The morning of Wednesday the 15th, we stopped by our Fiji family's house and Junior, George, Joe and I set off to Lautoka on a bus. Most tourists here spend FJ$150-200 per person for a day trip to a waterfall. We paid for bus tickets and a rented truck (the local way to travel to the mountain--it is a small pickup with a covered bed where people sit, sometimes with a bench and sometimes without) for all four of us and spent maybe FJ$150 total. This was at least a 50% discount and we got to experience it the local way.
And boy was it ever local. The truck had no bench in the back and the driver was taking the very rocky road as fast as he could, meaning our brains were being bounced out of our heads. The only way we made it to the village was with 4WD to get through the rockiest parts and to ford streams that ran across the roadway. They told me to sit up front, but since I like the bed of pickups and I like my cultural experiences to be authentic, I sat in the back. Our crazy driver even realized a body can only be bounced so much, so we stopped and had a break long enough to stretch out.
Our driver was of Indian descent, and we got the impression that people in the village treated him a little worse because he was Indian. Not really like they were cruel, but they did seem to racially profile him and laugh at him a little more. A lot of people in Fiji are Indian, but most are second, third, or fourth generation. This guy appeared to not even speak Fijian. He appeared to only speak Hindi.
The village had a population of about 80 people, and Junior told us it had been the starting point of tours that were run by a Japanese company. He said that they had developed a setup for this eco-tourism and created some trails, but some time in the last 10 or so years, the company decided they had made enough money and pulled the program and went home. The village had had very little income since then, but subsisted the way they always had by farming and by the rare tourist.
We took 2 frozen chickens with us to say thank you, and paid the entry fee for the trails of FJ$10 each. While we were seeing the village for the first time, one of the little girls with a dirty little dress on came to hold my hand. It was so sweet how she attached to me and I wish someone had taken a picture. She smiled up at me and trailed beside me while we walked around the village to look. The village was little, but quaint and everyone knew Junior, who called most of them his brothers and sisters, though they were not actually related. The village reminded me greatly of the village of Cai Cay, Peru, only smaller.
We did a lot of hiking and made it to two waterfalls, as Junior and George as our guides. The truck driver came with us, but after the first waterfall, decided to wait for us at a junction, as he had a nice potbelly and wasn't used to that much hiking.
We swam in both waterfalls, got pictures, and tried to stay ahead of the storm that was coming through. All along the trail we ate these delicious little fruits that grew wild. I don't know their name in English, because I am not sure they exist in English-speaking countries. They had the shape of wrinkly pears, but had the consistency of an overripe peach, maybe, and they tasted sweet. We had lots and lots along the trail.
By the time we got back to the village, the rain had mostly passed, and a lunch with the chicken we had brought had been prepared for us. We were invited into one of the homes, which had a couple of small beds on one side of the house, and mats covering the floor, which was most likely dirt. Our table was a cloth on the floor, and we ate sitting on the floor and mostly ate with our hands. The curry and rice was delicious.
We drank kava and had short naps in a building used for events in the village before getting back in the pickup and racing down the mountain back to Lautoka. This time the driver did not give us a break part way through. Junior had even asked him to go slower, but I have the feeling it was the horse-on-its-way-back-to-the-barn type thing.
We stopped quickly for a snack from one of the Indian vendor carts at the bus station. It was this puffed rice stuff that was a little spicy, maybe with some turmeric or something like that in it, but it was just ever-so-slightly sweet. It was delicious and we've never found anything comparable since.
The whole day and especially on the bus ride back towards Nadi, it struck me how much like my brothers' relationship was the relationship between Junior and George. It's a beautifully fun relationship between two males who aren't weighed down by any drama. It's just silliness and entertainment and it is fun to watch. As we rode on the bus back to Nadi, the rain poured and the open-air bus had to have the vinyl curtains let down, which were flopping in the wind while Junior and George joked around.
Once we were back to the Matintar intersection that would take us back past Junior's house and then finally to our hostel, we discussed with Junior about the island. Come to find out later, a cyclone had gone right between Fiji and Tonga, which is where all the rain had come from. Junior decided to delay the trip out to the island for a day to allow for the weather to pass a little more, but we were invited to come to dinner with our family the next evening.
Thursday was a relax day, though it actually ended up being a little stressful. As often happens with couples, a fight broke out at exactly the inopportune moment. We eventually made it to the family's house together, but not without strife.
Before dinner was ready, we went with Junior to his friend's house where the boat was that we would be taking out to sea the next day. Junior was looking at his friend's television to see if he could fix it, which I suspect might have been the favor Junior was doing for this friend in exchange for use of the boat for the next day. This was entirely speculation, however. I never asked.
