Aitutaki: End of the Road

Well, this is it. I highly doubt I will ever be as far from home - or anywhere generally so remote - as Aitutaki. To illustrate, here is a map of the Cook Islands, with the nearest commonly known (in terms of where exactly it is) reference point - Auckland, New Zealand:



Maybe most poignantly, the islands - or even their labels - aren't actually visible at this level of zoom. Zooming in reveals the Cooks, which are scattered over an area of the Pacific the size of Europe, but the land surface is about a sixth of London. In fact, it is impossible to zoom in any more without losing sight of some of the more remote islands in the group, namely Penrhyn (B) and Mangaia (A):



The so-called "northern group" of islands is so inaccessible to travellers (and pretty much everyone else) on account of their distance even from Rarotonga that they are practically unvisited. Apart from private yachts (intrepid travellers have apparently "hitchhiked" on these from Raro), the only way to get there is on cargo ships which go irregularly at best; flights go rarely and irregularly. Fortunately, Aitutaki is rather closer to Rarotonga (which is where the "Cook Islands" word shows up on google maps), right at the bottom of this map:



To be precise, it was about a 45-minute flight on one of these bad boys to get there. 

A Saab 340, apparently. The flight attendant was one of three employed by Air Rarotonga (their other planes being too small to need a flight attendant), and she did the return flight to Aitutaki thrice a day. Fun times...

On the plane's approach my mind struggled to accept the fact that I was actually about to go somewhere as beautiful as what I was seeing. Since photos from a plane rarely do anything justice and I was sat on the wrong side anyway, here's one from the interwebs. The main (inhabited) island is the big one in the back, with the runway visible at the far end. The other motus, or islets, are uninhabited and sometimes little more than permanent sandbanks. They encircle a frankly out-of-this-world lagoon: when I explored the island on a scooter and found a hilltop vantage point, I just sat down for a good hour and a half and tried to drink it all in.

This was the spot...

Now after having spent a few days on Raro I thought I had a rough grasp on islander lifestyle. I was about to be proven very, very wrong. It was a joy to see how uncorrupted Aitutaki is by tourism - a few luxury honeymoon-style resorts exist and provide employment, but the locals' lifestyle is completely unaffected by these. The resort guests rarely mingle, at most renting a scooter to zip around the island on their own, and the "cultural shows" serving clichés to flower-garland-wearing westerners are thankfully constrained to Rarotonga.

As you can imagine, then, I did not stay at a luxury resort. My home was the Paratrooper's Motel, an institution without a website which I only found out about from another hotel proprietor when I told her I couldn't afford her rooms.I stayed in a basic but spacious bungalow (2 rooms, all to myself!), effectively an outbuilding on a family's property near the main "village" of Arutanga. I hesitate to use the word village here because the only thing that distinguishes it from the rest of the island is that what few administrative buildings there are are mostly located in this general area.

Arutanga City.

Stark reminders of a tsunami 2 years ago which devastated 80% of the island's buildings. I chatted to an English woman who ran a crafts shop, and she said that despite having 4 children and a completely destroyed house weighing on her mind, the first thing her neighbour did afterwards was come by to see if *she* needed food. 

Now my position - not unique, but rare among visitors of Aitutaki - of effectively living among the locals rather than in a segregated little bubble allowed me to experience fully just what friendliness means. With only 1000-odd inhabitants, everyone on the island knows each other (there are no addresses; the mailman simply knows where everyone lives). This means lots of waving, chatting, and general hanging out anytime two or more people cross paths. A far cry from London-style anonymity! 

It also means that when an unknown face - like mine - shows up, people are curious and intrigued. On multiple occasions every day, whether I was on a bike, a scooter or on foot, people sitting in their front gardens taking a break from working (or not working - self-sufficiency is easy here, it seems!) would wave and call me over for a glass of water or some juice or ice cream, and for conversation. There was a lot of curiosity as to where I was from, what I was doing all the way out here, and, on the whole, smiles and good cheer absolutely everywhere.

