Leaving Rarotonga (from Jared)

Fishing lines are out and we leave Rarotonga behind us along with its amazing fish and chips, incredibly nice people, rugged peaks, beautiful lagoons, and horrific marina. Yes, horrific marina, due to its tiny entrance and precarious ladders mounted alongside a crumbling pier. Add to the fact that the port of Avatiu has a tight, North entrance and we had prevailing winds from the North for the entire week, reaching 22 knts yesterday and we anchored med-style (stern to pier with lines running from starboard and port stern to pier and anchor off bow); one can understand how we were concerned at times of our anchor pulling and the seas bashing the boat into that crumbling, harsh concrete. The ladders leading up the pier were treacherous in and of themselves. I'm quite certain they were made for Sir Edmund Hillary's training routine before his conquest of Everest. Furthermore, the ladders didn't account for the range of tide, leaving one precariously dangling at low-tide while managing his/her best pull-up to exit dinghy to make it ashore. It was good exercise, though, and since we were consuming more than our share of fish and chips at the roadside stands, mango and guava ice-cream, and pork at the traditional island dance festival; perhaps there was some method to the madness behind the engineers of the marina. Splash! Another embarrassed sailor falls into the water as onlookers gawk. Maybe not.

We will all look back at Rarotonga as an amazing place. Its name means "in the direction of the prevailing wind, south." It certainly did not live up to that but it was much more. The Cook Isle people of Rarotonga understand that their lagoons probably aren't as pretty (still amazingly gorgeous) as some that can be seen further East and perhaps topographically the island may not be as impressive of those of the Marquesas (still lush, verdant, and volcanic) but that being said, these people know how far a smile and good conversation go. Community is everything to them and to watch a ceremonial dancer describing the various traditional dances at a marae (holy place made of stone where Gods are worshipped and heads were rolled) ceremony is impressive. We spent a Friday night at Highland Paradise, a botanical garden/cultural center that has various archaeological sites on premises including a pit where people were kept before they succumbed to their cannibalistic conquerors. Table fare was excellent that night, especially since we weren't on the menu. As we dined on traditional taro, raw tuna marinated in coconut milk, smoked pig, and inexpensive, yet excellent New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc; we were enthralled by the scantily clad girls shaking those hips (chiste, Merce)...I mean, we enjoyed the fluid nature of the dances in regard to tempo, rhythm, and use of ceremonial garb while telling the history of the native people of Rarotonga. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Scooters seem to be the most popular mode of transportation here. Someone said there are 3 for every person. I believe it. People enjoy driving them while hauling various goods... like little children with no helmets, produce, farm animals, building material. Using headlights at night seems to be optional for a significant percentage of the locals driving. Rentals are fun and cheap but really not worth it as our friend, Donal, from "A Lady" found out. There is a lot of loose gravel on the somewhat poorly paved roads here. As Donal was making his way down a hill, he hit a patch of loose gravel and applied the front brake a little too hard and summersaulted over his scooter. He was not wearing a helmet and after seeing him in the hospital after being x-rayed and diagnosed with a concussion; my desire to get on a scooter quickly waned. He is headed to the states to get a CT-Scan and carry-on with some other business that had been planned before the accident. Good luck, Donal! We hope to see you back in the Rally soon! It was great to see Donal cutting a rug with Mom at a beachside bar'b'q just a few days later. These Irish are tough!

We rented a convertible VW and though I probably could have pushed it over onto its side or carried it had we broken down, it made for a fun way to see the island and get us to the Vaka ceremony. We happened to be in luck in our timing at making our arrival for the first traditional Vaka ceremony since 1994. What's a Vaka ceremony? A Vaka is a traditional, wood, double-hauled sailing vessel that is a the heart of these people's ties to the ocean. Per chance, we happened to be on Rarotonga to witness the arrival of the five Vakas in race from Tahiti, each representing various islands in Polynesia and Cook Isles. Chiefs and politicians were dressed in black-lipped oyster shell ceremonial dresses carrying long spears and standing in the water to welcome their respective sailors as the media covered it all. The ladies put the final touches on the feast as they were dressed in flowing pareus and dresses made of palm fronds adorned with hibiscus flowers. It was a real happening and something the crew of the "Brown-Eyed Girl" shall treasure. "Home are the sailors from sea and the hunters from the hills", I thought as the Cook Isle team came aground. Speaking of Robert Lewis Stevenson's' epitaph to himself, Mom actually saw an original with the missing second verse (only a few in the world) and was able to get the lady to take it off the wall and photo-copy it. No photographs allowed. That's my Mom. Way to go, girl!

As the boat is concerned, we have had a rough day. Autopilot went out and then decided to come back on. Mainsheet outhaul went kablooey but we got that fixed. Just tried to start generator and it wants to turn over but won't start. We are presently working on that one (possibly some water in diesel-changing fuel filter). Earlier, winds picked up as we were untying lines from dock drifting us close to boat anchored next to us. We quickly averted collision and got underway. These problems raise their heads like cobras from the basket and we knock 'em back down with a big stick and we sail on! These cobras will raise their heads again, but we always have our sticks ready. On the bright side, the "BEG" received a healthy cleaning topside and along the haul. The salt that has permeated the hull after many a mile was washed away with a healthy application of hot water, soap, and vinegar (heavy on the vinegar). She's radiant and this 1st Mate doesn't out-source his work.

We bid farewell to our loving Brown-Eyed Girl. She is headed stateside and will return to us in Australia, if not before. We love ya, Momma! It's just the Skip and me sailing this baby, now. We are headed 600NM to Niue, where I read the sea-kraits are "plentiful, highly-toxic, but will not bite you unless you stick your finger into their mouth." I know this not to be entirely accurate about the not-biting thing. A famous herpetologist by the name of Bill Haaust from Florida was almost killed by one and Haaust actually injects himself with various snake venoms to keep his immunity up. What a man! Do tell me who this bloke was who had such a brilliant notion as to stuff his finger in the snake's mouth? A short honeymoon for his lady. Haaust was attempting to milk the snake to make anti-venin. Far different. The Skip and I just want to swim with them and photograph them. I'll be happy with that. As always, love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...