Oceania: Day 11: 7-14-94: Off The Beaten, Touristy Path And Into The Heart Of Fijian Back-Country

Today I experienced a side of Fiji which few visitors do. Matt, John and I ventured into the heart of the Fijian highlands to trek the interior rainforest and visit Bakuya, a modest native village. Our trip started out with a rather uncomfortable ride in the back of a covered pick-up truck. The road was unpaved, making for a bumpy, dusty journey. We stopped briefly in "town", which was little more than a row of cheesy storefronts (the last tourist trap we'd see) and a bustling marketplace. I watched a man selling live cocks and hens off the back of his livestock truck. His two sons were assisting him -- the youngest gleefully displayed a cardboard carton teaming with baby chicks.

---- A Fijian Boy Helps His Father Sell Live Poultry At Market----

Then it was back in the "bumpmobile," where we continued our 2-hour drive up into the highlands. As the altitude increased, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up, so by the end of the trip my butt wasn't just bruised, but frozen, as well. When we finally crawled out of the truck and took a look around, John, Matt and I were instantly concerned -- we saw no village or tour guides. Disturbing thoughts started coursing through my brain (Had we been duped? Would they take the rest of our money and leave us out here to make it back on our own? Or worse?). In truth, we were totally at the mercy of the men who drove us (they were just strangers who agreed to set up a "tour" of the village and the rainforest in exchange for payment). Thankfully, before we got too carried away along this line of reasoning, two young Fijian men (no more than boys, really) came riding down the road astride a pair of rather shoddy horses. They introduced themselves as Apel and Bill, two teenage representatives (17 and 19, respectively) from Bakuya Village and our appointed guides for the day. They apologized for not bringing enough horses (they had mistakenly been told there would only be two of us), but the situation was quickly resolved when Matt graciously offered to walk (in truth, he didn't seem too comfortable standing near the animals, much less keen on straddling one).

Apel and Bill dismounted their mangy mares and handed off the reigns to John and I. Now, the horses were a surprise I wasn't quite prepared for -- don't get me wrong, I love to ride, but I instantly regretted making shorts my wardrobe choice for the day (horse hair being rather abrasive). The terrain was a second surprise. The "trail" through the Fijian rainforest was rocky and steep. As tough as walking would have been, I think tackling the route on horseback (particularly with bare legs) was worse. Twenty minutes into the journey, my poor bum (still smarting from the truck ride) was further battered and bruised by constant saddle bashing, and my inner thighs were chafed raw. Moreover, the outer parts of my legs were scratched bloody as the horse consistently plowed through the thickest brush on the path.

--The Horse And I At A Happier Time (Before The Painful Trek)--

I can't say I was disappointed when Apel and Bill announced that the horseback riding portion of the journey was over. As I dismounted, Apel pointed out one variety of leaf which abounded in the rainforest (and which I'd been rubbing against off and on for the last hour) and announced that they were poisonous. Oh.

That said, we tied up the horses and started the hiking part of our highland adventure. We traversed through the jungle, walking up and down the mountainous terrain. Along the way, I came upon many snapshots of authentic Fijian life, including some men cutting wood with machetes, a woman carrying a monstrous load of hay (she looked like a walking haystack: all I could see of her were her two bare feet) and a group of young children washing clothes in a stream. I lingered at this last pastoral scene, eventually announcing my presence with a hearty "bula" ("hello"). The youths were very shy at first, but curiosity soon overcame all else, and they hesitantly approached me, touching my hands and arms with a mixture of caution and wonder. I'll never forget the strange feeling that came over me at this moment: it was like I was an otherworldly being -- something not quite understood or believed (Maybe this wasn't that far from the truth: for all I know, I may have been one of the few -- if not the first -- white-skinned person these children had ever encountered). I goofed around with the kids a bit and then took a picture with them before moving on.

----The Highlanders Put Their Machetes To Good Use-------------

-----------------------------------"Hay, Hay, Hay!"-------------------------------


---------------------"Say Hello To My Leeetle Friends"-----------------

After an hour's time, we arrived at a waterfall, where we were stopping to eat. Though not as large as the Hawaiian waterfall I hiked to several days ago, this one was no less scenic. While the Brits and I took some pictures, Apel and Bill went about preparing our lunch. Far from the sandwiches and chips I was expecting, our guides whipped up quite the Fijian feast. They roasted coconut over an open fire, sliced some homemade bread, cut open a ripe pineapple, peeled some local bananas and fried up some freshly caught fish.

