Friday 13th March didn't happen in our lives. We set off in the plane from L.A. on 12th March, then at some point we crossed the international dateline and t was 14th March when we landed in Fiji. Jon is massively confused by this and has lots of questions, which starts to get on Kath's nerves pretty rapidly.

But what did happen to that day? If you're going to lose a day I suppose Friday 13th isn't a bad choice, but still. If we've lost a day out of our lives does that mean I'll now really be a day older (or younger, can't work it out) than I think I am? And what if 13th March was actually your birthday but it didn't exist. How old would you be then, and when would you celebrate? All very confusing.

Anyway, we landed in Fiji which is the main thing. Rather than booking accommodation through an international travel agent Kath had gone for a local option she'd randomly found on the internet, so there we were at 5am sat in the airport in the offices of Margaret Travel, which was run by a lady called Margaret appropriately enough. After wading through a baffling amount of leaflets we picked out a few island resorts and Margaret set about booking them for us. Or not - sometimes they didn't pick up the phone. Some of them didn't have a phone. We were assured it would all be alright, despite all evidence being to the contrary. Everything is done on 'Fiji time' over here, i.e. whenever they can be bothered. Jon's not a massive fan of Fiji time, it makes him nervous.

Margaret let us leave our rucksacks in her office at the airport, so we set out to the islands with just a small daypack each to last us for 2 weeks. Pair of pants and a toothbrush apparently. Should have ditched the pants and taken more mozzie cream in hindsight.

After an overnight stay on the mainland we got a ferry out to the Yasawa group of islands. We went out to the furthest point, a 4 hour journey in rough seas, then island hopped our way back again spending 2-3 nights on each island.

First stop was 'Safe Landing' resort. They were half right, in that we landed. The transfer from the big ferry to a tiny open-topped speedboat felt less than safe though. We'd go through that process many times over the 2 weeks we were there, and it never got any better. It was more than made up for by the beauty of the islands and the friendliness of the Fijian people though. They really were paradise islands - the picture postcard blue skies, clear seas and sandy beaches. And we were treated very well when the locals found out we were English. One young lad referred to it as 'the motherland' and there were many references to rolling green hills and the Queen. We really hope they never actually go there and have their dreams shattered, it's much better the way it is.

The weather was very changeable, going from bright sunny skies and 30 degree heat to proper tropical storms then back again in the course of a day. Lots of our time was spent doing not very much at all, mainly in a hammock or a sun lounger, but we did get out and about a bit.

We went to a local village and were formally introduced to the Chief, who was resplendent in his offical uniform of World Rally Championship t-shirt. Suspect maybe he's a bit bored of these tourist visits by now... The villagers live in nothing more than shacks, but they are the happiest, most care-free people in the world. They're also extremely generous. Having got to know the staff at Safe Landing quite well we were invited to come back next year and stay at one of the houses in the village free of charge. Brought a bit of a lump to the throat at the time.

The Fijians love a sing-song and have amazing voices, so we got up early one Sunday morning got dressed up as best we could and took the treacherous hike over the muddy hilltop, through the pig-pen (literally) to the village for a church service. Everyone goes to church here, and the choir was amazing. We had to sit through a bit of fire and brimstone sermonising but it was well worth it.

There were coconuts everywhere, as well as signs warning you to mind out for them dropping from the trees. After one storm a coconut had dropped right next to our bure (wooden hut basically - home to mosquitos, mice and occasionally to two sunburned English folk). Jon got obsessed with trying to open the coconut using just his bare hands, stones, tree stumps etc. Kath didn't understand, but this was proper man stuff. Less than an hour later and we were enjoying fresh coconut, bleeding hands and breathlessness not detracting from the magnitude of the achievement.

Our final day was spent aboard an 80 foot schooner - the Seaspray 'of TV fame' (nope. us neither). We basically sailed around, dropping in at the island where they filmed Castaway (Jon can open coconuts quicker than Tom Hanks, easy), and did another village tour complete with kava drinking ceremony. Kava is the local drink, made from a plant root. It's apparently hallucinogenic, but I think you'd have to drink loads of it. If you've never tried kava just go outside and lick a muddy puddle, it's very similar.

Anyway, the Seaspray was ace. We got sat next to the Skipper who became our best mate. Beers were drunk, songs were sung and limbs were burned. Great days.

And best of all, Margaret even dropped our rucksacks off at our hotel the night before we flew out, God bless her.

Lots of love,

Jon & Kath xx