In fact, it was impossible to just watch goings-on from a distance. During my days on Aitutaki, I watched a practice session of the island's boy scouts' brass band (I had stopped at the garden gates wondering what the music was when one of them saw me and called me over), went to a Sunday church service I was initially skeptical about (having never attended one before) and, after following the Henley Boat Races from 4 to 6am (time difference fun...), joined a bunch of revellers as they finished their last few drinks at the end of a long night. I also took a passport photo for a middle-aged woman who said she needed to get one to travel to New Zealand - her first time leaving the island! 

Aitutaki's main church - there are several, including a Mormon church and a few other Christian denominations, but this is the oldest church in the Cook Islands. It dates back to 1821 and is made of coral, which makes for the blinding white of both church and graves.

More impressions from the service - the preacher also ran the boy scouts' band, and he gave me a cheery wave when he spotted me mid-sermon.

Wherever I went, I was invited to join whatever was going on - it was great. In fact, the day following the post-HBR morning drinks, the same family invited me to dinner spontaneously: it was a Sunday evening, with lunch being the big meal (similar to an English roast). They offered me enormous quantities of taro, rice, coconut milk and the local specialty: raw tuna marinated in lemon, lime and spring onions. This is not dissimilar to sashimi but eaten in chunks rather than thin strips, and bursts with flavour from the marinade; absolutely delicious! 

All that said, I did find one thing a little grating, or disappointing. Aitutaki was the first of the Cook Islands to be converted to Christianity in 1821, and every last Aitutakian is now a devout Christian. There isn't anything wrong with this, of course, but they did seem a little intense about it, using "God bless x or y" at every possibly opportunity - and putting up a LOT of signs along these lines:

Sadly, it felt like "their" tradition was rather thoroughly replaced about 200 years ago...

Even this wouldn't really bother me much - each to their own, after all - but when I asked one of the island's high school (science) teachers why they were so comfortable with having left behind all of their old Polynesian culture (although not, fortunately, the language: everyone grows up fully bilingually) so completely, he couldn't, or didn't want to give me a straight answer. All I got was mumblings about "the Bible" and how everything was so much better now - and how the pre-Christian days had been "dark days". What I find sad and a little disturbing is that they see Christianity not as something different from Polynesian beliefs but something superior - and that they could not tell me why this would be so. 

After all, the issue of young people leaving the islands for better money and job prospects in New Zealand is mostly caused by Christianty and the arrival of the Western notion that self-sufficient life was somehow not enough and that money and wealth should be striven for. I do not doubt that island life can be tough, but I have never seen people so universally content with their general situation. Yet, when confronted with this idea, I got no response apart from mutterings about "the Bible". 

Eventually I let the issue rest as there seemed little reason to be argumentative - with these things there rarely is. Instead, it is time to turn to the other important aspect of Aitutaki - the fact that it is famous as one of the most beautiful islands/lagoons in the world.

It is not easy to put into words - or, for me, into photos - just how scenic the entire island is. Part of this stems from the untouched nature of it, with most of the few roads being unpaved, and from the complete absence of anything with more than one floor. But mostly, to be honest, it is simply the classic island paradise in its most ridiculously over-the-top form; no wonder people come here on their honeymoon - if this is your kind of honeymoon, then I cannot imagine anywhere better in the world. 

My wider-ranging explorations were mostly undertaken on the one day I had a scooter, as the heat and humidity (and a rental bike on its very last legs) prevented me from getting around as far on most other days. They took me first to the southern tip of the main island, which is devoid of habitation and really just a track through empty jungle to, well, the other end of the island. 

Once there, I had a little break for lunch and reading at a spot where I later attempted some good-luck photos for HBR (there was a BB one, as well...); I later completely failed to upload these due to the sketchy wifi connection...

Finally, it was time to hit the hills in the middle of the island, such as they are; the highest point is 123m above sea level. The view - yet again words fail me; I'm afraid these photos don't even come close to doing it justice. But hopefully they will convey something of just how I felt looking around. 

I have to confess it made me quite happy that most of the houses up there, which boasted some incredible views (not least the two pictured above), belonged to locals rather than being holiday homes for rich New Zealanders. Another testament to how unspoilt this place really is. 

