Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 12

So now, years after my Fiji trip, I realized I never posted this last chapter. Here it is.

Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 12

Sleep, Wonderful Sleep

Shortly after returning to firm ground, the sides of the canyon began to fall away, eventually giving way to sugar cane fields. We left the streambed and continued north by way of a dirt road that ran parallel to the water. The sun began to dip below the horizon and exhaustion started to set in. Full dark was upon us by the time the road crossed the river and we came upon our first sight of other people since leaving the hunters and stinking dogs behind. I had no energy left and told Jone so. I know it comes off as whining, but I said it matter-of-factly without that little annoying bit to a whining voice.

“I’m pretty spent, Jone,” I said, “Not sure how much more walking my legs can do. Do you know about how much farther it is?”

“I don’t know.”

I gestured in the dark to the house we were passing. The lights were on and a man and woman stood out front, watching us pass.

“We could ask them if we could stay here for the night. I’m sure they would say yes.”

Jone glanced at the house and the couple standing before it.

“No, not here. They’re Indians.” Jone’s statement is a good example of the general sentiment in Fiji. The Fijian population is made up by about and even 50/50 split between Fijians and Indo-Fijians. A long time ago, when the British were still trying to conquer the world, men and women were brought from India to Fiji to serve as servants and slaves. When this slavery ended, the Indians stayed on the big islands, but were unable to be landowners. Years and years have passed since then and racism lingers. Indians still aren’t permitted to own land or serve in government.

Not long after passing the Indian family, headlights appeared on the road behind us. I pickup truck drove up and Jone waved it down to ask for a ride. They spoke back and forth in Fijian for a few minutes before Jone turned to me.

“He said he will drive us, but for fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars?” I was astounded.

“Yes.”

“No way,” said Phil.

Jone spoke to the man briefly and he drove off, leaving us to push forward on tired legs. We walked through the darkness for another hour before a village came into view. The twenty or so small houses were in a circle with a church in the center. The buildings were all made of cement, and many had small shacks built behind them.

“This is it.” Jone led us into the ring of houses and began asking residents for the home of his cousin. In no time, we were standing before it and knocking on the door. A woman answered and smiled. She was the wife of Jone’s cousin. We were ushered inside. The home was made up a main room, which also held a bed and a small cooking area, and a bedroom.

"Please, sit.” She gestured to the couches and chairs in the main room. In looking back, it was a rude thing to do, but I sat on the floor in front of the couch. Through my exhausted daze, I heard her voice.

“You can sit on the couch.”

“Oh, that’s okay, this is fine.”

“No, please, sit on the couch.”

“I would love to,” I said, ”But I smell really horrible.” It had been two or three days since I had bathed in the river by Nasivicoso village, and I had spent the time from then hiking beneath the hot sun and, on occasion, in the company of dogs that smelled extraordinarily horrid.

She laughed.

“Would you like to shower, then?”

Phil, Kyle and I all chose to bathe. I ended up going last, but it turned out that I didn’t need to worry about the other two using up all the hot water; the shower was nothing more than a hose hung up inside the small shed built behind the house. The cold shower was refreshing and, as soon as I had dried off and put on cleaner clothes, I realized how hungry I was. The three of us set off to the village food shop to find dinner.

There wasn’t much to choose from: chips, cookies, ramen noodles, canned food, processed blocks of cheese and not much more. However, Kyle wasn’t discouraged. Apparently, he had made a dish before that consisted of ramen noodles, canned tuna, and cheese. He insisted that it tasted good. For some odd reason, we believed him and settled on that for dinner.

It was terrible.

Kyle cooked it back in the house in the corner of the main room that functioned as the kitchen. I assumed it was supposed to be thick and cheesy, but it came out as soupy ramen noodles with globs of disgusting, half melted cheese and chunks of luke warm tuna fish. But, there was nothing else to eat and I was hungry. I ate it.

Shortly afterwards our wonderful hostess took notice of our exhausted states and showed us to the common room in the village church. There were mattresses for us to use on the floor. I picked out the one that smelled the least mildew-y, laid it out on the floor, and was dead to the world as soon as I laid down. 

Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 13

The Return

  

Can't lie, not a whole lot goes into this chapter. We woke up, caught the bus back to Nadi, grabbed breakfast at a bakery, and were back at our base by lunchtime. Nothing too exciting.