The time we got outwitted by a pile of sticks

A bilibili (pronounced billy billy) is a raft made of bamboo poles lashed together.  It’s not often that a group of educated and (normally) intelligent people gets outwitted by a few pieces of bamboo.


or so we like to think

After suffering through a week of actual work, a small crew of daring and very good-looking volunteers decided to brave the jungles of Fiji and head to the interior of Viti Levu for a weekend break. 

Heart of Darkness stuff, right here!

After allowing us to drag them on a very muddy morning hike, our kind hosts put together the bilibili for us, and even took us upstream in their boat so we could float back leisurely to our accommodation. Undeterred by a little torrential rain, we set off to conquer the river.  



Our hosts making it look easy



We managed to pile 7 adults onto the bilibili, by which time it was so overloaded we were in water up to our waists, much to the amusement of our guides.  Being fearless adventurers, we decided that a little thing like an inevitable dunking into a rapidly rising river wasn’t going to deter us.

We soon hit the ‘rapids’. Too late, we realised that we were in the wrong position, with no way to steer (an overloaded bilibili isn’t the most manoeuvrable of watercraft), and were heading into the rapids side on.

In spite of the rapidly rising water, we got stuck. Then 2 of the bamboo poles broke, in very inconvenient and potentially uncomfortable places*. At this point one of our number decided discretion was the better part of valour and (perhaps wisely) abandoned ship. The rest of us continued our sideways descent of the rapids on a rapidly disintegrating bilibili.

After exiting the rapids and finally dragging what remained of the bilibili onto the beach we went to shower and rest on our laurels. I was having a chat to one of our guides when I happened to look at the river and make a comment about the abandoned bilibili that happened to be floating past. Our guide did a double-take when he realised it was ours, sprinted down to the beach, de-shirted and swam out Baywatch-style on the swollen river to fetch our wayward bilibili. 

You win, you wily pile of bamboo and spite!

I can't wait for our next bamboo-based adventure.  Only next time I plan on winning this battle of wits, or at least coming armed!

*under our butts. Very splintery.

Many thanks to Rochelle Booth for letting me use her photos!

Things I Love About Fiji

The relaxed attitude to … everything
One thing Fiji has taught me it’s not the end of the world if something is late.  My friends in Australia know just how twisted my knickers get about this. I HATE waiting and I hate people keeping me waiting.  In Fiji it gets reinforced every day that if you have to wait the most unimaginable catastrophe of all happens: you wait. That’s it. No one dies.

Men in skirts
I've always felt sorry for men who have to sweat it out in a suit in a tropical summer. As I am a woman and have the choice, I never wear pants when it's over 25 degrees (I wear skirts instead, mind out of the gutter!). The men of Fiji have have thought ahead and developed the pocket sulu: a mid-calf length wrap around...skirt...in suiting material. It can be worn to any occasion, including work, church and formal events. Sure beats sweating it out in pants! And no, it doesn't look remotely girly. 
The gentle sun
I know this is relative, but as a melanin challenged person from a place with probably the harshest sunlight on earth, the sun here is incredibly gentle. The Fijian sun gently kisses your skin rather than mauling it.  No longer is a trip to the beach inevitably followed by lobster-face, in spite of my best efforts with the 80+ sunblock.  

The sense of humour
The Fijians are some of the most cheerful people I've ever met. Everywhere you go you hear people talking to each other and laughing. And yes, I’m the cause of that laughter more often than I would like (and only sometimes on purpose).

Background: proof that I am hilarious!

I love some of the local humour too

The natural beauty 
Everywhere you turn here there is something to take your breath away. The views, the light, the incredibly vivid colours are all spectacularly, intensely beautiful. 

This is the view from my bedroom window:

Yes I wake up to that every morning, can’t help bragging!

Also, islands!

And flowers!

And dinner!

Bula print EVERYTHING!
The local bula print (tropical plants on a bright background, akin to a botanical Hawaiian print) is THE choice of fabric for all kinds of clothing. Men and women wear it, people in villages and cities wear it, people in offices wear it (on Bula Friday...whoo!) and I'm told ladies can also wear it on formal occasions. 

I plan on taking this to the extreme and making the craziest bula print stuff I can think of this year.

Off to a flying start

The kids
I have never wanted kids, but the Fijian kids are so cute that I now really want one: provided someone else does all the hard work like pregnancy, childbirth, nappies, sleep deprivation, terrible 2s, school fees and the teenage years. And takes the financial, career and social hit for me. 

Actually, I think I’ll just take photos of other people’s kids!

Tropical fruit
This stuff is delicious! For some reason it is so much sweeter and tastier here. I’m even pretty sure that there's no added MSG…probably.

