We settled into the rhythm of island living for the next two days. I awoke the morning of Saturday the 19th to news from my daughters that a powerful rainstorm had swept through during the night. I must have been dead to the world because I never heard a thing. There was, however, evidence that the storm had paid a visit to our bure. The semi-outdoor vanity was wet, and everything sitting on it had received a thorough shower. Fortunately, the casualties were minimal, and nothing seemed worse for wear.
After breakfast, Bernadette and I decided to tackle the island’s one major hiking trail, aside from the coastal walks. We headed toward the far end of the island, passing the desalination operation and making our way through the more “industrial” side of the resort. After crossing a small stream, we picked up a well-formed trail that was easy enough to follow and climbed gradually uphill.
The hike began on a rocky, uneven path winding through scrubby brush. The footing was a mixture of bare rock and loose gravel, requiring quite a bit of my attention with every step. Along the way, we discovered some of the island’s behind-the-scenes operations, including a field of water-storage tanks for rainwater and the helicopter landing pad. Not exactly the tropical scenery one comes to Fiji for, but interesting nonetheless! There was a flicker of relief seeing the pad. Anyone who knows my talent for tripping and falling would understand. If I did take a tumble on this island , the idea of being evacuated by helicopter was far more comforting than a long bumpy boat ride over choppy waters. Thankfully I stayed upright.
The first couple of lookout points rewarded us with glimpses of the sea, and we soon discovered we weren’t the only ones enjoying the trail. A sure-footed caramel-colored island goat, sporting a rather impressive pair of long, curved horns, posed obligingly on the cliffside. At first I thought it was a statue standing perfectly still at the edge of the cliff. Then it moved and picked its way along the edge as if the drop-off were nothing. I was a tad envious at how sure-footed it was as it placed one hoof in front of the other given my own record of tripping.
Continuing upward toward Lookout Point III, we entered a shady tunnel of tall, slender trees. and before long, the forest opened up again onto a windswept, grassy summit, and the views made every step worthwhile. Spread out below us were the beaches of Drawaqa, lush green headlands, the surrounding islands, and an expanse of deep blue sea.
Up on the summit, however, the wind was something else entirely. It whipped across the ridge in steady, boisterous gusts, flattening the dry grass into rippling waves and transforming our hair into wild, untamable sculptures. Every step became a small battle against the elements. Bernadette’s wide-open-arms pose was only partly an expression of joy; it was also a rather practical way of trying to stay upright.
Once back down, it was snorkeling time. The next couple of days at the resort soon settled into a rather pleasant routine: a snorkeling outing, lunch, and then another snorkeling adventure in the afternoon. By now, I was no longer feeling anxious about getting into the water. The equipment was finally working well for me, although I wasn’t sure whether I was actually getting the hang of snorkeling again, whether the equipment was the real answer, or perhaps a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, I was thoroughly enjoying it.
The resort has three beaches to snorkel from, each with clear signs at the entrance showing where the reefs are and where to enter the water, one more sign of how seriously they take protecting them. Snorkeling is also timed to high tide to keep swimmers off the coral, so after breakfast each morning we checked the tides and planned the day around them. My favorite was Manta Beach, with a gorgeous reef dropping off into deep indigo water.
We were treated to an incredible variety of fish and coral, and the beauty of this underwater world was almost too much to take in. There was so much color, movement, and life that it was difficult to know where to look next. I found myself thinking, somewhat sadly, about how many people will never have the opportunity to experience this firsthand. They may see photographs or documentaries, but they will never know what it is like to slip beneath the surface and discover this extraordinary world for themselves. There is something quite remarkable about realizing that an entire universe of beauty and life exists just below the waterline, largely hidden from those of us who spend our lives above it.
