Days 1 & 2: Heathrow - L.A - Tahiti - Cook Islands

So 33 hours and 3 flights after locking the door to 149a we arrived at our guest house on the Cook Islands. We're shattered but very glad to be here, as on first impression Raratonga seems the absolute nuts.

The journey wasn't bad - just a bit, you know, long. The Virgin flight to L.A. was a breeze; only half full and on a plane less than 2 months old which meant everything had that nice 'new car' smell. We then had a 5 hour stopover before the Tahiti flight, so rather than spend a minute longer than was necessary at the world's grubbiest airport we jumped a cab to nearby Manhattan beach to stretch the old pins, take some fresh air and neck some cheap and cheerful sushi ('Octopus' @ 1133 Highland Avenue, Tuna sashimi highly recommended).

Highlight of the trip so far has to be the Ghanian cabby who took us back to the airport. He'd lived in Streatham when he was younger but had to quit London because the weather was making him depressed. A keen observer of international politics, he reckoned Blair used to me 'the maaaaan' but had screwed up royally by teaming up with that dumb-ass George Bush. We didn't argue and tipped him handsomely.

Nine hours later and some hula hula girls were putting flowers in Wend's hair as we left the plane at Tahiti. They did this while swaying to the beat of 3 fat blokes playing little comedy guitars. All very twee, but a lovely welcome nevertheless - and we couldn't help thinking these people could teach the groundstaff at Standsted a thing or two.

We'd loved to have stayed on Tahiti longer, but French Polynesia is absurdly expensive so decided not to leave the terminal. We did however treat ourselves to a pack of Tahitian cheesy wotsits. Very nice they were too.

Anyway, another hour and we were on the final leg of the journey. And 3 hours after that we were paddling in the Pacific.

...now the holiday can really begin.