- five days on the Tui Tai
Sometime during the night the Tui Tai cruised to a channel between the islands of Taveuni and Qamea.
You couldnÕt have picked a more beautiful place to park a boat. I found myself gazing at the islands for hours. Not your classic South Pacific atolls, these were bush clad, mountainous Š and made of real rock.
The bush was impossibly green and lush. From a distance it could have almost been Milford Sound. Except it was 30 degrees, and there were fallen coconuts on the beach.
The morning exercise was a 10km mountain bike ride, and a hill walk to see TaveuniÕs famous Bouma falls. The bikes were hot fun. Stopping for a swim along the way at a stream mouth, the rope swing landed me on my bum in a metre of water.
The skies opened, turning the dirt road into a puddled, muddy, totally hideous mess. Perfect for an exhilarating ride. We arrived at the Bouma information centre in muddy glory. Ten minutes later, sweat was still oozing from every pore.
A 10 minute garden walk got us to the first waterfall. A vertical torrent of water fell 30 metres into a deep shaded pool. Great place for a swim, but our coach, Liga, persuaded us to keep going to another waterfall 30 minutes up the track. Talk about steep. Talk about slippery. Talk about sweaty.
At one point we crossed a pretty tame stream holding on to a taut rope. The swim at the top was heaven. After a picnic lunch of yummy vege rotis, watermelon and more swims, we opted not to pedal back, preferring comfort of the minibus.
Resisting the temptation to snooze, I put my hand up for an afternoon snorkel. The reef today was off Matagi island, and it was wonderful. Big ballooning coral, bucketloads of fish of all shapes and sizes, clear blue water with endless visibility.
Day 4
Patrick the divemaster promised todayÕs snorkel would be the best of the trip. Too right. Called the Farm (all dive spots have names) it was a coral wall on the edge of a deep channel. Just amazing: acres of colourful coral blooming up from seemingly endless depths, schools of fish, even a lurking reef shark.
On the nearby island of Rabi (pronounced Rambi) the locals were commemorating 60 years of habitation Š and we were invited. Latter day Pacific migrants, they only arrived in Rabi from Banaba island in far-off Kiribati in 1945.
TheyÕd been forced to leave Banaba after Britain, New Zealand and Australia mined it to oblivion, extracting its rich deposits of phosphate-rich guano. As Banaba became unviable, the British Government simply found them another island to live on in distant Fiji. Remember, these were colonial times!
Rabi is normally closed to visitors, but Patrick our dive guy happened to be Rabian. He wrangled the visit, ushering us into the VIP pavilion before disappearing to catch up with family and friends.
Sitting in the shade watching the school cultural performances, we joined hundreds of people gathered in the main Rabi square to celebrate in a way that only Pacific people can.
Dignitaries made speeches. A police band played. Groups of girls and boys performed, dancing the age-old vivacious and sensual Pacific moves that have captivated foreigners for centuries. Somewhere on a subwoofer in someoneÕs hut, a reggae backbeat cut through the noise of the crowd.
Midway through the dancing, IÕm spotted a woman who looked remarkably like our Governor General. Maybe, maybe not. AnythingÕs possible in the Pacific!
When it was time to leave the island and rejoin our boat, it wasnÕt there. The Tui Tai had moved to another anchorage 5km down the channel.
A storm was brewing in our path. We rode it bravely in the Naiad inflatable, through the heaviest rain youÕll ever see on the planet. Islands disappeared on both sides. The water frothed like boiling milk.
Safe back on board Tui Tai, the storm made way for a moonlit sky and a dinner of local seafood: tasty white-fleshed walu and masala prawns bought from the Savusavu market.