Ai-Ai-Aitutaki

I’ve run out of superlatives. Aitutaki is quite simply the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. The pure white sand, vivid turquoise of the lagoon and the deep blue of the ocean beyond the reef is an incredible combination. Add to that welcoming and generous locals, lush tropical forest, crystal clear water for snorkeling and diving (see Damo’s entry!), more scooters for hire and accommodation right on the beach amongst the coconut trees… Paradise.

We landed on Saturday evening, after sunset, and were picked up and taken back to our studio unit. Sunday morning came and, along with the predictable rooster wake up call, brought a spectacular view of the beach and lagoon when we drew the curtains. But, rather than dashing straight out to it, we did as the locals do, and went to church instead. We hadn’t had a chance to pick up our Aitutaki wheels (Sammy the Scooter, a somewhat more compact version of Mutley the Moped from Rarotonga), so we walked into town. And it’s lucky that we didn’t both blink at the same time. ‘Town’ was very small indeed: a collection of convenience stores, a post office and a tourist information booth. This was the most thriving metropolis for about 500 miles. Even so, on the 4 km walk in, we counted about six or seven churches of different denominations. Christianity is big in Aitutaki and in the Cooks in general.

We went to the largest church, the Cook Islands Christian Church, a large slightly rundown whitewashed stone building near the island’s wharf. The outside didn’t do justice to what was within. The walls were lined with large stain glass windows, which in the morning sunshine cast bright colours on to the pews, which in turn, were filled with colourful people: men in smart trousers and bright ‘Cook Islands’ shirts; ladies in bright dresses with straw hats decorated with shells. People greeted one another like long lost friends, as they took their seats. The majority of the service was in Cook Islands Maori, but the Minister said some warm words in English to welcome the visitors. The highlight (and what brings the tourists flocking) was the calypso-style hymn singing. The congregation sung most songs from heart, with men and women singing different parts. It was spine tingling. We felt humbled to be sitting in the middle of it.

It wasn’t all smoothly choreographed, however. At one point the Minister led them in a song that they clearly didn’t know so well. People fumbled through hymn books, asking each other which page they were on, and mumbled through the verses until they got to the rousing chorus. Maybe not so different to Church of England after all? After the service, we were invited to a morning tea, put on for the visitors. It was vast and generous. We filled up on tropical fruits of all kinds (at one point I sought advice from a five year old on how best to eat the gooey insides of a passion fruit – apparently it’s not with your fingers), cakes, scones and sandwiches (to the delight of a retired English couple that we’d met previously).

After church, we devoted the rest of the day to the beach: walking, photographing, snorkeling, reading and snoozing. Then it got too hot. So we went inside, put the fan on, and looked at it through the window! In fact, for a ‘beach holiday’ we didn’t actually spend much time making sandcastles. We ended up being quite busy with our scuba course. In between dives we walked a bit, poked about a bit and covered most of the island on Sammy looking for inspiration for lunch and tea. There was a disappointing lack of fresh seafood available to buy, unless you got to the market at 6:30 am each day, which clearly wasn’t going to happen. As on Rarotonga, there wasn’t a lot of fresh veg, because it’s not in season and expensive to fly in from abroad. For someone who until about three years ago thought the tomato was the fruit of the devil, we spent a surprising about of time scouring the island for them (key omelette ingredient – lots of roosters = lots of eggs = lots of omelettes). The best meal of the holiday (with the exception of Damo’s tuna steaks, when we eventually found some to buy on Rarotonga) was at a little place down the road, where ‘The Fruit Lady’ (provider of most of our 5 a day) whipped us up a chicken schnitzel, with coconut rice, star fruit salsa, papaya and hot banana. It was delicious. And all of it was home grown.

On our last day in Aitutaki, we went on a lagoon cruise. Bit touristy, but a must-do, apparently, so we did. Good advice. It was excellent: snorkelling in the clearest water imaginable, reef fish swimming around us by the hundreds; barbeque lunch on a bona fide desert island, sitting at a picnic table ankle deep in water, while fishes swam between us; cruising through the brilliant green lagoon, past white sand bars and coconut trees. It was fabulous. I wanted to breathe it all in and keep it stored up inside.

A final conciliatory note for those who are reading this and not currently sitting in Paradise: it turns out that mosquitoes like white beaches and turquoise seas almost as much as we do. We probably escaped the worst of them in Raro because it was a bit windy in the first week there. On Aitutaki, I was served up as the main course. This kept Damo safe from them for a few days, but only until they ran out of edible space on me. Neither of our NZ sandfly repellants did the job, and we thoroughly regretted ditching our electrocuting fly bat in Auckland. Still, sleeping under mozzie nets added to the ooo-we’re-on-a-desert-island vibe. And anyway, Paradise has to come at some price.