Rarotonga, Female Sailors, Bars and Climate

How my solo travel loneliness led to an unforgettable connection with Polynesian seafarers and woke me up to the most important existential issue of our time.

Photo: Farhana Huq

After a month of traveling in Fiji, I headed to Bali for what I hoped would be the Eat, Pray, Love leg to my sabbatical, a much-needed break I was taking after 10 years of founding and running a nonprofit. Though Bali was a surfer’s paradise like no other, it wasn’t paradise in other respects. I quickly found myself amongst chaotic streets full of noisy motos, surfing in an ocean full of plastics and dodging loud Ozzies who moved through Kuta as if they owned it. Unsure of the energetic match between myself and this tiny surf haven, I flash backed to the advice my friend Tim, the fisherman, had given to me back in Fiji. I had shared with him my longing to visit Tahiti to pay homage to the roots of its dance and music, which I loved and had been studying for some years. But it was too expensive. Upon hearing this, Tim suggested I go to a place called Rarotonga in the Cook Islands. Often referred to as Tahiti’s English-speaking cousin, Raro, as Tim called it, had a rich dance and music culture similar to Tahiti. After a few weeks in Bali feeling a bit like a sardine in a tin box moving from one packed surf camp to another, I’d take Tim’s advice and redirect my travels back to the Pacific Islands, destination Rarotonga.

I managed to get an accommodation in a one-room, wooden bungalow with a small loft directly in front of the beach. Built on a platform of beams, it had a sea green roof and light grey, wooden sides. It looked out over two short palms which were planted close to its railing. Beyond was a beach whose white sand blended with small chunks of corals and met brown rocks bulging from a gentle shoreline as the reef exposed itself in low tide.

My bungalow was part and parcel of a group of 3 other bungalows owned and maintained by an artist couple from Hawai’i who made their retirement income off rentals of the units. Paul was a musician in his 60s. He had a gentle presence and eyes only for Leilani. Leilani was a petite woman with long, brown hair who wore a small flower on her left ear to signify she was married. A visual artist, she drew large fish in iridescent blues and greens on canvas. She had a secret stash of Tahitian pearls of varying luminosity that she offered at groundbreaking prices from the foyer of her home. She was also very connected with the culture and traditional ways of life on Raro.

The bungalows were built right next to one another and shared a courtyard made of sand interspersed with splotches of grass. The sanded area then met grassy turf where small palms and other native trees were planted, each tree surrounded by borders of circles of white sand. There was a square gazebo and picnic table with two reclining wood chairs to chill. There were ample papaya trees which I did not hesitate to pick from for breakfast, slicing them in half to reveal their salmon interior and blackish grey, tapioca-like seeds. There were avocado trees, medium-sized palms, taller green trees and shrubbery lining a quiet paved road which led down to the lagoon, the main location in town for much of the tourist activities. Taking in the slow, lax pulse of the island, it felt like a small piece of heaven and a welcomed respite from the chaos of Bali.

As beautiful as Rarotonga was though, it felt lonely. It was a place for couples or families more than single travelers. I realized early on I was going to have to put effort into making connections. I tried to make friends with my neighbors, a couple from England, but they only said hello and good morning, asked what I was up to in the day, and pretty much kept to themselves. No invites. No group socializing.

One day I was walking on the side of the road when a bald, stocky, muscular, young man on a motorcycle pulled over and asked me if I wanted a ride. Why not I thought? It was a bit of a walk. At the time, I did not understand accepting a ride from this particular guy on this island might be code for something else. In my naivete, I hopped on his bike and off we went. As we pulled up to the property, I thanked him for the ride and chatted for a bit. I learned he was from one of the outer islands, a place I’d later learn, known in particular for its lasciviousness and free spirit. He asked me if I wanted to go out for an island night. In Raro, island nights are traditional shows of dance and music which are hosted at a different hotel each night. Eager to experience Raro’s rich music and dance culture, I gladly accepted the offer. As said goodbye to him and headed back to my bungalow, I ran into Leilani, excited to tell her about my day. “I met a nice guy that gave me a ride on his motorcycle,” I said. “And we are going to go to an island night together.”

“Oh what’s his name?” she asked, delighted that I had made a new connection. Upon revealing his name, she nearly fell out of her pareau. Let’s just say he was known as quite the ladies’ man on the island. I still went to the island night when he showed up on his motorcycle and enjoyed the show. After, I wished him a polite goodnight and walked back to my bungalow. He looked perplexed, to say the least. Leilani, in her protective “auntieness”, had some words with her friends on the island as well, who had some words with the young man, and I was never approached again for the remainder of my time there.

From then on, I discovered a bike on the grounds and ventured out to nearby beaches. I did the famous lagoon tour where I learned to wrap a pareau in various ways and watched island men husk coconuts in an awe-inspiring display of masculinity. I even rode ATVs in the middle of the island through the rainforest. I took a trip to Aitutaki, the outer atoll, known also for its beautiful sand bars and absolutely pristine waters. I sea kayaked alone to the island where they filmed Survivor. Though there were waves in Raro, the surf was for highly advanced surfers only, comprised of thick waves breaking further out in the ocean over shallow reefs. So unlike Bali where there was a plethora of waves for any and every kind of surfer to choose, I was not able to surf in Raro. Instead, I immersed myself in honing the myriad of classical Indian dance compositions I never had time to work on and practiced my Tahitian Ori repertoire religiously. Though I deeply appreciated the solo time, I couldn’t help but wish I had some people to share in the adventure.

