CRUISING - VOYAGES OF SUGAR BLUES

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H&M's 2001 Adventure 

Voyages of Sugar Blues

  Sugar Blues 

  Flowers in the lagoon   

  Aitutaki - Maybe this
  time 

  Niue and Tonga  

  Godzone - Life in 
  the left lane...  

  Tonga II 

  I Got My Sevusevu
  in Savusavu in my
  Vulavula Sulu

  Rotuma - A Split
  Island

Niue and Tonga

by Harry and Mary Abbott

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Niue The soft numeric glow of the GPS tallied with the pinpoint on my chart just as the sun broke the horizon. Ahead of us lay Niue, a hundred square miles of barren coral atoll. Somewhere on the west side lay Alofi, the main town on this island of 2,000, and a very tenuous roadstead anchorage.
We had been warned to pick our anchorage carefully as the coral and limestone bottom combined to produce fissures large enough and deep enough to play keepsie with any anchor gear you might be unfortunate enough to deposit down one. A quick walk to the hotel for a local Fiafia (Happy) beer and a bit of check in and the day was over. As we walked back, a well dressed local in a new car picked us up, introduced himself and offered a quick drive inland to view the pig and taro fields. "I work for the people," he said in response to my question about his occupation. I noticed his licence plate as he drove away : number one. The customs lady would tell me later, "Oh, that's Frank. He's the premier." It turned out that Frank typified the spirit of Niue. Nowhere else has simply everybody been so friendly. Almost without exception, everyone waved or said hello and asked how we were and where we came from.
Now the bad news: the next three days ran from rotten to a nightmare. Totally exposed to westerlies, the anchorage slowly became a maelstrom of waves and swells and currents. Choices were slim. With the anchor hopelessly but securely tangled in coral, my only worry was if the nylon rode was down far enough to get caught on coral. The island is protected by cliffs a hundred feet high and our back was to them. On the worst day we took seasick pills and slept in the main cabin for the least motion. Although we were uncomfortable, the two ordinary boats that were at anchor with us were intolerably miserable. Alternating between rolling from rail to rail and putting their roller furling units under water, they finally both left without checking out. This would give them both problems later in Tonga, as the clearances that Niue promised to fax never arrived.
By the third day, we were able to get in to shore, and as the front passed and the southeast trades resumed, we were glad we had toughed it out. On a rented scooter (very cheap) we investigated every road and bay. At the end of one narrow road we met fishermen going out in their small one man outriggers. these were the most unique outriggers that I've seen. Very streamlined with a contemporary shape and covered top, they more resembled a modern kayak with an outrigger. Chiseled out to a one quarter inch thickness, they were light enough to be carried by their owners down the steep steps from the cave where they were stored to the sea.
One thing we did notice as we rode around was the large number of unoccupied houses. The population has declined from a high of 5,000 back in 1966 to its present 2,000 number. Fourteen thousand Niueans make their home in New Zealand because even though Niue is self-governed, it still elected to stay in free association with New Zealand, giving the people easy immigration status. A three year plan is now in the works to try to reverse the trend.
After a week, we regretfully again headed west for Vava'u, Tonga, and a reunion with a myriad of sixteen year old memories.

TONGA

After only a short time in Tonga you become accustomed to what some yachties have unfortunately named "Bum boats." Almost all are merely enterprising locals trying to sell their wares; the baskets, tapas or carvings are beautiful, and the people all are polite to the extreme. I was a bit surprised, therefore, when Telesia and Kivi, two sisters, came alongside in their outrigger and just wanted to talk. I think Tongans are really curious about these people who never seem to work and just sail around doing nothing.
We were invited to the Free Tongan Church, the next day being Sunday. Bells from the five churches rang throughout the village of 200 as we climbed up the dirt path and headed across the grassy field trying not to step in something. I say this as pigs in Tonga, and I mean lots of pigs, run freely around and none seem to be potty trained. There seems to be a sow with six or seven piglets in every yard. Tongans are extremely poor when it comes to most things but almost all have land or access to land for crops plus a few pigs.
We entered the weather beaten structure that served as the Free Tongan Church and sat on pandanus mats that covered the floor while hellfire and damnation and tears flowed for an hour and a half, with us not understanding a word of it. Eventually Telesia dragged us out, and led us to her place. It was one of the few palm frond houses in the village and in spite of their obvious poverty, she and her sisters had prepared us some tapioca and taro root, cooked papaya, and the delicious local drink, Otai, made from mango and grated coconut. Back in French Polynesia, thatched homes are a thing of the past and even palm frond roofs are disappearing as people adapt to a new philosophy of "building for the hurricane." Here a home of palm leaves is in harmony with the environment and even more important, with people's pocket books. Ducking our heads and climbing over the two foot high pig barrier, we stepped into a naturally cool interior floored with clean pandanus mats over dirt. The room was devoid of furniture except for an old glass fronted dish cupboard which contained some pretty painted china, and a beautiful wooden chest. We sat on the soft mats and talked with Telesia about Tonga and their family. As with the Cook Islands and Niue, most people here speak English, or at least enough so that we could communicate, plus learn a few new words in Tongan. We left what gifts we could and in return were given mangos and papayas.
Aisea is a story in himself. In 1978 he was only just in the infancy of giving feasts. It seemed to be profitable, as every boat in the Vava'u group came, all eight of us. Aisea was again the first to greet us at the dock and although he didn't remember me, I was soon his old best friend. I thought that maybe this would work on other islands: "Don't you remember me? I was here sixteen years ago. I gave you plenty of gifts." Then for the next month you get free papaya, 26 baskets and 113 shell necklaces. Anyway, as an old dear friend, I got a discount on the price of the feast. (up to 80 people nowadays are served at the twice a week feasts) a memorial tapa, an invite to his church, "lunch" after church, and a special feast on the beach that night, not to mention, of course, a basket. If I don't look another yam in the face until next season, I'll be quite fiefia (see Niue beer for translation).
I did meet Steven in town and he did remember me, I suppose because I repaired his guitar amplifier that he used when he played for the LDS church. For that I really did get 300 baskets, 500 necklaces, 12 tapas plus an autographed Book of Mormon.
The time has flown by and the 1,100 mile trek to En Zed creeps closer. The weather watch begins. For the first time we start to take interest in the lows marching across the Tasman and through Cooks Strait. Tonga has been even better than before in spite of 400 plus yachts. The people have remained unchanged, holding on to their customs and faka Tonga, the Tongan way.