Taveuni, Fiji—Garden Island.

August 10, 2010

Bus drive along Vanua Levu’s Hibiscus coast; Ferry ride to Taveuni; Looking back in time; Living in Paradise; Flower arrangements; Massages; Tavoro waterfalls; Home grown music and goodbye song-There’s a Light; Images that I’ll take away.

Taveuni, Fiji—Garden Island.

The heavens have torn open. Torrential rain pours down relentlessly, incessantly. Water is all around me—falling from the skies in sheets and moving under me. Now the wind begins to howl, and the boat rocks gently to and fro. I light a candle. Mediterranean Fig. The waxy fragrance is deep, sweet, and fruity. This takes me back to Taveuni, Fiji, The Garden Island-- long after my visit--and I draw from the sound and scent and motion for words to describe. I am warm inside. And write from the Land of the Long White Cloud—New Zealand, drawing at the strings of memory.

Bus drive along Vanua Levu’s Hibiscus coast

It is 7:00 AM in the small town of Savusavu’s bus terminal. There is the Taveuni bus! We board it bound for the beautiful journey along Vanua Levu’s Hibiscus Highway. The road winds south east along the coast to a ferry landing. Here, we are to take the ferry across the Somosomo Strait east to—I believe—Somosomo on the northwest side of the island of Taveuni. Memory fades. All in all this is about a 4-hr journey.

The bus is about to leave, but Russ pushes the envelope as usual and runs to the small bakery to snag a coconut roll. I ask the driver to wait a minute. He starts pulling out, and just in time Russ gets back on. Some day he will miss the ride!

The driver pulls out into Savusavu traffic, makes a right up the hill, and curves around the point until we see the sea. We go east along the narrow, winding road. We are going to visit Russ’ Bellevue, Washington high school friend, Bob Goddess.

“What is Bob Goddess like?” I ask Russ. “You’ll see.” Russ responds--non-committal as usual.

I muse. Anyone who is a high school friend of Russ’ must be a combination of: anti-authority, liberal, gets into silly trouble, likes girls, not too disciplined in school, well read, intelligent, fearless, frivolous, knows it all, and takes on the world like a bite of an apple. I take this image with me
on the journey, unwrapped.

The bus stops and goes. Stops and goes along the bumpy road, picking up people and letting them off. All along there are peek-a-boo views of the turquoise-blue sea with white waves breaking on the reefs. Palms--windblown in curves—leaning gently. The ubiquitous Hibiscus flowers grace the gardens of the odd resort or picturesque homes painted in blues or pinks. Tropical lianas creep profusely. The sky is baby blue. It is a picture of a Fijian day moving by.

The bus stops again. A young boy in school uniform boards carrying a tiny baby under the arm pits like a bag of corn, little legs dangling in pink leggings, a gooey smile on her face. Chocolate brown eyes gleam bright as buttons.

We move back out on the road. Not far down, the bus stops again. The school boy hands the baby out the bus door to a smiling young woman—arms outstretched.

The bus starts out again. Chug-a-lug and a burst of exhaust fumes, then stops again. A young mother at the side of the road, with a small toddler hanging on her leg, passes a Tupperware of lunch to a passenger at the window. The young woman gets up and walks down the aisle to hand the Tupperware to a school girl. This is networking at its best. Always the people smile and laugh. They smile when they give and smile when they take. They are gentle, quiet spoken, underplayed, trusting.

I lean back and turn my head toward the coast. Always the sea calls and I reach out toward it—smelling the now tame Koro Sea. This time I drink in the perspective from land. I am moving along on wheels through tropical greenery. I smell the land. It is pungent and dank. It has a grounding effect on me. And I am lulled into relaxation as paradise passes by.

The bus slows down. Another is on the side of the road with a flat tire. What else is new in Fiji? All the passengers line the side of the narrow road. Patient. Another bus has reversed up, and the passengers look relieved as they begin to board. We ease by.

Not soon enough we stop at one of the many makeshift food stalls. They usually sell samosas, cake, orange juice that has been decantered into plastic bottles of various forms and sizes. Russ jumps off to get a piece of cake. “Can you get me a samosa?” I call to him out the window. In he gets as the bus rolls to a start, samosa in hand.

