Gods and government, proud warriors and foreign invaders: discovering the landscapes and history of Atiu… South Pacific Adventure, part 8.

Posted on March 10, 2021 by Becca

(For new readers – if you’re just discovering this blog and you would like to read about my 2015 South Pacific travels from their beginning, you can click on this link to go to the first chapter: Travels in the Cook Islands.)

My second day on Atiu began with a gargantuan breakfast, fuel for the day’s explorations. Donna, Mark and I then jumped into Marshall’s truck and we picked up the three other tourists currently staying on the island, before heading out on a tour. First stop was the nearby village of Teenui, the closest thing that Atiu has to a busy metropolis.

Downtown Teenui village, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

On an island with a population of around 500 people, you’re unlikely to see much other traffic (apart from chickens). Marshall gave us a tour of Teenui’s sights, starting with the recently-created sports field, which had to be redone after the island was hit by five cyclones in a single season. Climate change is likely to lead to intensified cyclone activity in the South Pacific, so this doesn’t bode well for the people who live on islands such as Atiu.

Teenui sports field on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

We drove past the village store, which was originally the first school on the island (built by the London Mission Society). As elsewhere in the Cook Islands, imported (mostly Christian) religions have had a big impact on local society and culture. There are six churches on Atiu, including CICC (Cook Islands Christian Church), Catholic, Seventh Day Adventists and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Atiu people can and do marry folks from different churches, although this depends on each church’s policy: not every faith allows it.

Church in Teenui, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

Our next stop was the island police station (which also serves as Teenui’s bank and post office). Marshall explained that there are two police officers on Atiu, and the consensus is that no crime occurs after 3pm because that’s when they go off-duty… Or on Friday afternoons, because that’s the time for fishing. I quite liked the idea of limited hours for law-breaking. Presumably having the bank attached to the police station also discourages would-be bank robbers (unless of course they decide to carry out a bank raid after 3pm).

Police station, bank and post office in Teenui, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

The legacy of colonial occupation can be seen in government buildings, as well as in the ubiquitous churches. Atiu’s council chamber and tax filing office (Kavamani Enua, or Island Government) are based in what used to be the old British Foreign Office building, when B.F.O. staff were posted on the island. British colonial rule from the 1880s became New Zealand colonial rule in 1901: full independence and self-governance in the Cook Islands not being achieved until 1965.

Island government building in Teenui, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

Other important buildings we saw included the CICC hall, used for singing and dancing events; and the CICC church building itself, the largest church on the island. As on Aitutaki, there were very few graves beside the church, with local people choosing to bury their deceased family at home: only incomers or strangers usually find their resting place in the church cemetery.

Next to the church a limestone obelisk called te pito, ‘the navel’, marks what is said to be the exact centre point of the island. It carries the name of Paulo Ngamaru Ariki, the Atiuan chief who helped restore the CICC church in the 1950s; and Tamaivi Ngamaru Ariki, the chief who planned and built the original church in the 1860s. There are three ariki (chiefs) on Atiu: at the time of my visit only two lived on the island, while the third resided in New Zealand. Ariki descends in family lines, but not automatically to the eldest son of the family: local worthies meet to decide who will make the best successor, when the current ariki dies.

Monument to Atiuan chiefs Paulo Ngamaru Ariki and Tamaivi Ngamaru Ariki, at the centre of Atiu in the Cook islands.

As we travelled around Teenui it was quiet: we saw the occasional local driving a pick-up or moped; children strolling or playing; and of course chickens and dogs patrolling the mostly empty roads. With the population size having reduced by two-thirds in the late twentieth century (mostly due to the decline of exports of produce such as citrus fruits, coffee and copra), community life here is small-scale but still vibrant, with regular community meetings in each of the five villages.

Atiuan boy raking up leaves in Teenui, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

Heading out of Teenui our next stop was the island’s Enuamanu School, which bore a banner celebrating 50 years since the school – and Cook Islands self government – was established in 1965. All stages of education – infants, primary, secondary and college – are contained on the same site. Marshall told us that Cook Islands Maori is the first language taught in Enuamanu School and English second (unlike on Rarotonga). This prioritising of Cook Islands language seems positive, though unfortunately Atiu pupils are disadvantaged when they sit exams under the New Zealand exam system, as exams are set in English. Marshall said that for this reason he and Jéanne home-educated their children, to try to overcome this problem.

Enuamanu School, Atiu (in the Cook Islands).

After the school our next landmark was the village bakery, complete with cement bread oven! It reminded me of the cob oven (earth oven) at Wildwood Escot where I teach in Devon: basically a simple interior oven space enclosed in thick cement walls, heated by burning firewood inside. Should any cracks form in the oven’s walls (revealed by leaking smoke), this is mended by the simple expedient of plastering more cement on the outside… Hence the resulting huge oven structure, sheltering under its corrugated iron roof.

Bread oven in Atiu's bakery, the Cook Islands.

Once the wood has burned and the oven is heated, the ashes are swept out and the tins of bread dough popped inside to bake. The whole set-up is basic but practical, with the only machinery used a giant dough mixer that looked more like a cement mixer than anything else! I quite liked the minimalist kitchen (although I’m not sure what having a lawnmower stored in there added to the mix).

Bread tins in Atiu's bakery (the Cook Islands).

A little further down the road lay Atiu’s telecom mast, phone satellite and TV station. Microwave antennae capture signals transmitted from Mangaia and Mitiaro and boost them onwards. Atiu’s TV channel can receive several signals, but can only transmit one signal at a time to island residents – so locals have to be patient and cooperate with each other, taking turns to watch their favourite TV programmes. At least that avoids TV ratings competition…

Phone satellite, telecom mast and TV station on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

Our next stop was at a coffee plantation, formerly owned and run by German growers Juergen Manske-Eimke and his wife Andrea. Their business ended when Juergen sadly died in mid-2015, but the coffee bushes were continuing to grow well. Missionaries first brought coffee to the island, and it became a cash crop in the 1950s. The island’s calcium-rich soils lend Atiu coffee a unique flavour, and despite fluctauations in the coffee trade it continues to be grown and sold. The production of Atiu Island Coffee is now headed up by local woman Mata Arai, using hand picking and roasting with coconut cream, giving this coffee a very special taste.

Coffee plantation on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

Coming through the forest we emerged near the island’s airport. While we watched a Pacific golden plover or toretoreā (Pluvialis fulva) pottering about on the runway, Marshall related how an Air Raro plane had a tyre blowout while taxiing on the crushed coral runway a year or so previously. It must be interesting being an Air Raro pilot! A request had gone in for a new tarmac runway to replace the crushed coral surface. Locals had already begun clearing the site and bringing in machinery, only waiting for funding to be found so that they can begin work. Marshall also showed us two massive blocks of coral (each half as big as the pick-up we were riding in) that had been thrown up onto the runway by the sea during a cyclone in 2005.

Makatea cliffs on the northeast coast of Atiu, the Cook Islands.

Southeast of the airstrip we hopped out of Marshall’s pick up to walk over the makatea to the cliff tops on Atiu’s northeastern edge. Just as we’d found the day before when trekking to Anatakitaki, walking on makatea requires concentration. We were stepping over a fossilised coral reef, its rugged and undulating topography mirroring the choppy Pacific swell surging below us. Hardy plants such as ngau (Creeping half-flower, Scaevola paulayi) wedged their roots into the crevices, growing in wind-resistant mats and weathering the salt spray.

Plants growing on makatea (fossilised coral) on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

It wasn’t easy to picture the sharp crags of limestone that we were walking on as an undersea coral reef, millenia ago… Until I crouched down and looked closer, when an ancient tropical ocean landscape became revealed. I saw intricate patterns of many different coral species: hieroglyphics written in the skeletons of billions of long-dead coral polyps. There is always something mesmerising to me about being confronted with the geological evidence of deep time. Humanity takes itself and its everyday concerns so seriously… But really we’re just a recent blip on the evolutionary timeline. For some reason I find this weirdly comforting.

Fossilised corals in makatea limestone, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

Driving soutthest took us along the coast road that runs all the way around Atiu, with its handy signs at intervals indicating the distance to landmarks in either direction. Our next stop was at Oneroa Beach, a beautiful little cove with pinkish coral sand used by Marshall and Jéanne’s family. The edge of the reef is very close here, the wild Pacific surf rolling just a few metres out.

