Birthday Wishes in the Kingdom of Tonga

Painted banners crisscrossed the road, balloons floated from downtown storefronts, ringing kettle drums beat out the “Happy Birthday” song.........although I wasn't perched next to the King when he blew out his birthday candles, I have to say that I was thoroughly impressed with the birthday bonanza in Nuku’alofa. Royalty sure know how to throw a party, especially when they are commemorating an 88th birthday of a highly regarded monarch. Tongataupo was decked out in all its glitter and glam for the week long gala affair, also known as the Heilala festival. Excited locals came from near and far, shuttled in on buses, sitting on top of their neighbors’ cars and trucks, huddled together on horses and donkeys: some walked, some bicycled, many hitched, but all arrived in downtown Nuku’alofa at 9 a.m for the Heilala parade. Tonga time once again interfered......It didn't actually begin until 9:45, allowing plenty of time to sample local savories and snacks sold out of card boots, rusty wagons, and ramshackle street stalls along the dusty main street. Everyone was in high spirits, enjoying the fine, sunny weather and socializing with family and friends. Kids ran around with ice cream dripping off their chins, guzzling sweet, cola drinks and weaving in and out of slow moving vehicles. Indolent mothers sat under shaded coconut trees, fanning themselves with tapa mats and catching up on local gossip while their husbands either attempted to chase the kids or wandered off towards the cold beer. It was a fine time to sit back and observe Tongan life slowly pass by.

With only a short delay, the parade began with a bang....quite literally. The lead car, complete with flashing red lights and sirens, broke down in a cloud of smoke and had to be pushed off to the side of the road, allowing the rest of the festivities to progress. In the following forty minutes, as the parade ambled through Nuku’alofa passages, we were dazzled with energetic marching bands, garishly decorated floats, and truly hilarious attempts at hip hop dancing and boyish entertainment. As many small towns do, Tonga hosted a queen pageant to display it's prize collection of wholesome, talented young ladies. Miss Heilala was up for grabs, a title fervently vied for by thirteen sweet Tongan lasses. They danced covered in coconut oil, they sang Tongan love songs, they swayed their hips on the catwalk, and, to complete the competition, they each posed on top of their own float, coyly waving to their fans. In order to pay for the massive expenses incurred during the pageant, many of the contestants are sponsored by whole villages or entire islands. For instance, there was a Miss Heilala Eua’, a Miss Heilala Ha’apai, and a Miss Heilala Blowfish (represented by one of the main bars in town). In addition, there were several contestants from overseas, including New Zealand, USA, Australia, and Fiji. I’m not sure who won in the end, but each young lady gave it her best try and it was certainly an event not to miss.

Contrary to prior beliefs, we were unable to sneak into the King's special birthday feast. Although we tried our best to convince the young security guard that we were of noble blood and were expected by the King himself, he did little more than laugh at us and raise his eyebrows in disagreement. However, to justify our previous attempts of mingling with the royals, we were allowed to stand at the red iron gates and watch the joyful celebration beyond. In truth, I was more mesmerized by the extreme loads of food passing through the gates than I was with the music and dancing on the palace front lawns. No wonder the royal family members are all overweight and diabetic! The amount of rations that were shuttled in for a simple lunch was enough to feed a pack of starving lions (or at least satiated a dorm room full of hungry backpackers). Thinking back to the States though, I have no room to criticize. When my family gets together in Kentucky, the tables and counters full of tasty delights quite fairly resemble the mass loads that the King managed to accumulate.

After realizing that we wouldn't be helping the King cut the birthday cake, we hung around the palace for just a bit longer and then spent a few hours “window shopping” around town. Although the stores were busy and crowded with various odds and ends, there was nothing that sparked my usually eager shopping tendencies. Many of the shops were “multi-purpose” stores, the type where you could buy two minute noodles, have your shirt stitched, rent a pirated Steven Seagal video, or buy a rusty screwdriver with a missing handle. Most of the store space was full of brightly colored bolts of fabric and material, presumably used for clothing and other household necessities. This could be the reason that so many Tongan clothes look just like their curtains and/or bedspreads.

The clothing style in Tonga is much like that of other South Pacific islands as most islanders favor loose, light materials. Tongan men wear a tupenu, a cloth like skirt that ties around the waist and goes below their knees. Many men and school boys also wear a ta‘ovala, a very attractive traditional mat that is very short and worn around the waist. The mat is tied with a kafa, or Tongan string made from coconut fiber. While not uncommon to wear slacks and jeans, most women prefer to wear the more comfortable option of dresses and skirts. Long, flowing skirts, usually of a very colorful and vibrantly patterned material, are often accompanied by a ta‘ovala, quite similar to the type that males wear. Boys and girls wear the same clothing styles as their elders, especially to school and formal events. Although it was tempting to buy some pretty wrap around skirts, simply to wear over a bikini on the beach, I couldn’t find any that were quite my style……or the appropriate size.

