Vanua Levu

We arrived in Fiji hot and tired - but in good shape, considering the many hours we've been on the road. After a long flight from LAX we landed in Nadi on the biggest island in Fiji, Viti Levu; then on a smaller plane flew to Vanua Levu, over the most incredible colors of water you can imagine - aquamarines, greens, robin's egg blue. We arrived at the airport outside Savusavu, the terminal of which is an open-sided shack, and poured ourselves into Joseph Singh's pickup truck with a canopy and benches in the back. It was a hot, dusty ten-mile drive to our house over a washboard dirt road. People working or just walking along wave at you and give you the broadest grin possible.

The true Fijians are incredible physical specimens. They're big people with great physiques and handsome faces. Most have ritual tattoos and every post-adolescent male carries a huge cane knife everywhere he goes. In years past they were the fiercest warriors in the South Pacific, and their main source of meat (other than fish) was the people they captured.

Their enemies should have smiled. When you first encounter these people they exhibit little expression. But as soon as you smile at them they break into the sincerest grin and shout Bula! (Hello!).

Our house on Vanua Levu, SigaSiga (pronounced SingaSinga), is a funky sort of a cabin-feeling house. By the local standards, the house is very big and ritzy. It is just perfect for us - 2 bedrooms, a toilet in one room and a shower/sink in another. The kitchen is fairly large and has propane fridge and stove. The porch goes across the front of the house and is wonderful for hanging out and catching the sea breeze. In the garden behind the house, strung between two breadfruit trees, is a very comfy hammock.

The caretaker, Chottu Prasad, is Hindi and a roguish-appearing fellow but kind as can be. His wife, Tara, is very sweet and doesn't speak much English but just loves us. They have two incredibly darling daughters, Geeda and Sunny, who help with the chores and speak better English (they are 19 and 21). They come by 2 or 3 times a day - sometimes to do things around the house, although we are learning how to do it ourselves (i.e., fire up the ancient diesel generator), and sometimes just to bring us food, or just to visit. They have so very little and always want to share it.

Last night, for example, they brought by boiled trochus snails (harvested from the reef out in front) for us to eat - they just rap the shells on the ground until the bodies fall out . . . sort of tasted like lobster, but darn chewy. An hour later, Geeda was back with a small dish of shrimp they had caught in the stream behind their house (which is only 300 yards away) which had been simmered in curry. The shrimp have very long front pinchers and not much meat, but they were delicious.

SigaSiga has been a copra plantation since colonial times (maybe 100 years or so), and still is, but only to the extent that Chottu and Tara do the collecting, opening, and drying of the coconut for petty cash. Whenever they get a couple hundred kilos dried they hire somebody to haul it to the copra mill in Savusavu, where it is pressed into coconut oil. The property is 120 acres in size with about a quarter mile of sandy beach. But for the 15-20 acres surrounding the house, much of the previously cultivated plantation is reverting to jungle. It's a beautiful piece of land with mango, papaya, lime, kumquat, breadfruit and avocado trees surrounding the house. One drawback of having so much fruit around is the constant screeching through the night from flying foxes (fruitbats) squabbling over turf and food. Other than farm animals (goats, chickens, ducks, cattle, dogs and cats) we, and Chottu's family, are the only ones staying here.

The reef in front of our house is very different from what we're used to. About a half-mile long, it drains out at low tide, leaving lots of shallow pools. Tyler has met some local kids and gone spearfishing for little fish in the bigger pools, much to his total delight. At low tide, one can walk straight across the reef for at least a quarter mile. In the pools are all kinds of little fishes, eels, cowries and cone shells, and lots of banded sea snakes - the venom of which is the most poisonous in the world. Fortunately, they've got small mouths and are quite passive. The best snorkeling is between a double reef, and amongst the reef sharks, which are curious but benign.

