How The Other Half Lives

Friday

Ro had a fitful night's sleep; Sherry was up three times with him. She finally gave up and lied down in his bed so everyone could get some sleep. Turned out he was having nightmares about the tsunami, even though it turned out to be a dud. He must have noticed more of that Samoan news coverage last week than we thought. Sherry had a bit of a fright herself, when she spotted a small lizard in the bathroom. We had to get up early this morning, and Ro was on the grumpy side, but a light breakfast in bed and a hot soak in the tub improved his mood. We were all feeling a little dessicated after being in the sun all day yesterday.

Rough night?

We had to rush through breakfast at Nuku to catch our shuttle van at 7:15am. There was only one other retirement-age couple on our van, and we sat all the way in the back so Ro wouldn't disturb them or the driver. Not to worry, though, as he fell asleep for most of the journey. As we left Denarau Island, we got our first good look at the city of Nadi (our ride from the airport had been at dusk). The streets were humming with activity in the early morning sunshine. Numerous uniformed schoolchildren were walking along the roadside; we didn't see any school buses or parents dropping their kids off in cars. The bustling central business district looked like it was transplanted straight out of New Delhi, a testament to the strong Indian influence in Fiji. We picked up a little history on the way. Back in the late 1800's, British sugar cane plantation owners knew how hard-working their Indian subjects were, so they brought them over as indentured servants. After their five-year servitude was over, none of them had been able to save enough money to buy a return ticket to India, so they were stuck working for another five years at which point they were entitled to a paid return ticket. After 10 years, most decided to stay anyway, and many others returned to Fiji later after realizing that it was better to be poor in Fiji with no caste system than poor in India.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indians_in_Fiji

Ready for a big day

As we traveled around the southwest coast of Viti Levu, passing numerous sugar cane plantations and subsistence farms, with occasional views of the ocean, we finally arrived in the town of Sigatoka at the mouth of the longest river in Fiji. A washed-out bridge across the river was a testament to the powerful flood that struck in January. We were deposited at the office/store that Sigatoka River Safaris operates, and welcomed with a hearty "Bula!" from the staff. Other shuttle vans had brought tourists from other resorts around the island, and as we grabbed a coffee and browsed the shop, all the women were given complimentary sarongs to wear in the village we were going to visit. Sherry wasn't too enthused with her purple one, but was too polite to ask for a different color. It was a good excuse to buy a souvenir sarong clip, though. We had to sign a waiver of liability, waiving the right to claim damages even in the case of gross negligence or recklessness on the part of the tour operators. The reason for this became apparent later.

We were consolidated into two vans and began our journey up the Sigatoka River Valley. Ro was too cool to sit with us in the back and sat up front by himself near the driver. The valley is known as the "salad bowl" of Fiji. Sort of like California, it's relatively arid, but the rich soil makes for great agriculture with a little irrigation. They had an "early Christmas" a couple of weeks ago: rain. This is in sharp contrast to the eastern side of the island around the capital city of Suva, where it rains nearly every day. Our driver would stop occasionally to point things out along the roadside, including a Taiwanese farm school that was teaching the Fijians about sustainable agriculture. After a short while, the road switched from asphalt to dirt; as the guide put it, "Enjoy your free back massage!" No kidding.

Village in Sigatoka Valley

Shaken and stirred, we eventually arrived at the ramshackle hut that served as the river cruise office. Our hostess told us (after "Bula") that the ladies loo was behind the building and, "as for the gents...find your tree." We had to appoint our "chief," the oldest member of the group, who turned out to be a somewhat addled 70-year old gentleman. After donning our life jackets, we all marched down to the little dock where our jetboat awaited. Jetboats are a uniquely Kiwi invention, and Ro has wanted to take a ride on one ever since we've lived abroad. The one at Huka Falls looked pretty tempting, but the ride on this one is probably longer than anything you'd get in NZ. Our captain was a native Fijian, Capt Jack Sparrow (real name Josh), a dry-witted guy who tried to look serious but always gave off an underlying tongue-in-cheek vibe.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jetboat

Aighh! My hair!

The jetboat's design allows it to draw minimal water at cruising speed, so we could easily fly over the numerous shallows in the river. The boat skids along the water in a turn, so you constantly feel like you're sliding out of control, but Capt Jack always maintained pinpoint control as he masterfully dodged sandbars and fallen trees at high speed. We'd heard that the ride down would be even more exciting, but Sherry said she'd likely get sick if that ride was any faster than this one! Capt Jack stopped several times on the way up to give us a little history of the area (he was raised in one of the villages upriver), including the grisly tale of Thomas Baker, the English missionary who was killed and eaten in 1867. Legend has it his shoe would not burn, and is still on display in a local museum. Christianity eventually took hold, of course, and there's also a significant Hindu and Muslim presence in Fiji, but the most popular religion is easily rugby union.

