The first westerners to lay eyes or feet upon Aitutaki sailed there on the HMS Bounty in April 1789, just over two weeks before one of the more famous mutinies in history about 500 miles to the west. That the insurrectionists then had the judgement to zig-zag the commandeered vessel around the South Pacific and eventually to Pitcairn Island instead of this slice of paradise tips my sympathies squarely over to Lieutenant Bligh (admittedly they feared capture and Pitcairn was conveniently misplaced on official maps, which kept them hidden for 18 years, but sill). Bligh also, incidentally, thereafter managed to navigate himself and 18 crew members who remained loyal 47 days and 4,169 miles to Timor in a 23-foot badly overloaded open launch the mutineers dumped him in with meager provisions, a sextant, and a pocket watch (lacking even nautical maps or a compass), losing only one man in the process (to stoning by Tofuan natives). That's no reflection on his likableness or authority as a commanding officer, of course, just a side note of bad-ass seamanship bordering on MacGyveresque.
Later western visitors had the good taste and legal standing to peruse Aitutaki more thoroughly, but it didn't really make a name for itself as a getaway spot until it served as a stopover for the predecessor to Air New Zealand on their "coral route" - a flying boat service between Auckland and Tahiti favored by the rich, famous, and fabulous, at least so say the romantic chroniclers of postwar commercial flight. Before visiting I wondered just how far the word had spread since then - after all if I had heard about it the cat must be fairly well out of the bag.
There are two factors though that limit Aitutaki's buzz within the mainstream tourist circuit.
First, it's hard to reach. Flights from a single origin - Rarotonga - operated by a single airline - Air Rarotonga - service the island a handful of times per day, and many of those have a capacity of only a dozen seats. Add to that Rarotonga's relative remoteness itself - outside of Polynesia you have three options for departure in the southern hemisphere (Auckland, Christchurch, and Melbourne) and only one in the northern (Los Angeles) - and interested visitors will need either a fair amount of time combined with little regard for budget or an inordinate amount of time and compatible existing regional travel plans (that's me).
Second, there's a lack of any coordinated marketing. Rarotonga serves as the focus of the promotional effort for the Cook Islands' government and big businesses, something which requires all the resources the tiny nation of 20,000 has to offer - there's not much awareness left for Raro in the "Pacific island" cordon of the geographically distractible minds of western tourists once they've been pounced upon by touristic juggernauts Hawaii and French Polynesia (Tahiti and Bora Bora form one heck of a branding combination). Aitutaki is left with no budget at all.
Both of these factors stem from a root cause, alluded to above, which is Rarotonga's dominance of Cook Islands politics and resources (the large elliptical capital island even has both kinds of buses around its perimeter: clockwise and counterclockwise). Whether adherence to the traditional tribal patronage of outer islands to their national chiefs or the imported democratic entitlement from being the seat of the national legislature and purse (and home to 75% of the country's population), Rarotonga has final say over international matters concerning Aitutaki. That would be less of an issue were so many Rarotongan resorts not in direct competition with their neighbors to the north, and not so free with their donations to Rarotongan politicians, lawyers, and lobbyists. New entrants too, mostly of the foreign variety, find their aspirations to develop on Aitutaki stymied and rerouted to Rarotonga, and for a price at that. Even if they persist, negotiating a lease from local Aitutaki landowners requires consent of the extended family and takes years at best.
From a purely selfish perspective though the loss to Aitutaki's hospitality industry is the gain of the "independent traveler" seeking to revel in natural splendor while avoiding tourist traps. The satellite map of the massive lagoon alone should be enough to spark cursory research from all but the most hydrophobic. It doesn't disappoint.
Because the fewer than 2,000 local inhabitants have no alternative (following the demise of a banana export scheme 30 years ago) they have managed to make some progress against the best efforts of the federal government, and tourism is the predominant industry on Aitutaki, and perhaps the only real industry at all. I've heard from some who stayed longer than my single week that this causes some resentment below the surface, but superficially I noticed none. The effect of disenfranchisement shows in the island's demographics though - as young adults leave for university and economic opportunity in the associated state of New Zealand (where more Cook Islanders reside than in the Cook Islands themselves), most never to return and those who do only upon retirement, this home for centuries is slowly aging and depopulating, a microcosm of the country as a whole.
The real miracle of the place is that it's the least touristy destination you'll find that depends heavily on tourism. The causes working against developers noted above - cronyism, bureaucratic recalcitrance, and having to coax one tiny shorefront partition at a time - keep the resorts small, usually under 30 units, and the locals free from those obstacles lack the means to open more than modest bungalows or guesthouses. The result is a loose patchwork of lodging ranging from home stays for NZ$40 a night to beach-front villas at NZ$2300 but without any preeminent establishment, location, type, or aesthetic.
Add to that the scale of the island and its lagoon (large, as avowed by yours truly, who decided it would be a good idea to circumnavigate the 22 miles of the main portion on foot in 92 degree humid heat) compared to its guest population (small), and it really does seem relatively untouched and socially old-fashioned. I repeatedly encountered the same fellow visitors, sometimes accepting scooter rides from them, and ordering lunch from a local once is enough to warrant a follow-up conversation in the market the next day. The missionaries of the nineteenth century, especially the Seventh-day Adventists, found the hearts of the natives as fertile as the volcanic soil, and as a result the island is pious (almost too pious - I landed on a Sunday to protesters bearing signs and campaigning for the cessation of the single inbound flight on the sabbath), quiet, and free from modern distractions. I even had to ask my host on the way to the airport my final day whether they had mobile phone service on the island, as I'd not seen one the whole week (they do).
The ultimate reason for coming, modernity aside, is for the jaw-dropping natural setting of the giant lagoon and its surrounding islets. It's hard to represent properly in pictures, as it's expansive and flat, and can't provide the photographic meat front-and-center as I'd like, but I tried. You will be hard-pressed to find a more beautiful backdrop over which to flee from a charging billy goat on a motor scooter your stubborn self finally rented after walking 22 miles in 92 degree humid heat.
Except to Australians looking for a quick island vacation Vanuatu is largely off the radar of most western tourists. It had ample advantage to become a prime South Pacific destination for North Americans and Europeans - Vanuatu was a major US military staging ground during WWII and jointly administered by the UK and France until its independence in 1980. The US though granted statehood to the much closer tropical island chain of Hawaii, France had its eponymous collectivity in Polynesia and a de facto département d'outre-mer in New Caledonia, and the second half of the 20th century saw the UK divest itself of colonies and territories like a hot air balloon with an embarrassment of ballast. The vacationers went elsewhere.
So Vanuatu sits astride the Tropic of Capricorn, a chain of 82 diverse islands free from the taint of tourism except for a few towns and the eco-adventure mecca of Tanna island. Some of the younger generation have learned to hustle a bit for the foreigners' dollars but in typical Melanesian nature they do so gently.
Vanuatu is not some lost kingdom however. The familiar sounds of T.I. and 80's-era Madonna fill the radio waves, and the infrastructure is there to support any traveler not too finicky about exact timetables or electricity. Of special note is the custom of family-owned beach and village bungalows being rented out to and meals prepared for guests. For around US $30 per day one can get a beach-side hut and three tasty square meals. That's what I did, and I liked it, despite my having to in turn provide hundreds of tasty square meals for mosquitoes.
If you're in the region with time on your hands, check it out. It's one of the most relaxing places I've ever been as evidenced by these pictures.