Pacific Roulette

You soon learn that in the Pacific EVERYTHING is a gamble.  This can be small things, like assuming that the gelatinous substance in your lunch was once part of a chicken, or the bigger thrills like the daily dice with death on the roads.

Here is a list of some of the ways we take chances every day here in the F1J1:

Ordering food

You are getting what you’re given. Sometimes it is actually what you ordered, and made with the ingredients listed on the menu. Other times, you get something completely different to what you ordered, and other times part of your order has been ‘improvised’ because the kitchen ran out of ingredients. You will not be told this when you order, even if you ask specifically.

Getting to work

For some inexplicable reason, there are no pedestrian crossings along most of the length of Suva’s busiest road, the road I have to cross every day to get to work. 

I don’t know why this is, I can only assume it is a calculated attempt on the lives of people working  in the justice system,  the UN or anyone else just in the area.  Suva wants you dead. 

Going out

“Moderation” and “alcohol” are not 2 words that go together in Fiji.   The local version of buying a round of drinks is particularly deadly. Taki is where you buy a jug of booze (usually an unholy mix of bourbon and cola and fruity vodka premixes), acquire a glass, pour a small amount into the glass and hand it to your first victim. Once they have finished, repeat amongst the group until the jug is finished, and the next person buys their jug.  It is nearly impossible to know how much you’ve had, or moderate how much and how often you drink.  Side effects include regret, violent sickness and complete inability to function the next day.   

and it tastes like this

The taxi home

If you survive the terrors of the nightlife, there are still taxis to contend with.  The main hazards are the lack of seat belts, and the definite possibility that the driver is just as drunk as you are (if not worse). A more subtle threat is the pervasive fish smell that many cabs have, particularly when you are already nauseous.  And finally the most terrifying thing of all: attempted seductions with 70’s soft rock by middle aged taxi drivers. 

Yes, that is apparently seductive.

Walking

This one MAY just be me. Absolutely EVERYWHERE is full of potholes, and cracked footpaths are the only kind there is. As a naturally clumsy person, with all the fleet footedness of an inebriated sloth, I particularly struggle with this. I am constantly wrenching my ankles and stumbling over cracks.



but I do it with style!

Last month I managed to find a pothole while getting into a taxi, simultaneously twisting my ankle and hitting my forehead on the door while falling face first into the back seat. 

I am just proud that I have avoided the complete faceplant.  So far.

The interwebs

Sometimes it kind of works, often it doesn’t. Either way, you are paying way too much for it.

Shopping

The things you buy often break the first time you use them.  It’s a lottery. Fortunately, my flatmate brought a lot of masking tape with her so we are able to make structural repairs to the objects that break. 

 

Good thinking 99!

Coconuts...probably

My mother always warned me about how easy it is to fatally doinked on the head with a coconut.  Fortunately the good people of the Suva City Council have an ingenious solution to prevent this particular brand of death from above: strategically placed baskets. 





Not as cool as trained monkeys, but less likely to fling poop

Tales from Suva's worst neighbourhood

An unexpected part of my overseas adventure was inadvertently moving to the dodgiest neighbourhood in the whole country.  Thanks to the brilliant work of my In-Country Manager (the man whose job it is to make sure this doesn't happen) I now have a colourful collection of stories to share with you. 

If you know me at all in real life, you've probably heard enough of me talking about it, so I thought I would mix it up and share my tales of woe in the gentle Japanese art of haiku. 

Disclaimer: I suck at haiku.




Fortunately, I make up for it with my gazelle-like grace



So here you have it - my ghetto haiku, told in chronological order:



Leave for work, morning

Drunk follows me down the street

I CAN run in heels

 ...

Big night out, home late

Dammit, I’ve locked myself out

Guys yelling at me

 ...

Relax in the bath

Look out the window, surprise

Men's clothes everywhere

...

 Walk past mangy dogs
One hates me, run for my life
Is there rabies here?

...

Waiting for taxi

Cars drive slowly beside me

Chose the wrong outfit

...
Taxi with Helga

She yells, "Where are the brothels?!"

Turns out, everywhere

...

On my way to work,

Man takes a wizz on the street

Dude, I see your wang

...

Work out at the gym

Get home, water main’s kaput

Go to bed sweaty

Hello Joe: beware the taxi driver!

Moving countries can be a shock to the system, especially where it’s somewhere where you can’t just blend into the crowd.  As someone who generally prefers not to stand out, it can be a bit of a challenge.  I have to admit though that I have never been so attractive in my life, even if it MAY not be for the reasons I’d like. It’s a weird feeling getting stared at and/or hit on every day.

 

but who could blame them?

It can certainly be a little too much to handle.  My flatmate received 2 marriage proposals in a single week (I'm still waiting, for some reason).  I did get accosted leaving my house at 7:30am on Tuesday by a drunk guy who followed me down the street, and had my butt grabbed by a homeless lady, so I feel I'm on track to catch up. 

