Rarotonga, in the middle of the Pacific is called Paradise by the locals and with our accommodation right on the beachfront it certainly had a nearly-Paradise feel to it. Our welcome to the island by the transfer staff "Big bus at the end" (no 'Welcome to Rarotonga' or anything and certainly no smile) was pretty typical of shop service. The previous day had been Lindsay's birthday. The flight had taken us over the International date line and so when we landed it was Lindsay's birthday again! Naturally, this meant another romantic meal, and a nearby restaurant did the trick serving a fantastic dish of locally caught fish on cous-cous, and a cajun chicken salad. Scrummy.The Cook Islands don't accept foreign driving licences, so you have to register for a Cook Islands driving licence or sit a test with the Police. On the first day, Ian took his motorbike test and after a strenuous 3 minutes driving around the block, he passed. With the freedom of a moped capable of going up to 25mph, the island was ours to explore. Lindsay decided that as a personal challenge, she would walk the 32 km around the island. Ian stayed in bed. After a few hours later, Ian offered her a lift on the moped which she took having easily completed 16 km of the trip and we went shopping for new flip flops and shorts. A much better use of time!Rarotongian TV was a constant source of amusement, with the only channel on TV showing locally made programmes bearing a striking resemblance to various comedy TV sketched from Britain's 'Fast Show' and 'Phonejacker', as well as Church TV in large amounts. Not much in the way of activity on the island, just a great place to unwind before hitting the US of A. LA here we come…