Cooked to Perfection (Part 2)
Trip Start
Nov 08, 2003
1
72
74
Trip End
Oct 22, 2004
Aitutaki,
Cook Islands
Friday, October 22, 2004
This morning we were awoken by the sound of a reveille from the local bird population. The Common Myna (I just had to look it up on the Internet, sad I know) is, as you can tell by the name, the Cook Islands' commonest bird, but with the best bird call I've ever heard.
God, what's happening to me, first plane-spotting, now bird-watching. It'll be golf lessons next.
To the sounds of a malfunctioning R2D2 we woke to a hazy day in paradise, so we scootered into Aitutaki's bustling city of 58 people to get online. Unfortunately the island's only Internet café was running on a 2-tin can and string network so we gave up.
We fought our way through the island's lunchtime traffic of two cats and pulled up at the local tourist information. Soph jumped off the back and headed inside, meanwhile I sensed a fellow mopeder pull up beside me:
"You didn't stop at a stop sign back there", were his first words.
There wasn't another scooter within the timezone and apparently I'd just cruised through the only 'stop' sign in 500,000 square kilometres of South Pacific. How unlucky can you get? Saying that, we DID crash into the only cow in 500,000 square kilometres of Australia not so long ago.
From the look of him I figured he was a bored local wanting a bit of a chat, but in the back of my mind I knew he was the fuzz. I was caught by the fuzz.
"Are you a policeman?" I enquired.
"Yes, can I see your drivers' licence." He replied.
Well obviously I was well chuffed. My Cook Islands Drivers Licence was going to see the light of day and I could flash the laminate, but I'd need to see his ID first as nothing about him said 'police', especially his rusting scooter and stained blue shirt.
He had none. What he did do though was shift his belly with both hands to reveal a gold buckled belt with that looked like it had an American Eagle on it.
Stifling a giggle I proudly showed him my ID, and soon he was on his way back to his imaginary station for a nap after completing his weekly fix of 'Stop a tourist for no real reason'.
Back on the quiet side of the island we vegetated on a couple of sunloungers for the afternoon where Soph read a book about nothing in particular by Penny Vincenzi and I leafed through a book about everything since the beginning of time by Bill Bryson. Harsh but fair.
Tonight's culinary nibbles were scheduled to take place at a little inland restaurant called Café Tupuna. This place had a reputation for serving the best nosh on the island and had been fully booked the previous night, but tonight we had reserved a table for two at seven. We were picked up by the local taxi service and dropped off outside a secluded little bistro and a cheeky bottle of Sauvignon Blanc was ordered tout suite.
Our starters were a chili lime fish salad and an ocean trio of wahoo, smoked ono and tuna, with a side order of garlic bread. The food was right up our Gordon Ramsey Street both taste-wise and portion-wise.
For mains, the brunette opted for the reef fish stuffed with shrimps, herbs and onions, wrapped in banana leaves with rice and vegetables, while the skinette went for the spicy fish curry served on paw-paw, with mango chutney, rice and salad.
Best-meal-on-Aitutaki superlatives were soon ringing out in between mouthfuls, and the sheer weight of servings led us to share a dessert of banana and mango sorbet to calm our struggling stomachs.
After coffee I added my signature to yet another 3-inch long MasterCard receipt, in fact I can actually sign my name blindfolded now, while Soph stroked the owner's black cat who was now sitting on her lap. The cat's name was Jonah Lomu because it was All Black. How we chuckled.
After a dubious first night meal in Samades, the island's remaining handful of eateries were really fighting above their weight now.
13/10
We were getting a bit worried after all this glorious weather we were having but we new we weren't going to be let down, and by 8am this morning the rain had finally followed us from Rarotonga like an old long-lost mate.
After a brief wet interlude the skies cleared and we were off again on our little yellow scooter for a tootle around to the other side of the lagoon where we stopped at a pile of rocks that signified an ancient religious Marae (don't ask me) and a look skywards at a very big tree arching over the road. Hey, it's a very small island and sights are hard to come by. Besides, the only sight you need on this island is that of the lagoon.
On the way home we stopped off at Tauono's to buy some homemade cakes and organic fruit for lunch back at our bungalow, and being a cloudy day we lazed on the verandah all afternoon until Soph somehow found the energy to go for a jog. Unfortunately my energy was still depleted from the water-skiing debacle. At least that's what I'm blaming.
