Posts about Fiji
Back to the City
At 4 a.m., I got up to pack my bags over a sleeping six-year-old. At 5 a.m., I pulled my bags onto the billiard table and waited for the call to the carrier. At 6:30 a.m., the mosquitoes claimed victory over my right leg as we crawled up into the carrier, which would take all the volunteers and a scattering of locals down the mountains into the city of Sinatoka. We waved goodbye to some sleepy and sad faces. The village was in our wake.
When we hit asphalt, I pulled my Blackberry out so fast, I nearly elbowed the girl next to me. One week without internet made Lindsay an anxious girl. How sad. But once we boarded the bus to Lautoka in the city, I peeled myself away from Facebook notifications and Twitter updates to hang with Abel in the back, listening to my iPod and his favorite song on repeat (“My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion…seriously). The speed bumps sent us flying into the air and crashing down with a back crack and big laughter. The open windows threw my hair around in a frenzy. And the views never let up from being awe-inspiring.
After a week of sharing kava bowls and receiving a rough nutritional spread, I acquired my first WTI travel bug…and not the good kind. I didn’t feel much like hitting the bar hard with the other travelers; instead Abel invited me to hang with him at his brother’s house in the city (since Abel came back with us to work for his future school fees for two months).
Brother Elia’s house shook from the little pounding feet of two children, Kenny and Faresa, both male, cheeky, and energy-packed. While dinner cooked in the kitchen, I received playful slaps from the two-year-old, Kenny, that got me right in the kisser. He had a face smeared with his earlier dinner and a laugh that meant mischief and ulterior motives. He was, in a word…hilarious.
Abel and I ate together a meal of noodle soup, village taro, and pig skin, and because of my subtle uncertainty with devouring slippery, jiggly pig, Abel sensed I was disgusted and began to beat himself up. He spoke only one or two words during dinner and nearly cried for being a bad host. I felt awful that I couldn’t scoop the pig skin into my mouth feverishly, which would have been the only thing that would ease his worries, but I reassured him over and over that I loved the meal…I was just not as hungry as he was.
Those from the villages in Fiji have such an innate desire to care for you, and when Abel thought I wasn’t receiving a meal up to my normal standards of apparently royal feasts, he grew upset with himself. Had he only known how happy I was to still be soaking up village culture and company, he wouldn’t have felt so sad.
The long meal drew to an end, and Abel went outside with his brother to pound some fresh kava for a small savusavu, or welcoming ceremony into the new household. Meanwhile, I created games that broke through the firm language barrier by making sounds with my mouth, creating rhythms of slaps and punches in the air to be repeated, mainly just doing anything that would entertain two kids who would quickly turn to violence if bored.
Abel and Elia welcomed me into their Lautoka home, and after a few bowls, I lounged by the mother of the household to gab about the boys. Her abilities to predict their next moves and behaviors was stunning.
“Next they are going to play a slow love song and start blinking for longer periods of time. That’s the difference between men and women kava drinkers: we throw on the party tunes and gab while the men want to wallow in sweet songs and fall asleep. We’re more fun.”
As the rest of the Madventures group was bouncing around Ed’s Bar, I was glad to know I was still connected with the village I just left behind. It made sense to be there. It was yet another moment I cherished in the moment and beyond.
Final Hours with our Second Families
Our final day in the Fijian village had quite a build up. I must have answered the question “What day are you leaving Fiji and the village?” about twenty times during my entire stay, unsure as to why they were so anxious to know my departure date. I believe they were just gearing themselves up for the big day when we say our goodbyes and experience one final jolt of the “True Fiji” culture.
I took it fairly easy during the day with a writing session and a swim at the waterfall, and when lunchtime finished, I leaned to my side and suddenly passed out cold, as if I had really done any real labor that day. I awoke to a bunch of ladies weaving fern mats around me and giggling as little Pio, my host cousin, took photos of my groggy state.
