Around the World: Suva to Rakiraki

January 2, 1992

Learning a little bit about the population of Fiji.  The people are divided between native Fijian and Fiji Born Indians (FBI).  My experience with both peoples in the past few days suggest that although the native Fijian people are more welcoming and genuine, there are bad apples equally distributed between both groups.  For example, it's typically a native Fijian in the market who will carve your name into almost anything and then try to force you to buy it.  The FBI's will take any opportunity to rip you off.

I discovered truth in this stereotype while shopping in Suva.  I saw a white tank top with the Fiji Bitter logo and, since it's been my poison of choice during my stay, I thought it would make a nice souvenir.  I bartered with the shop owner (FBI) and haggled the price down from $10 to $3.  He begrudgingly agreed on the price and disappeared into a back room to get the shirt.  He returned, and handed me a securely wrapped plastic bag.  When I opened it later, I realized the bag contained a black tank top with the New Zealand All Blacks logo.  I'm not really unhappy with the substitution, just annoyed that I didn't get what I was expecting.

I also bought a pair of flip-flops that I have a feeling will come in handy in the future, if for no other reason but to wear in the shower.  I'm sure the shower floor sees something swiped over it from time to time, but it has a disconcerting look of nasty that suggests my skin really shouldn't be coming into contact with it.

Suva is still celebrating New Year's and the festivities continued until almost 6am this morning.  I heard the Banana Boat song about a dozen times echoing through the pawpaw trees.

The fruit of the pawpaw tree is believed to be
an effective alternative treatment for cancer

The bus ride to Rakiraki follows mostly dirt roads and includes a trip through (yes, through) a waterfall. When the bus passes by any populated area, the road is lined with children, armed with pails and buckets full of water that they toss at the bus as it passes by.  Everyone gets soaked, but even at night, being wet is only a brief reprieve from the oppressive heat and humidity.  It's a great laugh for everyone whether you are dishing out the soaking or receiving it.

A man on the bus invited Jeanette and I to his village.  I had heard that this is a fairly typical invitation and often a wonderful experience, but even still, we declined.  Whether or not this was a missed chance to experience Fiji at its finest, or a choice that kept me safe, I'll never know.

Anyone who wants to entertain the passengers with music is welcome to do so.  Tonight's entertainment is not the usual reggae I've come to expect.  This music has more of an Indian flavour with lyrics that repeat until the song finally ends.  "I live for you, I die for you", a song I was pleased to hear fade into silence, only to be followed by, "I love you, I love you, I die without you".  There's a distinctive and unsettling theme as the cassette continues.

It's late and dark when the bus arrives at the Rakiraki bus depot.  Jeanette and I are soon approached by three men.  One persistently asks where we want to go, another has a flashlight pointed at nothing useful, and the third just stands there as a sort of witness.  They guide us to a taxi and we ask the driver to take us to the Kontiki Lodge (where a bed in the dorm is $10).  Instead, we are delivered to the Rakiraki Hotel where rooms are $38.50.  I'm already tired from the late hour and the bus trip as it is, and now so very irritated with the relentless efforts to rip me off.  The driver obviously isn't expecting the wrath of woman.  As the two of us vehemently word-whip the driver, I notice a curious crowd is gathering to watch the show.  A few Fijian men interject some verbal support for us which is clearly making the FBI driver a little nervous.

Finally, the hotel manager comes out to see what the ruckus is all about and adds a few choice words of his own to the taxi driver.  He explains that this is a common scam among the drivers who get a commission for every person they bring to a hotel.  He apologizes and offers Jeanette and I a room with one twin bed, a washroom with a toilet and shower, a fan, a chair and our own personal gecko, all for the discounted price of $12.50.  It's late.  I'm tired.  It will do, for now.

• ¤ •

"If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power,
but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which,
ever young and ardent, sees the possible. "
~Soren Kierkegaard

Around the World: The Road to Suva

January 1, 1992

I am on a bus to Suva. Let me rephrase that. I have put my faith and my life in the hands of the bus driver.

The road that follows south coast of the island is periodically optional. If there's pavement or dirt, it's okay to drive on that. If the road completely disappears, it's okay to drive on that too. Left side, right side, down the middle of whatever road exists and at any speed that keeps us moving.  The bus has no windows, except for the windshield, and it's wise to remain aware of the scenery to avoid the occasional bit of bush and tree that makes its way along the side and into the bus.  Fortunately, I'm sitting in the back so at least I can see the greenery coming.

Despite being somewhat harrowing at times, we have arrived safely.  Suva is a big city, by Fiji standards, and unlike the Hideaway Lodge, it has the added bonus of being inhabited by local folk. The hotel costs $4.95 a night and is conveniently located close to the Indian Curry House, where very few things on the menu cost more than $2.

