Brett in the South Pacific (5)
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Brett is a friend who, after 15 years without a break of more than a week, quit his high powered job at an investment bank to get a different perspective of the world.
This is part 5 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
25 August 2001
Nuku'alofa, Tonga
The country of Tonga prides itself principally on several aspects; the fact that it remains a monarchy, that it has never been colonized by a European power (along with only Japan, Thailand, Nepal, and a few Middle Eastern states), and that it sits on the International Dateline. The Tonga Visitors Bureau slogan heralds 'Where the new millennium began (and every day begins)', but I am not wholly convinced that Tonga fully entered the 20th century, let alone the 21st. And this is mostly a good thing.
If Fijians are, for me, the friendliest peoples of the South Pacific, the Cook Islands the most relaxed, Vanuatu's outer islands the least touched, and French Polynesia the most expensive (and French), Tonga, and specifically Neiafu in the northern, Vava'u group is the place I immediately missed the most upon leaving, and would happily spend months in residence.
One of the great yachting harbours of the world, Neiafu is, in many respects, probably a lot like turn of 20th century San Francisco. Days glide by seamlessly, everybody seems to know one another, anything is possible provided one asks around (and remains patient), and life revolves around the water and the seasons. Neiafu sits atop the harbour on the mainland, but also encompassed within the protective reefs of the harbour are dozens of islands, most of which remain uninhabited, but are easily visited via small outboard or sea kayak. All provide good camping sites, and a few have Tongan equivalents of a resort, simple but very nice (and inexpensive). Since this is a place I will definitely return, I decided to take day trips outside Neiafu and leave the outer island resorts and kayaking/camping to another time.
I was fortunate to be in Neiafu during the high season of June - November. It is the high season for several reasons, among them that it is the dry (and non hurricane) season so the yachties are well-entrenched, including at least one boat I spotted from San Francisco. Equally well-represented are the humpback whales, which migrate to the Vava'u group each year both to bear their young and mate. The gestation period of the humpback whale is eleven months so they arrive in June, bear their calves, and are ready for action again before returning to the Antarctic. Even the whales in Vava'u are mellow as the King banned all forms of whaling over twenty years ago, so it is possible not only to watch them up very close and personal from a boat, but to snorkel with them. Being dropped from a boat less than 10 metres from a mother and calf humpback whale is a slightly scary, and rather unforgettable experience. Not only are they immensely large creatures, the adult male stretches 16 metres and weighs 40 tons, but they are surprisingly nimble swimmers as well as the karaoke champions of the open ocean. The males sing during courtship (thankfully humans aren't required to do the same), and their 'songs' reach 185 decibels and can carry 100km through water. Basically, if they can carry a tune, they can attract a lot of whale.
I was one of eleven on the rickety whale watch boat, bailed out (again) by the Kiwis but surrounded by a group of six Italians who blissfully disregarded instructions not to shift sides of the boat when a whale came into view. This disregard sent us perilously close to toppling over on several occasions, and also resulted in most of my photos containing an Italian shoulder-blade as they were equally impervious to the presence of anyone else aboard the boat. One other dubious but perhaps noteworthy observation from the whale-watch trip is that one of the Italian women managed to change bikinis in the open without ever appearing to expose herself. This mystery has baffled the men aboard who can not understand how such a feat is possible. Explanations welcome.
With the same Kiwis from the whale-watching trip, the next day I chartered a fishing boat, Kiwi Magic, for a full day's outing commencing bright and early at 8am. Vava'u is regarded as a mecca for billfish as well as tuna, wahoo, and mahi mahi (careful to say mahi twice as one mahi in Tongan means underwear). Unlike most deep sea fishing locales, for example the Kiwis have to motor some 50 miles offshore to reach deep ocean trenches at home, the ocean floor drops over two miles just 30 minutes from shore, and you can begin trawling for billfish just 15 minutes from the hotel pier. This proximity clearly added to the appeal of a full day out on the boat, which also afforded the opportunity to see several of the outer islands and more whales. The one reservation I had about fishing, however, was that despite its reputation and pristine waters, virtually none of the restaurants in town had any fish. This, of course, did not augur well for a successful expedition. That said, within a relatively short while, I had bagged a 34lb mahi mahi after an arduous struggle that strained my left arm to exhaustion. I can think of only one other activity of lifting and pulling that would strengthen the same arm muscles used in fishing, but hey this is a family paper.