That evening we ventured back to the millionaire's playground of Pacific Resort to see if we could afford the cheapest things on the menu. On the way we were hit by an isolated shower that soaked us (especially Soph who's turn it was to drive tonight), making us look even more like the poor imposters we are on entering their alfresco dining room.
Somehow we tricked our way in by adding 'what' to the end of all our sentences and bagged a table overlooking their waterfall and swimming pool complex.
We were expecting good things from this place as our little Lonely Planet guide had gushed 'try the seafood'. I began with a little wooden skewer of five calamari rings and Soph went for the pate, and although they cost a small fortune, they were no match for last night's starters.
It seemed we'd been eating fish and chicken for as long as we could remember, so, going against the advice of our guide book, we went for a couple of rib-eye steaks with Parmesan mash and 'Island Fries'.
We were soon wishing we'd followed their advice as we were began to tuck into lukewarm steak and cold vegetables. My island fries were hard crispy versions of all the South Pacific's plainest potato specimens and Soph's steak was so rare it winked at her.
After an average meal (and that's putting it kindly) we decided to push our boat of excess out once more with very strong Drambuie coffees before forking out $140 for a meal worth $14. PS. Our meal at Café Tupuna the previous night edged this one at $160 but was easily worth double that.
Soph scootered us home dodging large crabs in the road that had come on to dry land to savour the downpour no doubt.
14/10
Today we were to embark on another lagoon cruise with a different company. We scootered into town and arrived at the main wharf by 10 before jumping onto a little Kia Orana speedboat with ten other daytrippers of various foreignness including Spanish, Swedish, Samoan and Aussie.
We set off towards Honeymoon Island (not to be mixed up with the Honeymoon Island we visited in Fiji) at a great rate of knots and soon our little boat was being flung around. It was a blustery day causing our usually calm lagoon to foam up, so much so that our skipper, the self-titled Captain Fantastic, had to slow to a crawl to avoid shipwreck.
At Honeymoon Island we were due to get off for a spot of snorkelling while the rest of the group would steam on to One Foot Island, picking us up on the way back. But due to the conditions our captain announced that he wouldn't be able to make the crossing today and offered a $10 reduction in the bill for the rest of them. It didn't affect us as we'd already seen One Foot and got our passports stamped, so he offered to take everyone else's passports to give to another bigger boat that could make it so they could get the inky marque of recognition. Everyone declined due to the dubiousness of it all.
Once on the island we walked a mile along a sandbar to a small hut surrounded by trees and found the nearest wind break in the shape of a cluster of bushes. Soon the sun came out to fry us this morning and as the snorkelling just offshore wasn't the best we stayed on terra firma.
At noon we all gathered around for a lunch of cold veg, fruit, tuna sandwiches, donuts and chocolate cake. It was a funny old assortment which wasn't a match for Wet n' Wild's freshly cooked Parrotfish. We ate while our captain retold stories of Aitutakian myths before heading into the bushes for a spot of bird-watching.
Apparently this island was a breeding ground for the Red-tailed Tropic bird and sure enough the bushes were full of them. Young black-beaked adults sitting in the shelter unable to walk let alone fly and red-beaked adults sat with their fluffy chicks.
We set off for an offshore snorkelling spot by mid-afternoon and after weighing anchor we had plopped into crystal clear waters armed with bread and cake. Immediately our old mates, the Scissortail Sergeants were upon us in greater numbers than we'd ever seen. We were bombarded from all sides until we were clean out of grub which meant we could go off and explore. The visibility was better than ever as we made our way around huge clumps of coral, housing estates for the legions of fish that pecked at what fresh coral there was.
After an hour we'd covered every patch of sea and began our trip home at a steady 3kmh. On the way a fellow Brit informed us all that she'd just had a back operation and rattled off her list of pills and potions including morphine. We really wanted to know that. Why hit the high seas with a dodgy back?
Back in town we dined over the causeway once more at the Pearl Beach Resort which had got a whole lot busier since the Island Night we saw there. The food was superb, especially the seared tuna on fettuccine. Today's stiff breeze continued as a gale blew through the open-air restaurant causing guests to battle with tablecloths.
Aitutaki had been THE most paradise island of our travels, with stunning views, good restaurants and a nice laidback atmosphere. Aitutaki ees rilly rilly bewdival. Our beach life was over and tomorrow we were to fly east for our last chapter in our travels and a splurge in the metropolitan mayhem of New York . . .
Gazluca and Sophia
xx
