Feeling blue

by Michelle Thunders (New Zealand)

A leap into the unknown Niue

I exist in a world where colour is minimal, sound is overwhelming noise and existing hurts. Depression is not just sadness, it is the inability to find pleasure, the constant tiredness, apathy and blandness of existence. Niue was not going to cure my melancholy, more a reprieve for my family who endure me, an attempt on my part at showing them I want to be better. Niue, a large coral atoll, a rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. No sand, not many people. This is what sold me. Matavai Resort has 180-degree ocean views and is a 5-minute drive from the airport, insufficient time for awkward conversations with fellow travelers but long enough to take in the warmth from the sun, the lack of bustle, the change of scenery. The island is 64km round with no public transport. Ignoring recommendations to hire a car, I decide to explore by bike. Equipped with water, a snorkel and a map I set off on the 20km ride to the north of the island. After about 5km I pass a quarry, trespassing on the territory of a local pack of dogs, they give chase for a short while but are reluctant to leave the confines of their turf. I carry on along the coast, the vast open sea on my left, pausing for water and to watch a pod of dolphins chase tuna in the surf. Feeling the midday heat, the sign for $5 Roti and ice-cold beer is an oasis in the capital, Alofi. Gill’s Indian Restaurant does not disappoint and provides much welcomed sustenance for the subsequent ride through Makefu and Tuapa, passing derelict cyclone damaged buildings reclaimed by nature, secluded swimming holes, tidal pools and sea caves. The roads are quiet, it is early afternoon yet riding under the forest canopy it is easy to be the only living soul in any direction. If cars pass, they slow down, people wave, sometimes birds fly past, there’s faint rustling in the brush, maybe the infamous Uga. Not far past the ANZAC memorial I arrive at the Hikutavake Sea Track. Leaving the bike at the entrance (crime isn’t really an issue on an island of less than 1500 inhabitants), I take the path to Matapa Chasm, the bathing pool of the ancestral Kings of Niue. The chasm has a steep rock face on either side, a small beach and a large boulder for drying wet clothes. I step into the water, wading deeper and submerging all but my snorkel. The clarity of the water is breath-taking with visibility to the bottom of the 25m deep chasm crystal clear and akin to swimming in a tropical aquarium. So many beautiful fish of varying colours and shapes and sizes. An eel pops its head out, its comical grin startling me from within the wall crevice. I lay completely motionless amidst a shoal of transparent ghost fish, absorbing the tranquillity of being under water, time stands still. My ears acclimatise to submersion, I listen to the silence and hear clicking, the chatter of fish communicating in their tropical world. I take a breath and kick down; 5 then 10 metres, the pressure building in my ears. The water alternates between cold and warm and I can see the oily transition as seawater and freshwater mix. My lungs can’t hold any more, I start to swim back up, passing iridescent rainbow creatures, alien looking corals and exotic aquatic plants hiding a wealth of marine life. As I break the surface, I hear voices, local children are scaling the rock face and preparing to jump into the chasm. I watch them for a while, they call to me ‘Your turn next!’ I pull myself out of the water and onto the ledge. I begin to climb up, looking back down into the azure water below, I can see a thousand shades of blue blended to make the most exquisite colour. The sun was hot, my hands gritty from the climb. I looked at the kids, waved and let go of the rock wall, plunging deep into the blueness below. I resurface, blowing water from my nose, I laugh; I am alive, and I am glad.