Luckily, Leilani helped a lot in this regard, chatting with me in the mornings, taking me with her to town on occasion as she ran errands, and ensuring I was looked after. She had the skinny on all the important events happening on the island, including the impending arrival of a fleet of Polynesian voyaging canoes guided by traditional celestial navigators. They were making their way from Aotearoa (New Zealand) to Hawai’i via the South Pacific islands as part of a project to raise awareness about the impact of global warming on island nations. We got word of their arrival and joined the island community to welcome the valiant seafarers. We went to an area of the island shaded with many trees and looked out as seven double hulled, hand crafted, wooden voyaging canoes with red and white sails emerged in the distance. It looked like something out of an old picture book. Each canoe was comprised of crew from their respective lands: Cook Islands, Samoa, Tahiti, Hawai’i, Aotearoa, and Fiji. There was a Pan Polynesian crew as well. We welcomed their arrival with festivities of traditional music, dance, heartfelt speeches and lots of food. They brought with them a sense of community and connection, and an energy that dispelled any loneliness I may have been feeling there.

With about a week to go on Raro, I had finally settled in to a content rhythm and had just enough left in my budget to rent a car. Now I could actually get around at night. One night, alone in my bungalow after a solitary sunset, I hemmed and hawed about whether to go by myself to an island night at one of the bars downtown. I felt the same emotions one would feel before the first day of school. Would I meet anyone? What if I sat there alone and looked like a fool? I convinced myself to just go, reminding myself that if I felt uncomfortable, I now had a car and could just leave.

When I arrived to the bar, the dancing and drumming was in full effect. Gorgeous women in coconut shell bras, feathered hair ornaments and tiny pareaus tied in a dainty knot at the waist danced alongside muscular men with patterns of black Polynesian tataus (tattoos) adorned on their chest and thighs. I tried to find a place to sit as soon as possible. I noticed there was a woman sitting alone at a big round table in front of the bar stools. Like me, she had brown skin and long, curly brown hair. She looked like she could be my cousin. Perfect. I’d sit next to her. As intermission came, she turned to introduce herself. “Hi! I’m Nofo,” she said. “I’m a sailor. From Tonga!”

And that’s how I would meet the (eventual) first female licensed captain from the Kingdom of Tonga who at the time, arrived as part of the fleet of voyaging canoes we had just welcomed a few days prior. It felt like I had hit the connection jackpot and that I was in the presence of a Polynesian celebrity. In the days that followed, not only did Nofo invite me on the canoes to meet all the other voyagers, but she’d sail with her fleet to San Francisco the next year, traveling over 11,000 nm in total without reliance on fossil fuel energy. I’d partake in their welcoming ceremony with First Nations as they arrived to Ohlone territory (San Francisco). Then I’d join Hinemoana, the Pan Polynesian canoe on which Nofo sailed, on a small leg of their journey down the California Coast. Who knew the only thing that stood between loneliness and a once in a lifetime journey was a car rental and a self-pep talk through first day of school jitters?

14 years ago when I met Nofo, she and her crew were sailing their canoes across the Pacific Ocean to raise awareness on ocean acidification, global warming, and the importance of solar energy sources. She was also keeping her ancestral traditions of celestial navigation alive, attempting to revive and pass on the traditions to future generations. At the time of our meeting, average ocean surface level temperatures were .5 degrees higher than average. Today, they are around 1.2 degrees higher than average, a record high in surface level ocean temperatures. The graph below shows average surface level temperatures of the ocean from 1880–2000 and just beyond.

Data source: NOAA, 2024

While my tale ended in a personal victory over solo travel loneliness, and an unexpected connection with a unique and incredible indigenous seafaring community, I wish the voyagers could claim equal victory for the ocean and their ancestral islands. The voyagers were using art and tradition to put climate change front and center in their own voice through their beautiful journey. All. Without. Fossil. Fuels. And yet today, our ocean is at a record level of warming. Who’s responsible? According to a 2023 report from EDGAR (Emissions Database for Global Atmospheric Research), China, the U.S. and India are the top three emitters of CO2 (carbon) and CH4 (methane), the main greenhouse gasses responsible for warming our oceans and atmosphere.

The actions we take in the next five years will be critical for our goal of reaching a zero emissions future. The key path to attaining this vision involves stabilizing concentrations of CO2, a gas that concentrates for a long time in our atmosphere and reducing CO2 emissions to zero. Doing this requires reducing our dependence on fossil fuels and using alternative energy in how we make our countries run. If Nofo and her fleet of seven wooden, voyaging canoes could travel 11,000 nm across the Pacific Ocean using only solar, wind and traditional navigation techniques in our modern era, what is possible for us in the global north to reach our destinations and goals in gentler ways? Perhaps it’s time to embrace the idea of seafarers as wayshowers, here to remind us of the original ways humans designed and lived in harmony with nature, and not in exploit of her

Farhana Huq is a Social Entrepreneur, Executive Coach, Global Explorer and Terra.do Fellow and Founder of @browngirlsurf

Note: Names of some individuals have been changed to respect their privacy.