Rarotonga – where life is for living…part 2 of 2

Having spent a few days on the island, and not yet snorkelling we decided to head out to see what was living in the coral reef surrounding the island. Swimming around and seeing the incredible water life was brilliant and we also took some great photos. However, both myself and Soph hadn’t realised quite how hot the day was, culminating in the inevitable sun burn to our backs - a lesson most backpackers apparently learn at some stage.

In the evening we had arranged to visit Te Vara Nui, an island cultural night. Being greeted in the Maori tribal way, as a group we were challenged by the leader of the tribe and gifted him with a weapon (probably not the greatest idea but…). Spending a few hours being taught different ways in which tribes lived, cooked, healed and hunted, we were treated to local cuisine. Ranging from a leg of lamb wrapped in banana leaf to local potato (tapu) - the food was incredible. Following this, we were treated to a night show over a river where locals told stories through dance – the most impressive of which consisted of fire dancers, exceptional!

Returning to our hostel, we were greeted by some of the people we had met the previous night as well as a new Canadian couple (not the older ones from the night before). Conversation the previous night had been flowing, however when we arrived there were quite a number of awkward silences (I feel I potentially ruined the mood as I honked the horn as we arrived, unintentionally of course). As conversation eventually began to flow, the new Canadians were extremely annoying – the man constantly reminding us that his job is to row for Canada whilst his girlfriend thought doing a Masters in some form of geology was the be all and end all (no offence Dave).

The next day was our final move during our trip. Fortunately the weather was in better nick than before which meant Soph got to take the scooter to the hostel whilst I carried both our travel bags (on sun burnt shoulders) via the clockwise bus. Arriving at the hostel we moved into our beach hut – a cute little place just a few steps from the water. As it was a Friday it was considered party night (as on Saturdays clubs have to close at midnight because of Sabbath). Arriving in town following yet another journey along the clockwise route we met a few of the backpackers from our first hostel and spent the night with them. With funds running low Soph decided it would be a good idea to forget her pin code three times, and yes…the machine ate her card! Following both the closing of clubs (at 2am) and lack of money we decided to head home.

Waking up the next morning I felt fresh as a daisy, as for Soph, I think she’d had better mornings. Realising her true pin number, feeling a little hung over, and the fact we had to return the scooter probably compounded the previous nights debacle, not to mention the fact we had agreed to do the cross island walk with our friends from the night before. Arriving in town for the last time on our scooter, we all met up and descended upon the 4 to 5 hour hike across the island – tough going, but some of the views were spectacular and jumping in the refreshing waterfall at the end topped it off!

Having conquered the island and spending a sunset drink with a few people we woke up the next morning with Soph beaming as she couldn’t wait to visit the local church (so we could listen to the singing…wooo). Obviously my own enthusiasm was held up inside me, as I too couldn’t wait for the singing. Arriving at the church, I was thoroughly frustrated when we realised we had to be wearing a shirt and smart trousers and unfortunately we hadn’t packed such attire. Soph however did persuade me to sit outside and listen to the singing, which unfortunately for her wasn’t the gospel type she’d hoped for and so instead, we head for home - much to my obvious disappointment.

Following the unsuccessful visit to church, time was upon us to set off to New Zealand. Not before another hiccup however. As we were entering departures (they call it departures but it’s more of a large shed) we forgot to pay departure tax – a tax you have to pay for leaving the country…$55 each?!? Now I don’t know quite what this money goes towards, but eventually after paying the tax and saying goodbye to the guitar man, once again we were off…New Zealand here we come!

Rarotonga – where life is for living…part 1 of 2

Kia Orana or hello in Maori. Having spent a week in Rarotonga (capital of the Cook Islands), it is understandable in many ways why there are more Cook Islanders in Australia and New Zealand than the Cooks. Consisting of 15 islands (the majority inhabited) and only 20,000 inhabitants it really is a paradise, however given that the main road (and only road) around Rarotonga is only 32km long there is a limited amount to do on such a small but beautiful island.

Arriving at the airport with the “Guitar Guy” playing away (old chap who plays on arrival and departure and has apparently not missed a flight for 20 years), we expected to be greeted by Bill (the guy who ‘runs’ our first hostel). Unfortunately Bill had decided to pick up another English couple but obviously thought it would be best to leave us at the airport. Fortunately for us however, there were a number of people outside to help, one of which was called Steve (or Serena to friends). Built like a brick shit house, he/she offered us a free ride to our hostel, although a very strange situation as he/she acted very femininely yet lacked all of the female ‘bits’ to go with it.

