Bula.

Fijian entertainment

It's my first day in Fiji. On a recommendation from a girl I met in New Zealand, I've gotten a taxi from the airport to the harbour and then travelled one hour by boat to the tiny island community of Wayalailai, part of the Yasawa Group in the northwest. The island is to be my home for the next few days, and I really don't know what to expect.

Arriving on the island is a little intimidating. The Fijians are friendly but being dropped off on the beach feels like "The Shawshank Redemption" with all the encumbant guests checking you out. Even early attempts at conversation start off along the lines of "I'm in for a five day stretch, how about you?"

So feeling a little nervous I dump my bags on my bunk and join a party to go meet the locals...

It Takes a Village

Here's how the community works: On the opposite side of the island from their own village, the Fijians have built a small tourist resort. This is where I'm staying. There are some huts to sleep in, a bar/canteen area, some bathrooms (rain is saved for showers and for drinking water), and a volleyball court on the beach. They'll lend you a snorkel, if you want, and sell you soft drinks if you're thirsty. There are no TVs. There's one phone line to the island and it works most of the time. And that's about it.

The villagers take it in turns to help run the resort. The women do shifts in the kitchen. The men maintain the buildings. There's a rota for which villager leads visitors on guided walks up to the top of the hill, etc. And all the money raised (they charge $25 US per night, all meals included) goes to the community.

It's an idyllic place. Tropical seas, golden beaches, a lush green interior, totally unspoiled.

On the other side of the island, about a dozen of us "guests" are being shown around the Fijian's village. It's very basic, but clean. Very charming. The children's faces are dirty but the dogs are well fed. No more than 100 or so people live here. There are no shops.

The Chief

We've been shown the village school, the village hall, and the village rugby pitch. Now we're sat on the grass about to partake in a "kava ceremony". With a solemn face the village chief - he's wearing a grass skirt and has flowers in his hair - is wringing out a cloth into a big wooden bowl of dirty white liquid. It looks like the chief's washing his socks, but really he's preparing the traditional Fijian drink of "Kava".

Kava is a prepared by mixing water with a powdered root. It has a peppery taste and makes your lips go numb. I've been told that if you drink enough of the stuff you'll enjoy a mildly euphoric high before falling into a blissful sleep.

Big Jerry, the chief's chief bodyguard and spokesman, is sat next to me and asks me if I'd like a cup.

   "A cup of Kava, Mr Neil?"
   "Yes please, Big Jerry."
   "Bula Mr Neil!"
   "Bula Big Jerry!"

Big Jerry hands me a half coconut shell filled with the milky liquid. I clap my hands once and say "Bula!" before downing it in one, clapping three times and saying "Matha!". (As part of our tour we've been given instructions on how to drink Kava like a Fijian, so I know what to do).

After everyone's partaken, we wait for the afternoon's "entertainment" to begin. All the villagers are preparing for their role - either singing, or dancing, or playing guitar. As a group of women get stuck into their first traditional Fijian song, Big Jerry taps me on the shoulder.

   "More Kava, Mr Neil?"
   "Yes please, Big Jerry."
   "Bula Mr Neil!"
   "Bula Big Jerry!"

Big Jerry

It's wonderful to hear the Fijian voices but - I have to be frank - it's a terrible performance. A conductor is flailing his arms madly but no one's paying him any attention. Only one of the women can really sing and she's belting it out. Two of the dancers don't know the moves and get the giggles. The bloke playing his guitar is going hammer and tongs and no one can keep up with him.

Finally the choir shuffles off and four blokes run on brandishing sticks. It's clear they feel more than a little foolish dressed up and performing, but dutifully they begin their war dance. There's a tap on my shoulder again.

   "More Kava, Mr Neil?"
   "Yes please, Big Jerry."
   "Bula Mr Neil!"
   "Bula Big Jerry!"

As the blokes with the spears run off, it's time for the ladies to do some more dancing. They're still not very good. The sun is beating down. We've still got plenty more "entertainment" to come. I feel a little awkward, sat like a dumb tourist being "entertained". It occurs to me that this could be a long afternoon.

   "More Kava, Mr Neil?"
   "Yes, okay, Big Jerry."
   "Bula Mr Neil!"
   "Bula Big Jerry!"

Hang on a minute.

Just how much of this stuff are we going to drink?

Then it finally dawns on me: Big Jerry, the chief, and pretty much all the other Fijians sat watching the show are quietly getting rat-arsed. They try to maintain a poker-face, but the Kava continues to flow and they're all quietly pissing themselves laughing at the sight of their friends and relations prancing around pretending to be mighty warriors.

And finally the penny drops for me that these big-hearted Fijians are simply having a laugh. I consider what I would do if every week my English mates all had to sing "God Save The Queen", or dress up like policemen, or skip round a May Pole - all for the entertainment of some foreign tourists - and I conclude that I'd probably have a beer or two and try to see the funny side of it too.

I catch one of the dancers making faces at the chief. I catch Big Jerry's eye and he gives me a big smile. I feel like one of the gang. The ice is truly broken.

   "More Kava, Mr Neil?"
   "Keep 'em coming, Big Jerry."
   "Bula Mr Neil!"
   "Bula Big Jerry!"

   etc

We're Jammin'

Now all I need to do is get on with the other guests, and it really doesn't take much effort.

I do the rounds and talk to everyone, get a game of frisbee going, and soon I've got my group of mates together (and you all know how I love my group of mates).

