Zolo has been working hard scouting the route for the Bike Packing event (a little too early for summer ice melt)

The Pastor’s wife is admitted to the local hospital late in the morning. The sole registered nurse drops the queue of Council workers lined up for checkups. A sense of urgency around the hospital as we board the boat heading across to the other motu, Tukao. Emily confides in her booming voice that she had “smelt death in the house yesterday”.

The inevitable happens at 10pm that night, 39 years too young.  A short prayer is conducted at the hospital. All the village is assembled.  Normal activity stops across the island. Almost wordlessly the logistics swing into motion.  A group of men gather around the village excavator.  Late that night the new grave will be lined with concrete blocks.  The second group of men begin work on the coffin. 
The last group of men are launching boats they will be fishing with specific target catches in mind.  Blue fin trevally or urua will be high on the list.  Maromaroa, flying fish is also required in quantity along with au’opu (skipjack tuna).  The abundant fish stocks and centuries of marine knowledge will make short work of the task.

The womens’ divisions start with the decorating group, by morning the Ebenezera Hall and the Cook Islands Christian Church will be decked in bright colour. At the hospital the nurse and family are preparing the body for the coffin.  Every household is assigned a dish for kai kai. The big team of ladies are in the hall kitchen, kai kai production is paramount.  The team will be there all night, preparing the fish as it arrives back from the fishing fleet.

I awake early.  The sounds of the village are different, boats buzz to and from Tukao. The bush telegraph is about to reach my bungalow isolated at the northern end of the island. I arrive at the hall on my scooter.  Haumata tells met the strict timetable requires the body to be in the ground at 12pm. The tropical heat sets a cruel deadline. 

A boat arrives from the neighbouring island Rakahanga 25 miles away, with the open ocean playing ball with only gentle swell today.  The hall fills. I am feeling underdressed in my shorts and old tee shirt. The Pastor is dressed in a generously fitting white suit. My heart goes out to him facing the unenviable task of burying his wife less than 12 hours after her passing.

The singing resounds around me, voices break with grief at the front. The men work in seamless shifts to move the coffin across the road to the Church. The coffin is again man-handled to its final resting place. The concrete mixer starts up beside the grave and the excavator roars into life in the church-side lane.  The scene suddenly becomes very industrial. The excavator lowers a slab onto the blocks around the coffin.  Lorenzia breaks the male stereotype by joining the chain with buckets of fresh cement to be plastered around the slab. A red carpet is sacrificed to protect the cement as the excavator delicately swings loads of gravel. The driver is alert to the small boys in his swing arc, sharp voices send them scampering. The final touch is wheelbarrow loads of white sand raked smoothly over the grave. Lorenzia once again to the fore on a rake. A bunch of flowers is laid on the sand. Dust to dust.

I make the mistake of trying to slip away quietly before the kai kai begins. A small chorus from the kitchen foils my escape. Raw trevally and flying fish are added to my culinary experiences. Flying fish sprout bones in every direction. The cleanup starts with the same oneness of purpose. The kitchen contingent is exhausted. Late in the day the scooters start up and the village returns to normal routine.
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Five deaths in the last month; death is very much part of normal life in a small community.

2023 arrived bringing good news we hope.  Our activities have been hampered a bit over the last two of those months by a tibial plateau break to Barb's leg.  Mobility limited to wheel-chair wheelies on our front porch.  My nursing expertise has gone from bad to very bad. 

Christmas New Year was brightened by the visit of Shanes family.  With Sarah and the two boys they climbed almost every walk on the island.  Walks that start innocently enough with lush tropical forest and easy going but spiral quickly upwards with 75% root-tripping gradients and end with vertical fixed rope climbs.  At least it gave me a break from endless circuits of the island on my bike, to explore one of these hidden treasures with them.

Highlight was sharing our turtles with grandsons Ollie and Charlie.  The Avaavaroa Passage is a natural break in the reef, generating a strong outflow current from the lagoon.  Strong current attracts fishlife and we were lucky enough to swim with a school of spotted eagle rays.  The turtles also use a couple of spots as cleaning stations so some great encounters with turtles.  At the moment the turtle watching operators are unregulated so there is controversy around both safety for the participants and concern over the disturbance to the turtle environment.  There will likely be changes in the future, as we have just lost another swimmer in one of the other reef gaps.

