No dogs on Aitutaki

There are no dogs on Aitutaki. It’s worth a mention, because the dogs on the parent island, Rarotonga, are endemic, mangy, flea-ridden, sullen, starved and generally obnoxious. They bark and howl at night, they range and prowl, they foul the ground. But on Aitutaki they are mercifully conspicuous by their absence. No one seems to know why there are no dogs. Some chief long ago banned them, perhaps. The island is therefore free also of dog owners.

Back on Rarotonga however, some woman called Esther Honey made provision for a charity veterinary service where dogs hit by vehicles can have a leg amputated. There are notices outside this clinic appealing for money to help the dogs.

Aitutaki is a long way from where you ever are normally. 50 minutes by Air Rarotonga, from Rarotonga. You fly over the featureless Pacific, and then, suddenly, below, there is this breathtakingly exquisite atoll with its huge turquoise lagoon, its islets and coconut palms. Some parts of the Cook Islands are even more remote – Penrhyn, Pukapuka, Palmerston...

We stayed at a resort with nice clean villas – but the dining area and bar were another story. The owner had begun with romantic visions of guests dining on the beach, which is always a bad idea. So the tables and chairs are all on the sand, and nothing is actually level or stable, or free of insects, birds, vermin and other people. The owner herself sits at the bar and gets steadily less coherent as the day goes by. You share your food with predatory minah birds, cats and crabs. You also share it with the resident deity (pictured), whose name is Tangaroa, and who needs some pants.

Downtown on Aitutaki things heat up somewhat. The Blue Nun Cafe is straight out of Graham Greene. It’s right on the waterfront, and you can imagine pirates and yachties lurching ashore to grab a beer and a woman. Any vestige of sophistication has long ago been abandoned. Minimalism rules. A Fijian woman with about 30% metabolism staffs the cafe during the day. Of course we asked her why she came to the Cook Islands. She said, for the job. Well, it’s fairly low on the ladder of human advancement, one might think. Perhaps it’s a stark commentary on the regime of silly Bainimarama, back in Fiji. This manager of the Blue Nun Cafe takes 20 minutes to make a black coffee. But we have it on good authority that, at night, the Blue Nun Cafe really rocks.

One does get weary of tourist rip-offs. The Rarotonga departure tax at the airport is $55 per person, to be paid in cash. If you want to drive a motor vehicle you have to line up at the central police station in two queues, one to pay $20 for a one-year licence (never mind that you want it for only 2 weeks), and the other to have your photo taken. All of this can occupy an hour or two. Most restaurants are seriously overpriced. The toilets anywhere else but at the major resorts range from marginal to sordid. And don’t buy black pearls at the Avarua Saturday market if you want to be sure of their provenance. It’s better not to ask about the government or about corruption or competence... Every time you drive around Rarotonga you pass the sad, derelict Hilton hotel complex, never finished, bankrupt, and it just about bankrupted the country.

But a day out on the lagoon in sunny weather is a very redemptive thing. We visited three islands on the reef – Maina, Moturakau, Tapuaetai.