Fiji - Yasawa Islands

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Well this was it what we had been waiting what seemed like an age for, real travel again. We landed in Nadi to be greeted by the balmy early evening heat, the strains of a ukelele and crys of "Bula!" (welcome/hello) from a triumvirate of loud shirted Fijian minstrels. This was what you imagine from a South Pacific Island but with the coup a recent occurence and violent clashes occuring in nearby Tonga, we were not sure if we would be met by stern faced military in khaki combats. Thankfully, it was George Formby and Co. of the Southern Hemisphere.

In fact, it was a miracle we even left New Zealand as I was detained at Christchurch airport on suspicion of harbouring a weapon.... well actually four. Hot on the heels of Becs' speedng ticket we were in danger of building quite a reputation on the South Island. This all stemmed from my onboard bag going through the scanner and security reacting like they had scored a line of three cherries on the one-armed bandit as four gun shapes appeared on the monitor.

I was pulled to one side and briefly explained that they were actually water pistols and that I had no intention of firing them within the confines of a cockpit. Unfortunately, after much pleading the purple, yellow, orange and lime green "guns" would have to be destroyed but I could carry onto Fiji.

After a nights rest in Nadi we headed down to Denarau port to pick up our ferry ("Yasawa Flyer") connection to Island. We realised we had well and truly adjusted to Fiji time when we nearly missed the ferry due to a pre-occupation with staring into space rather than checking whether our hotel coach transfer would be arriving soon. The ride on the Flyer took 4 hours but we were in no rush as we passed the desert island retreats of the Manamuca's (party-time HQ) and headed for the visually stunning Yasawa Island chain

Extinct volcanoes, the Yasawa islands undulating, with lush green vegetation, similar to how I imagine the polynesian islands look. Each island is ringed with spearmint coloured water, white sand and coral reefs are in abundance. As the Flyer stops at each island a number of smaller boats arrive to transfer guests and supplies to the respective resorts. Just as we were dosing on the sun deck the call for passengers to Nabua Lodge was made and in the ensuing organised chaos our bags and us were deposited in the transfer boat.

We were warmly greeted by Rehm and Joe (who looked under 10 but was actually 13) as the only guests for Nabua that day and chugged off around the bay to Nabua. As we approached our home for the next 7 days we were greeted with the ubiquitous spearmint waters, pandanas and cocunut trees gently swaying in the breeze and golden sands. Sadly, the golden sands were hidden under a tonne of pumice deposited by a recent volcanic eruption in Tonga but this did not detract from the feast before our eyes.

As we stumbled off the boat we were greeted by Fanny our host (Joe's mum), Mary and Keeli all in beautiful Fijian dresses (vibrant reds and yellows) complete with Franjipani flower tucked behind their ear (right ear = taken, left available). Our accommodation was a traditional thatched bure complete with hammock at the rear overlooking the beach and endless ocean.

Time at Nabua Lodge cannot be measured by the conventional means of date, hours and minutes. Time merely passes and if your attention and presence is required you are summoned by the beat of the lali (drum). Outside of activities this was heard three times a day (breakfast, lunch and dinner). On our first night at Nabua we had a traditional lovo (meat cooked in the ground in baskets weaved from pandanas leaves) and along with Murdoch and Jen (the only other guests) we enjoyed a wonderful feast complete with festive decorations and christmas carols (a tropical christmas...bizarre!). This first evening meal signalled the first meeting with Ron, a great bear of a man whose job title veered between chef, master of ceremonies and Kava king. Indeed, before long our Kava initiation had started and would pretty much continue for the next seven days straight.

For the uninitiated Kava is an ancient Fijian custom and the national drink of Fiji. It is a powder ground from the root of the paper plant which is then mixed through a muslin bah with water to make a mildly narcotic drink similar to the colour of tea. It is a great honour to share Kava with Fijians and each ceremony starts with a prayer and three claps. The Kava is then served to you in a coconut bowl and you receive it with one clap and on the first round a resounding "Bula". After drinking you return the bowl to the Kava mixer and clap three times.

Now the real skill in drinking Kava revolves around whether to have a low tide, high tide or a tsunami; too many tsunamis and you could sit there in a grogged up stupor or too many cautious low tides and you sit there thinking "what's all the fuss about". More often than not I opted for a high tide/tsunami combination and before long my lower lip grew numb, throat tingled and I settled down into my seat, the plastic bbq chairs feeling like a sofa. The effects of Kava can be felt the next day and the best tonic is breakfast, hammock, and periods spent watching people fish, oxen driven up the beach and kids playing in the shallows. If this is too much you can always opt for watching other people watch Fijian , as Becs perfected to great effect.