The office has been distributed around the world.  Three in Uruquay , three in Montreal, one in Korea and others in Aitutaki, yesterday four headed to Bali.  The Pacific Nations are banding together to provide a coordinated strategic voice in the international environment forums.  In Uruguay Tohoa from our office gave an impassioned speech about the impact of plastics on the environment from a very personal perspective.  It resonated with the Scandinavian countries in particular, and she appeared on national TV in that part of the world.  Cailean cut through the polite politics with a dig at the Russian delegations distraction from the core agenda and received a standing ovation.  The Cook Islands team were a little nervous when they shared a bus back to the hotel with the Russians.  Small nation vs big bullies.
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Meanwhile life in the office can always be put back in balance with a spell on the back porch overlooking the lagoon and reef.

Celebration of the cast removal

Christmas celebration view

The walks start easy..

Get steeper ...

And steeper

And Steeper

Sharing time at 12 metres with spotted Eagle Rays

Shy turtle

​Suddenly a month has gone.  New house, new routine (why does work start at 8am?).  Bike rides include two circuits clockwise, one on the upper road (Ara Metua) one on the lower road (Ara Tapu).  Ara Tapu gives the tourist view of the island but I feel more at home on Ara Metua.   I am tempted to write “Not a Tourist” in big letters on my shirt.  But I am a bit, exploring new territory with each rotation.  A few road branches cut inland between the mountains, narrow forested valleys hiding the water supplies for the island.  Pigs and goats mow circles with their tether ropes.  Lush tropical leaves filter the sun.
 
Work is conveniently positioned three hundred metres up the lagoon.  I could easily swim home for lunch I thought.  The lagoon current had other ideas, two strokes forward, one back.  Lunch time disappeared as I finally pulled myself from the water at the Game Fishing Club.  Time for a quick beer and story from one of the old-timers? Perhaps not enough Island-Time leeway yet.
 
The lagoon is pretty but sadly misses the 30% live coral cover of 30 years ago. 8% is the last measure, but that has climbed back from a low of 2%.  So the environment does need some care and attention.
 
The office is alive with young bright people committed to making some difference.  Meetings are refreshingly lively and fun but equally articulate and focused.  The culture is welcoming and respectful.   Our Volunteer colleagues ensure an equally welcoming social connection, Friday night lagoon-side drinks at Vaiana’s or coffee at “The Café”.
 
Our friendly dog neighbour makes an evening visit for a quick but excited play with Barb.  Pity he hasn’t quite managed to rein in his mates when we arrive home in the dark.  Dog dodging on the road at night explains why the tourist scooter road test consists of a quick weave through a series of cones.
 
Ocean Fresh usually has the sign “Gone Fishing” on the door.  When the fishing boat finally gets back, word spreads like wildfire.  Nothing quite like fresh tuna steaks or wahoo with banana chips.  All I have to do is drop Barb in the queue and wait a couple of hours to collect her and the very fresh fish.
 
Such is the hard life of volunteers in Rarotonga.

Ruru (Pacific Pigeon)

The circuit around Ara Tapu

Avana Valley and creek

Avarua Cook Islands Christian Church

TakiTumu Marae

Cook Islands Mountain Bike Group

Vaka Racing Cook Islands Games - Sam our VSA local support person is in the leading vaka (LHS)

The Croatian Mix

If you had asked me twelve months ago about countries I would love to visit, Croatia probably wouldn’t have been on the list. However when a good biking friend like Buck tells you he is riding from Athina to Ljubljana “do you want to come?” - “Yes” is the only possible answer.  Croatia has been a mix. Coastal scenic beauty, yes. Tourist seaside playgrounds, yes.  But we have also experienced the high remote rocky mountain country.  Small villages nestled in small high grassy plateaus. From the intimacy of the bike seat the differences unfold. The old folk bent over in flourishing gardens return the “dobro dan’s”. The dogs just bark and race beside until the good NZ “Get in behind!” cuts through the dog translation.

