24 Days in the Cook Islands: Lost in Paradise - Week Two

Day 8 - The Punanga Nui Market

The Punanga Nui Market was established in 1992 following the Cook Islands Arts Festival. Located in Avarua, it began as a space for local māmās (mothers) to sell produce while their husbands managed plantations. It quickly grew into an essential community hub, fostering local arts, crafts, and food. Now it’s a central part of the local economy that once had been

supported by an industry that produced limited, collector’s item style,

postage stamps.  But stamps alone aren’t enough to support an economy in the 21st century, not even a tiny one in the South Pacific. 

There are three great things an open-air market offers, especially on a remote island like Rarotonga. One, you can actually purchase a wider variety of local foods grown on island.

Two, artists and craft booths give you a glimpse into the culture. And three, local chefs serve yummy island dishes, local-style. We waited all week for the Punanga Nui Market, held each and every Saturday. A full football field sized park in the center of Avarua were filled with booths selling BBQ meats, dance and cultural shows, lava lavas, butter chicken prepared to order, fresh coconuts and exotic tropical fruits and local grown vegetables. Hordes of tourists meandered along the steamy asphalt, drinking cold coconut water through a straw from the shell of nicely manicured young, green fruit.

Tim sat with the locals at a picnic table near the entrance, where a corner booth sold whole fish cooked in coconut milk, served with a side of yellow squash. A local delicacy it seemed

by the constantly shuffling line of loyal patrons. I wandered the booths serving as the eyes of our little group, and bought a dragon fruit and coconut scone for Tim, and a piece of arrowroot cake for me from a sweet auntie who did not have change for my $20 NZ. She would not accept the extra money I wanted to give her. Instead, she sent me away to do an exchange shuffle. I went to a busy booth and bought a beautiful bouquet of fresh basil for $3 NZ. It was the first fresh herb I’d seen on the island. That vendor didn’t have change either. A local woman, with great cheer came to my rescue. She gave the seller her $20 CI in coins for a bill of the same amount. I then returned to pay $6 CI (3 gold triangle coins of original Cook Island money) for the scone and elastic and sweetless arrowroot cake which was more like eating a large rectangle of Mochi. Still, I was grateful, it was gluten free and I swallowed it dutifully.

With local coins in my pocket, I bought zucchini and spinach, some giant lemons and tart limes, passion fruit, mangos and papaya for our morning breakfast feast.  We order butter chicken with sauteed spinach and ate it in the shade of coconut tree.

Then off we went to the Kai Oka Coffee Shop where we sipped flat whites and listened to a

Kiwi guitarist playing 70 hits, Dillon, Eagles, Buffet, for an hour enjoying life on the island. That’s when our travel miracle happened. An English-speaking Orthopedic surgeon

noticed Tim’s limping about and asked if she might examine him right there and then. She concluded that it probably wasn’t serious enough to abandon our vacation and that icing and resting was the best solution.  I told you we were lucky travelers.

On our return, our villa was 90 degrees with 100% humidity. No luck resting in the heat, so we literally peeled on our bathing suits and headed down the road on Tim’s mobile wheelchair “our scooter” to Black Rock for a snorkel and swim.

A Black Rock Snorkel

Tim and I have spent a lot of time exploring the beautiful oceans of the world through

snorkeling. Black Rock lived up to its reputation as a good snorkeling spot. Located on Rarotonga’s northwest coast, the volcanic black rocks jetted from the shallow sea floor. Contrasting with the turquoise water, it created a striking display. Tim’s leg felt great in the water and weightlessly we swam with a variety of fish: triggerfish, yellow tang, silverfish that matched perfectly the white sand beneath, butterfly fish, and wrasses. Giant sea cucumbers that laid like discarded fishing net bathed carelessly in the warm water. There was invertebrates snake like worms that looked like black rope, lounging on every rock. Working their tentacles in the sand they swallowed mouthfuls, filtering the sand down its ropelike body in compressions, like a snake. 

There is nothing more refreshing than seeing the beauty that lie beneath this turquoise sea. We felt refreshed, renewed and giddy thinking that Tim’s was improving with swimming and was on the mend. But we couldn’t leave it there. We didn’t want the magical day to end. Instead, we scootered to the south side of the island and climbed the stairs of the iconic Rarotongan Beach Resort and Lagoonarium where we sat at the ocean side bar and watch the staff person throw bread from the balcony to a clambering school of florescent, blue triggerfish.

