Fiji - Paradise (and Nemo) found - The Yasawas

Happy Clappy Octopus

Next morning we were picked up, along with an assortment of other people to catch the transfer boat to our first island resort, the Octopus on Waya Island, half way up the Yasawa chain of islands. The 90 minute journey passed quickly without anyone throwing up, and we arrived to a welcome song by the staff and much bula-ing. The resort was busy, which it always is, apparently, but there was a relaxed vibe on the pooldeck and restaurant overlooking the beach. We had made friends with a couple of Aussie couples who had come over on the boat with us and that evening we joined them and the other new arrivals for the traditional welcoming ceremony. Fijians drink something called "cava", not sparkling Spanish wine, unfortunately but a muddy infusion made from the root of a type of peppercorn vine which is supposed to be mildly narcotic, but is otherwise pretty revolting. All sat in a circle, we were passed a bowlful to drink and everyone bulaed everyone else. It didn't taste too special and the most we felt was a slight tingle to the lips, but we got to know some more people and then moved back onto Fiji Bitter which tastes nicer.

The next few days were spent doing lots of snorkelling. In addition to the barrier reefs offshore, there are many lovely reefs near the shore, full of multicoloured fish and coral, so you can just jump in from the beach. We saw big naughty parrotfish, tiny electric blue fish, large yellow and black striped fish and fish of every other conceivable colour, large and small. We even found Nemo, and most of his family. One evening we were talked into doing a night snorkel and, although Monts was initially a bit spooked and sea-lice nibbled at us, it was strange and wonderful to go out at night with an underwater torch and the sound of shrimp crackling in your ears. There weren't nearly as many fish, all being asleep in the coral, but we saw squid, a small ray, a spiny puffa fish and some big lobsters, whose brothers and sisters we would have for dinner a few nights later.

We had endured a fair amount of rain in Viti Levu and were hopeful of some sun and tanning weather. After a couple of cloudy days, the heavens opened and it bucketed down for two days. The thatched roof of our bure wasn't quite watertight and, as the drips started to appear, we had to keep moving the bed round the room trying not to be under too many of them at once. When not shifting the furniture round we sat in the bar and played pool, scrabble, backgammon and cards hoping and praying our three weeks beach holiday wouldn't be a washout. Luckily we are made of sterner stuff than some of the backpackers who were all changing their flights to Los Angeles and on the day after they'd all left the sun came out and stayed with us for the rest of our time in Fiji.

The Octopus is a sociable sort of place with meals at big communal tables and lots of activities for people to join in. Phill and Christian, one of the nice Aussies we had met, thew themselves enthusiastically round the beach volleyball pitch and ended up looking like sand croquettes. Monts and Tauree (Chris' wife) cheered on from the sidelines, not wanting to mess up their hair and make fools of themselves. However, there was enthusiasm all round for quiz night, and we reckoned a crack (crap?) team of two Brits, three Aussies, one German-Aussie and one annoying SouthAfrican-kiwi psychiatrist would do well. In the event, it was a close run thing with our team getting good scores for general knowledge and Monts demonstrating her uncanny and, usually utterly useless, skill of remembering the lyrics to every song she's ever heard. Christian did us proud and won us a bottle of champagne in a dance off that even young Jim could not have surpassed and going into the last two rounds we were ahead. We fell at the last hurdle with a less than perfect performance in the talent contest but ended up third, winning us more champagne which we didn't really want 'cause it wasn't very nice.

After the quiz, Phill went to chat up the "lady" in the red dress who had drunkenly kept the scores, leaving Monts with the mad kiwi psychiatrist who bored her for two hours with some bollocks about wanting to work with dogs. Poor mutts will need therapy after dealing with him, and so did Monts.

For our last night, we were pleasantly surprised that we had been upgraded from our leaky bure to one of the luxury beachfront rooms with a big flat screen TV and no mice. Phill had been fretting that he would not be able to watch his beloved Chelsea play in the Champions' League final, although we were assured that they would show it in the bar on the TV the size of our computer screen. Instead we were able to lounge on the bed, or rather sit on the bed gripping the sheets, while first Ronaldo (hurrah, couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke) and then John Terry (aargh) missed their penalties... Anyway at least we avoided the Man United fans clustered round the small TV in the bar, which inlcuded the annoying psychiatrist.

Botaira

It was a miserable Phill who boarded the Yasawa flyer to head north to our next island and the Botaira resort. We arrived just before lunch to the usual welcome song, but wondered where all the other guests were. Unlike the Octopus, the pristine beach was empty as was the bar. At lunch we met the other guests - all seven of them and were a little concerned to learn that three would be leaving that afternoon and the other four over the next two days... we were ready for a quiet time, but this was a bit too much like being stranded on a desert island.

