Fiji - Nadi II

Bula. I wanted a look behind the scenes. I got a glimpse from one particular angle. But to do that, I first had to step back in front of the scenes once more.

I had booked a tour, a boat out to an island, and at the agreed time I was standing at the counter again. The ride there had cost me 22 minutes on the bike, which I was able to leave with a guard at the parking area. There are no bicycle stands here. No matter how expensive fuel gets, they drive cars here. And they complain about, well, take a guess. And the German chancellor is taking him on, they say here, they like that, that is how it is presented here. I smile and nod. But I am drifting off.

So there I was at the counter, and she looks at me and says: Oh, not you today, too few people, Wednesday. On Wednesday I will no longer be on the island. Well, that is rather stupid then, how are we going to do this. How about a refund. Difficult, she would have to speak to accounting and needed my credit card details. Excuse me? Note to self: pay for tours on the same day.

So I stood there, a little disappointed and confused, thinking, let us see when the money comes back. I had to come up with something else quickly and did find something. Booked in a flash, and if I wanted to do a shark tour tomorrow as well, then I would get 20 percent off. Sharks, yes, you will see them there, 75 percent chance.

So onto the boat, like 500 others, and off we went. On the first island they unloaded around 100 passengers, and the second one was mine. No jetty, just shuttle boats picking people up from the big boat. So far, so good. Then toward the beach. The guy in the boat pointed at the welcome musicians on shore and said if I did not shout Bula back, then no beer. Bula from them, Bula from us, the hatch of the boat opened and like a landing in Normandy we were chased off the boat, received with volleys of ukulele music and broadly grinning people in grass skirts warbling some song. Bula.

Left and right, people ran past me to secure the best loungers. I got lucky and was one of the first off the boat, and I got myself a lounger under a sun umbrella pretty quickly. Unlike in New Caledonia, the islands here are fully equipped. All inclusive bar, lunch buffet, toilet, generator, pool and loungers. To my regret, also a sound system through which an entertainer made announcements for six hours, interrupted by loud music. And everyone with a friendly, overly friendly Bula face. Yeah.

So if I had stayed in a resort and spent all my days doing tours like this, I would probably think, oh my God, what a paradise this is. I only entered that bubble to have the contrast. And the comparison.

The comparison with New Caledonia, for example. I like the simpler version much more, the one that is not so polished. And in my perception, the reef diving there is still more original, because the coral banks are larger and not yet so badly affected. Sure, the snorkeling on the island here was wonderful, but the coral was not quite as dense as in comparison with New Caledonia.

Speaking of snorkeling. God, I swallowed a lot of water this time. I think I really need to shave. The mask and the seawater, what comes running out of my nose after a dive, that is no longer normal. Though I suppose a nasal rinse is meant to be healthy. I just wonder what the ear, nose and throat doctor removed back then when he corrected my septum. In the evening, half a liter of water still runs out of my nose when I bend forward. Disgusting.

So on an island like that you get the full package. Friendly to the point of exhaustion and drinks for free. Ten years ago I would have loved to sit there with Jergler and Tiger, I thought to myself between the dives. We would have rolled dice over who had to get the next beer and let the day be the day. I think one or two travel groups were sitting there doing exactly that. Bula. Those times are over.

At some point we went back, with a magnificent sunset on the horizon. Beautiful day, great island.

No sooner had I reached the harbor than I ran into one of the ladies who had sold me the cancelled trip two days before. Yes, it happens, she said. We chatted a little and then suddenly she said: Don’t you want to book a massage? I can even send the girl to your room. I was briefly perplexed. “I’m not one of those.” That ended the subject right there. And those were the people who wanted my credit card details? Uh. Somehow everything is being offered to you here, services of every kind.

One of the taxi drivers from the days before wanted to become my personal chauffeur. He would even invite me over for curry at his place. It is really a bit much. And massages in the room, of whatever kind? Not my thing, really not. That is not at all what I am looking for.

Cycling home in the dark was another matter. I found my bike still with the guard and set off. I am not afraid of the cars. They actually keep a proper distance, even when I am riding without a light, and they even know where their brakes are if needed. With the potholes and the road surfaces, they also drive very proactively here. It was the potholes I was more worried about in the dark. They can be deep. But once again, all went well, nothing happened. There are holes in the ground there, I swear you can see all the way down to the earth’s core. I could have worn the borrowed helmet lying in the hotel room, of course.

But I made it home and was wondering whether the next day I should do that really expensive shark tour after all, 75 percent chance, or continue exploring the island by bike. The next morning I chose the latter, also because one of my ears was still doing little episodes of seawater blockage. I do not know how to describe it. Just a strange feeling in the ear.

So out I went, a little ride through the city by bike. First to McD’s to pull one or two coffees, then onward. Someone riding a bike in traffic here is rather unusual. I hardly see any people on bikes at all, really almost none. So they stare at you accordingly, and the children slap your hand as you pass. Interaction at the roadside everywhere, between potholes and traffic. In the city you are actually faster by bike than by car.

Then eventually out into the hinterland. It changed quickly from asphalt to asphalt with potholes, then to gravel, then to gravel with potholes. That was fun, riding through the landscape in front of the Sleeping Giants, past little houses and farms. Goats and cows everywhere and the ubiquitous plastic rubbish, everywhere.

Then it hit me. Of course there is no rubbish collection here. What you see are fire pits with the burned remains of all kinds of rubbish lying around. That is how it works here. Not exactly efficient. In the resorts and on the islands, as in Vanuatu too, you do not see rubbish lying around. Leave the bubble and the picture changes.

The only publicly accessible beach in Nadi, Nadi Bay, is covered in plastic rubbish. The water there is not like the water on the islands either. It is not clear, it is murky and opaque. It may well have something to do with the remains of the fires lit all around that beach. A little farther out, the water becomes clearer again.

Anyway, that was what kept striking me during my bike ride. A house somewhere by the roadside and next to it a fire pit with charred rubbish remains, and besides that, wrecked cars and rubbish everywhere. Disturbing to me, and not at all fitting with the Bula scenery being presented to you.

That the navigation app occasionally led me to a river, fine. You could see the stones laid into it and in theory you could have walked across if you wanted. I found myself wondering whether Fiji has crocodiles. I do not think so, but each time I decided against it and rode back instead, taking the next turn. Rivers are still better than cliffs. I can hardly count how many times one of those apps has tried to send me to my death. But at least it now calculates a new route if you stray from the prescribed one. Apart from that, I am still not entirely comfortable with all the new functions. I need more bike time.

Anyway, where was I. Yes, behind the scenes. Behind them, this Fiji is not nearly as cheerful and clean as the tourist bubble pretends it is. Everywhere you have to watch that you are not being ripped off. Small example: in the evenings I would still get something to drink at the petrol station. At first I did not pay attention. Three items, 20 dollars. At some point I realized that simply could not be right, and the third time I asked for the receipt. Ten dollars. The boy had simply added ten dollars every single evening.

So be careful behind the scenes. In that spirit.