----------------------Apel And Bill Prepare Our Lunch-------------------

It was a great meal, though my enthusiasm was somewhat tempered by neuroses -- you see, according to my guide book, there are some very simple rules you are supposed to follow if you want to preserve your health (and your bowels) in Fiji:

1. Don't drink the water.

2. Thoroughly wash and peel all fruit (and vegetables) -- preferably yourself.

3. Don't walk around in bare feet.

4. Guard against daytime mosquito bites.

5. Avoid being cut or scraped (or at least apply antiseptic immediately).

6. Stay away from fish.

As I started mentally ticking off each one of these safety guidelines, it shocked me to realize that, over the course of the day's journey, I had violated them all (!). What's more, through casual conversation with Matt and John, I discovered that I was the only one who had not been immunized against the most common third world tropical diseases (namely, Typhoid, Yellow Fever, Cholera and Hepatitis). I ate another piece of fish and tried to think Happy Thoughts.

After lunch, the guides invited us to take a dip under the waterfall. Though the water undoubtedly contained millions of microbes just aching to invade a warm human body, I prepared to enter. (Having already thoroughly ignored all the land-based safety precautions, I figured, What The Hell?!) But it was a tad cold for me, and with no free T-Shirt on the line this time, I begged off. Instead, I contented myself with snapping photos of the others.

-----------------------John And Matt At The Waterfall--------------------

Soon it was time to hike back to the horses and then ride out of the rainforest. Upon reaching the road from whence our adventure started, Apel announced that it was time to visit his village. He asked if we preferred walking or riding horseback. This was a tough choice for me: my legs and ass had been equally tortured over the course of the day's events. "How far is it?," I inquired. "It is near," replied Bill. That decided it -- we walked.

Perhaps Bill had actually said, "it's unclear" or "it'll take a year," for the village was anything but "near." It wasn't close to near. It wasn't even in the same zip code as near. It turned out to be a 4-mile trek, at least. Oh well. Perhaps the Fijian concept of distance is akin to their perception of time (So called "Fiji Time" operates about an hour slower than the rest of the world!). In any case, there was no use crying about it -- I took it one painful step at a time. At least I had something to distract me from my discomfort: the whole time we walked, we were tailed (no pun intended) by a scrawny little white dog carrying a large stone (?) in his mouth, which he would periodically set down on the ground, before snatching it up again and rejoining us. It was inexplicable and seemed downright pointless, but I found it highly amusing (There are lots of apt metaphors I could insert here, but I'll leave it up to you to supply your own).

When we finally reached the outskirts of the village, we were all a fair bit exhausted (except Apel and Bill, who seemed impervious to discomfort). But it didn't take long for the friendly Fijians to revitalize us. Near the entrance to the village, we were greeted by a group of barefoot children. Unlike those I had encountered in the rainforest, these youths ran right over to me, clearly comfortable with -- indeed, outright excited by -- strangers (although a couple of the younger ones touched my skin with the same tentative awe). John, Matt and I basked momentarily in our newfound quasi-celebrity status.

Eventually, we said goodbye and "Vinaka" ("Thank You") to the children and entered the village proper. My eyes took in the surroundings: wet wash hanging on rope lines/drying on rocks, dozens of dogs & chickens roaming free, an eclectic mix of traditional bures (grass and bamboo huts) and more modern buildings . . . these are some of the things I first noticed. In the center of the village, we exchanged Bula-Bula's with some of the adult villagers and conversed a bit.

--------------------------------Bakuya Village---------------------------------

After a while, John, Matt and I decided to explore the village further. Our first destination was the village schoolhouse. It was a one-room building which serviced all the village children (all ages at once!). The teacher was very friendly and graciously allowed me to explore her classroom. It was modest, to say the least. Unfortunately, the school day had already ended, so I did not get to see the class in action. When I informed the teacher that I, too, was an educator, she said that, had class still been in session, she would have offered me the opportunity to teach a lesson to her students -- I really would have loved to try that.

--------------------The Village Teacher And Her Son-------------------

Upon exiting the schoolhouse, John, Matt and I noticed a large group of boys -- including many of the children who had originally greeted us -- playing rugby (a.k.a. "Sevens") on a grassless "field" bookended by bamboo goalposts. (Incidentally, I only knew that it was rugby that they were indeed playing because Matt and John told me as much -- being the typical American, I knew scarce little about the sport and had never seen a match played.) Matt and John were keen to join in, and I said that I was game if they would teach me the rules.

