Fiji – Nadi

Bula, as they say here.

Transfer days are transfer days, which usually means one thing above all else: waiting. Same here. Check out at eleven, suitcases outside the room at half past ten. When I eventually wobbled off toward reception, they were still sitting there, so I just picked them up myself. Training weight. “Why didn’t you leave your suitcases by the door? They’ll be picked up.” The know it all tone of, I do not know her name, but very much a Katharina type, who crossed my path on the way to reception. I had met a German emigrant couple from Australia on one of the excursions. She knew every trick and bargain for feeling just a little bit superior in life, while he was her quiet little attachment. She always spoke to me in English. I just smiled and muttered something about valuables. “Did you finally book your shuttle at reception? Only 2500 Vanuatu dollars per person?” Nope, I had not, and I muttered something about doing it now.

At reception I checked out. Number one oh eight, the bill, I had been slightly nervous about it, but yes, that was all me, still manageable, cost control maintained. And I still needed an airport shuttle. Oh, that one is full, but I know a taxi driver, hang on, let me call him. 2000 Vanuatu dollars, okay? Yep. Marco is waiting at the jetty at twelve. One more coffee at the bar, then back across by boat. Luxury life over, finally. There stood Katharina with her minibus and about twenty five others squeezing themselves inside. A local waved at me, I had obviously been described. Marco? Yes. Raphael? That is what I seem to be called on islands so far, always. No idea why. It already started in New Caledonia. Yo. I even asked Katharina whether the two of them wanted to come with me, we could split the 2000. That landed nicely.

I still had time before the flight, so Marco drove me around a bit. Presidential palace, national museum, this and that, and eventually I ended up at the airport. Bag drop, security, through. Then I sat around in the three gate airport until eventually I was on the plane. And then, for no clear reason, I started getting that faint rumbling feeling in my stomach as we took off. The plane shook a little, and I did not feel any better, flight anxiety started creeping in. Not a good day for me. Until the food arrived. That was it. I had not eaten the entire day. It can really be that simple. So much for flight anxiety. The signals the body gives you sometimes, and what the sick brain makes of them.

Immigration queue and through. What friendly people. Got some cash, the banknotes are so pretty, and suddenly there was a man standing next to me. Need a taxi? Yep. What is your name? Ralph. Hi Raphael, I am Simi, where are you heading? I told him. Twenty dollars, Fiji or Australia. Fiji. Okay. And off we went to his car. Naturally I walked straight to the passenger door again, opened it, and found myself staring at the steering wheel. Brief confusion on my side. For a moment I even thought maybe the thing had two. Simi was already laughing, as were the people around us. It really is confusing. For the past four weeks I had been back on what I consider the correct side of the road, and here we are driving on the left again. Every single time it completely scrambles me. It also means walking past people on the left again. My brain sometimes just refuses to sort that out, and for the other pedestrians it is probably rather unpleasant too.

On the drive Simi immediately started talking. Your hotel is not a resort, why? Ah, because in resorts you are always so cut off, and I want to experience Fiji. And then I got run over by his friendliness. He laughed. Then you picked the right area. Best nightclub in town is right across the road. Whether I like going out. And then we got talking. Whether I liked football or rugby. Football, I said, but I had been to a rugby match once in Wellington. And that was all the opening he needed. Want to come to Ba tomorrow, he asked. Only a hundred dollars. He is going to the rugby, Super Rugby Pacific, Fijian Drua versus Highlanders. Important match. I would only need to pay for his fuel, so a hundred Fiji dollars, he would take me along, ticket included, meaning his too, and before that he would do some sightseeing with me. In general, he said, he does not just do taxis, he also does tours. Garden of the Sleeping Giant, 150 dollars. I was slightly steamrolled and said I would think about it. We exchanged numbers. Later my rough mental arithmetic showed me pretty clearly that one hundred Fiji dollars was not just petrol money. Nice try. Still, at least he was not offended.

He dropped me at my hotel, and he was right. Friday evening, already dark, and I seemed to be standing right in the middle of the entertainment district. Checked in, super friendly woman, internet another ten dollars a day, but at least it works smoothly. There were a few flyers lying around at reception, and then I was in my room. Then out once more to get something to eat, Indian curry around the corner, Fiji style. Note to self: I really should pay a bit more attention to what I eat. Then straight to bed. On one of the flyers I had spotted something, a bike rental, and an idea started forming. Then, at about ten in the evening, somebody in the backyard started using an angle grinder. Excellent, fitting accompaniment to the disco beat.

The next morning. The same man who had been grinding away until almost midnight started sawing in the backyard at eight in the morning. And the curry hit me. I was useless at first. I really had not tolerated that well. It was only around midday that I felt halfway capable of leaving the room. It happens. So I walked the three kilometres to the bike shop. I said I wanted the road bike. That took some back and forth. He wanted to give me only the local bike, but I did not want that. No suspension fork. He said I would need it here. I said I have forearms. At some point he wheeled one of the two bikes out for me, the one with no brakes. I came back, and he brought out the second one. Better brakes. He adjusted it a bit, and off I went. And I did.