So obviously there are fish in the ocean, but why then are there no fish in most restaurants? The answer to this conundrum explains much of why Tonga remains a tourist backwater. Of the 30,000 or so visitors to Tonga each year, half are Tongans returning home to see family so the true tourist population is tiny. But back to the fish metaphor. The captain of the Kiwi Magic, a slightly antisocial Kiwi named Keith, owns the boat, but leases his license to fish from a Tongan. Apparently it is virtually impossible for a non-Tongan to obtain a fishing license, which is equally true in attempts to own or in many cases even lease land. As such, Keith has to give all fish caught aboard Kiwi Magic to the holder of the license, who in turn, either uses it personally, sells it to the villagers, or on occasion sells it to restaurants. Among the few industries where foreigners have gained ownership rights are hotels and restaurants, but these institutions do not control the boats so are last in line to get fresh fish. Find a restaurant owned by a Tongan, as I did in The Dancing Rooster, and fresh fish abounds.
And so the metaphor for tourism in Tonga is that while you are made to feel very welcome by the Tongans, it is equally clear that you are a temporary visitor in their country, the independence of which they take obvious and justifiable pride in. I met several expats in Vava'u who have been wintering there for at least ten years, and they confirmed that it took fluency in Tongan and years or returning before being made to feel welcome. Come to think of it, that sounds like another island monarchy I am more familiar with.
While remaining independent has allowed Tonga to control its own affairs and remain largely untouched by the outside world save for the missionaries, the country has 'missed' out on adopting a system of representative government that was part of the decolonization process elsewhere in the South Pacific. However, with a literacy rate north of 99%, and a longer life expectancy than the West, who's to argue? The high literacy rate is driven largely by the church, as most schools are denominational. The Free Wesleyan sect of the Methodists dominate Tonga, and for a very good reason. They converted one of the major chiefs, armed him, and he united the country and declared himself King, his subjects in turn following suit in converting. The Free Wesleyan Church in Vava'u broadcasts its Sunday choir through loudspeakers into the town, truly inspirational. Somewhat more surprisingly, the Mormon's are the second most popular sect in Tonga, and are committed to making Tonga the first Mormon majority country. As such, Mormon secondary schools and their ubiquitous basketball courts abound, and many emigrate for university to Utah. The King, however, will as in all instances have the last laugh, and has recently begun to force the Mormon's to relocate buildings to air his displeasure at the nouveau religion.
Aside from going to Church, Tonga is effectively closed on Sunday. As such, I decided to while away my Sunday on the remote island of Mala, which hosts a weekly island barbecue. Seated atop a heavily laden, under-powered craft without any raft or life preserver, I contemplated the numerous stories I have read over the years of over-crowded boats capsizing. I would have thought at least twice about the sea-worthiness of such a boat, and might have passed elsewhere, but in Tonga it seemed perfectly in tune with the surroundings and my reservations dissipated. Of course, they resurfaced during our return trip when the engine failed and we drifted powerless (and oar-less) toward a reef, but the engine sputtered to life before any real tension emerged, and we chugged inexorably but safely back to Neiafu. While on Mala, I saw further evidence of the significant fish life in Vava'u as the snorkelling was superb, and superbly matched by the food. I also finished the weightiest book I had carried with me from London, O Jerusalem, the story of Britain's inglorious evacuation of Palestine after WWII, and the ensuing mayhem and war. This is one of the most pain-staking, well-researched books I have ever read which I purchased at Ben Gurion Airport after leaving Israel on one of my last business trips for Bear Stearns. Nobody comes out of the book smelling like a rose, and the situation seems as hopelessly intertwined and insoluble as the geography of the Old City of Jerusalem itself.
