Aitutaki. Photo / Supplied
The Cook Islands may be a favourite for honeymooners, but it may just be the perfect spot for a solo getaway, writes Kyla Geneff.
As the waiter leads me to my table for one, eyes follow, curious and confused. All around, hands are interlocked across white linen tables, and beneath them, feet are intertwined in quiet games. It’s night one, and already, I’m questioning whether solo travelling here was the right choice. It’s clear that everyone in this room is in love, except for me.
Not only am I not in love, but I’m alone, in a place renowned for romantic hideaways and honeymoons.
Sprinkled across the South Pacific Ocean, the Cook Islands sits between New Zealand and Hawaii in the form of 15 stunning yet unspoiled islands. It’s a place where time moves slowly, tradition runs deep, and the ocean rests calmly in shades of cyan and aqua against coconut-covered shores.
Underrated compared to its distant neighbours, French Polynesia and Fiji, the Cook Islands are home to around 14,000 people – 10,000 of whom live on Rarotonga, the main island. And while it’s easy to assume this is a place made only for couples or families, my time here proved otherwise.
As I stand alone on the side of the main road, fresh off the plane from a chilly Auckland morning, I no doubt stand out – overdressed in a tracksuit beneath the beaming sun, towing a suitcase that yelled chronic overpacker.
A pickup truck slows across the street. A woman, whom I’d later learn was named Theresa, leans out the window – wispy brown hair clinging to her damp forehead in the humidity.
“Darling, are you okay?” she calls.
“I’m waiting for the bus,” I yell back.
“Oh, please, get in,” she insists. “The bus runs on island time – who knows when it’ll come.”
I hesitate. Was I really on my first solo trip about to break the golden rule: don’t get into a stranger’s car? But as I step closer, her smile is warm, eyes glistening brown and kind, something you’ll find in most faces you look into in the Cook Islands.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
That’s the thing about the Cook Islands, you don’t ever really know where you’re going. Addresses don’t exist. It’s a place where getting lost is how you truly arrive.
I tell her the vague directions I’d been given, in hopes they’d mean more to her than they did to me. “About 12 minutes anti-clockwise from the airport, coast side, past the fish pub.”
She looks at me. We both laughed. It was clear neither of us had any idea where I was headed.
“Kia Orana, Kyla,” she giggles. “You’re going to love it here.”
Kia Orana is the traditional greeting in the Cook Islands. It means “may you live a long and fulfilling life”, and it’s woven into the soul of this place. Every local you meet will warmly offer it to you, making you feel seen and welcomed at every passing, something that brings comfort to a solo traveller’s journey.
Rarotonga is the beating heart of the Cook Islands. A compact island paradise wrapped in sparkling shores and cloaked in verdant jungle that spills down rugged mountain peaks. It bustles, in a remote island kind of way, with lively markets, beach bars, watersports, and boat tours. But resting beyond its sun-soaked coasts, Rarotonga invites you to meet its other side: one where dense rainforest hums with birdsong and damp earth scents the air.
I join Bruce, his daughter, and a few other travellers on Pa’s Cross Island Trek. Once led by Pa himself (who retired after guiding his 5000th trek), it’s now run by Bruce, his nephew.
As we set off, it becomes clear this is no casual walk. Within the first kilometre, I am drenched in sweat, clinging to tree roots to pull myself up the almost-instantaneous 400m incline (leisurely stroll? I think not). The next four hours has us hiking beneath a thick canopy of towering palms and ancient hardwoods, sampling island fruits as we go. Around us, vines snake up tree trunks while butterflies flutter through the humid air.
Trudging down steep terrain, across shallow waterfalls, I chat with two fathers from Tasmania. We swap stories, laugh and reminisce on home, an unexpected but welcome connection after days of only fleeting hellos and goodbyes – a part of solo travel I quickly grow tired of. It is here, in the heart of the island, that I discover a more intimate Rarotonga, one that gently embraces those who come alone, a place where connection arrives unannounced.
A 40-minute flight north from Rarotonga brings me to Aitutaki. Before landing, all I knew was that its lagoon had been named the most beautiful in the world by Lonely Planet co-founder Tony Wheeler. For me, that was reason enough to get there.
From above, its waters shimmer as shades of electric blue melt together, dotted at the edges with palm-fringed motus (small, low-lying islets). Beyond the reef, the lagoon drops away into the velvet navy hues of the open ocean.
My first stop? The police station… where I handed over $2.50 and received my very own Cook Islands moped licence. From then on, my days begin with my moped and I (which I may have asked a passing local how to start), following empty roads with no real plan. I dodge coconut crabs, call back “Kia Orana” to locals, and pull over wherever I please, like at a house with a hand-painted sign out the front that read “island fruits and coconut bread sold here”.
Aitutaki is more secluded than Rarotonga, and with that seclusion, the loneliness of solo travel can sneak up on you. Yet in those quiet moments, I find comfort in the gentle pulse of island life; the sound of waves folding onto the shore, the zip of a moped passing by, the piglets foraging amongst the grass in the front yard of my Airbnb, and racing roosters to the base of the mango tree every time one dropped.
Solitude, I realise here, doesn’t mean isolation.
The Cook Islands are the kind of place that’s so beautiful, it makes you ache. Neither words nor photos do it justice.
So, did I fall in love like those people in the restaurant on my first day? Not exactly, however, I did fall for the place, its people and the thrill of going alone.
You may arrive in the Cook Islands alone, but you won’t be lonely. If people don’t find you, peace always will.
The writer travelled at their own expense.