Fiji
Fiji. To some, an island paradise. To others, a place to stage a military coup. To me, somewhere to holiday for 12 days with my dad and two brothers, and set the right tone for 2025: indulgence with no responsibility.
We had been planning the holiday for many months, and at last the time had arrived.
Island time.
DAY 1
Grandad dropped the four of us at Wellington airport, and we flew to Nadi.
Nadi is a city on the largest Fijian island - Viti Levu. It is not the capital city; that is Suva. But for some reason Nadi is the location of the international airport, so those who decide to visit Fiji are doomed to see it.
It's not that Nadi is a run-down, unattractive, rubbish-strewn town stuck in the 1990s, with a stray dog problem that has you wondering how far it is to the nearest rabies treatment clinic. Actually, it is that. Nadi is for the most part a kind of purgatory which most tourists swiftly abandon in favour of more lustrous Fijian locations. We were no exception, leaving for a different town - and indeed island - the following day. But first, we had a day to kill.
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| The lads walking down the main drag |
Our digs for the night was a minimalist 'homestay' (read: hostel lite) on a drab sidestreet. It wasn't minimalist in the modern, trendy way, but in the way that places with no amenities are. The consensus between the four of us was that the owners of the joint hadn't set it up to be more than a one-nighter before a departure to greener pastures. Guests came and went like johns.
We went out for dinner at an Indian tandoori restaurant called Indiana, and were the only diners there. Sometimes this is ominous. However, on this occasion the fare was very good.
Indian culture is woven into the cultural tapestry of Fiji. A large number of Indian labourers were brought to Fiji by the British in the late 1800s and early 1900s to work on the sugar cane plantations, and over time a Fijian Indian identity emerged. Today, Fijian Indians are the second largest ethnic group in the country, behind Indigenous Fijians.
The above paragraph was not written by AI.
After dinner, it was off to the nearby 'hypermarket' (supermarket) to break $100 notes by means of inane purchases.
We rounded the night off with a game of Settlers of Catan, which I unexpectedly but gleefully won at the eleventh hour.
A quick note on language: the main languages spoken in Fiji are Fijian and English. Everyone we spoke to knew at least some English, and many were fluent. However, the main language we heard spoken was Fijian. We didn't pick up a lot, but used 'Bula' (hello) and 'Vinaka' (thank you) liberally, and 'Moce' (goodbye) from time to time. We weren't exactly spinning Fijian epics, but it was a nice point of connection.
It would also be remiss of me not to comment on the heat. It was hotter than a two dollar pistol the entire time. The mercury never dipped below 25°C, and climbed as high as 32°C during the day, with 70%+ humidity. You couldn't do math in your head without breaking a sweat. This, I later came to appreciate, is why Fijians walk at a leisurely pace - saunter, you might say - and never run. More on this when we get to 'Day 6'. I can only conclude that island time is a survival mechanism.
DAY 2
After sleeping about as well as you would expect a young man from an oceanic climate to sleep on his first night in a tropical country with only a weak fan in his room, I got up and walked to the local market, where I bought a pineapple and some bananas. The market would have brought tears of joy to an economist's eye; it was populated by scores of vendors selling exactly the same produce. Ahhh - perfect competition. Not that I bothered to scrutinise the prices; I simply mosied around till I found an acceptable looking bunch of bananas and bought from the man who was selling them. The pineapple was an afterthought.
At midday, the host of our homestay took us to the airport; it was time to head to our main destination for the holiday: Taveuni island. But not before having the worst Burger King meal ever. Zach wanted western fast food one last time before we marooned ourselves on a desert island, and so I found myself eating a burger so pitiful it would have tanked BK's share prices if I'd put the word out about it.
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| A solemn meal |
But enough griping about things everyone already knew were bad and have nothing to do with Fiji.
We took our charter flight to Matei, a small settlement on the northern tip of Taveuni, which would be our home for the next eight days. An amiable man called Robert - the owner of the Pineapple House, where we would be staying - picked us up. He deposited us at said house, which was spacious and - at the risk of sounding British - not too shabby. A little old school, perhaps, but that was to be expected on the archipelago that time forgot. We had a lovely view out to the beach, palm trees framing a chain of picturesque islets that seemed to slink into the horizon. In the late afternoon, kids played volleyball down by the beach.
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| That palm tree on the right is going to go down real soon |
While it was still light - a state of affairs which ended alarmingly quickly at around 7pm each day - we walked to the nearby shop to pick up supplies for dinner and so on. The cashier gave me daggers when Dad accidentally walked out without paying. I was astonished at her demeanour until she pointed out the transgression. She lightened up when I called him back in.
