Everywhere we have been thus far in the South Pacific is incredibly noisy. It doesn’t help that we often moor in the industrial, container areas of the port, but even once you get ashore the towns are noisy; everybody shouts at each other, especially the taxi drivers…
Savusavu
Savusavu is the best place we’ve visited thus far (so good they named it twice). I wondered if I could find a quiet barber and get a much-needed haircut. I wandered into an establishment. Someone was waiting already, but the barber said “I will cut your hair next, he can wait”. The man doomed to be delayed simply smiled and appeared unconcerned, obviously following Fiji Time – no hurry, no worry – but this didn’t sit well with me, so I said I’d return later.
I went shopping, discovered some nice cheap rum for sale in a supermarket and laid in a couple of bottles to go with the free Coke Zero we are offered on the ship (although bizarrely we have to pay for bottled water). Imagine my surprise when I poured myself a decent measure that evening and added Coke, only to quickly have to add more Coke after I spluttered, checked the bottle, and discovered it was 58% proof!
Rainforest hike
On our second day in Savusavu I opted to go alone on a rainforest hike. This was advertised as a 45 minute stroll through the jungle. I still haven’t learnt my lesson – that one should take such assurances with a pinch of salt. My guide was Saki, who eyed me doubtfully when I met him. “What age are you?” he asked. He didn’t appear reassured by my answer and produced the top half of a hospital crutch with the lower section missing. “You will need this” he said. I refused, but he carried it with him anyway, machete in his other hand, and within ten minutes I was completely reliant on it.
After the first 300 yards, wherein we met a pig, the path became almost vertical. I scrambled, stumbled and crutched my way to the top, the path incredibly overgrown and slippery. I asked how steep the descent was. “Not so bad” came the reply; another lie, although why this was proffered is bemusing. I had to descend, he may as well be honest about it. The correct answer would have been “worse”. It was truly awful. I had to have one hand firmly clutching Saki’s backpack while I used my crutch with the other. At one point I slipped and gashed my wrist quite badly. Barefoot, he supported half my weight and moved slowly downhill swiping with his machete to cut us through the worst sections.
As we got close to the valley floor a bell rang in his village – Vuadeomo – below. “We must pray” Saki said. Had I known what lay before me I’d have prayed before we set off! This was quite moving. Saki prayed in general and then for me personally, finishing up with the Lord’s Prayer in Fijian. Then he became quite chatty, having been very quiet during the trek (probably concentrating on keeping me alive). He told me I was the oldest person he’s ever taken on the trek and the first for 14 months. The resultant overgrown jungle explained why he needed his machete! He previously had a job in the city but had returned to the village to take care of his younger sister’s child after she had died.
Leleuvia Island
As compensation for the Wallis & Gromit cancellation (see Fiji Part 1) the ship paid the 50 dollar a head fees for us to enjoy an idyllic day on Leleuvia Island, a proper castaway location. Its circumference is only 3/4 of a mile. This took about 20 mins to circumnavigate, some time having to be spent clambering over undergrowth (the alternative was swimming) but mostly walking on the white sandy beaches. I then found a hammock in a quiet location where I relaxed for a couple of hours. Most of my shipmates congregated round the area where the tender had docked. Ok, they were offering free beer there, but only one per person. I find many of my travel companions to be unadventurous and boring. Why cluster together with people you’re seeing every day – on a desert island full of possibilities?!
Levuka
The small town of Levuka was our final port in Fiji. It had little going for it. A long strip of mostly closed businesses, even the bars and restaurants had failed to open for a huge influx of potential customers. I walked along the waterfront for about three miles then sat on the kerb to rest before my return journey. Almost immediately a young man sat beside me in dirty white wellies and engaged me in conversation. This was George, a farmer. He was friendly and very curious, asking me endless questions about life on a ship. Eventually I returned to the ‘town’ where I found the one open bar and several of my shipmates. From there, a few of us went to the one open restaurant and had delicious curry. I spent the last of my Fijian dollars on three bags of Doritos in the supermarket and retired to the ship. Goodbye Fiji, and thank you for your colour, your beauty, your lovely people, and yes, even your noise…