One of my room mates
Photo from hackingfamily.com

The room I'll be sleeping in tonight is furnished with four beds and a complimentary gecko on the ceiling.  The very kind lady who runs the hotel explained that they don't bother people, unless you bother them first.  The only thing that really interests a gecko is insects so I have no intentions of bothering my little lizard sentry.  Whenever this gecko catches a bug, it makes a series of clicking sounds in delight.  Or possibly digestion.  Either way, Gecko is quite welcome and by the frequency of its clicking, it is ambitiously efficient.

• ¤ •

"These things I warmly wish for you:

Someone to love, some work to do, 

A bit o' sun, a bit o' cheer, 

And a guardian angel always near"

~Irish Blessings

Around the World: Fiji New Year

December 31, 1991

After breakfast, compliments of the hotel, on the beach, under the canopy of coconut trees, I accepted an invitation from a few of my hostel mates to explore the market in downtown Sigatoka.

The market is a bustling place full of fresh fruit, fish, touristy souvenirs, clothing and more.  The cost is determined by bartering for the best price.   Fortunately, we were all cautioned about a common market scam and told not to look too interested in anything we weren't prepared to buy.  The vendor will ask for your name, and then carve it into the item you were admiring, at which point you are expected to buy it at an inflated price.  I was curious about a unique type of sword and wanted to take a closer look, but I barely had the chance before it was picked up by the vendor who tried to get me to introduce myself.  I just thanked him and walked away.  After a couple hours of browsing and scam dodging, the group I was with agreed to catch a bus back to the hotel.

Market in downtown Sigatoka
Photo by Brian Gortney

I am adjusting to island time, meaning that everything... in Fiji... happens... eventually.  After lunch, my morning market mates went their separate ways and I met up with Jeanette, who wanted to try snorkeling. Neither one of us had tried it before and it took some getting used to. The hypnotic view under the water distracted us from the fact that we were actually drifting out to sea with the tide. I soon learned that when the fish were larger than the palm of my hand, it was time to lift my head and see where I was. In water that's deep enough to cover my knees, there are plants that wave graciously with the incoming and outgoing waves.  Only a few meters from shore was not unlike being in a pet store fish tank, as I was surrounded by tiny, neon striped gobies.  Just before it was time to check the distance from shore, I caught sight of a beautiful, orange starfish. 

Photo by Jason Blay

At low tide, the water recedes out a couple hundred meters, exposing the ocean floor, to where the lagoon and the deep ocean meet at a coral reef.  You can walk right out to the reef at low tide and only ever be ankle deep in water.

The sun seems to set here for hours.  The group I had gone to the market with this morning invited me to a place where the pizza is really tasty and very cheap.  The alternative is to stay at the hotel and pay $25 for dinner, plus drinks.  The driver of the airport shuttle agreed to drop us off at the pizza restaurant, but told us we'd have to find our own way back.

The restaurant has picnic tables out front where we laughed and talked over continuous slices of pizza (which eventually totaled $3.50) and beer (750ml bottle for 50¢).  Two Aussie guys explained that the stars on the Australian flag are from a constellation and tried to point it out to those of us from the north side of the equator.  I had never seen the Southern Cross, being a circumpolar constellation in the southern hemisphere, and to be honest, I'm still not sure if I have.  It was a peculiar feeling to not recognize the sky above me.

Crux or Southern Cross constellation
Photo by Sid Leach

With almost 10km between us and the hotel, we started the long walk back. We were able to flag down a taxi, but knowing it was ride or walk for us, the driver wouldn't budge on his price.  Once the lights from the taxi disappeared in the distance, we joked about the possibility that we had made a mistake.  After all, walking on a narrow, two lane road, on a tropical island with unknown predators, in pitch darkness was maybe not the safest thing to be doing.  Fortunately, we had the foresight to bring beer with us so the situation wasn't exactly dire.  Yet.

After an hour, maybe a little less, another car appeared, this one a cube van.  When it stopped, Ken, one of the Australian guys, and I peeked into the driver's window, but no one was there. The other Aussie guy and Jeanette looked in a back window and also didn't see anyone.  We were a bit spooked about this haunted van, with no driver, that had come to rescue us from the very, very long walk we faced.  Suddenly, the back doors swung open and a Fijian man welcomed us inside.  He took us back to the hotel for $1 each.

We bought some beer on our way past the bar and were on the way back to the dorm to continue our celebrating when we realized it was low tide.  Changing direction to the pool, each of us picked up a chair and headed out into the temporary absence of ocean.  Soon after we set up our little low tide party, the echoes of counting down and cheering from shore were our cue to clink our giant beer bottles and admire the star covered sky against the Pacific Ocean darkness.

The party around the pool was starting to wind down when our conversation was suddenly interrupted by, "My butt's getting wet," at which point we realized the tide was on its way in.  We picked up our chairs and moved to a piece of ocean floor that hadn't been covered by water yet, and set our little party back up again.  This happened a couple more times until the ocean eventually chased us back onto the beach.  Being so close to the International Date Line, I couldn't pass up the chance to watch the first sunrise of the new year.

Photo by Angela Beza

Happy New Year!

• ¤ •

"We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness."

~Unknown Author