After a brief but lovely wander along Oneroa Beach, we returned to the truck and drove on along the coast road to Takauroa Landing on the island’s southern edge. This was the scene of an epic battle between Atiu warriors and invaders from Tahiti. History tells of how a Tahitian traveller shipwrecked on Atiu was cared for and nursed back to health by Atiu folk, but then travelled back to Tahiti… Only to return to Atiu with two vaka (war canoes) loaded with two hundred Tahitian warriors! Fortunately for the locals they were able to ambush the Tahitian invaders as they tried to access the island’s interior through a narrow passage in the makatea: after a pitched battle the Atiuans won. The ungrateful Tahitian who’d led his fellows back to Atiu was reputedly hunted down, fought with by the ariki, and killed. (And allegedly eaten, which seems fair enough.) Two marae at Takaroa Landing mark the burial sites of all those warriors who fell in battle defending their island.

Marae at Takauroa Landing on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

Here in the southern part of the island, the makatea is pretty impenetrable, with its combination of thick tangled undergrowth and forest on top of sharp craggy fossilised limestone. Marshall related how a local lawbreaker evaded arrest by local police for some time by hiding out in the makatea. After a few weeks however the wrongdoer turned himself in, finding living in the challenging landscape of the makatea too difficult!

Makatea scrub on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

A little further on into the coastal forest Marshall stopped the truck to show us a fruits from a boxfruit tree (Barringtonia asiatica or ‘utu). The seed from the centre of ‘utu fruits can be ground up or chopped to release a poison, which paralyses fish if the ground seeds are scattered into the sea. Formerly used for fishing in the coral lagoon, this is now illegal: a local man was recently caught using ‘utu poison in this way and fined $500 (after having been warned several times not to do this).

Marshall Humphreys displays Baringtonia or 'utu fruits, once used to poison fish but now illegal (Atiu, the Cook Islands).

Heading now up the western side of the island we stopped at Taungaroro Beach, which like Oneroa was beautiful and deserted. Walking through the sand and looking out to the Pacific waves splashing against the coral reef, I felt a little like Robinson Crusoe (although hopefully without the white imperialist overtones).

Taungaroro Beach on Atiu (the Cook Islands).

It’s not just coral which makes up the pinkish sands fringeing these islands: billions of fragments of seashells too are rendered down by the action of waves and wind to create the lovely beaches that are such an iconic element of Pacific islands. I spent a happy half hour wandering and gathering seashells, including many cowries or pōre‘o. In many places in the world cowries have traditionally been used as currency: in the Cook Islands they were favoured more for jewellery, especially to convey status to the wearer.

Taungaroro was also the spot where we had a picnic lunch, to fortify us after our morning’s exploring. Banana muffins, fresh fruit salad with papaya and guava and pawpaw sprinkled with grated coconut, and a nice cup of tea to wash it all down: perfect.

After lunch I went wandering a little way into the coastal forest, to admire the tropical trees with their buttressed roots and epiphytic ferns growing in nooks amongst the branches. Atiu was a delight to a plant nerd like me: while my tropical botany knowledge wasn’t good enough for me to identify many species, I still felt happily at home in this green growing ecosystem, relatively unimpacted by tourism.

Tree growing in coastal forest, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

The plan was for us to continue on up the coastal road northwards to Oravaru landing – but our plans were temporarily foiled by a roadblock in the form of a fallen tree. We detoured via Ngatiarua village and back out to the coast by another route, finally reaching Oravaru on the west coast.

Fallen tree blocking coastal road, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

If you search on the internet for information about the Cook Islands’ colonial history, it describes how Spanish explorers sighted Pukapuka and Rakahanga (in the northern islands group) in 1595 and 1606; then Captain James Cook sighted other islands in the 1770s; followed by Captain William Bligh in 1789 (whose tyrannical captainship led to the mutiny on his ship the Bounty). The name ‘the Cook Islands’ was conferred by Russian navigator Adam Johann von Krusenstern in his 1823 Atlas de l’Ocean Pacifique, in honour of the surveying and mapping done by Captain James Cook: previously they were named the Hervey Islands after a British Lord of the Admiralty.

Ironically Cook himself never landed on Atiu during his voyage on the ship Resolution: instead one of his officers, Lieutenant John Gore went ashore in 1777, accompanied by the ship’s doctor, botanist and three boatloads of crew. They were met by some two thousand Atiuan warriors and people lining the clifftops, with full body tattoos and carrying spears – no doubt an intimidating sight. Bear in mind that on one of Cook’s previous expeditions to Tahiti, John Gore was the first person ever recorded to shoot and kill an indigenous Pacific Maori person, after an altercation over a piece of cloth. These were not casual explorers but the vanguard of a powerful military empire, intent on mapping and colonising what they regarded as ‘uncivilised’ territories, largely ignoring the rights of the indigenous people already living there.

Oravaru Landing, where Captain James Cook's crew first landed on Atiu in 1777 (the Cook Islands).

Gore’s party were taken inland by the Atiuans to the Orongo marae and cave of the warriors, which would have been an impressive and unsettling sight. It’s said that the landing party’s Polynesian interpreter saw a prepared umu pit (earth oven) but no animal carcasses, and assumed that this meant that they were on the menu! This proved not to be the case however: after being ceremonially introduced to the ariki and being the subject of several hours of close curiosity from the Atiuans, the landing party was allowed to return to their ship.

Marshall told us of an ancient local tradition, that when a new baby boy was born the child was taken to the tribal priest at the Orongo marae, who would wrap the baby up in leaves and leave him on the marae altar overnight. In the morning if the baby had managed to break free of his leaf swaddling he would be raised as a warrior at the Orongo marae and taught how to fight. If the baby was still wrapped in the leaves, the child would be returned to his parents and grow up to be a fisherman or planter.

Orongo marae was also the final resting place of the skulls of the island’s ariki, as well as those of great and heroic warriors. It was and still is a sacred place. In the 1960s two Mormon missionaries visiting the island were disrespectful and foolish enough to remove a skull from the Orongo cave, intending to take it with them to Rarotonga… But the woman missionary died before they got there. The skull was swiftly returned and replaced at Orongo.

The archaeology and history of pre-colonial times in the Cook Islands was seemingly only just beginning to be shown the interest and respect it deserves, at the time of my visit in 2015. I was reminded of Ngaa’s determined labours on Aitutaki to preserve and pass on the culture and history of his people. Compare this with the wealth of research and fieldwork that has been done on ancient cultures such as Egypt, Greece and South America. I suspect that partly this is due to the legacy of colonialism, and the fact that we white Europeans are still reluctant to engage with the reality of our colonial history: a history that contains a great deal of brutality and exploitation, and which persists to this day in some people’s colonial or white supremacist mindset. Too often I’ve heard white people try to diminish the impact of colonialism by saying “Explorers then didn’t know any better”, or “Every European nation was doing the same thing”, or even “These cultures had plenty of their own problems before we came along – what about their inter-island wars and cannibalism?” These defensive responses are missing the point: white colonial powers invaded lands, imposed Christian religion (with all its guilt-ridden and problematic dogma), took whatever resources they fancied, and ruthlessly eradicated many indigenous people through military force and disease. If someone did that to Britain we’d call it an act of war.

When we returned to Marshall and Jéanne’s home, I found a wonderful book on their shelves: Akono’ango Maori: Cook Islands Culture, by Ron Crocombe. Browsing through it I came upon a remarkable photograph taken circa 1904, titled ‘Ngatiarua on Atiu in old time dress‘. The dignity and pride of these muscled men standing with their heavy spears, gazing directly into the camera lens, shone out of the page.

Ngatiarua men on Atiu, the Cook Islands: photo taken circa 1904.

As a privileged white tourist in the South Pacific, I felt enormously grateful to have the opportunity to travel in these beautiful islands, and to meet the friendly and generous people who lived there. This friendliness and generosity is even more remarkable, given the explotiation of their lands and people ever since white colonisers first began occupying their territories. Writing this blog is my effort to show my gratitude to all the Cook Islands and South Pacific Maori and Polynesian people who welcomed me into their homes; and to raise awareness as far as I can of the destructive impact of European colonialism, and the importance of honouring South Pacific culture. It’s vital too that we take rapid steps to limit climate change caused by our industrialised nations, the latest colonial legacy to threaten the safety and future of Pacific island peoples.

I had only one more day to spend on Atiu. I could’ve happily spent another month there (and not just because of Marshall’s mouth-watering cooking!). I felt happily at home on this quiet little island with its rich history and diverse wildlife; its rugged makatea and green forest; and the shell-scattered beaches and sacred marae, freighted with memories and meaning.

