Paradise regained

It would take more than a cyclone to quench the spirit of those who live on Aitutaki. Even After February’s devastating storm, it’s business as usual at the resorts which have always offered holiday-makers a legendary welcome. Words & Photos: Tessa Chrisp.

TALK ABOUT the perfect send-off. Just before we lift off from Rarotonga’s island runway, a pod of humpback whales cruises alongside the plane, spouting spray and sending us skyward in style. Fifty bumpy minutes later, the descent over Aitutaki will be forever etched on my mind. Dotted on a blue gallery of Pacific Ocean, the green oasis of islands fringing Aitutaki Lagoon is sketched over a luminous white-sand canvas marbled with deep turquoise, azure blue and aquamarine in swirls of intense colour.

I am still dazed when cultural reality snaps me awake. In the tiny open-air airport a handful of locals forms a ragged picket line behind a rumpty fence, handmade signs of cardboard and cloth protesting our landing on their day of rest. Sunday is still sacred in Aitutaki.

My flash of guilt is swept away by the size of the grin our driver Ron wears as he motions us to his rusted-out van. Driving over the airstrip built by the Americans during World War II, he has the staggering ability to drive forwards while looking backwards, hand resting over the front seat as he imparts his intimate knowledge of Aitutaki life. Ron hails from Palmerston Island, the descendent of an Englishman with three Polynesian wives. Like most people here, he holds down an assortment of jobs. He works nights at our resort and at the superstore during the day. The ex-pearl diver and souvenir business owner also thatches roofs, including several at our Paradise Cove beachfront bungalows.

Stepping on to our little balcony under the sheltering thatch, we look out over sun-drenched white sand. The gentle swish of coconut fronds, the clicking of geckos and the wafting scents of gardenia and frangipani massage the senses into a state of relaxation. It’s a cocktail blended island-style.

Seized by the need to explore, we hoist legs over a trusty scooter, a steed intrinsic to the daily lives of locals and tourists. Some of these two-wheelers sport umbrellas overhead or plastic lawn chairs in place of seats. One tows a lawnmower and some smart numbers have trail-bike tyres. Wobbling and giggling, we try to lose our way on coral back roads, past plantation farms and churches and smoking coconut fires that keep mosquitos at bay, taking in plenty of smiles and waves. But Aitutaki is small and easily navigated so we have no trouble finding the track up Maungapu to Aitutaki’s highest point, 116 metres above sea level. Naturally, the views leave us gasping.

About 1400 people live here. There is a comical youthfulness in the faces of the islanders, who happily stop to talk. Family bonds are strong; young and old mix in a surprisingly spirited way. Almost everyone has either lived or worked in New Zealand and we seem to share humour and mannerisms as well as currency. But there are differences, too. There are no closed gates here and houses are open, so we are welcomed into homes and back gardens, exchanging stories and discovering that the hearts of locals are as luminous as the lagoon itself.

Riding home on moonlit roads, we dodge scuttling coconut crabs and stop outside a hall to investigate a wafting harmony of music. It’s a drumming, dance and choir practice. Aitutakians are revered for their drumming style and ability and we learn that other teams have pulled out of competitions when pitched against these highly skilled percussionists. We also hear stories. It was a moonlit night, they tell us, when the first people landed on Aitutaki. Chief Ru and his family had paddled from Avaiki and used wood from the abundant ara (pendanus trees) to mend their canoes. But the chief’s youngest brother was caught beneath a canoe and died. A small island off the airport runway is named Akitua, meaning broken back.

Later I meet the retired school principal, Tapuariki Puna. He speaks quietly of the way Christianity has brought the villagers together. Aitutakians still celebrate the arrival of the Rev John Williams who was on his way to Australia when his wife fell ill and he landed on the island in 1821. Of course the reverend stuck around. Who wouldn’t? We agree we will be going to church the following Sunday.

We remember Akitua the next day as our yellow boat slices through brilliant aquamarine water, narrowly dodging coral heads. Fortunately, Captain Puna handles the vessel with the skill of an islander who knows the lagoon intimately. Puna likes a joke and Tutu his wife is an excellent host, dashing about to feed and care for the 14 tourists on board the Aitutaki Adventures boat. Off Honeymoon Island we snorkel in the crystal waters between tiny black and white Nemo fish darting in and out of their coral homes. Giant clams litter the sea floor and turtles whizz by at speed. On One Foot Island Puna and Tutu set out lunch of barbecued tuna that was caught just a few hours earlier.

As I drift off to sleep that night, I visualize the TEAL flying boats that landed here back in the 1950s. TEAL (Tasman Empire Airways Limited), the predecessor of Air New Zealand, regularly landed on Aitutaki Lagoon during its island-hopping Coral Route from New Zealand, Fiji and Samoa to Tahiti. In those days flying boats would send an excited flurry of activity through Aitutaki as locals would race up the hill by the school and climb the highest mango trees for a better view of those great mechanical birds coming in to land. The Coral Route was labelled the most romantic, glamorous and luxurious in the world by those who flew it.

On a secluded island the next day we step into an enchanted house lovingly handcrafted by local man Sydney and his father Papa Pare Marsters; mahogany doors, four-poster beds and recycled church windows transport us back to another age. The lagoon stretches between us and Aitutaki and here is the birthplace of tourism. The flying boats landed right here; the house sits on the spot where the world’s only international terminal on an uninhabited island once stood. At that time the pilots were apparently considered to be demigods in Ray-Bans and as I sit in the shade I can almost hear the chatter of the 45 first-class passengers who frolicked in the lagoon on their two-hour refuelling stopover and were waited on, with silver service and white-clothed tables, by the TEAL air hostesses, angels in nifty uniforms, under these very same coconut palms. John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Esther Williams and Cary Grant all stood in this place.

We pry ourselves off Akaiami Island and can’t imagine having to leave Aitutaki. We have seen whales on most days but as we sit on our balcony farewelling the reef, a pod frolics by. It seems significant – a beautiful gift from the island with its warm-hearted people holding on to their values and customs. Next time I will try not to arrive on a Sunday.