Eaten alive on the Cook Islands Back to South Pacific front page Rarotonga If you want to go nude on a Cook Islands beach, there is one place in my experience that is just about perfect. Just about, that is, if you can ward off the ravenous mosquitoes. The main island of Rarotonga is fairly busy with tourists, but a quick look at the map shows there is a cluster of uninhabited islets on the east side. It didn't look much to go on from the other side of the planet, as I lay in my garden in London studying a map. But I felt it was worth a try. I booked a beach hut on the northern end of Muri lagoon, which is home to this small cluster of islets. The lagoon is just about the most popular place to stay on Rarotonga, and I knew the chances of finding somewhere completely secluded were slim. But it wasn't much more than a waist-high channel of sea between me and the nearest islet, called Motutapu, the most northerly of the islets, so I waded across in about five minutes and began to explore. The name, incidentally, means sacred ('tapu') island ('motu'). Motutapu is the largest of the islets, about half a kilometre long, and the reef around it is so shallow there is not much chance of swimming or snorkelling, and no chance of sailing or windsurfing. As I rounded the southerly tip and started walking along the ocean-facing side, I soon realised that I was entirely alone and invisible to anyone on the main island. My swimming costume was off and in my bag within five seconds, and I walked on carefully round the rock and sand coastline until I was in the middle of a long stretch of beach. From here I could see a couple of hundred metres in either direction, sufficient distance to get discretely dressed if I saw anyone coming. In the end, not another soul invaded my naked space and I spent the best part of two days lying in the sun, swimming carefully among the sharp coral rocks in the shallow waters, and erasing the tanlines created by a couple of days elsewhere on Rarotonga. The first hour I spent there was the least relaxing, as I looked around every minute or so to ensure that I was truly alone. Unfortunately, I neglected to glance at my exposed body, and it was with a sudden shock when I happened to notice a line of five mosquitoes busily gorging themselves at my expense on my calf. On the second day I made sure I was covered from head to toe in insect repellent. This had some effect in keeping the monsters away, but I kept a wary eye out for the braver ones, which still felt tempted enough to settle briefly on my coated skin. Be warned: the bites are particularly vicious and Rarotonga at times has serious outbreaks of dengue fever, which is spread by mosquitoes. I didn't catch it, but I suffered enough in other ways. The other place I managed to strip off was in the middle of the rainforest in the centre of the island. Rarotonga is volcanic, and inland from the coast there are steep valleys and cliffs, all covered by dense rainforest. Most of it is uninhabited and almost completely inaccessible. There are a few walks into the island's interior, the most famous of which is the cross-island trek. Having been advised by every guide book and a few locals that you should never attempt the trek from the southern end, I decided to risk it anyway. The problem is there are very few tourists willing to undertake the walk in the intense humidity, especially when there's a nice sunny beach a few yards from their bedroom door. So the path isn't exactly well trodden. It's easy to get lost: so easy in fact I managed to do so twice. The first time I ended up climbing up a very steep ridge, and emerged on to a small plateau from where I could see the famous Needle, a sharp point of rock that marks the middle of the route. I wasn't anywhere near it, but I could see enough to get my bearings, and celebrated by stripping off and lying on the grass in the sun for half an hour, until my skin and clothes were dry again. Then, walking back down the ridge I followed the stream which I knew marked the route of the correct path - although I couldn't find it anywhere. Tired and drenched again after half an hour's searching, I suddenly came across a small pool, and without a second's thought was stripped off and in the water. I couldn't have cared less who turned up at that point, and splashed about in my own naturist Eden, slowly returning to a comfortable temperature. I even walked along the river in the nude holding my clothes looking for the path. Being at one with nature clearly helped my sense of direction, and within a few minutes I was finally on my way again, dressing just before a group of tourists rounded a corner.

In the dense rainforest, Rarotonga, too hot and humid to care who turns up

Aitutaki About 45 minutes by plane to the north of Rarotonga, set in a huge, warm and well-protected lagoon, the stunning island of Aitutaki is a beautiful place to rest for a few days. The islets that ring the lagoon's perimeter are famed for the clarity of their water and the beauty of their beaches; if you've seen an idyllic scene of the South Pacific pictured on a postcard or poster, chances are it was taken on one of the little islands around Aitutaki. Curiously, for a country that has nothing to offer naturists, there is even a little motu here called Nude Island (see aerial picture). Don't get your hopes up though, the name simply refers to the fact that it consists exclusively of sand, rising no more than a few tens of centimetres above the lagoon waters - an insufficient height to support any vegetation at all. But there are plenty of other little islands, and it isn't too hard to find a tourist boat operator who will take you to a motu of your choosing and drop you off for a short stay. In this way, I had a couple of hours on the large uninhabited island at the western corner of the lagoon, although the local boat owner also dropped off a few more tourists. Not really thinking much about them, I set off round the coast and spent a good hour naked in the sun, swimming and exploring the bush and beach, when I suddenly spotted one of the tourists about 100 yards away, looking rather surprised. He turned and went back, and I carefully stripped off again when I could see the coast was clear. Unfortunately, he seemed very entertained at the idea and insisted on questioning me very closely in front of the bemused local boat owner. Not wishing to upset anyone, I smiled back and insisted that he must have been imagining things, no doubt affected by the heat. In the end we laughed and his girlfriend tactfully changed the subject. Another even better place for naturism is the long island of Tekopua, just next to the famously beautiful but much smaller One Foot Island. Any cruise of the lagoon will drop you off at One Foot Island and you can swim the narrow channel between the two in less than five minutes. It's just about as beautiful as its smaller neighbour, but no one else was on it and I walked a long way along the shore (the bottom edge of the island in the photo above) by myself. I even felt emboldened enough to drop my swimming costume on the beach and walk on without anything at all. It was a small risk to take in return for a glorious hour alone and exposed to the beauty of the elements. Elsewhere on Aitutaki you could probably find a quiet stretch of beach on the southern tip of the main island, but the sand there seems almost muddy and the reef is too shallow for swimming. Any map will show you that the coastline does not have any villages, and if you hire a bicycle or a moped it's easy enough to reach.

On Aitutaki in the Cook Islands - on the ocean-facing side of an uninhabited island, avoiding inquisitive tourists

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