Brett In The South Pacific (3)
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Brett is a friend who, after 15 years without a break of more than a week, quit his high powered job at an investment bank to get a different perspective of the world.
This is part 3 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
12 August 2001
Subject: Bula from Fiji
"Bula", from the good ship Mystic Princess cruising through the Yasawa Islands, where Tom Hanks was Castaway, in Fiji. Bula, literally, translates as "life" in Fijian, but it is the most common word in the native dialect, also serving as "cheers" as well as the ubiquitous "hello". Rather than spend hectic days shuttling to and fro', I have opted for a cruise to explore some of Fiji's hidden isles. This will no doubt come as a humorous surprise to those that know me as an acute landlubber, but thus far I am enjoying being at sea.
Mind you, I did have last minute concerns about the entire idea, particularly when I realized that I would be the lone solo traveller as I watched the 36 other passengers board a ship that sleeps 80. But, while examining the geometric implausibility of a 6'10" male and his short, attractive bride, they stopped me (for what I briefly thought might be gawking), and asked me if I "Went to Cal" [Berkeley for those non Americans] as I happened to be wearing a Cal T-Shirt. Turns out, they both did. He, Sean Marks, is a Kiwi who played basketball for Cal, and is now the only New Zealander in the NBA. Instant connection, and I was immediately and warmly welcomed into the Kiwi crowd that dominated the boat. What a small, weird world.
Fiji is the third country that I have visited in my South Pacific travels. It is also immediately apparent upon arrival, that, despite its regional proximity, Fiji shares very little with its Polynesian neighbours in terms of size, population, industry, migration pattern or even history of foreign dominion. Fiji is commonly referred to as being the transition between Polynesia and Melanesia. It was also the last of the South Pacific Islands to abandon serial cannibalism. Corned beef, the tinned variety of which I am told is the closest currently available cannibal derivative, remains hugely popular. The Polynesians arrived from Southeast Asia, and continued eastward. However, relatively little is known of the Melanesians, who, for all intents and purposes, are viewed to have always been here (at least since 3000 BC). Once you understand and accept that fact, Fiji becomes very uncomplicated.
To the foreigner, the most striking characteristic of the Fijians - male and female alike - is that they make eye contact with everyone, greeting them with a hearty "Bula" salutation. It would be considered the height of rudeness for a Fijian to pass another Fijian, even a perfect stranger, without proffering a greeting. And this friendliness is similarly extended to foreigners. But much more than the instinctual American "How are you", which I know used to drive some of my UK colleagues batty ("They really don't care, why are they asking?"), it is patently clear that the Fijians both want you to feel welcome, and genuinely want to converse. It is a lasting remnant of a village culture, whose customs continue to dominate every aspect of Fijian life. In no other country that I have travelled, have I experienced such openness, and, once you get used to it, you wonder why the rest of the world doesn't follow suit. It would seem a crime to erode such customs, but this is precisely the dilemma of modern Fiji.
Unlike the Cook Islands (which remain a New Zealand protectorate), and French Polynesia (which remains a colony of La Republique), Fiji is independent. It wasn't always that way. Back in the 1870's, when it was considered fashionable, Fiji applied to join the roll of honour of Mother England's colonies. In fact, they had to ask twice, being rejected the first time out of sheer apathy. The British arrived, recognized the huge potential for sugar cane production, equally understood that the native Fijians weren't going to work the fields to enrich Her Majesty, and came up with the seemingly ingenious solution of sending indentured workers from another colony, India, where cheap labour was plentiful and opportunities otherwise slim. Sounds great on paper, but the Fijians have spent the better part of the last 100 years trying to get out from under British rule for creating the Indian issue, and the Indians equally dislike theBritish for cementing them as second class citizens in their adopted country. Under the Fijian Constitution, drafted by the British, only Fijians may own land, and power is vested with the Fijian Council of Chiefs, as only they can alter rights of native Fijians. Another victory for colonialism!
All of this is important to understand when visiting Fiji since the Indian population on the big island of Viti Levu now roughly equals that of the Fijians. Yet the two have virtually nothing in common, with the exception of a shared, perverse ritual of fire-walking. It is particularly important now as Fiji is entering an election period, the first since the country's only Indian Prime Minister was deposed last year in a coup for trying to abolish to Fijian Council of Chiefs. Yet it would be incorrect to describe relations between Indians and Fijians as tense or violent, they simply do not interact, and appear to be leading parallel lives in the same country, with the battle for political influence the only, and unfortunate, bridge. Thus, while half of the population will greet you openly, invite you into their homes, and make you feel a most welcome guest, the Indians are the effective antithesis. Travelling solo, I quickly realized that getting in the back seat of a Fijian taxi was insulting. However, when I plunked myself down in the front seat of an Indian cab (not having spotted the target on the driver's forehead, he nearly leapt out of his skin ). Fortunately, the Fijians control the tourist industry.