Closing the final chapter on this book , however, left me with another dilemma, which is a common affliction on long trips to remote locations'lack of reading material. With a paucity of bookstores along the way, the ideal alternative is the book exchange which exists at many hotels and restaurants throughout the South Pacific. However, while I have visited many such book exchanges, I have ended up a donor more than an exchanger as I have been less than impressed by the vacation readings of fellow travellers. While I have deposited among other books The Happy Isles of Oceania, and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy my withdrawal options have mostly been limited to Agathe Christie, Nelson DeMille and other assorted trashy beach-wear novellas. And believe me, I know the type as I have consumed many of them in previous travels. My lone up-trade at a book exchange that I am proud of is jettisoning Michener's Tales of the South Pacific for Nabokhov's Lolita. Otherwise, I have 'discovered' such inexplicably prolific authors as Paul Auster. Fortunately, Neiafu's uniqueness is matched by its visitors taste in literature, and the 'inch for inch' swap rules enabled me to trade O Jerusalem for Gore Vidal's Creation and a biography of Aggie Grey, the first hostess of Somoa, whose hotel in Apia happens to be my next port of call after Tonga.
I attempted to extend my stay in Neiafu to catch the Miss Polynesia (Neiafu) pageant, but unfortunately the flights to the capital of Nuku'alofa on the island of Tongatapu the following day were sold out. Gutted! But this is a valuable lesson for all future South Pacific travellers, while it may seem anathema to 'plan' a vacation in such a relaxed part of the world, it is far more difficult to move around islands than you might expect, and many flights operate once a week, hence are regularly booked. And so after magical days in Neiafu, I somewhat glumly looked forward to Friday night in the capital. But nothing you read of Nuku'alofa's dinginess can prepare you for the shock relative to Neiafu. It is, in a word, grim. I would advise future Tongan travellers to outright avoid the capital and transfer straight through, however, should an overnight stay be required, try to have it at the front end of your trip so you won't end on a low. I attempted to rally for Friday night by strolling down the waterfront at sunset to one of the restaurants, but the mediocre food failed to satisfy, and the streetlights weren't operating that night making my return twenty minute walk a tentative and hazardous affair which sapped any desire to explore the city's clubs and pubs. But then, I didn't need to worry about missing out on a Friday night, because my flight the next day to Somoa traverses the dateline, arriving Friday evening. Where else in the world can you do that?
But Nuku'alofa does have one advantage over Neiafu in that it is communication-enabled. Neiafu has no newspaper, no working internet connectivity, and basically sits in an information black hole. The reason for the lack of internet connectivity is interesting as Tonga has claimed satellite space above its territory, much to the consternation of some of the global satellite operators. The Tongans, with outside help, have managed to launch a couple their own telecom satellites, but others have fought back launching satellites over Tongan airspace. The result is that a call from Neiafu has to go up to satellite, down to Nuku'alofa and back up to satellite, in short hopeless. The lack of communication would have been practically intolerable to me previously, but surprisingly once I realized that communication was impossible, I ceased caring or worrying about it. That said, it made it enjoyable to reconnect with the world-at-large via email. Thanks to those who continue to send gossip and words of encouragement along the way. As for the rest of you, if you are deleting my messages without suffering to the end, well you won't read this far anyway. A last meal to suffer through in Nuku'alofa before heading to the airport escape provided some respite as the grilled lobster at the Waterfront Restaurant was as good as any I have put to sleep and grilled myself. Always nice to end on an up-tick.
Two post-scripts from Tonga: i) fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the multi-media broadcasts have come to a crashing end, as the mahi mahi splashed my digital camera, which since has only spouted error messages (I hope the picture is on the memory card or else it will become part of the fish that got away lore), and ii) By my calculation, you can live like a king on Neiafu for about $30,000 a year.
