Pre-Honeymoon in Fiji

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Desert island holidays had lost much of their appeal after the Caribbean so we shortened our stay on Fiji to two weeks. We really weren't sure what to expect so we decided that two weeks was short enough if Fiji turned out to be another Caribbean disappointment and long enough if it was a Californian dream to enjoy ourselves.
We booked two nights near Nadi, the largest city on the “mainland” of Viti Levu after Suva, the capital, and ten minutes from the international airport. We stayed just outside of Nadi in New Town, at a very reasonable little place called New Town Beach Motel. The owner was an Indo-Fijian who was extremely helpful and made our stay very pleasant. Fiji seems to be one of those places that suffers from either too much or too little being written about it. What I mean by this is that when we started researching Fiji in order to get an idea of what kind of itinerary we wanted to make for ourselves and what highlights we didn't want too miss, we were confronted by a plethora of information and websites but actually no real information. Everyone sold tours and resorts and activities but no one had spent the time actually breaking down what Fiji was like as a country and how this three thousand island nation managed tourism.
We therefore decided, after a lot of reading, that we just didn't know enough about Fiji to make an informed decision about what island(s) held the most appeal. Coupled with this, travelling around Fiji is mostly by boat, unless you have a helicopter or enough money to buy one, and therefore expensive and slow. So, we needed some ground knowledge instead of the virtual kind to make the best plans. We shunned the resorts, with their free airport pick-ups and cocktails on arrival and went for a motel where we could chill and get to know what was what on the grapevine. It was the best thing we could have done.
Our two day flight touched down at 5am. We had crossed the international date line (it dog legs some of the islands to make life easier) as we flew from LA, departing at 9.30pm on the 13th of November and landed on the morning of the 15th. Our motel was a small, simple place, down the road from one of the bigger backpacking locales of Smuggler's Cove and Horizon Beach Resort. It was quiet and clean, and provided a perfect place to chill to think about what we wanted from this part of our trip. In the end, we both wanted a break! We wanted to stay still somewhere and enjoy some quiet time on the beach with no schedule or miles to drive. New Zealand would be next, where we would see friends and have six weeks to travel the country then Australia would be next where we would definitely need to work for a lot of the time. So, Fiji meant relaxation for us.
We did look at breaking our time in two pieces; with the first week being on Viti Levu, travelling around on buses and seeing some different kinds of places; and the second being on an outlying island. Even that first week though seemed arduous. Our host came to our rescue. Over several hours we had our trip planned. We'd spend two days in New Town (as we'd planned) then take the Yasawa Flyer to the Yasawa group of islands in the north, northwest of Viti Levu and spend the rest of our time there. What attracted us to the Yasawas was its remoteness (where we decided to stay it took 5 hours to get there), its reputed beauty and tranquillity. There, we thought, we could enjoy the best that Fiji had to offer.
There was every manner of resort on offer, from partying backpacking dorms to exclusive 5-star resorts with private beaches and helipads for those helicopters. Our host knew a guy (always a good start this) who owned a resort in one of the more isolated islands. It was Fijian owned, a lot of resorts tend to be owned by foreigners, in a very good price bracket for us, all meals were included and were apparently all based around the catch of the day (yum!) and on the same island where The Blue Lagoon was filmed and diving was available. Our host wrangled us a small discount so we were paying 160FJD per day instead of 180FJD, which equalled one dive for each of us at the end of our stay. Our accommodation would be in an en-suite bure right next to the beach. A bure is a traditional Fijian dwelling built of timber and thatch. Our guy had just redone the bures on the resort so that instead of a sand floor it was tiled. We decided on a week there and three days on another closeby island at a resort called Nabula Lodge.