In the evening, then, I tended to unwind from the day's strenuous activities with a book on the Pacific Resort's beach chairs. The resort being pretty empty at this point, nobody seemed to mind - and in fact, the whole beach was spectacularly empty for its whole length of at least a couple of miles: 

This cheeky crustacaean was the biggest of his kind I could find - by some way.

And then, of course, there's the sunrise. And what a sunrise I was treated to - the next morning I sought out my hilltop spot from the previous day hoping for some nice colours on the water and in the sky.

Early on I suspected that this might be as good as it would get...I have rarely been gladder to have been horribly, horribly mistaken. 

I really, really didn't want to cut down any further than this. May I be forgiven...

Righto - I think that's as close as I'm likely to do this incredible island justice. Having fallen behind with my blog in the lovely fortnight I spent in Japan with Helena, it is now catch-up time! Expect floods of photos from Japan, as well - being in a country (unlike, say, India) where running around with a DSLR is not just not unusual but, in fact, more common than running around without one, has contributed to my snap-happiness quite a lot.

Furthest South

After another bit of a delay on account of there just being too much to do in New Zealand, here comes a bit of a rundown of the last couple of weeks, starting with the end of my time on the South Island. 

From Franz Josef, I hitched what just might be the best and luckiest ride of my trip: the second I put down my bags on the roadside and stuck my thumb out to passing traffic, a car pulled over - literally the first one that spotted me. I didn't think things like that happened, but there you go! It turned out to be a family who, by complete chance, I had taken a photo of the day before at Franz Josef Glacier, although we only realised this once I was in the car. The Kinlochs - Dean, Annie, Riley (10) and Claudia (8) turned out to be delightful company and the perfect ride: we ended up stopping at loads of little attractions and roadside scenic spots, making the long and beautiful drive to Queenstown all the more pleasant. 

Our first stop was at Fox Glacier. Practically down the road from Franz Josef, it looks far smaller on maps and photos but is actually a lot more impressive mostly because it is possible to walk far closer to it. The subglacial channels where water drains from beneath the glacier are also clearly visible and give rise to the river flowing downvalley. The second photo is of me with the Kinlochs. 

After this, the road to Queenstown became increasingly more scenic (I'm running out of superlatives here...), veering inland from the coast and across one of the major passes crossing the Southern Alps before descending again into the lake country at the southern tip of New Zealand. 

A valley completely shrounded in clouds. Dean steered the car right to the edge of the precipice, giving the kids a good scare!

Queenstown itself was even more fully booked up than can be expected for the high season on account of a concert held nearby which seemed to attract an enormous crowd of middle-aged people looking for a good time. With my tent, I was not overly worried about finding a spot to sleep - campsites never fill up completely - but I was in for a rather more pleasant surprise. 

Having been driven all the way to Queenstown - a 7-hour trip at our leisurely pace - the Kinlochs found they had a spare guest bed in their stunning motel room and promptly offered for me to crash there, and to then drive me part of the way to Te Anau the next day. Such a spontaneous display of kindness caught me completely off guard, but has reinforced my belief in Kiwis as generally amazing people. 

And so it was, after tasty steaks and cider for dinner - what a change from the standard backpacker fare of pasta and cereals! - that we continued on towards Te Anau together the next day. Te Anau is the end of the road as far as settlements in the Fiordland region are concerned, and it lies on the road towards Milford Sound, my ultimate destination down here. 

Just out of Queenstown, looking across at the Remarkables once more.

A short drive later, then, I said goodbye to this lovely family at the intersection where they'd be heading off in the direction of Invercargill, and was promptly picked up by a friendly 18-year-old German called Simon who slept on a mattress in the back of his sedan. Te Anau, being at just over 45 degrees southern latitude, was not only my "furthest South" but also my "furthest from home": 18920 km/11755 miles from Cambridge, and accordingly slightly less from Vienna and London. I had planned to do a bit of hiking in this mountainous area not dissimilar from some parts of the Alps, but as there were reports of the weather turning I decided to head to Milford Sound sooner rather than later: the 6-hour guided kayaking trip I was planning to do here was my biggest one-off expenditure on anything other than flights so far, and as such I figured it would be best to maximise my chances of fair weather. 