Later that night, after a short jog around the island and lazy hour long nap, we once again hitchhiked into the city center, this time to wander around the much talked about block party. Every Tongan had been raving about for weeks so we figured there was something worth seeing. Such enough, it was an event to end all future festivities! The downtown streets were blocked off and several small grandstands and stages had suddenly sprung up along the corners and alleyways. Church choirs, boy bands, and somebody's attempt at an acappella group entertained the masses long into the night. Rain came but nobody rushed for cover or ended their evening of fun. We stayed out in the drizzle, dancing and singing along with off tune karaoke and cheering on the stage performances. UB 40, Shania Twain, and Celine Dion were popular choices for the eager and animated singers. Young lovers swayed hand-in-hand while tiny kids clapped their hands and sat on top of Daddy’s shoulders. It would have been difficult not to enjoy yourself. After singing along to some good ol’“Red, Red Wine” tunes, Gwenda and I pushed through the crowd and grabbed some seats under an umbrella. We were soon accompanied by some very friendly, though obviously very drunk, members of the Peace Corps. These young men had been teaching in Tonga for several months and had plenty of stories to share over several cheap Japanese beers. Although the crowd was still thick and the music continued to pulse down the streets, Gwen and I called it an early night. We wished our Peace Corps friends luck, watched them hobble off under the influence of the 10% alcohol, and hitched a ride home to Tony's electric green guesthouse.

Surprisingly, the ferry to Eua' left at 12:30 sharp the following afternoon, crushing my belief that all modes of transportation left two hours late. We arrived to the jetty early in the morning and were able to grab some seats next to the window. Past experience led me to believe that the ferry would soon be overcrowded and packed full of chickens, old furniture, and who knows what else. My presumptions came true and our ferry was soon crammed high to the ceiling. Locals were left to sit on the roof and hang out the windows of the derelict boat. I could only hope that they had good insurance in case things turned nasty out on the open ocean. Fortunately for me and my delicate ocean stomach, the ride to Eua' was smooth and only slightly breezy. Taina, the owner of the our guesthouse, met us at the harbor, whisked us up the road, and we were soon unpacked into our cute bungalow and drinking tea with the children.

Taina's Guesthouse was located a bit outside of town, an hours walk to the beach and down the hill from the popular scenic lookouts. We only had a few days to spend on Eua’ since I was soon flying back to New Zealand, so we were eager to see some of the sights. Eua’ is extremely different from the other islands in Tonga as the topography is hilly and the climate much resembles that of a rainforest. The rainy and often misty weather creates a perfect environment for growing bananas, oranges, and other tasty tropical fruits. This, I found out all too well one afternoon. Gwenda and I attempted to walk to the “rock garden,” a much talked about highlight on the island. We decided it was directly down the road and set off with the hopes of reaching our destination in two hours time. Nope….we were off by just a bit. Two hours later we were still tromping through orange plantations, tripping over banana trees, and dashing in and out from the cover of palm trees as rain threatened to end our trek. Luckily, we managed to hitchhike with a nice family on their way back to town. They insisted we take handfuls of oranges as a take away treat and dropped us off right on Taina’s doorstep. With that warped adventure behind us, we decided to book an island tour to make certain we didn’t miss the hot spots and to deter the looming prospect of getting stuck in a banana plantation once again.

Taina’s colorful friend, Teema, picked us up the following and shuttled us to the “Rock Garden,” a gorgeous hill overlooking the ocean. The area was full of wild horses and huge, black rocks - hence the name Rock Garden. An incredible archway and scenic cliff were also nearby. I had a brush with death when my camera fell over the cliffside in a silly attempt to capture the perfect picture. Luckily, in only fell a few feet over the side instead of careening hundreds of feet to the crashing ocean floor. After cunningly devising a plan, Gwenda held my legs while I leaned over to scoop it to safety. Only afterwards did I think that my travel insurance probably didn't cover cliff jumping.

The rest of the afternoon was spent driving around the island, stopping at some massive trees on top of the hills overlooking Eua’, exploring some slippery caves, and, finishing our day on top of the cliffs on the opposite side of the island. This time I made sure to stay far from the side of the cliff to prevent any unfortunate accidents but was still able to snap some stunning pictures.

