Photos from Rarotonga

There is no place for boats to anchor in Rarotonga. Anywhere outside the harbor is prohibited and the harbor itself is so small that there's no room for boats to be anchored in the middle of it. So they do what is called a Mediterranean Mooring (Med Moor for short). You set your anchor in the harbor and then back up to the wall and tie off your stern and pray that you did it right so that you do not crash your boat into the wall or hit the boats on either side of you. A little nerve wracking, but we managed with the help of a friend from Tahina, a boat we met in Manahi, in the Tuamotus. (It's a small world when it comes to us yachties cruising the South Pacific.)

There are several maraes in Rarotonga and Jon and I managed to find a few. They were quite small compared to the ones in French Polynesia, but still indicative of the religion the Polynesians practiced before their conversion to Christianity. One different site was The Black Rock. I don't know it's Rarotongan name, but it was believed to be the place where souls gathered after death for their departure to the afterlife. It is still considered a sacred place. While it just looks like a black rock, it does stand out as different from the rest of the coastline and it was easy to respect how the early people used it in their beliefs.

Since the missionaries arrival, these islands are still very religious, but it is now in their devotion to Christianity. Everything closes on Sundays and churches are well attended. On Sunday, Jon and I went to Catholic mass that was conducted in Cook Island Maori. We couldn't understand a word of it, but felt blessed nonetheless to be among a congregation that sang in 2 part harmony (without a choir director) and with such joy. The priest was clearly a leader of his flock and was so friendly, kind and gentle. (No hellfire and brimstone here.) His altar boys and girls were very serious about their jobs and were adorable, but as you'll notice, they're all barefoot. Shoes are not a requirement to go to church here, and those who do wear them are usually donning flip flops. The other surprise was during the consecration of the bread and wine, when there is usually a bell rung at the moment of transformation, a loud drum was struck. We nearly jumped out of our skins, but came to appreciate their tailoring the mass to incorporate their native instrument.

On a tour around the island, we rested on a beautiful white beach and saw this little boy and his novel way of paddling a kayak. Life is laid back and it's obvious they learn the lifestyle from a young age.

The parliament and ministries are located not far from the harbor and given the islands' small population, everyone knows everyone, including their elected officials. There are also local tribal chiefs who try to maintain Maori culture and traditions while working with the western form of government they've inherited from New Zealand. Nevertheless, Jon and I found this sign a wonderful indication of their democracy.......

Last night we had a lovely dinner on the beach and savored the last bit of things we can't get at sea......like a long shower at the harbor masters' and a three course meal cooked, served and cleaned up afterward by someone other than me. At the same time, we are ready to move on. Cruising season ends when the cyclone season begins, which is around December 1st. We have thousands of miles to go before we reach Australia. And, Jon is quite happy at sea, sailing his boat and catching the occasional fish along the way.