If the stonefish in Muri Lagoon don’t kill you, the high price of internet data will. On my very first visit to Rarotonga in the Cook Islands last week, I’m astounded that a gig of data can cost NZ$50 (F$75), and which I chew up in no time. It’s one of the realities of visiting the tiny Polynesian island nation with satellite telecommunications, though change is coming in the form of the Southern Cross Cable.
—
Since I’m here for work (as the public relations person for a high-level meeting of Pacific Islands tourism ministers) I mostly see the inside of boardrooms over three days. Ah, yes, the glamour of regional work-related travel, but in the off time I manage to squeeze in a 45-minute loop of the island’s lone coastal road by car. I’m taken by the majestic volcanic mountains that sit in the island’s centre with their jagged peaks, occupying much of the landmass and confining tourism development to coastal fringe.
Among the many resorts and boutique hotels dotted around the island’s circumference sits a derelict white elephant from a failed Sheraton project where the Italian partners (with alleged mob connections) are said to have run away with the money, leaving the resort in an unfinished state. Now, this I find intriguing: it has all the elements of a great yarn waiting to be told…
—
Everywhere you turn, there’s a Fijian. With only 17,000 local residents and some 140,000 visitors last year (easily the best resident to visitor ratio in the South Pacific), the Cooks has had to import quite a few of us to help out. (A further 60,000 Cook Islanders live in New Zealand).
—
I visit both the TAV factory and the flagship but none of the colourful hand blocked shirts that I try fit me. The homegrown brand’s signature, bleeding prints work in the Pacific but the fit is not quite right for a small Asian frame like mine. Cut for a broad-shouldered Pacific Island body, even the small-sized shirts float on me like a muumuu – not quite the look I’m going for. And despite the brand being worn by British royals Wills and Kate on their state visit to the Solomons in 2012 (which caused a minor diplomatic kerfuffle: “tone-deaf English royals wear Polynesian designer on Melanesian visit”), I can’t bring myself to part with NZ$140/F$210 for ill-fitting cotton mull or tetron, no matter how fabulous the print.
—
Instead, I buy myself plaited wristbands with pockmarked pearls for a steal (NZ$30/F$45 ea). There is beauty (and savings) in imperfection. I also discover a wonderful new skincare brand called Rito, developed in the Cooks using organic island ingredients (with the help of a renowned biochemist) that my skin just drinks up like bu.
—
On the eve of the big meeting, prime minister Henry Puna hosts us to dinner and drinks at Tamarind House, a beautiful, long, colonial-style home on the beach that serves up delicious island eats: crisp, superthin kuru (uto) chips, rukau (rourou) with the leaf stems thrown in, and ika mata (kokoda). I’m greeted with a fragrant frangipani ‘ei (lei), which have been used to put the ”smell of the land” on people who voyaged here by sea in the days of old. The sunset at Tamarind Beach is magic: the sky is pastel pink and I have a glass of champagne in my hand. I’m in the mood for love.
—
Lithe Maori women and men move their toned bodies to the distinctive beat of Cook Islands drums, their oiled skin coloured by the sun. I’m not one bit surprised by Gauguin’s narrative in neighbouring Tahiti. I meet a beautiful Tahitian woman in a missionary smock and inch a step closer to my dream of retracing his footsteps in the Marquesas.
—
Since I’m here for work (as the public relations person for a high-level meeting of Pacific Islands tourism ministers) I mostly see the inside of boardrooms over three days. Ah, yes, the glamour of regional work-related travel, but in the off time I manage to squeeze in a 45-minute loop of the island’s lone coastal road by car. I’m taken by the majestic volcanic mountains that sit in the island’s centre with their jagged peaks, occupying much of the landmass and confining tourism development to coastal fringe.
Among the many resorts and boutique hotels dotted around the island’s circumference sits a derelict white elephant from a failed Sheraton project where the Italian partners (with alleged mob connections) are said to have run away with the money, leaving the resort in an unfinished state. Now, this I find intriguing: it has all the elements of a great yarn waiting to be told…
—
Everywhere you turn, there’s a Fijian. With only 17,000 local residents and some 140,000 visitors last year (easily the best resident to visitor ratio in the South Pacific), the Cooks has had to import quite a few of us to help out. (A further 60,000 Cook Islanders live in New Zealand).
—
I visit both the TAV factory and the flagship but none of the colourful hand blocked shirts that I try fit me. The homegrown brand’s signature, bleeding prints work in the Pacific but the fit is not quite right for a small Asian frame like mine. Cut for a broad-shouldered Pacific Island body, even the small-sized shirts float on me like a muumuu – not quite the look I’m going for. And despite the brand being worn by British royals Wills and Kate on their state visit to the Solomons in 2012 (which caused a minor diplomatic kerfuffle: “tone-deaf English royals wear Polynesian designer on Melanesian visit”), I can’t bring myself to part with NZ$140/F$210 for ill-fitting cotton mull or tetron, no matter how fabulous the print.
—
Instead, I buy myself plaited wristbands with pockmarked pearls for a steal (NZ$30/F$45 ea). There is beauty (and savings) in imperfection. I also discover a wonderful new skincare brand called Rito, developed in the Cooks using organic island ingredients (with the help of a renowned biochemist) that my skin just drinks up like bu.
—
On the eve of the big meeting, prime minister Henry Puna hosts us to dinner and drinks at Tamarind House, a beautiful, long, colonial-style home on the beach that serves up delicious island eats: crisp, superthin kuru (uto) chips, rukau (rourou) with the leaf stems thrown in, and ika mata (kokoda). I’m greeted with a fragrant frangipani ‘ei (lei), which have been used to put the ”smell of the land” on people who voyaged here by sea in the days of old. The sunset at Tamarind Beach is magic: the sky is pastel pink and I have a glass of champagne in my hand. I’m in the mood for love.
—
Lithe Maori women and men move their toned bodies to the distinctive beat of Cook Islands drums, their oiled skin coloured by the sun. I’m not one bit surprised by Gauguin’s narrative in neighbouring Tahiti. I meet a beautiful Tahitian woman in a missionary smock and inch a step closer to my dream of retracing his footsteps in the Marquesas.
Recent Comments