I spent the first week of my Fijian travels on the big island, at the Sheraton Resort in Denarau. My temptation to go out and explore the island and its supposedly slummish capital city of Suva were limited as the idea of a big city holds less and less fascination for me. My own interpretation of B2B feels like Back to Bali as opposed to Banking moreso by the day. As such, my daily activities centered around golf, beach volleyball, reading, and sunbathing. Hardly worthy of flowery commentary other than to report that my golf game has been eclipsed by my beach volleyball skills, though this may have something to do with playing Aussie rule golf (beer every other hole) with a transplanted Aussie who runs a business making furniture out of coconut trees. Thursday afternoon games in Malibu chez Jones are one of the few tangible things I can think of and look forward to in returning to the civilized world. You see, Fiji marks the mid-point of my travels in the South Pacific, and like anything else, when you get to the mid-point, the mind begins to race ahead to the end. But only briefly, as many more island adventures lie in wait.
The other reason to spend a week in one place in Fiji is the people. Courtesy of the Troxels, I had a number of Fijians geared up for my arrival to introduce me into the local customs. And no trip to Fiji would be complete without a full evening drinking Kava with the locals. Kava-drinking is the most important ritual in Fiji, with virtually all men drinking Kava almost every evening. Kava comes from the root of an inedible pepper plant. The roots are dried, crushed, and then mixed with water to create a brownish, milky liquid, that can not be said to look particularly appealing. It is a mild narcotic as opposed to an alcoholic drink, and the Fijians now have to pay much more for their Kava as the pharmaceutical companies are hoarding it as a potential wonder drug.
Equally as important as the Kava itself, however, is the surrounding ceremony in which it is consumed. It is mixed in a ceremonial bowl, and everyone sits around the bowl (legs crossed) and drinks out of a smoothed coconut shell. Clap once when receiving the bowl, down it without interruption as this is not a sipping drink (mind you the taste doesn't lend itself to sipping and you would be cutting into your hosts drinking time), and clap three times to pass on to the next victim. Calling for "High Tide" means filling the shell to the rim, and in all likelihood an early end to your evening. According to the books, Kava is a mild relaxant, which perhaps accounts for the limited domestic violence in Fiji since the men are usually loaded up on the stuff. One bowl is meant to feel like a novocaine injection, with a second making you legless. For me, it had the opposite effect, and I ended up dancing 'til dawn at the local clubs. No Kava-fest is complete without musical accompaniment, with the very musically-oriented Fijians providing the entertainment.
From my base at the Sheraton, I also travelled to Beachcomber Island for two days. Beachcomber is one of several islands within an hour's boat ride of the big island. And as big as Viti Levu is, Beachcomber is small. Small enough, in fact, to walk around in ten minutes at a leisurely pace. Beachcomber is best described charitably as a free-for-all, predominantly for the 18-25 set. Having heard much about it, I decided to moonlight among the younger generation. Tanned and stress-free, I am happy to report that I was not found out to be above 30. Perhaps Kava also contains the much such after fountain of youth secrets? Accommodation on the island is either in dorms or bungalows (no prize for guessing where I resided), meals are served family style, and the island rages until the early hours of the morning. Unsurprising given the lack of rules, the English dominated the guest rolls.
Which brings me current to the Mystic Princess, and the Yasawas. Cruising for 3 days on nearly lake-like waters to the northern tip of Yasawa island, gorging on food, with occasional stops in clear blue lagoons for snorkelling and sunbathing, not to mention the obligatory kava festival with the chief of a local village (hope he comes out in the photos). A quick word on Fijian cuisine, which is all that it warrants.
The one miss, in my book, is the traditional Lovo feast where foods are cooked in an underground oven. Everything tastes like the oven, just like a New England Clambake which tastes like seaweed, sorry Bostonians.
For those that want to look ahead, I have re-charted some of my future travels. Next stop is Vanuatu, the mysterious land of the Jon Frum Cargo Cult, not to mention an active volcano that you can climb to its rim, and the strongest kava in the South Pacific.
