After 5 days on the beach in Fiji we felt like we could have stayed a few days more…. But it was time to go, this resort was majorly busting our budget and we had our tickets to Honolulu.
So on May 17th in the morning I got up early to go for a short hike up the mountain next to our resort to get a last glimpse of the beautiful scenery from the heights: soft green hills of the surrounding islands bathed in turquoise blue waters, we could see up to the main island 42 miles away. Not bad…. Went back to the resort for a last dip in the ocean, then showered and hopped in the boat for the 5 hours ferry ride to the main island. A bus ride to the airport where we had 5-6 hours to wait for the 8 hours flight to Honolulu. All together a full-day journey. Little did we know….
It was not going to end there. See Marcel had registered online for the Visa waiver program that allows Swiss citizens to enter the USA without a visa. He just sort of disregarded the small print that said “valid only for people without a record with the US Immigration”. Ha. Ha. Ha ha. So when we arrived in Honolulu we both showed up at the immigration desk where they stamped my passport within seconds, no eye scan nor finger prints needed thank you I’m Canadian. Then they scanned Marcel’s passport….and ushered us to the back office. We thought this would be a question of minutes like it had been in the past, Marcel would explain his story of overstaying his tourist visa by 2 weeks 15 years ago and we’d be on our way. Well he did. And then the officer went to check this. And came back. And Marcel explained some more, that after he overstayed he got a 10 year visa which was in his previous passport and had in the meanwhile expired. The guy went away again. Then came back. More questions and explaining. This went on for a while until the end result came out: Marcel had only been allowed in the USA in the past years because of the visa he had, and since that was expired, he was now not allowed in. Lovely….we were going to be sent back to Fiji on Pacific Airways! Or not? Seeing that we were not going to say Aloha to Hawaii this time we mentioned this was a stopover on our way to Canada, if we could please be deported there instead? Luckily we had our tickets to Toronto already booked, so the immigration people took the details down and got us re-booked on flights out for that same day. In the meanwhile we’d been in the immigration office about 5 hours, eating instant noodles they gave us and reading in the waiting room. More waiting later one of the immigration officers escorted us to the Continental check-in counter and hurried us through security, because with all their paperwork we were just going to make the flight. On the way to the gate I had about 5 minutes to call my sister and tell her we were not arriving next week as planned….but the next morning. The immigration officer handed out Marcel’s passport and transfer papers to the airline and we boarded priority. Then on our stopover in Chicago we (I should say HE, ’cause I was a free woman, Marcel not) could not transfer gates alone, Marcel had to be escorted to the next flight. With about an hour stopover it was not very convenient that the flight attendants called the Chicago police instead of the airport’s immigration office…. We had to wait for this huge policeman and his partner to arrive and then realise he had nothing to do with this case, and then wait again for the immigration guys to show up and drive Marcel to our gate in a minivan while I had to run around in the terminal with all our hand luggage. Too bad, because I missed the movie worthy comment of the immigration guy: “now I’m not going to handcuff you and I’m keeping my gun where it is, hopefully you don’t do anything stupid.” Isn’t that super? At least he was living up to the american standard, the immigration guys in Honolulu had been way too nice and accomodating.
Do I need to precise I was relieved to read “Welcome to Canada” when we landed in Toronto and Marcel had gotten his passport back?
So we did finally make it to Ovalau Island. We arrived after dark and for some reason the few and weak street lights were not working, so we sort of felt our way to the hotel. We were staying at the Royal Hotel, Fiji’s oldest one. We were showed to our room and in the corridors and hallway we could already marvel at the colonial feeling of the place. Actually the whole town of Levuka has kept ist charm. It used to be Fiji’s capital city (before that a whaling town) and not much has changed since then. Walking through the town you feel like time has stood still; there is one main street with small shops and old house facades which have not changed in a century, on the few side streets are more colonial buildings, old schools and monasteries, imposing houses with long verandas in lush gardens. Need I precise: we loved it.