It is an Indian savoury about two inches-by-two, wrapped fried dough—like a small present-- with a filling of mostly potatoes and a trace of tuna. A bit greasy and I feel it is in free-fall down my gullet straight to the ankles. That should suffice.

Slow down—there is the bus that picked up the passengers who had disembarked from the first bus because of a flat tire. It now has a flat tire! The passengers are lined up again on the side of the road. Stop! They have to pile onto our bus this time. Pack them in. There aren’t any signs of frustration. Everyone smiles as they squeeze into standing room with boxes and bags. It’s all in the day’s ride. And not too soon we stop again and let them off at some small village.

Ferry ride to Taveuni

We’ve arrived at the Buca Bay ferry landing! The ferry approaches. It looks like a toy boat on the glistening waters. The sun shines in all its glory and slowly the people board. Again I am on the waters, headed for Taveuni, which is east of Savusavu and west of the Nanuku Passage, the main approach to Fiji if coming from the north.


The Taveuni bus has arrived at the Ferry landing in one piece.


This ferry is pulling in to Buca Bay. It looks like a toy boat on the glistening waters.

People choose their seats. One B-type personality Fijian takes up a whole bench and lies down—head on a pillow of crossed arms comfortably propped up by soft red luggage--to watch the action American movie. Nobody seems to mind as they take their places on the side seats. The ceiling is low and Russ crouches in, looking askance at the TV screen. He does not sit down before doing a thorough inspection, then finds a place outside on the deck
of the bow.


Passengers find their seats. One commandeers a whole bench as he stretches out to watch an action movie. Russ crouches below the low ceiling, look askance at the screen.

The Indo-Fijian lady collects tickets, then sits down right in front of the TV screen. She falls asleep and her head lolls back and forth in a jerking motion across the screen area, as if on a long elastic band.

I sit next to a Fijian man, who sports mirrored sunglasses to give that dashing look. It is the first Fijian I have met who has a somewhat disgruntled expression.

“She owns this boat and does not care that the passengers who pay the fare can’t see the show, because she sits in front of the TV and sleeps.”

I had to laugh. I told him I would take a picture of her so she can see herself blocking everyone’s view. Then I took a picture of him too.

“Do you have a sister?” He asked after awhile.

“I laughed, and answered yes. But that she was in Africa.” That stumped him and no further inquiries were made.

I think he was looking for a long ferry ride right completely out of the country. Smile.

Then we laughed some more. And the little toy boat—skippered by the mildest mannered man—made her way through the myriad of reefs and crystal clear waters. I leaned out of the window, across the narrowest of decks and gazed down, holding my breath at the shallow waters and reefs below. Not too long and we eased into deep water. I sat down, sunshine on my shoulders and a light breeze through my hair to drink in the rest of the journey. No sooner and we arrive at Taveuni.


This Fijian passenger was somewhat frustrated by the owner of the ferry who fell asleep in front of the TV, obstructing his view of the action movie.


The mild-mannered skipper guided us through the myriad of reefs in crystal
clear waters.

Looking back in time

“Where is Bob?” I asked Russ. “I don’t know.” Russ said unconcerned.

“Who are you waiting for?” The skipper of the boat asked after everyone had left. “Bob Goddess.” I said.

“I know who he is.” I live up that road. You can go and wait there if you like in the shade.

“There he is.” Russ said with a smile.

Bob parked his car and sauntered over with a big smile, very much at ease with himself. He was tall and--like red wine—full bodied with silver mustache and trimmed beard, and short side hair that engaged a thin plaited pony tail. He wore a carved pendant of a fish.

He cut an image of a world diving consultant that he was—for 37 years and in 54 countries, but also he could have joined Johnny Depp’s ship in Pirates of the Caribbean. All that was missing was the parrot on his shoulder.

Barely the handshake over, and the chaps started talking as if no time had elapsed since their escapades of Bellevue, Washington days. So for the rest of the visit, the home boyz talked on and I took to being an onlooker.