That's all folks
This is part 5 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
25 August 2001
Nuku'alofa, Tonga
The country of Tonga prides itself principally on several aspects; the fact that it remains a monarchy, that it has never been colonized by a European power (along with only Japan, Thailand, Nepal, and a few Middle Eastern states), and that it sits on the International Dateline. The Tonga Visitors Bureau slogan heralds 'Where the new millennium began (and every day begins)', but I am not wholly convinced that Tonga fully entered the 20th century, let alone the 21st. And this is mostly a good thing.
If Fijians are, for me, the friendliest peoples of the South Pacific, the Cook Islands the most relaxed, Vanuatu's outer islands the least touched, and French Polynesia the most expensive (and French), Tonga, and specifically Neiafu in the northern, Vava'u group is the place I immediately missed the most upon leaving, and would happily spend months in residence.
One of the great yachting harbours of the world, Neiafu is, in many respects, probably a lot like turn of 20th century San Francisco. Days glide by seamlessly, everybody seems to know one another, anything is possible provided one asks around (and remains patient), and life revolves around the water and the seasons. Neiafu sits atop the harbour on the mainland, but also encompassed within the protective reefs of the harbour are dozens of islands, most of which remain uninhabited, but are easily visited via small outboard or sea kayak. All provide good camping sites, and a few have Tongan equivalents of a resort, simple but very nice (and inexpensive). Since this is a place I will definitely return, I decided to take day trips outside Neiafu and leave the outer island resorts and kayaking/camping to another time.
I was fortunate to be in Neiafu during the high season of June - November. It is the high season for several reasons, among them that it is the dry (and non hurricane) season so the yachties are well-entrenched, including at least one boat I spotted from San Francisco. Equally well-represented are the humpback whales, which migrate to the Vava'u group each year both to bear their young and mate. The gestation period of the humpback whale is eleven months so they arrive in June, bear their calves, and are ready for action again before returning to the Antarctic. Even the whales in Vava'u are mellow as the King banned all forms of whaling over twenty years ago, so it is possible not only to watch them up very close and personal from a boat, but to snorkel with them. Being dropped from a boat less than 10 metres from a mother and calf humpback whale is a slightly scary, and rather unforgettable experience. Not only are they immensely large creatures, the adult male stretches 16 metres and weighs 40 tons, but they are surprisingly nimble swimmers as well as the karaoke champions of the open ocean. The males sing during courtship (thankfully humans aren't required to do the same), and their 'songs' reach 185 decibels and can carry 100km through water. Basically, if they can carry a tune, they can attract a lot of whale.
I was one of eleven on the rickety whale watch boat, bailed out (again) by the Kiwis but surrounded by a group of six Italians who blissfully disregarded instructions not to shift sides of the boat when a whale came into view. This disregard sent us perilously close to toppling over on several occasions, and also resulted in most of my photos containing an Italian shoulder-blade as they were equally impervious to the presence of anyone else aboard the boat. One other dubious but perhaps noteworthy observation from the whale-watch trip is that one of the Italian women managed to change bikinis in the open without ever appearing to expose herself. This mystery has baffled the men aboard who can not understand how such a feat is possible. Explanations welcome.
With the same Kiwis from the whale-watching trip, the next day I chartered a fishing boat, Kiwi Magic, for a full day's outing commencing bright and early at 8am. Vava'u is regarded as a mecca for billfish as well as tuna, wahoo, and mahi mahi (careful to say mahi twice as one mahi in Tongan means underwear). Unlike most deep sea fishing locales, for example the Kiwis have to motor some 50 miles offshore to reach deep ocean trenches at home, the ocean floor drops over two miles just 30 minutes from shore, and you can begin trawling for billfish just 15 minutes from the hotel pier. This proximity clearly added to the appeal of a full day out on the boat, which also afforded the opportunity to see several of the outer islands and more whales. The one reservation I had about fishing, however, was that despite its reputation and pristine waters, virtually none of the restaurants in town had any fish. This, of course, did not augur well for a successful expedition. That said, within a relatively short while, I had bagged a 34lb mahi mahi after an arduous struggle that strained my left arm to exhaustion. I can think of only one other activity of lifting and pulling that would strengthen the same arm muscles used in fishing, but hey this is a family paper.