Standing on Oneroa Beach on Atiu, the Cook Islands.

As Rowanleaf I write, photograph, teach and sing about the world, for the world. If you enjoy my work and would like to help support me to keep on doing it, please consider buying me a coffee at KoFi, or making a regular donation via Patreon. The links are here below: much gratitude to all those who have encouraged and supported me thus far. <3
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Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 9:

Aliens, natives, lorikeets, flycatchers and noddies: travels with Birdman George
in Enuamanu, Land of the Birds.

Ancient coral cliffs and dodgy landings; swimming in caves and spotting birds that live in the dark…. South Pacific Adventure, part 7

Posted on February 5, 2021 by Becca

(For new readers: if you’re just discovering this blog and you would like to read about my South Pacific travels from the beginning, you can click on this link to go to the first chapter: Travels in the Cook Islands.)

Trees and ferns growing out of the makatea (ancient coral) in the interior of Atiu, Cook Islands

I left Aitutaki on a Friday morning, driven to the airport by Tracey. En route we passed the motorcade procession of Miss Cook Islands, who had just arrived on an early plane and was standing up in the lead vehicle, waving and smiling to all and sundry. Her retinue comprised men on scooters and in cars and trucks, including what looked like most of the musicians from Island Night, playing and singing enthusiastically as they bowled along. Most of the locals had come out to greet her, standing outside their homes and Puffy’s Bar to wave at Miss Cook Islands as she cruised past. It seemed like a fittingly fun ending to my stay on this lovely island!

Arriving tourists at Aitutaki airport were being greeted with tiare leis (flower necklaces) as I walked to the tiny prop airplane that would carry me to Atiu. The pilot cheerfully greeted me on the tarmac, then hopped aboard as I and fellow tourists Donna and Mark from New Zealand took our seats. (Donna and Mark had also been staying on Aitutaki, having got married there the previous week.)

Once in the air I took a last look back at Aitutaki’s beautiful lagoon with its milky-white sandbars, before our plane headed southeastwards over the wide ultramarine blue of the Pacific. En route to our destination we flew over the island of Manuae: a small oval of green fringed with yellow beach and turquoise lagoon and surf-ringed reef; shallow sea falling away into the deep blue fathoms of the South Pacific ocean. It impressed me again how isolated these little islands are, in their thousands-of-miles-wide lapis lazuli sea: how remarkable it is that the people who populated them navigated this vast expanse of ocean.

Landing on Atiu’s small air strip was an interesting experience, as the island rears out of the ocean on fossil coral (makatea) cliffs several metres high. This produces violent updrafts and sidewinds which meant our plucky pilot had to bring us down pretty steeply and rapidly, the plane rolling and yawing as the wind buffeted it. But once our wheels thumped down onto the tiny crushed coral landing strip we all released the breath we’d been holding, and disembarked into the charming corrugated iron-roofed shed that is Atiu airport.

All three of us visitors were staying at Atiu Homestay, a bed and breakfast run by Marshall Humphreys and his wife Jéanne. Marshall met us at the airport and drove us to his home via some local places of interest. First stop was Taunganui Harbour, constructed out of concrete in the mid-1970s by New Zealand Army Engineers to enable ships to load and unload goods safely. Before it was constructed, accessing the island by boat or ship was a lot more perilous, especially in poor weather. The harbour had benefited local fishermen, many of whose boats we saw pulled high up in the scrub inland behind the harbour (to protect them from the same tsunami warning I’d received while on Aitutaki).

Taunganui Harbour, Atiu, the Cook Islands

Outrigger canoes near Taunganui Harbour on Atiu, the Cook Islands

Our journey took us along a mostly single-track road through Teenui and Areora villages. In the settlements the roads were tarmac, but elsewhere we trundled along on crushed coral or packed dirt. I saw single storey houses built from breeze blocks and timber, corrugated iron roofs and louvred glass windows, painted in rainbows of colours.

When we reached Marshall and Jéanne’s house, it was raised up off the ground on stilts: a sensible precaution to allow cyclone winds to blow through. Set in a pretty garden in a quiet corner of the island, it was a lovely (and very comfortable) place to be staying. I was looking forward to a few days of comparative luxury, having my meals cooked for me!

Donna and Mark then displayed the typical generosity and friendliness I’d encountered in all the Kiwi tourists I’d met so far: on hearing that my digital camera had died on Aitutaki, they offered to lend me one of theirs for the duration of our stay on Atiu… Which is why I have actual photographs of this wonderful little island! Huge gratitude to both of them.

Atiu Homestay, on Atiu in the Cook Islands

After dumping my backpack in my room, Marshall refreshed and refueled us with some chilled water and a snack of sundried banana, which he makes using a solar drier in his back garden. (The drier’s feet stand in tubs of water, to prevent ants and other minibeasties getting at the drying banana strips). I’d not previously been much of a fan of dried banana, finding it somewhat like chewing sweetened shoes, but Marshall’s was a treat: soft and succulent, and brimming with rich fruity flavour.

Solar banana drier at Atiu Homestay, Atiu in the Cook Islands

Atiu is a very small island (3.7 x 4.3 miles, or 6km x 7km): the current population is roughly 450 people, so it feels like a pretty quiet place. People live in the island’s interior here: a demographic shift that happened with the arrival of Christian missionaries in the mid-nineteenth century, who encouraged the population to relocate centrally, away from the makatea and swampy areas they were formerly living in. Jéanne and Marshall live in this central area of the island, not far from the village of Areora (you can see the red dot marking their house on the map of Atiu, pictured below).

Map of the island of Atiu, the Cook Islands

Once we were watered and banana’d up, Marshall took us on an expedition to Anataktaki, the cave of the kōpeka or Atiu swiftlet, Aerodramus sawtelli. Jéanne is half Cook Islands Maori, and Anatakitaki is located within her family land: its name comes from the story of Tangaroa and Inutoto, which I set out here as Marshall related it to us.

Tangaroa was a skilful warrior, while Inutoto was a wonderful dancer. One full moon night – a good time for fishing, and for dancing – Tangaroa wanted to go fishing, but was worried that if Inutoto went dancing without him she would be too popular… So he asked her to wait at home until he returned. A group of Inutoto’s friends passed by her home and asked her to come dancing, but she told them she had to stay; then later a second group of friends came by, begging, Hey, we’ve waited a whole month to see your new dance, you have to come and dance with us! So eventually Inutoto was persuaded, and went dancing under the full moon.

Out on the reef the fish stopped biting: Tangaroa tried every trick his father and grandfather had taught him – different bait, different fishing spots on the reef – but to no avail. He gave up and returned home… to find Inutoto not there. Heading to the dancing area he found her dancing, the centre of attention and admiration. Becoming angry, Tangaroa spoke harshly to Inutoto: then each of them left the dancing ground, separately.

Though Tangaroa waited at home, Inutoto did not return. He assumed that she went to stay with cousins or other family or friends… But over the next day and night there was still no sign of her. No-one had seen Inutoto since they quarrelled on the night of the full moon dance. A search was carried out of the bush and makatea and swampland; a week went by, three weeks, and still no trace of Inutoto. People began to say that she must have had an accident and died somewhere on the island… But one day Tangaroa was working in his planting field when an ngōtare, a chattering kingfisher (Todiramphus tuta, pictured below in Jéanne and Marshall’s garden) began pestering him, diving down at him and pecking at his head, again and again. Rangaroa couldn’t drive it off: it seemed as though the bird was trying to tell him something.

Ngōtare, a chattering kingfisher (Todiramphus tuta), on Atiu in the Cook Islands

When Tangaroa turned to the ngōtare it flew off a little way then back to him, as if trying to lead him in a particular direction. He followed the bird through the makatea and eventually he came to a cave where he found Inutoto, still alive. (‘Inutoto’ means ‘drinker of blood’ – according to the legend she survived by drinking her own blood!) So this story of jealousy and a lovers’ quarrel has a happy ending… And the helpful ngōtare who reunited Tangaroa and Inutoto gave the cave its name, Anatakitaki: ‘to the cave he brought him, he brought him’.