Until then, goodbye from paradise.
This is part 3 of Brett's journey to the South Pacific.
12 August 2001
Subject: Bula from Fiji
"Bula", from the good ship Mystic Princess cruising through the Yasawa Islands, where Tom Hanks was Castaway, in Fiji. Bula, literally, translates as "life" in Fijian, but it is the most common word in the native dialect, also serving as "cheers" as well as the ubiquitous "hello". Rather than spend hectic days shuttling to and fro', I have opted for a cruise to explore some of Fiji's hidden isles. This will no doubt come as a humorous surprise to those that know me as an acute landlubber, but thus far I am enjoying being at sea.
Mind you, I did have last minute concerns about the entire idea, particularly when I realized that I would be the lone solo traveller as I watched the 36 other passengers board a ship that sleeps 80. But, while examining the geometric implausibility of a 6'10" male and his short, attractive bride, they stopped me (for what I briefly thought might be gawking), and asked me if I "Went to Cal" [Berkeley for those non Americans] as I happened to be wearing a Cal T-Shirt. Turns out, they both did. He, Sean Marks, is a Kiwi who played basketball for Cal, and is now the only New Zealander in the NBA. Instant connection, and I was immediately and warmly welcomed into the Kiwi crowd that dominated the boat. What a small, weird world.
Fiji is the third country that I have visited in my South Pacific travels. It is also immediately apparent upon arrival, that, despite its regional proximity, Fiji shares very little with its Polynesian neighbours in terms of size, population, industry, migration pattern or even history of foreign dominion. Fiji is commonly referred to as being the transition between Polynesia and Melanesia. It was also the last of the South Pacific Islands to abandon serial cannibalism. Corned beef, the tinned variety of which I am told is the closest currently available cannibal derivative, remains hugely popular. The Polynesians arrived from Southeast Asia, and continued eastward. However, relatively little is known of the Melanesians, who, for all intents and purposes, are viewed to have always been here (at least since 3000 BC). Once you understand and accept that fact, Fiji becomes very uncomplicated.
To the foreigner, the most striking characteristic of the Fijians - male and female alike - is that they make eye contact with everyone, greeting them with a hearty "Bula" salutation. It would be considered the height of rudeness for a Fijian to pass another Fijian, even a perfect stranger, without proffering a greeting. And this friendliness is similarly extended to foreigners. But much more than the instinctual American "How are you", which I know used to drive some of my UK colleagues batty ("They really don't care, why are they asking?"), it is patently clear that the Fijians both want you to feel welcome, and genuinely want to converse. It is a lasting remnant of a village culture, whose customs continue to dominate every aspect of Fijian life. In no other country that I have travelled, have I experienced such openness, and, once you get used to it, you wonder why the rest of the world doesn't follow suit. It would seem a crime to erode such customs, but this is precisely the dilemma of modern Fiji.
Unlike the Cook Islands (which remain a New Zealand protectorate), and French Polynesia (which remains a colony of La Republique), Fiji is independent. It wasn't always that way. Back in the 1870's, when it was considered fashionable, Fiji applied to join the roll of honour of Mother England's colonies. In fact, they had to ask twice, being rejected the first time out of sheer apathy. The British arrived, recognized the huge potential for sugar cane production, equally understood that the native Fijians weren't going to work the fields to enrich Her Majesty, and came up with the seemingly ingenious solution of sending indentured workers from another colony, India, where cheap labour was plentiful and opportunities otherwise slim. Sounds great on paper, but the Fijians have spent the better part of the last 100 years trying to get out from under British rule for creating the Indian issue, and the Indians equally dislike theBritish for cementing them as second class citizens in their adopted country. Under the Fijian Constitution, drafted by the British, only Fijians may own land, and power is vested with the Fijian Council of Chiefs, as only they can alter rights of native Fijians. Another victory for colonialism!
All of this is important to understand when visiting Fiji since the Indian population on the big island of Viti Levu now roughly equals that of the Fijians. Yet the two have virtually nothing in common, with the exception of a shared, perverse ritual of fire-walking. It is particularly important now as Fiji is entering an election period, the first since the country's only Indian Prime Minister was deposed last year in a coup for trying to abolish to Fijian Council of Chiefs. Yet it would be incorrect to describe relations between Indians and Fijians as tense or violent, they simply do not interact, and appear to be leading parallel lives in the same country, with the battle for political influence the only, and unfortunate, bridge. Thus, while half of the population will greet you openly, invite you into their homes, and make you feel a most welcome guest, the Indians are the effective antithesis. Travelling solo, I quickly realized that getting in the back seat of a Fijian taxi was insulting. However, when I plunked myself down in the front seat of an Indian cab (not having spotted the target on the driver's forehead, he nearly leapt out of his skin ). Fortunately, the Fijians control the tourist industry.