So obviously there are fish in the ocean, but why then are there no fish in most restaurants? The answer to this conundrum explains much of why Tonga remains a tourist backwater. Of the 30,000 or so visitors to Tonga each year, half are Tongans returning home to see family so the true tourist population is tiny. But back to the fish metaphor. The captain of the Kiwi Magic, a slightly antisocial Kiwi named Keith, owns the boat, but leases his license to fish from a Tongan. Apparently it is virtually impossible for a non-Tongan to obtain a fishing license, which is equally true in attempts to own or in many cases even lease land. As such, Keith has to give all fish caught aboard Kiwi Magic to the holder of the license, who in turn, either uses it personally, sells it to the villagers, or on occasion sells it to restaurants. Among the few industries where foreigners have gained ownership rights are hotels and restaurants, but these institutions do not control the boats so are last in line to get fresh fish. Find a restaurant owned by a Tongan, as I did in The Dancing Rooster, and fresh fish abounds.
And so the metaphor for tourism in Tonga is that while you are made to feel very welcome by the Tongans, it is equally clear that you are a temporary visitor in their country, the independence of which they take obvious and justifiable pride in. I met several expats in Vava'u who have been wintering there for at least ten years, and they confirmed that it took fluency in Tongan and years or returning before being made to feel welcome. Come to think of it, that sounds like another island monarchy I am more familiar with.
While remaining independent has allowed Tonga to control its own affairs and remain largely untouched by the outside world save for the missionaries, the country has 'missed' out on adopting a system of representative government that was part of the decolonization process elsewhere in the South Pacific. However, with a literacy rate north of 99%, and a longer life expectancy than the West, who's to argue? The high literacy rate is driven largely by the church, as most schools are denominational. The Free Wesleyan sect of the Methodists dominate Tonga, and for a very good reason. They converted one of the major chiefs, armed him, and he united the country and declared himself King, his subjects in turn following suit in converting. The Free Wesleyan Church in Vava'u broadcasts its Sunday choir through loudspeakers into the town, truly inspirational. Somewhat more surprisingly, the Mormon's are the second most popular sect in Tonga, and are committed to making Tonga the first Mormon majority country. As such, Mormon secondary schools and their ubiquitous basketball courts abound, and many emigrate for university to Utah. The King, however, will as in all instances have the last laugh, and has recently begun to force the Mormon's to relocate buildings to air his displeasure at the nouveau religion.
Aside from going to Church, Tonga is effectively closed on Sunday. As such, I decided to while away my Sunday on the remote island of Mala, which hosts a weekly island barbecue. Seated atop a heavily laden, under-powered craft without any raft or life preserver, I contemplated the numerous stories I have read over the years of over-crowded boats capsizing. I would have thought at least twice about the sea-worthiness of such a boat, and might have passed elsewhere, but in Tonga it seemed perfectly in tune with the surroundings and my reservations dissipated. Of course, they resurfaced during our return trip when the engine failed and we drifted powerless (and oar-less) toward a reef, but the engine sputtered to life before any real tension emerged, and we chugged inexorably but safely back to Neiafu. While on Mala, I saw further evidence of the significant fish life in Vava'u as the snorkelling was superb, and superbly matched by the food. I also finished the weightiest book I had carried with me from London, O Jerusalem, the story of Britain's inglorious evacuation of Palestine after WWII, and the ensuing mayhem and war. This is one of the most pain-staking, well-researched books I have ever read which I purchased at Ben Gurion Airport after leaving Israel on one of my last business trips for Bear Stearns. Nobody comes out of the book smelling like a rose, and the situation seems as hopelessly intertwined and insoluble as the geography of the Old City of Jerusalem itself.
