Missing the Bus
I woke up really early this morning, like 4AM type early. I don't have a lot to do during the day on Rarotonga (mostly sitting by the pool, going to the beach, watching movies, etc.) so my sleep schedule isn't great. I had known that I was going to go to the Saturday morning market that I had heard so much about, but I ended up wanting to go much earlier than expected. I headed out to the lobby of my hotel to wait for the 7:40AM bus to head into "town" for the local market at about 7:30AM. One bus came, but it wasn't the one I wanted, so I waited. And waited. And waited.
A man with the word "security" printed across his back and a thick Cook Islands accent came to sit next to me while I waited for a bus that I was pretty sure wasn't coming anyway. We talked. He kept telling me all these different women around the hotel property were his girlfriend and then yelling, "just kidding!". He told me that he liked fish and women... in pretty much that order. He asked me if I was married, asked me about how many people were in my family (Cook Islanders have big families and he told me about how his was no exception), and finally told me the story about the time he tried to visit the U.S. but was immediately turned away for having either no visa or the wrong visa, (he wasn't the easiest person to understand and his English was interesting, to say the least - since my English is "interesting" as well, you can just imagine the conversation we had). He then told me that I could take off with one of the hotel's golf carts and take it into town. Since I was pretty sure he didn't have any real authority, and I don't have a Cook Islands driver's license, I turned down his offer, (yes, you really have to get a Cook Island license to drive on these islands... although I'm pretty sure all it takes is already having a license from another country and paying 20 dollars). Although I did breifly suggest that I could collect chickens from the road (there are plenty of them running around) and take them to market for sale on the golfcart.
I gave up waiting for the bus and took off walking down the road. Since there is one long road that goes around the entire island, it's pretty hard to get lost. It is hot and humid here though. But I figured that town was only 4.5 km away, so how hard would it be for me to walk. I walked and walked. And sweat and sweat. Eww.
Just as I was walking near the airport, a woman pulled over and offered me a ride into town. Normally, the American in me would have turned her down. Afterall, that's how people get kidnapped, right? However, the temporary Kiwi in me accepted because hitching and accepting rides from strangers is totally normal in New Zealand. I got in the car and chatted with the woman who told me I was still at least a 25 minute walk into town. Although she was white, she told me that she was a native Cook Islander and was born on the tiney tiny island of Palmerston, (almost the entire island has the same last name... that's how small it is - they're almost all desendents of one guy). She explained that she works as a nurse - although she made it clear that she had done much more with her life than just nursing. She told me about the year she and her sister spent living in Los Angeles County working as nannies. And she told me about how although her kids (just a very young daughter joined us in the car) were born in New Zealand, she brought them back to the Cooks so that they could see how much they have living in NZ, (strangly, I think NZ is where people should go to see how much they have in America). She mentioned that having a two-year nursing contract in the Cooks didn't hurt either and that she will be going back to Palmerston next week to relieve the ONE nurse they have there while she goes on her holiday.
I eventually made it to the market. It was way less interesting than the time I had missing the bus.
A man with the word "security" printed across his back and a thick Cook Islands accent came to sit next to me while I waited for a bus that I was pretty sure wasn't coming anyway. We talked. He kept telling me all these different women around the hotel property were his girlfriend and then yelling, "just kidding!". He told me that he liked fish and women... in pretty much that order. He asked me if I was married, asked me about how many people were in my family (Cook Islanders have big families and he told me about how his was no exception), and finally told me the story about the time he tried to visit the U.S. but was immediately turned away for having either no visa or the wrong visa, (he wasn't the easiest person to understand and his English was interesting, to say the least - since my English is "interesting" as well, you can just imagine the conversation we had). He then told me that I could take off with one of the hotel's golf carts and take it into town. Since I was pretty sure he didn't have any real authority, and I don't have a Cook Islands driver's license, I turned down his offer, (yes, you really have to get a Cook Island license to drive on these islands... although I'm pretty sure all it takes is already having a license from another country and paying 20 dollars). Although I did breifly suggest that I could collect chickens from the road (there are plenty of them running around) and take them to market for sale on the golfcart.
I gave up waiting for the bus and took off walking down the road. Since there is one long road that goes around the entire island, it's pretty hard to get lost. It is hot and humid here though. But I figured that town was only 4.5 km away, so how hard would it be for me to walk. I walked and walked. And sweat and sweat. Eww.
Just as I was walking near the airport, a woman pulled over and offered me a ride into town. Normally, the American in me would have turned her down. Afterall, that's how people get kidnapped, right? However, the temporary Kiwi in me accepted because hitching and accepting rides from strangers is totally normal in New Zealand. I got in the car and chatted with the woman who told me I was still at least a 25 minute walk into town. Although she was white, she told me that she was a native Cook Islander and was born on the tiney tiny island of Palmerston, (almost the entire island has the same last name... that's how small it is - they're almost all desendents of one guy). She explained that she works as a nurse - although she made it clear that she had done much more with her life than just nursing. She told me about the year she and her sister spent living in Los Angeles County working as nannies. And she told me about how although her kids (just a very young daughter joined us in the car) were born in New Zealand, she brought them back to the Cooks so that they could see how much they have living in NZ, (strangly, I think NZ is where people should go to see how much they have in America). She mentioned that having a two-year nursing contract in the Cooks didn't hurt either and that she will be going back to Palmerston next week to relieve the ONE nurse they have there while she goes on her holiday.
I eventually made it to the market. It was way less interesting than the time I had missing the bus.
