Are you going?”"No.”"Why not?”"I’ve never been there.”"Why?”"I don’t like it there.”"How do you know if you’ve never been there?”"Because Chinese people are there.”"Don’t you like Chinese?”"Oh no.”And so on.Conversation with Susana, like many things in Nuku’alofa, tended to spiral away in odd directions. The Miss Heilala contest, for instance, was unlike any other beauty show on earth. Each contestant danced in a Javanese style, with the added distinction of dripping with coconut oil, standing in puddles of it, droplets sluicing off fingers This lubricity is much admired Each girl was accompanied by a male choir. One group, in black bow ties, stood stiffly in a semicircle round their dancer, Miss Avis Cars, and then, without warning, all abruptly sat down cross-legged on the floor. The sight of an entire choir plus conductor with baton poised, all hitting the ground with a bump, struck me as comical – and yet their singing was infinitely sad and beautiful, like an underwater Gregorian chant.That was our last night in the country. On mid-ocean islands, planes come and go at ludicrous hours – 2am is a big favourite.

So, at midnight, we found ourselves standing outside the hotel with our baggage. The Visitors Bureau, which had organised our trip, had promised to drive us the 20 miles to the airport Minutes ticked by: 12.30am, 1am, 1.15 No car. Two pigs sauntered out of the bush, then ran squealing at the sight of a palangi and a Samoan muttering curses in the road.There was no traffic, nor any phone-cab service A cock crowed somewhere to the east; others responded. My suspicion of the last few days took firmer hold: Tongans do not really want tourists in their country. They say that they do, they may even think that they do, but deep down they cannot be bothered with us. They want only to think about the King and the Crown Prince and the 37 barons who own everything else, and their relations with one another. They gaze at the visitor with deep, sincere eyes but are not really looking.

The country has a rare condition – an immunity to tourism, which is what makes it interesting, and uncomfortable.Finally, an old car with no front doors came scraping along the road. The driver stopped and, roaring with laughter, took us to the airport in exchange for the local currency we had left. We passed groups of young Tongans mooching down the country roads, under the lit-up arches – “wishing you a very happy birthday Dear Your Majesty” – and then, unfarewelled, we flew away under the stars.Next week: Peter Walker travels to TahitiTRAVEL NOTESQuantas (0345 747767) flies to Auckland then Tonga, return prices, inclusive of Pacific Passes, start from around pounds 1,200. Air New Zealand (0181 846 9595), London to Tonga, costs around pounds 954 Tongan Embassy, 0171 724 5828.

Peter Walker flew from Auckland to Tonga on Royal Tongan Airways, and Air New Zealand.. In 1983 I tried to persuade my Dad to buy an Aston Martin DB5 for pounds 5,000 Did he listen? No. Though, to be fair, I was only 12 years old, and few people would take financial advice from a 12-year-old. Then, apparently determined to prove me right, in 1987 the market for old cars went ballistic.