See link: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/3263163.stm

Marble cliffs along the river

At the narrowest point of the river, with cliffs on either side of us, Capt Jack stopped the boat and instructed, "Ladies, this is where you get out. Start walking upriver and we'll meet you at the village." This was in jest, of course, but in all humor there is a grain of truth. When it comes to traditional gender roles, the Fijians are decidedly old-school. He asked the guys in the boat if they liked things like that. No hands went up, knowing what was good for us. "You're all weak," deadpanned Jack. "Don't worry, ladies, you can take your rightful place when you get home, but for now, you come second."

The Hills on the Sigatoka River

One of our stops was under a large tree near the water line. There was a scrap of cloth WAY up at the top of the tree, which represented the high water mark from the January flood. We cringed as Capt Jack was talking because Ro kept interrupting with, "I see a doggie!" The dogs in Fiji look a lot thinner than the ones in America, go figure. As we were about to get under way again, Capt Jack turned to us and asked Ro if he wanted to drive. After no more than a millisecond's hesitation, Ro sprang over the seat and took the wheel. As Capt Jack controlled the throttle, he actually let Ro steer (well, keep the wheel straight) for a while in a wide part of the river. Sporting his shades just like the captain, Ro was in his element: control. Eventually, we reached the village and Ro had to get off Capt Jack's lap so he could maneuver us to the small dock.

Capt Jack doesn't yet realize what he's started

Aha! So this is why we signed our lives away

"I think I can drive a car now!"

Our village guides Lapani ("Laps") and Mary greeted us at the riverbank, hearty "Bula!"s all around. As we walked through the farm bordering the river towards the village, which was up on a rise, Laps related a little of the village's history. Back in 1964, the village was moved across to this side of the river from the opposite bank, because they kept getting flooded out. After the excitement of the jetboat, walking and talking in the hot sun was not on Ro's itinerary, so Mark carried him on his shoulders. We hope he realizes how good he has it, because at the same time Laps was describing how schoolchildren from 6 other villages on the river walk 2-3 km each way to this village to go to school every day, some of them fording the river. School is paid for by the government through 8th grade. After that, most kids become farmers in their village; anyone lucky enough to have money can pay for high school, but there's not one anywhere near here.

Are we there yet?

We stopped briefly at the edge of the village, where the women all had to put on their sarongs and the men removed their hats as gestures of respect. As we entered Koronisagana Village, we were initially struck by how deserted it seemed. Turned out that Friday is market day, when some of the farmers are away. Most of the kids were in school, but we were soon accompanied by a half-dozen or so curious pre-school age kids. Most of the homes in the village were open-air cinder block or corrugated steel shacks with slab floors. We stopped outside their modest store as Mary continued talking about the village and answering questions as Ro greeted the kids by handing out lollipops we had brought for just such an occasion.

Mary lending a hand

Ro & Mary leading the way

Village kids love the camera (and viewing themselves on the LCD)

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

The lollies were a big hit, but it soon became readily apparent that the kids weren't used to them. They were locally hand-made ones we had picked up at the candy store in Port Denarau, with clear plastic wrappers on them. The kids put them in their mouth, wrapper and all; the peculiar looks on their faces as they sucked away on the plastic were equally pitiful and priceless. Sherry took it upon herself to help them remove the now spit-slicked wrappers. After removing a few, she reached a particularly stubborn one, and was all too happy to call Mark over to assist.

Ro showing his muscles with a rusty dumbbell

Our tour group outside the village's only store

It wasn't long before Mary guided us through the village to the Common House, where many of the villagers were waiting to greet us. On the way, we passed the chief's house, which sported the only traditional thatched roof in the village (seen on most buildings in some of the older villages), and a communal open-fire kitchen. The kitchens are separate from the houses so that the houses don't get filled with smoke. We stopped outside the Common House for instructions from Mary and Laps on how to act during the kava ceremony. Our chief would take the first drink offered, and there was a certain pattern of hand claps and "Bula!" that you had to perform when giving or receiving a cup. We all took our shoes off and entered the hall and sat in two rows, men in front, women in back, facing the villagers. The Common House doubles as a classroom, and the few spartan benches and tables (donated by a previous visitor) had been pushed to one end of the room, leaving just some mats on the floor to sit on. The villagers sat with the male elders in front, some younger men off to the side playing guitars and ukuleles, a group of children on the other side, and the women in the back. After a ceremonial greeting from the elders, we introduced ourselves, giving our names, where we were from, and profession.