I spent the first week of my Fijian travels on the big island, at the Sheraton Resort in Denarau. My temptation to go out and explore the island and its supposedly slummish capital city of Suva were limited as the idea of a big city holds less and less fascination for me. My own interpretation of B2B feels like Back to Bali as opposed to Banking moreso by the day. As such, my daily activities centered around golf, beach volleyball, reading, and sunbathing. Hardly worthy of flowery commentary other than to report that my golf game has been eclipsed by my beach volleyball skills, though this may have something to do with playing Aussie rule golf (beer every other hole) with a transplanted Aussie who runs a business making furniture out of coconut trees. Thursday afternoon games in Malibu chez Jones are one of the few tangible things I can think of and look forward to in returning to the civilized world. You see, Fiji marks the mid-point of my travels in the South Pacific, and like anything else, when you get to the mid-point, the mind begins to race ahead to the end. But only briefly, as many more island adventures lie in wait.
The other reason to spend a week in one place in Fiji is the people. Courtesy of the Troxels, I had a number of Fijians geared up for my arrival to introduce me into the local customs. And no trip to Fiji would be complete without a full evening drinking Kava with the locals. Kava-drinking is the most important ritual in Fiji, with virtually all men drinking Kava almost every evening. Kava comes from the root of an inedible pepper plant. The roots are dried, crushed, and then mixed with water to create a brownish, milky liquid, that can not be said to look particularly appealing. It is a mild narcotic as opposed to an alcoholic drink, and the Fijians now have to pay much more for their Kava as the pharmaceutical companies are hoarding it as a potential wonder drug.
Equally as important as the Kava itself, however, is the surrounding ceremony in which it is consumed. It is mixed in a ceremonial bowl, and everyone sits around the bowl (legs crossed) and drinks out of a smoothed coconut shell. Clap once when receiving the bowl, down it without interruption as this is not a sipping drink (mind you the taste doesn't lend itself to sipping and you would be cutting into your hosts drinking time), and clap three times to pass on to the next victim. Calling for "High Tide" means filling the shell to the rim, and in all likelihood an early end to your evening. According to the books, Kava is a mild relaxant, which perhaps accounts for the limited domestic violence in Fiji since the men are usually loaded up on the stuff. One bowl is meant to feel like a novocaine injection, with a second making you legless. For me, it had the opposite effect, and I ended up dancing 'til dawn at the local clubs. No Kava-fest is complete without musical accompaniment, with the very musically-oriented Fijians providing the entertainment.
From my base at the Sheraton, I also travelled to Beachcomber Island for two days. Beachcomber is one of several islands within an hour's boat ride of the big island. And as big as Viti Levu is, Beachcomber is small. Small enough, in fact, to walk around in ten minutes at a leisurely pace. Beachcomber is best described charitably as a free-for-all, predominantly for the 18-25 set. Having heard much about it, I decided to moonlight among the younger generation. Tanned and stress-free, I am happy to report that I was not found out to be above 30. Perhaps Kava also contains the much such after fountain of youth secrets? Accommodation on the island is either in dorms or bungalows (no prize for guessing where I resided), meals are served family style, and the island rages until the early hours of the morning. Unsurprising given the lack of rules, the English dominated the guest rolls.
Which brings me current to the Mystic Princess, and the Yasawas. Cruising for 3 days on nearly lake-like waters to the northern tip of Yasawa island, gorging on food, with occasional stops in clear blue lagoons for snorkelling and sunbathing, not to mention the obligatory kava festival with the chief of a local village (hope he comes out in the photos). A quick word on Fijian cuisine, which is all that it warrants.
The one miss, in my book, is the traditional Lovo feast where foods are cooked in an underground oven. Everything tastes like the oven, just like a New England Clambake which tastes like seaweed, sorry Bostonians.
For those that want to look ahead, I have re-charted some of my future travels. Next stop is Vanuatu, the mysterious land of the Jon Frum Cargo Cult, not to mention an active volcano that you can climb to its rim, and the strongest kava in the South Pacific.
Until then, goodbye from paradise.
