cook islands
When friends heard we were going to the South Pacific, someone highly recommended Roratonga on The Cook Islands, out in the Pacific between French Polynesia and New Zealand (where we were also going on this trip).
Unfortunately (or fortunately), we had already been to Tahiti and were completely spoiled by the beauty of French Polynesia. Roratonga is far less expensive than Tahiti, but it also does not, in my opinion, measure up to the dramatic landscapes and sea life of French Polynesia. It was fine, the water warm, not as clear as we've seen in the Caribbean or Tahiti . . . and we didn't see much sea life.
But we had a serious problem that truly shadowed our trip: within a few days of our arrival, my daughter was so sick that she had to be hospitalized in Roratonga. She was misdiagnosed with strep throat and, as a result, was fading because the drugs they gave her exacerbated her illness. Our insurance was (and still is) with Kaiser Hospital in California. I called them from Roratonga, explained our location in the middle of the South Pacific, explained the situation — basically my daughter's throat was almost swollen closed and she was having trouble breathing. Without hesitation, the Kaiser representative I was talking with said, "We will air evacuate her out. Do you want to go home, to New Zealand, Australia, or where. We will get her right now. Tell us what you want us to do." This still brings tears to my eyes.
Because of the breathing problem, Roratonga doctors said it would be dangerous to fly her anywhere. When I wasn't in the hospital, I was on the internet feeding in her sympoms, decided that there was another illness identical to hers, read that a misdiagnoses was relatively common, read that the treatment for one was harmful to the other disease. At the same time, the women who ran the lodge we were staying in (to the left . . . and I will find the name to put here as it was a charming place to stay right on the beach), said they were concerned, that they knew the hospital sometimes DID misdiagnose people, referred us to their personal physician.
I briefly met with their physican, explained the symptoms, he agreed that it was took my daughter from the hospital that day, got her to our lodge. She slept soundly all night, the next day we saw the new doctor. He recommended a hospital in New Zealand, gave her permission to fly, and we left within 24 hours.
This is also a story on how to raise a traveller. My daughter has been on the road since she was six months old, with her first trip being snow camping at Mt. Shasta, California where she crawled over snow-covered pinecones without a whimper. She was given medicine to heal her in New Zealand, we found a stunning hotel on the waterfront of Devonport, New Zealand (a ferryboat ride across from Auckland). Because the dollar was strong then, we had a suite that had a bedroom and a separate sitting room overlooking the harbor. My daughter slept for a few days. I wanted to fly her home so she could completely heal and we would continue travelling at another time. The response was an adament "No. We'll go home. I'll get better, and I'll be mad that we are not still travelling. We stayed on the road for another six weeks. We just took it easy, stayed in high-end lodging, ate well, slept a lot.
Devonport is one of the sweetest towns in the world: lots of bookstores next to pubs next to fine shopping next to excellent restaurants.
Reading departure signs in some big airport