After a bland dinner which doesn't warrant description, I beat my kin at Survive - another classic board game. The object of the game is to move as many men as possible from an ever-shrinking island to the safety of one of four shores, either by boat or by swimming. Along the way, whales, sharks and sea serpents (which I referred to as 'seahorses' for the entire duration of the holiday) make your life hell. Fortunately, this was not our plight in Fiji.
DAY 3
We took a walk to the nearby settlement of Naselesele and explored the beach there. On the way back, I noticed we passed the site of an 'accountability and monitoring programme' called Yadrayadravi, funded by the European Union and the Adventist Development and Relief Agency, whatever that is. This turned out to be one of my few encounters with governance on the holiday. At one point on the trip, Sam said idly, "Who runs this place?" Taveuni seemed to run itself, with no state apparatus in sight. But of course things must have been going on behind the scenes.
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| The beach area near Naselesele |
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| A sign of governance |
We went for a swim at the beach back in Matei, and played tug of war with a long stick. I copped the sharp end to my shin - ouch. Back at the house, we had the world's most expensive tropical fruit: pineapple, papaya, bananas - purchased from a small shack outside. They must have been imported on a ship that circumnavigated the world twice.
In the evening we walked 25 minutes along the road like the kids from Stand By Me to have dinner at the restaurant Tramonto. It was a relaxed little Fijian-run restaurant with a lovely view out to the sea. Dad and I ordered pan-fried fish, Sam an octopus curry, and Zach a pizza. The food came out at the pace of snail mail from Europe but was OK. The fish was on the tougher side but relatively flavoursome; the vegetables were prepared in accordance with a presupposition about Fijian cuisine I didn't know I had until I ate them. Behind us, a large Fijian group consisting primarily of older men sat waiting patiently for their own meals to come out. They made very little sound, simply coexisting.
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| The view from Tramonto |
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| My Fijian meal |
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| Foreground: Sam about to dig into his octopus curry, with a Fiji Gold beer to drink Background: large group of locals coexisting |
Then it was back to the house on Shanks's pony once again, for a game of Catan, followed by the (unfortunately) timeless card game Presidents and Assholes. Both games are quite reliant on what Zach calls 'RNG' - random number generation - so there was no shortage of saltiness at the table. But what are holidays for, if not the steady breakdown of relationships over inconsequential quests for victory?
Day 4
We had an early start this morning. Robert took us out on his boat at 8:30am and we went snorkeling around the little islets out in the harbour. It had been eons since I'd last been snorkeling - I couldn't recollect having done it since I was in Mexico nine years ago. After adapting to the initial discomforts, I began to really enjoy it. Colourful tropical fish darted through intricate coral reefs, going about their daily business. It was spellbinding. There really is a whole world under the sea.
We were back at the house by 11 and did jack-all for the rest of the day, other than wince at our spit-roasted backs. It turns out the sun is quite strong in Fiji, and will scorch even the most diligently sunscreened flesh if it is in the mood to do so. I had come on this holiday under the delusion that the sun would not be as fierce as in New Zealand; I thought the 'ozone layer' would protect me. What naivete.
Day 5
Having entered a borderline vegetative state the previous afternoon and evening, we embarked on a fuller programme today.
We rented a car, which the rental company woman drove over to us an hour late, without a trace of contrition, and only after we had Robert call her to ask where the hell she was. Purportedly, she had been 'busy'. No doubt the dog had eaten her homework too. Oh, what am I saying. She was clearly on island time. Daftly, the company was located about a two minute walk down the road, so we could easily have picked the vehicle up ourselves.
In any event, we set off at 9am on a 45 minute drive to Bouma village, to do a 'three waterfalls' walk. The walk lived up to its name: it indeed included three waterfalls. En route, we were treated to breathtaking vistas over the lush, verdant island. At the third waterfall, Dad, Sam and Zach all did rock jumping, but I simply watched from the sidelines, loathe to expose my burnt back.
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| Waterfall #1 |
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| The guys getting ready to jump at waterfall #3 |
In the late afternoon, we drove to Waiyevo village to go to the natural Waitavala water slides. These are waterslides formed naturally by the smoothing of rock by the rush of water from a cascade of prepositions waterfalls.
As it transpired, we had to walk past a prison to get to the slides. Men in orange suits stood behind a barbed wire fence and shouted 'Bula!' at us as we walked by. They seemed in decent spirits, all things considered.