Marshall Humphreys with the walking sticks needed for traversing the difficult path through the makatea to Anatakitaki Cave, Atiu

And indeed, ‘to the cave he took us, he took us’! But at the very start of our walk Marshall advised us all to take a sturdy walking stick, to keep us steadier on the journey. Our path lay across a stretch of makatea: the ancient fossilised coral that was formed around the island’s central raised volcanic core thousands of years ago when the island was lower than it is now; and raised up by tectonic plate action in the intervening centuries. (Hence the six metre-high makatea cliffs around the island’s periphery.) Makatea limestone is as jagged and sharp as the corals that it formed from, so falling onto it would be a painful experience.

Following the path over the makatea to Anatakitaki Cave, on Atiu

The photo above shows a pretty typical stretch of the craggy makatea path we followed: like walking across a stony surf, with ferns and scrub growing out of every nook and cranny. The walking sticks were definitely necessary!

Asian spiny-backed spider (Gasteracantha mammosa), on Atiu in the Cook Islands

We’d only been walking a few minutes when I spotted a brightly-coloured spider on the path, which I pointed out to Marshall. He pronounced it a non-native invader – and he was right, because it was a female Asian spiny-backed spider (Gasteracantha mammosa), originally from India and Sri Lanka and introduced recently to the South Pacific. Further research once I was back in the UK yielded this entry on the Cook Islands biodiversity database: “Poisonous bite. Its spiky webs can be a residential nuisance; and it frequently bites people it comes into contact with. The bite is painful with localised swelling.” Marshall proceeded to squash the spider with the tip of his walking stick, which may sound harsh… But invasive non-native wildlife species are a serious threat to the biodiversity of these little island ecosystems, and Atiu takes protecting its native wildlife very seriously.

Polynesian mahogany tree (Calophyllum inophyllum) growing in makatea forest on Atiu, in the Cook Islands

A little further on our journey we came upon a wonderful big old Polynesian mahogany tree or mastwood (Calophyllum inophyllum), locally named tamanu. Timber from tamanu trees was highly valued for shipbuilding by Polynesian and Maori peoples, much like oaks were valued in English culture for the same reasons. Sacred tamanu groves were planted at marae sites, considered the homes of spirits; and the wood was also used for carving tiki. Tamanu oil extracted from the ‘nuts’ of the tree is also important in Cook Islands Maori and Polynesian cultures, being used for medicinal and cosmetic purposes. Marshall explained that there were many of these huge tamanu trees hidden away in the makatea, because the inaccessibility of these areas keeps the trees safe from felling and logging.

Scrub forest on the makatea, Atiu (the Cook Islands)

Another thing I noticed along our route were the numerous empty coconut shells lying on the forest floor, with ragged frayed holes through the shell. Rather than being signs left by some giant tropical squirrel, Marshall explained that these were the remains of coconuts opened and eaten by the coconut crab or unga kaveu (Birgus latro). I’d encountered these largest of land crabs moving about nocturnally and climbing trees on Aitutaki: they can seem like fearsome critters at first sight.

Juvenile coconut crab (Birgus latro), photographed on Aitutaki (the Cook Islands).

These land-based crabs go to the sea to spawn, but after a while the young crabs migrate back to dry land, wearing borrowed seashells to protect their vulnerable soft hind parts. As they mature they develop hard shells and discard their armour, foraging for food using their acute sense of smell. Despite their name these kaveu eat a variety of foods including fruits, nuts, seeds and even carrion: they have the reputation of carrying off any food they find lying around, giving rise to their scientific alias – latro means ‘robber’. Astonishingly they typically live for 40 – 60 years… So although kaveu are highly-prized as food, their longevity makes them a vulnerable species for over-exploitation.

About to descend into the entrance to Anatakitaki Cave, Atiu (the Cook Islands)

When we finally reached Anatakitaki the way in was to descend down a ladder below ground ground level. I’d done some potholing with friends in Derbyshire in my youth, so I was reasonably relaxed about the prospect of going into enclosed dark underground spaces. Anatakitaki is a karst cave: the calcium-rich makatea is dissolved by water, eroding into an undergound landscape of caves and fissures and chasms; minerals in solution then solidify again into diverse speleothems (stalactities, stalactites, limestone ‘curtains’ and pillars).

Journeying through the tunnels and caverns of Ana takitaki Cave, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

In practice, this means that travelling through Anatakitaki’s upper levels is not particularly claustrophobic, as there are many fissures and large holes which let in daylight. Having Marshall as our experienced guide obviously helped: he was able to share with us stories such as the tale of Inutoto and Tangaroa, as well as showing us Jéanne’s family monument within the cave. Each time a family member visits the monument (e.g. for special occasions) they can place a stone upon the pile. Somewhere buried underneath will be a carved seat, a carved bowl, and spears.

Caves of any sort are an unearthly landscape, but there was something particularly fantastical about this one. The caves I’d visited in the UK had been crawled all over by thousands of potholers, and in many cases their delicate limestone draperies and features had been eroded and broken… But here in Anatakitaki Cave, everything looked almost untouched by human hands.

The feeling of being in a lost mythical world was enhanced by the places where the cave has collapsed, creating openings looking out into the surrounding forest. It felt as if a dinosaur or a dragon could hove into view at any moment, lumbering through the coconut palms and ferns.

View out into the forest from Anatakitaki Cave, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

In places the makatea is thin enough that the roots of ava, Pacific banyan trees (Ficus prolixa) have grown through in striking curtains, following the rainwater that drips and filters down into the caves below.

Banyan tree roots (Ficus benjamina) growing through limestone into Anatakitaki Cave, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

Just beyond the banyan roots we descended into the deeper recesses of the inner cave where the object of our quest here lay: the nesting sites of the Atiu swiftlet, or kōpeka. We paused in the entrance of this inner chamber to watch and listen to the kōpeka swooping in and out. Whilst flying and feeding outside in the daylight they make a high twittering chreeee call: but as soon as they head into the cave’s darkness this changes to a rapid clicking sound, like someone swiftly clicking their tongue against the roof of their mouth. The birds are echolocating: navigating in darkness using these audible clicks, which increase in frequency as they approach objects. A wonderful example of parallel evolution: birds echolocating like bats!

Anatakitaki Cave interior, where the kopeka (swiftlets) nest (Atiu, the Cook Islands).

Once inside the deeper recesses of the cave it quickly grew almost pitch dark, except for the headtorches that Marshall used to show us the space. We kept still, listening to the clicking of these weird little birds, as we tried to spot them roosting and nesting in the nooks and crevices in the limestone – no easy task. You’re basically trying to spot a small black bird in a large black cave, with the light of your head torch creating shadows everywhere it falls on the convoluted stone.

Eventually we began to pick out the slender forked-tail silhouettes of the kōpeka, clinging to their niches on the cave ceiling. Male and female birds build their nests out of strips of vine and plants and lichens gathered on the wing outside, fragile little circlets stuck together with their saliva. They lay 1 – 2 eggs which hatch after 18 – 20 days; sometimes eggs fall out of the fragile nests to smash on the cave floor. Both parents take it in turns to brood; and when the nestlings hatch the adults share the task of feeding their chicks on insects hunted outside in the forest. These insect food hauls are stored in special pouches within the bird’s cheeks, so that they can still make echolocating clicks with their mouth full!

Once kōpeka chicks are old enough to leave the nest the parents bring them to hang out on a section of cave wall or ceiling with other youngsters, still feeding them. After another week they encourage the young by withholding food until the chicks move a little further out of the recesses of the cave. This process continues until after three weeks the juvenile birds make their first flight out of the cave to find their own food… And then navigate back inside using their clicking echolocation for the first time.

Sitting in the darkness listening to the clicking of these dark-living little swiftlets felt enchanting. I’d been drawn to visit Atiu by its reputation of unspoiled wildness and rich biodiversity: very different from the tourist paradise of Aitutaki, or even the teeming undersea life of the coral reefs. Atiu felt ancient and alive: a beating heart of stone and water and green plants and living creatures, a precious little gem.

Before we left Anatakitaki Marshall had one last surprise for us: an underground swim. We clambered down a narrow passage to an artesian pool, which Marshall illuminated by lighting a couple of candles in the inky blackness. I was the only one who took the plunge, and it was gorgeous: pleasantly cool but not too cool, refreshing in the humid tropic air. As I swam gently in the blue water by candlelight, dozens of metres underground, thousands of years of fossilised coral reef above my head, I found myself laughing with sheer joy. The gift of this eerie, beautiful place, with its family history and its water-carved limestone sculptures. The shadowy flitting spirits of the kōpeka, their clicking percussion echoing from the stone. This wonderful, magical moment.

