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Like a red thread, the search for traditional music and traditional dances ran through my daily travel routine. Just like here on Rarotonga. The ladies at the reception recommended the “Cultural Village Tour” in the nearby Te Vara Nui Village. Sceptically I looked into the beaming eyes of the two of them, who wanted to tell me that this was a wonderful program. I had the choice between the two options to book only the Over Water Nightshow with buffet and dinner or a complete program including a visit to the traditional Cook Island Maori village. There I would be able to learn about the history, lifestyle, traditional medical knowledge, navigation techniques, crafts and art of the Maori people. I was insecure. “Night show with buffet dinner” sounded too much like a coffee cruise to me. Alternatively, all they could offer me was dance shows in the various hotels on the island. What did I have to lose? In the worst case I would have to put up with a world choreography designed for tourists and eat an unlovingly prepared meal with tons of other tourists. I took a deep breath, risked it and gave my Go to booking.
In the late afternoon I trotted the few meters along the main road and walked towards the entrance of the “Te Vara Nui Village”. There a friendly and handsome young man in a black suit was already waiting for me. Immediately the word coffee trip crept back into my thoughts and ideas. He asked me to wait a little longer, and when a small number of people had arrived, we were asked to go to a bar on the terrace. There every visitor got a glass of champagne in his hand – (was that a good sign?) – and could sit down at one of the many tables. Here one was used to serve a large mass of people. After some time almost all seats were occupied and there was a confusion of languages, like at the Tower of Babel.
At the next table, a petite lady with a distinguished pale complexion waved to me very energetically and told me to come to her table. Curious I accepted her invitation and changed my place. I learned that mother and daughter, who now also introduced herself to me, were on holidays together. They had the opinion that women should stick together. Since I seemed to be alone, the resolute mum remarked that it would be much more entertaining to spend the next few hours with them both. The mother had come from England to visit her daughter, who lives in New Zealand, and from there they started their journey to the Cook Islands together. It was pleasant to chat
with the two highly educated women, so that now an entertaining afternoon and evening was on the cards, however the program might develop.
No sooner had we really got into the conversation and we were already flushed from our seats and off we went. We followed a slim lady in Maori look out into the lush green garden landscape.
Either in the open air or in the traditionally built huts, the visitors now received vivid information. Most of the time we were in a large group to watch the performances where the Cook-Maoris showed us their skills with which they had been able to survive in a very fast-growing, overpowering nature since time immemorial.
( Bilder 1 und 2)
Among many other things we could see how the Maori of old woven baskets, made clothes, carved utensils, developed navigation techniques and made their medicine from the many different plants, which were often taken up and adopted by the big pharmaceutical companies of the world. The symbiosis opened up for me in which man and nature had been able to profit from each other and survive. The tour was exciting, interesting and entertaining at all times. At some stations, interactive action by the visitors was required. I could feel how my sceptically wrinkled forehead gradually relaxed.
(Bild 3)
Critically and also self-critically the lady who led this tour illuminated the history of the Maori here on the Cook Islands. No topics were left out, starting with the settlement, over the time of the missionaries up to the topic cannibalism. Her origin is Maori, as she explained to the guests, and she has lived in New Zealand for a long time. Extremely eloquent and knowledgeable, she led us through the cultural history of her people.
ook Islands are an independent island state and are freely associated with New Zealand. The people here all speak very good English. But also all islanders speak “the language of the Ancestral Homeland”, the language of their ancestors: Maori, a language that belongs to the Tahitian of the Polynesian language families.
As time went by, the magic of dusk falls on the scenery of this botanical garden. We arrive at the restaurant, built around an artificial lake, where a dinner buffet and an Over Water Night Show await us.
The quality of the buffet exceeds my sceptical expectations. Unknown traditional dishes are presented alternating with western cuisine and stimulate the appetite just by looking at them. It tastes really good to me and I discover unknown delicacies.
When the last plates were cleared and the guests provided with more drinks, the show started. All turned around and looked at the dark shimmering water of the lake
Drums begin to beat dullly and voices call intimidatingly loud and throaty into the vastness of an imaginary rainforest. A raft comes across the lake, the music to it tells that it comes from far, far away.
The sound of the drums thunders dullly in my basin, they announce a battle of forces and so are the dances, warlike and powerful. The male bodies, the play of their muscles seems to consist only of willpower and overpowering strength, their voices, coming from the primeval depths, announce the will to destroy. The wooden sounds of the Pates increase into a staccato, “Hipshaking Drums” is the name of the game in many places, dancers bring their hips and the dancers their legs into a kind of ecstasy. Then, all of a sudden ukuleles are added, spraying joy of life into the ears, harmonious songs join in, more conciliatory sounds fill the night. I mean, to float away with this music and dance away with the wind. Wind and waves, peace and quiet regain the upper hand in the sound scenery.
(Bild 4)
The legend of the travelling warrior Tongaiti is depicted. He had heard of a promising, beautiful, floating island. There he wants to go. He builds a big “Vaka”, a raft suitable for the sea, and sets out with his family and the whole tribe to find this island through the endless expanses of the sea. After countless weeks of searching, he finds it, as described, the island Tumu-Te-Varovaro”, Rarotonga.
When they want to dock there, the islanders meet them hostile and warlike. They try. Tongaiti from their coasts. For days they sail around the island. But the people on the big raft are long tired of the long journey at sea, they are tired and they are hungry. Desperately Tongaiti calls his beautiful daughter. She is supposed to dance for the chief of the Tumu-Te-Varovaro. He hopes that her beauty will soften the heart of the chief and that they may be allowed to go ashore after all. And so it is done. The chief is captured and enchanted by the beauty of the young girl. He falls in love with her immediately. Tongaiti and his people are allowed ashore. The arrival is celebrated with a big party and many dances.
(Bild 5)
I too have long been enchanted by the harmonious songs, beauty and grace of the dancers and their seductive dance. No sooner does it keep me in my chair. I would love to dance along and swing my hips in the unique sound of the music, which can bring the gentle wind and the rhythm of the waves to life.
(Bild 6)
And that’s how it happened. After the show the visitors had the possibility to dance. The dancers of the show went through the rows and animated to join in. You didn’t have to tell me twice and also mother and daughter danced along.
(Bild 7 und 8)
What a nice ending here on Rarotonga. Still humming and dancing I went back to my apartment late in the evening. With colourful pictures and with thoughts of the beauties of the South Seas I happily fell asleep.
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