Rangiroa, Tuamotu Islands

After visiting so many volcanic, lush islands, the flat landscape of the Rangiroa atoll seemed stark and desolate. This atoll, the second largest in the world, boasts some of the world’s best scuba diving. On the cloudy, humid day I visited Avatoru, one of only two main villages, the intermittent storms and wind made for some choppy surf.

I rented a bike to travel the single road that connects several small

islets for about 6 miles. Tucked among some palm tree groves are some pensiones, and a few places serving food for the tourists who come to dive or relax at the sea. Although Avatoru is not rustic—it has running water, cars, and electricity—it definitely represents “island life” on a very small scale.

At the far end of the island, after pedaling through the village “center” [it had a food shop and a bank], I came upon an old church overlooking a pass. An abalone altar and

waterfall added to the stillness of this refuge from the sudden burst of rain. The ride back, into the unforgiving wind, gave me some time to view the pristine beauty of this tropical paradise. The wind, the waves, and the salt air felt pure and cleansing.  When the sun appeared later in the day, I floated out in the lagoon to look at the beautiful fish hiding in the coral.

The end of this idyllic day included a walk to the beach on the other side of the island. Some entrepreneurial young villagers had set up a stand selling purples shells, and they practiced some French and English they had learned to drive a hard bargain. The beach nearby had huge chunks of coral and shells that would eventually be pummeled into sand by the fierce waves on that side of the island. The contrast of the fierce, roaring waves with the strong wind to the peaceful surf of the lagoon only a few minutes’ walk away was mind-boggling. Sometimes nature reflects life.

The Cook Islands: Niue & Rarotonga

Alofi, Niue

“To move, to breathe, to fly, to float,

To gain all while you give,

To roam the roads of lands remote,

To travel is to live.” 

                                          ~ Hans Christian Andersen

I’m floating in water so blue it makes lapis boring. The French language has a special word

for the blue color of the South Pacific Ocean and even that would not accurately describe the hypnotic deep blue water that lured me from the rocky coral shores of Opaahi Beach into its waves.

As I float on my back in a cove where the famed Captain Cook was ominously greeted by the natives with fiercely painted red lips. The sun glistens on the water as I stare up at the high cliffs, into which the elements appear to have carved eyes and a mouth, resembling a large totem face. Looking down into the clear water, corals of vibrant purples compete for my attention. Despite the brisk temperature of the water, I feel embraced by the gentle waves, like reuniting with a long-lost friend.

 This feeling and the picturesque scenery of rugged cliffs, caves, and tide pools follow me as I stop at several spots along the coast in Alofi, Niue in the Cook Islands. Niue has endless adventures for snorkelers, kayakers, and divers, as well as hiking and biking trails. From the main road around the island you see signs for a beach trek that will take you down to a little nook. The paths even have a fresh water shower to rinse off after taking a dip. Although equipped with all the modern amenities, it embodies the relaxed energy you would expect of an island chain located halfway between New Zealand and Hawaii.

 And if you are lucky, you might even spot a crazy uga—a coconut crab hanging out with its mid-day snack.

Rarotonga

The first Polynesian explorers to view the volcanic island of Rarotonga came by powerful double-hulled canoes [vakas] and navigated by the stars.

This emerald island must have enchanted those early inhabitants as much as it does the visitors today.

The island provides an abundance of food for those who live here. Besides the bounty of the sea, the rich volcanic soil supports the terraces planted with bananas, coconuts, paw paw, noni, and pineapples as well as the swampy flats filled with taro.  As you circumnavigate the island, every little inlet has the postcard vista of blue water against the palm-studded beaches, and an anchored boat lazily bobbing against its tether. The backdrop of this scenery contains lush-green cragged pinnacles of the mountains at the center of the island. Visiting the day market, my senses are treated to the beautiful colors of tropical fruits, flowers, and fabrics. The women, adorned with frangipani head-bands, greet everyone with the welcoming, “Kia Orana.” The papaya has such a rich, fragrant taste as it melts in my mouth and blends perfectly with the fresh young coconut milk another vendor offers me. I spent half the day with a local “shaman” at his ‘eco ranch’ as he touted the healing properties of the local herbs and fruits. Adorned with the sacred ti leaves, he offered us some fermented noni and freshly ground kava kava to drink.  As I walked the property, the breeze gently rustled through the papaya and hibiscus as if orchestrating a little dance, harmonizing with the ocean waves. This wisdom of nature from the islands—the flow and rhythm—became a theme throughout my South Pacific adventure.

Tabuaeran: In the Middle of the [Pacific] Ocean...

After days of endless horizons on the tropical Pacific Ocean, the approach to Tabuaeran, an atoll in the Republic of Kiribati, reminded me of Gilligan’s Island. To call it “remote” would understate its location, roughly situated at the intersection of a Santiago-Shanghai and San Francisco-Sydney trade route.