Day 9   Sunday...A Day of Rest

We succeeded in buying fresh fish today, even though it was Sunday. Pulling into the parking lot at Ocean Prime Seafood, a little after 10 am, we found the door open and the inside mercifully cool. Wow Double Lucky! I fawned over the entire case of fresh saltfish,

swordfish, a bright blue fish with a pointy beak before picking out a pink fillet of albacore tuna for tonight’s dinner. The salesperson rang me up and said $14NZ which I thought was a fair price for my beautiful fillet. I had limited cash after yesterday’s market, only a $5NZ note and some coins. Instead, I whipped out my credit card. She politely pointed at the sign that read Cash Only. Shoot, I really wanted that fish. I laid my coins out like a child in a candy store and she told me I had plenty. The fillet was actually $4.40NZ. Feeling rich I bought some tasty green lemons to go with. I was living like a local, glimpsing the real diet of the island people.  Fish from the sea, veggies from backyard gardens, sweet potatoes, fruits from the trees, dragon fruit, starfruit, paw paw, avocados. And coconut water and tender meat from the coconut trees. What more do you need. In fact, tonight’s dinner was a local affair. Lemon butter grilled tuna with a coconut milk reduction, green papaya salsa and a fresh green salad of lettuce, onions and fresh basil.

At sunset, we spoke with my doctor brother-in-law and were reassured that resting in the islands would be what the doctor ordered. We decided to stay. Tim placed his leg up on the balcony of our ocean front lanai and fell into a deep afternoon nap while I took a walk in the light rain contented to be by the azure sea.

Day 10 - The Oneness

Today, we fell in love with the Cook Islands. The gentle rainfall allowed us to truly stop and rest. A rest we desperately needed. We walked the beach and felt refreshed. We sat on our lanai and ate a dinner of coconut chicken and rice and drank a bottle of New Zealand

Chardonnay. We laughed and talked as only best friends can do while the rain cooled down our humble abode.  It may have been my favorite day yet. Our black hen mama came pecked at our back door and her chicks sang and sang until I fed them more of my seedy, gluten free granola. The rooster stares me down and I stare back until the chicks have had their fill.  Nature is so brilliant, flowing in an unseen rhythm. If you slow down enough you can join it. Today was that kind of day. We became part of the oneness.

Day 11 Heading to Aitutaki

It was moving day. We packed our bags and moved our extra gear to our next accommodations, the Avana Waterfront Apartments. We had decided on a crazy schedule when planning this trip. Having rented both our Colorado and Hawaii residence, we had carried quite a bit more than usual. Add the heat to the mix and we shed almost all of our belongings. Our host Deseree graciously agreed to store our excess.

We cleaned our villa and looked forward to our stay in Aitutaki, an island shrouded in

mystery and accolades from the locals. Then with time to spare, we went for coffee with our beautiful neighbors Mike and Senna at the Beluga Cafe and talked about our children, life in native Samoa (Samoi) and New Zealand and their incredible life of 43 years together. It was a lot like our story. And I was reminded once again that the most remarkable part of travel was the people you meet along the way.

Off to the Rarotonga Airport with our two small bags stuffed with our lightest clothes, a camera bag and our battered cribbage board which went with us on every journey. We also brought a bag of odds and ends groceries and good thing or for the first night there would have no food at all. But I get ahead of myself.

Aitutaki and the Lagoon

When I saw the pictures of Aitutaki and the lagoon, billed as the one of the world’s most beautiful lagoon, they held me spellbound. I hadn’t seen turquoise blue water like that since our trip to Negril, Jamaica in the 1980’s. I imagined laying on the white sands and snorkeling in the clear water along the barrier reefs teeming with abundant marine life.

Since it was near midnight when we arrived in Cook Islands the first time, our daytime departure to Aitutaki was really the first we saw of Rarotonga International Airport.  Serving as the main gateway to the Cook Islands, it consisted of a single concrete runway.  We entered a breezy open floor plan and sat in the waiting area with a ragtag group of people, some tourist intermingled with locals a little on the salty side. On island time (a little late and not in a hurry) a small 36 seat prop plane finally came to a stop in front of the open breezeway. The rain began in earnest just as we piled out onto the steamy runway. Excitedly, en masse, we climbed into the small plane. It started out great when our one stewardess handed us cool wash clothes to wipe our faces and thick cool air poured out of

the vents above us creating visible puffs of condensation. We rose into the clouds and glimpsed blue sea below. After a short 50-minute flight, we landed and climbed down onto another steamy runway at a much smaller Aitutaki Regional Airport. There stood women in traditional island dress holding leis, waited to greet the guest of their various properties.