Swimming in Anatakitaki cave, Atiu (the Cook Islands).

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Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 8:

Gods and government, proud warriors and foreign invaders: discovering the landscapes and history of Atiu.

Big whales, big waves, and big respect to Aitutaki culture… South Pacific Adventure, part 6

Posted on January 27, 2021 by Becca

Humpback whale tail flukes at ocean surface, off the coast of Aitutaki

I’d got the hang of riding one of Matriki’s sturdy (albeit basic) bicycles, so on a hot and sunny Monday morning I ventured all the way to O’otu at the Aitutaki’s northeastern edge. I was tempted by the prospect of snorkeling in the gorgeous lagoon, but it was a sweltering day for cycling… And it turned out that visibility in the sandy waters at O’otu was limited at best. As if in sympathy with the murky visibility, the viewfinder of my underwater camera suddenly started to look a little foggy too… Before the camera gave up the ghost and stopped working.

Frantic efforts to revive the wretched gadget with freshwater rinsing, drying it, and then packing it in uncooked rice were totally unsuccessful. I contemplated spending the rest of my South Pacific travels unable to take photographs, which plunged me into a pit of despondency… My trip of a lifetime, and I wouldn’t be able to record any more of the amazing nature and landscapes and adventures I was encountering. (I know: first world problems, please don’t despise me.)

As I was sunk in angst, salvation came in the form of Trevor appearing at my beach hut to announce that he was heading out on a whale-spotting boat trip with a few of the Matriki guests that afternon, and did I want to come along? I stiffened my wobbly lip and replied in the affirmative, carpe-ing the diem as I realised for the umpteenth time that here I was in a gorgeous paradise with friendly folks and amazing wildlife, and a broken camera wasn’t the end of the world.

Spotting a humpback whale's tailflukes on the horizon: thar she blows!

It’s only when we puttered out on Trevor’s little boat through Arutanga harbour and the reef passage into the open sea that the vastness of the South Pacific really hit me. As soon as you get outside the coral reef’s sheltering embrace, the ocean floor rapidly falls away to thousands of metres deep. My trip around the lagoon and motu with Puna a few days previously had been in sheltered shallow turquoise waters of five to ten metres: now we were bobbing over a Pacific swell, over midnight blue depths of over a thousand fathoms. Aitutaki dwindled and disappeared into the horizon, until all around us was nothing but ocean.

Trevor told us to keep our gaze trained on the surrounding seascape, to try to spot the spurt of exhaled breath or flick of tail flukes that would signal that humpback whales were in our vicinty. Although I’d heard reports from locals of occasional whale sightings offshore in the past few weeks, I was prepared for the disappointment of a no-show. Minutes stretched into nearly an hour with no sightings except a flying fish (local name māroro) Cheilopogon antoncichi – which was exciting enough to cheer me up!

Suddenly Nick, the thirteen year-old son of Kiwi tourists Tanya and Alex, shouted that he’d spotted something: Trevor affirmed the sighting and put the boat on a heading towards the far blue distance. And within half a minute all of us on the boat could see it too: the flick of a mighty tail as a whale dived towards the deeps.

As soon as we were at a cautious but close enough distance, Trevor killed the boat engine and there was a frenzied flurry amongst some of us on board to scramble into mask and fins and slip over the side into the sea. As soon as I submerged into the water I could see two sub-adult humpbacks and a calf, gliding through the infinite blue sea-space with slow undulations of their tailfins. I was overwhelmed: feelings of awe, joy, nervousness, wonder. Swimming with humpbacks hadn’t been on my South Pacific wishlist yet here I was, sharing this underwater world with three massive marine kin.

Known locally as to‘orā, the humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) is an uncommon migrant species which in 2008 was downlisted from ‘Vulnerable’ to ‘Least concern’ in conservation status by the IUCN. Estimated global population is 80,000 whales (just under two-thirds of the 125,000 humpbacks thought to have existed before commercial whaling began). The whales I was watching in the waters off Aitutaki weren’t feeding: they were living off body fat accumulated in their summer harvest of krill and small fish in the frigid but fertile waters of Antarctica. The calf with them would still be suckling milk and learning how to swim. As I hung below the surface of the Pacific I could hear the songs of the males, squeaks and whoops and long hoots that echoed through the aquamarine depths. (You can listen to them too in these two short film clips, recorded by German tourist Frank and kindly shared with me afterwards: a whale singing and two whales swimming and singing.) Only the male whales sing: and the whale songs here at Aitutaki are different to those sung at Tonga or elsewhere.

Two days after my magical visitation with the humpback whales I had another wonderful gift of a day. It began with Trevor and Tracey generously lending me a digital camera for my Punarei Aitutaki Cultural Tour; which then meant that I could take photos to record all the amazing things shared by local historian, archaeologist and champion of Aitutaki traditional culture, Ngaa (full name Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki).

Me with Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki, known as Ngaa: Aitutaki's superhero of traditional culture.

I liked Ngaa from the moment I met him, with his infectious enthusiasm, warm smile and determination to honour the rich heritage of his island’s history and people. Astonishingly, in the Cook Islands school history curriculum there is nothing about Cook Islands Maori culture, with the only history taught starting in the post-colonial era. Ngaa himself is working largely without support, to preserve and promote traditional Aitutaki culture. In a nation where the Christian church is central to most people’s lives and also to political and civic society, celebrating traditional culture is often seen as pagan, anti-Christian and wrong. Ngaa told me that sometimes he felt lonely in his work… But he knows he was born to do it.

Making woven palm leaf bowls at Punarei on Aitutaki, under Ngaa's guidance.

The day’s experience was hands-on, with Ngaa teaching us to make cooking mats and food bowls from woven coconut leaves; and how to cook our lunch in an umu (earth oven, with leaf-wrapped food cooked on fire-heated stones). On his family land at Punarei, Ngaa has recreated traditional Aitutaki houses with their steep pitched roofs (more cyclone-proof than modern dwellings).

The settlement of Polynesia and the Cook Islands is an evolving archaeological science, but it’s thought that from 1500 BC onwards the Lapita (early ancestors of Maori and Polynesians) travelled east and south from Papua New Guinea to populate what is now known as Polynesia. Over millenia the eastward migration continued, until the first peoples are believed to have settled on Aitutaki around 800-900 AD. Ngaa related how there are now twelve tribes on the island, with twelve sacred sites. Their history was kept alive by oral tradition, with women being the storytellers (possibly because the men were warriors who often died young).

When white Christian missionaries arrived on Aitutaki in the early 1800s they brought conveniences such as iron tools, sugar and kerosene… But they also forbade and devalued local culture, knowledge and traditions, systematically dismantling Aitutaki life. The colonisers carried infectious diseases with them such as leprosy and measles, to which the local people had little or no resistance.

Traditional Aitutaki house with steeply-pitched roof

When these white Christian missionaries arrived in the Cook Islands, they regarded tiki – wood or stone carvings in humanoid form – as pagan idols, to be removed or destroyed. On other islands many were burned, but by chance a white trader saw the potential to make a quick profit and sold many Aitutaki tiki to collectors overseas. Thirty-one tiki figures were taken from Aitutaki in the 1820s, ending up in European collections. Ngaa has carved tiki inspired by these original Aitutaki pieces, which he has managed to track down in museums all over the world.

Tiki figure carved by Ngaa, at Punarei on Aitutaki.

When I met Ngaa in autumn 2015 he had just returned from visiting museums in Munich, Barcelona and Cambridge to view these Aitutakian artefacts… Including tiki such as the tattooed female figure of a high-ranking founding ancestor of Aitutaki, which was displayed in the ‘Treasures Of Oceania’ exhibition in the Royal Academy in London in 2018.

It was obvious that having seen these artefacts from his own culture meant a great deal to Ngaa: but when I asked him if he wanted them to be returned to the Cook Islands he sadly replied that there seemed to be little political will to bring such cultural treasures home and conserve them properly. All the more impressive that Ngaa and his family (such as mother, pictured below teaching us how to weave the palm-leaf roofing used on huts) are doing such important and vital work, bringing their culture and history alive and passing on its creativity, strength and stories to the next generation.

