Seat straight up for take off please, dinner trays in their upright positions. An exit here, and another one there. Apply the oxygen mask like this, and pull the life jacket strings as I’m doing now. Be careful to only pull one at first and than the second one when you exit the plane. An hour turns into two hours of travel time and it is noticed; Two hours turns into three and its account is once again registered. Going from three to four hours is a little bit shakier. After this points it’s just minutes ticking away on a clock, the second hand running lap after lap after lap.
Twelve hours time is more than ample to become accustomed to the view of the back of the chair ahead of you. The food is mediocre, the personal video screen choppy, while the audio is altogether unavailable. The legs are cramped and the lining up and waiting are still far from over. Still waiting ahead is getting off the plane and retrieving checked baggage in order to go through final customs so a price for a cab for the last three hour leg can be haggled. Don’t worry about being tired now because not too far ahead exhaustion is waiting patiently. “Whenever you’re ready” he says nonchalantly.
“Bula” they say with big smiles and open arms. So early, I think. It’s so early. Current Fiji time is 5:00am on a cloudy Tuesday morning, though we’re still stuck in the past, about 20 hours or so to be exact. However the plane leg of the journey is finally over, and the rest will be traveled by either bus or car.
“How much does a cab cost?”
“Where can we get the bus headed for Suva?”
We say $100 even and they laugh. They insist $180 and we disagree. We talk to one group of people and than move onto the next. It looks like were gonna be saving some money by taking the bus after all. 10 Fiji dollars, which is equal to about $5.50 Canadian, is a deal that’s hard to pass up.
After some bus inquiries we find ourselves once again haggling for a cab. This time a price is agreed upon. Things are looking great. I go convert some U.S. currency into local Fijian bills while Dale investigates an accepted offer of 130 for the ride. The driver’s plates are white. The embassy warns us not to get into any vehicle not bearing the registered yellow plates.
I can’t tell you what would happen if one were to venture into a car as such, but what can be said by our experience is that going with the advice you’re given can get you a safe cab ride where you need to go, and by being firm you can do so for a lower price. Though we didn’t know it at the time – 140 dollars for a three hour drive is an extremely fruitful day for a local Fijian cab driver. With the car loaded, were ready to go.
I can’t properly explain the landscape as we drive down a windy road alongside a hilly terrain. The great ocean peaks out intermittently to our right while great forested mountain ranges, which are nestled comfortably to our left, sit untouchably far off in the horizon. We bought some duty free beers at the airport, and even though it’s just peaking at six in the morning we’re feeling rather thirsty, just not sure if it’s legal or not.
“Is it legal for us to drink beers right now?”
The driver looks back and gives us an answer that will prove to repeat itself in the future. “It’s legal if you don’t get caught and it’s not legal if you do”. Satisfied with the answer we crack open some brews.
Our tired brains are livened by the sites of this new land. The sun finally peeks out from behind the clouds. Were cruising along making good time when all of a sudden, and definitely without warning, the cab pulls over to the side of the road at what looks like a bus shelter. As if completely normal, a man waiting there gets into share our cab. The cab driver greets him and starts down the road again while we look at each other uncertainly.
Not wanting to be rude we greet our new guest, and than make a video to document the event. His name is Bobo and he is an engineer on his way to work. For him it’s scarcely seven a.m. on a Tuesday morning while for us it’s still sometime mid-afternoon on Monday. Between the time zones we moved through travelling to the west coast and than the International Date Line en route to Fiji it’s hard to have a solid concept of time at all. Although our internal clocks are off our spirits are bang on.
We chat light heartedly as we move along the road. Another bottle is cracked and beer drank. Bobo eventually gets out but not before handing us a number. If we’re ever visiting where he’s from he advises us on where to stay. “I will get you the local rate” he tells us, and off to work he goes. Once again it’s just us and the driver, or at least for the time being.
We finish our remaining beers as the sun escapes behind large clouds. The rain begins to come down in a constant pour. Not long after the rain begins, our driver stops to pick up a female passenger – this time less surprising to both of us. In a short while she too is dropped off. The rain patters against the car as the road goes by, and eventually our heads rest into a slumber.
We awake in Suva, a lively industrial center that’s littered with paint chipped buildings, unkept storefronts and strange and new funky smells. We realise without saying so that this is no paradise. But does such a thing even exist? It’s only yet to become paradise because we haven’t had the time to make it into such a thing. Good-bye driver and random passengers on the way, and hello Suva.
We check into a hotel where Dale almost forgets to ask the price for staying. This is Fiji and it’s bound to be cheap. She smiles and says it will cost 225$, which is roughly 150 Canadian. Already were getting ripped off. Though it’s unknown to us right now the hotel will slowly be picking away at our wallets with everything we do aside from breathing. Internet – extra cost, local calls – extra cost, incoming calls – extra cost, long distance calls – EXTRA COST.
