In the boat alongside us sit six Fijians, one of them is Lupe, another is her sister. The others are family and friends. In my boat Dale sits ahead of me, his dark brown shades deflecting the suns constant stare. Three others share this boat with us. Robert sits at the front.
At first the river is open. It widens about a half kilometer across banking abruptly where grass and trees border. The two boats race each other jokingly, like two kittens play fighting than licking each others wounds. First our boat pulls ahead, and than theirs as we laugh and wave across to each other.
As we near Lupe’s village we head onto a side road spanning only about 30 feet wide. It feels like trekking deep into a rain forest. The trees are covered with vines, their branches loom past the shoreline like a kid peeking over the edge of a cliff. The motor slows to a sputter in the shallow water as we tiptoe all the way to the entrance of the village. We dismount the boat and enter.
After meeting and greeting the villagers, aunts and cousins of Lupe, we head off to the beach for a splendid soaking in the sun. Me and Dale lead the pack by some 20 feet even though we don’t know where to go. Simply we follow the obvious path and look back for reassurance.
About halfway to the beach we pass through another small village. Smaller than the one we just came from, this one has fewer tin huts and less people. Two young girls silently watch us with the cautious curiosity of a cat, half smiling half uncertain.
Seeing as no tourists at all come to this place, and only people who are invited are allowed, I sympathise with them. Dale with his cool cream brown shades, and me with my blank white t-shirt tucked into my shorts, walk by coolly, smiling to the silent unwavering expressions.
My feet, wild and bare, trek across a stonier surface, but as to not diminish my image I am careful to show that I am already resistant to the rock-strewn path. My feet, free from socks shoes and sandals, pretend that it doesn’t hurt. The pinching pain of small pebbles feels so good against the bottoms of my rather tender feet.
Across tree roots and soft dead grass, through twigs tucked into sand all the way to the ocean my two feet breath in the freedom of the surrounding world. Every ache and pain is a testament to
that freedom; a thing with which I have come to find abundant on the small Fiji island. A liberated sun bares witness as my toes poke up with excitement.Not much time later I am further freed as I gallop with Dale alongside me into crashing waves. They start at first like a parabola, rising round and even, than the top becomes sharp and thin like paper ice as it tucks in towards its belly, exhaling finally a great big crashing release of breath back into the ocean. The curling breeze sends us barrelling upside down and sideways as we wash back closer to shore with the pushing hand of forceful waters.
After being sent landward, we get up and swim back out further, charging into the waves at their various stages. Head on into the foamy break. Straight through the curvature of its womanly shape, and up and over the rising table top.
With each leap jump and dive I grasp a second of freedom, and the deeper I go the longer I can hold onto the slipping second. When the wave passes by the feeling leaves me as well. And every time I feel it wiggle through my fingers my breath is caught, surprised each time by the tiny taste of excitement.
Dripping wet we exit the beach. Out of breathe we head back to the village. Hungry we walk down the same path, and eagerly wait for food to be served. It’s a lot of sea food, fresh fish, oysters, delicious delicacies that are uncommon back home, but are simply extracted from the ocean only a mile away.
Most people sit cross legged when we do eat, and everybody eats without utensils. Rock cassava chunks are washed down with freshly made fruit juice. The taste of fish is mixed with the taste of ripley picked pineapples. The food is so free of preservatives its unreal to the taste buds, its like taking a purified water shower.
After we finish we feel as if we had taken that shower. Fresh, refreshed, relaxed and calm, with smiling faces and slow movements we say our farewells; hugs and kisses and multitudes of waves goodbye. Soon after our boat, this time a larger one which fits all of us, speeds off into the jungle and towards home.
When we are out of sight and there are no more people to wave to we sit and watch. The clouds in the sky look anorexic and stretched. They move quickly by barely blocking the sun as they shield the crimson red eye for short minutes at time.
This time we sit quietly in mindful awareness of the surrounding peacefulness. I sit deep in thought trying to connect myself to the nature around me. As of now I am a spectator. I know the fish are swimming below the water, and see the birds floating synchronized in the sky, but I am separate from them. I enjoy the peaceful beauty but do not partake in its excellence.
As the boat slices a continuous path, shaking the water below like an earthquake rocking a bookshelf, the air becomes silent. I breathe in its freshness but lose sight of its motion, feel its breeze yet can only imagine the softness of its warm touch. When an experience releases you from the torture of searching for purpose, as this one has done for me, it is a moment to cherish. Here the reason is togetherness. The point is sharing, and the ‘prize’ is the strengthened connection to nature and fellow man. For the few hours we spent at the village, talking, swimming and eating together, this is what was accomplished. The freedom that was felt was not outwardly, being the waves the small pinches along the paths, but instead relief of being confined to looking somewhere else for what is already right there. It is a freedom I hope to find across the snow covered highways of my native country once I return.
No comments:
Post a Comment