Despite a lack of official support, Ngaa is working hard to bring Aitutaki’s history and culture to the schoolchildren and young people of the island, as well as sharing it with visiting tourists. He hopes to continue excavating local sites, researching artefacts taken into private collections, and collecting and singing the ancient chants and songs that form the oral history of his people. (There were at least three hundred chants, for everything from harvesting and cooking to gardening and hunting.) The language spoken on Aitutaki is unique, as on other islands: there are 15 different island languages in this South Pacific nation. I learned a few phrases: Po’ pongi (Good morning, “sun rise”); Ae’ i au (Good afternoon, “sun dimming”); and Pae’ ae koe (How are you).

I found Ngaa’s knowledge fascinating, his intentions inspiring, and his passion infectious. As someone who works in oral tradition (leading community choir singing) and outdoor teaching with children and young folks, my heart really warmed to him. I hope that his work continues to develop successfully, and his mission to keep his people’s culture alive flourishes. And if you want to support his work, he will shortly be publishing a book about Aitutaki’s history (working title: Food For Flame), which I will include a link for here as soon as it becomes available.

Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki sharing his knowledge of the traditional uses of local plants, at Punarei on Aitutaki

Back at Matriki that evening I celebrated my lovely day by joining Trevor and Tracey and some other tourist visitors for a shared meal on the beach. The conversation took an unexpected turn, when someone mentioned that there was a tsunami warning for the South Pacific region, after a big earthquake that day in Chile. Tracey confirmed she’d received several email tsunami alerts, though to put it in context Trevor told us they receive one every few weeks on average. In the resort next door the guests had apparently been freaking out and had to be reassured by the resort manager going round to calm things down… But at Matriki there was a pretty laid-back attitude, with discussion of a possible six-foot wave arriving between midnight and 1.00 AM (to put this in context, Tracey did point out that this would mean the beach huts would be in the sea!).

Tiger the cat relaxing on the beach at Matriki, Aitutaki

Conversation turned to folkloric natural signs of impending tsunami: the sea drawing back, banana tree shoots bending over, crabs heading inland or climbing up trees. Suddenly we all got very interested in knowing where the Matriki cats were; but it turned out that Tuxi was perched contentedly on a chair, Bubbles was sat on the beach gazing out to sea, and Marmalade was fast asleep in a flowerbed. Finding this weirdly reassuring, we all agreed to adjourn to bed. Tracey said that if any of us heard anything (i.e. the roar of an approaching tsunami) to yell and alert everybody else and then head straight to the house: from where she and Trevor would put us in the pick-up and drive to a high point (the Piraki viewpoint).

It felt surreal to be going to bed, with the knowledge that a tsunami was possibly rolling across the Pacific Ocean towards us. In our dinner table conversation we’d all studiously avoided mentioning the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004, which killed an estimated 228,000 people in countries around the Indian Ocean… But I’m pretty sure that more than one of us was thinking about it. All those ‘Tsunami Evacuation Route’ signs I’d seen on Rarotonga didn’t seem funny any more.

Sunset on the beach at Matriki, Aitutaki

As so often happens in times of stress, my sensible head switched itself on: I filled my backpack with essentials, ready to be grabbed should I need to evacuate in a hurry. Obvious stuff like water, snacks, first aid kit, medicines, lighter, penknife, headtorch, mobile phone, passport and wallet all went in… Plus my journal, a carved stone heart, and a copy of Peace Is Every Step by Thich Nhat Hanh. I curled up in bed dressed for action and lay there in the dark listening intently to the sound of the sea breaking on the reef, and wondering if the waves sounded like they were getting bigger. But the human mind is good at accommodating what it can’t do anything about: I trusted in the good folks of Matriki and my preparations, sent a metta prayer out into the universe, and fell asleep…

…And woke the next morning to a beach undisturbed by giant waves, where the cats rolled in the warm sand and stalked fish in the shallows. My last full day on Aitutaki, which I commemorated by going for a farewell snorkel in the lagoon to say goodbye to all the little fishies and corals. As evening fell I watched another glorious sunset, before going to watch a resort Island Night from the beach nearby. Lots of drumming and singing and fire staff dancing, completely inauthentic (most of the this entertainment style is imported from Hawaii) but lots of enthusiasm. I enjoyed it, but found myself thinking of Ngaa and his mission to keep the authentic culture of his people on Aitutaki alive.

I know that I would be leaving Aitutaki the following morning, to continue on my travels to the smaller island of Atiu… And I wondered if I would ever return to this beautiful, complex, diverse place; to its warm, friendly, proud, intelligent people. I hope that the future for Aitutaki holds safe and sustainable lives, not so dependent on tourist cash; safety from cyclone and tsunami and climate change; and deep connection with the rich legacy of their past and their culture. Kia manuia!

Sun setting into the South Pacific ocean, Aitutaki

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 7:

Ancient coral cliffs and dodgy landings; swimming in caves and spotting birds that live in the dark: exploring Atiu, wild little gem of the Cook Islands.

Bush medicine, cursed hotels and Rarotonga by bike… South Pacific Adventure, part 2

Posted on February 7, 2016 by Becca

There were very few activities or trips I booked in advance of arriving in the South Pacific, preferring to take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves rather than being tied down to a schedule. The one exception was booking a place on a Storytellers Eco Cycle Tour on Rarotonga, for the morning after I arrived on the island. My logic for this was that (a) I like cycling, (b) it sounded like a good way to explore the island and get an introduction to Cook Islands culture and (c) when you’re travelling solo somewhere ten thousand miles away from home, it’s quite nice to have at least one planned thing to give you a bit of structure.

Getting up at seven a.m. bleary-eyed with jet lag was a bit painful, but several mugs of tea helped revive me (as did the morning chorus provided by Rarotonga’s several million chickens). I was picked up from Aremango Guesthouse by Dave from Storytellers, who cheerily ferried me and half a dozen other tourists staying at various points around the island to the start of our tour. There we were kitted out with helmets and sturdy bikes, before getting a safety talk and introduction from tour guides Natavia and Jimmy to our 4-hour cycle trip which would take in Rarotongan agriculture, traditional uses of plants, and some Cook Islands Maori history and culture.

Many Rarotongans still grow a lot of their own food (this is called ‘planting’ rather than ‘farming’). Growing plots have been cleared from the bush inland for planting vegetables and fruit, with the odd grazing animal such as goats and horses (and of course, chickens). Our first stop was by a taro patch: taro being a tropical plant in the Araceae family and one of the staple crops grown by Cook Islanders (it’s also used in Africa and southern India). Typically the starchy roots are boiled and used like potato; the leaves are also cooked with coconut milk to make the local dish called rukau.

Taro is a versatile crop, growing both in waterlogged swampy soils and in dry ones (although our local guide Jimmy explained that dry taro is not as tasty). A sackful of taro roots could be sold for NZ$100 – 120 and a good taro patch will yield 60 – 70 sackfuls. But cultivating taro is heavy work: first the soil in the taro patch must be dug over with a long-handled shovel, then a giant wooden ‘dibber’ (weighing 30 – 40 kg) is used to make holes for each individual taro plant. In a tropical climate weeds grow fast, so locals mulch their taro patches to prevent this. Formerly black polythene was used, but environmental concerns have led to people reverting to using biodegradable materials such as old cardboard with rito (coconut leaves) laid on top… Which looks far nicer than plastic.

Only locals can own land in the Cook Islands, and land is passed down within families. If a favourite son is getting married, a father will plant a taro patch for their wedding. Jimmy explained that many people do their own planting on Rarotonga but not everyone: if someone was to steal crops from another person’s taro patch it would not be regarded too severely, provided the thief was taking it for food and not to sell. He told us that if he spotted someone raiding his patch he would duck down out of sight so they didn’t realise that they had been seen… And then he would casually say to them a few days later, “Hey, how’d you like the taro?”

There is a general atmosphere of trust on Rarotonga and little crime, except for occasional opportunistic theft from tourists careless enough to leave valuables temptingly on display at the beach. Drink driving is also regarded more leniently than in other countries: police who stop drunk drivers will generally just confiscate their car or motorbike, telling them to walk home and retrieve their vehicle once they’ve sobered up. Recently however a local youth had died in a drink-driving accident, so there was a move towards trying to better educate people about the dangers of drink driving. I personally found cycling on the Ara Tapu pretty pleasant, as the vast majority of locals pootle along at an average speed of fifteen miles per hour… Very civilized.

The next staple crop we saw was cassava (aka maniota, arrowroot or tapioca). The advantage of cassava is that it is relative easy to propagate: you just chop the stem into short lengths and shove them into the soil. The disadvantage is that in its unprocessed raw state it contains cyanide, which makes you wonder who got the bright idea of eating it in the first place. To render cassava edible it has to be soaked for twenty-four hours and cooked. You can boil and then fry it to make tasty chips, or grate it and mix it with coconut cream and ripe bananas to make the yummy local dish known as poke.