Unfortunately, I had to leave the following morning on the ferry back to Tongataupo. The weather was quite rainy and windy the previous evening and we heard several reports that the ferry would be leaving earlier that the 5 a.m. scheduled departure. Just to be sure it didn’t leave without me, I arrived at the harbour an hour early. Luckily, Tania’s husband was close friends with the captain and I was able to sleep in the captain’s quarters until the ferry departed. The trip back to the mainland wasn’t quite as smooth as I had hoped, and although I was drugged with plenty of anti-seasickness meds, others were not so fortunate. There were a few upset tummies that morning, one of whom ended up sitting right behind me…..I don’t have to explain the end of that story. As the waves picked up and we were tossed about the cabin in pitch blackness, the elderly lady beside me calmed all of our fears by getting out her rosary beads. That didn’t help matters much! I actually almost kissed the sand when we finally docked in Nuku’alofa, but we arrived with the boat still intact and all passengers accounted for.

My flight to Auckland was several hours away, leaving me plenty of time to scour the town for souvenirs and visit my favourite coffee café one last time. The staff at Tony’s guesthouse let me nap for several hours in one of the spare bedrooms before ushering me to the airport. That was an adventure in itself! Taco, one of Tony’s new drivers attempted to lure me into a romantic arrangement by singing Tongan loves songs for the duration of the endless ride. Unfortunately, he actually attempted to pull over to further profess his feelings. At this point I had to end the friendly American stance and be blatantly rude. I must have been rather blunt for Taco didn’t speak to me for the rest of the ride and, after dropping me off on the curb, he drove away with squealing tires. Pity the girl that marries him.

Soon after I found the check-in counter, I was approached by a sweet Tongan lady, who shyly asked if I could help her with her luggage. She was visiting family in New Zealand and was bringing them some special gifts. However, she was already over her kilo allotment and didn’t have room to carry the rest of her gifts without being charged. Since I only had a very small daypack, could I please carry the extras in my luggage? As a seasoned traveller, I know that this is something that you never do, for obvious safety reasons. In this case though, she was just so darn cute, I couldn’t say no. ( I was in Tonga for goodness sake. What could happen in Tonga?) Nodding eagerly, I followed her over to the corner where her massive stack of luggage awaited. Thinking I would be carrying homemade dresses or perhaps some nice woven bags, I stood back and waited for her to give me the goods. Ha - I should have guessed! I was suddenly presented with 16 kilos of cooked and foiled taro, a plant quite similar to our white potato. It was all so funny that I started laughing and soon had tears running down my face. The lady didn’t know what I was giggling at and started to look worried, but I just smiled and staggered off to the check-in desk, wobbling under the weight of my boiled carbohydrates. The gentleman who checked my baggage seemed highly doubtful that the boxed taro belonged to me and wasn’t going to let me on the plane. I tried to keep the straightest face possible and, when questioned, I simply explained that I was a chef and intended to stock up my freezers with the tasty taro root for my restaurant patrons. I even asked him if he wanted a card from my restaurant, which he declined. He did however wish me luck with my endeavour and promised to visit my South Pacific style restaurant if he ever came to Chicago. Whew!


The plane ride to Auckland was only two hours and I was kept entertained by my seatmate, who was a huge, jovial church minister. He took up two entire seats and part of my seat as well, but he was incredibly friendly and chatty. I left the plane with his email, in case I ever returned to Tonga, and his departing gift of a pocket bible. He made sure that I collected by bags without any hassle and wished me luck with my continued journey. I found the taro lady and handed over the renowned box of plant roots. Before I could escape, she insisted that I take some along with me and started filling up a bag of my own. I tried to decline, claiming that I ate way too much taro while in Tonga and just couldn’t eat anymore for awhile. My efforts were pointless and I walked away with three foil wrapped logs of taro tucked under my arm.

Since our plane landed at midnight, there were no longer any buses running into the city and I didn’t want to shell out extra money for cab fare. Luckily, Auckland has one of the best airports in which to spend the night and I even had a blanket with me. Every cent counts!! I left Auckland the following morning for a little town east of Rotorua. I decided to delay my plane ticket back to Australia in order to travel a bit more with Gwenda when she returned to New Zealand. However, she won’t be arriving for another week, allowing me the opportunity to work on a horse farm called Tui Glen, my current "home." I'm helping out with riding lessons, leading children and visitors on horse treks, and, oddly, spending quite alot of time chasing little calves around. This afternoon's attempt is to once again herd in the mamma cows from the mountains and bring them up to the farm for milking. They are the foster moms for the younger calves, a process that is both frustrating and disgustingly dirty. I never never come out of the cow paddocks without being covered in manure, mud, and other gross unmentionable substances. While the cows are not an obvious enjoyment, the horses are all lovely to work with and I'm getting plenty of horseback riding in during the afternoons. Two other girls are working on the farm and we always have a good laugh when we're out in the hills, chasing stray cows or trying to herd the horses in after a night in the mountains. I'm sure I'll have plenty of stories to share when I'm done with this place! More to come! Keep on reading.....

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