The long road to recovery

The last couple of days in Fiji were marked by waves of celebration and recovery. Mostly recovery.

The three of us walked around Lautoka on the morning of Tim's birthday, and we happened to find a public carnival. It was a simple neighborhood fair that we've all seen as children.



The night of Tim's birthday was the blow out that it was supposed to be. And then some. We rinsed and repeated the following day at a fund raiser for Lautoka's over-60 field hockey team, containing such characters as this guy:



He's a native Fijian that says that he's 75, but I don't believe him.

Walking home, we didn't have much luck hailing a cab, so Tim flagged down the local police troop carrier that happened to be passing by. This was, with no exaggeration, only the third time that I had seen a police officer during my week on the island.

The officers already had a couple of local Fijians in the front seat, so they tossed us in the back, and asked where we were heading. Tim gave them directions in Fijian, and they happily gave us a ride. Very happily, by the way. I think that they were pretty excited to have some fresh meat in the truck.

This probably wasn't one of our better decisions, but Tim said that he had hitched a ride with them before. Apparently, they're quite bored. Here's us in the back with a riot officer and three of Tim's Peace Corps friends.



I look ridiculous.

The next morning, we packed our bags and said our goodbyes (through the hangover to end all hangovers). We hung out at a local beach by the airport until we had to go check in.



Sam caught his flight back home, and I left for Melbourne (where I'm sitting now).

All in all, not a bad run.

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Couch hopping in the South Pacific

I've slept on a lot of couches over the last several years, but none of them were, well, in Fiji. Sam and I have been sharing bunk space on the floor of Tim's kitchen/foyer/living room/dining room/den/study. It's nice to finally look behind the curtain into day-to-day Fiji life. (But I'm not saying that I don't miss the umbrellas in my cocktails.)

Tim lives in Lautoka, a small city on the northwest coast of Fiji's main island. The primary industry seems to be agriculture (mostly sugar).



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We spent our first night in Laukota at Tim's sports club. It's essentially a neighborhood bar where locals (mostly Aussie ex-pats) can get together and share a drink.




I don't think that we were there for an hour before Sam broke his fifth glass of the trip. And that was before the drinks even got flowing. And flow they did, by the way.

After a night of very punctuated sleep (and multiple trips to the toilet, face first), we woke up and got ready for a boat ride. One of Tim's many local acquaintances (another Aussie ex-pat) knows a group of Fijian locals that run a boat tour of the outlying islands. We joined about 40 other visitors for an all day tour. The boat ride included a delicious bbq and an open bar (yes, we participated). It also included a snorkeling trip off of one of the many outlying mini-islands. They're the type of deserted islands that we've all pictured. In fact, Castaway was filmed on one of them.



Here's Tim, halfway through an ill-fated flip attempt (with our snorkeling island in the background).



He's still rubbing his chest.

Today, we visited Tim's office, where he helps coordinate microfinance loans.



These loans of $20-$60 can help farmers buy seeds or help women start their own businesses. In fact, we ran into one of Tim's appreciative borrowers in the local market. Tim helped him acquire the funds necessary to rent a stand. If you look closely at the picture (click it to zoom in), you'll see the coins that a recent payment contained. These loans are very small (by our standards), but they go a long way towards helping people get on their feet. Interestingly, their payback rates are much higher than those for loans made by large banks in develped nations.

As beautiful as the scenery is, though, I'm having a hard time separating it from the less-than-beautiful reality. After all, this is every bit of a Third World country.







But even in poverty, people still have birthdays. And tonight, Tim has his. The sporting club won't know what hit it.



Happy birthday, buddy. We're proud of you.

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Bula!

There's an old bluegrass song about the Big Rock Candy Mountain, where alcohol streams trickle down the rocks, and the jail bars are made of tin. That place is real.