The trip out was long but interesting. Only twenty minutes out of the marina we came to our first drop off point for passengers booked into the nearest island to Viti Levu. I could fit it all in my camera lens, with ocean on either side for dramatic effect, as we waited for people to be exchanged. The next 5 hours were mostly the same story; some resorts were on islands no more than sandbars in the ocean, not more than a metre off the ocean level and others were bigger, hilly, volcanic islands that promised secluded bays and housed multiple resorts.
Finally, we reached the last stop of the Flyer. Around us were several smallish islands, not mounds of sand in the ocean but not places where you would have to spend much more than an hour or two walking their circumference. The sun was shining (it hadn't in Nadi), the water was turquoise and the palm trees were swaying high above the small buildings in sight. Del was disappointed that there were still so many people on board The Flyer, like thirty, but so happy with the islands that she didn't care which one was ours, they were so beautiful. A call would come through the tannoy that the transfer boat from so and so resort had come and crowds of people would change places and we waited for our turn. Was it this boat from that island or that one over there that was coming from the other direction? We waited, breathless to arrive at last on the Fiji of our dreams.
“Would passengers for Gold Coast please make their way to the back of the boat and identify their luggage to the crew.”
This was us. We surged out of our chairs, through some double doors towards the end of the boat. Alas, there was a crowd of people ahead of us. No deserted island after all. How had they all got there so fast?
“Gold Coast – anyone travelling to Gold Coast?” said the Polynesian prop forward holding a mooring line to a little open-top matchstick with an outboard.
“Yep! That's us.” I said, expecting a crush.
And then we were the only ones standing there. No one else had walked forward.
“This your luggage sir?”
It was the only one with a red, GC, label.
“OK, climb aboard,” the prop shouted as he passed our backpack like a beachball to the waiting launch.
We climbed down and two men were there already and then we waited for more. Another Fijian wearing raybands and greying over his crewcut climbed in after us.
We cast off and went roaring over the ocean, about as deep as a jacuzzi, probably about as warm and so clear we flinched as we sped over coral and rocks.
“This beach here is where they filmed part of The Blue Lagoon.” Shouted the older Fijian over the outboard, who had climbed in after us. “There you've got a nice beach.” Indeed it was. “Here the tide is in but in the morning you can walk to the other resort.”
Ah, he must be a local, or on holiday visiting family in the village on the island.
“The water here is so clear.” I kept repeating, like a tourist. “It must be great for diving.”
“Yeah, all around here is good. The water is clear and warm and there's not too much current. We can organise that for you when you want.”
We?
One of the men on the boat talked quickly in dialect to our companion who answered in kind, pointing his arm authoritatively.
“He's saying they feed the sharks here,” he translated for us. Another launch with two couples in that had been speeding along with us on a parallel path peeled away like a jet fighter breaking formation towards the beach.
“He's going to Sunset,” informed our companion. “We're the next one.”
We slowed as we went round the minute rocky cove that separated the beaches of Nanuya Lailai. Turning away from the beach I saw nothing but the Pacific. All the other islands were either behind or to our far left. Our resort, I still hadn't seen any buildings yet, faced the ocean; no other islands were in our view.
The other two men on the boat spoke to our man again. He affirmated something as we came to a slow stop, facing the beach like a dart. As we were backing up to then go forward to ground the launch a welcoming committee of two islanders complete with loud shirts and flowers in their ears became visible from behind a low sand sea wall. Then I saw the bures, looking at one with the beach and partly hidden by some palm and coconut trees ahead. They looked like they belonged and both Del and I immediately liked the way they looked as though they would have been there whether or not we had chosen to come.
As the bow of the boat dug into the sand and we made ready to jump the small wavelets that flirted with the sand on the beach, our companion said, “Don't worry about your luggage, we will take it, just jump far. After, you must tell me how my friend at the New Town Beach Motel is doing, I haven't seen him in so long.”
He was the owner of the resort. We are the only guests.