Tyler and Dan went spearfishing in the lagoon in front of the house with 4 fellows from Nukubalavu: Peter, Solo, Tom, and Joe (II). These guys are professional Spearfishermen, and they hunt every day of the year that the weather allows. Peter is the leader of the troop. These four guys are beautiful to look at, each with very distinct facial features, and incredibly lean, chiseled physiques. Tom and Peter are tattooed over their upper torsos with intricate geometric designs. The fish they catch first goes to feed their families, then the village, and any surplus is sold to a fish wholesaler in Savusavu. This day's catch was intended for an upcoming celebration.

We walked to the edge of the inner reef (water knee-deep) and then stepped off a vertical wall approx. 20 m. deep. Joe (II) pulled a boat (a halved commercial buoy) while the others hunted. Tom was rigged for big fish, trailing buoy and 20 m. of heavy line from his gun. He stayed to himself in the deeper water. Solo and Peter worked the coral faces as a team. When they'd spot a fish, one would go down first and apparently distract the fish, while the other diver would approach from another angle, sneaking up behind a coral head until one of them could get off a shot.

Their favorite targets were sweetlips and snapper. But for whitetip sharks circling along the very bottom of the lagoon, not many large fish were around this day. It was quite windy, and even inside the outer reef the sea was rough and the water was a bit chilly. Ty and Dan were not too uncomfortable, but the Fijians were obviously cold and shivering. Their catch consisted of several sweetlips (about 5 kg. ea.), a green parrot fish, and some large perchy-looking fish (later determined to be rabbit fish). Peter filleted the parrot fish and we broiled some for dinner, and used the rest for parrot fish-salad sandwiches the next day.

Shortly after our arrival at SigaSiga we had been invited to the Prasad's house for a religious feast. This was like our Christmas celebration, but they were celebrating the birth of Lord Krishna. This is the last day of a weeklong observance during which activities are restricted and no meat or fish is eaten; the most pious fast through the entire week.

When we arrived a prayer was underway during which six elder men were playing instruments (drums, 'tambourines', a small lap organ, and a long, bent steel bar against which another small, piece of 'U'-shaped piece of steel is jangled), and the whole congregation chanted and sang in Hindi. Now and again Chottu would blow on a horn made from a huge Triton's Helmet (seashell). The music is in the rhythm and the voices, and the scale is definitely not diatonic (maybe pentatonic?). The men not making music all sat in the back of the room, next the women, and children in the very front. The room was very close and dense with smells of people, food and incense. A plate with smoldering, fragrant oil was carried among the people by one of the elders, into which each person would place a coin and a blossom, and then dip fingertips into the hot oil and wipe it on forehead. Other brief rituals took place over the next hour, accompanied by singing, chanting, and readings by Chottu out of the Bhagavad Gita.

At the end of the religious ceremony a ritualized breaking of their fast took place during which each was given a small bowl of sweet tea, and another empty bowl into which on of the women would place a small bit of different kinds of foodstuff. After a bit, this ritual of nibbling somehow evolved into a general feast. Great quantities of various foods kept showing up. Some baked, some fried, some pickled vegetables, and all very spicy. The ensuing party continued until 3 a.m.

We've been invited to an entirely different celebration. Our taxi driver, Joseph Singh, whom we met the first day, asked us to come to a lovo in celebration of the first birthday of his son, Pulani (first birthdays are very special because, especially in times past, many babies did not survive long enough to reach it. A first birthday lovo is very much a celebration of life).

Joe and his family live in a village (Nukubalavu) that seems to be comprised of a curious collection of peoples who don't fit elsewhere into the local demographic scheme. (One gets the feeling that people in Fiji are incredibly racially conscious - even to the point of having definite opinions as to what percentage a given individual is of what racial mix.) Joe is actually Fijian and Indian, which is a very unusual combination since supposedly these two groups typically don't intermarry.

In any given small village people are usually of the same ethnic group and of the same faith (Methodist, Catholic, Seventh-Day-Adventist, Pentecostal, or Hindu). Nukubalavu is different in that, besides Fijians and Hindus, most of the people are immigrants from diverse island groups (Gilberts, Carolines, Solomons, Marquesas). However, they are all Pentecosts, even the Indians. The village is also anomalous in that it is dry (no alcohol, or kava) and drug-free. This is very much thanks to Joe's tutelage. He is the pastor of the village church, which is socially the focal point of the village.