The islands add to the mix. Short efficient ride-on ride-off ferries, beating the bigger trucks by starting riding before the ramp has stopped sliding up the concrete.  A quick juice in the saloon on the way. Flat glassy sea in the island shelter, often purple blue water clarity. By the quantity of seafood we have eaten, the sea is still holding fish stocks. Squid may be an issue as Brian and I have found a favourite in stuffed squid.

The islands all have high rocky backbones. Unfortunately the ferries only operate at zero metres above sea level. To follow our route we need to add about five hundred metres of elevation to that. Only to recklessly lose it all down to the next ferry. Doing that two or three times a day ends with legs knotted tight. Sometimes it pays not to look up the cliff at the village where we have chosen to stay.  Coming off the ferry heading to Apartment Plavcic on Monday, we had climbed about three hundred metres when I came across Buck and Brian with evil grins on their faces. I waited until my panting subsided, thinking the climb had ended when Brian pointed to the sign behind him. Fifteen degrees. The slope had just stepped up a notch to end the day on a sweaty high. Apartment Plavcic was down an even steeper slope, and the owner had marked the place on Google maps about three hundred metres further down the hill. He redeemed himself by immediately producing three cold Slovenian beers. The view from his balcony further eased the pain and provided a perfect place to lay out the sleeping bag under the stars.

Our plans have morphed since avoiding the cruel bike push torture of our intended Adriatic Crest route. A couple of days diversion will take into Italy, switching to a EuroVelo trail which heads north through Slovenia towards Austria. A chance to dump our redundant camping gear in Ljubljana to explore some of the northern Slovenian mountains. This bike riding in Europe has unlimited options.

A sea of many islands

Coastal beauty

Seaside tourist playgrounds

Classic villages

Remote farmland

Ferries to join islands

Four Countries twenty two days

So different from my usual tent to tent bike journeys. Showers every night instead of every week. Company and friendship each step of the journey. No solo pilgrimage this time. The EuroVelo bike routes have focused on the rural villages and back country lanes.  With tourist traffic building to a summer high we are gratefully out of the way of the convoys of tourist buses and motor homes. It is always a relief to get off the linking highway stints.

The terrain has made the cycling a challenge.  The mountains drop straight down to the sea. Every small beautiful coastal village has a steep climb back out. The gravel is loose so a fight for traction on those sections. It still feels safer than the highway traffic.

The tourist destinations we pass are mostly by chance. Our itinerary is determined by pedal speed and what there is at the end of our 80 km average. The experience is enriched by the locals we meet at each stop. Sazan our Albanian host still contacts us every day. Buck has a friend for life even if neither understands a word. Last night we virtually joined a mafia birthday party (we knew there must be a reason for Sazan’s two new black BMWs).

Montenegro passed in a two day flash, even on a bike. The special gifts for Brian’s birthday were the views unfolding down to Kotor.  Croatia is showing marked differences. Good food and cheap appartments still making the tent redundant. The sheltered passages, bays and islands clearly make this are a sailors dream. Our connecting ferry rides have given us a taste.
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Last night we blundered into Roman history looking for a meal  Diocletian's Palace Is literally just around the corner. Built for the emperor’s retirement, it is uniquely still occupied by shops, restaurants and hotels. A true living monument. I am fascinated by the centuries of wear on the cobble stones polishing them smooth. Simple things. Rest days always have a list of chores. Bike maintenance high on the list but today maybe a bit of relaxing and wondering at the past.

Sazan always watching us from Albania

Lasting memories from Montenegro

Adriatic coast a sailors dream

Zuljana apartment hospitality and homemade vino

Starting our island hop at Orebic

Thrust into the tourist world of Roman history in Split

Alleyways and restaurants within the Castle

Sazan Hosting a lesson in trust

Albania

Sazan rings us at seven in the morning. We have absolutely no language in common. Three weary cyclists in beds in a row in the “family” room of Grand Europa Hotel in Shkroder and an Albanian hotelier. We met two days ago in Rrogozhine a town you will all know very well. Perhaps not. The phone call is luckily on video so sign language works. Much laughter. Our dinner two days ago with Sazan will be one of the enduring memories of Albania.