After getting used to our surroundings (noticeably the smelly and bug ridden room) we set off on finding something to eat and maybe a beach. The latter of which made up for our rather grotty room as two minutes down the road, the beach was picture perfect – golden sands, palm tress and clear blue water…bliss. After acclimatising ourselves both with time and temperature over mini golf followed by a cold local beer, we met the favoured English couple Bill had decided to pick up, Rob and Rhea. It was really good getting to finally meet some other travellers, themselves both having arrived from America we arranged a few card games in the evening (I know, exciting aye!) with a few bevvies, however after deciding to ‘rest our eyes’ for 5 minutes, we ended up sleeping for 12…hours and eventually woke up at 7.30 the next morning.

Following a mammoth sleep, we decided to get the ‘clockwise’ bus into town - the choice is pretty simple really, as we were at about 8 o’clock on the Island, and the town is at 1, we chose to go for the clockwise option rather than anti-clockwise. Having decided the previous day that we would hire scooters, we presumed we would just be able to walk in and hire one. No no no, we firstly had to take what they described as a ‘driving test.’ Coming from England that was no driving test, driving around the block and back surprisingly we passed! Following this a brief visit to the police station to get our Cook Island driving license we were on the open road, again, open road being loosely applied as 32km round isn’t too far really.

After a whistle stop visit to the beach so we could test out Soph’s waterproof camera (whilst taking some cool pictures of the fish), we headed back for the night, where we would actually manage to play UNO for the next 3 hours, along with a couple more friends (popular these days).

Having decided before we got to Rarotonga that we would stay in three hostels, each for two nights, the plan was to move to our new one. However, due to rain falling constantly from 4am until 12pm we were in limbo. Having a 4x4 tour of the inner island booked for 1pm we presumed we could leave our bags at our current hostel, however they took exception and I was forced to drive the moped through the intense rainfall while Soph didn’t pull the short straw and got a dry…warm lift with our bags.

The tour lasted for three hours, where we were told about different aspects of the island as well as its interesting history and finished at one of the highest points of the island, overlooking Muri beach, the place where 7 wakas (Canoes) left in search of new land - where they discovered Aotearoa (New Zealand). Our tour guide J was a typical Maori man, built like the side of a house and infatuated with rugby. Something we noticed whilst being on the island was that most men are twice the size of your average Caucasian (not fat…musclely), whilst the woman were all fat - we later found out that 76% of people in Rarotonga are obese (probably 50% of that accounted for by the women).

Following the tour, we head back to our second hostel – Aremango Guesthouse. Far superior to our first hostel, and located a stones throw away from Muri beach (the most picturesque beach on the island), we settled in and met a few of the other people staying there, including a nice Dutch couple and a really nice older Canadian couple – who we kept bumping into during the next few days. 

Life is like a box of Chocolates

Following an uneventful sleep (no more suspected Ghosts) we departed in search of Universal Studios – with huge thanks to family friends of Soph (Nik and Ang) who bought us queue jump tickets (how smug I was going to feel pushing in front of the paupers with regular tickets ha). Arriving about 20 minutes before the gates opened we were in a queue behind hundreds of Chinese tourists – obviously led by people using light sabres so they knew who to follow – no offence but only Chinese people would do this.

Anyhow, once through the gates we went on the tour of the studios including a King Kong ride. We couldn’t believe how big the behind-the-scenes area was. Travelling past

Wisteria Lane

as well as parts of the Jurassic Park set they showed us a number of the tricks of the trade. Along with the tour around Universal, there were a number of different exhibitions and rides ranging from Shrek (in 4D) and The Simpsons to Terminator 3D and Waterworld – a spectacular outdoor show. After watching an animal show (from our reserved seats since we had Queue jump privileges – thought I’d mention that again) we headed to the special effects stage which showed how certain features have been brought into the entertainment industry over time.