Well, I don't know about the jail bars (or even the police, which don't seem to exit here), but this is a pretty good attempt at paradise. At least that's the side of Fiji that I've seen over the last two days. Tim is buttering Sam and me up (as if we needed it), before we go spend the rest of our trip at his house. The three of use are staying at the Sofitel resort, which is the type of place that most of us think of when we think of Fiji. Take a look.

I can deal with this place, if I have to.

The title of this post is the Fijian word for hello, by the way. It's 50% of the Fijian that I've picked up; I've been a bit slow on the uptake. The alcohol doesn't help. Tim, on the other hand, sounds like he's lived here all his life. He keeps impressing the locals (and Sam and me) every time he opens his mouth. In fact, his ease with the locals had us drinking Grog with a group of taxi drivers the night that I arrived in Fiji.

Grog is made by filling a large bowl of water with Yaqona, a nice little plant that has some pretty impressive psychotropic properties. It isn't a narcotic, but it has a similar effect, using a slightly different neurological pathway. Long story short, I've never found my hands so interesting.


And now, for a few more local pics.




This is type of place that turns anyone into Ansel Adams; you just point and shoot, the scenery takes care of the rest.

Mom, former professors, and those easily offended, please skip the next two paragraphs.

Everyone else, we've really been having a good time. The breakfast at our hotel had a champagne bar, and that starts the ball rolling every morning. It still hasn't stopped. Well, actually it did stop yesterday when Sam smashed a champagne glass in the middle of the buffet, inspiring management to cut off champagne service for him and everyone else. (For the record, he probably wasn't drunk, that's just something Sam does. He'd already broken three of our in-room glasses, too.)

I don't want to dwell on this part of the trip for too long--since this is a travel journal, and not a MySpace page--but there are a few other highlights to point out. Sofitel's Banana Daquiris: outstanding. And last night, while we were waiting to take the bus to dinner, Tim hijacked one of the hotel's golf carts. Sam and I may have hopped in, too. (I don't remember, officer.) A crowd of thoroughly amused New Zealanders were waiting for the bus as well, and one of the more ambitious (or drunk) of them hopped in the cart, and then immediately realized how bad of an idea that was. ("Ay, mate, why don't I just 'op off here, my wife's going to kill me.") Tim circled back around to the front entrance of the hotel, and dropped us back off. He then had a pretty hard time parallel parking on the left side of the road (remember, the British laid out their roads). To the amusement of all of us bystanders, one of the Kiwi's yelled out, "must be an American."

Putting those hijinks behind us, we've spent the rest of today in the real Fiji. The resorts were a facade (a wonderful, wonderful facade, but a facade, nonetheless). The real Fiji is very rural, very poor, and very rough. Tim's apartment is basic, but seemingly safe and hospitable.

Notice the "refrigerator" under the table. However, his local market was very impressive.


The few areas that I have seen are clearly struggling, but the people are all optimistic and very friendly. There are obviously more important issues to the Fijians than their government and GDP. I'm paying close attention.

M

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Good morning, Auckland!

Auckland is wonderful, but before I talk about the city, I need to give Air New Zealand a pat on the back. The staff was friendly, the food was tasty, and the wine flowed freely. And then there's the entertainment system. Oh, the entertainment system. With hundreds of movies, TV shows, and full length albums available on demand, Air New Zealand has successfully overcome the last good reason to be literate. I was almost disappointed that I slept for most of the flight. Almost.

I arrived in Auckland at 5:00 am, local time. (Wrap your head around this. I'm writing this on Monday, and you're reading it on Sunday. I'm like Dr. Who, minus the scarf.) I breezed through customs and took a shuttle bus into the city. It dropped me off at the downtown docks, and I spent the early morning exploring them.




After a bite to eat, I toured the country's flagship museum. It's a three-level behemoth covering the indigenous Maori culture, the natural environment, and war artifacts. I had a great time, and learned a ton. I'm hardly an expert on any of these topics, but for an interesting and engaging look into the Maori world, rent Whale Rider.