Closing the final chapter on this book , however, left me with another dilemma, which is a common affliction on long trips to remote locations'lack of reading material. With a paucity of bookstores along the way, the ideal alternative is the book exchange which exists at many hotels and restaurants throughout the South Pacific. However, while I have visited many such book exchanges, I have ended up a donor more than an exchanger as I have been less than impressed by the vacation readings of fellow travellers. While I have deposited among other books The Happy Isles of Oceania, and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy my withdrawal options have mostly been limited to Agathe Christie, Nelson DeMille and other assorted trashy beach-wear novellas. And believe me, I know the type as I have consumed many of them in previous travels. My lone up-trade at a book exchange that I am proud of is jettisoning Michener's Tales of the South Pacific for Nabokhov's Lolita. Otherwise, I have 'discovered' such inexplicably prolific authors as Paul Auster. Fortunately, Neiafu's uniqueness is matched by its visitors taste in literature, and the 'inch for inch' swap rules enabled me to trade O Jerusalem for Gore Vidal's Creation and a biography of Aggie Grey, the first hostess of Somoa, whose hotel in Apia happens to be my next port of call after Tonga.
I attempted to extend my stay in Neiafu to catch the Miss Polynesia (Neiafu) pageant, but unfortunately the flights to the capital of Nuku'alofa on the island of Tongatapu the following day were sold out. Gutted! But this is a valuable lesson for all future South Pacific travellers, while it may seem anathema to 'plan' a vacation in such a relaxed part of the world, it is far more difficult to move around islands than you might expect, and many flights operate once a week, hence are regularly booked. And so after magical days in Neiafu, I somewhat glumly looked forward to Friday night in the capital. But nothing you read of Nuku'alofa's dinginess can prepare you for the shock relative to Neiafu. It is, in a word, grim. I would advise future Tongan travellers to outright avoid the capital and transfer straight through, however, should an overnight stay be required, try to have it at the front end of your trip so you won't end on a low. I attempted to rally for Friday night by strolling down the waterfront at sunset to one of the restaurants, but the mediocre food failed to satisfy, and the streetlights weren't operating that night making my return twenty minute walk a tentative and hazardous affair which sapped any desire to explore the city's clubs and pubs. But then, I didn't need to worry about missing out on a Friday night, because my flight the next day to Somoa traverses the dateline, arriving Friday evening. Where else in the world can you do that?
But Nuku'alofa does have one advantage over Neiafu in that it is communication-enabled. Neiafu has no newspaper, no working internet connectivity, and basically sits in an information black hole. The reason for the lack of internet connectivity is interesting as Tonga has claimed satellite space above its territory, much to the consternation of some of the global satellite operators. The Tongans, with outside help, have managed to launch a couple their own telecom satellites, but others have fought back launching satellites over Tongan airspace. The result is that a call from Neiafu has to go up to satellite, down to Nuku'alofa and back up to satellite, in short hopeless. The lack of communication would have been practically intolerable to me previously, but surprisingly once I realized that communication was impossible, I ceased caring or worrying about it. That said, it made it enjoyable to reconnect with the world-at-large via email. Thanks to those who continue to send gossip and words of encouragement along the way. As for the rest of you, if you are deleting my messages without suffering to the end, well you won't read this far anyway. A last meal to suffer through in Nuku'alofa before heading to the airport escape provided some respite as the grilled lobster at the Waterfront Restaurant was as good as any I have put to sleep and grilled myself. Always nice to end on an up-tick.
Two post-scripts from Tonga: i) fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the multi-media broadcasts have come to a crashing end, as the mahi mahi splashed my digital camera, which since has only spouted error messages (I hope the picture is on the memory card or else it will become part of the fish that got away lore), and ii) By my calculation, you can live like a king on Neiafu for about $30,000 a year.
That's all folks