Once the gates closed around 6ish we headed to our final stop in the States – Hollywood! Arriving at the hotel in a rougher part of Hollywood, we managed to park the car in one of the smaller underground car parks you’ll see. Once checked in we decided to chill out while I tried to get on with the slowest internet in the world to check the football results. Deciding to watch some rubbish on TV (ending with a real life murder hunt) we retired for the night…or so we hoped. With a room not too dissimilar to that from ‘The Hostel’ we heard a creepy knock at the door. Obviously having just watched the type of programme we had, we both just lay there whispering, if not shaking with fear.

We did manage to make it through the night, as we woke up with the aim of heading down

Hollywood Boulevard

and visiting Madame Tussaurds. The start of the Boulevard begins with The Beatles and Elvis Presley stars (quite apt really), and after taking a few typical touristy photos along the way, we were immediately bombarded with people asking us if we wanted to go on tours around Beverley Hills; Obviously so we could get depressed looking at homes no-one in their right mind would ever be able to afford – we opted out of each individual request, and believe me, there were quite a few.

After taking a few photos of the infamous Hollywood sign and hand and footprints of famous people (makes no sense really, I’m sure Karl Pilkington would have a few things to say about that) we went to Madame Tussauds. The tour started with a few snaps with Mr Obama and then upstairs to see Miss Aniston looking on disapprovingly at Angelina and Brad. After hearing a number of screams from around a corner, Soph was sure there must have been a real celebrity in person, but oh no, Zach Efron, yeh, I hate him. Obviously not my happiest at this point we carried on through where Soph waited for a bus with Forest Gump who had a lot to say for himself, something about a box of chocolates I think. Finally we entered an awards room where for the third time in the day Soph got Morgan Freeman and Denzel Washington the wrong way round (racist).

With a few hours to go before our flight, we decided to take the van for a spin (not a wheel spin this time) around Beverley Hills. Passing Simon Cowells rather lush pad we found David Beckhams house…well his driveway, no view of the house which leaves all to the imagination. We then decided to see Mr Beverley Hills himself, none other than Eddy Murphy’s house, thinking Beckham was rather safety and paparazzi conscious, Eddy had a security checkpoint to go along with his driveway.

Having been thoroughly depressed after passing through Beverley Hills (where such likes as Avril Lavigne live, really?!) we headed for LAX. But obviously we had to drop the van off in none other than Inglewood. An area not known for its clean criminal record, but thankfully it was a whistle stop tour. Taking the shuttle bus to the airport we eventually reached our final stint in the Northern Hemisphere for 6 months or so. Rarotonga here we come!

"Would you like a van sir?"

Firstly, I’d like to apologize for the delay in blogging but the last week has been pretty busy and I have also been a little lazy at night. It has become apparent however that it is unlikely I will be able to keep a daily blog. This blog is going to be about Thursday and Friday.

Anyway, so the day I personally had been looking forward to had arrived. It was time to collect our 2 door, economy car, described as being similar to a Vauxhall Astra. Arriving at the counter a rather large, unsightly and sweaty gentlemen by the name of “Glenn” served us. Having exchanged pleasantries and given my details to “Glenn” he explained that there were no economy sized cars available and the only car we could have was in fact a 7 seater ‘Dodge Caravan’ people carrier. Obviously at this point my eyes lit up, whilst Soph being the type she is, was a little more apprehensive.  Since it was the only vehicle we could have an upgrade to, we had the choice of no way or the highway, of which we chose the latter!

With a 350 mile journey ahead, and a tank like vehicle to do it in, the first aim was to get the car moving…. a lot harder than it sounds, especially as it was described as automatic! Following a brief explanation of how to use the foot brake (used instead of a hand brake) and wetting the bloke in the process whilst learning how to use the window wipers, we set off through San Francisco. Obviously it seemed the best thing to do would be to wheel screech rather loudly at the first set of traffic lights – right outside the rental garage…yeh I looked real cool! (Or not!)

Following a 7 hours journey we arrived at the Carpinteria Best Western (just south of Santa Barbara). Not really knowing what the hotel would be like we were pleasantly surprised - especially as it had a swimming pool and a gym.

And so Friday arrived. Waking up early we decided we would check out the gym. Expecting maybe a few treadmills, bikes, steppers and weights, we were welcomed to a room the size of a box bedroom, with one treadmill, one bike and a broken weights machine, thus prompting the question as to whether it could really be called a gym. A spot of light breakfast later and we were off to check out a few sights on the way down to Los Angeles.

