Welcome To Norfuck

The Norfolk Islanders pronounce their island's name Norfuck and when I first arrived, I could understand why. There wasn't a fuck in sight. Well unless you're into A-frames and prostate cancer. Arriving at the airport was like walking into the foyer of Shadey Pines. As I walked through Customs (actually that should read Custom…as there was only one of them) I soon realised that my brother and I were the only human beings under 70; they all gathered around the luggage area in their seersucker couture their snow-white hair glowing in the fluorescence. Some people spend their Xmas's on the French Alps. I spend mine with the cast of Coocoon.

We arrived Xmas Eve and Angela, the owner of the resort where we were staying picked us up from the airport. She was Dutch, she was short and stout and she was unable to drive. She arrived in a mini-van and was having difficulty reconciling the relationship between a clutch and a gear stick. Greeting us in guttural Dutch overtones, she advised that our parents were waiting for us back at the resort. As we bunny hopped out of the airport clearing every parking barrier (there were only one and a half…thank god),Angela grabbed my arm covering me in guttural spital…

Angela: "I can see you are just like your mother."

Me: "Thanks"

Angela: "You are chubby like her….beautiful skin!"

This coming from a woman who resembled a small Shetland pony? To my horror she let go of the steering wheel and grabbed my cheeks like a three year old.

My brother: "The road!!!"

Angela: "Ah woops…..cars are not like horses are they?"

No Mrs Shetland they are not. I was so unimpressed. This was the last Xmas holiday I was going to let my mother organise.

After tiring of the stifling heat of Brisbane at Xmas, my mother decided four years ago that it would be good idea to the turn the Xmas break into a family getaway somewhere else…. preferably cooler. Since my brother and I both live in Sydney and our parents in Brisbane, we only spend time together as a family a few times a year. So in Xmas 2005, Mum organised a driving trip through Tasmania; Xmas 2006 a driving trip through the south island of New Zealand and last year's Xmas a driving trip through the north island of New Zealand. After three driving holidays in a row, I was starting to feel like we were turning into a much older version of the Griswalds in National Lampoons. So I suggested for this Xmas that we go to a place where we could stay put and not have to spend endless hours in a car with each other. I suggested New Caledonia or somewhere in French Polynesia; a place where we could just sit, relax….and drink cocktails. Mum came up with Norfolk Island, which really wasn't what I had in mind. It is kinder like ordering a Sweet Manhattan and getting a cup of tea instead.

Norfolk Island is situated in the lower end of the South Pacific approximately 1800 kms north east of Sydney and 700 km south of New Caledonia. Captain Cook discovered it in 1774 on his second voyage to the South Pacific four years after discovering and mapping the east coast of Australia. It became a penal colony not long after Australia did in 1788 and remained that way until it was abandoned in 1855. In 1856 due to over-crowding on the even more remote island of Pitcairn, the British Government agreed to transfer 199 residents to Norfolk. The Pitcairn Islanders of course were the descendants of the Mutineers of HMS Bounty; where Fletcher Christian in 1789 took control of HMS Bounty in Tahiti tossing Captain Bligh and 18 men overboard in a small raft. (Hollywood was to later turn its attention to the story in two films one starring Errol Flynn and the other, Mel Gibson) Christian and the remaining men took some Tahitian wives and set up a new life on Pitcairn Island…..an island so remote that it was only discovered by accident when an American whaling ship sailed by it in the 1830s.

Norfolk Island remains a special administration zone of Australia. It has its own legislative assembly and the locals don't pay income tax to the Australian government. Accordingly they don't have any representatives in the Australian parliament. Australian citizens must have their passports when they travel to Norfolk. They also need their patience. Everything in Norfolk is on Norfuck time from ordering a meal ("maybe it's an ornatmental café), doing a tour ("oh they're don't run on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays" to internet connection ("the satellite is down" down where?).

Mrs Shetland got lost on the way back to the resort. How anyone can get lost on an island the size of Redfern is beyond me.

Mrs Shetland: I'm not good at driving at night. ….can't see.

That was reassuring. My brother and I let out fake giggles exchanging glances of "is she for real?"

Mrs Sheltand: That is why my husband and I go away tomorrow for America. I am having laser surgery.

Brother: Oh so you won't be here for Xmas?

Damn

Mrs Shetland: No no…..we have managers who look after the resort. You will be in good hands.

As long as I wasn't having my cheeks pulled, I would be happy. I wound down my window and sucked in the dense south pacific air. It was sugary sweet and automatically relaxing. What on earth was I going to do in this place for ten days? I looked out across the hidden night listening to the rustle of the trees and the famous Norfolk Island Pines. I could just see their castle like outlines against the milky wayed sky. We are lucky in this part of the world……the night skies are breathtaking. So was Mrs Shetland's driving. She continued to find no harmony between 2nd and 4th or possibly overdrive. One poor unsuspecting cow almost lost her life to 1st gear as did my lower back. We finally pulled up at South Pacific. I hadn't even checked the name of the place we were staying until then. If I'd known we were staying with The Roger Hammersteins, I would have brought my grass skirt and dancing shoes.


