Fiji

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Out of desperation and essentially survival Allen and I departed the cold-weather-plagued island named after the dutch province of Zeeland. We walked, almost sprinted from excitement out of the Nadi airport to start ten days of vacation from vacation. Small swells and high prices of the Tavarua and Cloudbreak resorts kept us from channeling our innner Kelly Slaters/Jeff Hubbards. We settled on settle on island hopping up the Yasawa Islands. Nadi was unimpressive - picture a Indian populated, tropical town that was the destroyed by WWIII, crap everywhere - but very friendly people. Within the first 5 minutes of our cab ride, our sketchy but bubbly cab driver offered both Indian working women of the night and various amounts of weed for a fair price. Fortunately, everything legitimized as we left the main island.

No island was more than a 5 hours boat ride from our grasps, it was time to explore. The Fiji Gold and sunscreen bottles emptied faster than my stomach full of airplane Indian food. Brits, Swedes, Danes, Germans, Aussies and even a few Americans (almost every 1st or 2nd world country had a representative there) were scattered around consuming copious amounts of piss(as we found the brits call the booze), snorkeling and exploring about the resort center islands, ranging from 400ft to a few miles wide.

First island was Beachcomber, which was recommended by all as the fun/party island and for its proximity to Nadi. Maybe it was finally falling asleep warm or perhaps the extra sun rays we caught, but neither Allen or I had a cornea exposed by 9pm.

Fully rested we jumpted to Kuata, a larger island but much less of a party island. From Kuata resort we were able to visit a reef almost invisible until you were on it, and swim, pet and even 'wrestle' baby sharks until they gave the notion that humans should have less than five digits on each hand. That night, we were invited to drink kava at a traditional ceremony that was for their chief who passed away the day before. Kava, made from ground roots of the pepper tree, tastes like three day old dishwater but after ten bowls will begin to numb your mouth and give you the best twelve hours of sleep you could imagine under a mosquito net. Sleeping under a mosquito net became an art form, which almost perfected upon departure.

At Korovou, we played soccer with the cutest girl to bless the islands, and soaked in wayyy to much sun around the turtle pool. Possibly the most random group of people helped us create a Coconut Beer pong table and enjoy a night with the Bula Boys - local band/dance/general entertainment. After a night of dancing to hard, we drug our sore legs to a cheerful but seemingly truncated Church service.

At Coral Bay Resort we ventured to Sawailau Caves in an overloaded, less than reliable runabout to discover my waterproof/shockproof camera isn't 'jumpoffa30ftcliffinthecaves'proof. We waded into the first set of caves with limited light, then dove under to discover the next set is essentially pitch black except for camera flashes, but absolutely stunning.

At the last island of our journey, Manta Ray Bay resort, I managed to learn how to weave a palm frond hat which was pried from my white knuckled grasps at New Zealand immigration only twenty-four hours later. Swimming through the tide plankton clouds, I found myself surprisingly close to the singular manta ray named "Black 'n White" with a wing span of more than eight ft.

We almost departed Fiji without drama, until Allen's luggage was unloaded to a random island and not Nadi, which we were flying out from in a matter of hours. Needless to say, its whereabouts are still unknown. To top that, we returned to Auckland to find the bag we left at Nomad Hostel on Fort street gone. So I'm off to help my baby brother buy some clothes from NZ's wal-mart equivalent - Warehouse, since he's only got a pair of gym shorts, sandals, a dirty tee and a pink bookbag. What's next?

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Comments

[adelaide]

What, I'm confussed - it looks just like WB there?? :)

[Yertle]

Just like WB....
execpt it's always summer and there are more sweedish chics than you can count!