On couch surfer meetings in the capital of Fiji, Suva, I get to know Richard, a hilarious Chinese guy, Thijs, a relaxed Dutch surfer dude, and Simon and Losanna, an English-Fijian couple. Losanna is a member of the Fijian women's right movement and loves dancing on the table, Simon smiles warmly and drinks his beer without saying too much. (Be silent, and if you speak, let it be better than silence, isn't it.) They get us into a round of heavy Fijian Thaki drinking - everybody drinking beer from the same little shot glass and finishing in one swallow - a sure way to get happily drunk very fast. Good people, good times, buying illegal beer from a fishy little shop and being followed by the police on our way home. Having a nightly swim in Richards lovely pool with starry skies above. Listening to Fijian rap songs and the bats flying in the night.
After some days in Suva I want to get out, do some hiking, see some of the beautiful nature that Fiji has to offer. Thijs, the surfer from Holland, is up for some walking too, and we load our backpacks with some clothes, some money and a tent, and hop on a random bus out of town.
Taking the bus in Fiji is a pleasant experience, small, uncomfortable seats and pumping reggae music coming out of the speakers - everybody loves reggae in this country. Sorrounding you - together with the extremely goodlooking Fiji men - all those big Fijian mamas in coulourful dresses, with afros and cute, little beards. The Fijians look like Africans, they smile like Africans and move like Africans. Where did they get those afros from? Beats me. In the Fiji Museum there is a very complicated map of immigration from different islands, near and far, but there's apparently no African influence and the afro hair seems to be a Pacific phenomenon.
We end up in Sigatoka, a beautiful little town by the sea, and looking for a sulu we randomly start chatting with Aca on the street. He is a former pastor of the Seventh Day Adventist Church, loved by his community, a man of warmth and integrity, spontaneous, busy and disorganised (Fijian man + almanac = disaster). We hit it off well with Aca and he wants to do all kinds of things for us, but he sighs about his packed shedule and complains we should have announced our coming six months earlier. He still invites us to go hiking with him one of the following days.
The Fijians must be one of the warmest, friendliest and most open people I've met traveling. Everywhere we go there are smiles, small chats and invitations to stay in villages. All you have to do is bring some kava to the village chief, have a kava session with him and of course - respect the traditions. Among other things, the Fijians consider the head to be sacred - never wear a hat or sunglasses or so, and never ever touch someone's head. Don't carry things on your shoulders. Respecting tradition, you are free to live, eat and enjoy easy going Fiji life in the village - for free. Connecting with people is easy, and they are eager to learn about other countries and customs. It is hard to believe that a hundred years ago this population were blood thirsty cannibals.
"We are so grateful to the English missionaries that they put an end to tribalism and cannibalism" says Naomi, a former party girl and consumer of kava, Fiji Bitter and cigarettes. She is saved by the Seventh Day Adventists, a very interesting church community that has followers all over the island and are very dedicated to their sparing lifestyle. We bump in to her on our way to go hiking with Aca (we are totally in on Fiji time - my kind of time, more than two hours late for our meeting). Fiji used to be an aggressive tribe community with great rivalry and extensive warfare. After a tribal war the dead bodies of the enemy was taken back to the village, and a complicated ritual performed - eating the dead body was a way of totally demolishing and degrading the enemy. As we can't see a trace of Aca, Naomi invites us to join their religious youth camp, pitch up the tent and spend the night with them. We say yes and figure our friend will come by. He does - eight hous later. No worries!
The Fijians love singing and walking close to living areas you can't avoid the beautiful, three or four voice songs, often accompanied by guitar, coming out of churches and houses everywhere. The Seventh Day Adventists are no exeption; they can sing, all right. They light a fire and serve us hot ginger chocolate and tuna sandwithes, place us on a soft straw mat and entertain us with their lovely harmonies the whole night. "Jesus loves soprano. Jesus loves alto. Jesus loves the tenor and the bass, too!" The next morning we're served breakfast; lemon leaf tea, fresh papaya and bread that some of the young people have spent the whole night baking.
We set off to walk the Sigatoka peninsula and enjoy mountains, grassy green hills, deep rain forest. Wild parrots, sugar cane fields, cows, horses, goats. Gigantic bulls with some scary horns pulling wagons along the road. Getting invited into the homes of complete strangers for lunch, but gently declining because our backpacks are fully loaded with juicy, Seventh Day Adventist bread.
Walking in flip flops along the main road, going up, up, up taking in the stunning scenery. Intense colours, bright orange and pink flowers, dark grey stone, the far blue sea. Intense green. Locals shouting BULA (the Fijian word for hello) all over the place, children posing for my camera. Feeling the muscles of the body work, getting warm and sweaty only to be blissfully cooled down by soft, tropical rain. Getting lost into tiny trails, through private farmer territory, wrecking my flip flops, taking them off. Bare feet on dirt road, making my toenails nice and black, just the way I like them.
We spend one night in Club Mana, a surfer resort run by the smiling Paul and his cool girlfriend Rosa. In this quiet little place the couple can enjoy privacy from nosy villagers, relax and make good money. Thijs' surfer heart starts beating and he goes surfing where a sweet water river emerges with the salt, creating some sort of good waves. Paul tells us that there are no sharks around here, but later we learn that he in fact has forty stitches on his body from shark encounters surfing that very river mouth. Spooky. For dinner, Rosa makes fresh fish in coconut, one of the better meals I've had, and we spend a beautiful evening around the camp fire, talking, drinking tea and sharing stories. Paul tells us that his great great grand father, a village chief, was the first Fijian to eat a white man - a missionary making the sad mistake of touching the chief's head.
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