We started with a Google search for the nearest restaurant from Sazan’s hotel. Sazan had offered to drive us. Two kilometres to “Presco” restaurant. Perfect we thought. It quickly became clear Sazan was not happy with our choice. His foot floored in his new BMW. Divjake was his target destination. An uncertain silence fell over the three passengers, Buck’s nervousness grew as  Sazan asked if his room was locked back at the hotel. We headed past Divjake into deep woodland, then down a rough track. We looked at each other and the huge old rambling barn we had stopped beside.

Inside the atmosphere was immediately obvious full of fun and classic Albanian food. The proprietor orchestrated the show.  His English consisted of “thank you” the same limit as our Albanian. But it proved no barrier. The menu was simple 1700lek for all you could eat of two species of grilled fish. The fish arrived at the table on a wire grill. Two whole fish landed on each plate. Three for Brian and Sazan. No choice in the quantity “thank you” “thank you”. Laughter beer and good wine. Soft drink for Sazan as the Polizia are strict on drink driving. More fish, shrimps salads and huge spring onions which are chewed with the fish. Then the crowning desert - yoghurt with half a pot of honey. A taste I have acquired with gusto, proudly I was the only one to finish.

My at the end of the meal I was guided by the owner to the back of the barn. A virtual museum from Roman, Greek, Hungarian, Croation and Albanian history. A treasure trove of quirky relics.

In the car Buck said quietly “A lesson in trust”. It was exactly that, a unique offering of hospitality made possible by back country cycling landing us at a local (non tourist) hotel. We gained the perfect tourist gift and insight of Albania.

More uncertainty next morning with the breakfast offering of rake (2000% proof alcohol) with thick tar-like coffee.  Brian and I braved both heads in wee fuzzy clouds as we cycled away.

This has been Albania. Scenically beautiful with a back country lane cycle route that has exposed real people, the extreme poor alongside new Mercs and Audis and the insight which makes travel by bike so special.

The goat herds on every hill

Greek Odyssey

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Our ride through Greece is almost due for a switch of country. Such a privilege to have been able to explore this iconic Ionian Coast. I had expected a touch of Mediterranean coastal beauty, but the ride has delivered a constant stream of “wow” moments. The combination of scenery and the magic interactions along the way that only bicycle pace makes possible. On top of that there is the layers of history. Some barely noticeable on the tops of climbs, some on a scale of the early Christian walls near Preveza.

The tent has stayed on the bike, partly due to closed camp grounds, partly due to cheap hotels dotted at every village. Likewise the camp cooker has been sidelined by cheap restaurants. Food has been without exception fresh, interesting and tasty. Our number one meal is without doubt the shrimps in white sauce in the tiny restaurant in Mytikas. The proprietress treated us like visiting family, finishing the feast with two complimentary deserts each.

The climbing has steadily increased, yesterday completing over 1100 metres of climb. Our EuroVelo GPS track has taken us off main roads at every opportunity. Quaint village lanes and tracks through olive groves. Yesterday our path climbed up and down to a series of sandy beaches with holiday preparations in full swing. Summer season will start in earnest next week at Greek Orthodox Easter, so we are ahead of the crowds. Some of our “garden route” paths end with pedal testing 16degree climbs. The trusty trailer causes a lot of sweat. The intricate track requires constant navigation and a few stops to check direction.

For me this has been a totally new bike experience, luxury of warm showers every night, food and beds prepared. Great also to have the company of two great cyclists, Buck and Brian (despite them pushing me on every hill).

​A bike ride with slightly more regular luxuries than the Australian desert

​Beautiful coast keeps rolling by

​Our route meanders through village backstreets

History crosses paths frequently

Once again Buck waits for the trailer to catch up

Seaside routes with no traffic - cycling mecca (the beauty of travelling before the Easter rush)

Lots of quiet back road diversions

The long drop into Igoumenitsa last night - 100km 1100 metres of climb

Dope Cafe across the road from the Hotel - daily lunch spot

Zolo has been hard at work scouting the route across Mongolia with their Russian van.  The locals have assured him that the rivers will be possible to walk across in summer