TASHY TRAVELS

Every Sunday, I am going to upload a post about the different countries I have visited and/or lived in since 2002.

I can assure you of some interesting stories.

FIJI 2

We decided to spend our last week in Fiji on one of the islands that are scattered along the west coast of Viti Levu. We could have gone to the other large island, Vanua Levu, but felt it might be nice to see how life was lived on a far smaller island. We had befriended a travel agent in Nadi and she had a few contacts and tied us up with a trip arranged through Awesome Adventures. We didn’t want to go just to a resort, or at least I didn’t, and we were to take the big yellow cat to a little island called Wayalailai, We would then stay at the resort for a week before re-boarding the cat and returning. Before you fully engage with that picture of two people straddled across a large yellow moggy, this was not a feline cat. It was a catamaran, a boat crewed by Awesome Adventures staff, very lucky staff.

Each day the boat would head up the islands, turn at the top and head back again. The scenery was beautiful. Here we saw islands that were exactly as I wanted Pacific Islands to look. Ones on which Robinson Crusoe could well have been marooned, or at least gone very red. Of course now there were resorts on most of them, but you could easily imagine a time before when there would have been no inhabitants but a plentiful supply of food to survive. The way the journey worked was that you could, if you only wanted a day-trip, simply jump on, well it was a bit more complicated because there was some paperwork, jump off at the island of your choice, if they’d have you, spend some time there and hop back on when the catamaran was on its return journey. Obviously the sooner you jumped off, the longer you had in your chosen paradise.

But, it was also possible to spend time on these islands, some of them, and this is what we had chosen to do. In most cases, perhaps in all cases but I didn’t visit all islands, the catamaran was not able to get close enough to the shore for people to disembark. This meant that each island had a little boat that would come out and you would transfer, gingerly, and then be taken to the island. It was fun to work out who were the day-trippers and who the temporary residents. The catamaran also seemed to bring supplies to some of these islands.

While nearly all journeys were made by boat, we did see this sight one morning while we stayed at Wayalailai. I have no idea if it was a medical plane, flying doctor style, a wealthy tourist, or even a wealthy island owner. Had we been in the Caribbean I might have expected to see a guy with no tie, a nice pullover and virgin emblazoned on his heart but we weren’t, we were in Fiji. It could even have been a new generation Howard Hughes testing his new toy.

The beauty of the Wayalailai resort was that it was owned by Fijians, by the islanders. They called it an Eco-friendly resort. The villagers themselves lived a short distance away from the resort and it was a visit there that became the high point of our time on Wayalailai. Most of the accommodation was in Fijian style bures, the little huts you can see in the picture. I’m not sure you could find a more beautiful, or indeed peaceful, place to stay. The beach was literally a stone’s throw away from our hut.

This is our actual accommodation and behind it, to the right as you look at it, is the communal eating, relaxing, meeting area. Outside the hut, you can see a light. Very useful, except the electricity to the island was turned off each night at 10.00 pm. Maybe this was why it was Eco-friendly. The accommodation was certainly basic but, as you can see, superbly presented. At our welcoming meeting, we were greeted by a guy called Napota, one of the elders. How old, I was unsure. He, however, decided how old I was and formally made me chief of that week’s visitors. From then on, and we met up quite often, he always referred to me as chief. I later discovered that he was correct in this veneration, as it turned out he was slightly younger than I. The majority of those who arrived with us were also slightly older than the gap-year backpackers who had been on the boat. They, I guess, went to one of the more party islands.

During the evenings, the resort put on all sorts of entertainment which included these ladies dancing in the traditional Fijian way. It is possible, although unlikely, that they were also guiding in the odd flying boat should it make a return trip to the island. One day we were treated to a market held up near the eating area, where the villagers all came along and laid out the various pieces of jewellery etc that they had made. If you watched the basket weaving video yesterday then the bit at the end, with those rather threatening warriors, was actually shot, or perhaps speared, on Wayalailai.