A few weeks ago I was at work, and happened to pass a window at the wrong time, leading a passer-by to knock on the door and ask to see the “European Lady”. When my thankfully cynical workmate asked if he knew me he said we went to the same church (ahem) and his name was Joseph. In honour of this prince, I now call all dodgy guys “Joe”. 

The most common profession for these Joes is driving taxis (not so different from home really). Their antics range from the creepy, like one taxi driver telling me I smelt nice and staring at me in the rear vision mirror, to the hilarious, like the only man in our group getting hit on by the (male) taxi driver. Admittedly, the last one is hilarious mostly because it happened to someone else.

Taxi drivers can be dodgy in other ways as well.  We had one gentleman decide that he needed to spit RIGHT NOW so opened his door, bent right down below the wheel and spat on the road, all while hurtling at top speed towards a busy intersection. 

Fortunately I have found a phrase that solves, or at least helps, these taxi-related dilemmas: “How about those Flying Fijians”!

Political correctness gone missing

Lesson learnt: offensiveness is relative

Political correctness is definitely a thing in Australia, to the point where certain ‘current affairs’ programs would have us believe it has gone mad.  While I'm sure it's still easy to put your foot in it over here (especially for me), the criteria for offensive is a little different. 

Our first introduction to this was when we decided to go see our first Bollywood movie on the big screen.  For the first half it was the usual tale of true love vs. arranged marriage, mistaken identity, family feuds, various reptile bites to the crotch and accidental mass chloroforming followed by shipwreck.  After the interval, we were treated to a rape joke, a racist joke and an inexplicable scene where a man chases a dwarf in a queen of hearts costume around a tree. All in 30 minutes.  No kissing though, it’s just not done in Bollywood films!

Another indication we were not in Kansas anymore was this sign my flatmate found near a special school. Not quite how I would have put it.

You're going to hell if this made you giggle.

The other thing that keeps striking me is the massive amounts of prayers, bible verses and other invocations of God that appear in public places.  I have seen them around the workplace, in advertisements, songs being played in department stores and in plenty of public notices.

Below is Fijian sign language for evangelism. I’m sure many people would like to, but it’s not politically correct to do this while someone is evangelising you against your will.  Unless you are in Fiji.



How to tell a deaf Fijian Mormon you know what they're up to



My first weeks in Fiji

Lessons learnt: Don’t sit on inviting piles of coconut husks, they contain horrifying arachnids, and root vegetables are better when eaten at infrequent intervals and in small quantities.

Well, I’ve survived my first few weeks in Fiji, and the rigorous *cough* process of In Country Orientation. 

A highlight was a weekend spent in a small village about an hour (or 20 Fijian minutes) out of Suva.  We went on a canoe trip to the mangroves where we learnt to catch 'mud lobsters' (a kind of crayfish), swam in the river and drank coconuts fresh off the tree.



Coconut grove in the mangroves.



I was enjoying the serenity, when I looked left and saw a MASSIVE spider (I'm talking largish huntsman size) sitting on my shoulder. Here’s a picture of his (much smaller) cousin I found in my bathroom:

I shall name him Fluffy!

You'll be glad to know I was brave and my screams of "GET IT OFF!!! GET IT OFF!!! GET IT OFF!!!" scared it to the middle of my back, where one of the guys flicked it into the water, and it was dispatched by our heroic paddler with a well-aimed whack.

Me hiding from spiders and sunburn. Man on left deserves a spider killing medal.

Our adventure continued that night with (another) kava session, and a surprise dance performance from the guys of the village.

How was your Saturday night?

Thankfully, we'd come prepared and already knew some Pacific island dances, and we threw in a few sweet moves of our own. One of our number inadvertently asked the chief to dance (as I understand it, a bit of a no-no) but he was a good sport about it.

You're in!

The next day we were initiated into the great Fijian tradition of the lovo. We even helped (in the way a 2 year old "helps").

Grating coconuts: sweaty work

Success!

After church, we got to enjoy the feast. There was a truly epic amount of food, a great amount of which was the local staples: taro and cassava. Taro has the texture of Play-Doh, while cassava is like stringy potato. Neither is particularly offensive, but they are both really heavy and after 6 meals in a row of these, we were feeling it!

Us feeling it. Taro and Cassava centre right.

The experience was certainly a real eye-opener of a lot of us. It is pretty easy to avoid a sudden culture shock in places like Suva, where you have the same services and even a lot of the same brands as back home (although in the case of a certain coffee chain, this may not be a good thing).

A weekend of sitting on the floor, wading barefoot through mangroves, cooking over a fire and washing with a bucket of cold water was a dose of reality.  It was also an insight into the way many (if not most) Fijians live.  Thanks to the wonderful people of the village for having us!