Typical dwellings in Koronisagana Village

A communal kitchen

The loo

Ro sneaking into the Common House prematurely. Our chief was supposed to go first

The yaqona (or kava) ceremony is centered around the drink of the same name. It's made from the ground up root of the kava plant, which is placed in a cloth (ours looked like somebody's do-rag) and slowly mixed with water by hand. Like drip coffee, the liquid goes through the cloth and falls into the tanoa (ceremonial bowl). It is ladled out and drunk with a coconut shell. Germaphobes need not apply, as everyone drinks from the same coconut shell. The village elders took a drink, then it was our chief's turn. He managed to bungle the whole clap-bula-drink-clap-clap-clap thing despite the whispered instructions of his wife behind him, but nobody seemed to mind. Sherry thought most of the men in the village looked like they'd been drinking something a bit stronger for most of the morning. Mark was third in our party to take a drink, and likened it to how you might expect dirty puddle water to taste. Surprisingly, despite his usual aversion to any new food or beverage, Ro wanted to try it. He went for the full "high tide"...if you only want a little, you ask for "low tide." A few seconds after his initial less-than-enthusiastic reaction, he exclaimed, "It makes my tongue numbly!" He even raised his hand later for seconds, probably more due to the hoots and laughs he got the first time than the taste.

Making kava

[A truly candid photo] Are we really supposed to drink that?

Ro wanted to show he can hang with the big boys

Yeah, that's about right

After the kava ceremony, we were invited to mingle and get to know the villagers. Sherry spoke with an older lady Bernina (?sp) and her daughter Marqui (?sp), who translated since Bernina didn't speak english. Mark sat for a while with Wynn (?sp), a farmer, talking about the healthcare available to the villagers. The government pays to run a nursing station here, which treats a different population every day (one day for kids' immunizations, the next for pre-natal care, etc...). If you break your leg, you pretty much have to arrange your own transportation down to Sigatoka. No such thing as LifeFlight here. Meanwhile, Ro passed out the remainder of the lollies to the children. We were one short, but Ro improvised and gave the kid some biscuits and trail mix that Sherry had brought for Ro. After a while, some of the adults were sending their kids over to fetch cashews from Ro for themselves...lol.

Striking up a tune

Sherry getting the real lowdown

Take notes, Obama. Good diplomacy = lollies

We sat on the floor to eat our "tropical lunch," or at least that's what the brochure called it. Remember that scene near the beginning of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, where Kate Capshaw turns up her nose at the villagers' food? About half our party played Willie Scott and stuck with watermelon (i.e. Ronan), while the other half played Indy and dug in. Sherry was somewhere in between. Mark was the only one at our end of the room daring enough to try the river mussels, which were actually pretty good. No utensils, no napkins...fine for fruit, but the potato casserole got a little messy. There were little water bowls for cleaning your fingers, which you shared with 2 or 3 other people.

Everybody like cassava?

After we'd had our fill, the village women (of course) cleared the dishes, and then bestowed us with garlands and baby powder on our cheeks. This seemed to be a solemn ceremonial thing, but in the back of our heads we were thinking that this might be Fijian entertainment in the vein of, "let's have some fun with these tourists." Sherry couldn't help but notice a couple of little kids pointing their fingers at us and laughing. Then the musicians started playing again and the dancing began. Sherry was almost glad that Ro had finally hit the wall and was clinging drowsily to her, because it meant that she could sit out the festivities and just take it all in.

Ro's got his game face on

Sherry never did cut in

Our chief took up a collection for the villagers, which we gave to them during a little goodbye ceremony. The Sigatoka River Safari operators go to a different village every day of the week; Koronisagana only gets visitors every Friday, so as not to disturb their traditional way of life too much. We bid our new friends "moce" (mo-they, i.e. goodbye) and walked back down to the river. Capt Jack greeted us as we came down the hill to the farm, "Ladies, you can feel free to remove your clothes now...oops, I mean sarongs." Fijians love children, and both Laps and Capt Jack offered to carry Ro when he started dragging his feet in the hot sun. Mark and Sherry took turns, but it was nice to be offered. Back on the jetboat, we waved our last goodbyes, and then Ro promptly passed out even as we whizzed around the river bends.