And my mood improved instantly. There I was, cycling along, standing at traffic lights, whistling, and people were grinning at me. I think that is probably not something they see too often here. Whenever I looked into the faces of the people by the roadside, they smiled at me and I smiled back. So I rode to Denarau harbour to check out the options there in person, not just from the flyers. And once again, Bula. What are you looking for? I am not quite sure yet, I said, and immediately one of the women had me wrapped up in a sales conversation, and before I knew it I had booked a passage for Monday. Let us see if the weather plays along. Some island with alcohol for free, all inclusive and all the rest of it. I am curious. She could also organise a tour to the Sleeping Giant for only 180 dollars. I pointed at my bike. You want to go there by bike? That is far. I smiled. Where is your hotel? I told her. You are not in a resort? Nope. Okay, then 120 dollars for the Garden? I smiled again. So the boat trip starts at ten, which means you need to leave by bike at seven. I said I need twenty minutes for the ride. Okay, then leave at eight, you are supposed to be here by nine. And what are you doing Tuesday? One of her friends joined in, and I was talked at some more. They turned the charm on full. Whether I did sports and this and that. They do have charm, truly. Eventually I managed to peel myself away without booking another tour and practically fled the harbour. Phew. They are all pretty busy here.

By then it was already getting late, and I started looking for a spot for the sunset. Unfortunately, in all of Denarau there is basically no access to the beach, everything built over with resorts, no way through. So I kept going. Then my stomach started feeling a bit off. The curry had returned for a second round, and I still had not eaten anything all day. So petrol station and chocolate bar. That worked. Then suddenly my rear wheel started wobbling. I knew that feeling already. Flat tyre. A few metres later, done. Still five kilometres back to the bike shop. So there I stood. The sun was slowly going down, the bike shop would still be open for another hour, and I had five kilometres to walk. So what now. I stood by the roadside, and the third taxi took me and dropped me at the shop. He was unfortunately no longer there, he was at the rugby. I should just leave the bike there and pick it up in the morning. Okay, I will. But how do I get to the beach? Just through there by the beach bar. So I just made it in time for sunset photography and then walked the three kilometres back to the hotel in the dark. Sure, I could have taken a taxi, but I wanted the full Fiji experience. People really do walk from A to B here, even in the dark.

No Indian curry for me that evening. I had a burger instead, with a slight taste of fish, and the next morning, yes, of course, he had been grinding again the night before, so off I went once more to the bike shop. I arrived two hours after opening time, and the bike still had not been fixed. He was not there yet. So I started doing it myself, or at least I wanted to. The older woman who was sitting in the shop again wanted to help me. She did not do it by herself, but suddenly she insisted on helping, and everything took twice as long. There are people like that, and I simply do not like them, though I smiled to myself.

Eventually I got going. First coffee at McDonald’s, guaranteed quality, before I cycled to the Hindu temple. Sightseeing. Hindu temple? Yes, exactly, and here a bit about the history of Fiji. Fiji was settled thousands of years ago by Pacific seafarers and was long part of the wider oceanic world before falling under British influence in the nineteenth century and becoming a British crown colony in 1874. Particularly influential was the policy of the first governor, Sir Arthur Gordon, who wanted to protect indigenous Fijian society while at the same time pushing economic development through plantations. Because indigenous Fijians were not supposed to be used on a large scale as plantation labour, Indian indentured workers were brought to Fiji from 1879 onward. By 1916, more than sixty thousand people from India had arrived, above all for the sugar industry. That explains a large part of present day Fiji, where indigenous iTaukei traditions and a strong Indo Fijian history still exist side by side. Fiji became independent in 1970, but the colonial past is still not just history there, it is still clearly felt in society, politics and the relationship between population groups. British colonialism, and how deeply it shaped these islands right down to the present.

After the temple, and honestly I still cannot do all that much with those colourful walls and figures, I do not really have a proper connection to it yet, no worries, that will come, it is on the list, I cycled the twenty kilometres to the Garden of the Sleeping Giant. The Sleeping Giant is a mountain range here, and yes, they really do look like sleeping giants and not like pregnant women. I handled the heat and the ride quite well and about an hour later I reached the turn off. Gravel road with potholes. Before long I was up there, and once again my rear tyre had barely any air left. I decided to worry about that later and paid the entrance fee first. Bula here, bula there, orchids here, orchids there, and I walked through this beautiful jungle up to the lookout and back. Swing here, swing there. And then I realised I needed something to drink. I was dehydrated. So back to the entrance, where the woman had homemade juice with ice cubes for me. After two glasses of the best juice I have ever had in my life, I dealt with the question of how to get back down. Plenty of taxis were waiting around to bring tour groups up. One of them saw me, sure, he would take me down, and the bike too, sure, chuck it in the back. Fifty dollars. So that is how cheaply I made it to the Garden. Mohammed is his name, and I have his number. How many more days are you here, he asked, he could put together a few tours for me. In that sense, vinaka.