I can report that, once you got to know them, they were quite friendly. Do I look scared? Okay, well I scare easily then. Seriously, you couldn’t find more helpful, friendly people. They even dressed my girlfriend up in a traditional Fijian bridal costume, quite psychic as some years later, when I was long gone, she eventually married in Tahiti, for a day or two. Each night these warriors, or villagers as they were then, would meet up on the grass strip below the communal area and play rugby. By the way, we were there at the time of the 2007 Rugby World Cup, which if you remember was held in France. The time difference played havoc with the Eco-electriciy rules. We all stayed up until the early hours of the morning to watch one of the Fijian matches on just one small TV in one of the rooms near the communal area.

Another time, we saw the dawn rise. I sometimes can’t believe how much we did in these short visits. If anyone thought this was a holiday, then they must work bloody hard on their holidays. The reason for seeing this lovely view was my old friend Napota. He organised weekly walks to the summit of the island, which may have had a name but, if so, I don’t remember it. To be honest, you could choose between a sunrise walk or a sunset one. Napota, respectful of his newly found chief, recommended we take the sunrise one. We all assembled at the edge of the resort at 4.30 am one morning, being careful not to wake the slackers who were missing out.

Then we were issued with something akin to a miner’s lamp. There weren’t enough to go round and I decided that if my aged guide didn’t need one, neither did his aged chief. Of course, I didn’t take into account the fact that Napota had done the journey hundreds of times. Anyway we set off climbing, in near darkness, through scrubs, trees and boulders, negotiating sudden dips and a few steep climbs, cut into the mountain. I discovered that, in the dark, I have no fear of heights, Funny that. Unfortunately, the higher we got, the brighter it became, although to be honest there were no steep drops. After about 40 minutes, we stopped and Napota pointed out that we had reached part of the village’s plantations. Yes, they climbed up here to plant things and then harvesting involved walking down a mountainside carrying taros or whatever. Each to their own.

At this stage, those that had them, put down their lamps. I wondered who was going to pick them up but then I remembered the sunset walk. Presumably, this was the point on that walk when lamps would be needed on the descent. I was wrong but what did I know; I was a visiting chief. We pressed on and eventually, after a couple of hours, we made it. The view was sensational; the feeling one of achievement. I have a vague recollection, no notes just memory, of some precariously balanced stones here but I may have made that up.

We stopped to take in the beauty and then headed off downhill or down-mountain to be precise. Napota led the way. He was, by the way, shoeless and tomorrow I will put up a picture of his feet, worth waiting for I can assure you. He told us that we would go down a separate way, thereby ruining my ‘pick-up-the-lanterns’ theory if he did this on his sunset route too. About halfway down a far easier track, he left us and said just follow the path. As we came down we had yet another breath-taking view of the scenery around here. We got down in time for breakfast and a whole day ahead of us. Later Napota took us on another walk, less strenuous, and pointed out all the plants that had medicinal benefits.

And yet, all this turned out to be the second best bits of our stay on Wayalailai. On our first full day we had gone down to the beach and headed along toward the village. My girlfriend, as instructed, had covered her shoulders and actually wore a long sulu. The village was nowhere nearly as well constructed as the ones along the coral coast. It was, in non-derogatory terms, primitive. There were no stone paths and, as you can see, washing was done by hand in a bowl. This showed us once again the wisdom of being just two people travelling, as we could stand around, take pictures and not look like Michael Palin or David Attenborough.

Washing for the younger generation seemed even more fun. To me this was real Fiji. Nothing against Nadi or Suva but, as I have said before, I don’t like cities anyway. This just seemed to be so much more real life; life as had been for centuries but with concessions to modernity. We watched the little lad having his bath surrounded by his family. In the background is the sea and, we were told, many adults will just go straight into the sea, wearing their clothes, for a wash. In the heat there, things would dry pretty quickly.

For other ablutions, lovely word that, there was the convenience of a tin privy. I understand that there was also a shower of sorts in there. I didn’t check. We also watched this guy make his way there. He made ambling look like a sprint. He moved so slowly as though time didn’t matter and probably, to him, it didn’t. I now know that he may have been up at that plantation from 5.00 am that morning, so he had every right to move at any speed he wanted but it added, so much, to the general feeling of peace and tranquility.