I merged a photo I took of Bob in Taveuni, Fiji (left) with a portrait done of
him years back in New Orleans, USA (right). Looking back to the
future—pirate days personified.

Living in paradise

We drove up to Bob and Tamy’s home—between Naselesele Point and Matei Point-- on the Northeast side of the island. Tamy, Bob’s partner, came up and gave me a welcome smile and kiss. Her manner is understated and intuitive.

We were about to experience living in paradise for three days. The sign said welcome to Marau Vale, which translates to Happy House. Their home epitomizes the South Pacific with a huge dolphin sculpture and tropical flower arrangements to welcome us; walls of tapa cloth, masks, shells necklaces and so many more pieces of art from visits afar.

They usually travel overseas for three or so months during the Fijian cyclone season. Try going to Antarctica on a 26-day cruise? Would I stow away? Affirmative! I’m still reading the book he leant Russ: The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. Antarctic 1919 to 1913. It chills the bones.

“It is hard for us to decide where to go, because we have been everywhere.” Bob says with a mischievous smile on his face. Such a hard life they have!

We walk through to the huge verandah that looks out over a manicured garden with sculptures made from overturned fern roots adorned with shell necklaces; show stopper Hibiscus, Daisies, and varied-coloured greenery, Date palms and other palms leaning over toward the azure sea. A yellow sand beach below with a ‘tinny’ (dinghy ) beckons as it bobs at a mooring. The islands of Rabi are silhouetted in the distance.

Swim time; shower outside time with a pebble rock wall shoulder high to allow for a ceiling of sun and sky and trees; croquet; sundowners of iced pinja colados under the thatched ‘lapa’ (African name in lieu of not knowing the Fijian name); dinner of steaks, sautéed onions, mashed potatoes and spinach fettuccine for veggie me.

The cherry on the top was Tamy getting the telescope out and zooming in on Saturn’s rings. That moment was golden for me--a trip into the galaxy from ground zero paradise. What a gift to share.

All of this was a starter with never-ending stories of “remember when.” What more could we have asked for from gracious hosts.


The front of Bob and Tamy’s home they call Marau Vale, Happy House. It is
on the Northeast side of Taveuni Island, Fiji and overlooks the azure sea.
The rock wall to the left encloses an outside hot and coldwater shower.


This dolphin greets you as you enter their home, with stunning flower
arrangements to complement.


This shell necklace, I believe from New Guinea or the Solomon islands, is an
eye catcher. I want to get one like this!


Tamy, Bob’s partner, pictured on the verandah of their home.


Shells decorate the coffee table on the veranda.


One of many, many fern root sculptures with shell necklaces that ornament their garden.


Their humble front yard view--Breathtaking!!


Palms criss-cross the vista from their garden. The thatched ‘lapa’ gives shade for relaxation: light meals, sundowners, massages.

A meditation bench. Ohmmmmmm.


The ‘tinny’ (dinghy) bobs at its mooring. The beach calls below. This is where Tamy walks in the morning, sipping her cappuccino. Heaven!


I believe that is the island of Rabi to the left. It, too, calls out to me. Perhaps we will make the journey next year.


Croquet time with Shorty the dog acting as referee.


Boys will be boys! Russ (left) and Bob (right)--friends from Bellevue, Washington high-school days long ago.


Bob took our dinner requests by email before we arrived: steaks ordered from Suva for all but me.


Spinach fettuccini with fresh tomatoes and parmesan cheese for me. Yum!

Flower arrangements

If you could dream of creamy pastels and bright colours of yellow and orange and deep rose on beds of green—flower arrangements that actually make the heart beat faster, that provide a deep sense of breathtaking beauty. That hit you like starburst. That make you double take. That imbue serenity.

And then awake to see them morning after morning. Still, in real life, within reach, and created as if for you alone. I stop every time to envision the creative sense that some heart and mind and hands had for composition. The care that person took to make an arrangement that reflects love:
sublime, moving, calm, quiet is the feeling I get. You get the message, I do love flowers!