As well as starchy root crops we saw plenty of fruit being grown as well, including pineapples. Natavia explained that two main varieties are grown on Rarotonga: the smooth-leaved pineapple and the spiky-leaved variety. The latter was introduced more recently and only produces for fruit for 2 – 3 years before you have to replant it; whereas the smooth-leaved pineapple is a perennial that keeps on producing for a longer period (and apparently yields sweeter-tasting fruits, too).

Bananas are another staple food here, usually grown on 3-stemmed plants. Natavia explained that once a few rows of bananas have started to form, the purplish-red flower is removed so that more energy will go into plumping up the fruits. As it was technically only early spring on Rarotonga, some of the banana plants still wore large plastic mesh bags covering their fruits and flowers, to shield them from low nighttime temperatures.

For the more carnivorous side of things, most households on Rarotonga keep a few pigs. These are typically kept penned or tied to a halter, so that they can’t wreak havoc on growing crops (a single pig can push over and destroy several banana plants in a single night, to get at the fruits and juicy water-filled stems). They are fed on coconut and usually end up being slow-baked in a traditional umu ground-oven, perhaps as part of a family celebration – or a meal for tourists!

It’s not just the pigs who have coconut on the menu, though. Jimmy described it as the tree of life: a plant from which people can get most of their needs, including food, clothing, timber and roofing material. He showed us the three different stages of a coconut: the immature young nu or green coconut (which largely contains coconut water with a little jelly-like flesh); the mature akari coconut (the one we’re most familiar with, with its brown outer husk and solid layer of white inner flesh); and the sprouting uto coconut (where the creamy white interior has become mostly dry and fibrous, with a texture like marshmallow).

Jimmy demonstrated how to strip off the husk and open each of the three different coconut types, so we all got to try the different stages. I personally liked akari the best, maybe because that was what I’m most familiar with. The fresh sweet juice of nu was deliciously refreshing, but I couldn’t help thinking it would be even better with rum added to it. Nu are the coconuts which fetch the best price when sold locally to tourists. As a rule of thumb, if a coconut is lying on the ground it’s yours to eat: nobody gets possessive about the fruits because there are quite a lot of them about.

Coconuts are not just yummy and nourishing, the flesh can be grated and squeezed to make coconut cream (more of this in a later chapter). The oil is wonderful for treating burns, eczema and dry skin. Jimmy described how his relatives make monoi, a scented oil for use on hair and skin, by fermenting chopped coconut flesh with the leaves of the cinnamon tree. Monoi scented with different herbs and flowers is used across the South Pacific, and I can vouch for the fact that it’s wonderfully soothing.

After our introduction to coconuts we cycled onwards, following inland tracks that threaded between planting fields and the occasional grassy pasture where goats or horses grazed. Rarotonga’s volcanic origins mean that as soon as you head inland the terrain gets hilly. Jimmy explained that before European missionaries arrived in the Cook Islands, the majority of people lived up in the highlands, to be safe from possible raiding parties arriving by sea. The Christian missionaries somehow persuaded folks to descend from the heights, and now the lowland areas near the coast are where everyone makes their home.

We stopped to look at a Rarotongan marae, a hundred yards or so from the track. A marae is a meeting ground or sacred place, usually a rectangular cleared area of land (sometimes slightly raised), bordered by stones or wooden posts. Jimmy described how a marae is traditionally where a chief, tribal leader or elders pass judgements, settle disputes or have discussions to sort out tribal affairs. This marae had three stone seats: the central one for the tribal chief, the other two for the chief’s advisors. Marae must be treated with respect and no-one should set foot on one, unless invited by the appropriate tribal representative. In the past, women were not allowed onto marae at all, but this is one of the things that has changed over time: some tribes now have a woman chief. Marae used to be located high up in the hills, but most have been relocated to the lowlands so that local people don’t have to walk long distances when they need something resolved.

Our next stop was a grove of noni trees. Noni, which also goes by the charming names of Indian mulberry, cheese fruit or vomit fruit, is regarded as something of a panacea. It is claimed to have antioxidant, anti-ageing and even anti-cancer properties, although to date there are no scientific studies confirming this. Anecdotally, Natavia said she drank a small amount of noni juice (made by fermenting and pressing ripe fruits) every day, and has found that it cures sore throats and protects her from viruses. Jimmy also related how he had cured himself from a bad case of ciguatera (a thoroughly nasty and painful type of food poisoning caused by eating certain types of fish) by drinking a herbal cure made from noni leaves, so the plant evidently has some benefits.

Natavia found some ripe fruits on the ground and split them open, inviting us to have a smell. It immediately became obvious how noni got some of its alternative monikers: the other tourists on our cycle trip recoiled with noises of disgust, while to my perhaps hardier nose the fruit had a strong smell of blue cheese. Drinking a glassful of noni juice every day suddenly seemed less appealing, despite its promised health benefits.

Cycling further into the bush, we next encountered some of the wild plants used locally for medicine and first aid. Yellow hibiscus or ‘au grows everywhere in the Cook Islands: its seeds can survive for months in salt water, colonising new islands, and the ‘au tree is hardy enough to grow even along sandy beaches.

Jimmy demonstrated why locals never carry a first aid kit with them when planting or working in the bush: cutting a branch from an ‘au, he proceeded to peel it and then strip out the soft inner bark, to show how it could be used as a bandage. Scraping the peeled branch produced a juicy pith which he said was used to pack cuts and wounds, over which the inner bark strips would be wrapped and tied, the bark tightening as it dries to keep the wound clean and prevent infection.

Doctors at the local hospital are happy for people to use this natural remedy which is very efficacious… And it’s why all a local will take with them when working in the bush is a machete or knife for gathering the necessary plants.

Two more plants which can be useful are miri (or tree basil) and mile-a-minute vine (or American rope). Both of these are alien plant species, accidentally introduced and now ramping away to the detriment of native Cook Island plants and habitats.

Miri comes in handy when there are mosquitoes about, which is pretty much all the time when you’re inland away from sea breezes. Simply scrunching up the leaves and rubbing the brownish juice on your skin makes an effective insect repellent, and one which I used more than once in my travels. A single leaf placed in a bottle of water flavours it nicely, too.

Mile-a-minute vine as its name suggest grows prolifically: sometimes as much as nine centimetres a day. Like the ‘au, it is very good for healing cuts, wounds and sores: the leaves are scrunched up to make a pulp and then applied to cover the injury. Natavia related how she had sustained a nasty wound after a fall from her cycle, which she applied this magical herb to: not only did her injuries heal quickly, but with virtually no scarring.

The next leg of our cycle tour took us to the site of the notorious Hilton Rarotonga Resort Spa. This ghost hotel was originally launched as a project back in 1990, when the Cook Islands government teamed up with an Italian bank and the Sheraton hotel chain to build Rarotonga’s first 5-star luxury hotel development. Unfortunately much of the NZ$52 million loan needed to make it happen allegedly disappeared into the pockets of the Mafia and other dubious parties, resulting in the hotel project being abandoned after a few years, despite construction being 80% completed.

Various attempts have been made over the years to relaunch the project, most recently a bid by two New Zealand companies in 2014, but to date nothing has got off the ground. Some believe that this is because Vaimaanga, the site on which the hotel stands, is said to have a tapu upon it. In 1910 the land’s owner, More Uriatua, was shot dead during an argument with New Zealander William John Wigmore who leased some of the land for his copra plantation. More Uriatua’s daughter Metua placed a curse on the land, dooming any business upon it to failure. Wigmore’s copra plantation was the first to go under; followed by unsuccessful pineapple growing, a failed plant nursery, and a doomed citrus farm.

Vaimaanga does have an eerie feel to it. Some of the site’s fixtures and materials have been recycled by locals, and the crumbling buildings are now host only to paint balling and wildlife. It’s a great shame that the project has left the Cook Islands government with a mountainous debt and an unattractive derelict site, but as the original project included plans to blast channels through Rarotonga’s coral reef and build an exclusive private beach and marina on what is otherwise a totally free public access coastline, I personally felt inclined to side with Metua and let the land revert back to wilderness.

