Day 10: Where My Real Beaches At

Today I meet Dale’s boss, Robert, for the first time. He is a retired school teacher of fifteen years, currently the editor at the Fiji Daily Post, and a man of many other experiences. Though a native Fijian he grew up in Australia and thus has a light accent. He’s a bigger fellow, but not too tall. His composure is very laid back which corresponds to his character quite well.

We meet at a local coffee shop just near the paper. The routine is to meet for brekky before heading into the office. Accompanying Robert is his wife Lupe, his long standing Australian friend Collin, and Collin’s wife Pauline. Collin is a very political jokester whose jests often cross the line.

Though I don’t find out till two weeks after meeting them, the only person that is actually employed by the paper is Dale’s boss Robert; all the other people that meet for breakfast do so for the social environment. We all drink our over priced coffees and snacks, have our hellos followed by goodbyes, and disperse our separate ways. For us, a drive down to the beach with Robert and Lupe, for the others, well, whatever it is they end up doing I guess.

The drive down is no problem. We pass along the country side zooming through some villages where fruits and various foods are sold roadside. We also see some nice hotels we wish we stayed at when we first arrived in Fiji. The trip each way takes about 45 minutes. As always the roads are very open making the drive easy.

Something that quickly becomes apparent is Lupe’s knack. And it becomes abundantly obvious with each new stop along the way. Before the beach we drop in at two hotel resorts, both of which Lupe has a relative who works there. The first one is geared towards single young adults like me and Dale, while the second for families or couples.

Uprising is the first stop. It’s a large resort whose owner inherited the property from his father. He is a young man about the same age as myself, and is an innovative thinker. As were driving in to take a look around we see a rugby team playing on the front field. We drive past as they jog around, kick their rugby ball down the open pitch and flip giant tires across the grass.


The team is made up of the caretakers of the resort. The workers took up this practice en lieu of their original sport; sitting around smoking and drinking. The team has met great success, already having played in England and Rome, and are currently training for a big tournament in Australia half way through the month.

Inside the place looks great, a pool, not that we need one with the Ocean just feet away, a volley ball net, a large bar with the beach just behind it. Dale’s editors inform us that generally it’s a resort for the youths, single ones Robert even adds. Though useless to Dale, that’s good news for me!

On the way out we decide to stop and speak with the Rugby team. As a car mostly full of journalists it looks like a great opportunity to find a story. And so we pull the car over and greet the guys from Uprising.

Dale is able to get interviews with the trainer and the team captain, though we unfortunately miss the owner himself. Both gentlemen are a pleasure to talk with, and afterwards we take some team photos and get some practice demonstrations.

After showing what we have with the 300 hundred pound tire lifts I smooth talk my way into the last available spot on the roster. I do have to warn them however that I can’t yet commit to the tournament in Australia pending any pertinent plans that may come up between now and than. I of course leave out that I have no clue how to play rugby, having not so much as watched it on tv for longer than five minutes straight.

Shortly after this, and a quick stop at the second resort, we continue on our way to the highlight of the day; the beach. Just before arriving the sun comes out in full force, and things start looking picture perfect. Pacific Harbour has exactly what we want, a fresh salt water ocean, warm beach sand, and a beautiful blazing sun sitting high up in the sky. We have a great swim, run around the beach for a while, and finally shower up and call it a day. I’d like to take a moment here and note that after ten days of being in the country there still have been no shark sightings.

We get ourselves back in the car and make way for home. On the way we try and find a place to eat. Lupe got us all excited on the way up about a great fish and chips restaurant that her friend owns, but when we get there they are all out of fish. I will stop again and take another note, that while asking about the fish, one of the cute Fijian girls working at the place asks Lupe, right in front of me, if I’m single. She asks in Fijian which I of course don’t understand, but none the less I am won over by the flattery. Unfortunately we had already left by the time I find this out.

Still with empty stomachs we take off. Luckily another friend of Lupe’s owns a small café just up the road and we make a second stop here to fill our empty bellies with food. We start off with sandwiches than move onto coffee and dessert. The combination leaves us very mellow as we sit on the small patio under a standing sun.

The rest of the drive is quiet. Out of my window I watch the immense landscapes pass by. Closer to me are the wide tree covered hillsides while behind them stand the great mountain ranges that reach up through a still mist into the heavens above. It seems theatrical and unreal. I reach out for it, but can only seem to touch it with my eyes, watch it pass by and wonder what mysteries remain hidden in its thick brush.

My second impulse is to grab the camera and capture this beautiful scenery on film, which I refrain from doing. Some things that we pass by in life, or which pass us by, don’t translate into photos the way meaning can be lost in the subtitles of a foreign film. A sight connects us to a view with an evoked emotion, and thus the memory becomes a stored feeling.

Thinking back I realise that already what I felt is lost to me. Perhaps the brute strength of beauty I beheld that day stirred my primal instincts, or even brought to the surface a short surge of raw adventurous spirit. Maybe the land spoke to me with images that whispered freedom, or an undiscovered fear of the immensity of the unknown.

It’s become like remembering a dream where I knew well at the time what happened but can’t for the life of me recall the details. Afterwards I might find myself staring out into the rolling landscapes of Fiji trying one last time to feel the same way. I stand there with respect for what I see before me and try and focus on memory.

I remember being in a car and driving down a road. I remember looking out a window at massive land masses far more powerful and longstanding than I can ever be. I remember being emotionally shifted by the refractions of light hitting the back of my retina; my eyes only saw what passed by, my conscience is what caught the emotion. I realise at some point that I could stand there staring forever, and in doing so discover a truth;

lost forever is the memory, but forever standing is the mountain.