The outing we were most excited about, on Sunday the 20th, was the boat trip to the manta ray feeding site in the channel between Drawaqa and Naviti islands. We were warned there are no guarantees, but the season runs from May to October (according to their brochure) and the rays usually show up daily. Because the current in the channel is swift, we were split into groups of six, each with a guide. We jumped off the boat, lined up behind the guide, and drifted down the channel, then climbed back aboard, motored up the channel, and repeated it three times. Since I’m not the fastest swimmer in a guided group, I hung onto the guide’s life ring and got towed along like a very happy piece of luggage. As my flat description may have tipped you off, we didn’t see a single manta. Still the outing was worthwhile if your in the market for a workout: all the contorting to hoist myself over the side of the boat and tumble back into the water, again and again, feeling like I was in a wrestling match with a boat. By the time I got back to Manta Island I was thoroughly chilled. I am glad I went, but the only photos of mantas I have are on the signs at Barefoot Manta. The reef was lovely but I still much preferred being back on the reef off Manta Beach, floating over that gorgeous reef — my happy place.
Fiji night with a sumptuous buffet and music and dancing was to begin around 6:30 on Saturday so to while away the time before the event we decided to do explore more of the volcanic rock ledges book-ending the three beaches along the islands shoreline. The rocks were a wonder in themselves. It seemed that every ledge we scrambled over was a landscape of swirls and bands with ribbons of cream, gray, pink, and rust spreading across the surface. Some were smoothed and polished by the waves and in others they were cracked into starbursts and tiles like a mosaic laid out by an artist or perhaps someone had created a jigsaw puzzle that was partially finished. Dark rough rock sat next to pale banded stone. I definitely wished that I had had a course in geology to better recognize all that I was seeing.
And thankfully I returned to the beach for sunset and was unscathed with all my limbs intact but my daughter Tasia wasn’t so lucky. She took a spectacular tumble on the rocks, proving she inherited my talent for falling and stumbling. She had a bruise on her behind the size of a mango that she could be showing off for weeks.
Yet again, sunset was spectacular … and then it was time to head to restaurant for the Fiji Night celebration. Meats cooked lovo-style, chicken curry, local fish cooked in a creamy coconut sauce, root vegetables, rice, salads, tropical fruit, breads, and a table laden with desserts. This meal presented for the first time an opportunity for desert buffs and sugar addicts to help themselves to as many servings as one could want of dessert.
After the buffet, the evening turned into a full-on celebration. Many of the resort’s staff gathered under the trees to sing and dance for us, with guitars and a ukulele. Several wore grass skirts and bright flower leis, and they sang with great joy. One of the dancers, with white paint on his cheeks and a rainbow lei across his chest, led the way and soon a conga line was snaking through the trees and across the sand, guests and staff alike with hand’s on each other’s shoulders. I clapped from the sidelines, enjoying the show, but Bernadette and Tasia delightedly joined in. Given my track record, keeping my feet planted on the sand felt like a smart move.
As the evening progressed we were invited to join in a kava ceremony. Sharing kava is how guests are welcomed in Fijian culture. We sat on woven mats around a big wooden bowl called the tanoa. A couple of men in grass skirts sat behind it , stirring it while another stood by with a dark coconut shell cup. Each person had an opportunity to receive a small amount from this cup and we were instructed on the ritual we would perform when it was our turn to partake. When it was my turn I said the hearty “bula, ” gave an enthusiastic cupped clap, drank up and followed it by three more cupped claps. If you are wondering, yes we all drank from the same cup.
The kava was a muddy, grayish-brown and is made from the pulverized kava root (which is a relative of black paper) and cool water and then stirred. It tasted earthy and a little peppery, like dirt that had been introduced to black pepper. It has the potential to be mildly psychoactive sedative-relaxant. But with just a small sip, I did not feel much except a very mild tingling of lips and tongue. One sip was plenty and I have now checked that off of my Fiji bucket list and won’t be putting it back on.
When we headed off for the night, the kava bowl was still the center of things. Guests and Fijians still sat shoulder to shoulder passing the coconut cup. I imagine the evening went on for quite a while with more songs and plenty of “bulas.”
