Fijian Sunsations

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Well-rested after a nearly empty flight to Nadi, I am yet bleary-eyed as it is, regardless, inhumanly early to be awake. Sauntering is not quite the word I'd use to describe my partially aware ambulations down the gangplank into (?) the first outdoor airport I've ever been in. Revolving slowly, as much from imbalance as from intention, I could see the peach-hued fingers of early dawn grasping for the ragged peaks which defined Nadi's horizon. Gradually sound overtook sight and I noticed, wafting on a gentle breeze which I could only take as nature's apology for the inappropriately early heat & humidity, the cheery strains of an island band. Ironically, (and it took me a moment to place the tune) the band was playing a rendition of Jingle Bells, which apparently Jimmy Buffet and Harry Belafonte conceived in a great musical sin. Nonetheless, I was instantly thrilled by their vivid flowerprint shirts, and was grateful that they'd arisen earlier than I to provide us with a proper Fijian welcome.

A travel agent approached us as we left the airport to ask if we needed any help with bookings - why yes, we did. A short while later we were riding on the Yasawa Flyer out to a remote island called Tavewa, near the Blue Lagoon. It was worth the few extra hours of travel - there were shades of blue, green, and turquoise that I never knew existed. Verdant and lush jungles cozied right up to pristine golden sands. I saw a lot of islands during the 5 hour boat ride, and let me tell you that none of them were even close to as breathtaking as those in the northern end of the hcain. Over the next few days as I explored the island, my suspicions were confirmed: Tavewa Island was (almost) the perfect tropical getaway. I can only fault it for (and you're going to laugh when I say this) not being remote and deserted enough. I didn't really feel like I was in the middle of nowhere, because on all sies I could see other islands with their own resorts. Our resort, David's Place, was definitely cute. Numerous thatch-roofed bure lined the beach, and the hammock-to-hut ratio was an impressive 1:2. Everything was shaded by a seemingly infinite supply of coconut palms, whose ripe fruit littered the ground such that next to the kitchen rubbish there was a pile for rotted coconuts, and those which had simply been in the way.

Also staying at our hostel was Greg, a rambunctious fun loving French gypsy who at 22 had finished school, worked for 1 year as an air traffic controller, and then for 2 at various restaurants around Sydney, and was taking a 6 week jaunt to Fiji before becoming a flight attendant for Emirates. Greg was either hammock-dancing to music, teasing the local children, organizing an activity (football, rugby, volleyball, ultimate, poker, etc.) or simply irritating those of us wishing for solitude. I don't think I ever heard anything remotely serious come out of that guy the entier time we stayed there. He nicknamed me "Cookie"after I suggested that we make dessert one day (he was an assistant chef there too, working for discount accomodation), and didn't follow through with it.

And so we passed four days, lazing on the beaches, snorkeling, playing around, and hiking. As result, I am 27 mosquito bites wealthier.

While the welcome we received was upbeat and cheery, it soon became clear to me that that did not reflect the deeper attitudes of the Fijian peoples. It is clear that Fiji is a nation struggling for identity - attempting to retain a rich heritage through a challenging and awkwardly rapid modernization. On the one hand, there are resorts galore, lush manicured gardens, and pristine vacation condos. The staff shouts "Bula!" to anyone who so much as a glances their direction, with a smile that doesn't reach to the eyes. At night, they return home to a shanty town, where 4 walls is wealthy and 3 is standard. ALl homes have several children running in circles, and a mutt or two laying dazed by the entry. Food is often cooked over an outdoor spit, and electricity (where there is such luck) is provided by a generator. Amidst the political turmoil - perhaps, indeed, its root - is social turmoil. The Fijian peoples resent that their rich island ways have faded into the shadow of commercial imperialism; that in order to survive, they must succumb to the west, that they are indentured into catering into our capricious, disrespectful, 5-star whims. So their faces smile, but their eyes reveal only disgust, anger, and shame. The Fiji are clearly a proud people who look with disdain, cultural and moral superiority, upon those they serve.

Fiji delivered on its promise for eye-popping island beauty. Yet all that I left with was an upleasant taste in my mouth and a vaguely dirty sensation. Fijians are not actually genuinely friendly, as everyone says. They don't like you, and they won't respect you, and they would rather fend for themselves than have your influence pervade, indeed obliterate, their entire lifestyle. Oly, survival requires taking your money - leaving you feeling somehow scammed.

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Comments

[Misha]

Yep
Pretty much summarizes (very eloquently) my feelings about most tropical resort destinations. We miss you...hope that you, yourself, do not become a flight attendant for Emirates (or maybe yes, if you can get me frequent flyer miles). ;-)