World Fiji Central Suva

VOYAGE to the SOUTH PACIFIC ... Amelia, where are you?

FIJI Oct 20, 2009

SUVA, Fiji

“Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.” - HERMAN MELVILLE

This is our second trip to Fiji. We visited here sailing on the return trip back to California from last year’s Asia-Australia Grand Voyage. They really did have cannibals here…this is the place that they actually put missionaries in pots, cooked, and ate them. This was a big deal when the Europeans discovered this place and it was all the rage in the 1800’s and finally put to an official complete stop, I think in the 1920’s. At all the curio souvenir shops you can purchase carved wooden cannibal forks (replicas thereof) that make great coffee table conversation pieces. Just what we need at the Beach. They also sell all sizes and shapes of hand wielded clubs and pikes that were used to beat their victims senseless before fricasseeing them. How does Missionary au Gratin sound to you?

We only walked around downtown Suva last year and shopped a bit and freaked out over the clubs and eating utensils. Suva is a bustling city with some tall buildings like maybe 10 stories, a couple of nice department stores, and lots of jammed traffic in the immediate downtown area. Today we decided to book a tour offered by our CSI travel agency. It will give us a taste of native life outside of the city and we will get to meet a chief and his merry warriors in his village and join in a Kava Ceremony…that’s where we get to sample this ceremonial herbal brew of powdered root stock (Kava) that is supposed to be the equivalent of smoking a peace pipe with Geronimo in the Old West. Can’t wait for that treat…I hear it smells and tastes like old roots of some awful tasting plant that only a Fijian could love.

Everyone you meet or pass by on the street greets you with a big “Bula.” That is the equivalent of hello for the Fijians, but it can also mean “good health.”…it’s kind of an all round catch-all word. BULA !!

It turned out that we went out with about 40 people on a luxury bus coach (one with windows) for about 10 miles outside of Suva to a little Fijian village. There we were greeted by the ladies of the village who placed raffia necklaces festooned with some small native flowers around our necks. Then we were invited to watch them prepare a meal using an in-ground oven (just another variant of the cooking techniques we’ve seen over in Polynesia). After the earth oven was filled with the food were to later eat, a Kava ceremony was held. The elders of the village sat around a Kava bowl, incanted some Fijian prayers and offerings, mixed up a bowlful of the stuff (a powdered root substance that looked like forest floor dirt) with cold water, and passed coconut half shells of it around to any who wanted a sample. I tried it and commented to someone who didn’t want to try it that it tasted something like dishwater. After reflecting on the taste a bit later, I think a more accurate description might be that it tasted like sawdust and water mixed together and strained. Then we were given guided walking tours around the village, visiting homes and gardens and their common facilities such as a kindergarten with the cutest kids you could ever imagine. Just so there is no misunderstanding, this was not like a Womens’ Club tour of fine homes and manicured gardens.

The Fijians are a delightful happy people and love strangers. We were all wearing our CSI name tags with our first names printed in large letters on each tag. A couple of the women started calling out to me, “hey Bob.” Same with Rosemary. They wanted us to meet their children and wanted to know where we were from. Rosemary went over to the kindergarten and wanted to see the kids (the kids do not speak English yet). The teacher asked her a lot of questions about where we had come from, were we on a big boat, where did we sleep, where were we going next, etc. Then she translated to explain all that to the kids who sat on the floor in wide eyed wonderment having never seen a tall white woman in their village before.

We found out that this was the first tourist group that had ever visited this village. This was a treat and a BIG DEAL for them and they were falling all over themselves to make us feel comfortable and welcome. They wanted to explain how they lived, how their homemade herbal remedies worked, and what their weather was like, and wanted to know if we were coming back.

They had an instrumental guitar ensemble playing and singing Fijian folk songs; one guy had an electric plug-in and sounded very much like the late Les Paul. I was calling them called them “The Suva River Valley Boys.” Meanwhile these musicians are all taking hits of Kava between tunes and the elders sitting around the Kava bowl kept making up new batches. This stuff must be addictive given all the cupfuls I observed being consumed over almost a two hour period. These guys were looking mighty mellow after a while…and the music was getting better. The food finally was ready to be served and was set out buffet style by the women of the village. There was po-po (papaya), cassava, taro root, taro leaf “spinach”, bananas, pineapple, coconut, chicken drumsticks, fresh water mussels (looked more like clams to me), a taro-spinach and canned corned beef thingy (I have a recipe), tomatoes, sweet chili sauce, a tropical (pineapple/papaya) juice drink, cucumber slices, and watermelon. Elegantly presented with loving care outdoors under the trees, and we were all overwhelmed.

When it came time to leave it brought tears to our eyes as they all hugged us, and they and their littlest kids waved good bye. I’d go back in a heartbeat.

Back in Suva Rosemary and I trekked into the Municipal Market where we went last year. Still huge and chaotic. The array and quantities of common and exotic produce were amazing. We bought some flowers for our stateroom, some more of those neat recycled flour sack Fiji shopping bags we bought last year, and finally at the upstairs level, we bought a bag of ground Kava…anything that appears so addictive must be good…or maybe even illegal (after we get home, ask us and we’ll mix up a bowlful after a City Commission meeting so we can all get wrecked). Bula, Bula! - RBM