We spent our first day in Levuka walking around, getting acquainted with the town and admiring the views. Marcel also got a haircut at a local salon, and when the barber took an old razor out to nicely cut the hairs at the base of his neck he knew he had to get shaved too. The young indo-fijian took a new blade out and started to shave his beard just like you see in movies: elbow up, tighten the skin with one hand and scrape scrape with the other, then rinse and wipe the blade with a twist of the wrist. A once in a lifetime experience.
The following day I left Marcel to nurse his hurting back in the room while I went out diving with an australian couple and funny instructor Charlie who liked to pick on me as his victim-of-the-day. Sea-sickness was kept under control, dive’s highlights were soft corals, a turtle swimming closeby and a black tip reef shark having a snooze on the bottom. That evening we went to bed early in preparation for the next day’s early start (board the bust at 4h30, AM that is).
We made it back to Nadi where we had to sleep one night before going on the ferry taking us to the Yasawa islands. He this is Fiji, of course we were going to spend a few days at the beach lounging on a sunchair and taking a dip in the turquoise ocean! North west of the main island are a series of small and smaller islands where various resorts are located. The ferry leaves in the morning and makes the milk run up, dropping off and picking up people along the way. We had 4h30 to spend on the boat, which I snoozed away because I had tried to take a Gravol (pill against motion sickness; fazit: do not take when going diving). And then….we made it to a picture perfect small resort on a blue lagoon, and spent the next 5 days in bathing suit and barefoot. La vie est dure….
We have enough of travelling, but since we’re here we figured we’d give it a go and explore at least a fijian island or two. So yesterday morning (geez, it seems like it was a decade ago) we packed our bags and started our journey east to go to Levuka, the old capital of Fiji which is said to still have its colonial charm.
The journey in 6 easy to follow steps:
1. Taxi to the bus station.
No we will not pay you 8$, please start the meter.
2. Minibus from Nadi to Suva.
A couple dollars more expensive then the bus but faster because it doesn’t stop every 10 minutes. Starts when it’s full, waited only about 20 minutes.
No kidding it’s faster, the guy does give gas. And passes all other cars.
3. Looking for Patterson Brothers Shipping office in Suva.
Yes we are located at the western bus terminal, you can purchase your ticket there.
Followed a fijian who had decided to show us the way. Ha ha. He didn’t know the way.
Left him standing and found the office: closed. Oops, lady forgot to mention they close at 13h on Saturday.
4. Finding another bus to the boat landing.
Dedicated bus left already, without us. Man in bus terminal booth suggests getting local bus up to the boat, said bus is leaving NOW. Don’t think, hail the bus and hop on it.
Sit on the bus for 2 hours just above the diesel exhaust. Bus has no windows. Ye!
5. Wait for the boat.
24 hours.
See details below.
6. Get on ferry and make it to Levuka.
Hourra!
Details of number 5:
We knew we’d missed the boat and thought we’d been pretty gaga to get on that bus since we knew it really couldn’t make it on time and had started to discuss our options in the bus: find another bus back to Suva (another 2 hours of diesel fumes) to sleep there and come back another day (another 2 hours in diesel fumes) or try to make it to a village accomodation mentionned in our book close to the boat landing. Did I mention that according to the schedule we had there is no ferry on Sundays? This meant we could have 2 days to kill! Anyways….