“Where are you staying?” several women asked us.

The limited accommodations on Aitutaki ranged from ultra-fancy, a resort on a private island from 8000-13000NZ/nt, (about $4755 to $7725 USD/nt.) There was also an assortment of all-inclusive resorts from $600-900NZ/nt (about $357 to $535 USD/nt.) Neither being our style or budget, we found a place on the water with adorable looking bungalows. It wasn’t the lowest costing unit on the island, just shy of $100 USD a night and Booking.com gave it an 8.8 rating with rave reviews.  I usually trust Booking.com to get it right.

“Matriki’s Huts,” we said.  We should have got the message that something was terribly wrong as they looked apologetically and pointed to the back of the line.

A thin, salty character leaned against the wall near the exit. He found us as we unburied our luggage from the back of an unlabeled truck, (no baggage security here). He said his name was Matthis which matched the owner of the establishment we had booked. Sullen and silent he wasn’t the Māori host we had expected. Instead, he looked more like a someone who had been shipwrecked on the island for the past 20 years living off coconuts and land crabs. He offered no help with our luggage as we struggled through thick sand to his beat-up sedan littered with more sand and stains.  

“How long have you been on Aitutaki,” Tim asked trying to fill the awkward air.

“I’ve been here since 2000.” Bingo on the 20+ years. “My ex and kid live on the property.” Tim and I made eye contact briefly sharing the same expression.  What does the property look like if this was the pickup service.

Now, there are budget and then there are BUDGET accommodations with a Capital B. Unfortunately, we found ourselves staring at the latter. Matthis backed us into the garden area in front of our hut with vegetation so overgrown we managed to take a tropical shower

as we bivouacked our way through the palms, hibiscus ferns and the like. Pretty on its own, the unkept garden was dense and foreboding, swallowing the structure beneath it. Outside the hut, in lieu of an outdoor shower, stood a plastic bucket of water where guests were to wash their feet before entering. The porch, which faced the thick garden, was equipped with two plastic chairs and a small table. Matthis opened the door. Our garden triple room which we choose for the ensuite bathroom and full kitchen, was reminiscent of a third world guesthouse, the likes of which we hadn’t seen since our youth. We stepped into a cinderblock room about 100sq feet with a Queen size foam bed and a canopy of a holey mosquito netting hanging over it like a dirty shirt. A third murphy style bed, more like a

make shift cot, was pushed up against the wall just in case we wanted to fit three in our little room. To say the kitchen was basis was an understatement. It consisted of a sink with two facets, a red one and a blue one, one for drinking water and one for washing Matthis told us quickly.  I was already confused as to which was which. Thank God for our Steri pen. A dorm size frig and a three burner Coleman stove sat upon a homemade plywood cabinet which stored utensils and pots and pans. That was our kitchen. A florescent light hung over a small wooden table with plastic chairs for our dining experience. In the ensuite bathroom was a large shell sink and a sign that read wet yourself, turn the water off, soap up and then rinse. Wow. The pictures we perused got this wrong and the 8.8 rating on Booking.com spouted nothing that was true.

Our host Matthis stood on his bird-like legs and said matter-a-factly.

“What are your questions?”

We stuttered and stumbled still in shock from the visuals.

“Electrical outlets?” Tim asked.   He pointed to a power strip on the floor near a rusty fan.

“A bar?” Tim’s voice rose an octave out of desperation.  

Matthis pointed at the same power bar. 

With one last blank stare, Matthis left us just before we broke out laughing. It was the slummy guest house in Cahuita and the Dolphin Backpacker Lodge in Kaikoura all over again.

A few important lessons learned. Never book the most reasonable accommodations listed. Budget for our age group need to have a higher bar. And don’t trust Booking.com 100% of the time. Even though the reviews were favorable, they must have been from 20 years ago when this place had bones.

We set our luggage inside determined to find a real bar with real drinks and headed to the beach. Vamura Resort bordered our property and according to our travel map had both a

bar and restaurant on premises. After navigating through the large property filled with villas topped with thatched roofs, we spotted the restaurant.  I asked for a menu. The linen covered table clothes looked romantic and even though the food was pricey, they offered several gluten free dishes for $40-$45NZ a plate.

“Is there a table for tonight?” I asked smoothing my dress and patting my hair which was matted to my head with sweat.  

“We had one at 8 PM.”  Since it was barely five, we headed to the bar and happy hour instead.

