My hostel in Rarotonga houses an interesting group: one sexually-frustrated
guy from Seattle who's getting fed up with traveling, a funny kid from
Austria who has hitchhiked his way around the world, a dork from St. Louis
who pretends to be a lot cooler than he really is, and a paraplegic woman
from Canada who won a few races at the Paralympic Games in Sydney. And then
there was Jack, a cute puppy who moved in with some backpackers a few weeks
before.

During the day, it's very hot and humid. There's no air-conditioning, so we
leave the windows and doors open and let the wind blow through the house.
We sit around, eat some fresh coconut, and get to know each other a bit or
watch the one Cook Islands TV station, which airs lots of religious crap
from the US. Chris has become quite fond of spinning Jack around on the
tile floor and then watching him clumsily walk sideways to keep his balance.

Leaving the windows open means that the place fills up with mosquitoes at
night, so nights are a bit uncomfortable. And there's a small lizard living
in the rafters who screams at the top of his lungs all night long. Anyone
know what kind of lizard that might be?

Rarotonga is the largest and most populated island of the Cook Islands, but
it's still relatively small. Its largest town, Avarua, is more of a main
road with a few shops on it than a town. That same road continues all the
way around the island, and I found that the best way to get around was to
rent a moped. Having the tropical air in your face and hair, especially
just after a shower, is one of the only ways to cool off. It takes only 45
minutes to circle the island.

Riding around, it's clear that Rarotonga is a tropical paradise.
Crystal-clear blue water, deserted beaches, palm trees and coconuts, craggy
tree-covered mountains, chirping birds, and colorful wildflowers everywhere.
Goats, pigs, roosters, and stray dogs come and go as they please.
Sweet-smelling flowers drape the inside of every building. Strangely, there
are a zillion graveyards all over the island, and some homeowners have loved
ones buried in their front lawns.

Although all the travel guides suggested that Cook Islanders would be among
the friendliest people in the world, I find most of them to be unfriendly
and unhelpful. Kids on the street wave and greet me, but most of the adults
ignore me and all of the shop-owners make me feel unwelcome.

There aren't as many tourists filtering through the Cooks on their way to or
from New Zealand as I thought there would be. Most of the tourists who
are here are old people, and many of the rest are, strangely, paraplegics.
Most of the bars are filled with locals rather than tourists, and a
disheartening percentage of locals are cross-dressers. Needless to say,
I've been a bit disappointed with the night life. It was nice to run into
Nicola, a girl I met while touring New Zealand, at a traditional island
dancing show.

Nicola and I decided to do the Cross-Island Trek, a simple, well-marked path
from Avarua on the north coast, through soggy rainforest, around craggy
mountains, and finishing at a waterfall on the south coast. We ended up
taking a wrong turn, Nicola ended up twisting her knee, and the walk ended
up taking several hours. By the time we emerged from the rainforest, it was
almost dark.

Acting on a tip, I visited the local prison and was delighted to find a
small selection of ukeleles made by the prisoners and available at
reasonable prices. I purchased one made by prisoner #18. The Department of
Corrective Services officer, with his knee-high socks and flower shirt, gave
me a quick lesson, but I didn't absorb any of it. I've taught myself how to
strum out "Mary Had A Little Lamb" and a few sweet-sounding chords, but true
music is still a long way away.

Of all of the things I've done on Rarotonga, stopping the moped at one end
of the runway and watching huge planes come right at us and land over our
heads was by far the most exciting. The rush is almost as good as a bungy
jump.

I decided that, while I was in the Cook Islands, I had to visit Aitutaki, a
concentrated collection of tiny, mostly uninhabited islands and supposedly
one of the most beautiful spots in the world. Every traveler I have met who
has been there has told me not to miss Aitutaki and its enormous blue
lagoon. The postcards of Aitutaki intrigued me, so I decided to fly over
for a day and a night.

Boarding my small plane, I checked boarding pass. 3A. "Third seat on the
right," she says before handing back my boarding pass and gesturing to the
third seat on the right. Sitting down, I noticed that each row only has
seats A, D, and F. Anyone know why they skip letters?

The flight took just under an hour. I looked down at the brilliant blue
lagoon as we were flying in, and it looked like we were flying over a
postcard. After landing on the old WWII runway, I was whisked off to my day
cruise around the lagoon.

Beautiful. Look at the pictures when I get a chance to update my site. I
also had the best snorkeling experience of my life. In the very warm, very
shallow, very calm, and very clear water of the lagoon, zillions of little
fishies swarmed around me to peck at the half-peeled banana I held in my
hand. We also stopped at a few of the tiny islands to walk around and soak
up the beauty. Paradise. But too many mosquitoes.

After the cruise, they dropped me off at Josie's, a small house and
makeshift hostel run by an old lady named Josie. The walls looked like they
were wallpapered by a 5-year-old, and the floor was covered with what seemed
like a giant sheet of wallpaper that looks like fake tiles, not to mention
ants, fleas, and baby lizards. Once again, no air-conditioning, and the
place was hot as hell. Josie's late husband was buried in the front lawn.

I went out looking for something to do, and it was then that it became very
apparent to me that I need to be around people in order to enjoy myself.
There aren't many people in Aitutaki, and very few tourists. Say what you
want about a tropical paradise, but if you don't have anybody interesting to
share it with, it gets boring.

On my way back to the hostel, I heard a local couple arguing on their front
porch. I stopped and listened for a while until squawking roosters made it
impossible to hear them. Best I could tell, he was accusing her of
cheating, and she was denying it. Towards the end, the guy was threatening
to pay her lover a visit, and it sounded like someone was gonna get his ass
kicked.

Early the next morning, Josie made me a pretty necklace of pink flowers (I
think it's called an "ei" here in the Cooks) before I hopped onto my plane
and returned to Rarotonga for one more day.

It's my last night in Rarotonga, and I just got back from dinner at a
restaurant/bar called Trader Jack's. I treated myself to peanut-crusted
parrot fish, with salsa, barbecued bananas, and tomatoes, a mix which, to be
honest, isn't sitting well in my stomach.

Early tomorrow morning, I fly to Fiji. I'm a bit nervous about it because
of the recent government coup, civil unrest, and the use of military force
to keep the peace. Fellow travelers coming from Fiji have assured me that
there's not much of a problem, with most of the violence confined to Suva,
the capital city on the other side of the island from the airport. But it
still seems a bit scary. If you don't hear from me by the end of the year,
please contact the US Embassy in Fiji.

No Regrets.

Jeff