Special Edition: The Cook Islands, Rarotonga!

A small detour from my wintery European saga which I acknowledge is woefully behind… to bring you a more recent update – Our adventures in the Cook Islands. 

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I write this with my toes dipped in the pool, sun beaming, a view of jungle tipped mountains on the horizon and distant singing wafting through the breeze. Ahh, this is wonderful…  Now, you might be thinking to yourself, surely there can’t be too much to write about when the primary activities include, lounging about and enjoying sunshine… Wrong! Let me start at the beginning. 

A few days prior, after battling the rigmarole of air travel we find ourselves disembarking from the plane at 9pm. It’s dark, but the air still carries the signature muggy heat you’d expect from a tropical location! With my limited experience of such places, I’m most reminded of Cairns airport… but the Cook Islands main airport on Rarotonga is even smaller than that. It’s friendly, relaxed and it making me think of palm trees and cocktails on a lounge chair already. 

With that in mind, I reason that we should take a relaxed, and dare I say romantic stroll to our accommodation, 25 minutes from the airport. With a cheerful smile, Jesse agrees and we politely decline a taxi ride on offer and begin our walk. As the lights and Hoya scented bustle begin to fade, not even two minutes into our walk, I already regret my lack of planning. Somehow I imagined that we’d be walking along a beach with warm lights, laughter and music peppering our journey. Instead, we walk inland and I soon realise that our route is a little more deserted than I’d anticipated.

The darkness begins to feel creepy as we drag our boxy suitcase along a cracked pavement. Dilapidated buildings set off our spidey senses as headlights of an occasional car driving by, temporarily blind us, necessitating that we reacclimatise to what might be around us. We pick up the pace. “We should have taken the taxi” Jesse grates as the wheels of the suitcase parkour along what is now half gravel, half grass. “Yep” I wince miserably.

We’re halfway. Jesse is on the verge of throwing the suitcase in a garbage bin when we hear a dog howl. Spooky… More dogs join the call, the howling increases, looming ever closer. Any notion of romance well forgotten, at this point, I’m just plain scared. And with every hastened step, the volume of plastic wheels grinding against tarmac grows, loudly announcing our presence with an efficiency we’d very much not prefer. The howls then harmonise into a deafening chorus of angry barks as several huge bear sized dogs emerge from the shadows. “Oh my god” I grimace, mentally preparing myself to leg it. “Jesse! Pick up the suitcase, the noise, it’s setting them off!” I frantically order. “Falafel the suitcase” he says, his mind clearly also considering our escape plan. Nonetheless, with a heroic grunt he hoicks the suitcase up off the ground as we speed walk past our captivated canine audience. 

“I see it, Beth, there’s our accomodation, just through that gate!” He continues, with hope now softening his tone. The barks continue but thankfully, the hellhounds stop their advance and stand back as we open the gate which I gleefully and cathartically lock behind me. “What the heck was that!” I laugh now safe, and able to unpack the last 10 minutes of trauma. “I don’t know” Jesse shakes his head in equal disbelief. There is nothing for it but to just laugh and recover. Swiftly, we peel off our sweaty clothes and race to dip our feet in the pool, turning our attention to the beautiful accommodation. We’ll decide how to face the dog army tomorrow. 

As luck would have it, the next day with sunshine on our side, the creepy vibes were gone! The same dilapidated buildings that we’d scurried past in the night were no longer menacing but in fact charming, endearing and welcoming. The “dog army” if not asleep, dopily tailed anyone with a skerrick of food in hope of scraps or a pat. And with little more than a, T-shirt, shorts and a hat we explored the main town on foot, lazily letting the day unfold, soaking up the heat and leaning into the peace. A welcome reprieve.

After purchasing a new bag with a drawing of a smiling tomato painted on it and soaking up enough sun to resemble tomatoes ourselves, we turn in for a deep sleep in preparation for our busy plans tomorrow. 

We wake, bright and early, catching one of the only two bus routes available on the Cook Islands. The aptly named, “Clockwise” & “Anti-Clockwise” routes circumference the island and provide us our way to rental scooters. Here a friendly fellow rushes to process us, as a horde of holiday goers crowd the deck waiting to be serviced. In good humor and with speed he explains everything any silly tourist has ever managed to break, lose, or confuse in the hope we may be spared the same fate. “And whatever you do…” he laughs with a serious undertone… “do not, park under a coconut tree!” We nod with reverence and rev the engines goodbye. 

Having had plenty of experience back in Melbourne roasting away like a jacket potato in stiff Kevlar and boots on my dirt bike, it’s a strange feeling to now only have a flimsy bit of cotton and sandals as my protection. Nonetheless the soft warm wind lifting my clothes like a sail and blanketing my face like a pillow soon spurs my hand on the accelerator. Looking over to my left I see a local in flip flops performing a wheelie and superman at the same time, effectively hovering their feet 2cm off the ground. I shake my head, but I am impressed, a cheeky smile on my lips. 

As far as my own circus performance goes, navigating the pot holes, animals, coconuts and patchwork road is enough of a thrill. Most importantly we’ve now unlocked the ability to fully explore the island. Capitalising on the opportunity, we roam, finding the most picturesque palm trees, blue beaches and tantalising eateries. 