Artifacts suggest that the earliest discoverers were likely Tongan or Polynesians heading from the Cook Islands to Hawaii.  Later, an American captain Fanning became the first “official” discoverer, and this little strip of paradise then wore several identities and strategic influence through the intervening years until it gained its independence in 1979 and joined the Republic of Kiribati.

Tabuaeran—“heavenly footprint”—seems aptly named as the large rolling swells of surf guide our tender into this expansive blue lagoon against the backdrop of palm-dotted beaches.  Even an accomplished painter would be challenged to name all the hues of blue dancing in the water.

The village has only several hundred residents and no running water or electricity. The villagers supplement the coconut and seaweed industry by selling hand-crafted shell-and- coconut-fiber jewelry and hand-crafted knives. Walking along sandy paths, I could hear the gentle rhythm of waves on the shore. Sprinkled throughout the tree-shaded path were hammocks and open-air grass huts with the picture-perfect view of fishing boats and the lagoon. The air, thick with humidity, was tempered by an occasional breeze under the shade of coconut palms, breadfruit, jack fruit, and papaya trees. Happy children played and sang Christmas carols in the single school house while the adults peddled their wares, waving hello and singing.

Sadly, several articles suggest that the rising ocean levels are infiltrating the fresh water supply of the islands in this chain, so the population will need to relocate, possibly to an island in Fiji chain.  I felt honored to share an afternoon in this idyllic place, reminded of the peace found in nature, community, and family.

All photos taken by NDMignone 2015. All rights reserved.

Austin: The Sequel

Here, I continue the analogy of comparing cities in which I have lived to lovers.

Austin and I were first introduced about 12 years ago while I was still involved with San Diego. Austin in May is hot in a literal way, but I was easily charmed by our first date to see Willie Nelson play at Stubbs. By the winter solstice that same year we became a couple, a hot-and-cold dynamic for the next year and a half. Eventually, we drifted apart, as I moved on to uncharted waters.

Now, returning to Austin feels like any reunion with an ex-[insert appropriate title here], many years after a tumultuous break-up and some rekindling attempts over the intervening decade. I feel both excitement and caution.

Recognizing that anyone with a few relationships under the belt will reflexively enter the trap of comparison with past experiences, I also acknowledge this habit serves as a sword and shield, depending on the characteristic being referenced. Certainly, this applies to any new relationship, not just one entering a sequel phase. By comparing, one may be trying to avoid any semblance of a past unpleasant experience; or, a current lover's habits may raise warning flags for a behavior trip from which a few souvenirs have already been acquired, and you are trying to protect yourself this time around.

In the spirit of fun comparisons, Austin and NYC share some similarities. For instance,

NYC is known as Gotham, which plays an important role in Batman movies; Austin is known as Bat City because of the millions of Mexican free-tail bats residing under its bridges. Both cities have at least one river as a point of reference and recreation: NYC has the East River and the Hudson; Austin has Town Lake, a dammed up part of a river. Also, both cities are incredibly crowded with horrible traffic, and both cities attract musical talent, hipsters, tourists, and food trucks. One major difference, though, is that Austin's main businesses are high tech, the University, and politics. Another difference is the appearance that tattoo parlors outnumber Starbucks in Austin, whereas nail salons outnumber Starbucks in Manhattan. 

Compared to a a budding romance where everything feels new, exciting, and over-the-moon, going back to a former lover carries a bittersweet revelation: on one hand familiarity sits like a comfortable pair of jeans, while on the other hand the familiarity lacks the intoxicating novelty of discovering something new. Such a situation asks more of both parties because novelty has been supplanted with memories unearthed from a mental archaeological dig. Often, these excavation images of then-and-now comparisons will overtake a relationship before it can be viewed as it exists now. Then, the relationship begins with expectations of what should have stayed the same, and trepidation as to what may not have changed. Under the burden of such expectations, how does one ever invite surprise?

“If you want to recreate the world, look at it with fresh eyes.” 

                                                                     --Quote from the Vedic tradition.

The challenge of viewing a person, a place, or experience without the filter of memories

can be tempered by looking first at ourselves, with fresh eyes. If we do do not want our relationships to be "the same dances in the same old shoes" where we "keep on singing for the sake of the song" [Reciting from The Eagles, After the Thrill Is Gone], then an adventurous spirit and attitude may assist. Coming back to a known point of reference can show just how much we have grown, and just how compassionately we can accept the parts that haven't, without judgment as to how we think it should be. Certainly go to old haunts with a thrill of seeing how it has changed, but observe with what the Buddhists call a beginner's mind. Then, everything will be as unique as every sunrise and every sunset.