ONLINE JOURNALISM
INTERVIEWS
Ted Koppel
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The big island
So it was on to Namuamua.
We took a tour bus down Queens Road (they drive on the left side of the road here), stopping to pick up guests at the other hotels along the Coral Coast. We headed east, past stubby rows of sugarcane, tufts of smoke rising from burning stubble; past rolling green hills and stands of emerald pine trees, past villagers walking cows and schoolgirls in plaid skirts on their way to school.
Nearly three hours later we arrived at the small rice town of Navua. A dozen of us transfered to three skiffs that took us up the Navua River. We passed women washing clothes on the riverbank and a diver hunting trout with a huge pronged spear worthy of King Neptune. Ninety minutes later we were deep inside the Namosi rain forest, the rapids growing whiter, strings of waterfalls flashing down hillsides, the banks thick with ancient-looking ferns and mangroves and steamy hardwood trees.
We docked at Namuamua, a village of 220 people. We took off our hats and sandals as we entered the ceremonial bure, a traditional thatched-roof dwelling with an A-shaped roof. Many people in Fiji's smaller villages still live in the hutlike bures, though most of the country's 750,000 inhabitants now live in concrete or wood-frame buildings.
The village chief — a big man with gray hair and a gap-toothed smile named Iowane Naqamu — greeted each of us with a bear hug.
"Where are you from?" the chief asked me. "Ah, California! Bula, America!" (Here, as everywhere on this trip, we were a decided minority. Fiji is an international crossroads, with many visitors from Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Germany and Denmark.)
Inside the bure, we were treated to a kava ceremony, with a half-dozen Fijian men wearing grasslike costumes made from tapa and croton leaves, their faces smudged with black.
Fijians wolf down kava like we drink coffee, so Joyce and I drank the muddy gray liquid from the half-shell of a coconut. Kava, made from the crushed root of the pepper plant, is nonalcoholic, but it numbed our lips and tasted like bitter dishwater. I had seconds anyway.
After a quick tour of the village, we were treated to a hand-eaten communal meal. The food was wonderful: chicken curry, sweet potatoes, tuna sandwiches, bananas, rourou (a spinach-like dish made of taro leaves and drenched in coconut milk) and breadfruit, a starchy white fruit that tasted like baked dough.
While we munched, four village men strummed guitars and ukeleles, children danced and a dozen women sang folkloric songs with rich, strong voices worthy of a worldbeat CD.
Then it was market time — and here is why they put up with strangers poking around their village three times a week. The locals set out displays of their wares: coral necklaces and shark-tooth bracelets, tapa cloth wall hangings and tribal masks carved from vesi wood. I felt guilty from snapping so many photos, so after some token bartering I bought a war club for $7 and a linen tablecloth for $15.
Finally, we were whisked back into the bure for a closing meke, a performance of rhythmic dances and songs of tribal lore. Joyce managed to turn invisible, but three times I was pulled onto the pandanu-woven floor mat by village women in elaborately woven sarong-like sulus who led me through a barefoot dance (four steps forward, three steps back) that I can liken only to a Cajun stomp.
We said our goodbyes and parted reluctantly for our trip downriver.
Next day, we slowed things down by visiting the Garden of the Sleeping Giant, a botanical garden of 25,000 species of flowers just north of Nadi that originally belonged to actor Raymond Burr. The grounds were ablaze with pink ginger and red parrots beak, sweet-scented cattleya orchids and buttery dancing ballerinas.
The rest of our stay on the main island whirred by: an afternoon in Lautoka, a bustling city on the island's northwest shoulder that's largely Indian in heritage; a fire-walking ceremony performed by 12 tough-soled villagers from Yanuca Island; and an afternoon in Nadi's town square, where we met a gregarious 16-year-old named Waisake who split a coconut, shared it with us and told us of his dream to move to the States someday.
We never made it to Suva, the capital on the island's rainy east side, or to Beqa Lagoon, famous the world over for its diving. Recently they sank some galleons on the deep reefs of Beqa to give scuba divers the feel of swimming in a pirate-ship graveyard. They'll do just about anything for visitors here.
Fiji: An introduction
By day four of our stay at the Regent of Fiji on the main island's west side, we had mastered the art of beach-flopping. It was another sun-splashed, wind-kissed 80-degree day, but we decided it was time to do some exploring beyond the palm tree fronds of our oceanside resort.
The big island
Castaway Island
Cruising the Blue Lagoon
Fiji resources
Fiji photo gallery
Travel articles
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