It turns out that buying a netbook (with my 500 dollar online bingo winnings. Shut up) was one of the best travel purchases of my life. How did I travel without a computer before? I might be selling out a bit as a "backpacker", but let's face facts - I'm too old for that shit. Backpackers stay in hostels - I stayed in hotels this entire trip. Fuck, I didn't even bring my backpack! I can handle 7-10 days just out of my daypack, but this was 18 days and I didn't feel like doing laundry 3 times, so suitcase it was.
So, here's a little info about how this all went down. In January, once I finally picked a destination, I did what I always do when I need to book a flight. Ask my dad if I can put it on his credit card and pay him back. What? I'm 30 years old, you say? Why don't I have the money to book it on my own, you ask? To these questions, you get the standard Tim answer - Eff off! I plan trips. I go on trips. I can't SAVE for trips! Are you nuts? Look who you're talking to! In actuality, I paid back the flight money before I even left, and did manage to save the money for everything I needed. My dad even let me sit in the big boy chair for dinner a couple of times since. I'm all growed up now!
So, there she goes. Now I just had to pick cities to check out, and a stopover destination. Air New Zealand lets you pick from a few Island countries (Samoa, Tonga, Cook Islands, Fiji, other islands full of huge, lazy people***) to check out for free on the trip to NZ or back. Fiji is the obvious choice for most, which basically ruled it out for me. I had picked Samoa, until I found out that packs of wild dogs attack people all the time, and Samoans all carry rocks and sticks to keep the dogs away. Seriously. While that sounds like a ton of fun, I decided to change it up and pick Rarotonga. Turns out there were dogs there too, but at least I didn't get attacked. Other animals took care of that. I'll get to that in a bit.
***Before you say it, no, the fact that the description of the island people and a description of me are eerily alike is not lost on me. Assholes.
Departure time. YVR has free wifi, but bans going to the website I write for (www.fourouncestofreedom.com, total cheap plug) because of it's "questionable content". What the hell? I write about MMA, not tentacle porn. Anyway, the ticket agent told me no exit row seats were available and I was lucky to get a seat at all, because the flight was full. An Indian guy came up and asked him a question, which neither of us understood. He spoke slower, and said "I just saw you, and you gave me wrong tag". The agent tells him it wasn't him that he came to, then turns to me and says "I guess we all look alike to him." That was awesome.
Turns out the agent was just fucking with me and I got an exit row seat. Sweet. Get to LAX, and spent my 6 hour layover bored out of my skull. I watched The Wire episodes, played on the net, watched some hockey in the bar with my beloved Miller Lite, etc. Finally...FINALLY I got on the plane. I got an exit row seat for this flight too, which was good because it's a 10 hour flight. Air NZ has a wicked in-flight entertainment system with like 100 movies, TV shows, and even cool games to play, so I wasn't bored at all. I even tried to sleep for the first time ever on a plane, by pulling the blanket completely over my head and attempting to curl up against the freezing-cold exit door. Did sleep come? Nyet. So I arrived in Rarotonga after being awake for 24 hours. Woo.
RAROTONGA
It was still dark when I arrived, so I couldn't see anything when we landed. Too bad, cuz apparently it's pretty nice. Get off the plane still wearing my hoody. Big mistake, since it's like 27 degrees and the humidity was like 4592%. I was soaked with sweat within milliseconds. Going through customs was kind of funny, since all the agents had medical masks on to protect themselves from the swine flu, and no one could understand a word they said. They had the cutest little drug puppy ever on the baggage claim thinger, walking over the top of everyone's bags to...sniff for drugs, presumably. Either that, or milk bones are banned in the Cooks. He couldn't have been more than 6 months old though, so it made the Cooks seem pretty budget right off the bat. "Quick, we need a drug dog for the flight! Go grab Fifita's beagle puppy and get him a vest!"
The shuttle was on time and quickly took me to my hotel, the Paradise Inn. It was about what I expected, but still amusing. There was no one at the front desk when I got there (at 6:30am), and there's a sign that says "If no one is at the front desk, walk to the back and beat the drum". Uh, okay. So, I did that. Out came a small, wiry Island dude named Nooroa, who said "Hello, Tim. Welcome to Rarotonga". Wait, what? Did I have a name tag on or something? How the fuck did he know my name? Well, I figured that one out pretty quickly.
He checked me in, showed me my room, and told me if I wanted a beer to just go grab one from the honesty bar. I already knew about the concept, but not the execution. You grab a beer from the fridge, and mark down on a card how many you've had. When you leave, they charge you appropriately. I'm not one to rip anyone off anyway, but there was a pretty obvious reason I couldn't get away with it anyway. Why, you ask?
I was the only person in the hotel.
