Suvorov (Suwarrow) Log
A language with no v's. This causes the confusion surrounding Suwarrow or Suvorov. You see, the
Cook Islanders have no v's. I suppose they could have bought a few v's from the Russians, they do
seem to have an overabundance, but, the islanders have chosen not to. As a result Suvorov is
Suwarrow. Of course, Suvorov is only Suvorov because it was named after a Russian by a
non-Cook Islander. I mean, a Cook Islander would never have used v's in naming this little bird
sanctuary. Perhaps something with an abundance of vowels - Ha'akealaiou, for example, but never
Suvorov. So, Suwarrow it is.

As a result I am forced to constantly write Suvorov (Suwarrow) rather than just one simple name. It's
really enough to drive one to distraction. Alas, I am forced into these lengthy name issues because I
am, in fact, in Suvorov (Suwarrow), a tiny atoll in between the Northern and Southern Cook islands.
It is only accessible by boat and is a bird sanctuary. It is also conveniently located halfway between
French Polynesia and Samoa, our next destination.

Suwarrow has two things in abundance, birds and sharks. The birds seem to know their place. They
fly about in great flocks, squawking, screeching, squeaking, chirping, whistling and, as best as I can
tell, snorting. They generally keep to themseves. When we intrude upon their nesting areas they,
appropriately enough, chastise us. All in all we stay on the ground, they take to the air and
everyone eyes each other at a respectful distance. Well, okay, except for the occasional chick
waddling around looking for a mother figure. But, they're young and can be forgiven their
indiscretions. The sharks, however, are living faux pax.

As soon as the boat is anchored the sharks wander up for a how do you do. Oh sure, they pretend
to be all friendly and solicitous, but, I know better. In a pretense of neighborliness they come nosing
about the boat, I bet they even ask how much it cost us - tsk - the nerve. Their transgressions don't
stop there either. There I am taking a nice little shower off the back of the boat and ta da, they
arrive. I respect that it is, technically, their home. But still, a girl's gotta have a bath occasionally. Or,
at least I've been told that. So, here they are swimming about watching me bathe. Five of them, five
black tipped reef sharks and, allegedly, one grey reef shark taking an interest in my bathing habits.

The very last straw was the grey reef shark who, after being repeatedly told that no, we were not
spear-fishing and no we were not munchable, still just had to charge us that third time. Sigh, there
really is no talking to them. I've decided to escalate the issue. It's really the only thing left to do. I
have no choice but to notify the park rangers that their pesky little nature things need some
etiquette lessons.