In actual fact, we got into the Botaira frame of mind pretty quickly and lazed on the beach, did more snorkelling, played Scrabble and read or snoozed in the hammocks slung between the palms. All this activity was only interrupted by the regular beat of the drum which meant we would stop whatever we were doing and walk zombie-like to be fed yet another nice meal, including afternoon tea and cake! By the second day we weren't so concerned at the prospect being the only people there, but were still pleasantly surprised when we got a couple of new guests, Regan and Vicky, a NZ/Oz couple on their honeymoon and Caroline, a pretty Spanish girl who put the male staff into a frenzy of showing off at beach volleyball while the rest of us made them look good by being crap.

If there were few paying guests at the Botaira, there were plenty of uninvited ones in our bure. We'd had a little mouse in our bure at the Octopus, but he was quiet (as a mouse) compared to the ones here. On the first night we woke to a loud crunching just behind our bed and, on going to turn on the light, discovered that the elecrticity got turned off at night... Luckily Monts had her trusty torch and discovered a pair of beady eyes looking at her from a gap between the floorboards and the wall. The eyes' furry owner was busy making the hole larger with his teeth, which he kept clean by eating our bar of soap. On subsquent nights we were treated to a turf war with lots of scuffling and squeaking and Monts learned not to leave the bags unzipped when she found an unwanted friend asleep in her socks one morning. After relinquishing our soap and remembering we'd brought some earplugs, we lived happily with our furry friends thereafter.

In addition to the excellent snorkelling at the beach, we were near an area known for attracting giant manta rays. We went out on the boat with Bill the skipper, a huge Fijian who could pull Monts out of the water and onto the boat with one hand, saving her an undignified scramble over the side. On our first outing to the deep channel where the mantas feed, we saw no mantas but swam with huge shoals of big silvery fish who feed on the same plankton as the mantas. The next day though, he'd had reports of a sighting so we headed off again with a young local spotter. As we arrived, it seemed that other nearby resorts had heard the news too and there were several boats milling around. Luckily our spotter was the best man around and we sighted the manta first, as a kite-shaped shadow just below the surface. Bill got us into position and we all jumped in. The manta was just below us, a majestic and graceful animal, over six foot from tip to tip of its "wings", swimming with its huge mouth open catch all the plankton. We had about 2 minutes alone with him until we were almost drowned by the mad splashing crowd from the other boats who had just arrived on the scene. Unsurpisingly the manta didn't think much of this either and scooted off faster than any of us could swim. Back on the boat, we got lucky again with the first sighting and this time we managed to swim right on his tail for about 10 minutes, as he gracefully flew through the water, almost on the surface. It was an amazing experience and we returned to the boat exausted from swimming against the strong current and kicking the other resorts' swimmers out of the way, but exhilirated. Unfortunately we didn't catch any of this on film, having discovered a few days earlier that our so-called waterproof camera had stopped working after its first outing to the reef.

Our six days at the Botaira went quickly, despite not doing an awful lot, and all too soon it was our last day. At lunchtime, the resort's owner, Jerry, had arrived from the "mainland". He had overindulged in the hospitality lounge of the boat and was pissed as a fart. Fortunately this put him in a generous mood and, after discovering that the other couple were on their honeymoon and that it was our last night, he declared we should both get grilled lobster and a free bottle of wine for dinner, much to the annoyance of the chef, who had just asked us whether we wanted chicken or beef. Our guilty feelings as we saw a boat dispatched out to the reef to catch our dinner quickly disappeared as we sat at a romantic candle-lit table set right on the beach and tucked into kokoda, a Fijian dish of fresh walu fish cured in lime, coconut and chilli, followed by a large chargrilled lobster each... a perfect ending to our stay at the Botaira.

Nanuya Island/Blue Lagoon

Our next stop was a resort on Nanuya Island, right on the Blue Lagoon (where they made the rather naff film of the same name with Brooke Shields and an actor with blond curly hair who no one remembers). It is a small and popular resort with just 12 bure and we had only managed to get two nights there, having booked late as usual. Our room was perched on the top of a hill with great sunset views, although Phill grumbled at the unexpected exercise required to get to it. The mice obviously felt the same as there weren't any. After the Botaira, it felt quite busy with lots of cruiseships coming to see the lagoon. We spent the afternoon on the beach and next morning escaped on a kayak to paddle round the island, which was harder work than we thought and quite choppy once we left the shelter of the lagoon, and stopped off here and there for a dip and a snorkel. In the afternoon, Monts got a surprise birthday treat, a deluxe massage to sort out her weary shoulders and in the evening we had yet more delicious food to improve our increasingly rotund beach bodies.

Back to Octopus

Having failed to get more than a couple of days at the Blue Lagoon, we returned for our last few nights to the Octopus. After the laid-back atmosphere at the other two islands, the bustle of the Octopus was a bit of a shock. We met up with Bernice, the manager from the Botaira, who was having a few days off with some friends and checking out the competition, but otherwise spent our time snorkelling, eating and topping up the tan knowing that Seattle is no best known for its sunny weather. We were sad to leave Fiji, and thought we might succeeded in staying a day or so longer when one of the engines on our boat back to the main island broke down, but we limped into port with plenty of time for our flight... what a shame!