International Dateline Hotel, Tonga

From my diary:

I can tell you, nothing quite compares to a wet Sunday in Tonga.  The bars are closed all day, as is everything else. The main conversation is about church, and the rain is incessant.  Not that it matters, as there isn’t anything to do even if it was not raining, other than go to church or talk about going to church. Missionaries should be strangled as babies.

 

I am staying at the International Dateline Hotel.  It’s a relic of better days.  In fact I’m not even sure it has ever seen better days, or if memories play tricks on the staff. I arrived on Saturday night after a chaotic flight from Fiji. 

 

Remember the rules on aircraft about carry on luggage, seatbelts and trays in the upright position? Well it seems Air Pacific staff don’t remember, or just don’t care. I didn’t actually see a live chicken in the cabin, but I’m sure there was one. As for the idea that everyone is seated during landing – everyone was, some in their seats, some in the toilets, and some just squatted in the isle to chat to friends about church. It was a pretty hard landing – remember not to fly on the 737 called Spirit of Alentua until its undercarriage has been welded back on. 

 

So I arrived at the Dateline in time to see another relic, this time of the 50s, a dance. Not a disco, or any variation on it, but a live band, bright lights, tables around the dance floor and couples getting up and dancing. Haven’t seen that sort of thing since a school dance in 1965.  I didn’t want to either….

 

The upside is that the Tongan women are not only big boned and Rubenesque, but beautiful with it. They all wore 8 inch heels, which is perhaps slightly foolhardy when you are already over 6 feet tall, but it made their huge backsides seem slightly more in proportion.  The dress code was sexy, which as appreciated by the 7 feet tall Tongan men. I struggled to see over the bar.

 

I felt like a dwarf at an obesity anonymous meeting.

 

I took a stroll around the block and found a small friendly bar with live music. It seemed populated by Chinese acrobats, a handful of huge women and a lot of Tongan men in dresses. I don’t mean the black skirt so beloved by Pacific Islanders, I mean full on dresses, long hair and makeup. Not sure if I hit a gay bar or it’s a cultural thing.  I didn’t get hit on, so maybe its just a Tongan thing.

 

The hotel is in receivership. Its didn’t actually go bankrupt, the Tongans just got pissed with the Chinese owners and declared it bankrupt. Only in the islands…..

 

The Chinese departed in haste, taking anything unbolted with them, including the Internet hubs, and most of the towels. 

 

The only thing they left behind was 20 Chinese acrobats, who seem to be living for free on the top floor.  I simply have no further comment upon that, other than to swear that it is the truth. 

 

The Chinese did manage to take all of the mattresses. Which is another mystery wrapped in an enigma. Actually its an impossibility wrapped in insanity.  Why the hell would they take 350 used mattresses, and where to?  

 

The interim management cut up sheets of foam and put them on top of the bed base.  I can bounce a coin off my bed, and almost hit the ceiling fan (which doesn’t work).  I may as well lie on the floor. Except that the leaking roof and ceiling has allowed water to warp the floorboards. It would be like sleeping on a mountain range. 

 

Anyway, after the mass exodus there is now one LAN port for a hotel with 350 bedrooms. Desperate businessmen stand in line wearing a hangdog expression, and clutching a laptop in one hand and a beer in the other. If you are unlucky your battery lasts just long enough to get to the head of the queue, then dies. 

 

One guest was so pissed off at the queue he went down the road and bought a four port hub and some cables.  We are praying he doesn’t take it with him.

 

The towels would be an issue, but the water is off most of the time due to unpaid bills. There is a minor celebration when the availability of towels coincides with the availability of water. The towel (if you have one) is collected by a demanding housekeeper at 8am, and returned around 6 pm after she has washed and dried it. I told her to piss off. I came back and it had gone, and so had she. I haven’t seen her or it since. 

 

Dinner is hit and miss too. The hit is when you win the “what we have in stock” guessing contest, the miss is when they have run out of it anyway.  It’s a risky game of chance. I found a burger joint that always seems to have food. 

 

The International Dateline, where you chance your luck….