"Moce, Sherry!"

A boy watering his cattle waves goodbye

Pulling away from the dock

Father and sons spearfishing in the river. Bula!

How do you fall asleep on a jetboat?

As promised, the ride down WAS even more exciting. Capt Jack seemed to go even faster if that's possible (and not just the difference in the current), but the real thrill was the spins. A unique "feature" of the jetboat: if you cut the wheel sharply at high speed while you cut the throttle, the boat will flip its tail around in a negligible turning radius. The resulting splash is wetter than you'll get on any amusement park log flume. Mark thought his camera was toast after the third soaking spin; it was still on, but none of the buttons worked. Yikes! Ro had finally woken up by this point, and kept egging the captain on, "Do it again, puh-leeeese!" Good sport that he was, Jack obliged twice more.

"When I go like this, hold on!"

Getting soaked, jetspin style

Now we know why the van has vinyl seat covers

Ro slept on the rough drive back down to Sigatoka, and Sherry stayed with him in the van while we stopped at the safari office before heading back to Denarau. Meanwhile, Mark did some quick shopping and picked up a Fijian rugby ball, some postcards, and a carbonated drink for Sherry's motion sickness. Ro must have been exhausted, because he continued sawing toothpicks all the way back to Nadi, an hour's drive. One of the couples that were riding with us asked the driver to let them off in downtown Nadi, where it looked like there were plenty of bargains to be had, however dodgy the shops looked. Sherry, who knows the local thrift shops in Mt Maunganui like the back of her hand, was in no mood to bargain hunt here, especially with a drowsy, hungry Ro in tow. Mark breathed a sigh of relief as his camera started working again.

Largest Hindu temple in the Southern Hemisphere

Rush-hour traffic in Nadi

Peace!

Primary school just a few blocks from Denarau Island

The contrast in scenery just within a few hundred feet as you cross the bridge onto Denarau was even more striking after our experiences in the village. We had wanted to see the "real" Fiji, while imparting Ro with a little perspective, and were not disappointed. Certainly a moving and unforgettable experience. We rinsed off the dust and remnants of baby powder that weren't already washed off by the jetboat, then relaxed in our plush air-conditioned room for a bit, snacking on dirt-cheap pineapple and quenching our thirst with some G&T's, savoring the things we often take for granted. Sherry and Ro went ahead to the pool, while Mark caught up on his notes for the blog, flipping back and forth on TV between NCAA football (Yes!) and the Bollywood channel, which was hilarious - especially the Indian ad for Manforce Strawberry Flavored Condoms. Alas, couldn't find it on YouTube :(

Mark soon headed for the pool too, throwing Ro in the water as far as he could. "Just one more time," Ro would always plead. Fortunately for Mark's rotator cuffs, a few other boys showed up in the mood to wrestle and horse around. Unfortunately for Mark, their favorite game seemed to be trying to wrestle Mark's UNC hat off his head. Mark finally took a break to go make our dinner reservations and mix up the last of our tonic. As Sherry and Ro retreated to the room to clean up for dinner, Mark snapped photos of the one really nice sunset we've had here. On his way back to the room, Mark found Ro playing in the sand outside with his Hot Wheels. Soon there came along a wee Irish lass named Freya who Ro quickly befriended. Mark and her dad talked while the kids played on the hammock. They both asked if they could sleep outside in the hammock together tonight!

South Pacific sunset and a warm sea breeze

Good on ya, Ro!

We tried Nuku again, since it featured the island dancers tonight, and we had booked an outside table with a front-and-center view of them. Mark was still working on his delicious but labor-intensive Singapore-style black peppered mud crab when they started performing, but Sherry and Ro had long since finished their curry tortellini and spaghetti with meat sauce, respectively. That's the first time we can recall Ro actually eating sauced spaghetti since he was a baby. He even took a couple bites of fishstick off the kids buffet before he realized they weren't mozzarella sticks! "Cultural night" featured traditional Fijian dancers wielding spears and various ancient weapons, with some ornamental dancing by the ladies. The real fun, though, was in watching Ro and two little girls try to mimic their moves for the whole half-hour show.

Dinner and a poolside show

Getting into it

Keeping the beat

"Moce!"

As we put Ro to bed after a long day, we asked him, "So after seeing how those Fijian kids live, what are you thankful for?"

Ro replied, "A house."

"Anything else?" we queried.

"Food," he said.

"Is that all?"

"Lollies!"

'Nuff said.