During my waterfall adventure and delicious nap, my host parents constructed a lovo, or underground oven with firewood, stones to be heated, coconut shells holding various foods, and banana leaves to cover the entire situation. The grub finished with an aromatic uncovering in the dark of evening. I got dressed in one of my host family’s grand sulus and a flowery lei, and we all walked with food in hands to the party down the path at Chris’ house.
A tablecloth stretched the length of the room on the floor, with plates scattered at intervals of various noodles, taro, and lovo goodies. We joined the men watching rugby on the TV (Chris’ house was pretty set up) until Moji announced our turn to thank the village formally for the entire week.
“I just want to thank all of you for being a part of this experience. I want to thank my lei and my nau and my new friend and sister, Bui, for their hospitality. I had so much fun doing everything and nothing with you. From the kava sessions to just hanging out, it was incredibly fulfilling. I know you all just be aware of how lucky you are, to live amidst such a wonderful landscape and among such wonderful people. I have to make it back here, THIS YEAR!”
That was the gist of my announcement. Words of appreciation and love exchanged among everyone and clapping commenced after everyone’s speeches. And then we went to business on the food for a couple hours.
With two dollars in my hand, I walked in the dark behind Fane to a private area in the village, an open air building where fundraising dances took place. As the pop/island music blasted into the quiet night, we shimmied our leis and sulus, kicking up the dusty soil into a fog. Chris would spontaneously whip out his Ace Ventura dance moves, while I would be challenged by the village ladies to ask multiple men to dance (using my new line “Au nakwati e koko daro danisi” or “I want you to dance with me”). Traveler Tom had moves that would stop Michael Jackson in his tracks, and the entire house was shaking with laughter and hilarity.
Most of the men sat on one side of the building drinking kava and occasionally looked to see what all the fuss was about on the dance floor. It resembled a middle school dance in a sense. My feet were the color of milk chocolate by the dance’s end and my body limp from exhaustion. The next morning we would leave, and I couldn’t have imagined a better way to bid it adieu…dancing to Akon.
Bamboo Bear Grylls
The important thing to note about village life is the emphasis on relaxation. Note it. Do it. Love it.
Chris and I headed out in the late morning for an exciting program by the river. Hiking in flip-flops proved a bit difficult, but we were soon bounding from rock to rock barefoot by the flowing waters that cut into the jungle’s core. We forged rapids, stumbled on mossy boulders, and ended on a small beach beside a bamboo forest. Moji, our guide, chopped away about ten shoots and assembled them into a trusty raft with our ever-so useful helping hands, of course. I felt so Bear Grylls, I attempted an English accent that turned into an Aussie one which I didn’t even know I could do.
Once the raft was sea-worthy, we floated about 10 meters away to a trickling spring on the other side, a hot spring that spewed 80 degree water with a sulfuric twist. Chris, our gondolier, wasn’t content with just moving across the river after all that hard work of tying knots with vines, so he pushed us towards the rapids downstream.
The waters were at best about two feet deep and incredibly rocky. Our vessel tried to skewer a couple boulders and toss us into the river before it finally wedged itself into a pool for an eternal rest. The walk back through the rocks gave us red and bloody knees, but the laughs induced by the mini-adventure on a self-made raft were worth the potential for wound infection.
The climax of the program was certainly the literal high point and the last event of the adventure: a 30+ foot cliff jump into teal, chilly waters. The crawl up the mossy rock face was nearly as scary as the impending plunge, and upon reaching the final step before the jump, I nearly busted my own vocal chords with spontaneous screams. It took about three minutes of nervous dancing, slow countdowns, and self-encouragement to rock myself to that point of no return. I had enough time to scream twice until my feet and outstretched arms broke the water surface. It was a slap heard round the jungle.
Of course it took Chris only a few seconds to do his jump (twice might I add). Advice for others: don’t look down.
We returned to the village by the singular dirt road entrance and indulged in belly filling meals on the floor.
The Beauty of Fiji
Fiji is beautiful. You already know this. You learned this around the same time you learned the sky is blue.
Consequently, I won’t tell you what you already know: You should go to Fiji.