We were dropped out of the bus on a street corner 500m from the pier, of course empty. We ran under pouring rain to the closest shelter possible: the Natovi Shopping Center. See picture. The Natovi Shopping Center is actually a small shop annexed to a 2 family house, and although we’ve seen a lot on this trip, I believe this was the shop with the most modest merchandise choice we have seen: some eggs, a few biscuit packets, about 10 instant noodle packages, the same quantity of 200ml oil bottles, some soft drinks. A young man was minding the shop, we asked him to confirm if our boat had left already: it had. We then asked if there was someone with a boat who could take us over: no, there wasn’t anyone. Was there a bus to go back to Suva: possibly it was too late, there were no more buses. Could we walk to the village accomodation close to there mentionned in our guidebook: no, it was too far away. Hmmm….our options were becoming scarser…. Suddenly another young man appeared and told us his dad had a minivan, we could call this number with our cell and give him the phone and he’d explain the situation. After a short conversation the young man said his dad was coming over, if we would follow him. We walked to the side of the building and were invited inside the house where a bunch of kids were watching a movie. We dropped our bags and sat with them on the leaves mat in front of the telly. About half an hour later the dad came in his van and we discussed our possibilities with him. Rain was still pouring and had made a stream closeby overflow, so he doubted he could drive us to the village accomodation, we wouldn’t make it across the stream there. He thought there was a boat going the next day despite our schedule, even called a family member to confirm. He could drive us to the previous small town for the night, but there wouldn’t be much to do there. Or he was offering us to stay with them, they would put us up for the night and we could save the hotel cost (his words, not mine). Sensing adventure, we decided to stay there for the night.
After the father had left to go back to work we finished watching the movie with all the neighbourhood kids. Then they all disappeared and we figured it was dinner time. The son cooked rice for us and we bought a bottle of oil and some eggs in the little shop, which we cooked on a portable stove in an extension in the back of the house, the equivalent of a back veranda for us I suppose. We ate at the kitchen table, happy to get solid food in our empty stomachs. We took our time chewing, but still, when we looked at the clock after dinner it was only 19h00. Oh yeah….
Having to wait around for a day with not much to do is never very exciting, but doing so in a stranger’s house seems to make time drag on even more. Well I got my book out and Marcel watched another DVD with the neighbourhood kids back from their dinner, and eventually it was time to sleep. They had given us their room, it seems they had enough beds elsewhere for them to sleep in. Please take a moment to realise this: we were perfect strangers there, those people invited us in their home, helped us cook food and even gave us their bed. How many of us would do such a thing?
In the morning we had breakfast and went for a walk along the road (average traffic: 1 car/half hour) and played Yatzee on a bench in the pier‘s waiting area. Eventually some people arrived, a whole family with many mamas and a papa and bags and bags of stuff like sacks of flour and margarine containers and bread and more food. We asked them where they were going….to Ovalau! Hourra! There WAS a boat leaving today! When we went back to the house they had some chicken soup for us, which was very good. OK, the skin and bones and stuff were not a hit but he, I’m pretty good at dissecting meat now.
We packed our bags and went back to the waiting area (such a nice term for a couple old wood benches under a corrugated iron roof) and looked forward to our departure. Waited a while. And then some more. The boat finally arrived only about 2 hours late, so we made it to the island only short after dark and early enough to get something to eat before bed.
We have enough of packing our bags in the morning, standing by the bus stop and not knowing where we will be putting them down at night.
We are saturated with new input, not much still causes a ‚wow yes let’s do it” reaction.
We’re going home.
On May 27th, after visiting Fiji and Hawaii, we will be landing in Toronto, Canada.
We will soften our fall by staying with my sister for a while, then we’ll head out to Quebec, where we plan to spend the summer.
Post-travel depression and regrets expected.
A group of locals attending a training on accomodation management stayed overnight at our hostel. And we met this lady who was getting organised to start welcoming visitors in her village. Happy as can be Ben, Marcel and I booked a trip to go hiking in the bush with Celia, we were going to be her first guests ever. At 8h00 on the agreed morning Celia and her niece Pascaline, 18, arrived at our hostel to pick us up. We threw our backpacks in and hopped on the back of the pickup truck for a 45 minutes ride on a forest road. We were dropped off in the last village accessible by vehicule and set out for the 2 ½ hour trek in the jungle up to Celia’s village. The path was nice enough, a few ups and downs but nothing too hard, except for the amount of mud…. In this forest the trees are quite high, so the sun rarely makes it down to the ground to dry the mud created by the daily rain. This means it was slippery, swampy, and we sometimes walked ankle deep in mud puddles. Good thing we had to cross a couple rivers, it took care of cleaning our boots a bit.