We found the church, as usual the grandest building on the island. I can’t remember if they had a list inside the door of donations but it seemed so out-of-place among the little huts. I am sure the villagers all went there every Sunday but it still leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth when I think of the money spent on, or given for, religion in places like this. It’s not, I can assure you, my being anti-religious. It’s just the amount of money that these churches seem to have to spend. I’m sure, if they wanted, the villagers would happily worship in the open, Enough of that, I won’t start again, until we reach Tonga. Some of the houses had their kitchens outside, in a separate lean-to. Stones were used not to build houses but as steps to get into the one you had. Even the broom was hand-made

You have to remember as well that there were no shops in the village. I think there was a store of sorts in the resort but I’m not even certain of that. Everything you wanted arrived once a week on the supply ship, you grew it or you made it. Also, we learnt, many of the older children went to school on the mainland. They would stay with other members of their families who were now living over there. These fishes we saw smoking over a slow burning fire. I don’t know how long they would last a family but my notes say I counted them, the fishes not my notes, and there were over 600 in total.

The whole family was involved, possibly friends as well. One lady was stripping the palm fronds, the things we had used for weaving. Another was then splicing them into narrow strips and it was these that they used to splice the fishes. At the same time, another woman was involved in getting the ‘meat’ out of the coconuts for another dish and this little girl wanted to be a part of it too. She never actually managed to get a fish on her strand but she had a really good go. What I found strange was that the whole operation was conducted while an incredible number of flies flew or settled everywhere. You can see them all over the little girl.

On that first visit, while my girlfriend had spent some time in the church, I had walked on. I saw a young boy cleaning saucepans near a hut. After a minute or so, he beckoned me over. It was obvious, pretty soon, that his English was limited; he could understand far more than he could say, but he wanted to show us his house. He was, to start with, very shy, but we eventually went inside and it turned out it was his aunt’s place and he looked after it during the day. Later, in Tonga and Samoa, we would come across the practice of a male child being given the role of a female, both in life and in the home. My feelings were that Kookie, as he told us he was called, may have been doing the same. He didn’t go to school, didn’t like rugby and, as we found later, preferred the company and hobbies of the young girls on the island. From then on, he became our guide if we wanted to see or know or even film something. He was never intrusive but we could find him if needed.

He also was the source of our great kava night drinking session. He had arranged for us to have a dinner with a family in the village. He came and collected us from the resort and the family had cooked a lovely meal, and, we understood, that Kookie had helped in no small way. Both parents attended the meal and then afterwards we were told we would drink some kava. By the way, the picture on the right is the roots of the kava plant in its pre-ground up state, which is why it is on a piece of cloth. Forget it. The kava was prepared and Kookie took on the role of dispenser, handing out the cup to each of us in turn. We each had a couple of rounds, at fairly low-tide level for those who were with me yesterday, and then the father left the hut. I suppose it was about 9.00 pm by then. Over the next hour or so various women from the village came into the hut and we continued to drink the kava. Of dad, there was no sign.

By 11.00 pm we had moved to this hut and several of the women were now lying, sleeping, on the floor. I have to admit that I can’t remember why we changed huts, which may be a little more significant than I think. Eventually, at around midnight, it was decided that Kookie and a young friend would walk us back to the resort, which they duly did. On the way we passed a hut and we could tell from the sound that this one was full of males. Kookie told us that the dad had gone here as the males were having their own kava drinking night. You may ask why I was left as the sole male with all these Fijian women and I can’t tell you. You may not comment on the fact that after an evening in my company most of them fell asleep. It was the kava. If it had any effect on us, we didn’t notice it and didn’t wake feeling bad either. Those are the best sort of nights.

After this, we left Fiji and headed for Tonga. I know my feelings were that Tonga would have to be very special to surpass the time we had on these Melanesian Islands. My memories were many and, as you can see, have stayed with me for a long time. The most memorable? Every time I walk into an English supermarket I always think of the fruit and vegetables in those Fijian markets. Thanks Fiji and, wherever you may be now, thanks Kookie for a truly far out experience. I’m so glad you conquered your obvious shyness to beckon me over.

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