
back lanes of the town finding the memorial stone of the first missionary
preaching the gospel here (dating 1848) and a cinema starring ‘Casino Royal’
(James Bond),’ The Invincibles’ (about American football) and a kid’s movie
called ‘The Invisibles’. That’s it.
Back to our room and the patio to
work on some more writing and watching the hideous cruise ship leaving. Later
on we are back to ‘our’ pub, the Traders Jack. It’s heaving with expats
starting their night out at the bar. We hear that next door at the dolphin’s
club there is the final dancing competition of the senior dancers of Rarotonga.
We are very tempted to cut our night short and watch, but then the dances
haven’t yet turned up even though the show is already 40minutes late and we
decide to hit our pillows. It’s a very early start tomorrow.
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