After a brief stop along Highway 1 to see dolphins jumping along the waves, we arrived in Santa Monica. We strolled along the pier where street performers try to get tourists’ money by impressing - whilst some were good, the worst stuck out like a sore thumb; one gentleman, dressed in month old clothes with a dirty puppet, which had obviously seen better days, awfully made it bounce up and down on his boot…not in the least bit entertaining!

After another couple of hours and quite a few more miles (as well as a brief visit to Manhattan Beach) we finally arrived in Los Angeles at the Queen Mary Hotel. An out of service and renovated boat that was used during the early-mid 20^th Century, we arrived in our ridiculously oversized vehicle, asking the valet guys where to park rather than asking them to park the car for us.

Having checked into our room, I realised I had left a few things in the van so decided to try and find my way back to the car park…a decision which left me thinking I might be lost in the ship for the rest of my life. Leaving the room I was sure I had gone in the correct direction, oh no I hadn’t and ended up in an unused part of the ship. However, thanks to an old timer on the boat he showed me the way to the door. For a few minutes I did think it was the end…and I still think the person who showed me the way out might have been a ghost.

In the evening we opted for the cheap restaurant rather than the costlier others, a poor decision which indeed resulted in a poor performance from the chef. Asking for a steak, I received a mammoth chunk of meat which was tasteless, and to accompany, undercooked vegetables and cold chips. However, as injustice goes the chef must’ve taken a shine to Soph who chose a warmer and better cooked vegetarian dish.

The Giants Celebrate in Style!

Two days on from San Francisco Giant’s maiden victory in the World Series, it was time for the city to celebrate once again. Waking up with the hope of nipping out to the California Bakery for another breakfast of dipping croissants in hot chocolate was soon floored.

With the parade set for an 11am curtain call we set out on looking for something to wear in keeping with the million or more crazy Giant’s fans. Along the way, it had become apparent that in the anticipation to get a prime view of the parade, many hardcore fans must have decided that urinating themselves was a given, as in some areas there was a distinct whiff of urine and where this wasn’t so apparent, the smell of marijuana had taken over.

Having spent a few dollars on t-shirts we headed back to our room which fortunately looked straight out onto the parade (which I’m sure would’ve annoyed the most avid of fans). Although before our return, I must add, a tramp did offer Soph a hairgrip and then kept on pulling more items including a broken elastic band…bizarre (but Soph does seem to attract them – myself not included in that). Sitting at the window, it became apparent how important this day was to many. Thousands of people paraded along the streets ranging from those behind the scenes to those who had created this historic day for many San Franciscans, highlighting the magnitude of what had been achieved.

Following the parade, we departed on

Powell Street

to get some grub. We ended up in what can only be described as a typical diner from the movies, Louie’s Diner. Myself opting for a burger, and Soph choosing a hot dog we both overate, and felt worse for it. Next, we headed for

Union Square

- an area of greenery in the centre of the town with Macy’s on one side, and Saks on the other.

Having witnessed the parade, and slowly eaten ourselves to an early grave, we headed back the room and chilled out in the evening in anticipation of our drive the next day. We have reserved a small economic car – similar to an Astra in size…or so they said.

Soup in a bread roll and a near death experience

Waking up to a beautiful clear morning in San Francisco was a strange experience in early November compared to back at home. With temperatures reaching the low twenties the day was looking up – not to mention that I had had a breakfast of dipping a croissant into hot chocolate…lush!

We headed out early to try and tick off a few things on the list – Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge - in fact the only two things I know San Francisco for. Having yet to experience the world famous streets of San Francisco we decided to take the infamous electric street car from

Powell street

to the beachfront at Pier 47. On route we managed to negotiate with a Danny Devito look-a-like for the “Hop-on, hop-off” bus tour paying $25 instead of the advertised $35 each.

Pier 47, is on the Fisherman’s Wharf in the North-most point of San Francisco, and is home to the Museé Mechanique which is a museum dedicated to mechanical amusements dating back to the late 19^th Century. We then decided to set off for Next, we headed for Pier 33, the home of the Alcatraz tour boats. Having been told on the way by a charity worker I look like I need to smile more whilst Soph was boasted for her good looks (sexist), we eventually arrived and set off on the 11:35 departure for Alcatraz.