The rock slides were pretty fun. There were lots of local kids up there for us to emulate. They were pros, doing all kinds of crazy tricks down the slides. One young girl repeatedly slid down on her feet, not once losing her balance. Some of the older boys would lie across the top of a waterfall to let the water build up, then quickly slide down with the larger torrent.
I made the regrettable decision not to put my shoes back on for the walk out. The other three, who all did, took off ahead, while I practically tiptoed back to the car. At one point I had to traverse a wide clearing strewn with more broken glass than an optician's office after an earthquake.
When I reached the top of the last stretch of road back to the vehicle, a truck full of corrections officers, which had just pulled out of the prison opposite, opened the door and offered me a lift down the hill. I gladly accepted, jostling in next to the two burly uniformed guys in the back. I didn't manage to glean any state secrets during the thirty second drive.
Day 6
In the morning, I did something which I realised after the fact was mildly insane: I went on a run.
Picture this: it's 29°C outside (feels like 35°C), 70% humidity, windless, full sun, shadeless, dusty. You don your running shoes and set off towards Naselesele, then continue for a couple of kilometres along a dirt road. After about 3km, already enervated by the all-consuming heat, you turn around and struggle the longest 3km of your life home.
OK, this is getting too specific for 2nd person.
Suffice it to say, it felt like nothing less than a battle for survival against the forces of nature. At only 6.2km, it was still in the top 3 most brutal runs I've ever done.
I was largely ignored by the locals as I ran by. Maybe they thought I was deranged, or simply a fool. Neither conclusion would have been unwarranted. Running is simply not a thing in Fiji, and no wonder.
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| Where the paved road turned to dirt |
After I'd recuperated from my masochistic excursion, we headed to the Dive Cafe Bar & Grill for lunch, which was pretty mediocre. I got an insipid plate of beef tacos that desecrated Mexican cuisine. I suppose the clue was in the name all along: the 'Dive' Cafe Bar.
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| The ambience makes up for the food |
We did nothing for the rest of the day. At least, nothing in the real world. Rather, we spent an inordinate amount of time researching more things to do on the island. It's a trap which is easy to fall into when travelling; you want to get the 411 on the options available to you. It starts with an innocent peek at Trip Advisor, and slowly devolves into a philosophical debate about the appropriate weightings to be given to positive and negative reviews. In the end, after seven hours of fruitless dialectic, you throw your hands up and decide that 'Marty' was probably a hypochondriac for thinking he caught Lyme disease from the waterpark picnic area, and 'Sharon' was probably right that the place is 'absolutely amazing'.
Day 7
We rented a car again today and drove to Lavena - a village further along from Bouma - to do the reputed Coastal Walkway.
The walk itself was about three hours return, following the pretty coastline through light forest. We also spent a couple of hours swimming and jumping off rocks at the destination waterfall. We had a free guide in the form of a dog from the village, which ran along in front of us as soon as we set off and took us all the way to the waterfall and back (yes - she waited). I named the dog 'Good Aim' - a piece of slang I picked up from Zach - which basically just means 'good' or 'well done'. In this case though, the dog literally had good aim, in that she led us along the correct path to our destination. For her efforts, we gave her a couple of sausages and a biscuit. Good dog.
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| Good Aim showing us the way across the river |
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| The secret waterfall |
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| Obligatory selfie down by the river |
In the evening, we drove to the Dive Cafe Bar (where we went for lunch yesterday) for a lovo and kava night.
Lovo is a traditional Fijian method of cooking food in an underground oven. As in a Māori hāngī, hot rocks are placed in a pit in the ground, food is wrapped and placed on the rocks, and then the pit is covered with leaves or soil. The food is left to cook for several hours.
Kava is a Fijian beverage made from the ground roots of the plant Piper Methysticum. It is said to have a mildly intoxicating effect.
On arrival at the Cafe, we were served an opening round of kava. A young American man who had also shown up by this point (among a handful of other westerners) looked slightly discomfited when it was broken to us that we would all be drinking from the same shallow bowl.
"No one's sick right?" someone else asked, as though they would get a straight answer.
Having been informed previously that the drink tasted like dirty water, I wasn't taken aback when the liquid first hit my mouth. It seemed to me that dirty water was an accurate description of it. Certainly it was much more palatable than kymyz - that vile fermented mare's milk I once took two sips of in Kyrgyzstan.
There are some rituals attached to the consumption of kava. We were instructed to clap once and say 'Bula' before the bowl was passed to us, and to clap three times once we'd finished and passed the bowl back. Supposedly, if you don't clap, it indicates you didn't like the kava - though it wasn't made clear to us what exactly it means to 'like' it.