Nanuya Lailai is an island of about 3km circumference, and Gold Coast resort is an attempt to “bring the tourists down to the Fijian way of life,” so said Paula, our host for the week we were on the island. Paula had been in the welcoming committee that met our boat on the beach and although he had lifted our backpack with seemingly little effort and replied to my “are you sure you're alright?”, with “Fijian muscles”, Del and I still aren't sure as to what gender Paula belongs. He wears a flower in his hair at all times, not such a giveaway in Fiji as it might be elsewhere, and a flowery sarong over a Beyonce walk. He also has more hair on his arms than the missing link and big, big feet. Anyway, Paula was extremely nice and arranged fresh flowers on our bed every morning very artistically. He was also a winner fixing Del's hair with flowers.
The bures have running water but no electricity. At night, every bure is given a lantern as their own source of illumination. Meals are taken in a communal dining hall up some steep concrete steps overlooking the bures, beach and Pacific. There is one plug that you can request to use to charge up your electrical devices when the generator is powered up between 6pm and 10:30pm every day.
One of the reasons for choosing this resort was that the food was supposed to be more Fijian, based around the catch of the day than the foil-wrapped, carb-centered fillers served in some other foreign-owned places. We were right to place our bellies in such a prominent position in the decision making process. Dinner: Meaty fish steaks with breadfuit and vegetables with pineapple; Breakfast: Heaps of local fruits, pineapple, mango and those delicious small and sweet bananas you find in the tropics, sweet breads with jam, crepes and toast and good, real coffee. Lunch: Thick chickpea soup and rice with pineapple. Another dinner: Similar to the dinner before except with a HUGE bright red crab caught that morning (its claws were ferocious) and fresh vivid purple and white octopus, both cooked in gorgeous sauces.
Funny recollection: The night of the crab dinner, when some other guests are staying as well, I'm sitting next to a pale Dutch, Swedish or something woman, with a face like a boy and she doesn't eat any meat at all, no fish, no chicken no good food, just vegetables. Lots of breadfruit. To my right, at the head of the table (naturally), Del is holding the giant crimson crab claw up to her face, peering into its interior like it was a genie lamp and using her fork to try to prize loose the last pieces of delicious white flesh clinging reluctantly inside the poor crustacean's extremity. Her fork moves up inside the claw, burrowing away feverishly. So focused on her white gold, Del fails to notice that with every prospecting stab of her fork she is articulating the giant pincer, like its owner is still threatening the local fisherman who surprised it. The pale vegetarian stares resolutely at her carrots.
On the second day at the resort, after a night where we fell asleep to the sound of the Pacific curling onto the sand about five metres away, we decided to walk round the island while the tide was out to The Blue Lagoon. Gorgeous white sand, rock pools and the picturesque bays of the verdant nearby islands floating upon water reflecting sky.
The best snorkelling I've ever done I did at The Blue Lagoon. Firstly, the water is crystal clear, especially in the mornings, whilst later some run off from the land can affect the clarity. The water is shallow for the longest way. Fifty metres off-shore and the water is still only five feet high with no appreciable current or wind. There are hard and soft corals, fan, brain and mushroom varieties in small island clusters just below the surface. It is possible to swim round or over each one in only half a minute and then continue to the next ten metres away should you be in a rush to do so. You won't be though. It was like swimming in the world's most expensive and best stocked aquarium. Fish of every conceivable colour, pattern, texture and shape make this lagoon their home. It was “Wow” territory at or in every corner and cranny.
Favourites would have to include the small triangle-shaped, black as midnight fish, with the bluest electric neon horizontal stripes down its body. Then their was the tiny cobalt blue fish that swarmed together like incandescent sparks of St Elmo's Fire, dazzling and shifting like an energetic young galaxy. A billowing, invisible curtain with gems sewn in; catching the stage lights. Clown fish, Nemo, were the giraffes of this underwater safari. Exciting at first, all but invisible after an hour. Rabbit fish, pink like the corners of day-old smoked salmon, peer out from ledges and holes with their oversized black eyes. Then there was the oblong, brown fish with protruding lips that chased me, dummy charging repeatedly, like an elephant. These and many other ordinary wonders were going about their lives, looking majestic, not caring for us more than a few seconds. All this was played out on the most well-lit stage. Colours, so drab and masked by silt and depth in other places were vibrant and assaulting. It was like smelling them – the colours.
Another day we went diving, a two tank dive, costing $170FJD. Before, we'd been wrestling with the idea of going on a shark dive. Thirty people all hang onto a line ten metres down, like clothing on a washing line. Fish guts and heads are taken out of plastic buckets and sharks, reef, white-tipped and yellow, come in. Once safety concerns had been addressed we were both left with the feeling of the distaste for the practice. The sharks are getting a free meal – great for the sharks. Today. What happens to their hunting instincts? How does it affect the local environment? Is it wrong to have some of the world's greatest hunters on a time schedule and feed them carrion? How sustainable is it? Is this really a natural experience – how valuable is it at making you a better, more developed, sensitive member of the human race?