Arriving in Alcatraz and following the audio tour it was clear to see why so few escaped but understandable why so many had tried it during its 29 years as a federal penitentiary since it lend to such pristine views for infamous criminals such as Al Capone and Robert “the Birdman” Stroud. Arriving back on land we sought out Boudin - a café famous for its soup inside a sour dough roll. Although the meal was extremely enjoyable, a gentleman (idiot) sitting behind us decided it would be sensible to feed the thousands of pigeons his leftovers, thus prompting an explosion of feathers and an abundance of annoyed customers.

The Hop-on, Hop-off tour was our next stop. Boarding the bus in North Beach, we toured through different and diverse areas of the city, ranging from China Town and the business district, to less attractive suburban areas. We eventually arrived at the Golden Gate Bridge where Soph decided we would do the bridge walk, even though I saw little point to crossing a bridge. This thought of mine nearly justified by the near death experience as soon as we got onto the bridge as a truck drove into the railings causing an excruciating sound as well as clear damage to the vehicle (although the driver just carried on as if nothing had happened). Fortunately, there were some outstanding views along the bridge as well as the fact we were picked up on the other side by the bus made the walk worthwhile.

On the way back, our new bus driver was clearly a bit of a speed freak. Driving back along the bridge, she clearly forgot it was an open top bus, and given the speeds she was doing, an oxygen mask would’ve been useful as the only way to breath was to take refuge into ones lap!

In the evening, we decided to eat in China Town, clearly a mistake. Walking through, it was not dissimilar to walking along Magaluf or Malia at night. Chinese women offering us the cheapest food on the street…the only thing missing was a fishbowl or a free shot. Eventually we found an attractive, less forceful Chinese. Both opting for some sort of Chow Mein, the food was OK, however I think I’ve had better to be honest.

Another great day and we pretty much ticked off everything we know San Francisco for. Tomorrow is the great parade; estimates have said it will be the biggest in San Francisco history as over a million are expected to be in attendance. Wish us luck!!

A flight and baseball world champions

Today has been one of the greatest ways to start a trip like this (apart from having to wake up at 4.45am).

So with our flight set to leave for 11am, we (we being me and Soph – I failed to mention her in my first blog…oops!) were due at Heathrow Airport for 8am. Annoyingly, following the loss of our reserved seats because of Virgin messing up our booking we were directed to a small Chinese lady who at first appeared to know absolutely nothing about the procedures, however fortunately for us she managed to reserve us seats with extra leg room (or so she said she had). Following this short delay and a brief bite to eat, we set off to finding our departure gate where we noticed a number of Virgin ladies (that is employees of Sir Richard Branson of course) directing signs for the San Francisco 49ers to our plane. Obviously being the modest and not so smug character, I decided not to put this as my Facebook status.

So we boarded the plane and surprise surprise the confused Chinese lady was indeed confused. The seats she had reserved were for a Boeing 747 rather than the Airbus A330 we were on. Thus my ridiculously long legs struggled for room. therefore the only comfort taken during the 11 hour flight was a mixture of films, and oh yeh, the San Francisco 49ers cheerleaders sitting in the two rows in front of us (although I don’t think Soph was as interested as myself – since her only comment was that “they have really nice eyebrows”). Following hours of torment, ranging from an endless queue of people going to the toilet (which again, conveniently was next to us) as well as the cheerleaders putting on British accents we arrived safe if not sound in San Francisco International Airport.

Having spent a few dollars on public transport as well as a few calories on carrying both mine and Soph’s bags up what seemed like an endless staircase, we eventually found our way to the Renoir Hotel. Having heard cheering from the Civic Centre, we decided to investigate what was happening where we discovered that the San Francisco Giants had won the World Series of Baseball against the Texas Rangers. For the next couple of hours we set out on joining in with the rabble as we took to the streets (not necessarily fitting in with the baggy jean wearing, cap slanting fans) where we discovered why sporting events are so well received over here. It was amazing to see so many different cultures mixing together to celebrate what was described as 51 years of hurt. I heard some passers by describing the day as a blessing, appearing to imply that the city has had its troubles between the different cultures in recent times. Finally I’d like to say “Let’s go GIANTS” – not Leicester Tigers as Soph thought…