The village children were eager for us to join them. While I was no (insert famous rugby player here), I managed not to make a complete fool of myself and had a fun time. After a brief game, I asked the boys if I could take their picture. Well, they just about fell over each other in their mad scramble to line up and strike poses. I took their snapshot and gladly accommodated their insistent request for another.

--------------------------------The "Rugby Boys"----------------------------

As it started to drizzle and dusk encroached, I said goodbye to my new friends (I'll especially remember a sweet 11-year-old named George) and John, Matt and I went to the village's largest and most central bure. Here we met our host, who informed us that we would be partaking in a kava root ceremony. Kava is a nondescript green leafed plant which grows in abundance all throughout the Fijian Islands. The plants are harvested, and the roots are ground into a powder, which is then mixed with water to create the kava drink. Kava is ideally consumed socially with friends, family or visitors in a welcoming/bonding ceremony supposedly dating back a couple thousand years. The basic kava root ceremony goes as follows:

The host and his assembled guests sit cross-legged in a circle around a large ceremonial kava bowl. The host then takes a small wooden bowl and dips it into the kava bowl, filling it with liquid. He claps once, downs the beverage, and then claps three more times (as does everyone else). The host then refills the drinking bowl and passes it to the next person in the circle, who repeats the ritual, etc.

Now it should be noted that I knew next to nothing about kava before arriving at the village. My guidebook made a passing reference to the drink and the ceremony, but all I remember reading is that the concoction was less than appetizing. I can now confirm firsthand that the writer's verdict is spot on, if not a bit understated. I found my first sip of kava to be truly unpleasant: I would describe the taste as a mixture of dishwater, pepper and potting soil (nicely complimenting its muddy tinge and gritty texture). After draining the liquid and firing off the requisite number of claps, I gratefully passed off the bowl to Matt, wondering why anyone would ever drink such a foul brew once, let alone make it the centerpiece of an age-old cultural tradition. I was soon to find out . . .

Understandably, I felt a little sick to my stomach after ingesting the kava. What I couldn't fathom was why my tongue started going numb. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to dwell on this odd development before the leader of the ceremony started up another round of drinking and clapping. Instantly, I felt an urge to bolt out the door or at least decline the offer of a second helping, but I didn't want to risk offending our generous host. So I drank another vile bowlful of kava -- with predictable results: my nausea increased and my tongue was fuzzier than ever. By now, I should have been quite anxious about what was happening to me, but I was strangely at peace -- it seems my tongue was not the only thing feeling fuzzy. I turned to Matt and asked him if he felt similarly, and he said, "Of course -- kava is a narcotic." Oh.

At this point, the host asked each of us, in turn, to introduce ourselves and share a "story" from our lives. Quite frankly, I don't remember what I said -- perhaps that's for the best.

Just as the stories finished up and the host was threatening a third round of kava, we were saved by the proverbial dinner bell. And what a truly authentic and yummy Fijian meal it was -- we dined on fresh pineapple, warm bread, vegetable soup, lamb chops and cassava (a stringy, starchy, potato-like vegetable which I found enjoyable, if rather bland), all washed down with fresh-squeezed "lemon juice."

Sitting, as I was, inside a lantern-lit bure in a remote highland village, eating local cuisine in a kava-induced haze, I truly felt a part of Fijian culture. This was the real Fiji, the kind most tourists never get, nor (sadly) have the desire, to see.

If the night had ended here, it would have been perfect. Alas, it did not -- there was still the return trip to come. If you'll hearken back to the beginning of this eventful day, you'll remember that the mode of transport that John, Matt and I took from our hostel was a notch or two below luxurious. The bumpy ride in the back of the pick-up had been downright agonizing, but at least there had only been the three of us. Now imagine that same ride with seven passengers (four villagers [smokers, no less] heading into town joined us for the ride). Squished against the hard, cold steel of the truck bed in the pitch black with cigarette smoke (and, lest we forget, road dust) blowing into my face, I experienced a ride ten times more torturous than the original. My head and back repeatedly slammed against the truck as the heedless driver raced along. I was nauseous the entire trip (hadn't I already punished my stomach enough with the kava?!), and my legs kept cramping up. Shifting position in such tight confines was difficult, but I kept trying anyway: it wasn't a matter of getting comfortable, but rather an attempt to avoid the most pain. More than two hours later, I hobbled into bed.