Peter took us for a walk along the beach and then showed us around the village, where all the women were merrily doing the cooking for the big feast.

Nukubalavu is a little bit grungy, and but for location, the village itself is not real pretty. The warmth of the people makes up for it.

The church (single room, unfinished, open-trussed, 25'x 80') is new and spotlessly clean. It doubles as a school for the kids. The Feast was set out on the floor of the church in a 'T' shape. After Joe gave the blessing, and we sang many verses of Happy Birthday including ones with religious messages, we dug into the food.

Much of the food had been cooked in the lovo pit, and consisted of: pork, lamb, chicken, taro and cassava root, eggplant, beans, etc., pulsami (steamed taro leaves with coconut milk and corned beef), bigeye tuna, raw waloo (spanish mackerel) in sweetened coconut milk, and various reef fishes . . . and birthday cake. The birthday kids were at the head of the T, dressed in their best and wore all sorts of flowers and finery (including the birthday bracelets Kaaren had made for them). Throughout the meal, in the background, young men and women sweetly sang hymns and traditional Fijian songs.

Chottu's brother Hari came by and asked us to go fishing out on the reef with him and his son, Emment. Emment speared a moray eel for bait while we were walking the half mile or so out to the edge of the reef. We fished using heavy handlines coiled onto large plastic spools. Wind and waves very heavy. Caught nothing but one small wrasse.

In the afternoon Joe Singh stopped by and Tyler showed him the laptop and some of what it could do. The ever-exuberant Joe seemed quiet and wistful afterwards. We should be circumspect with showing off of our hi-tek gimmickry.

Today Tyler went to the Hindi school with the Chottu's cousin, Neigel. T. stood up in front of the class and talked about himself and where he lives. Tyler participated in drills and acquired a reputation as a 'brainbox'. Neigel came back to SigaSiga with Tyler after school and had dinner with us or tried to, he couldn't quite manage the spaghetti Kaaren prepared. They eat curry for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

After we ate, Geeda and Sunny came over and played like schoolchildren (even though they are 19 and 21, they giggle and carry on) with Tyler and Neigel. These girls are very pretty and Tyler's fairly smitten with them.

Ty spent the afternoon spearfishing with his newfound friend, Munof, a 16-year-old who lives up the road from Sigasiga. Munof's home is little more than a shack on the water's edge. He's a very good-looking boy, speaks excellent English so softly that he's hard to hear; and it appears that he's content passing his days doing little else but fishing on the reef.

Dan fished the drop-off between the inner and outer reefs, using fillets of small grouper that Munof had speared for bait. He hooked several fish, only to immediately lose them by getting tangled in the coral heads. It's real fishy water, but it's going to take time and experience to learn how to fish it effectively; should have brought along bigger gear and surface plugs for giant trevally.

Ty and Dan got up at 0100 to go on a lobster hunt along the outer reef. It was pretty spooky because the wind was blowing so hard, and the night was so black. The tide never did get as low as it should have and we didn't really have any business being out there in such lousy conditions. The water was wind-rippled so that there wasn't much chance of seeing any crayfish; sky was totally overcast, and with no lights on shore, navigating our way the half mile or so along the reef back to Sigasiga was uncomfortable. The only memorable critter was an orange octopus that Tyler found.

The entire Prasad family came over to share dinner and to teach Kaaren how to make curry dishes and roti, the latter a bread much like lefse except it is made with only flour and water and a tiny bit of butter as it is kneaded. It is a staple here. The Indian Fijians use it as their basic eating utensil. We cooked up a storm of mutton curry - just about the only meat you find here - and also duck curry. This dish was very atypical and happened only because their duck had gotten in a fight with a rooster and had lost. It was mortally wounded, so Neigel cut off its head; they plucked it and Geeda asked us to put it in the freezer until they could eat it (they can't eat meat on certain days prior to religious rituals). Anyway, duck curry it was - pretty tough duck at that - and chutney and eggplant/green bean curry. We were stuffed to the gills - except for Tyler, who tries to eat this, but it is hot, hot, spicey-hot!

