We have returned to air-conditioned accommodations after one lovely, long week spent sweating and swatting and then sweating from the swatting before realizing that the tide was high enough to allow complete submersion just inches above a remarkable coral reef. We stayed at a place called Octopus Resort, on Waya Island in the Yasawa island chain just north and west of the main island in Fiji. It was okay. I mean, no one should complain about crystal clear waters lapping on a white sand beach lined with palm trees supporting hammocks and me as I swing lazily counting the hermit crabs scrambling under me. No one should. What could prompt complaint?
For the last seven days, we only did the following: awake to a chirping bird and gurgling ocean on the shallow reef; do yoga or sleep a little more or wander for coffee or a combination of all three; grab two lounge chairs and pull them under a thatched umbrella; read and sleep and swim and sleep until lunch; wander to lunch; return to the lounge chairs; swim but not until lunch was digested and snoozes had been had; swim again and snorkel; lounge; watch the sunset; wander to dinner and eat; wander to lounge chairs to make wishes on shooting stars; find the bure in the dark; pull down the mosquito net and snooze, listening to the waves and the hiccup of our geckos.
Some may hope to hear about the interesting cultural phenomena of Fiji. That's just too bad because we didn't ask any questions or wander to any villages. The best I can do is tell you that bula means hello and bure means cabin and naka means thank you and Fiji may just be one of the friendliest places on earth. In line at the ATM this afternoon, for example, the woman in front of me said "Bula!" when I joined the line. Then, the man behind me said "Bula!" when he joined the line. So, happy to hear so much happy bula, I said "Bula!" too. And we all got our cash and went happily on our way.
For anyone looking for a resort in Fiji, be advised that Octopus has some pretty dull European staffers that will tell you all about the trials and tribulations of running a resort before they will ever stop to ask you how you might be doing. Maybe that's because they know, this person is fine; this person is doing nothing more than sitting on that lounge over there, racing hermit crabs and applauding the sunsets; maybe this person wants to hear about running this place. Well. I believe I much prefer to sit in the hammock than string it together. The Fijian staffers, on the other hand, are absolutely, amazingly, superbly hospitable and wonderful and beautiful. It is only a shame that they can't stage a friendly uprising to boot out the others.