Though very perplexing to them, we spent most of our time at the hotel ordering extra towels. Not wanting to be left completely broke after our stay we had to entertain ourselves with the few things that didn’t cost any money. Ordering extra towels was one of those things. Having built up a decent sized collection we set off to explore our new city, and so we trek off onto the streets of Suva, Fiji.
To our one side are the long beaches with the infinite ocean behind it, taking a quick note here that these beaches are far from the pristine beaches you may have in mind, and to our other side downtown Suva. Between the dull colored sand, riddled with rocks and branches, and the absolute vacancy of any people it wasn’t looking like a place where we’d be spending much time.
Continuing down the street we find ourselves almost run over by a car leaving a parking lot, and than again just a short time later while crossing the street. There was even an elderly women walking beside us the second time. We promptly conclude that we wouldn’t be fighting cars for the right of way while in Fiji.
During the walk an old man joins us offering some friendly insights. We chat and walk and soon enough he is pulling out things to sell us. He tries his hardest to get all the money we have with little avail. We take a souvenir from his bag and leave him with eight Fijian dollars and a sullen looking face. He has been hit by the sadness.
We stop in at the local Australian bank and try and set up accounts. Without addresses not much can be done and we too find ourselves struck by the sadness. Deciding that it’s been a good first outing we head on home. En route we stop in to buy some items we didn’t pack, a little food and even do some window shopping.
When we don’t make a purchase we start to notice a melancholy sadness deeply effecting whoever wasn’t able to take possession of our money. At a surf shop we enquire about prices and places yet leave without a surf board in our hands. The shop keeper is stunned by our decision and remains motionless as we exit. Having our own agendas to keep we can’t wait around and see how long the sadness lasts for; instead, we are forced to wonder if these people will ever recover.
It turns out there is a name for the syndrome: Tourist window shopping depression (TWSD). To us, it seems to have struck more swiftly than the swine flu in Mexico, but for all we know it may have been terrorizing local Fijians for years past. Though shopping was fun we have much more important business to conduct.
Next thing on the list is finding a place to live. We make the appropriate calls and take some much needed rest while we wait to meet with our real estate agent, Basil. Waking up from a good nap we dress and go to meet him downstairs. We wait in the lobby almost half an hour later than we agreed upon, but see no sign of the missing agent. Tired and annoyed we become fidgety. After almost reaching our limits we figure out what the problem is: We’re on Standard punctual Canadian time, and well, he’s on “when I get there island Fiji time.”
He does eventually get to our hotel and with that we take off to look at apartments. The first place is big and furnished but in a bad area. The first red light came up when Dale asked if the area is safe, the owner, with no emotion in his face, responds “it’s safe in here.” He was being serious and that ended any further discussion.
The next few flats are nowhere near our Canadian living standards. One had a small bathroom with a showerhead right in the middle and a drain underneath. The entire bathroom WAS the shower. Though not the best start, we do finally see a couple of apartments that show good promise. We discuss the terms and the last thing remaining is to see them both again and make a final decision. Our first day in Fiji is almost done, but not before an introduction to the much anticipated Kava.
For those who have never sampled the Fijian delicacy, it’s a drink that’s described as “comfortably numb.” With a small hand scooper portions are handed out of a bigger basin. Our first experience was at our real estate agent’s house. We sit around the basin with Basil and his friends while listening to Indian style tunes. One guy is the scooper while everyone else waits to be served. Guests are served first, and than the others. Everybody claps when a drink is taken. As I take a chug of the brew I ask if it’s ever served hot to which I’m told, “Oh yah! It’s always served hot”. We all have as laugh as we drink down the cold kava.
With a numb mouth and throat we get dropped off at our hotel, but with adventurous spirits yearning to discover more of what secrets lay within the Kava we head out downtown. Walking up and down the main street renders no results, and we soon give up and head home. While stopping for some brownies to munch on at a local variety we unexpectedly encounter what we just gave up on seeking: Kava. We hand over five dollars and than sit in a narrow, sweaty and poorly ventilated backroom. Again, listening to melodic Indian music, and again sipping down the cool liquid contents.
With the owners and some other old Fijians already in the back, under unknown circumstances, we sit around and have kava. This time it’s served in a plastic bucket, instead of the nicely wood carved basin from before. Dale and I later joke that it should have “kava” written on the side. One guy sits there the entire time without saying anything. We thought he was going to a few times, but in the end no words were ever uttered.
As seems to be the culture, we sit around listening to music, share a laugh and, of course, get numb. While splitting a brownie in half Dale drops his piece on the ground. We both look at each other and break into laughter, after which the piece is consumed. Finally we get kava to go, and finish off the night poolside back at the hotel – this time with our own music playing. Selected by Dale, and quite fittingly, we end our first day in Fiji, after 25 hours of traveling and 36 hours without sleeping, to “comfortably numb” by Pink Floyd. Bula
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