I've spent the rest of the day walking around and trying to get a better understanding of the city. Auckland, like most islands, is particularly environmentally minded. I've seen bicycle assembly stands at the airport and door to door compost pick up trucks. Maybe it's a byproduct of their environmental-mindedness, but there are as many sailboats in New Zealand as there are people (impressive), and 12 times as many sheep (ridiculous).






So this is where all of our 1s got shipped to! But remember, this sign shows New Zealand dollars per liter; it roughly converts to $47/gallon. Actually, I have no idea what it converts to, but I'll bet it's still more expensive than ours.

Alright, time to hop back on to the bus to the airport. Next stop: Fiji. Sam's already there, and over a beer in the Tucson airport, he told me that they were planning on playing golf today.

This is turning out alright.

M

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A little rusty

Hi. It's been a while.

I'm 24 hours away from hanging up my hammer, turning on my email AutoReply, and setting off for the South Pacific. A very good friend of mine is currently serving in the Peace Corps. In Fiji. Yes, Fiji. I know. We'll get to that in a second, but first, Tim.

If you're reading this, you might know the guy. But in case you don't, meet Tim Hatfield:


This is the face of America to a whole slew of Pacific Islanders. I, for one, couldn't be happier.

By the way, we ended up hitching a ride home the night that this photo was taken. The taxis were all full, and we clearly couldn't drive. I vaguely remember some Los Betos, too. Vaguely.

But back to the task at hand. I'll be heading down there to visit Tim and restock his liquor cabinet. You'll have to ask him which one he's more excited about.

I'll be joined by Sam Swift, another very good friend. To give you all a bit of background, I've probably had about 70% of my total alcohol consumption in the presence of these two guys. And remember, I lived out of town for five of my most prime drinking years. (We had to pack a lot into Christmas vacations.) The three of us will be doing our best to explore the country through blurry eyes and a splitting headache. Probably not doing it justice.

Ok, now on to Fiji. The country's general lack of film inspirations or CNN-worthy conflicts means that all I really knew about the place is that they grow some tasty water. So after Tim told me where he was going (and retold me until I believed him), I looked the place up. It's actually pretty rough.

A lot of Fiji's problems stem from the economy (as they usually do). The country's 5th largest export is mineral water. Not oil, not wheat, but mineral water. The GDP per capita is less than $2,500. Ours is $44,000, and we're in a recession.

The other source of local strife is the country's strained ethnic relations. The US State department breaks down Fiji's ethnic groups as: Indigenous: 57%; Indo-Fijian: 37%; White: Tim.

Fiji was first populated by Melanesians and Polynesians 3500 years ago. It was taken over by the British in the late 1800's (during which time they repopulated the island with indentured Indian workers, laying the foundation for the current Fijian/Indo-Fijian tensions). The Brits left in 1970, leaving the island's inhabitants to leapfrog between pseudo-constitutional democracies and military dictatorships ever since. In fact, the current government is the product of a 2006 military coup. Many foreign governments, including ours, feel that the current leadership acquired its power illegally and refuse to grant full relations.

The State department has some great background on the country. Here's my favorite excerpt.

Chaudhry [the first Indo-Fijian prime minister] and most other members of Parliament were taken hostage in the House of Representatives by gunmen led by ethnic Fijian nationalist George Speight. The standoff dragged on for 8 weeks--during which time Chaudhry was removed from office by then-president Mara due to his inability to govern while a hostage.

How would you like that on your pink slip: "Inability to govern while a hostage." Holy crap! That event happened this decade, by the way.

Moral of the story: this is hardly the island paradise that Fiji's tourism bureau would like us to believe it is. Should make for some interesting stories.

Well, I should get some rest. I've got 18 hours of flying ahead of me. And that's just flying. That doesn't include all the time that I'll spend finding my gates, dropping certain boys off at certain pools, and convincing airport security that I'm not that kind of Lebanese.

I've got a pretty long stopover in Auckland, New Zealand. I'll probably check in from there.

M

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