So, we decided on two dives. Our friends, Ursula from Switzerland and Christian from Sweden came with us. It was nice to dive with these two good people. We'd got friendly very quickly, and we liked each other's company. Something not to be taken for granted when at a couples' destination like the Outer Yasawa Islands, where it is very easy to become very insular and very partner orientated. Christian was travelling with untold quantities of kitkats, a psychedelic hat purchased in Thailand and his beautiful girlfriend Maria. Ursula was newly single and taking advantage of being on her own for a while to go travelling – very sensible. Single guys, one of you messed up, all the others, take our advice and go find Ursula before someone else does, she won't be single long!
Our first dive was at 25 metres at a site called 'The Zoo', which was essentially a large plateau of soft and hard corals and zillions of fish. In no particular order: Butterfly fish, the beautiful Pennant and Longfin Bannerfish, Amber Parrotfish, the bizarre and fabulous White-Barred Trigger Fish, Klunnzinger's wrasse, Schlegel's parrotfish, Blackstreak Surgeonfish and a White Tip Shark.
That's right – A White Tip Shark. It was the end of our dive, two divers were still in the water, Ursula was one, while the rest of us had just climbed on board the boat and put our tanks on the rack when Ursula shouted,
“There's a shark!”
Everyone, crew and divers rushed to the right side of the boat.
“He's on the bottom,” someone said.
We grabbed our masks and jumped into the water. Below us, on the bottom about 20 metres away; the shark. Its shape was so distinctive, so shark shaped. It felt so familiar seeing it there, although we'd never seen one in the flesh before, we've all seen documentaries and the way its whole body moves with its tail in these wonderful, bold S-shapes is both reassuring and exhilarating. There was no fear, which I thought there might have been, seeing a shark for the first time, it was just pure wonder and respect and, well I'll say it, love. I loved this fish instantly. It was so impressive and it belonged there. They really must be protected, they are unique and wonderful creatures.
Our next dive however, provided the highlight of the two dives, which after what I've just written does seem odd, but it's true. Our next dive was a wall dive at Coral View Point, 16 metres depth. Swimming along the wall we saw another White Tip Shark swimming casually by, which was cool. Shooting in and out of cracks in the rock and the corals was Yellow Box Fish – crazy little beauty. A lobster squeezed back into its burrow. A loggerhead turtle appeared, fleetingly, in the distance. We raced towards it. It swam lazily, its massive feet propelling its huge bulk forward, somehow effortlessly. In Scuba everything should be slow, we had been kicking madly to catch up with it, which we hadn't been able to do, but we had seen its whole shape, not just the shield outline of its shell. Now, we relaxed and it melted into the distance. We carried on down the line of the wall. About ten minutes later, we caught sight of the turtle again. It was vertical, its huge shell a dark shield to its huge green head. It bit off bits of coral with its beak, chipping and rasping the wall away. It watched us intently as we floated round it. Once it had had its fill, it flew away over the ridge before anyone had time to react. Magic.
The rest of the time in Fiji not mentioned here was spent either napping in the bure, swimming in the blue or baking in the sand. We had a chance, before we left, to meet Simon and Olivia, a young couple from Switzerland, but more about them in NZ. Paula, bless his heart, also threw us an engagement party the night before we left. Wonderful food, lots of warmth and attention.
We left the island just as a cyclone was gathering out to sea. The day before was calm and still. The cyclone having taken all the energy out of the weather, holding onto it to feed and then ready to unleash it in a powerful surge. The boat back bounced around in time to the waves' disco and there were some very white and quiet people when we arrived back on the 'mainland'.
Coincidentally, Christian and Maria had decided to return on the same boat, (I say coincidentally, but there's nothing like the threat of ten-foot waves on five-foot-high islands to have the majority of the tourist population scurrying for cover) they had since moved islands as part of their Bula Pass and lamented their choice. Goldcoast was just unbeatable.
We stayed back in our old hotel, who had kept our bags for us while we were in the Yasawas. Christian and Maria came too and we all wandered down to the local pub and caught two games of rugby. Wales v someone and England v Tonga. I taught Christian the basics of rugby, not a Swedish pastime, and he made the suitable noises. A little drunk we bid our two friends goodbye and our kind host the next morning drove us to the airport where we took off under clouds like lead and rain like bullets, bound for New Zealand.

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Photos

Fiji Style
No fake tan.

Island postcard
A tiny island in the Yasawa group

Fiji style
These beautiful scented flowers are called "frangipanies"

Storm coming...
This is the beach in front of our accommodation.

Postcard?
Veritable carte postale

Translucent water
and soooooo warm!!!!

Our accommodation
it was called a bure. No electricity but so charming.

The tiniest cat ever
I made a little friend at the tea house.

So small!
The cat I mean.