Strenuous Relaxation

"Listen, we are here on Earth to fart around, don't let anybody tell you different." - Kurt Vonnegut

That quote above was to be the inspiration for the next five days of my trip. I knew nothing about Rarotonga in the Cook Islands. I was stopping there because I could. This leg was intended to be the calm before the storm, five days relaxing on the beach before proceeding to the hiking and extreme sports and commotion of New Zealand. While plenty of hours were spent simply lying on a beach observing sunsets, stars, and cloud Rorschachs (mainly dinosaurs and elderly Samurai faces), Rarotonga certainly packed more of a punch than I anticipated.

Day 1

Thought I'd start by getting the lay of the land. Checked out the beach 75 yards from our hostel, which was terrific, but decided to walk the shoreline to Muri Beach, the crown jewel. 12 km away, pssht, I hiked the Great Glen Way, I can do that. What I hadn't counted on was the tendency to use slightly different foot muscles than you're used to when walking barefoot on sand that long. Basically had two sprained feet, but hobbled back anyway since the lone clockwise bus exuded the concept of "island time". 24 km walk on first day on a tropical island? I'm a six letter possibly offensive r-word.

My brutal Croatia towel.

The beach was worth it though. I swam probably 100 yards off shore using my new nerdy goggles to see the reef. The beach near my place was actually best for this. Parrot fish and several other neon colored little guys were everywhere. Saw a squid, a flounder type thing, and some pretty coral as well. As a Kansan, still a bit wary of that setting though. The fish were extremely friendly/curious. "Whoa, whoa guys. Getting a little close." I blame my dad for trolling us growing up with stories of the "toe fish" waiting to snip us in the lake. I also need some reef shoes. Did not want to put my bare feet down on urchins or the ubiquitous turd shaped sea slugs, so I ended up treading water for the better part of that hour. Needless to say an exhausting but rewarding first day.

Even sleep would prove to not be as relaxing as perhaps hoped. That is to say I woke up early each day. Coconuts falling on the metal roof, the old British couple's whistling tea kettle, and roosters who wouldn't shut their face had a daily competition to see who could rouse me from slumber. Even when I dosed on the sand, a stealthy beach dog would come out of no where, lick my face, and run off again.

Day 2

I surely sound like a feeble wuss, but my foot was truly messed up, so I thought today I'd bicycle around the entire island. I chose "push bike" over "bike" (aka moped - the en vogue mode of transport there) to get some exercise and save some money. Mistake! The gear options were "murder me" or "accomplish nothing" with no goldilocks setting in between and the seat was made of some sort of ass bone destroying titanium alloy. The 32km loop kicked my butt. Luckily whenever I got exhausted I simply pulled over and swam or laid on the beach!

Day 3

Day three I went into the main town, Avarua. Caught the bus and was introduced to the driver of the year. 

"Hello, my name is Mr. Hopeless, welcome to your nightmare. Some bus driver hit that fence (as we drove by an impressively dented fence at one of the resorts). Hope it wasn't me (maniacal giggle)."

Sadly, I laughed at all of his jokes as other riders tried to pretend they were deaf. Town consisted mainly of souvenir shops and moped rental agencies. Spoke with locals who informed me I just missed Hillary Clinton, in town the week or two before for a Pacific Summit. Americans might be rare there. I certainly didnt come across any. 

I found a good spot for lunch and then strolled the market. Apparently it only really bustles on Saturdays, the one day I would not be there. Not a big loss though. Prices were pretty crazy. $40 for cookie-cutter trinkets.

Well this is awkward.

That night, a "few beers" turned into a bar-organized 4 team mini golf scramble. My team won, possibly due to some fuzzy math, and as winners were "rewarded" with shots and beer bongs. Solid night.

Day 4

I of course followed a night of heavy drinking with the big cross-island hike. I intended to go Day 2 with two dudes from my hostel but my foot would have made it a chore. They somehow ended up getting lost for three hours in the jungle and returned the way they came in. Looked like my tracker skills would be needed again (Shut up Lambert, you know it's true).

The trek was legit. Trudged vertically up a ladder of roots more or less until I reached The Needle. At it's base sits a sign which says, "Trail ends here. If you go further, think really hard before doing so." 

I peered up the rock face which had a series of chains and ropes embedded into it. Ooh, that looks fun. Got to a ledge with a sheer 100ft drop and could do nothing but flatten down and brace myself as the impressive winds raced up the incline. Thought I was cool for making it to the top and then as I rolled over to start back down, my eye caught another rope, this time with foot loops, going straight vertical in a slight crevasse of the cliff. Stared at it for a good 5 minutes pondering my current level of insanity and waffling on the decision. I maturely decided against it, blaming the absurdly windy day for my wussitude.

Haven't had a haircut since Scotland.

As I maneuvered back down, a young couple approached the sign. The guy asked me if it was worth it. After I confirmed his suspicion he said, "What about you, honey?" to which his wife shot him a death glare and astutely proclaimed, "I'm not dying on bloody Rarotonga". Her loss.

The journey down and across the other side of the island was actually more tenuous. Steep and slick, I almost bit it a dozen times, usually grabbing a tree or vine like some sort of imposter Tarzan to catch my fall. Turned out to be a wonderful afternoon though. 

Day 5

I planned to get in over my head on a kayak for a change on this, my last day. But the weather would not allow it. Poured all day. Spent the majority of the day stretched out in a hammock reading or listening to my random podcasts (e.g. "How do totem poles work").

That night, as the rain pounded down, I simply sat and drank Tui beers with a German, Brit, Australian, Canadian, and Rarotongan (Tisa, basically our house mother). They wanted to know all about the U.S. Election, haha, what have you set in motion!? My omnibus oration skewed into the pitfalls of the Electoral College and the incestuous relationship between Goldman Sachs and the SEC, among other things, but we had a great time. Swapping stories and world views with fellow nomads is perhaps the best part of traveling.

So there you have it. Rarotonga had postcard-perfect beaches, night stars like I've never seen before, and incredibly warm, funny people. The lazy lifestyle I sought existed in spades there. I achieved it for the most part, but added some beginning-to-seem-routine misadventures for good measure. We'll see if that trend continues as I set sail for Auckland. 

UFO fer dayz.