You must also indicate whether you want 'low tide' - a small volume of kava - or 'tsunami' - a larger volume of kava - before the facilitator serves up the bowl. I paced myself and generally said 'low tide'.
After the opening round, we all proceeded to the restaurant for the lovo buffet. I liked some of it. The fish and chicken were yum. Things like taro were not.
Then we were treated to a cultural show, including dances that the locals invited us to join in on, such as the 'snake dance'. These were set to ukulele and guitar music. The dancers were dressed in traditional Fijian wear, befitting the tropics. The enthusiasm of the dancers was variable, and a couple of the young kids looked positively discombobulated. But overall it was an engaging performance.
After the show it was back to the kava table. I have to say that even after eight bowls or so, I didn't feel intoxicated at all, though Zach begged to differ. We shot the breeze with the locals and headed home around 9.
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| Lovo unearthing |
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| Kava initiation |
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| Cultural show |
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| My lovo |
Day 8
Today we did an excursion up to Lake Tagimoucea, near De Voeux Peak - one of the highest peaks on Taveuni. One of the touted drawcards of Lake Tagimoucea is that it is home to the Tagimoucia flower, which is only found in that specific place. Ostensibly people travel from all over the world to come see it.
I am sorry to report that I found the entire trip to be much ado about nothing.
Robert drove us up to the trail end, which turned out to be about an hour and a half each way, half of that being on an absolute sod of a 4WD track. It was the most munted, juddery, pothole-ridden, throw-you-around-the-back-seat-like-a-ragdoll 'track' I've ever been subjected to. I can't believe some people do 'offroading' for fun.
Anyway, we picked up a local guide - Tomasi - en route. He apparently does tours out to the lake every day. The walk to the lake took about an hour (each way) and was through dense, muddy, steep rainforest. In my opinion it was glorified bushwhacking, and utterly soiled my new running shoes. The lake itself was nice enough but nothing super special. I've seen artificial reservoirs more picturesque. The main thing it had going for it was its seclusion, which created a peaceful atmosphere.
We saw the fabled Tagimoucia flower during the walk through the forest, but not by the lake itself. Sure, it's a decent looking piece of flora. Red and white, like a Santa Claus hat. But I doubt someone would fly in from Tajikistan to see it.
The best part of the walk was Tomasi himself, without whom the expedition would have felt like a cruel and unusual punishment.
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| My one shoddy picture of the Tagimoucia flower |
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| The secluded Lake Tagimoucia |
On the drive back we stopped off at a point which lies on the 180 degree meridian line - the boundary between the Eastern and Western Hemispheres. It is used as the basis for the International Date Line. We straddled it, of course, one foot in today and the other in yesterday. Not really, because that would cause chaos. But metaphorically.
Day 9
We went snorkeling again this morning, Robert taking us out on his boat once more to the waters near the islets. My first go this time wasn't great, as I kept taking in water through the snorkel. It turns out that happens if the top of the snorkel is underwater. I took five on the boat and Robert kindly reoriented the plastic tube. When I got back in, I was right as seawater. We saw some beautiful bigger fish, and of course more colourful coral. Snorkeling was my favourite activity on Taveuni.
The rest of the day we chilled out. I had $19 worth of coins to spend (bureaus de change don't typically exchange coins - only notes), so I wandered out to the fruit stall at the front of the property and bought an $18 watermelon. Yes, $18. And no, this isn't a case of hyperinflation, where you have to divide by a trillion to get the value in your own currency. It was a spectacularly expensive piece of fruit, whichever way you sliced it.
The stall was unattended, but a kid who looked about seven - a son of the vendor - was riding his bike around the front lawn, and sold me the watermelon on her behalf.
"Eighteen dollars," he repeated ebulliently, and watched as I counted it out in exact change and laid it on the counter. With that, the melon was bought, and I was relieved of (almost all of) my coinage.
The remainder of the day was spent on Survive, Catan, and Texas Hold 'em poker. We used real Fijian coins for the latter, though the game ended as casual poker games always do: with everyone all-in, and the winner not really taking the money. A bit like life.
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| Some Fijian currency |
Day 10
This morning we said goodbye to Taveuni and flew back to Nadi.
It was a gated complex close to the place we stayed the first night. Much nicer. It felt like the kind of place where you would buy cocaine. Units, palm trees, a swimming pool.
We managed to repeat our mistake from day 6: spending eons researching things to do. At least this time we had air con to cool us while we were at it though. The outcome of the investigation was that we would visit the Coral Coast the following day.