Mrs Shetland : Velcome to Zouth Phacific!

I felt like one of those special guest stars who visited Fantasy Island. I braced myself for a midget to collect my bags. It didn't transpire; however Mrs Shetland's creepy husband who looked a lot like the dude who owned Fantasy Island did.

Mr Shetland: You had a good flight yah?

He was South African and appeared to have slow motion disease. He looked my brother up and down as if we had just been washed ashore.

Mr Shetland: You stay with your parents?

We both nodded.

Mr Shetland: You both have drivers' licences

We both said yes.

Mr Shetland: What do you intend to do whilst you are here?

What was this? Forty questions?

My brother: Well simply relax….a nice break.

Mr Shetland: Yes indeed you will

There was a lingering silence. He stared at the both of us. This guy made my skin crawl. Where were our parents? Were they packed in a cardboard box somewhere?

Mr Shetland: Please come this way

We followed him with our bags down a pebbled path covered in all things lush such as ferns, potted palms and the like. Mrs Shetland followed bumping into obstacles on the way due to her unlasered vision.

I had to ask.

Me: So are you going away as well?

Mr Shetland turned and stared at me as if I'd uttered the unutterable.

Mrs Shetland: Yes we both go tomorrow.

Mr Shetland: Angela I would prefer you not discuss our private lives in front of the guests.

Mmmmm…..that was awkward. We kept walking down the path and I was relieved when I could hear my mother berating my father for not putting the milk back in the fridge. We were almost safe.

Mr Shetland: And here we are.

The hut was kind of 1980s Miami meets North Queensland Caravan Park. Completely painted in Salmon, it was made out of corrugated iron with a tiled roof and paved patios to the front and the back. I was hoping for a view of something but unfortunately the only view we had was of the BBQ block. South Pacific was Norfolk's premier resort; if this was premier, budget was obviously the airport hanger.

Mr and Mrs Shetland giddyupped their way out of there to leave us to our parents who were still having an international incident over the whereabouts of the milk.

We both walked into the hut the interior of which only reinforced the 80s Miami impressions I had when I first saw the place.

Mum: Hello my darlings…..isn't the place beautiful? Isn't it a lovely colour?

I've inherited my mother's ability to exaggerate. But nobody can do it better than her.

"It's an absolutely gorgeous kitchen," she said speaking as if I was about to walk into a marble appointed Biele masterpiece. The kitchen was a masterpiece in laminex and antique whirlpool appliances.

'And the living area is so spacious…."….if we were oompaloompas.

I walked to what I thought was my room to find two single beds. I saw no third room. I didn't ask as I already knew the answer. I'm 34; my brother is 30 and my mother still thinks we're at school. 11 days in a single bed, in an over-sized caravan with a view of a BBQ. Thank god I bought up big on the duty free alcohol.

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When I woke the next day, I realised from the front porch of the "caravan" I could see up into the lush mountainside of Norfolk. It was quite picturesque. Unfortunately it did nothing to waylay my fears that I was on an island for the aged and infirmed. I'd begrudgingly attended midnight mass the night before where the mean age was so high I thought the service might end up a funeral for most of the parishners.

To my horror I'd also realised that international roaming still did not exist on Norfolk and I was affectively cut off from the entire world. The island had only installed the world's smallest mobile phone network a year ago and was still working out the complexities relating to introducing roaming networks. So not only was I trapped in a rather large aged care facility, I had no way of phoning or more importantly texting. Some people might love this……..particularly those in aged care….but not I.

I walked from the resort downtown….I use the term loosely. I needed to find a public phone. I wanted to wish Frenchi a merry xmas and generally just moan. Downtown consisted of about 10 prefabricated (in the 60s) buildings housing a variety of tacky duty free stores selling everything from dated linen to even more dated Royal Dolton china dolls. The town was completely deserted and looked like an abandoned film set. I found a public phone next to the even more abandoned video store.

Are you lost?

For a moment I thought perhaps it was the Lord Almighty speaking to me from afar or in my heard. I turned around to find Mr Shetland staring blankly in my direction.

Me: Hello!

Jeepers-creepers the man made my blood run cold.

Me: Ummmm…. I was just looking for a public phone.

Mr Shetland: This is the only one and it is broken.

Me: Oh damn

Mr Shetland: You can use the one in your room

Me: Yes I guess I can…it's just everyone is asleep and I didn't want to wake anyone.

Mr Shetland: You won't find any other phones down here.

He seemed to have an absence of blinking which was quite disturbing.

Me: Ah well. Merry Xmas. Safe travels….do u leave tomorrow?

Mr Shetland: No…….I've decided to stay…..

He kept glaring. I kept awkward. It was all becoming very film noir. All I needed was a pair of shoulder pads and a long face.

To be continued………