We
got a little more than we bargained for when we wished for true
adventure, authentic cultural experiences, and undeveloped tourism to
come our way during our stay in Tonga. Tucked away on the most Western
side of the Vava'u group of islands is a little known island called
Hunga. Through someone we previously met in Neiafu, we were able to
arrange to stay with a family living in the one village on Hunga.
(Population 300) The only transportation method for us there was by a
smallish boat owned by the village and dramatically underpowered by an
outboard of what could not have been more than 25 horsepower. This boat
appeared to be full. We should have realilzed by now that full as we
know it is about half-full in these parts. People were literally piled
on every square inch of flat space: on deck, on the roof, on the sides,
and under the small build-up. After some shuffling around, space was
made for us near the stern and we braced ourselves for the ride.
Fortunately, the sea was remarkably calm. After almost two hours at
full throttle we did eventually arrive at Hunga Island. From the jetty,
we scrambled up the hill on a muddy track. (There are no roads or cars
on the island) That is when we first were confronted with... the
outhouse. So, we went on many bush walks during our stay on Hunga
Island.
The village was very primitive and the house we stayed
in was certainly no exception. There it stood, looking almost as
unsightly as the outhouse and in an equal state of filth and disrepair.
The family living in the house seemed to lack any real posessions,
leave a few tattered mats and shabby dishes. Our room, seemingly the
nicest in the house, contained little more than an old, dilapitated,
knob-less dresser and a thin, foam mattress but sported sweeping,
unobstructed views of the yard - complete with starving horse and...
the outhouse.
We filled our four days on Hunga island going on
bush walks, a boat 'tour', playing soccer, and drinking kava. The bush
walks would not only provide relief but also proved quite informative
and entertaining. We were always accompanied by eager, self-appointed
guides (young, local village boys) who had an uncanning ability to get
lost but just as easily could forge a new trail, ushering us along
while hacking down the undergrowth. It was during these walks that we
learned Tongan words for everything we saw and taught in return the
English words. These walks became a regular affair, similar to having
breakfast, lunch and dinner. Unlike the walks, our meals were a whole
lot less adventurous. On many occassions the meal consisted of cookies
and cabin crackers accompanied by super sweet tea made with strands of
grass and lots of sugar. Occassionally, we could 'indulge' in a starch
laden platter of the typical Tongan diet of huge root plants that vary
little from one to the other in taste and texture. These roots are
definitely an acquired taste!
The highlight of our visit to
Hunga was hiring a local guy with a small, wooden boat to take us to a
petite, uninhabited island about half an hour away. We explored the
island on foot, making our way through the thick vegetation to see
expansive views and find isolated beaches. After seeing all the island
had to offer, we settled on the nicest beach ready for a swim and some
rest. Unfortunately, one of the boys who was with us got horribly stung
by what later turned out to be a box jellyfish. He ran out of the water
in excruciating pain, which to the other Tongans with us seemed nothing
but hillarious. From what we have seen, many rural Tongans - no matter
what age - remain child-like, not seeming to outgrow the mental state
of, say, a 12 year old. Our immediate suggestion of dousing the sting
with urine (the folk remedy against jelly stings) was laughed away
(neither of us could go and even so, it would have been completely
faux-pas for either of us to have done it) so the poor kid remained in
pain. We all loaded into the boat and made for the village. At one
point, when the boat driver decided he needed a smoke, the sting
victim, appaulingly, had to fetch the cigarette for him! A frustrating
ending to an otherwise wonderful day. After 4 hours, the pain subsided
for the boy that was stung but he was sporting huge welts.
When
the day came around for us to leave, our host tried to trick us into
staying another one or two nights by saying the early morning boat had
already left. Unfortunately for him, we have been on the road long
enough to smell a scam and we made a run for the boat jetty
immediately. We were half way back to Neiafu before he could realize we
didn't fall for his feeble ploy.
Overall, we had a memorable,
lovely time on Hunga and we were fortunate to see and experience first
hand, true Tongan culture. However, it remains difficult for us to
understand how many villagers are perfectly content filling their days
doing absolutely nothing else than sleeping and eating, lacking
ambition and the ability to think beyond a few days into the future.
