One night in Raro…

The Cook Islands posse. Disregard giant beers.

For those of you playing at home who have no idea where the Cook Islands lie on the globe, here they are:

There’s a NORTH Pacific ocean?

 

It’s a very long way from anything. Even New Zealand. (Incidentally, despite their remote location,  NZ women are the most promiscuous in the world. High fives to you, my chilly-bin toting, jandal-clad sistas.)

You can tell it’s a long way from anything, because it takes 10 hours to get there, and once you’re there, you find out they left your luggage in frigging Auckland. Seriously, Virgin Australia, not cool. Fortunately there’s an elderly Rarotongan fellow playing soothing island music on his ukelele, which takes the sting out of the fact that there are now 3000 kilometers between you and your next fresh pair of knickers. Then some dude places a fragrant ei (or lei, if you want to be all northern hemisphere) around your neck, and suddenly you don’t give a shit about absent luggage.

We went to bed and awoke to find out it was Friday again. Rarotonga lies just over the international date line, so there’s a 20 hour difference between Melbourne time and Raro time. It confused and frightened me. We spent our Groundhog Day sussing out the public transport system (two buses, one labelled ‘clockwise’ and the other ‘anticlockwise’) and trawling through the shops in town.

We also booked in for the $25 Friday night Rarotonga pub crawl bus. I can clearly remember the first three establishments, but after that my memory becomes wildly unreliable. I know that we missed the bus back to the resort, and wandered down the side of the road until 2.30am when we waved down an airport worker named Kenneth, who kindly loaded all the intoxicated palangis into the back of his ute and dropped us back at the hotel.

This is when we decided skinny dipping swimming in the moonlit ocean would be an appropriate activity. You would think the cool saltwater and stonefish would sober us up, but instead half an hour later we were still squawking and taking turns down the water slide in the rather well lit pool area. Eventually we realised someone would alert security sooner or later, so we gave up the frolicking and tiptoed back to our rooms. I strongly suspect security had a very good idea what was going on, but was more than happy to leave us be.

Lil Wayne drops in to say hey.

 

This can’t end well.

 

The main street – not conducive to high heels at 2am.

 

Not a terrible place to nap off a hangover.

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7 thoughts on “One night in Raro…

  1. Isn’t that where the mutineers from the Bounty settled? Maybe I’m thinking of somewhere else. Too bad I’m not sitting in front of a thing with all the information in the world at my finger tips …

  2. Lol at the beers. Reminded me of Thailand – you order a beer and they bring you a longneck. Australia is too far from anywhere for my liking, it’s even too far from the other side of itself.

    • Australia’s ridiculous like that, no wonder it took so long to be colonised. I’m pretty glad I don’t live in southern WA, those poor buggers aren’t close to anything.

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