Where Is The Fat?

May 2006

Ahoy and a rousting “Bula Bula!”

We’ve been in Suva, Fiji, for a week now.

We’d heard it was a horrible place filled with nasty officials and unfriendly people but we’re having an absolute ball. Everyone has been wonderful to us... super friendly... and there are hardily any other boats here... because everyone thinks (oh, those naughty ‘misinformation nets’ on the SSB!) it isn’t nice. (The irony: the island of Savu Savu where all the boats went to get away from the ‘too official officials of Suva’ now suddenly has corrupt, over-bearing, in-your-face officials!!!)

We’re anchored off the Royal Suva Yacht Club. Picture the sort of Colonial yacht club Princess Margaret might have cavorted about the spacious lawn as a six year old child... fast-forward 50 years or so (without dusting or changing a single thing) and there you have it... the delightfully dilapidated ROYAL Suva Yacht Club... whose host/commodore freely admits... “Well, our standards have sort-of-dropped, I guess.”

...I found the commodore a delightful, red-nosed fellow and ran into him hourly at the club house bar while we reprovisioned, refueled, took on water, etc.

“If you need ANYTHING,” he’d shout, waving his drink at me, “Just ask.”

“...and where will you be,” I queried, just in case I wanted to take him up on it.

“Either at the bar or under it,” he hiccupped in honest response.

Ah, yes, I love the Former Colonies of the Pacific Rim—— and the low-life, gin-soaked, scuzzy riff-raff they attract!

Suva is the capitol of Fiji, and home to more than 100,000 Fijians. Two days after we arrived they announced the winner of their elections... and were EXTREMELY proud that they didn’t burn down and loot the entire island... like they did last time. (The nearby Solomons did exactly that, only last month!)
Anyway, everyone is VERY friendly... especially the pick-pockets. Why, Carolyn slapped me twice before realizing that those weren’t my hands roaming around in her jeans!

Of course, we were on a mission: to find the perfect cannibal fork. Fiji is, of course, the best (and, well, only) place to find such a rare Melanesian/Polynesian artifact.

The priests here were rather fastidious and didn’t like to eat human flesh with their bare hands... so they had special forks for the purpose.

The other layfolk weren’t as dainty. They ate ‘long pig’ with their bare hands... in front of other not-too-happy, get-in-slaughter-house-line captives... who were, for sport, occasionally ‘sexually humiliated’ by the Fijian woman folk during dinner... and, worst case, occasionally forced to eat their OWN hacked-off body parts as they slowly expired...

Needless to say, this discouraged tourism (and even bare-boating!) in the early days.

...and, I must admit, the local tourist bureau STILL doesn’t play up this part of their ‘rich cultural heritage’ too much.

...and it IS disconcerting to be talking with an elderly Fijian and hear him say, “...my grandfather liked Westerners.” Or, “...we had the whole family for dinner,” or “Both the skipper and his mate were good!”

The first Christian missionary here was a young, earnest, 25 year old Jesus-freak named Henry. “Excellent fellow,” was the general agreement... after they ate him AND his boots. (Only the soles of his blood-stained footgear survived... tacked forlornly inside a dusty display case at the sleepy National Museum).

Yes, I like it here. I mean, every time a local does something short of actually eating us, Carolyn says, truthfully, “...it could have been worse... a LOT worse!”

The Fijians are family-oriented and respect their elders. Example: the brains of a brave warrior killed in battle went to the witch doctors and holy men while the fingers and toes were tossed to the children to gnaw on. (“How sweet,” Carolyn mused when informed of the above).

Seriously, people here are super friendly. They immediately stop and want to talk... I guess in the early days... nutritional necessity curtailed such casual social intercourse...

...anyway, we’re really, really enjoying being here in warm friendly Fiji after escaping the chilly, gale-swept waters of New Zealand.

...and we found the perfect cannibal fork in Fiji... which is now proudly displayed on Wild Card’s main bulkhead in a place of high honor right next to the Tongan war club!

Our biggest remaining problem is buying and storing all the kava we need to bring. Each time we stop in Fiji we have to go ashore and immediately find the village chief... who quickly rounds up the all the local drug addicts... and everyone (well, males, anyway) gets high together... ‘sort of like Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s,” as Carolyn put it.

Well, yes.

If you anchor and don’t give (‘Seva, seva!’) the villagers drugs or refused to partake... it is considered EXTREMELY impolite. “Hey, it is FAR better to be drank WITH than eaten FROM,” points out the ever-reasonable Carolyn.

True.

Well, that’s about it from here. We leave on Monday for the outer islands... over 300 of them, which vary from stone-age primitive to fancy ‘flashpacker’ resorts. (We will, of course, attempt to avoid those villages sporting large, still-simmering, iron pots of boiling water...)

Temperature-wise, it is heaven here. We’re finally warm once again. We sleep naked, with open hatches, and wind scoops deployed. (Also, infrared cockpit squawkers!) The water is warm enough to swim in... but, hopefully, too cold to spawn a hurricane. (One just leveled part of the Phillippines and is currently headed for China... oophs, it just wiped out dozens of coast villages in Viet Nam).

Things are cheap here. The veggies in the market are amazing... we’ve found our beloved ‘lumpy lemons’ once again (they last forever, even in the tropics). Carolyn can barely carry $5 bucks worth of veggies back to the boat. A small national flag is $1US. Dinner at the most popular restaurant in town is $3US. A pitcher of good beer is $2.00... and, of course, kava is practically free!

We’re doing great. I write every morning for four hours, then ‘romance’ Carolyn all afternoon. If any time is left over, we snorkel, sunbath and/or play guitar. Napping is big. Reading is a tad active... although we’ve been known the read a book or two a day for weeks-on-end. Occasionally we get emails from the ‘real world’ of commerce. If I double-click on the email... and money doesn’t pour out, I delete it.

Yes, life is good.

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