Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
terior. Sure enough, I spotted a couple of “eyebrow clouds” where Rarotonga should have
been, and I headed in that direction. After a few hours, I spotted a tiny, serrated, black line
on the horizon which tuned out later to be coconut trees lining the beaches of Rarotonga.
I puttered up to the little wooden jetty in the north-facing harbor at exactly four p.m. on the
30
th
of August; I had been at sea alone for exactly a month. I had almost forgotten how to
speak!
There was nobody about. Then, I saw a red-faced man appear, and he held out his hand to
take my mooring line. I almost fell in the water when I realized who he was. It was Dave
from South Africa. I had first met this always-smiling ex-Zimbabwean many years before
in Margate, where my parents had lived on the family farm. He was the lead guitarist/sing-
er of a band called Shalima that played at a dance hall we kids would frequent on a Friday
night; the famous and long gone Palm Grove. I was always in great admiration for his skil-
ful playing. Several years later, when Judi and I had moved our boat down to the Cape, I
had met him again; he was also building a boat, and I reminded him then of the Palm Grove
days. Now, about five years later, I just happened to bump into him again on the dock of a
little, tropical island in the middle of the Pacific! Life is strange.
He had had a very successful musical year in the Caribbean, mainly in St. Maarten, where
I too had spent a year. He told me he was going to be jamming with the local band at a bar
that night and, while I was very tired, I told him I would definitely be there.
Officials cleared me in without a fuss, and I moored closer to the other cruisers who were
clustered around the interior of the rather exposed and rolly north facing harbor.
Later that evening, I went over to the bar and watched as Dave quietly stood off to one side
of the stage almost in a flower garden, he was hidden by some huge shrubs. When he was
given a sign from the local band leader, he played a searing solo on his long wired Fender
Stratocaster and blew everyone's socks off; he was that good! He was eventually beckoned
up on stage and was invited to sing as well. He tore up the night with songs like “Honky
Tonk Woman” and “Mustang Sally.” Again, I was greatly inspired to begin learning and
playing lead guitar, but that in itself is another whole story.
Rarotonga is the main island of the Cooks and is a New Zealand protectorate. It is their ver-
sion of Hawaii. I found it to be too touristy for me. There were just too many little cabanas
and bars on the beach and little grills and pubs and discotheques. I stocked up on some
fresh produce and relaxed for about five days. I lay soaking in the luxuriant sunshine on
the beach and just did nothing. I took a bus and explored the lush green and mountainous
interior. It was hot and humid. No, to be honest, I wanted to leave soon, and I wished I'd
listened to my instincts. I waited a day too late. Somebody wanted to meet me and discuss