There we met a young couple from Saskatchewan Canada, Mike and Kristen, and fell into a travelers’ conversation instantly. We planned to meet back at the bar the next night for drinks and a bike ride to take-away place that the locals frequented and talked of fondly. Always listen to the locals. Then back to our room where we ate pasta with tomato basil prosciutto sauce. Exhausted, we turned on the rusty floor fan and gave up the ghost.

Day 12 – Coconut Alarm

The indoor bathroom came in handy during the night as the old bladder sang its normal tune. At dawn, we woke up to with a big bang with a coconut falling on the roof.  Dim daylight filtering through plastic shades. The rain began in earnest, a real tropical downpour with no break in sight.

The cloud cleared by mid-day but a wind blew broken waves to shore. The lagoon waters churned an angry grey. We grabbed a rental scooter. No helmets needed according to the local agent and even if we wanted one, they didn’t have them. We rode around to get a feel for the layout of the island and felt the breeze blow away some of the stickiness of our room complete with sugar ants and mosquitos galore.

Riding around the one major road that circled the island, we glimpse the simple, very modest life of the people of Aitutaki. Unpainted concrete houses with goats grazing on unkept yards. Tiny white washed churches and a hospital building recognizable only by the red cross painted on the outside spotted the green hillside. We eventually found Tina’s, a grocery, liquor, internet, fabric store (all in one). We purchased milk, wine, some bananas and not much else.

“Where are your eggs,” I asked politely.

“Where have no eggs,” Tina said

“Do you know where I can find some?”

“No eggs on this island,” she said with a straight face.

Well, why doesn’t someone catch some chickens and build a coop, I thought. Then the island would have eggs.  I held my tongue and suspected that Tina was messing with me even though she was happy to take my $45NZ payment.

We headed further down the road to Marina’s, another market with a much happier clerk. We stocked up on Chardonnay, a package of gluten free cookies, a dozen eggs and compostable plates to put our eggs on. We weren’t really happy about having to do dishes at our deluxe garden room. Already we were thinking of a way to escape Matriki Huts, the sullen owner and the cramped and disheveled room.

We tried to take a swim but the choppy water and waves kept us close to shore. Then off again on our scooter to the tip of the island that curls and reached out like an arthritic finger into the lagoon.  Sitting on the lanai of the Boatshed Restaurant, we got another glimpse of Aitutaki. 

The restaurant was filled with nautical debris, an old sexton, boat parts and what looked like briny, old regulars. They had gluten free French fries to my amazement and we happily ate a pile of them with tomato sauce, their version of ketchup. We drove to the end of the road and spied some places that were surely worth inquiring about.

We spent the evening drinking with our new young friends Mike and Kristen, at the Tamanu Resort. A beautiful place but not quite in our price range. There we met the lovely owner Nick who we found out lived at Ootu Beach. Now that sounded intriguing.

 Day 13 - Always Plan for Emergency Funds!

After a breakfast of gluten free cookies which the sugar ants feasted on the crumbs and a gecko had eaten half of our bananas, we decided to take action. On Aitutaki, most places don’t offer internet but will sell it to you, $10 for 10 minutes. Bingo. With a quick search, we found there was availability at two places at the mystical Ootu Beach. We had driven by them the day before and decided the rest of our stay would be here on the while sand beaches and turquoise sea.  An adjacent lush, green private island shone like a Great Gatsby party.  Good Bye Matriki with its moldy mattress and stifling room. The industrious army of sugar ants that cleaned Tim’s hearing aids would surely miss us.

We took our scooter north past the airport eager to check it out. When we arrived at the AT

Village (Aitutaki Village) and Blue Lagoon Restaurant, the oppressive air seems to lift. In the front of us was of a row of twelve neatly lined villas each with a lanai that faced the sea.

A garden path marked the interior. Wooden chairs sat on the porches. Across the narrow street stood the Blue Lagoon Restaurant with a deck that overlooked the water. A place where we would get buffet breakfast each morning, and dinner some evenings.  It was an evolving restaurant, a pop-up, only open a few times a week when the chef comes in.  Now I understand why the sign reads Reservation Necessary.  Not because there would be a crowd of outsiders other than our fellow villa guests, but on this poor island with virtually limited supplies except for a few convenient stores, the chef would need to bring in enough food to cover the reservations on hand.