It all shifts up a gear, predictably enough, when Richie - one of the fellows who arrived on the same boat as me - announces that he has half an ounce in his rucksack. After supper we retire to the beach for a smoke. We skin up and I turn on my radio just in time for Bob Marley's "Jammin" on Fiji's Radio Bula (101 FM). With waves lapping the shore and a moon rising, the six of us share a perfect moment. We return to the canteen to find most people have gone to bed, but with three of the local Fijians staying up late, drinking Kava, playing guitars and ukeleles, singing Fijian love songs. Now these guys really can play, and they have me in the palm of their hand. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. I finally crawl off to my bunk in the small hours, my head full of beautiful harmonies.

The next day is one of the most enjoyable I can remember.

I get up early and three of us hike up the mountain. After breakfast we play frisbee and listen to Radio Bula. We take on the Fijians in an epic game of volleyball. After a few subtle enquiries with Big Jerry - and at the request of a few of the guests - I make an addition to the day's list of scheduled activities and at 1.30pm a dozen or so people meet in the canteen for "Free Workshop: Improve Your Spliff Rolling". (I assign the group homework and we meet again later that evening. Everyone earns a gold star). As the sun begins to set one of the Fijians takes us fishing. It's magical out on the water. I catch a big Rock Cod and have it cooked up for tea. Then we settle back in the bar and once again enjoy an evening of cold beer, good company, and Fijian love songs. (No, really. They're that good. I'll play you the tape).

Please forgive my hedonism. I'm smiling just remembering it all.

Island Life

True, it's a little strange that we get served chicken for every meal when fresh fish is so plentiful. And then the only snack available between meals is chicken-flavored crisps. And that Fijian David, who's turn it is to lead the guided walks, takes a bunch of guests up the top of the mountain for a "Sunset Walk" only to discover that they can't get back down in the dark. I mean, you'd have thought that would have ocurred to someone, no? When they don't return for supper a rescue party heads up the mountain with flashlights for everyone.

They're a relaxed lot, the Fijians.

Fijian baby

But most of the time everything runs smoothly and I leave Wayalailai after four perfect days feeling ready for anything.

[Quick aside: After listening to "Woman" by John Lennon on Radio Bula - another perfect little moment on the beach - I'm haunted by the story of how John met Yoko Ono. He was in New York and went to see an exhibition of work from an emerging Japanese artist. One of the pieces was simply a stepladder at the top of which was a magnifying glass. To experience the piece, one climbed the step ladder and used the magnifying glass to read a tiny message written on the ceiling. The message simply said: "Yes". Lennon was captivated by the positivity of the message, and had to meet the artist who created it. And so John Lennon met Yoko Ono. And on a beach in Fiji your humble correspondent spends the afternoon meditating that all we have to do is say "Yes" and that all good things will come.]

The Spirit of Radio

I love my radio. I bought it from an African in Cape Town for just $10 and it's possibly the best thing I've ever owned. It's shaped like a little ghetto blaster but is made out of just a battery, a speaker, a small circuit board, and a lot of bent coat hangers. So it looks hollow, if you see what I mean. It turns heads everywhere I go. It's great to travel with - turn it on, walk down the street and you end up meeting everyone.

So I'm back on the mainland, walking through the town of Nadi, and I'm trying to find a fresh battery. Two Fijian guys - Moses and Paul - stop me and demand to know where I got such a cool radio from and why it isn't working. We chat, I explain my errand, and soon the three of us are on a mission. Together we scour the streets of Nadi for a replacement battery but have no luck. So after gathering components and tools from seemingly every shop in town, we sit down in the back room of a souvenir shop to make a new battery out of bits and pieces. Some other Fijians join us and one of them starts mixing up the kava. Sure enough we make a battery. The radio crackles into life once more and everyone cheers. Moses invites me back to his restaurant for a beer. Fantastic.

(Actually, when we get to the restaurant Moses gets slapped around - literally - by his angry wife, for taking off in the middle of the day and leaving her with all the work to do. As I leave his restaurant to catch my bus, he waves sheepishly from the kitchen. It's not until four days later that I meet him and his wife on the street and we have a laugh about it.)

An Unwelcome Commercial Break

I go to two more island resorts. One a little more commercial than Wayalailai and one a lot more so. Inevitably, for all the creature comforts on offer, they're missing a lot of soul.

Palm trees

On Beachcomber Island a couple of us borrow some kayaks and paddle over to the next island. That was fun. And I meet a couple of hilarious English girls who force me to participate in learning the "Bula Dance". I still get updates from them and what they're up to. Currently they're shagging the second row of the Sydney Roosters rugby team.

On Robinson Crusoe Island - run by an Australian ex-butcher - we're "entertained" 24 hours a day by a group of Fijian hosts who are forever climbing coconut trees, organizing limbo competitions, performing war dances, and generally getting on my tits. One enormous fellow shucks a coconut with his teeth. It's all a little too much. There are three or four really cool people staying on the island, but for some reason I can't connect with them. I leave disappointed and feeling low.

Bula! Bula! Bula!

So I choose to spend my last few days on the mainland, and check myself into The Nadi Hotel. I bump into Rich from Wayalailai and together we explore. We finish the night as the only white guys at club "After Hours" and have fun learning new dance moves. At 3am we walk back into the town - afterwards we're told it was a stupidly dangerous thing to do, but we were okay - and meet a lot of characters on the way.

Fiji's a great place. Put it on your list.

Next stop, Australia again. (To do all the things I didn't do last time due to getting stuck in Byron Bay).

Bula!

- Neil