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FIJI TIME |
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The clear blue sea spread out far
before the bow of the little boat carrying all the expectant
travellers over to the island of Mana. The 80-minute trip from
the main island of Viti Levu proved a rough crossing, even in
the seemingly wave-less serenity of this portion of the Pacific
Ocean. The boat shuddered wildly, throwing all the strangers
together, making for instant intimacy and friendship. The only
way to survive unscathed, emotionally and physically, was to
accept the rough treatment and hope others did the same. On that tiny boat all continents of the world bar one were represented; Brazil, Canada, New Zealand, Thailand, Morocco and Ireland, to name a few. All aboard were of the same mindset and this helped in the automatic bonding necessary for the cramped crossing. The mood was still relaxed and focused despite the crew's evident rush to reach the island at break-neck speed. Passing by smaller deserted islands left a trail of wonder; what would our paradise home for one night be like? The tiny sand dunes covered with palm trees were straight out of Robinson Crusoe, the epitome of all desert island fantasies. It was at 9.30am Fiji-time that the bus was scheduled to pick up Mr Canada and myself and deposit us at the jetty. But being Fiji-time they turned up at 8.45am, in the middle of breakfast. Due to the extreme laid back character of the traditional Fijians, and of course the intoxicating weather, things only get done when the mood is right. Fiji-time means 'sometime when it's not too inconvenient to anyone, or if we can be bothered at all'. Not exactly a mark to set your watch by. So 9.30am Fiji-time can be read to mean ' any time between 8.00am and 12.00 am, if we can make it.' Getting used to this is not too hard if it means waiting an extra hour, after all, that's why most choose a break on Fiji. But it is hard to take if they are suddenly efficient and arrive early expecting you to jump! Several stops later at similar accommodations and the bus was full of back-packers, all searching for serenity. A short drive to the boat and the aforementioned trip was underway. Arrival within sight of Mana was filled with mixed emotions. Relief at finally arriving and being able to alight from the torturous boat; disappointment at it's relatively large size compared to several of the 'real' castaway islands we passed on route; expectation at how it would fare in reality compared to imagination; and finally wonder at the beauty of the wide beach and gaping palms. An even smaller boat approached as we moored literally yards from the shore and were forced to wait further manhandling before finally reaching the beach. The man responsible for this leg of the journey was Captain Moses, a local celebrity on the island, an experienced boat handler and the only man to still retain his huge Afro haircut. An affront to local fashion, he was so behind he was almost in front. Captain Moses proved to be just one of the many real characters living and working on the island. All Fijians are naturally friendly and easy-going, always a smile and a helping hand. On the main island of Viti Levu there are not too many real Fijians left, but on Mana Island all permanent residents are of Fijian descent, and the atmosphere and welcome on arrival certainly reflects this. We were first shown into accommodation, a homely vernacular shack filled with bunk beds in the style of many hostels around the globe. Clean, tiny, not special but as expected. For all the time spent indoors on an island like this a sack on hay would meet requirements. No time to ponder on the nature of bedding, a whole island at the mercy of a curious mind. Time to explore. We left the huts and walked on burning sand through the palm trees and various exotic shrubs. First stop a return to the beach and a chance to try the silky blue perfection locally called the sea. No hesitation in becoming submerged, a well needed cooling due to the raw intensity of the morning sun pouring from the sky. A glance along the breadth of the island confirmed the idyllic dream; this is paradise. Few people walked the golden white sand, instead choosing wisely to lie still or swim in the calm water. A pier breaks the continuous band of gold as it rushes into the ocean, the only sign of man's intrusion visible from the water. The villagers' huts are all screened from vision by a blanket of trees stretching the full length of the beach. We were warned not to wander too far into the territory to the west of the pier. A Japanese holding owns the land and reserves the area for its own exclusive customers. No matter, half an island is certainly better than none. The beaches remain free property, so a walk around the perimeter of the island is possible and worthy of the effort before lunch. The walk takes in little obstacles other than the overwhelming urge to just lie still in the face of the ever-burning sun. Little change of scenery is noticed, except the odd scramble over rock faces, used as an excuse to break the monotony of beach walking. Views out to sea show nothing other than the stillness of the Pacific, no other sign of land is visible. The walk proves longer than first imagined, and at about halfway a path stretching orthogonal to the coast beckons. It leads back over the central hill to the starting point, where it is rapidly reaching lunchtime. Lunch is served, full of traditional Fijian fare, featuring rice and curry, with pumpkin stew and bread. Fresh fruits of the season are also available as a form of dessert. Chatting over lunch it is discovered the full island coastal walk is three hours long. A very deceptive distance, the winding coastline stretches out like an endless fractal around the central terrain. After lunch a whole afternoon exists solely for the purpose of relaxation. Return to the beach and lie still, swim or hike in the dormant volcanic hills. The latter seemed the best option. A short climb, perhaps 10 minutes to the top, and from this vantage point the whole island can be assessed and enjoyed. The palms and village huts spread out like a quilt of greenness below, stretching from the base of the hill until it meets the band of white sand. Only sea stretches beyond the edges of the sand, with the exception of the pier, which seems so small from this perspective. It breaks the water gently, the only infringement on an otherwise uniform expanse of colour. Time passes slowly in the realm of paradise, maybe due to the lack of things to occupy the mind. As beautiful as a scene is, it cannot be enjoyed indefinitely. With this in mind gladness erupted at the calling together for dinner. A chance to socialise and chat about the afternoon experiences. More traditional fare similar to lunch is served, filling but not spectacular. But the main reason for congregating is soon to arrive: the performance of the Kava ceremony by the locals. Kava, or Yaqona as it is also known, is a traditional Fijian drink made from a root plant, ground into powder and strained in water through a muslin cloth. The participants sit around in a circle as Dr Sam the Medicine Man mixes the Kava. Dr Sam, another local celebrity, seems to have his hand in everything. He gives lectures on the medicinal natures of local botanical blooms, sings and plays guitar in the local island band and performs all the important ceremonies on the island. The Kava is handed to each in turn in a shallow wooden bowl and must be drunk in one swift motion. The first taste, due to the horrors imagined by an overactive mind, is not unpleasant, but certainly far from nice. Any subsequent taste confirms the latter, as a mixture of wood, smoke and dirt attacks the taste buds. The Kava has a mild anaesthetic quality and, not unpleasantly, numbs the mouth. This forms a strange sensation when talking or consuming other drinks. As the night ebbs away it is customary to consume more and more Kava, but Fiji bitter, an alternative local drink, is surely more fitting to western tastes. Night falls quickly, and tiredness grows. Doing nothing all day is certainly hard graft, and sleep crawls ever nearer. Off to bed, so quietly and easily, for a well earned rest. Life is on a different keel here, rising and falling with the sun, not with enforced schedules. This proves to be an unexpected pleasure, and also the hardest to adjust to. Breakfast of porridge and fresh fruit served one hour after sunrise, nearly 7.30am. Time really begins to take on a different feel even after only one day. Awaiting a boat back to the mainland leaves time to reflect. The concept of Fiji-time drifts ever nearer to understanding in mind, and one can come closer to imagining a life without schedules, timetables and rushed meetings. A new type of existence, not behind or slow, just different, and gladly so. |