The Cook Islands and Me!

Ages ago, I posted about my old BBF from high school, Robert Oliver, and about how he'd just put out a Pacific Islands cookbook.

Well, the big news is that it's gone mega, and now Random House is reissuing it and it's soon to be on a coffee table near you.

He's currently jaunting around the Pacific, writing new travel text a'la Anthony Bordaine for the book, and boy, Robert can really, really write. I should be jealous, but mostly I'm barely resisting posting his stories into this blog. However I won't. You'll have to wait for the book to come out before you read them, and do read them because Our Boy is GOOD.

Anyway, he's meant to be going Rarotonga next but everyone involved is being really mean to him. When he told me I was astonished because ... well, I once went to the Cook Islands and was truly overwhelmed by what happened.

I told him I'd post the story about what happened to me in Rarotonga, so this story is mainly for him, but you can enjoy it too:

From the age of about 9, I had a penfriend in the Cook Islands. Regretfully, I've forgotten her name, but do recall her mother ran the only hotel in the capital Rarotonga, but that name I've also forgotten. Honestly, my memory!

We wrote for a few years until we both went off to boarding school, she in NZ and me in Australia, and, well, we both had so many other people then to write to, we gradually tapered off our letters to each other.

Then, one day, when I was about 17, we were on our way to Tahiti, flying Air New Zealand, which, as you know, has a two hour stopover in Rarotonga.

Back then, and maybe even now - yes, Robert? - the airport at Raratonga was simply a landing strip and a long thatched-roof fale-style building at the side of this rather sweet two-street town. The gate into the town was locked, and we could see the main road right on the other side but we transit passengers weren't permitted through it.

There was a cafe, I recall, and a post office in the airport complex, but that was it! And here we were, two whole hours to kill and absolutely nothing to do. Nothing! After less than an hour, I was tearing my hair out with utter boredom, so decided to leave the cafe and explore.

In the post office, there was this very charming Cook Island lady selling stamps, post cards and not much else. I asked her lots about the Cook Islands but her English was limited so we couldn't chat much, but luckily, back then, I could recall the name of my pen-friend: "Whatever became of X?" I asked P.O. Lady.

There was this loud gasp! "You're Denise Murphy from Fiji!" "Yes". Enormous scream! And, for a big lady, she was quick! Around that counter in a flash, she grabbed me and enveloped me in this enormous coconut oil and mokasoi-scented embrace, kissed me, sniffed me, hugged me. "Welcome. Welcome." she cried, and she was actually crying too.

OK, very strange, right? But then she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the post office. "It's Denise Murphy from Fiji!" she shouted to the entire airport! "Denise Murphy from Fiji?" "Denise Murphy from Fiji!" "Denise Murphy from Fiji!" the entire staff took up the cry and it echoed down the length of the building! And suddenly I'm enveloped by a massive and tearful collective embrace, passed from arms to arms, all "Welcome! Welcome!" and leis thrown round my neck, and all through the complex frangipani trees were immediately stripped of flowers as a mass collective lei-making session was put in place. "Welcome! Welcome! Denise Murphy from Fiji!"

And then the cry went out through the locked gates into the town: "Denise Murphy from Fiji! Denise Murphy from Fiji!" and the cry was taken up by the townsfolk: "Denise Murphy from Fiji! Denise Murphy from Fiji! Denise Murphy from Fiji!" and there was all sorts of excited screaming as folks came running, or scattered, and I particularly remember the two cool dudes on a moped who couldn't decide which to do!

I was pulled over to the gates, and didn't have time to feel like a zoo animal as I fell under a tidal wave of through-bars mokasoi embraces and sniffing and kissing, touching and stroking, and more leis, and folk began an impromptu welcome dance, and "Welcome, Denise Murphy from Fiji!" everyone cried, over and over.

By this stage, I was more embarrassed than anything, hating being the centre of so much attention, but beyond-curious! Like, how did these people know me! And why were so many of them crying!

But the answer came. The dancing, singing crowd parted and a magnificent lady walked through, all dignity and queenly mana, to place yet another lei around my neck: "Welcome to Rarotonga, my dear!" she said in very formal English. "I am ... (forgotten her name too, but it was X's mother!). I'm so sorry my daughter isn't here to welcome you herself. She's still in New Zealand. And, tell me, how is your dear father? ..." and so it went on, the formal run-through of my entire family, Cook Island-style! Astonishingly, she knew the names of every member of my family too, and the names of all my friends, then she asked for follow-up on everything I ever mentioned in every single letter I had ever written, as the entire crowd listened with bated breath, although I doubt very many of them understood a word.

Anyway, finally I got to ask: "Why does everyone here know me?". "We all LOVED your letters! We all read them and translated them and discussed them for weeks. The entire town! Everyone! You are our favourite ever writer!"

Huh? Like, how interesting could a 9 year old's letters be? Guess there isn't a lot to do in Rarotonga!

Hey, do you recall that gorgeous film "Doc Holiday"? You remember those letters some cousin wrote to one of the townsfolk? Recall how even Doc Holiday got caught up in the then-what-happened? and started hanging out for the next letter? Seeing that, I couldn't stop laughing because I guess that's what also happened in Rarotonga!

But the end of my Cook Island story: It was all very sweet and just so lovely, but I was feeling so overwhelmed I was desperately hanging out for the boarding call! Finally! "Have to go!" I said, hiding my desperate urge to flee, but everyone hung on to me through the bars and the farewell crying began and the farewell songs and dances and "You MUST come visit us properly!" said X's magnificent mother! "There will be much rejoicing and feasting, I promise you."

Oh, and as I walked onto the tarmac, holding down my leis so I could see over the top of them, all the other passengers were whispering "Who is she?" and "Do you think she's a film star?"

"Hey, I'm Denise Murphy from Fiji!" I wanted to tell them, but didn't.

So, Robert, I'm sorry you're not having a nice time with the Cook Islands ... but, if it's any help, you could try mentioning my name, although I do wonder if they still remember me! Please ask!