In the late afternoon, we went to the Sri Siva Subramaniya Swami Temple. Unusually, it was located right by a main road, and therefore exposed to the attendant noises. The site was more suited to a roadside diner than a place for religious contemplation. Nevertheless, the temple was beautifully painted with Hindu gods and goddesses, and devotees worshipped at the shrines. The attention to detail present in each panel was reflective of the reverence shown by its maker to the Hindu faith. The kicker was that the temple was undergoing maintenance work and covered with scaffolding, but such is life.
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| Walking into the temple, legs covered per the dress code |
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| Cattle grazing outside the temple for some reason |
Day 11
As planned, we drove to the Coral Coast this morning in our disconcertingly low-to-the-ground rental car, in pursuit of our Fijian dreams. Pacific Coast Highway, here we come! I awaited the presumed vistas of gold-sand beaches and sparkling seas with bated breath - anticipated anxiously the moment when we would emerge at last from the featureless inland countryside and drink in that fabled coast we had heard so much about. Any moment now, we thought. Around this corner, or that corner, or that one...
Godot never came. What did come, however, was a rundown village called Sigatoka, near which we were to turn off to access a sand dunes walk. First, though, we popped into an unassuming bakery (there wasn't much to assume in this town) and pored over the selection. Bread rolls were our target. When Dad asked which of the rolls was good, the baker laughed nervously. In the end, we bought several savoury buns and some sweet rolls to boot.
We took our picnic lunch to the trail end for the sand dunes walk. No sooner had we sat down than a mangy stray cat jumped up to the table and settled in to dine with us. The voracity in its demeanour increased when we brought out tins of tuna. The scraggly creature would gladly have eaten the whole spread given half the chance. Alternately we batted away the cat and the swarms of flies that were encircling the food.
After surviving supper with the amiss-ocat, we read the sign for the dunes walk. We discovered at this point that the walk was mostly through bush, and in any event the authorities advised against embarking on it after 10am, due to the 'extreme' heat. Yah, OK.
We decided to head for a different beach, having not yet sighted an inch of the coast after which the region was named. We'd read that Cuvu Beach was worth a visit. After taking some efforts to find it - involving multiple redirections from a nearby tour guide - we were rewarded with a small, unpopulated stretch of sand littered with detritus. Cuvu Beach? More like Boo-Boo Beach.
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| Cuvu Beach |
"If you change your mind, I'm just down the beach that way," he said half-heartedly. It was the equivalent of "No worries if not."
We did not change our minds.
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| Natadola Beach |
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| The beach literally takes the piss (joke credit: Dad) |
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| BATES the hell out of Burger King |
Day 12
Today was our last day in Fiji.
In the morning we drove to the Sleeping Giant Zipline. To quote the website, there were 7 zips spanning over 700m, ranging from 80m to 160m, and flying at speeds up to 40km per hour.
I had never done ziplining before, but having done it now, I can say that if you can't have fun on a zipline, you can't have fun at all.
"It was so boring soaring like a bird through the lush forest canopy," said no one ever.
It took a few rides to get the hang of it, but we did the tour twice, so we got 14 goes. I never quite nailed the upside down manoeuvre like Sam did. The guides did it with youthful abandon, evidently having run it thousands of times. No matter - I'll get it next time.
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| Down by the reception area at Sleeping Giant Zipline |
In the afternoon we drove to Denarau Island - a Truman Show-esque town where almost everything is a resort. It was like Disneyland, but without creativity. Our main reason for going there was to play mini golf, but we couldn't find a park within a sensible distance of the course, so decided to flag it. I bought a white 'Fiji Islands' T-shirt - my only souvenir, if you can call it that. I regard most souvenirs as pointless knick-knacks, but something you can wear is justifiable.
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| Shopping area at Denarau Island |
Terrible copywriting though. DAD MOM CHILDREN - ENJOY FAMILY TIME - read the packaging. Yes boss. I've read instruction manuals that were less matter-of-fact. Don Draper would have been appalled.
After our 12-day tropical adventure, the end had arrived. It was time to return to reality. We dragged ourselves out of bed at 4:15am and headed to the airport for our red-eye flight back to Wellington.
To Fiji I say: Moce! I enjoyed it for the most part, and may well return someday. Probably not for a long time. But eventually. Surely.
And to you I say: Vinaka for reading. With any luck it's given you some 'inspo' for your next sojourn to the archipelago. Or at the very least, some schadenfreude.
Till the next island time.
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