When we arrived at Celia’s village we were welcomed by her family (sister, brother-in-law and their three sons) and were offered juice (the best ever: grapefruit and passion fruit from their trees) fruits, salad and rice for lunch. Our stomachs full we went into our bamboo hut for a rest, lulled into sleep by the noise of the river flowing next to us. Later on they offered to take us to a waterfall, so we put our shoes back on (oh I forgot to say: they walked the whole time either barefeet or in thongs) and Pascaline and 2 of the young guys (the 3rd having stopped on the way to cut a bamboo) lead us down the river to a rock at the top of the river. We were told to please wait a bit, and the 2 young guys (17 and 15 years old) went in the thick bush with a machete to clear a path for us. They came back 10 minutes later and showed us the way down to a clear pool at the base of the fall where we jumped in the cool water. After a swim we climbed back up the newly made path (complete with a vine attached to a tree to help us up and down) back to the village, where the other family members were just finishing making a table out of the freshly cut bamboo.
For dinner we were served manioc patties, salad, bush cabbage, rice and fresh water prawns. Call me silly but I didn’t even know there were such things as fresh water prawns. And what a discovery! They were the best prawns I had ever eaten, much better then salt water prawns. We spent the evening talking by the fire in the bush kitchen (an open air space only covered by a roof, with a couple tables, some benches and a fire place to cook on). Celia told me that we were very special guests for her: her sister and brother-in-law were starting to complain and say that no white people would want to go to their place, etc. But then we arrived, and now they were already making plans to finish the 2nd and 3rd hut soon and believed this could work.
The next morning I asked if we could see their garden, where they showed us manioc plants, island cabbage, taro root plants, sweet potatoes, lots of banana trees, etc. After tasting sugar cane (you chew a piece of it to suck the sweet liquid out) we left with our lunch wrapped up in banana leaves (the Tupperware of the forest!) to go back for the Millenium Cave adventure.
This cave was supposedly discovered by a German TV crew in 2000, hence the name Millenium Cave. What the locals have made of it is a 3 hours adventure through river, jungle and bat inhabited cave: yahoo! And since Vanuatu is far off the beaten track, you may meet a couple other tourists along the way, but basically you have the place to yourself and the guide, which adds to the Indiana Jones feeling. We met our guide at a crossroads in the forest where Celia had agreed with the custom owners the previous day. From there we started down a muddy and slippery (sounds familiar) path, and stopped at a small clearing. to get our faces painted in mud color. The locals believe the spirits of their ancestors live in the cave, the painting when you first visit should protect you. After a while the path disappeared and we started going down towards the cave on wooden laders fixed to rocks or steep forest walls. Down and down, backwards on steep laders, until we reached the huge rocks marking the entrance to the cave. We turned our headlights on and started climbing down the river, up and through rocks, sometimes thigh high in water, through the cave. We couldn’t see them but we could smell the bats, having to put our hands in their droppings everywhere on the rocks we had to hold on to. Half an hour we went through the river in the cave, 3-6m wide and maybe 10m or more high. Then we reached the opening where the river drops into a wider one, and sat down on stones to admire the scenery. After a short stop to eat our lunch of boiled plantain bananas our guide distributed swim aids (kid sized inflatable rings) and we headed down the river. And for about an hour we alternated between drifting down on our pink and orange rings, climbing up and down escarpments and going through narrow passages through rocks and water. The whole time holding our dropping jaws in front of the so beautiful scenery: from the river we looked up the 30m high rocks carved by thousands of years of erosion surrounded by the most abundant vegetation we had ever seen. For the Quebecois: c’etait comme l’Amazone au Village des Sports mais en vrai et en 100 fois mieux).
The water being quite fresh we were not so sad to reach the end of the floating part, and climbed back up laders and steep hills to go back to the village. Another short hike brought us to our pick up point where we waited for our transport for a while. This gave us time to search our bag for ballons and distribute them to the local kids before going back to our hostel as wet and dirty but also happy as can be.