We went back to Junior's house, had some dinner and drank some kava. When it came time to go back to the hostel, the whole family got up and started to walk with us. Isaac got on his dad's shoulders and Shahana, Fazi, and Donna walked beside us.
The walk back to our hostel was fun. It was very touching that the family was walking and laughing with us. We felt like we had our own family in Fiji and it made the experience closer and more personal.
Donna and Junior are in a very interesting stage in their lives, because they have lived through a bit of trauma. Junior had helped start a number of good businesses in the area, including our hostel, which had turned into a pretty big business success. As I remember, the whole family was involved in the hostel. Donna was cooking and cleaning, and Junior was doing tours, drinking kava with guests, and helping out around the hostel. Somewhere in the mix, Donna had a stillborn baby and it rocked them so deeply that they realized they were killing themselves and missing out on their children's life.
So they stopped. They slowed down and worked on getting back to life as a family. I admit that at first I was suspicious of the family. They seemed good, but I was suspicious of Junior because he didn't seem to work. That seemed fishy, like they were just waiting around for a couple of tourists dumb enough to trust them and then pouncing. I admit that I am cynical, having learned to be overcautious in my travels because letting your guard down meant a scam, or just plain theft. The laughter and fellowship touched me on the walk home from dinner, enough that I relaxed and started to trust more. It's difficult to fabricate fake love and tenderness for other human beings, and I could feel the love coming from our family.
They started to walk back home when they saw us safely to within a couple of blocks of the hostel. We waved goodbye and my heart was warm.
Early the next morning we were awake and packing and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Italian couple writing on a little piece of paper. It made me happy because I got the feeling it was for us. The Italians had also created a warm spot in our hearts. We had spent evenings together with them. Raffaella would talk and laugh and call me a sweet girl. Domenico, with his limited English, was all smiles and silly looks. He seemed like he belonged in a Charlie Chaplan movie.
The Italians made me happy for humanity because of the way they looked at each other. Their love story had been born out of heartbreak. Their fathers had both been in the same hospital at the same time, where they first met. Both lost their fathers, but had found each other. They had dated ever since. Raffaella looked older than Domenico (but by no means his lesser in looks--they were both very attractive). Domenico looked younger than me, but I thought I saw a few grey roots in Raffaella's hair where the dye had grown out just by a couple of millimeters. The ages are only a guess based on their personalities, though this is admittedly not a good way to tell their ages, since Raffaella's discussion of deeper matters made her seem more mature and Domenico's Charlie Chaplan manner made him seem younger and more care-free. These suppositions on age are probably very dependent on the fact that Domenico didn't speak much English and Raffaella did.
They made me happy for humanity because they would fall asleep spooning, even though they had been together for a while. In the morning, Domenico was an earlier riser than Raffaella, so he would get up, get dressed, and leave the dorm for a half hour or so. He would return with two mugs of tea, set them on the bedside table, and kiss Raffaella awake. It was the sort of thing that reminded me why I am so lucky to have Joe. While he doesn't do exactly those things, he instead holds my hand to remind me that he's protecting me and sends me flowers when he knows I'm afraid or nervous. Thank goodness for men like Joe and Domenico.
All mushiness aside.
Raffaella came over to us while we packed and gave us their contact information on a slip of paper. They liked us enough to want to keep in touch--a very flattering thing. At the end of the information they had written, "Buona fortuna." Good luck. We exchanged our contact information as well, a little sad that we would not see them again.
We locked our bags in the storage room so we could travel to the island with just a few things in our daypacks and went down to the bus stop. The Italians decided to join us, but we realized we had missed the one by maybe a few minutes and decided to take the chance asking for a cheap, cheap taxi fare. The Italians turned down a FJ$7 taxi offer, so we waited out in the hot sun. Finally we were able to stop a truck, and they allowed us to ride in the back up to the Matintar intersection.
It was the perfect way to travel. Adventurous and a great breeze. At the intersection we caught a bus the rest of the way into town. Once we got there and bought a few things and visited an ATM, it was time to say a final goodbye. It was sweet the way they hugged us and wished us well.
We finally made it to Junior's house and after a little bit of tea, we headed with Junior and Fazi to the Muslim's house (and I differentiate him as Muslim not as a slight, but just because he was a president of the local Muslim tribe, or something like that--plus, I can't remember his name). We spent a couple of hours washing out the boat, filling up water bottles, and getting ready. George was supposed to be going with us, but he took a lot of time to show up. Once he did, Joe left with the boat owner to purchase gasoline for the boat, as well as bread and butter.
We didn't realize how long we had been in the sun between the ride to town, the walking in town, the getting the boat ready, and the walking to the ocean as the tractor pulled the rickety boat and rickety trailer down to the water. I started to realize just how hot my skin felt, and started to cover up because I was starting to feel the sun.