Coasting downhill from Vaimaanga led us past a large candlenut tree or tuitui. The large walnut-like fruits contain oil-rich nuts which were used, as the name suggests, as a source of light: several nuts would be threaded onto a thin spike and burned like small candles. Soot produced from burning candlenuts was also used in traditional tattooing methods. Like British conkers, candlenuts are high in saponins so should not be eaten raw… Unaware of this I sampled one. I don’t recommend you follow my example.

Luckily the lunch that was waiting for us at the end of our cycle ride was a lot tastier. Dave greeted us at a beachside picnic table spread with a proper feast: fresh tuna steaks, taro and cassava chips, macaroni cheese, salad with lettuce and tomato and pawpaw, and oranges and bananas for dessert. After four hours of off-road cycling I was ready to refuel, and tucked in with enthusiasm. It was the perfect end to a fascinating and entertaining morning: I would recommend the Storytellers cycle tour to anyone visiting Rarotonga, and Natavia and Jimmy and Dave are all lovely folks to boot.

Back at Aremango Guesthouse I took a remedial stroll along the beach to help my enormous lunch go down, followed by a remedial nap in one of the hammocks in the garden to deal with the return of my let lag. After this I wrote up my travel journal, and mused upon the fact that I had only two more days’ stay on Rarotonga before heading northwards to the smaller islands of Aitutaki and ‘Atiu. Two days wasn’t long enough to do this friendly and diverse place justice, but it would have to do. Tomorrow I decided to explore on foot and do some snorkelling, feeling that it was high time I tested out my new mask and waterproof camera. As the mosquitoes began to rally their forces I retreated inside for supper and bed, leaving the tropical night to the cicadas, accompanied by the ever-present opera of chickens.

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 3:

A desert island just the right size; undersea explorations; and getting scrubbed up for church on Sunday. I say goodbye to Rarotonga… and hello to Aitutaki.

…And if you’d like to read about my South Pacific travels from the beginning, go to the first chapter: Travels in the Cook Islands.

Ychydig o law…

Posted on April 29, 2012 by Becca

The talented multilinguists among you will of course have spotted that the title of this blog entry is in Welsh, and a very useful phrase it’s proving to be at the moment too. Translation? “A spot of rain.”

As a field teacher constantly working outdoors, I often use the phrase “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing” as a way of getting students to dress less for fashion purposes and more for the vagaries of British seasons. However, even I have found myself musing in the past week that perhaps it would be nice if it rained more at night rather than the frequent torrential daily downpours we’ve been getting. I know that we desperately need water, but as I cycled to the train station in yet another ‘heavy shower’ I found myself yelling “Stop raining!” As I write this, rain is battering my windows yet again, and the forecast for early May is ‘largely unsettled’. Thank you, Met Office. I think I will go and buy a new pair of waterproof trousers.

Luckily, when I went to stay with a friend in south Wales in early April we had at least one day of perfect sunny weather. We took advantage of this to go walking around Dinas Head on the Pembrokeshire coast. This part of Wales is a National Park and popular with walkers, with a lot of steep ups and downs along cliff edges (vertigo sufferers beware). The glorious views across the bay to Fishguard and out across the Irish Sea are worth a little exertion… And a stiff onshore wind kept us from overheating on the uphill stretches.

I love the sea in any kind of weather, so this was pretty nearly a perfect day for me: a long walk outdoors, fabulous views, sunshine and a picnic on the beach at the coastal village of Cwm-Y-Eglwys at the halfway point. There was plenty of wildlife to get distracted by along the way as well: gorse and violets, wheeling gulls overhead and even a rocky outcrop garnished with what looked to be Guillemots (Uria aalge). As I was carrying my camera I hadn’t brought binoculars along as well, although a helpful lady (who turned out to be an RSPB member) assisted with identification. If you are good at birds and can make them out in the picture below, let me know if she got it right.

On the way home to my friend’s house in the wilds of Dyfed we stopped off for a visit to Pentre Ifan, a Neolithic stone tomb dating from 3,500 BC or thereabouts. The earth mound that would once have covered the 16-tonne capstone and uprights has gone, leaving the stones standing dramatically against the Pembrokeshire skyline. As it was late in the day we had the site to ourselves, which was probably the best way to view it. A suitably peaceful end to a windy but gorgeous day.

The following day dawned cloudy and wet, so we made the best of it with an expedition to Carreg Cennen, a ruined 13th century castle near Landeilo. Perched on a hilltop with what modern estate agents would probably call ‘commanding views of the surrounding countryside’, Carreg Cennen reminds me of all the castles I ever visited on school trips, when I used to clamber over ruined battlements and daydream heroically about swashbuckling exploits. As I recall, I was always an outlaw or daring raider, rather than any of the castle’s legitimate aristocratic inhabitants. Obviously watching too many episodes of The Flashing Blade had a lasting effect on me.

If you should go visiting Carreg Cennen yourself the most important bit of kit to take with you is a torch, because in the limestone underneath the castle is a long narrow cave that visitors can explore. In these modern days of health and safety obsessiveness it was heartening to be able to scramble down the steep narrow entrance passage, treacherously slippery steps and claustrophobic pothole unhampered by any kind of fussy warning notices. I for one thoroughly enjoyed banging my head on the low stone ceiling. Good old-fashioned British fun.

Since school term has started again after the Easter holidays my field teaching work is back in full swing at Rushall Farm and for the RSPB at Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre; but I also had an interesting photography job in mid-April, covering the opening of BBOWT’s new environmental education centre at Woolley Firs near Maidenhead. When I worked as a countryside ranger in Maidenhead a few years ago I met Woolley Firs Conservation Trust founder Rosa Lee, who was passionate about her vision to turn the site into an education centre for young people. So it was wonderful to see her dream finally realised, as a result of many years of hard work by herself, other trustees, corporate sponsors and of course BBOWT volunteers and staff.

After spending a hectic afternoon photographing VIPs and children from St Luke’s Primary School I had a chance to admire the site and all the latest interactive IT gadgetry that BBOWT education officer Lyn will be using when teaching. You can probably tell from my photos on the BBOWT website that the centre will be very popular with local schools, and I’m looking forward to popping in again soon for a visit to watch Lyn in action.

As the weather continues to be on the doleful and damp side, I’m snatching the opportunity to get and about whenever there’s a break in the clouds. Last weekend I managed to meet up with another friend for good long ramble from Pangbourne along the Thames towards Mapledurham. The photo above is of a scarecrow en route that has been steadily evolving over the several years we’ve been doing this walk.

On the slopes around Mapledurham there are fine examples of Chiltern beechwoods, and bluebells were just starting to come into full flower. Wafts of bluebell scent drifted towards us as we walked along: even with the occasional inevitable (you guessed it) heavy shower of rain, it felt good to be out enjoying the English spring. I am particularly fond of blue flowers and there’s something almost hypnotic about the indigo-blue of bluebells when they are blooming en masse. That intense blue haze striped with light and shadow is a particularly British woodland experience, one we should value highly. That our native bluebells Hyacinthoides non-scripta are threatened by climate change, habitat loss and accidental cross-breeding with the non-native Spanish bluebell Hyacinthoides hispanica is something that all of us should be concerned about. If you’re a gardener, I urge you to avoid planting Spanish bluebells if at all possible. It’s not always easy to find British-grown native bluebell bulbs or seed, but it is possible.

Our walk homewards led us back along the Thames valley to Pangbourne (resisting the urge to visit Mapledurham watermill, as the entrance fee was so steep it roused our righteous ire). One of the less usual sights of the Chilterns that we passed on our return journey was field after field of peacefully grazing alpacas. I failed to get a photo of one, although I did take a picture of a pleasingly spotty horse in a neighbouring field. I believe the technical term for this breed is appaloosa. I have long left behind my (exceedingly brief) horse riding days, but a childhood fascination with cowboys will never leave me and I feel sure that if I ever did get an opportunity to ride the range, an appaloosa horse would be just the ticket. With me wearing a black stetson, naturally. If it happens, rest assured you will read about it here.

Rowanleaf

Writing, Singing & Teaching About The World

Tag Archives: history

Gods and government, proud warriors and foreign invaders: discovering the landscapes and history of Atiu… South Pacific Adventure, part 8.

Ancient coral cliffs and dodgy landings; swimming in caves and spotting birds that live in the dark…. South Pacific Adventure, part 7

Big whales, big waves, and big respect to Aitutaki culture… South Pacific Adventure, part 6

Bush medicine, cursed hotels and Rarotonga by bike… South Pacific Adventure, part 2

Ychydig o law…