What you may not know, however, is that Fijian children are the coolest people in the Pacific and the best vacation you could ever take is be to a rural Fijian village to volunteer in their school.
Nakavika village is in the Namosi Highlands of Fiji. That probably means diddlysquat to you at the moment, but you should just know that this small village is nestled amongst the mountains in a jungle so amazing you think you’re in Jurassic Park. It’s not even one of those killer jungles with crazy snakes, spiders and dinosaurs; this is like a really cool, relatively harmless jungle.
Some of the Madventure backpackers, Lindsay, and I headed up to the village to help out in their school. In the future, my resume will say I volunteered with children in Fiji. In reality I spent a week playing tag, duck-duck-goose, rugby, soccer, and more with the most energetic crazy little kids I’ve ever met. It was fantastic.
A few things to keep in mind if you decide you want to do this though:
- If you lift one kid in the air, you will have to lift up every kid in the village.
- Same goes for piggyback rides.
- As far as getting there, if you need some financial help from the old parents, saying you’re going to volunteer somewhere sounds much better than saying you want to explore the “culture” of Amsterdam.
Why I'm Coming Back to Fiji
If you had to pay for your own trip to Fiji, would you go again? Why or why not?
What kind of question is that? You’d think everyone would die for the chance to go/return to a island paradise in the South Pacific. But with so many wonderful places on earth to visit, enjoy, and love, why spend your money on a trip you’ve already done?
It’s easy. It’s the people.
Yes, people are wonderful all over the world, and we often forget how helpful and open those we meet in transit can be, but there’s something about the Fijian mindset. The mindset that makes your heart long to weave fern mats for your home and play a muddy game of rugby with your village mates during a golden sunset.
Things to love about the Fiji Lifestyle
- The emphasis on resting. Upon finishing your meals, tea, or any sort of activity, it’s incredibly acceptable to lie down for a peaceful nap as the mountain breeze wafts in. The lady of the house always seems to know when you’re a little sleepy and will toss you a much-appreciated pillow.
- The pure fresh water. One bout of giardia will make you truly appreciate natural, healthy water anywhere. Plus, the bottled goodness that costs $5 per liter in U.S. airports flows for free in the hills.
- The acceptance of going shoeless. Though my feet are quite sensitive to little pebbles and such, I have a drive to scrap shoes altogether. This is the place to do it.
- Fiji time. Basically the absence of punctuality.
- The willingness to help and love everyone. Neighbors = friends = lifelong fellow villagers = school mates = kava drinking buddies, etc. Everyone has your back, and you’ve got theirs.
And these five items just skim the surface. Fiji is the way the world should be.
What Culture Shock?
We anticipated wild animals or at least poisonous critters; there were only slightly famished mosquitoes. We were prepared for long drop squat toilets; we sat on flushing porcelain thrones.
And we assumed we’d make many a cultural blunder within our first days, but honestly, living in the Fijian Highlands for a week was only culturally shocking in one sense: it’s so friggin beautiful. Idyllic. Lush. Vibrant.
And to think a place so lovely is not only that but open to outsiders such as ourselves and able to make us feel comfortable beyond our expectations.
What we as travelers often worry about is the possibility of experiencing the new and/or shocking and not knowing how to deal the right way. And being prepared for the new causes us to step in the unknown as we would put a timid toe into frigid waters.
Will this sweet old lady be offended if I forget to say chilo (look up word for excuse me in Fijian??) when I walk behind her? Will a snake cross my path or hang near my head on this mountain hike? What if I wear a hat as I walk across the village, will the children howl in shock? Aw gee, look at my leg! I’m bound to have malaria by now!
The reality in Nakavika is that there’s a greater chance of forgiveness for making mistakes than disrespect for what you didn’t know. Plus, the Namosi Highlands were blessed with both hands in that all those things that make jungle life so unappealing are not there in Fiji. It’s safe. It’s perfect. We were living in simple, gorgeous, welcoming luxury.