Thank you Tavui. Always I carry these with me as unspoken gifts. Galleries of fulfilled moments. Satiated.

Then in the garden I walk alone and capture singular elements for the making of imaginative arrangements—Hibiscus, Daisy, a varied-coloured leaf, and Date palm--beauty unspoken.

Words cannot describe these arrangements, so I share them with you without caption. Drink in the colours and fragrance.


Tavui arranges the flowers for the home and guests amongst other creative tasks. Thank you Tavui!





















Massages

“Do you want to have a massage?” Bob asks with a look that tells of satisfaction from experience. “My staff-- Maureen and Tavui --are trained and give massages to guests at the various properties in the area I manage.”

(If you want help from Bob with accommodation or massage try www.fiji-rental-acommodations.com.)

It does not take long for Russ to jump at the offer. His ‘salty dog’ skipper muscles are in need of loosening up.

I am a little more conservative, but agree to saunter down to the ‘lapa’ where the massage tables are set up for an hour each. Maureen will massage my Crocodile Dundee body, and Tavui will massage Russ.

Before we started, I wanted to take a picture of Tavui massaging Russ. He looked up with a smile for the Camera, then quickly jumped to task as Maureen, who oversees him, admonished:

“Concentrate!!”

I had to smile. No picture for now!

The breeze kissed our bodies, and the palm leaves gently rustled, and the magic hands pressed deep into our tight muscles and we both succumbed to the epitome of relaxation until the daylight died.

The crown moment was the outside shower as twilight set in. We sauntered in, in an altered state with Bob to greet us with his knowing look. Yes we enjoyed that!

It is time for dinner. Rockfish in coconut milk?


This is where we got our massage: under the shade of the thatched roof with a gentle breeze kissing our bodies and palm leaves quietly rustling.


Bob’s staff people, Maureen and Tavui, have the magic hands.


Russ on the level, while Tavui starts massaging his legs. Heaven is falling.


The hour is up, twilight lingers, and I capture those beautiful Fijians who bestowed the gift of ultra relaxation—a one-hour massage. Thank you!


Maureen weighs the rock fish she will prepare in coconut milk for dinner.

Tavoro waterfalls

“Why don’t you stay another day.” Bob suggests. “And we go to the three-tier waterfalls of Tavoro in the Bouma parkland.”

Yes, another day in paradise sounds like a turnover. “We’d love to.” We say gleefully without missing a beat.

Drive to the stall at the Airport for samosas--the Indian wraps with filling of potato and a smattering of tuna. Grab some bottles of mango-orange juice and a few pieces of fruit, and hop in the car with water bottles and bathing suits.

In no time at all we arrive. We head up the mowed grass path past a field of Taro plants with big green leaves, over a bridge with a copper-coloured stream meandering through a tropical nirvana, intermittent with the wax-like red flowers of the ginger plant.

We’re at the first-tier falls. It cascades down with narrow force into a green pool on a rocky floor. In I plunge. I cannot wait. The others walk on. There is more to come.

Up, up we go. A vista of palm trees by the hundreds stretches out before us on spindly trunks. The last cyclone has stripped them of coconuts. Papayas, too, were stripped from trees, and fish were impacted by the wild winds and seas pummeling the reefs. It is easy to imagine what forces a cyclone can unleash to damage whatever stands in its way. Heaven forbid I stand in the way some day.

I stop awhile. It is all too beautiful. I take a picture of Tamy with a flower in her hair—‘South Seas Traveler’ embroidered on her cap and heart. We stop to rest on a well-placed bench with a boutique view of the first falls from on high. It plunges almost in slow motion down through a window of tropical greenery to the pool below.

“What the hell! Another photograph?” I imagine Bob thinking from the ‘disdainful’ expression on his face—stick at his side. Although sensitive, I aim my camera and shoot once again. “Does it never end??” I hear him think. “No, it doesn’t. I can’t help myself. Pictures tell the story.” I hear my retort echoing back.

It is all so beautiful: powder blue skies with white puffy trade wind clouds, blue seas, islands in the distance--silhouettes. We cross a river with a natural bridge of slippery boulders. Russ skips ahead, Bob jaunts across holding the rope with stick in hand. Where did Tamy go?