It’s as if we’re in a sleepy happy bubble where the passage of time is irrelevant. But eventually, waking from our trance of serenity, we rally our wills, trading our sandals for hiking boots to face the island challenge. The Needle! A five hour hike that cuts through the centre of the island, climbing to its most iconic peak, from sea level to around 400m elevation. The hike is not to be trifled with and in fact comes with a series of warnings posted at the entrance, “Let someone know you are completing this hike”…  “Note the emergency number 999”… etc. Reading this, we’re a little anxious but also excited! And after completing the necessary precautions, at 7:30 in the morning, we begin. 

On each step, my foot travels further and further away from the other foot, having to reach a higher ledge. I feel my body strain. The weight from our packs has us wondering if maybe 2L of water was too much… with hindsight I can most absurdly say the answer is… nope. We need it. Not only is the path steep, it’s also covered in a kaleidoscope of vines, roots, rocks and all manner of disorientingly cylindrical rope like plants. We climb each section, strategising our movement like Twister, trying to keep track of whether what we’re looking at is a vine or our own leg. 

While we stop to recover our breath we notice something is watching us. Out from the dense green scrub, struts a handsome rooster with his very own chicken harem! We exchange stares with our flightless friends for a moment before I proceed on. I am all but a meter ahead when I hear a shriek behind me. In that instant I am filled with horror and dread.

For your reference, In the past 13 years I have seen Jesse experience the misfortune of being bitten by an injured dog he was rescuing & falling down an icy shaft. Both times his response was a stoic grunt followed by a gruff sentence like, “we need to go to hospital”, or “this is bad”. And so… as I fiercely swiveled my body, I expected something dire. 

Instead, I find before me, the face of complete unprepared bufuzzlement! “It pecked me!” Jesse gasps. Relief, sympathy and also amusement colours my cheeks as we attempt to put some distance between us and the assailants. However there is an orchid Jesse wants to photograph in our path. For the next 10 minutes I am on what will be, forevermore affectionately known as, “chicken duty” – The act of remaining vigilant and being prepared to flap your arms wildly to fend off any incoming attack. 

These aren’t the only chickens to inhabit the jungle, we learn. Some hikers on their way down tell us of another set of much friendlier chickens we’ll soon meet as we ascend. The hikers mention that their chicken encounter involved, providing a sacrificial offering (peanuts). I ponder this approach but in the end decide, that I will not negotiate with terrorists. I remain on guard as the second group of expectant and potentially hungry chickens follow us for 20 minutes, literally up vine walls and onto a cliff face. These jungle chickens have some serious grit. 

At the base of the final climb (the needle), we see a chain bolted into the side of a cliff. Our hiker friends earlier had forfeited this part of the climb and we were inclined to do the same. That is… until a family, and some twelve year old girls casually brush past us nonplussed,

conquering the climb in less than a minute. Seeing this, I graciously and courageously offer to “mind the bags” while Jesse completes the final climb and MY GOD, would you believe this, the psychotic chicken actually follows him. 

Thankfully there are no further pecking incidents and we manage to escape our feathered stalkers on the way down. Which is just as well as we need our full attention on slippery slopes and rope assisted dissent. My legs have turned into jelly and I must focus on not wobbling. While belaying myself down, I stop to look up at Jesse. Seeing his eyebrows scrunched, I can read his thoughts, “don’t look at me! Watch where you’re putting your foot!!” I smile. He is right! Proven almost instantly as the soft clay gives way and I lose my footing, falling dramatically on my butt. I sit for a moment in pity of my clumsy ways before rising to dust a big clay patch off my behind. “I’m ready for this hike to end now.” I laugh. “Not long now” Jesse chuckles.

Slowly but surely the path starts to flatten and light starts to flicker through the trees as we near the end of the trail. And much like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, awaiting us is a heavenly waterfall and crystal clear watering hole. Perhaps we even create some steam as we submerge our fiery feet in amongst the cool pebbles. Ahh. Alas, not soon after, we shove our wet feet back into our boots in favour of hitching a ride with another couple back to the start of the trail where we’d left our scooters. But not to worry we’d be back to this spot!

The next day… our muscles are angry at us… so aside from sourcing a coffee and what I would energetically rank “the world’s best burger” (Vili’s burger joint) we pretty much do nothing until around 4:30pm. From there, “The Crab Hunt!!” begins. Starting with a network of purple clawed Fidler crabs scurrying to and from a matrix of holes along the shore. Continuing further ashore we see much bigger holes but no crabs. “I want to see what’s dug out one of those!” Jesse sighs whistfully. And so, we wait, standing dead still. With vibrations ceased, In under two minutes the creatures below are emboldened to emerge. 

With two solid crab sightings under our belts, we make a pit stop for some night market yum yums, a quintessentially tropical coconut drink and a breathtaking sunset. 

Now, stamina replenished, we can finally hunt for the crab of all crabs! The strawberry hermit crab – which is usually only seen at dusk in specific places. I’m not too energetic about riding in the dark, in a place where, “Why did the chicken cross the road” is less of a joke, and more of something you might actually rasp from your death bed after having collided with one. However, this is a risk I’m willing to take for the off chance we might see a tennis ball sized hermit crab. 

To reach the spot, we scale a crumbly wall of dead coral, using our phone torches to navigate. “Clink”, Plink”, “Plonk”, each piece sounds like a wind chime. It seems a little crazy but within minutes we’ve found what we’re looking for! The elusive strawberry hermit crabs are shy and smart creatures that dare not to move even a millimetre, which makes photography a little difficult. I suppose… though we did find them, “the secret lives of the strawberry hermit crab” will continue on for another adventurer to uncover!

And then… our very last day! One last chance to bask in the magic, the mouthwatering food, the beautiful people, the views, the vibes. It’s been phenomenal.