gathers no moss: return to the s. pacific

My father and I arrived in Fiji a few days ago, and after a short visit of a few days, we're leaving for New Zealand tomorrow. It's nice to get a little sunshine on this white body. It's warm, as you would expect, but not brutally so.

We arrived in Nadi, a medium-sized town on the western part of the biggest island. Upon disembarking, we learned that we had no baggage. My father wasn't too worried about it and said we'd get along just fine with toothbrushes. I was more concerned, since I was carrying four months worth of winter sporting equipment. It showed up the following day to our relief.

We bummed around for the day, battling jetlag. There are some big resorts nearby with gates and manicured lawns and boutique shopping. That seemed to be where all the white folks hung out. We checked that out for a bit, then went on a bus tour of the area because that seemed like a low-impact way to kill the afternoon. On the tour we stopped at a village where people led a pretty mean existence. Later we returned to our airport hotel, which was really quite fancy. At night there were swarms of toads hopping about the grounds outside.

The following morning we found our bags at the airport, and shortly afterwards, a fellow came to drive us to the village where we spent the last couple of days. I only grabbed a couple things out of my bag before putting them in hotel storage (no skis needed in Fiji villages). Among the things I wished I had grabbed was my pocket camera. I'm pretty good at taking sly photos with it. I brought my big camera, but there are times when it's awkward or inappropriate to use it. So unfortunately, there were lots of things I wish I had pictures of. One good rule in photography is that in order to get the shot, you have to have a camera.

Our guide Isso, a mid-twenties man with big tattooed biceps, drove us about an hour and a half to his village. He had an odd tic and seemed to nod off fairly often while navigating at 100 miles per hour along roads clogged with horses, dogs, and people. Making small talk, I asked him what he did for fun. I asked if he surfed. Surfed? No, he said, shaking his head. I got the feeling that he thought surfing was for sallies. I asked if he fished, and he said he liked to spearfish. It sounded pretty badass to me, the idea of this dude swimming down into the reef and spearing sharks.

We arrived at the village, which was honestly a village. It was pretty jungle-y and there were lots of folks hanging around. They were very happy to see us. Some old ladies wanted to talk to us and ask us where we were from. Small children giggled and pointed, saying "Bula! Bula!". Some guys were hanging around digging holes for some project and they said hello. They were all pretty well-muscled. Apparently this village is known for its champion rugby squad.

Our hostess, Tupau (Isso's sister-in-law) asked us if we'd like to see the elementary school. We said sure and she took us over. In the sweltering schoolroom we had about 60 schoolkids gather around and touch our hands and smiling. They were all wearing sarongs. Then they sang three or four songs enthusiastically and formed a big line and danced. They asked is if we'd like to say something. I gave a little speech about how we were
from the USA and I am 36 years old but once upon a time I was six years old, same as them. Then Steve gave a speech about bronze bushings and bearings. He also did a weird trick with his shoulder blade. Being six years old, I think the kids were more interested in that than listening about American precision manufacturing. It was any amazing experience. The Fijians have been, without exception, incredibly friendly. Everyone says "Bula!" in the street and has a big smile.

We were invited to dinner at Tupau's house later, so we hung around in our beach cabin for a bit. The kids came out to the beach later and played some spirited volleyball. After a bit, the volleyball screaming and giggling changed into some deeper manly shouts and grunts. We went out to see what was going on and were shocked to see that all of the village men were doing rugby drills on the beach. Seriously, they looked like an NFL team running forwards and backwards and tackling and passing. After working their butts off until the sun went down, they all got together and sang a song of praise in a beautiful acapella.

Tupau made us dinner later which was a big extravaganza of chicken and lamb stir frys, rice, bananas, papayas, and strawberry Fanta. Her husband Sake joined us. He's in his mid-forties and has big muscles and cauliflower ears from playing rugby on the Fijian club circuit. He was a super nice guy who seemed like he was probably pretty wild in his youth but settled down for the married life. After dinner, I pulled out some Fijian tobacco I purchased at the market the day previously. Sake's eyes lit up and he pounced on it, rolling up some cigars for us. We shared cigars and he seemed really impressed that I brought the goods.

After a night of ants biting the hell out of my arms and legs while I slept, we awoke to breakfast of fried banana cakes and more papaya. Tupau then took us to the market in the nearby town of Sigatoka. It was very busy with commerce. Lots of spiny fruits, freshwater mussels, more tobacco, and jewelry. Also, there was lots of kava being sold. Kava is a sort of bushy plant that is pounded into powder and then strained through water to make a drink also called kava. It's apparently a mild narcotic, and Fijians drink quite a bit of it. In the market, there was an old toothless crone straining the stuff through a rag into small bowls. Tupau asked if I'd like to try some, and I couldn't resist. To my father's horror, I chugged two bowls of the stuff. First it made my tongue tingle, then go numb. Then the lower part of my face went numb, and I felt it working its way down my throat. It didn't last too long, however. Interesting stuff.

Tomorrow we're off to NZ. I think it will be a little different.

big pretty plane