Early morning in Te Anau - it was getting rather chilly at this point, so the time came to break out the powertraveller stash...

The Milford Road is famous for its desolation and its rise to steadily greater heights into fiord country, but mostly it was littered with tour buses standing by the roadside disgorging camera-wielding tourists. I couldn't help but feel a little smug as Simon and I cruised past all these at our leisurely pace - although we couldn't help but stop and stare ourselves a few times...

The Homer Tunnel leading down to Milford Sound. Being used to the spotless, clinical tunnels one finds in the Alps, I was more than a bit surprised to find this rough-hewn, practically unlit, one-lane-with-passing-bays, steeply descending affair at one of New Zealand's main tourist throughfares! 

Milford Sound itself is an odd one. Enormous parking lots and the ugliest, most jarringly out-of-place grey-faux-marble boat/cruise ship terminal in history apart, it is a place of exceptional beauty. Since the internet is bursting with stock photos significantly better than mine, see here and here for what sort of place we're talking about. It really does have the lot - beautifully clear cobalt blue water (although it is normally murky due to sediment-heavy runoff, recent droughts meant it was nice and clear), steeply rising peaks some 2000m high, ice fields at their tops and waterfalls crashing down from phenomenal heights. And, let us not forget, a constant drone of propeller plane engines and cruise ships making an absolutely outrageous profit. A few of my own impressions of the place at daytime are below. 

Naturally, I couldn't miss the chance to try for some good shots at sunset, too - although to my dismay heavy clouds began rolling into the fiord in the evening, dampening my hopes for a clear morning the next day. This peak, illuminated by the last vestiges of the setting sun and reflected in a stagnant bit of water coloured red for some reason, is my only result even vaguely worth showing. 

Interesting light as the sun sets behind jagged mountains - it briefly illuminated the sky much like one of those giant Las Vegas searchlight things would.

The next morning, clouds lay heavy on the fiord. As expected, this meant that the peaks surrounding the water were out of sight, it did mean that the light on the water itself was a lot more pleasant while the sun burned steadily away at the layers of cloud above us. We saw the lot - during the 6-hour trip which saw us kayak from the harbour all the way out into the Tasman Sea (23km), we came across a pod of dolphins, a big and playful group of fur seals throwing themselves into various yoga-like poses - and a couple of rarely seen yellow-crested penguins which I completely failed to photograph but which were exactly as one might expect penguins to be: hilariously clumsy and dopey-looking. 

 

We also got to paddle past and under a few stunning waterfalls - the water crashing down from over 100m creates a fair bit of wind which pushes the kayak right back out of the danger zone once you stop paddling. 

On the way back in we were picked up by a speedboat - just as well, as my core was not impressed at this amount of kayaking and my knee seemed to have taken a hit from being pushed against the kayak's plastic hull for hours. As it turned out, the morning clouds were actually a blessing: by the time we hopped onto the boat, the sun was as bright as ever so we got the best of both worlds. 

Hitchhiking back out from Milford Sound had the potential to be a tricky affair due to a complete lack of good places for cars to pull over - but fortune was kind to me yet again. I was slightly confused to see a car stop for me which I had just seen go down to the Sound 5 minutes before - it turned out the driver, Beth from Michigan/Colorado, had gone to all the trouble of turning around to give me a lift out! My knee hurting from the kayaking to an extent that made me doubt I'd get much hiking done in Te Anau, I decided on a whim to go all the way back to Queenstown with her and chill there for a few days before catching my flight to Wellington.

This turned out to be a good choice as my knee took several days to improve so that I spent my days in Queenstown doing very little, and thoroughly enjoying it. It is, it has to be said, an almost ludicrously picturesque town, although its posh, Aspen-style shops did not really cater to my taste or budget. Still, walking around its fringes and finding pleasant spots to sit and read provided me with plenty of entertainment, as did a trip out the historic mining community of Arrowtown with Beth. 

Right - this concludes my adventures on the South Island. Hope this wasn't too long or gruelling a read - as always, feedback is much appreciated!