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The flight to Fiji was strange in that I felt I was being served by the national rugby team. All of the cabin crew were massive Fijian blokes, but like most South Sea Islanders they had equally massive smiles on their faces and were extremely genial. Apart from that, I arrived safely enough. As one may expect, it was pretty damn hot, although the sky was a little overcast. My first two nights were spent on the main island, at a beach resort close to the main town of Nadi. The resort as essentially a stepping stone along the way to the island resorts off coast, where the sand was nicer, the sun shinier and the rum free-flowing. I spent the evening hanging out with a group that had been on the same flight as me, desperately trying to cool ourselves with beer. The resort had a forty bed dorm - thankfully with air con. It was big, but nothing on what I'd see later on.
The next day I headed into town with Nick and Jim. The bus we were riding was well used, to say the least. Saving money on expensive air con was simply solved by not having windows - rolled up tarpaulins were on hand in case it rained. The driver appeared to be sitting on top of the engine - health and safety hasn't sucked the life out of Fiji yet then! There were also no (or very few at least) designated stops, which was both good and bad. It meant you could jump off wherever took your fancy, but also meant that people could flag down the bus wherever they wanted (this seemed to be at the bus driver's whim though; we twice drove past people trying to flag him down). This led the the driver picking up two families who lived next door to each other. They literally stood 10 metres apart, and the second family just let the bus drive to them rather than take the few steps over when it was picking up the first.
We reached town eventually, the bus having taken a rather roundabout route. We'd been warned before going in by the resort staff about hustlers and the like. The Polynesian Fijians warned us especially about Indian Fijians inviting us to their 'authentic Fijian stores' - apparently they had a bad rep for ripping people off. It wasn't as bad as in, say Egypt, but the barrage of incessant invites into people's stores got pretty annoying after a while. As a rule of thumb I don't follow people to their shops up small side streets. Primary school taught me better than that. I met a couple on one of the islands who had gone into a store and not been let out until they bought something. In any case, everything was cheap and so we took the chance to stock up on various bits and bobs - primarily booze so that we wouldn't have to pay bar prices when on the islands. After navigating out way back on the rickety bus fleet we spent the rest of the day lazing around on the beach, although the weather was still pretty poor (for Fijian standards at least). In the evening we went to a bar down the street where a Fijian acoustic band was playing. They invited us to sit down and sample the wonders of kava (I have no idea how it's spelt). It is the traditional Fijian drink - made by grinding the root of the kava plant up and adding it to water. It looks, tastes and smells like muddy water. But who were we to refuse their kind offer? Thee is a little ceremony surrounding it. The kava is made up in a large bowl, into which a smaller bowl is dipped and then drunk from, accompanied by clapping and everyone saying 'mutha' (empty) once you've finished. The drink itself isn't alcoholic, but it is slightly narcotic - very very slightly. After a few bowls you notice you're tongue getting a bit numb. It doesn't do a whole lot, but apparently helps you sleep. Most Fijians knock back about 20 to 30 of the small bowls a night! After about 15 we were done - mainly because of the sheer volume of liquid we were drinking, and the fact the our gentle European stomachs can't deal to well with mud water, especially when full of steak.
It was an early rise to get the packed ferry out to the island resorts. Nick, Jim and I were all going to different places. I think I chose wisely, as I only had a half hour ride on the sweltering ferry as opposed to Nick's four hours. First stop was Bounty Island, made famous by ITV1's 'Celebrity' Love Island. It had gone downhill a bit since those heady days of z list celebrity glory. A hurricane had hit the island and damaged a lot of the buildings a few years ago, and the main love island buildings, the bar and pool, had been moved from one side to the other, the pool still being unfinished. The staff on the island told me that the contestants and crew had actually stayed in hotels on the main island, and got boats to and from Bounty Island every day. Yet another example of TV's constant lying to us! The island was small - it took about 20 minutes to walk around it.
After the constant movement and activity of Australia and New Zealand it was my goal to spend my time in Fiji as unproductively as possible. I achieved this aim and then some, spending hours lying on a hammock and reading/dozing/drinking rum in between the huge buffet meals and occasional dips in the sea to go snorkelling on the reef, which was probably the best I've seen. Only a few metres off shore, it surrounds the island and is teeming which all manner of aquatic critters. The night life on Bounty Island was limited at best. I spent the evenings playing cards or Monopoly, and drinking kava with the staff. It didn't get any better - I still don't understant the appeal of mud water.
After a few days of living it up in my hammock and drinking rum while pretending I was the new Hunter S. Thompson I mooched off to Beachcomber Island, billed as the party island of Fiji. This was slightly exaggerated. It was livelier than bounty, for sure, but the bar/'club' closed at one and afterwards it was largely just a bunch of screaming public school eighteen year olds. I did not spend time with them, mainly because of my strange impulse to hit them. They were extremely annoying. Luckily I wasn't alone with hatred of them though. I spent my time with Paul, a 30 something mechanic on a hiatus from work, and Aofie, an Irish in her twenties who bought and sold airplanes for RBS. As it turns out, most airlines don't own their planes but just hire them from banks and other large companies. Who knew? In any case, upon announcing that she was going to move to another bank she was escorted out of the office. She didn't have to work through her three month notice period while still getting her salary, which I gather was considerable, and so had come traveling. We spent the day playing crazy golf (yup, the island had its own course. It was right in the centre though, away from the sea breeze, and so we were eaten alive by mossies) and snorkeling. The reef wasn't as good as bounty island, but I did see two sizable white tip reef sharks chasing a biggish tuna fish. Hardly a fair fight, but then for the the tuna it was either the sharks or being stuffed in a can. After an evening drinking I retired to the 110 bed dorm. Well, it was more of a hanger than a dorm. It didn't have air con, but was surprisingly cool simply by being so large and airy. The next day Jim and Nick showed up on the island for what was most of ours last night in Fiji. The day was pretty s***ty - it rained pretty constantly, and when the beach is taken out there is very little else to on a small desert island! I was very ill that night and the next morning. I'm not sure whether it was the copious amounts of booze I drunk, but I've certainly never been that ill from drink before. In any case, I can't stand so much as the thought of Southern Comfort now. The ferry ride back to the mainland with a dodgy stomach was pretty uncomfortable, but I made it back without polluting the lovely Fijian seas with my stomach contents, and even got some food down me on the mainland. By the time of my 10pm flight I was back to normal again, and looking forward to hitting the USA like a twenty first century Sal Paradise.
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