Freed from “Jail” (Quarantine) in Nuku’alofa, Tongatapu, the Capital of Tonga
Anticipation was intense as we were awoken at 5 a.m. to be jabbed with a stick up our nose by a male military nurse on the day of our hoped-for release from our 3-day quarantine hotel room. The nurse estimated the COVID test results would be back in a couple of hours. But the 8 a.m, breakfast delivery came and went without a word, and then so did the 1:00 p.m. lunch delivery. At some point it was explained to me that the 5:00 a.m. testing was just the beginning of testing for the entire hotel, and then all of the samples would be sent over to the hospital for evaluation together, and the results wouldn’t be back until later in the afternoon, if then.
We decided that when the time came, we should be entirely ready to be set free, so we packed our bags, stripped the sheets off our bed as requested, and waited. Finally, at about 4:00 p.m., a knock on the door returned our passports to us. We were delighted to see that our passports had already been stamped with a one-month’s visa. We were told we had tested negative, but that we should put our luggage in the hall and then wait another 90 minutes for the luggage of the entire hotel to be transported to the lobby. At that point we would be given our official documents confirming the successful completion of quarantine. Our luggage was sent down immediately, but there were all of the others to wait for. About 4:45, our patience had been tested to the limit, we thought, so I meandered down to the lobby to see what was happening. There, I found about 200 chairs placed socially distanced throughout one end of the lobby, many already filled with people waiting, just like us. I called Rick and suggested he come on down; at least we could wait in the lobby instead of the hotel room. At about 5:40, an official spoke to the crowd in Tongan. A kind man in the next seat over translated the gist of what he had to say: something about a suitcase having to be transported from the airport before we could start being released. So we sat some more. Finally, peoples’ names started to be called, but one by one, up to five minutes apart. This was going to take a long, long time.
What was amazing to Rick and me was that no one showed any sign whatsoever of impatience or irritation at having to wait. Everyone just sat there quietly. This is after having been locked up for 72 hours. Can you imagine this scenario if it were in the United States? Everyone would be complaining amongst themselves about how this process could have been streamlined, and many would be trying to find a way to get themselves out sooner. The crowd’s collective patience made Rick and I feel like it was probably socially unacceptable to be anything but patient, as though we would bring shame to all if we were to say anything. Sort of like being loud in a crowd in Thailand – it is just not done. So like everyone else, we waited. By about 7:30 p.m., the size of the crowd dwindled until there were just a handful of people still waiting for their name to be called, and still, ours had not been called. But then the friendly guy next to us became concerned that we weren’t going to be able to secure a taxi, offered to give us a ride to our nearby hotel, and asked the officials to pull our paperwork so we could be released with him. We got our paperwork and threw our luggage into the back of his truck. His wife gave us a ride to our hotel, called the Lose Lodge (obviously not named with English speakers in mind!)
The Lose Lodge was not really a hotel at all; it was a private home with a few guest houses on the property, one of which looked like maybe it might be a modular building. It contained a small kitchenette, a table, a bed and a bathroom. We had been referred to this place by the woman who rented us the bungalow at our final destination of Vava’u, after our internet search came up empty due to tourist hotel closures related to COVID. The price was right, it was comfortable enough, and the owner took good care of us: she gave us a ride to a nearby restaurant and showed us the way to walk home, and she also arranged for a taxi to the airport for us the next day.
The Chinese restaurant where we ate that night wasn’t that great, but the pickings were slim due to Sunday closures, and at least the food was identifiable, unlike the quarantine food. Most importantly, we were able to indulge in a glass of wine and a beer!
The next morning, we took a walk and began to recall the part of Nuku’alofa we had visited 30 months ago, ending up at the Friends Cafe, located on a prime corner in the heart of the business district. There we were treated with a scrumptious breakfast of food we again recognized. I was also beginning to realize that if I wanted to continue my coffee habit, I was going to have to accustom myself to caffeine again, since no one in the country served or sold decaf.
Walking around Nuku’alofa, we realized there would be plenty of celebrations that day, July 4, because it was the King’s birthday. We walked by the King’s Palace, located right on the shoreline, and saw preparations for lots of festivities. The thought occurred to us that maybe we should stay an extra day to enjoy the festivities. Besides, Rick was intrigued by the idea of taking the 24-hour ferry rather than the airplane to Vava’u, and that didn’t leave until July 6. However, we had been waiting so long to see Cool Change that our desire to see her outweighed our desire to enjoy local experiences, for once, so we decided to fly that day after all. (It was a good thing we decided to fly that day instead of taking the ferry, because the ferry was delayed due to weather, and we also heard it was completely infested with cockroaches!)
In our taxi ride to the airport, I was reminded of some things I had forgotten about Tonga: first, the steering wheel is on the right and you drive on the left! That takes some getting used to. Secondly, the small cemeteries alongside the road contain what look like small, colorful billboards with the names of the deceased, in addition to the headstones. Third, as we passed by the prison, which had no fences and just looked like a few houses gathered together, the taxi driver reminded us that prison here is not like prison in the U.S.; most of the time, the prisoners get to go home on weekends!
When we got to the airport, we discovered that our “get out of jail free cards” in the form of a negative COVID test from quarantine were good for 24 hours, enough time that we didn’t have to be retested at the airport. Had we delayed another day, our Covid test results would no longer have been sufficient to board the plane. The airline counter did not at first find our reservations, and I was referred to a back-office person to fix things, which fortunately, he did. That was lucky – the plane was full and I was glad we were able to squeeze on. It was small prop plane with one seat on one side and two seats on the other, about 15 rows total, if that.
Our rental car owner met us at the airport with his car and first drove us to our bungalow, where we met the property managers and dropped off our luggage. Next, the rental car owner drove us to his home to pick up our rental car, so small that he was concerned we wouldn’t fit ourselves and all our luggage in it. Rick had deliberately made the choice of the smaller car to save gas. It is fine for two people.
We were tempted to drive over to see Cool Change right then, but by then it was the late afternoon on a national holiday so we decided to hold off until the next day. The bungalow is sweet, the perfect size with everything we needed, and in close proximity to the Boatyard. It’s only drawback, as we were to later discover, is that it is located on an extremely windy lagoon, where the Trade Winds whistle from all directions in a constant effort to surround you with a sense of being perpetually immersed in a cyclone. Other than that, the bungalow is fine!
Next up, saying Hello! to Cool Change!