Fiji

Bula!

Now folks, I’m certainly no marketing major, but it seems to me that if I were on the executive board of a wildly successful bottled water company, and I wanted to name it after a country, I would more than likely start with somewhere that has drinkable tap water. Needless to say, I never received the memo that one is to boil the tap water in Fiji before he drinks it. I drank it. Remember that scene that follows the dinner scene in The Wedding Crashers after one of the guys got eye solution put in his water? Just somethin’ for you to think about.

Last Friday I left for Fiji at 4am. Those of you who know me might understand that I rarely am awake to see the number 4 preceded by the letters “am,” and when I am, I am less than thrilled. I left my dorm and caught a cab to the train station at 4:30, and was embarrassingly early. Almost an hour later, I boarded the train with my knapsack (ha) and was headed for Brisbane International Airport. My flight departed at 9:00am and landed in Nadi, Fiji at about 3:00pm. The flight was just a little over three hours, but due to annoying time differences and stupid daylight savings, everything was all screwy. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the recent sensation of “Movember,” but, in a nutshell, it is a fad in which men abstain from shaving their moustaches for the month of November. Unbeknownst to me, some of the Fijian women were taking part as well. The lady (or possibly man) at customs had a full-fledged, Monopoly guy moustache. Her facial hair, accompanied by her thick accent and quiet voice got me all discombobulated as I struggled my way through security.

Nadi is pronounced “Nandi,” why don’t you just put the N in there. I hate subliminal phonetics. Now personally, I was anticipating Fiji to be a picturesque south pacific version of Sandals, Jamaica, one of Michael Scott’s most deeply acclaimed destinations. I was incorrect. Much of Fiji is rather impoverished. Pregnant dogs, malnourished horses, and untamed fires provide the decor of the Fijian countryside. After I landed, the only thing I could smell was the overwhelming scent of steaming tar. I hopped in a cab and made my way to Yatule Beach Resort on Natadola Beach. I didn’t think the cab was going to make it. We miraculously found our destination and the pregnant dogs were replaced by pristine sandy beaches and the friendly people of Fiji. I headed to reception and met the lady there. She and the rest of the Fijian citizenry account for some of the friendliest and most pleasant people I have ever come across in my travels. There’s something about the south pacific that just generally makes people more amiable. “Bula (Hello)!” was yelled every five seconds by someone to me. Apparently, white people are revered in Fiji, I wonder if it was exponentially maximized for someone as white as myself. I often wondered how they knew I even was white. Was it my skin the color of Casper the Friendly Ghost? Maybe it was the wig I was wearing that I stole from Annie’s dressing room. Or it could have been my “swagger?” More than likely “all of the above.” Anyways, I checked into my “bure” and settled in. My friend, Mike, from Bridgewater has been studying in Fiji for the past four months, and was the means by which this trip was possible for me. The good people at the Yatule Beach Resort were gracious enough to give myself, Mike, and his two friends a great deal on our bure. We got a family one that included two separate units, which even included a $50 discount. It was so nice. I think I got the parents’ unit, since I was the first to arrive. If the cathedral ceilings and air conditioning weren’t enough, two full action-packed hours of the Powerpuff Girls were just the taste of television I needed (Am I materialistic? Don’t answer that.). At home, I am a television connoisseur, and that void needed to be filled by Cartoon Network, Time Warp, and hours upon hours of Madonna and Lady Gaga videos. In the time I was anticipating Mike’s arrival, thirst and hunger were my arch nemeses. In my kitchenette one would find the sink. A sink is a simple, everyday kitchen appliance that can be used for the most common purposes. Also, a life ruiner; it ruins people’s lives. This sink held the fate of my intestinal health in its faucet, and as I took a few swigs of its water, I was unknowingly planning out the next week of my life. Details unnecessary and inappropriate for the blogosphere.

Due to a failed attempt to trust their transportation, Mike and company didn’t arrive to Natadola Beach until about 7:00pm. I thought they were dead. Just kidding. They finally arrived at our bure and we headed to the resort next door for some dinner. A Tandoori chicken pizza and a margarita were on the menu. The food was good, and let’s just say that in case you thought you’d find a great margarita in Fiji, you won’t. It got the job done though. The ambience of the restaurant was flanked with “bumping” tunes that made me feel like I was in an Abercrombie & Fitch, and middle-aged women with cornrows, a combination that called for hilarity. After dinner I got to experience my first kava bowl session. This was an opportunity for Mike, Jordan, and myself to sit Indian-style around a large “kava bowl” with about fifteen other Fijian people. They ferment a root called “kava” and squeeze it into a bowl of water. They then fill up half of a coconut with the “grog” and hand it to you. As is customary, you clap once, chug the grog, hand the cup back, and clap twice. It was a lot of fun. A custom worth bringing home. We got to hear some Fijian tunes played on the guitar as well. Contrary to what we originally thought, grog doesn’t make you drunk. There is a numbing agent in it, however, that makes your tongue feel fuzzy, kinda like novocaine. It’s great. As the late night encroached, we made our way back on the beach, caught a great show on the Discovery Channel about people getting brainwashed in Jonestown, Guyana (really interesting), and hit the hay.