16 rooms, and it was just me there. I went in off-season, and got there on a monday. That adds up to just Tim at the hotel. And that's how Nooroa knew my name - I was his only customer, so it was pretty easy to remember. It was extremely odd at first, but I got used to it quickly. They have a huge veranda outside of the bar that overlooks the ocean, so I grabbed a couple of beers and chilled out there for a bit. The sun was up by then, and the view was pretty damn good. Here, check it yourself (there are many more pics on my facebook page):
The water doesn't come all the way to the beach because there's a lagoon surrounding the island. I watched as various dogs and birds strolled down the beach looking for food, and was joined by the one of the hotel cats, Sheba. After that, I decided to walk into town, so I headed out to the main road. It took about 3 seconds to change my mind about that. It was Rarotonga's version of rush hour, and the one-lane-each-way road was tire-to-tire. I would say bumper-to-bumper, but everyone was on bikes. Mostly dirt-bikes and scooters. There was no sidewalk on the road, and everyone was going pretty quick. They were also on the wrong side of the road, which almost got me smoked after about 2 seconds of not paying attention. After about half a block of narrowly skirting death, I totally bailed and went back to the hotel to get some much-needed sleep.
"Some" sleep turned out to be about 7 hours. Oops. Around 3pm when I finally got motivated, I walked into town, which wasn't very far - maybe 5-10 minutes. There wasn't a lot going on. Lots of little grocery stores along the way, a few restaurants and such. Mostly bikes zooming by again, but a few vehicles...all Suzukis, for some reason. Guess that's all they sell there. It was hot as fuck, so I didn't walk as far as I would have liked to, but the scenery was pretty crazy. I couldn't see the beach from the road the rings the island at this point, but the interior of the island was amazing - pure jungle all the way to a pretty high peak in the middle. Check it:
As much as I wanted to explore the interior of the island right there and then, I had more pressing concerns: food and beer. I grabbed some kebabs from the...er, kebab store, and some beer from one of the mini grocery stores. They're all pretty funny - they sell everything from pig feed to spare tires to beer and pasta. Everything was fairly cheap, bout 10 NZD (7 bucks CDN) for a 6 pack. For those wondering, the Cooks use NZ currency and all hold NZ passports. I took those back to my room, then decided to take the bus around the island. It's pretty hard to get lost, since there are only two buses. Clockwise, and...you guessed it, counter-clockwise. I caught the counter-clockwise one, just to be different, and spent the next 45 minutes stunned by the scenery.
Apparently my hotel was cheap for a reason - it's not on one of the crazy beaches. "My" water wasn't all that different from home. Maybe a little more blueish than normal, but not much. The other side was unbelievable bluey/green water, and the lagoon made it look even crazier since the "tide" was about 200 feet away from the coast. The lagoon was bright blue, sitting on perfect beaches everywhere. Here ya go (taken a couple of days later):
I'm easy to please, so that seemed like enough touristy stuff for the day. I walked into town and went to the first bar I could find, appropriately named the Whatever Bar. Two people were there, and they just happened to be HUGE. Taller than me, and way wider than me. Both of them. I grabbed a beer and went to sit on the other side of the patio, but one of the guys told me to sit at the bar, so I did. They turned out to be pretty cool guys, told me some stuff about the island and that the bar doesn't pick up much until 8 or so. They also had some sick tattoos all over the place. Turns out almost everyone does, even the women. A few even had them on their faces, which was a little odd at first.
I didn't hang out long because I wanted to check out the sunset off the hotel veranda, so I went back and did exactly that. Grabbed a few bar beers, and chilled for a while. Having your own beach and veranda to watch a sunset is an amazing thing, something I had never even considered before. Like the morning, dogs and angry birds wandered by, and I just relaxed for a while. I was looking for some relaxation, and had certainly found it. It was awesome. Traveling and vacationing are very different things, and I wanted to do a little of both on this trip. So far, so good.
I was tired after all that non-excitement for some reason, so I went back to my room and watched a movie on my laptop (no TV in my room, which I'm sure you could guess, being on a tropical island and all that). The Cooks are on Hawaii time, 3 hours behind us, so it wasn't too hard to adjust to the time change. I passed out around my regular time, happy with my first day in paradise.
Day 2 started pretty similarly to day 1. Veranda for a while, aborted trip into town, and some vegging time. Took the bus around the island again. This time I got off the bus far on the other side of town, and walked into the interior of the island a bit. Other than lots of coconuts, little houses surrounded by vegetation, and lots of barefoot kids, there wasn't much up that way. I went looking for a bar to grab some lunch in, but none were open. So...I went and used the internet at a cafe. I'm a nerd, bite me. Back to the hotel for a beer or 3, then my traumatizing encounter with the wildlife. I love spending so much time leading up to a story with such a shitty payoff.
There were more roads leading to the interior of the island closer to my hotel, so after it cooled off a bit I went jungle hunting. A lot of the roads were dead ends full of kids playing, or the odd HUGE Island woman chillin on her stoop. Finally I found one heading uphill that looked promising, so I started trekking. I was doing pretty well, getting into some thick underbrush and stuff, until I turned a corner and saw a roadblock. A huge, pink, grunting roadblock. The biggest fucking pig I've ever seen in my life was just standing in the road in front of me, looking in the other direction - but not for long. As soon as he saw me, he grunted something that probably translated to somewhere along the lines of "SPAAAARTA!" and charged directly towards me.