The next morning (Christmas eve) after a brief snorkel and more hammock time we got ready for the daily and exciting activity of sitting in the hammock to see who would be arriving from the Flyer, and if we would have to be extra vigilant over the occupancy of our precious hammocks. Four Canadians arrived; Munna, Sonia, Donella and Brad. Munna is an Indo-Fijian who left Fiji for Canada 41 years ago and seemingly only returns when a coup is happening...luck of the draw I guess (or perhaps something more sinister Chief?). This time he brought his daughters and de facto son-in-law and this heralded the start of his time on the island as ruler of Nabua Lodge. Due to a mixture of rum and Kava I cannot quite remember when Ron declared Munna to be Chief but he was in no rush to hand over his title and throughout the next few weeks every evening he would give a welcoming speech to the new arrivals and a departing speech to guests moving , whilst his daughters hung their heads and grimaced. In the short space of time that Chief was in the seat of power at Nabua Lodge many of the villagers began to wear yellow shorts and a black vest in homage to him.

On Christmas day, very hungover after me having greeted the Lord's birth in the usual manner with my head down the toilet, we all went to the village for the morning service, the singing was a cacophony of melodious voices, with the female voices soaring above the deep richness of the male basses and baritones. Unfortunately, the singing lasted all of 15 mintues and the rest of the hour and a half was taken up with fire and brimstone preaching. After straining my neck muscles to stay alert and awake I took my cue from the rest of the congregation and slumped my head forward resting my brow on the comforting cool hardness of the wooden pew.

On Christmas eve we had presented a sevusevu of Kava (welcoming gift) to the real chief of the nearby village to request permission to attend the service. He in turn invited us to join the villagers for Christmas day lunch which was a feast of fish, potato, cassava and taro (a cross between turnip and potato) and it was hard to imagine a better Christmas on our year away than the one we spent with our Fijian family.

Whilst our nights faded into a Kava haze, now and again puncuated by declarations of Kava love (dancing, hugging, crying and patting each other on the back) our days were spent visiting the Blue Lagoon (Brooke Shields' finest moment), cave swimming, reef jumping and snorkelling. On one trip we spotted seven manta rays. Whilst slumbering in the hammock one day the lali sounded and we stumbled over rubbing the sleep from our eyes; apparently it was the 29th December and it was time for us to leave. We had booked ourselves into Manta Ray Resort until the 3rd January. We really did not want to leave Chief and his family or Ron, Fanny and the rest of the Fijian family but convinced ourselves that we should honour our booking so we said goodbye and clambered aboard the Flyer for our next island. I was draped in Ron's huge shirt, which he had presented to me in an emotional stupor last night - another fine moment of Kava Love.

Manta Ray Island was more of a resort than a lodge and the food and snorkelling was superb but it was not Nabua. Where was our Fijian family (Manta Ray was Australian owned) and our new-found friends. Becs would reluctantly shuffle up the stairs to the dining room and force herself to engage with other people, then spend all day lamenting the passing of Nabua and comparing everything to it in a negative light, from colour of the water to the presence of bugs and spiders at Manta Ray instead of our Nabua mouse......On New Years Eve we talked our way out of the cancellation fee at Manta Ray and chugged our way back to Nabua. By the small hours of New Years Day we knew we had made the right decision as we danced the night away covered in talcum powder and soaking wet (apparently another Fijian tradition that last for all of January/or until the village Chief says no). I was even made Kava King for the night and on my shift there were no low tides.

On our last two days at Nabua there was time for one last dramatic turn of events; a raging bush fire. There was something reminiscent of The Lord Of The Flies as our home for the last 10 days was in danger of being burned to the ground as our hosts greedily gulped down the Kava. In all honesty the villagers knew there was no real danger but the toursits excitedly chattered amongst themselves over potential plans to put out the fire or more likely bid a hasty retreat to the boat. As the night wore on we took it in turns to keep a rudimentary fire watch going. However, it soon became clear that the raging inferno was going to fizzle out to a puff of steam but it did draw a firm symbolic line under the events of Christmas 06/New Year 07 and everybody agreed it was time to move on.