Makes it easy for wayward nomads like ourselves to dive into a culture so utterly stunning. Hesitate no more, readers, Fiji wants you, and trust us – you want Fiji.
Cookin' Old School Fijian Style
It was my great pleasure to witness the incredible hospitality of the people in the Namosi Highlands of Fiji. Not only did they make sure we were properly fed and watered at all time of day, but they made every aspect of their village culture into a lesson learned by us sponge-like backpackers on a mission to absorb the true Fiji.
Only a couple hundred years ago, Fijians were picking their teeth with the bones of men, that is until cannibalism was wiped from their list of approved behavior. And with that outside influence also came luxurious items like pots and pans, which made cooking much easier than the techniques they used before.
My friend, Ambele (or Abel in English), was the first to jump at the opportunity to show us how it all used to be done here in the Highlands with two techniques: cooking in bamboo shoots and using an underground oven called a lovo.
Taking a young and fresh bamboo segment, Abel placed some cassava down nature’s pipe, filled it with water, and covered it with taro leaves. Putting this on the fire for about a half hour or more created an end product that tasted as smooth and luscious as a sweet potato.
The lovo consisted of a rolling fire that heated up stones sitting on top, after which the fire is put out and stones are covered with taro chunks and coconut shells filled with taro leaves and other jungle goodness. A little banana leave coverage makes this baby cook up a mean feast within an hour, one which we graciously enjoyed on our last night in the depths of the Fijian interior.
What made these cooking lessons that much sweeter were the kids who popped in and out of my video production, posing for the camera and teaching me phrases like “Au nakwati na tavioka.” (Gee golly, do I like cassava!).
Your Fiji Questions Answered
Comin’ at you live from the Aussie Outback, Chris and I have some answers to your Fiji questions (thanks for those, by the way!).
Q1: What are some examples of interesting local lingo/slang that the? natives use and what do those words/phrases mean? – SereneFire88 on YouTube
Here are some essential phrases and things to know that will get you far in Fiji.
Bula! – Hello!
Vinaka (vaka levu) – Thank you (very much)…act suave and say “naka” if you want people to think you’re one of the islanders.
Moce! (pronounced mo’-they)- Bye!
Kaivalingi – what you’ll probably be called in Fiji, which means foreigner, traveler, European, etc…point to yourself and sat “kaiviti!” And hear them laugh when you call yourself Fijian.
Kisimai – Come here! (accompany with come hither hand gesture)
Jilou (pronounced chill-O) – said when walking behind someone seated…meaning excuse me…use this often.
Au mai Merika – I’m from America.
Au nakwati e koko daro danisi – I want you to dance with me.
Au nakwati e koko – I like you.
Isa (someone) – I miss (someone)…or I’m thinking of (someone).
How to drink kava like a pro:
Sit Indian style in your sulu (long sarong), cup your hands and clap them together, saying “Bula!”, and drink you’re entire bowl. The final millimeter is the most potent, and many throw that over their shoulders into the grass. When finished, say “Maca!” (pronounced ma’-tha) and hand the bowl back to the server. You may now go pro.
Q2: If you only had one day in Fiji, what are the must-see attractions or must-do activities? – ksherman424 on YouTube
Goodness, one day? Why on Earth would you fly across the biggest ocean on the planet to stay for one day? Silly goose. I’ll answer this one anyway, though I’d recommend you get your flight’s worth with a week, at least.
Hit up the islands with a ferry from Nadi or Lautoka if you want to get all up in those awesome beaches. Chris and I don’t know much about this part of Fiji but heard of their grandeur.
However, if you don’t like being a tourist, only hanging with Westerners or walking around in a bikini, give yourself a treat with a village visit. The Namosi Highlands are friggin ridiculous with landscapes and people. Plan on spending most of one day in transit up the mountain roads in the back of a truck, a good five days living amongst the people in someone’s home, and another day making your way back down to the coast. You’ll leave a happy traveler.
