cook islands: rarotonga
I found myself in Raro on a Friday night and what else was there to do other than hit the bar scene with my newfound friends. After some milling about and an executive decision to leave the overly drunk and obnoxious birthday girl back at the hostel, we decided to check out Whatever Bar before heading over to Rehab. What we didn’t know is that a dance competition for a bar tab was awaiting us when we walked into Whatever Bar.
What I knew before we hit the bar was that 2 out of the 3 of us liked to boogie. It was the Aussie with his bright white shoes gleaming in the night that I wouldn’t have taken as a dancer even after he started to grind up the dance floor. At first I thought he was doing it to impress us and then I thought it might be for free booze for the night. Then it dawned on me – HE LIKES TO DANCE!
The dance competition lasted for what felt like hours and he was committed. My Aussie friend hopped around the dance floor like it was on fire and he was in the middle of having a seizure. All I can say is what he lacked in rhythm, he most definitely made up with heart. It was as though his awkward moves turned to magic in the midnight air and soon, everyone in the bar was rooting him on. It goes without saying that this dancing machine not only won over the crowd but the judges adored him as well. The moral of this story is no rhythm…no problem as that won’t stop you from winning a bar tab for you and all your friends!
Mozzies are like a younger sibling where the more you try to get rid of him – the more he’ll keep buzzing around you. I am aware of this fact and have come to terms with my relationship with this particular insect and so before leaving Auckland, I made sure to stock up on an assortment of tropical strength sprays and gels with 80% DEET to ensure that I could be mosquito proof the entire time I was in the Cooks.
Unfortunately, I might as well have just flushed money down the drain as it didn’t repel the invincible mozzies that live on these islands. It really didn’t matter how much DEET I’ve covered up with (I might as well be radioactive at this stage) – they were still coming after me like I was fresh meat on the island. Just hours after landing, not only had I been bit from head to toe but the freaky fellas have also managed to get me just behind the ear – why are my ears always getting assaulted? ARG!
I’m not even a week in and covered in little red welts an every inch of exposed skin that looked biteable to these critters. There is nothing attractive about this and just as I start recovering, I got a whole fresh set of bites. As it stands right now, the final tally is dismal and just embarrassing on my part: Mozzies 27…Shazza 0.
This might just be the anal uptight bitch in me coming out but what’s up with “island time”? Do you get to an island and loss the ability to tell time along with the common decency to be respectful and show up places on time? If someone said that they’re going to pick you up between 7:15 – 7:30pm then shouldn’t you just expect them to show up then? What I’ve come to realize is NO. The reason for this rant is that there were 3 of us waiting for the bus taking us on the pub crawl through Rarotonga. We waited and waited and waited and NOTHING! It was closing in on 9pm and it was becoming apparent that we’d be stood up.
Never say die until the fat lady sings right? While attempting the logistics of how the 3 of us would fit on a scooter for our own personal pubcrawl, we were joined by a 4th and it became apparent that the wise thing to do was call a cab (surprisingly, there is one on the island). Jason’s Taxi was not only our DD that night but also someone who actually shows up when they said they would as well (this shouldn’t amaze me but it does…).
Anyway, moral of the story is pubcrawl or no pub crawl – we still got our night out on the town. Great company and fun bars but the highlight for me was munching down on a chicken pocket as we waited for Jason’s Taxi to come take us home. What can I say – I’m a sucker for street meat!