The last day was as interesting as the title suggests. Phil and I caught a bus from Tavua to Ba yesterday, intending to head to the village of Navala. Navala is the only village left in Fiji that still sticks mostly to the traditional thatch hut for living quarters. During the bus ride there, I put on my headphones and listened to my mp3 player. I listened to about two songs until it hit me that I was basically flaunting with the villagers did not have. From that point on, I listened to loud indian music and watched the sights. The ride took us further into the interior of the island and into the mountainous regions. It was incredibly beautiful. Even more cliffs and mountains than before.
Towards the end of the ride to the village, people began to get on the bus with all their locally grown produce and goods to bring to the market to sell. During this time, a woman got on the bus carrying a machete, sat down next to me and said "Bula!" (hello). We shook hands and this was normal. I don't think it would have been taken in stride if someone boarded a bus with a machete in the states.
We arrived at the village, then took a truck to the hostel where we were staying. It was a nice, small place. We all had tea, then hiked back to the village. Walking through the village for me felt awkward. This was a place where people have been living in huts since long before tourists started showing up. We were walking through where they lived. I stopped taking pictures after the first few minutes. After walking through the village with our guide, we walked up a hill to see it from above. It was very nice. About 600 people live in the village, so there are a lot of huts.
We got back to the hostel for some kava and dinner. Kava is a root that people grind up and soak in water. They then drink the brew. It is supposedly a mild narcotic, but this was very watered down. I think it was supposed to be thicker. There is a small ceremony involved, with everyone sitting around a big bowl. Compare this to a bunch of guys in america sitting around chatting over beers. Same thing. Dinner was good, some traditional food. I went to bed shortly after.
The next day we ate an early dinner and left around 7:30 to catch the bus back. By 9:00, the bus had still yet to arrive. It was around this point that our guide told us that it was a holiday and the bus may not run. Phil and I decided to wait for a truck and grab a ride back to Ba. By 10:30, there had been no trucks. During this time, some local kids hung out with us on the side of the dirt road. Apparently, in villages in the Fijian highlands, kids really do not have personal boundaries like we do. One said he was my friend, sat directly next to me, and leaned up against me. I slid over a little bit. The kids also seemed very interested in my bracelets and played with them a lot. Two young boys, probably brothers, spontaneously started singing their favorite church songs for Phil and I. It was very cute.
Our guide had walked away for about an hour or so and, when he came back, we just asked him if he could drive us to Ba. He said yes, for 25 dollars. When went back to his mom's house to get gas. He filled up, then promptly disappeared. "Tui, he lost." The mother said to us, after raising the price to 35 dollars. We heard a truck coming up the road and Phil raced out to wave it down. It was the police. We asked for a ride and they agreed, refusing to accept payment. We rode in the bed of the truck. If this wasn't odd enough, they stopped after a few minutes and got out. Bathroom break. They all walked to the side of the road and peed in the bushes. Coming from america, I viewed this as all being quite strange. It was, however, a good story.
Towards the end of the ride to the village, people began to get on the bus with all their locally grown produce and goods to bring to the market to sell. During this time, a woman got on the bus carrying a machete, sat down next to me and said "Bula!" (hello). We shook hands and this was normal. I don't think it would have been taken in stride if someone boarded a bus with a machete in the states.
We arrived at the village, then took a truck to the hostel where we were staying. It was a nice, small place. We all had tea, then hiked back to the village. Walking through the village for me felt awkward. This was a place where people have been living in huts since long before tourists started showing up. We were walking through where they lived. I stopped taking pictures after the first few minutes. After walking through the village with our guide, we walked up a hill to see it from above. It was very nice. About 600 people live in the village, so there are a lot of huts.
We got back to the hostel for some kava and dinner. Kava is a root that people grind up and soak in water. They then drink the brew. It is supposedly a mild narcotic, but this was very watered down. I think it was supposed to be thicker. There is a small ceremony involved, with everyone sitting around a big bowl. Compare this to a bunch of guys in america sitting around chatting over beers. Same thing. Dinner was good, some traditional food. I went to bed shortly after.
The next day we ate an early dinner and left around 7:30 to catch the bus back. By 9:00, the bus had still yet to arrive. It was around this point that our guide told us that it was a holiday and the bus may not run. Phil and I decided to wait for a truck and grab a ride back to Ba. By 10:30, there had been no trucks. During this time, some local kids hung out with us on the side of the dirt road. Apparently, in villages in the Fijian highlands, kids really do not have personal boundaries like we do. One said he was my friend, sat directly next to me, and leaned up against me. I slid over a little bit. The kids also seemed very interested in my bracelets and played with them a lot. Two young boys, probably brothers, spontaneously started singing their favorite church songs for Phil and I. It was very cute.
Our guide had walked away for about an hour or so and, when he came back, we just asked him if he could drive us to Ba. He said yes, for 25 dollars. When went back to his mom's house to get gas. He filled up, then promptly disappeared. "Tui, he lost." The mother said to us, after raising the price to 35 dollars. We heard a truck coming up the road and Phil raced out to wave it down. It was the police. We asked for a ride and they agreed, refusing to accept payment. We rode in the bed of the truck. If this wasn't odd enough, they stopped after a few minutes and got out. Bathroom break. They all walked to the side of the road and peed in the bushes. Coming from america, I viewed this as all being quite strange. It was, however, a good story.
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