Went over to Prasad's for a dinner of BBQ'd mutton - eaten outside on a mat with bowls of tapioca root, and beer. Many relatives were there and Tyler played with the kids using a litestick we had brought from home. Dan sat around with the menfolk and drank kava, a mildly narcotic and alcoholic brew made from the dried roots of a plant from the pepper family. There's a lot of ceremony involved with partaking of this watery, moldy-, and woody-tasting stuff. The men all sit in circle around a big carved wooden bowl filled with this grey fluid, and everybody drinks out of the same halved coconut shell. Somebody passes you the filled cup, and you clap once before taking it, drink it all down at once, and when you finish everybody else claps three times. This keeps up for hours, with progressive mellowing by all. Most of the men in Fiji are addicted to this brew and drink quantities of it every evening. I don't get it. Dan quit after half a dozen cups, or so, and all he noted was his mouth getting numb. He did seem in an awfully good mood, though.

We went for a night snorkel at Jean-Michel Cousteau's (son of Jacques) with Resort Manager Ben and Marine Biologist Melissa. Met Stan Waterman of 'Blue Water, White Death' fame. We saw 3 different kinds of lionfish, banded shrimp, and best of all, an 8 foot long leopard shark... it was quite interested in our lights and hung around for several minutes. Even Melissa was excited. (Later, Tyler approached Stan Waterman to ask what kind of shark he thought it was, the old expert confirmed that it was a leopard and that we were very lucky to see it. Ty was pretty impressed.) We showered outside (brrr) and dressed in the back of the dive shop. We looked fairly respectable (all things considered) and had a nice dinner at the resort - fish, of course, for the boys and curry for K. Joe picked us up; it was late and he was worn out, so he asked Dan to drive the taxi home to SigaSiga while he slept in the back.

Joe and 3 of his villagers took us up north to the village of Nuvuboku, (about 60 bumpy, dusty miles in the back of a pickup truck) where Peter grew up. He's the de facto leader of the spearfishing troop and in spite of his wholly Fijian appearance, his name is Peter Pickering. In fact, all 40+ members of his village are named Pickering . . . attributable to an English sailor in the last century. One of Peter's cousins had just caught a Giant Trevelly, a powerful fish known as Ulua in Hawaii and one that we've been chasing for years.

The day was hot and still and we sat under a mango tree while Peter opened drinking coconuts for us and we ate the tender meat...soft and milky. We then climbed into a large dinghy (built by Peter's father) and motored out to a tiny island. While we snorkeled, Peter and the boys spearfished for our lunch and Joe snoozed (using a coconut for a pillow). The catch of the day (parrotfish, rabbitfish, and trevally) was cooked directly on the fire and Joe set a "table" of pandanus leaves; then he opened dried coconuts, scraped the meat out and used the shells for bowls into which we squeezed juice from tiny limes growing on the island. They had brought pieces of taro and cassava and with the coconut meat, our lunch was complete.

Note on rabbitfish: natives call the fish 'Happy Moment', because dorsal spines contain hallucinogenic substance that makes one giddily whacko if you get stuck.

When the tide went out, the guys grabbed a huge net and we all walked to the edge of the reef where we set it out in the shallows and tried to scare fish into the middle. We were too late on the tide and only caught Pufferfish, which puffed up to the size of a grapefruit outside of the water. Tyler thought that was pretty cool.

Peter and Joe took Dan and Kaaren across the bay to a mangrove forest to hunt mangrove crabs. To penetrate the forest you have to climb along the huge roots of the mangrove trees. It was a hot, buggy, steamy place; quiet but for strange, gurgly fish noises emanating from the black and stinking mud . . . a pretty spooky place. And for all that, no crabs!

07 September 97

Departure day to Taveuni. Muhammad Hussein took us to the airport at noon. Sad to leave Sigasiga and the Prasads. The boys from Nukubalavu came to the airport to say goodbye. They've been very special to us and we hope to see them again.

Taveuni Island . . .

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