A series of gasps echoed around the cabin as our pokey aircraft gently slipped through the clouds.
Below us was the South Pacific - a magnificent blanket of turquoise blue - and the lush green volcanic island of Rarotonga.
Waves were breaking over coral reefs and beaches glistened with the perfect hue of white. But the best thing was that all of this beauty was completely unspoilt. There were no buildings here, no eyesores.
This was nature as god intended, completely devoid of that menacing human touch. "Welcome to the Cook Islands" mused the pilot. "Welcome to Paradise."
The Cook Islands are thousands of miles from Britain and about as far as it is physically possible to get. The principle island is Rarotonga and there are several others, all scattered around the Pacific. A former part of the empire, they now operate as a self governing democracy in association with New Zealand. Most of the population descend from the Maori and they must surely be some of the luckiest people on Earth.
It didn't take long to slip into the ridiculously chilled way of life that the Islanders get to enjoy. One road travels the entire circumference of Rarotonga and numerous people sat alongside it; chilling out in the shade or drying off after a swim. No-one seemed to have a job here and there didn't appear to be many laws either. My driver, an old rugged looking chap named Bill drove barefoot and the rules of the road seemed to be lacklustre to say the least. A fellow traveller told me how he obtained a Cook Islands motorcycle licence simply by following an official for about two minutes.
There were times when all signs of life just seemed to disappear completely. I'm not sure where everybody went, but I could spend hours without seeing a living soul. On a four hour hike around the island I was left completely undisturbed to explore at my own pace. The beaches were simply idyllic, pure white sand and nothing else, and the sea can genuinely be described as a picture. Most postcards exaggerate places and make them look better than they actually are, but in the Cook Islands they don't need to do that. The place is practically perfect already. With nobody around I began to drift off into my own world, so much so that I felt a bit like Tom Hanks in Castaway.
I took a trip to a waterfall which lay in Rarotonga's forested centre. What immediately struck me was the lack of buildings and high rise. Any development here tends to be carefully nestled in foliage meaning that the natural beauty is left unhindered to flourish. It was a stark contrast to places like Thailand and the Costa del Sol, where numerous high rise hotels have ruined the scenery which attracted the tourists in the first place. The waterfall was impressive, cascading from a great height and pounding into a pool below. I would have liked a picture of myself there, but once again I was the only visitor.
Eventually some other travellers turned up at my hostel and I was able to chill out with them. Days seemed to blend into one endless blur, time didn’t matter or indeed exist and the most pressing decision one had was whether to open another beer. A barbeque always seemed to be on the go and life was an endless beach party. A small crew of people from all over the world began to gather, none of us wanting to leave this haven of relaxation. You would often find us sprawled out on a sofa or bean bag, soaking up the rays having not moved for a good few hours.
However there are things to do if you can be arsed to get up. Snorkelling and diving are a delight in the crystal clear waters and you can also hire kayaks. On one day I discovered a few offshore islands that looked in easy reach so I paddled out to them. There was nobody else present on these rocky outcrops and I liked to think that I had found my own place in the world. I had visions of declaring it independent and living out my days in this tranquil paradise. Another of the islands was home to an abandoned tin shack which gave the place a spooky feel like something out of Lost. I visited the final island with a sense of caution as locals had informed me that the sound of drums could often be heard from it, despite it being empty. As I stood on its beach, regularly watching my back, it suddenly dawned on me that I was one of the few people on Earth to have ever stood on this spot. It was an extremely cool realisation.
I recounted the feeling in the bar later and the American who owned it agreed with me entirely.
“I came out here ten years ago and never went home,” he tells me. “And why would I want to? I’ve found the best place on Earth.”
It’s not hard to see where he is coming from. The Cook Islands are probably the world’s best kept secret. I just hope that they stay that way.
Eventually some other travellers turned up at my hostel and I was able to chill out with them. Days seemed to blend into one endless blur, time didn’t matter or indeed exist and the most pressing decision one had was whether to open another beer. A barbeque always seemed to be on the go and life was an endless beach party. A small crew of people from all over the world began to gather, none of us wanting to leave this haven of relaxation. You would often find us sprawled out on a sofa or bean bag, soaking up the rays having not moved for a good few hours.
However there are things to do if you can be arsed to get up. Snorkelling and diving are a delight in the crystal clear waters and you can also hire kayaks. On one day I discovered a few offshore islands that looked in easy reach so I paddled out to them. There was nobody else present on these rocky outcrops and I liked to think that I had found my own place in the world. I had visions of declaring it independent and living out my days in this tranquil paradise. Another of the islands was home to an abandoned tin shack which gave the place a spooky feel like something out of Lost. I visited the final island with a sense of caution as locals had informed me that the sound of drums could often be heard from it, despite it being empty. As I stood on its beach, regularly watching my back, it suddenly dawned on me that I was one of the few people on Earth to have ever stood on this spot. It was an extremely cool realisation.
I recounted the feeling in the bar later and the American who owned it agreed with me entirely.
“I came out here ten years ago and never went home,” he tells me. “And why would I want to? I’ve found the best place on Earth.”
It’s not hard to see where he is coming from. The Cook Islands are probably the world’s best kept secret. I just hope that they stay that way.
(Page 12).
