We are going on a trip to the Botanical Gardens today – it is a Tongan Cultural trip which includes lunch and local dancing but first I have to decide what to wear – not an easy thing here – and given that I have already gained a reputation for usually being somewhat scantily clad, I’ve been told I will probably be arrested for wearing anything that I drag out of my wardrobe!
Tongan culture dictates that I should dress modestly in public. I look at the contents of my wardrobe in despair. Shorts? No, too short (ideally I should be covered down to at least the knee). OK, three-quarter length linen trousers – good, that’s the bottom half done. I look at my array of tops. Apart from the disgusting t-shirt I wear for swimming in the sea which is truly too disgusting to wear in public, every top I possess is strappy and they all display a varying amount of cleavage. Cleavage is definitely out. Cripes! I could wear a long sleeved linen shirt but it is just too hot and anyway I only have one and can’t wear it the whole time I am here. Oh for a yashmak!
Eventually, hidden towards the back I find one sleeveless top which is definitely not strappy and just about covers the cleavage but my shoulders are still on display and the top is figure hugging cotton and lycra but it’s the best I can do.
We get ashore and Mike goes off to find an ATM machine while I head for the bus, fully expecting to be frowned at for not dressing modestly enough (the locals seem too friendly for stoning) but nothing happens so I guess I am just about all right or they are turning a blind eye.
The bus has seen better days. Rusty, bashed and dirty on the outside, dusty on the inside and no hint of air conditioning or seatbelts. Let’s hope it can’t go fast enough for this to be a problem. There are too many of us to fit into the bus even when two extra small people vans turn up, so some people stand.
The main town, Neiafu, has a faint air of neglect about it and within minutes it’s easy to see that this part of Polynesia is much poorer than the French Polynesian islands and the Cook Islands that we have just left. There is rubbish everywhere, something which has been completely absent so far, and the houses are far more basic as are the cars – I see one being driven along with a smashed in windscreen. As usual, the only buildings which seem to be well maintained are the churches and banks.
Pigs are everywhere. Apparently every family has at least one. They are not tethered or fenced in and know where they live, wandering home at the end of each day to be fed. And no one touches anyone else’s pig. It’s just not done.
Traditional dress, although not worn by everyone, is prevalent. All school age boys wear the traditional wraparound long skirts, as do many of the men, and over this many of them wear the apron-type woven wraps, and many women wear grass skirts over their clothes.
Our tour guide explains that the people of the Kingdom of Tonga are a very proud race, rich in culture and tradition, very religious (everything stops on Sundays and everyone attends church before returning home to sit quietly) and respectful of their families and other Tongan people.
As we leave town, a light drizzle starts and by the time we have reached the Botanical Gardens at the village of Tu’anekivale, it has brought the mosquitoes out in force. As we get off the bus, we are all given a swatting branch to try to keep the little buggers at bay, a taste of what’s to come! Mike and I covered our legs with the citronella oil before we left the boat but that’s obviously not enough. Rosemary gives me some cream repellent which I rub over all exposed body parts at the top. Normally it’s the legs they go for but these are ravenous little blighters and they for anything and everything. Heidi also lends me her 85% DEET spray, which, even if it stops me getting bitten, will probably make my skin drop off!
We start our tour of the gardens which is interspersed with Polynesian craft demonstrations such as weaving mats and baskets etc from pandanus leaves, making tapa cloth from mulberry bark, preparing and tasting kava (disgusting) and noni juice (even more disgusting), coconut husking and the making of vanilla essence (using vodka).
I watch the demonstration of kava making with some interest, expecting something which tastes like champagne – after all, it is used for special ceremonies. When it is handed around I am the first to taste it. It looks and tastes like pale mud. I only take one sip, grimace and pass it on. Apparently if you drink a bit more your lips and throat go numb and it is intoxicating but leaves no sign of it in your bloodstream. Give me champagne any time!
I have never seen vanilla pods growing and am amazed to see that they look like runner beans (French beans to anyone but the English). I buy some dried ones and will definitely make the vanilla essence once I get some decent vodka.
After seeing a couple of the demonstrations I start to think that all Tongan women look the same before I realise that the same woman (except for the tapa lady) keeps sneaking around and sitting herself down at another demonstration station. Talented lady!
After the demonstrations and tour we walk down to Ene’io Beach where our buffet lunch is being held. We are first served with young coconut juice which I love. The buffet consists of salad, roast suckling pig, corned beef wrapped in taro leaves (I’ve never seen so much corned beef as in the Polynesian islands – mountains of the stuff), spicy chicken curry, roast snapper, sea mussels and ocean cucumber. The last one is not a vegetable though – it is a giant creature which looks like a slug and lives on the sea bed. It’s a bit chewy but with enough flavourings added, it’s OK.
Next comes the dancing. This is performed by the local children in their traditional costumes. They are very cute and the young girls dance really gracefully with lots of delicate arm and hand movements reminiscent of Indonesian and Indian dancers.
There’s just time to wander along the beach and look at the local wildlife ie crabs big and small.
The tiny fellow above valiantly sticks all his legs and claws out trying to grab Mike’s fingers and nip him. When Mike finally puts him back on the sand he scuttles off as far as he can go carrying his shell with him. Sweet!
It’s a short hot ride back to town then Mike, Heidi and myself look at what the town has to offer which doesn’t take long as it doesn’t offer much in the way of retail therapy. Doing any sort of provisioning here could take some time. It will be a case of two things from one shop, one from the next and two from the market. I’ll save that for another day.
Back on the boat I examine the five bites that I have managed to obtain despite the various applications of noxious chemicals to my skin. Neither Mike nor I are very hungry and just settle down with some crackers and tuna dip.
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