We got in the boat after wrangling it off the trailer, and we started to get a sense of the kind of adventure we were getting ourselves into. George took to the oars and paddled us out deep enough to start the engine, which took a while. The boat was wooden and old. They used an old, slightly rusted refrigerator and freezer as the cooler for food and water. They laid it on its back two-thirds of the way back in the boat. Our stuff was packed into the front of the boat, which had a top, but not much else for water protection. A tarp was over top of anything that stuck out, but I was nervous for our stuff.
The nervousness only mounted. We were heading to an island that was close, but the journey seemed like it would never end. I was very thankful that Joe came to sit next to me so that I could hold his hand and swear under my breath. The boat was not exactly high-tech and it seemed ready to tip over with every wave. Since the cyclone had just missed us, it had left behind a bit of wind. We were hitting the waves from the side, rather than head-on, making the boat roll over every swell and trough. I was scared we would flip over or at least start taking in water. I clutched Joe and tried not to let Junior, George, and Fazi know how scared I was, which is harder than it sounds because I had to keep my eyes from going wide with fear.
After what felt like forever, we made it to the island. We had sugar, flour, and rice to present as a sevusevu, which is a gift given to the chief of a village in exchange for the right to stay in the village. Going into a village as a tourist just feels chintzy, like the village is just smiling and accepting the gift to complete the image that the tourist wants to see. It makes me feel like I am cheapening their identity to complete a tradition that probably isn't even normally used anymore. But whatever. I just hope they don't feel constrained to a role they think a tourist needs to see.
So we gave that to the village, smiled, shook some hands and said thank you. Then we waited for our hosts to come back from spear-hunting. This is when the sunburn started to really burn. The sun was so hot and there was no wind. With humidity as high as it will go and no wind to cool the sweat, we were just panting. And of course I had to get a really bad sunburn the moment I leave a location where I can buy aloe or take a cold shower, or at least have non-salinated water. I was in pain and I could do nothing to relieve my body.
We laid under the edge of some scrappy trees trying to get a bit of shade. The sand was rubbing on my burn and the tarp we were on seemed like it reflected the heat. Sitting all five of us in the shade made me remember why many cultures do siestas, and why Fijian culture is so laid back--they know that they can't do anything else because it's just too damn hot.
This was the first time since the first couple of days that I had felt trapped in the heat and overwhelmed by it. Luckily Junior let me use some of the water we had brought to pour on my body and cool down.
Finally we decided to go to the other side of the island where we would meet up with our host. We took the boat around and it was almost pleasant to be out on the ocean again. We maneuvered our way through the reefs, dodging the shallowest of it until we could tie the boat to a mangrove tree.
Once we got out, we met Sara, who turned out to be one of the sweetest souls I have ever met. Maybe she was just being a good hostess to the tourists, but she seemed just sweet. She made tea for us and put out a mat for us to lounge on for a bit.
Niko never struck me as a super great human being. And I have the feeling the relationship might be an abusive one. Maybe I have it all wrong and these are definitely just wisps of impressions that I got, but there were certain things when said or done that could have added up to a not nice human being. Then again, he could be as sweet as the Dalai Lama for all I know. I don't think I got to know him well enough to pass judgment on his character.
We started to head back to the other side of the island, back to the village where the best snorkeling supposedly was. On the way we saw the improvements our host Niko (Sara's boyfriend) had been doing to his land. He had made two lanes perpendicular to one another with trees on both sides. Some of the trees were coconut and some were limes. In between were flowers and flowering shrubs. There was also a well, but it was not used anymore, thankfully, as there was a recently dead bird floating in it.
When we made it to the edge of the village, we looked around at a few of the men and women who were circled around something. There was a hush that fell on the village, and even though they still greeted us with, "Bula!," the customary greeting that wraps hello, welcome, and well wishes for your life all up into one little package, there was still an air of oh-shit-the-tourists-aren't-supposed-to-see-this. We said a quick Bula and moved on to the water with our snorkels, hoping we hadn't disturbed them too much. I am not one to pass judgments on other cultures, but the things I had seen were definitely grey area, at best. We ignored the thoughts and set out snorkeling instead.
There wasn't much to see, and while I was super buoyant and enjoyed it, there is still a part of me that gets scared. I was more adventurous in how far out I went compared to Fazi and Joe, but each time I would go out further and further bravely, and then hit a point where I got scared and had to turn back. I've always been frightened of the bottom of any body of water. Thanks a lot, Dave. When we were little and went swimming at Rigby Lake, he told me that a little boy had drowned in the lake in the last few days. I remember asking why he hadn't worn a life jacket like we were wearing, and Dave told me that the water had saturated the life jacket and the boy had gone under and drowned and was still down there. I've been afraid of what is on the bottom ever since.