Due to jetlag and time differential, I slept in for some of the day on Saturday. When I arose from hibernation, Mike and I took the opportunity to go explore our surroundings for a little while. As we crossed treacherous, chest-high waters to arrive on another island, we were able to catch up on some of each other’s respective foreign cultural immersions. We got some good pictures of hanging rocks and mysterious huts before we headed back to the resort. The four of us grabbed dinner with some more of Mike’s pals and soon arranged for a “mini-bus” to Mango Bay resort. There were eight of us now, and we rolled into camp just as the rain did. We were taken to our orphanage slash hostel before we took the opportunity to go have some drinks by the fire with some of the other clientele from the resort. I made fast friends with some Australians, but I remember 0.00% percent of their names or anything about them. They might not have even been Australian.

Sunday morning was a bit of a struggle, as we sauntered our way to breakfast, followed by about a 2 hour nap on the beach for everyone else, and a two hour nap for me nestled in the safety under a shady tree. Trees... SPF: Infinity. After taking a few pictures of the scenery and grabbing some lunch, Mike, his friends Jordan, and Theresa, and I hopped on a bus that was headed to the city of Lautoka. We didn’t arrive until about 8:00pm and found our way to our humble abode of the night: Auschwitz, I mean Cathay Hotel. After we were checked in by the mentally incompetent desk clerk, we were led to our room for the night. If the salamanders crawling up and down the wall weren’t enough to make me want to stay, the howling cats, chain-link door guards, and sturdy Holocaust bunk beds made the sale. Mike’s top bunk dipped down enough for it to be considered a hammock. Funny stuff. Jordan, Mike, and I ordered a cab to take us to dinner. After no more than ten seconds of driving, we made it. Should have walked. It was pizza once again for this guy, and it was surprisingly good. We were back in bed by about 10:30 and were awake and exploring the city of Lautoka by 10am. Affluence is rare in Lautoka, but it was, weirdly enough, nice to see an ounce of reality apart from the Fijian resorts. After venturing through the town for a little while, we arranged for transportation to the mud pools, located somewhere in between Lautoka and Nadi.

Our cab driver got us there in about a half hour. We pulled in and convinced him to stay with us for the hour and continue driving us to our next destination. When he said he would stay, we thought he was going to wait in or near his cab, not creepily watch us bathe in mud pools and hot springs. He was useful for pictures though. The mud pools were interesting. We followed the lead of a Taiwanese broad in coating ourselves in the mud, letting it dry, and then wiping it of... $10. Whatever, it was cool, get over it. Now I knew the hot springs were going to be hot, but my heat threshold rivals that of an Inuit Alaskan tribe member. It literally took me fifteen minutes to get my shoulders even close to the surface of the water. After all of the mud had been cleansed from my almost-Santa’s-length beard, we got back in the cab and were driven to our final destination: Port Denarau.

Port Denarau was a mythical arrangement of resorts set across an island of tourist hot spots. It was couples galore. Young, old, Asian, not Asian, they were everywhere (peace signs included). We dropped our bags in our ocean view room, and planned out the agenda for the rest of the night. Eventually, we decided on dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe (haha) and resort hopping for the rest of the night. As many of you may know, I am chain food restaurant fanatic. There’s something about knowing what you’re going to get when you walk in that comforts me. Call me a romantic, but free refills, obnoxiously sized servings, and unnecessary garnishes are just my calling I guess. After heaping portion of the Hard Rock Cafe’s sampler platter, we headed back and went from resort to resort until we arrived back at the Sofitel. The first option had a 2-for-1 drink special starting at 9:00pm. So after waiting for fifteen minutes for the clock to strike the right time, our stingy wallets paid for two piña coladas, four “illusions” (ha), and two mai-tais. On to the next resort it was. As closing times encroached on our night, we took a cab to a bar off of Port Denarau, got over it, and came back to bed.

Tuesday morning was my final morning there. After purchasing a few final souvenirs from the Fijian empire, I was heading back to the Nadi airport by noon. My flight was at 3:30. There’s something about travelling by yourself that makes you realize how much you talk to yourself. Or at least I do. And I don’t just talk to myself in my head, I talk out loud to myself, in public places. On a number of occasions, I got caught talking to myself, and then thinking quickly, I had to immediately repeat the movement of my mouth repeatedly to make it seem like I had a facial tick, because something about a facial tick seemed more socially acceptable to me than talking to myself, I guess. After a three and a half hour flight back to Brisbane, I got on the wrong train because I’m smart. Don’t worry, Matt, this would never happen when it matters.

Since my return home from the one out of the 333 islands of Fiji, I have been finally getting back into the routine of school and life at Bond Uni. I feel like I haven’t been here in weeks. It was nice to have some me time and rest up from all of my travels. There’s already just a little over a month left here. Hard to believe! I gotta find more ways to spend more money before I leave. Side note: the Australian dollar is almost equivalent to the American dollar now. That sucks. If you could all do what you can to boost the American economy, it would be greatly appreciated. Gonna be a rough dollar next semester, Sara, G-Ma, and Savannah.

Anyways, Fiji was great. I’m still not sunburnt! I miss you all! Don’t forget to comment! Watch 30 Rock! Peace and blessings...

-Brendan/Sully/Buddha/Bren/Dangy