We walked the path to the office where we met Jane, known to us as Savoir Jane, an Aussie woman with a bright spirit.  Jane was in charge of renovations, turning the old AT Village into a beautiful boutique resort with a full restaurant on site. This is something she travel the world doing. Sprinkling her know how and magic about. She invited us into her cool office. 

“Do you have availability for Sat, Sunday, Monday.” I blurt out.  “I saw it on the internet.”  Tim looks at me sideways as if to say, not sounding too desperate are we.

“Let me look,” she said. “Hmm. I can if I move something around.”

“Yes,” I yell and try to high five Tim who stiffed me. “We’ll take it!” before even settling on a price.

“I can give you 10% discount since you came to me. We also have a lagoon cruise with $30 NZ off each ticket if you book with us.”

We took a look at the room with it meticulous queen bed, large tile bathroom, frig and a coffee station. And what was that, OMG air conditioning.

Now that we had our escape planned, the one night left in our garden palace seemed doable. Even though we paid for a week ahead, (reservations and payment in full are standard in the Cooks,) we already were figuring ways to get a refund on the last 3 days.

Unfortunately, that didn’t work. Matthis was surprised at our hasty departure but was unmoved. And even with a god-awful review I posted on Booking.com, it didn’t seem to affect their rating much. I even made a phone call to Booking.com with no results. Live and learn. It had only been 3 nights in our prison cell but it seemed like a lifetime.  As we packed up our gear Tim wanted to carve a message on the wall.  Tim Was Here-March 24. 

The moral of the story is always have emergency funds on hand for situations like this.

Day 14 - Ootu Beach and Aitutaki Village

Robin picked us with our luggage up at the huts and we literally launched ourselves in her slow-moving van. She hadn’t even needed to stop. We were more than ready. Escaping from Matriki Huts was like leaving a third world county under siege. The armies of ants, geckos, mosquitos and roosters would miss us most. In our hurried escape we left behind our stalled scooter without a care. Later the rental company delivered to us at our new place. We arrived at Aitutaki Village into the hands of Jane and her crew: Robin and Chef Nag (pronounced Na).

To be fair the Cook Islands are considered to be a “developing country” with strong ties to New Zealand. Tourism, offshore banking and foreign aid are the Cooks primary economy streams. Despite being considered "somewhat developed," the islands face many challenges similar to other smaller, remote island nations. The high cost of living, lack of outside influences via imports and internet and limited economic diversity make it seems like it could be easily be toppled. In the same vein, lies the beauty of this place. Quite remote, they remain untouched by the outside world offering a rare old-world Polynesian experience.

We entered our air-conditioned villa, a large, beautiful room ensuite.  Beach and bath towels were rolled and placed on a queen size bed made up with crisp white sheets. There was a small fridge for our foods, filtered water from the tap, a coffee bar with all the amenities and tiled full bath. I almost cried. We laid still for a while in the air conditioning enjoying the cool air on our skin before heading to the sugar white beach and shallow turquoise lagoon. For the first time in Aitutaki, we swam a good ½ hour before heading to the picnic tables for a game of cribbage.

“Are you playing 15,” Robin asked.

“15? Yes, if you mean cribbage. I’ll apologize ahead. We usually swear a lot when we play.”

She laughed and went back to her duties of setting up for the diner service that evening. We played into the late afternoon under the scant shade of a palm tree and drank a cool bottle of Trout Creek, a NZ Chardonnay. All was well.

After a fresh water shower, we walked a 100 ft to the Blue Lagoon Restaurant where Jane served us happy hour drinks. We sat facing the lagoon thinking of how far we had come since our arrival on Aitutaki.

Later that night, we dined under the ironwoods. Lights twinkled from the branches were reflected in the calm lagoon. The pop-up restaurant set up shop with a temporary wood fire kitchen and offered 3 meals.  The NZ Rib Eye Steak with rice and local salad, Fresh Yellowfin Tuna with local veggies and a Roasted chicken with Fries and Local Salad all looked delicious.  And everything was prepared gluten-free. I was in heaven. We were sat with another guest, on an assigned table kind of like on a cruise ship, with a wealthy man or so he said. We listen to him brag about his successes in business and his many gifts to the world while we ate our beautiful meal in relative silence. We said a quick good night and returned to our villa where we sleep in the silence for 10 hours straight.  

On Aitutaki, we recommend middle of the road accommodations with a 3-star rating. At the time of publishing the room rate for AT Village was $230 / night including breakfast. And it was well worth it! Other resorts like the Aitutaki Seaside $175/night just south of the airport offered three bungalows on white beach with self-contained accommodations.