It was fun to go out pretty deep, but I got too scared. The three of us snorkeled for a while and at one point were joined by a floating young girl from the island who seemed fascinated by these funny looking tourists. After a while, we got out and walked back to the other side of the island, where we had behind-the-bush, bowl-by-bowl type shower. Joe and I both realized how lucky we were. We were lucky both to have all the conveniences of American life back at home, and we were both lucky we had found the other person who would adventure and put up with total exposure, behind-the-bush, bowl-by-bowl adventuring. We came to the consensus that we were just a bit miserable--fried by the sun, dirty and sticky from swimming, and feeling generally exhausted by the Fiji adventures. I was glad we could agree on that, because it gave me hope that we just needed to make it a bit more in Fiji and then we could rest.
We spent the evening eating boiled fish and cassava, drinking kava and beer, talking, laughing, and consuming late-night fried liver and toasted bread and butter. Joe and I retired to the tent earlier than everyone else, but Sara and Fazi crept away soon after.
Sometime around 3:30 in the morning, we woke up to the wind whipping our tent. There was rain, and the wind was so bad that someone had staked our tent for us while we slept. We ran around frightened, looking for our clothing and tent extras that we had left out. I think I was only half awake and my need to hide my fear as a tourist slipped a little. Junior had already retrieved our things when the storm first started.
The wind whipped through so bad that we were afraid it might be a hurricane! Joe and I fitfully fell back to sleep.
When morning came, we learned it was just tidal wind. Apparently when the tide goes out or comes in, the weather can have a rapid change.
Joe went fishing with Fazi, Junior and George. I was feeling a little miserable still, and stayed behind in the tent. When I came out, sweet Sara told me she would have breakfast ready soon. She brought me out a silver platter full of delights! Tea with milk, coconut rice (soooooo good and impossible to reproduce, no matter how much we try), toast and butter, and fresh papaya, picked from their farm. Oh my goodness.
I was a happy camper, watching the men fish a little ways out, seeing the world change from a dim grey to a pink and light yellows and blues as the sun came up, drinking my tea and feasting on the best that the island had to offer, looking out at the beach and the water in this paradise of the world. I was burnt, tired, and dirty, but oh-so-happy. Sara came and drank tea with me and talked a little bit.
We packed up and Niko went to find a young coconut tree. He had recently decided to have each guest on his island plant a coconut tree so that they felt more attachment and warmth from the place. First Joe planted one, then I planted one. We took the last pictures by the lime trees and wild cucumbers and said goodbye, hugging Sara and letting her know what a sweet hostess she had been. They even sent me home with two fresh papayas!
We shoved off and George, Joe, and Fazi took the boat out, leading it until the water was up to their waists before jumping in. Junior then started the motor and we took off at top speed, which is to say, rather slowly because the outboard motor was far too small for the boat.
I took no chance with the sun and doubled up with sunscreen and clothing coverage.
The ride back was sketchy, but not as bad. Plus, I was no longer worried about losing my valuables should the boat capsize, since I had situated them in a small dry bag.
Once we got to the shore of the main island Viti Levu, we sat while Junior went back to the Muslim's house to get the tractor. Wrangling the boat onto the tractor just reminded us of how bizarre the whole Fiji experience has been. The tractor had no breaks, so Junior had to take the trailer off, back it into the water by hand, load the boat on it, then swing the tractor around multiple times until it was close enough that we could tug the trailer back up towards the tractor and hook it up. Then we road in the boat up to the Muslim's house.
Once there, we cleaned out the boat and got the fishing nets back into it for use in the near future. After everything was cleaned out and put away, Joe and I said goodbye until the next day. We had both agreed we were ready for some rest.
We checked back into the hostel, though we couldn't pay just yet because their card reader (EFTPOS) was not working. We decided to eat at the hostel's restaurant where they had a barbecue special. About midway through dinner, Mateo the Casanova and a new friend came to say hello. They sat down, but after a few minutes of only English, Mateo couldn't understand and left. Justin stuck around and within no time, we were having very deep conversation.
Justin was from Oregon, which made us nostalgic. The longer we talked, the more we liked Justin. He had been traveling for years working here and there as a dive instructor. His ideas on politics were similar to ours, which I can flatter myself by saying our ideas on politics are logical, practical, and humble. We talked for hours and at the end of it all, we said goodnight, knowing we would probably never see him again.
This oddity is a common fact of traveling. Many times the people you meet and have the best conversations with are the ones you never see again and don't even try to keep in contact with. Trying to keep in contact with someone you only meet once, even if the conversation is long and deep, would be difficult and even strange.
We went to bed exhausted and happy. Being exhausted is a sign of great adventure, I think. We were seeing Fiji as authentically as possible.
More tomorrow! Happy State of the Union!
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