Being the world traveler that I am, I know how to handle situations like these, obviously. You can all guess what I did too - I screamed like a girl and ran for my life. Running downhill on a gravel road isn't as easy as it might seem, especially with a rhino-like pig chasing you and making rhino-like noises. Wait, do rhinos even make noises? Surprisingly, a scared pig in a Cards jersey is faster than an angry Rarotongan pig, because I lost him after a little while. Understandably (to me at least), I aborted my jungle trekking and went directly to a bar to ease my nerves a bit with a frosty Tui or 4. It was called the Staircase bar, but you didn't have to go up a staircase to get into it. Oh, those wacky Islanders. I had dinner there, and decided to call it an early night since there wasn't a lot going on again. Veranda, beer, The Wire, and my comfy bed in the loft of my room. And still no one at the hotel.
By the time I set out on day 3, I had two goals - to actually get off the bus on the other side of the island, and to go back up into the jungle. I had convinced myself that I could juke the pig like a tubby running back and continue past him to the promise land. I have no idea how I convinced myself of that, considering I'd have to run UPHILL from him, and let's face it - I'm a huge baby. Wait, I do remember what convinced me of all that - Speight's Gold Medal Lager.
Anyway, first it was bus time. I forgot to mention before that the bus is some sort of asian castoff, and all the instructions on it are written in some text I obviously couldn't decipher. I know the basics of the big ones though, and it definitely wasn't any of those. I dunno where they got this thing, but it was ollllld. So I got off the bus around one of the resorts, and headed to the beach. There aren't any "public" beaches around there, but people could use the resort beaches if they so pleased. Obviously they were amazing, but I didn't spend much time there because there were a shitload of bugs and it was hot as hell. I got back on the bus and went a little further, to an area devoid of people. The water wasn't as nice, but the scenery was pretty cool. I'd show you a pic, but I still hadn't figured out how to use my camera by that point, and none of the pics turned out because the flash was on or something. Master of technology I is not.
Back to town, used the net, had a couple and some lunch, and got psyched for stage 2 - Pig vs. Pig, round 2. I walked up the same street, this time on the grass skirting it so I wouldn't give myself away. Anyone watching me surely would have thought I was retarded while I crept up to the bushes and slowly peeked around the corner...and didn't see anything. No animals at all. YES! I started up the hill and got about 100 feet or so, when I heard a very familiar noise. Grunting. FUCK. I froze in my tracks, ready to book it once again, but after a few seconds I realized it wasn't angry grunting, just...regular? grunting. So I kept going. Not long after that, I found out why he didn't charge me. He was in a fucking cage!
I approached the cage slowly, but grew more confident quickly when I realized that motherfucker was locked up like OJ. I felt so vindicated, I actually started talking shit. To a pig. Again, anyone watching me must have been wondering what the fuck I was doing. "Not so tough now in your cage, are you? You pig pink fuck! You can't sto--" Wrong move, Tim.
As soon as he heard "fuck", he started slamming against the side of the cage and went back to angry grunting. My confidence evaporated quicker than my chances at picking up women at the bar, and - you guessed it - I ran away again. And downhill to boot, directly against the whole fucking idea of my plan. I didn't go far though, and eventually came back...where I ran into the pig's owner, a suitably-large Island woman with tattoos all over her arms. "Sorry about the pig, he's not that friendly". Well no shit, Island Captain Obvious. Oh, and my reward for finally getting past the jungle guardian? A dead end around the next corner. No more jungle. It wouldn't be one of my stories if something went RIGHT, would it?
Here's the pig in his cage:
After checking out some more jungle roads that were thankfully swine-less, I headed back to the hotel. The rest of the day was the usual stuff after that - veranda sunset, pub for dinner, beers/Wire in the room, and some sleepy time. My 3 days so far had been a lot different from what I had expected, but I was content. Except for the bug bites. Lots, and lots of bug bites. Even paradise isn't perfect.
I had no idea what to do with my last day. My flight left at 5:30pm, and I had my hotel room till then, but I had done pretty much everything I wanted to already. Let's face it, Rarotonga's not very big. I did the veranda thing, I did the internet thing. Took the bus around the island one last time. Then just killed time watching The Wire. It felt retarded to "waste time" on a utopian island I might never see again, but it is what it is. I wasn't going to drink before a flight, and other than playing with Sheba (who meowed at my hotel room door every night until I let her in to hang out for a bit...awesome cat), chillin was my only option.
Eventually I headed out to the airport, after Nooroa's beaver-toothed Kiwi wife made me shuttle reservations. I had done a pretty good job not spending a lot of money so far, considering the island's fairly cheap and there's just not a lot of ways to blow cash. The island got the final laugh though, with a 55 NZD departure tax. Jesus fuck that's pricey. The airport was also open-air with no AC, so I was fucking cooking. And on top of that, my belt got caught in their ancient screening machine and ripped, so my jeans were riding somewhere around my knees for the next few hours. After enduring countless bastard children running and screaming through the seating room unattended, I was finally off to the promise land - New Zealand. At the time, the only thing I remember thinking was "Fuck, I hope they sell belts there."