Q3: How would you describe Fiji in 11 words? -0frankie0and0julius0 on YouTube
Clark – Lush. Third World Hawaii. Deliciously remote. All about kava and relaxation.
Danner -Smiling rugby players who enjoy more than one bowl of kava.
Q4: On your WTI Twitter you said “The volunteers told us the people in village are pretty happy with their lives.” Could you see this? Do you believe they are indeed happy with their lives, and how/why? - Gnatty288 on YouTube
It has been my discovery that the majority of those with the most are the least happy. On that same line of thinking, those with just what they need are the most content. The village of Nakavika is relatively set up, with clean water, plumbing, and a strong emphasis on education. They live a relatively free life and get what they need from their own land. The culture is open and friendly, all about sharing and caring, and in my eyes, that makes one happy group of people. They know how lucky they are to live where they do. Though they could use some basic necessities like a health clinic, they want little, which makes Nakavika one content community.
I (Chris) would agree. It is a matter of relativity. We in the US are used to much more and may not think we could be happy there but the people there live within their means and are very aware of the benefits a more simple life has compared to the busy life of a city.
We are about to wrap our trip to the Australian Outback and are headed towards India. Ask us some questions about our trip to Oz over on YouTube for a chance to win a World Traveler Intern sweatshirt courtesy of Jansport.
10 Things you Discover about Fiji in the First Hour
10. It’s all about finding the right immigration officer. I got a four month visa while Chris got approved for only 14 days.
9. Bula + strong handshakes = greetings from Fijian men; Bula + big smiles + kisses on the cheek = greetings from the Fijian ladies
8. It’s completely acceptable to wander through the airport without shoes…and pretty much all places
7. Yearly cyclones make disintegrating vehicles into lawn ornaments. They pay for the beauty of the islands with the constant recovery of their homes and stuff.
6. Massive piles of sugar cane chips smell quite pungent, like rotten fruit, in an early morning drive-by
5. “Fiji bread” made from cassava and coconut juice is delicious. Always say yes to what the cook offers you.
4. Everybody needs a sulu, a skirt/sarong item to be worn in village and for kava ceremonies. They can be purchased for a couple dollars at your local Fijian corner store and usually advertise some resort you’re too cheap to stay in.
3. Vinaka means “Thank you.” Just remember Binaca with a V.
2. People all around the world enjoy thrift store shopping and then going out on the town in $2 bow-ties. It’s not just Chris.
1. It used to be punishable by death to touch someone’s head. The consequences are a little less extreme today; the rule still applies.
A Whole Lotta Kava
Over the past week, I drank Kava before meals, after meals, and for a meal; in the early afternoon, mid-afternoon, evening, and deep into the night. And after God-knows how many bowls of the stuff, I can say with complete certainty – it does not taste good. That said, the Fijian tradition of drinking Kava, or “Grog,” is fantastic.
Kava is consumed and presented for a variety of occasions, but more often than not it is simply a communal centerpiece to any true Fijian get-together. You’ll quickly learn the basic clapping rhythms, how to call Taki for another round, and how to announce Mada when you’ve finished the bowl. After that, you’re ready to experience the greatness that is a marathon Fijian Kava session.
And I mean marathon.
Fijians can sit drinking grog till the sun comes up. The guard at our hotel in Loutoka bragged he could drink Grog from noon till 6 a.m. the next morning. I don’t think he was exaggerating.
For me, these marathons meant getting to know some of the most welcoming people I have ever encountered. The whole point is to enjoy each other’s company and make everyone feel welcome – and you really are welcomed into their way of life.
Involvement is voluntary, but always encouraged. If you don’t want to drink more don’t worry about it, and if you don’t feel like talkin’ (as you undoubtedly will after ten rounds of the stuff) the only question you’ll be asked is about the amount of Kava you want in the next round, “low tide, high tide, tsunami?”
It is a little discomforting, however, when, after you think you’ve been keeping up with the locals just fine for hours and are finally feeling like you can’t take anymore, your homestay father, or nau, glances over with a big smile and informs you the session is half-over.