Thinking Allowed: Norf'k

It is possible that I am attracted to secluded hard to get to places. So, an island in the middle of the Pacific ocean far away from any other islands holds great appeal. I had never heard of Norfolk island until a year ago when I stumbled upon it when perusing a map. It looks a bit like Ireland mixed with some New Zealand and is almost Greek in its regard and preservation of ancient ruins (albeit in this case a series of old gaols). It’s got a curious history and it took me about five minutes to decide we should go spend half a year there. Except, short term rentals on the island are so expensive for our family of 6 that it lost the running. Except, I still wanted to go there. Luckily my parents came to visit and afforded us the perfect opportunity. So how did it compare to my visions and hopes? Actually, it was everything I had hoped for. It was in the middle of the ocean. It was so quiet. It was weirdly pastoral. The Norfolk pines are a tree of grandeur and beauty. It had a lot going on culturally and community wise for such a small space. The island is mostly impenetrable cliff faces but has been blessed with Emily Bay, a scene of such perfect serenity and calm that would beckon even the most intrepid swimmer and convert even the most vehement industrialist. Sure there is no safe harbour but who needs a harbour when there is no other place to visit anyhow? What joy it was to discover all the secret harbours and wildlife that call Norfolk home. What pleasure to get to know the residents who choose this life and make it vibrant. And now this makes me even more excited to one day get to visit the Falkland islands and Svalbard.

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Tamar and I are on a tiny dot in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. For a year we’ve admired Norfolk Island from a couple thousand kilometres away, and now we’re actually here. Avi and Rona are courageously taking the girls on while we spend five days alone for the first time in forever and ever.

It’s been really nice and really different. Four days feels like a long time. The island’s only about 8km by 5km, so we’ve managed to explore pretty much every corner. We’ve read dozens of plaques describing the colourful history of the place: the convict settlement with its lime kiln, crankwheel to grind flour wearing irons as an especially severe punishment, and pentagonal gaol whose ruins we walked through; the Melanesian school where the Church brought native kids from far-off islands to become disciples; the WWII outposts where some Kiwis spent an extremely mellow war; and the almost invisible traces of the original Polynesian settlers a thousand years ago.

We’ve hiked all the trails (unfortunately not too many), including a cliffside walk on the northern coast with incredibly strong winds that we could barely force our way through. We found an old whaling pier that kept disappearing under enormous waves, a huge pile of rusting metal beside a disused ramp for driving old cars into the ocean, and Anson Beach – a golden strip of sand tucked in between steep cliffs.

The coastline is so rugged that Emily Bay seems almost miraculous – this one perfectly calm, pristine white-sand beach protected by a coral reef. We’ve swum a couple of times, including a night-swim which was not completely serene, since (a) we couldn’t see any slimy creatures that might be lurking, (b) we were between the cemetery and the old gaol, and (c) a bunch of cars kept driving up to the point for no obvious reason. It’s surrounded by the same mix of pine and palm forests, and pastoral fields, that covers most of the island – the soundscape is a very soothing blend of swishing branches and contented moos.

The human vibe here is really interesting. For a population of 2,000, we encounter very few people; almost every trail and beach has been deserted. The first café we went to was buzzing, with every table full; we asked another couple if they wanted to share a table, and they ended up inviting us to dinner. Locals seem very warm – we chatted with the local potter for a quarter-hour about the ins and outs of importing clay, making your own glazes, how she ended up here – and chilled-out. But there’s also an undercurrent of dissatisfaction with the Australian government, which “took over”, “occupied” and/or “stole” Norfolk Island in 2016, according to some of the strident letters to the editor and manifestos we came across. I get the feeling there is some uneasiness between the seventh-generation descendants of the founding families that came over from Pitcairn Island in the 1850’s, and the arrivistes who are increasingly retiring or moving to the island.

And, like any island, there are small quirks everywhere. The “mall” is a big wooden Black Forest-style house with a weird indoor balcony overlooking the four shops. Somebody made a replica of King Tut’s Tomb in a trailer, I guess because they got bored. The Lions Club crammed an old barracks with about 200 poster-sized photographs and highly opinionated essays. Every driver waves at every passing car, every time: the “Norfolk Wave.” Cows have the right-of-way and use it to great advantage. The island has “ghost birds”, though we only found muttonbirds on our dusk walk through the hundred-acre wood. Many signs are in Norf’k, the English Creole that developed here over time (e.g., language is laengwij, Friday is fraidi). Business hours seem very casual.

Getting to spend four days alone with Tamar was already a win – spending them on Norfolk Island, and finding plenty of time for lazy crossword puzzling, movie watching and book reading, has been just about perfect.