I hear the birds. And stand still to listen awhile. The sign back a way said: The birds of Tavoro. They own this land. How fitting the songs they sing.

It is a bit of a down-hill walk, and then you can hear the water falling: plunging with narrow force down the rock face into another cool, green pool. Russ stands on the boulders to drink it all in at the edge. Again, I don’t count to three before I am in the water--Aquarius child that I am. The cold water on my sun-drenched skin is soooo refreshing. It shocks the senses into utter enjoyment.

Hmmm. Where are Bob and Tamy? There they are at a picnic bench tucked into the shade above the rocks. We join them to savour the samosas and thirst-quenching cool drinks. The appetite is met and thirst quenched.

“I don’t think we will go up to the third-tier falls.” Bob suggests. “They are not all that different from what we have seen.”

With fun in the sun, time has had a way of moving on. So down we go--rewinding the beauty of the journey through the magic of tropical greenery and falling water. And, yes Bob, one more photograph of the home boyz shooting the veritable breeze.

I book-end this memorable day with a green leaf.


Up we start along the mowed lawn path. The beginning of the walk.


A field of Taro leaves, I believe.


A copper-coloured stream meanders through a tropical nirvana.


Tavoro falls.


Red wax-like flowers of the ginger plant dot the dense tropical greenery.


A vista of palm trees by the hundreds stretches out before us on spindly trunks. The last cyclone has stripped them of coconuts.


Tamy with a flower in her hair—‘South Seas Traveler’ embroidered on her cap and heart.


Looking down from on high on the boutique view of the first-tier falls dropping through greenery into the cool pool below.


We stop to rest. “What the hell! Another photograph?” I imagine Bob thinking from the ‘disdainful’ expression on his face—stick at his side. Yes another photograph. Can’t help myself.


Powder blue skies with white puffy trade wind clouds, blue seas, islands in the distance.


Bob jaunts across the stream, holding the rope with stick in hand. Brave heart he is with a sore knee.


How fitting a sign as I stop to listen to the bird song of Tavoro. They do own this land.


Russ stops to look at the second-tier—of three—falls.


Aquarius child that I am, I can’t wait to plunge into the cooling waters.


Back down at the first-tier falls the home boyz shoot the virtual breeze.


I book end this day of beauty with a green leaf.

Home grown music

Bob has a magnanimous spirit about him. Like his father, who raised money to fill a sparse library in Taveuni with books, he supports a small group of island musicians amongst other generosities. He does this by letting them play their music in his garage as often as they like.

He also was instrumental in managing the production of a CD called Sunrise in Paradise, Taveuni Magic. The music was recorded live I believe on the patio of his home.

The inside CD cover says ‘They sing love songs and pray that someday you and all your friends come to visit and experience the magic of Taveuni Island.’

The musicians on this CD are: Waisale Naiqama, Rupeni Tamami, Saiasi Nauta Tukana, Isireli Lawakeli, and Setareki Vaierau. Try to remember these names!

His staff quarters join the garage and on a night of practice, while the music plays, Fijians walk in and out to the staff quarters for water to fill their plastic kava bowls. They sit in a circle on a mat on the floor and play into the early morning hours--all this time drinking bilo (cup)-full upon bilo-full of kava. The effect is mind and tongue numbing, although I have only sipped a cup here and there at major celebratons. Russ has imbibed more, but not enough to describe the feeling.

This night, to show our appreciation, Russ bought FJD$20 of kava—ground from the root—and put in something like separate large tea bags. A little different from the capsules you can get in an American health store for calming the nerves.

Thirty years ago when we visited the Pacific Islands, the men would drink kava all night from a ‘tanoa’—a large wooden bowl carved from a single piece of ‘vesi’ or hardwood. A young maiden was tasked with preparing the drink and serving the men until they were in a state of quiet stupor. They kept on making music through the night until the sun came up. Our Tongan friend, Katalina, said she used to have to do this and was not fond of the role.

Now, in this modern age, the men buy kava powder in these tea-like bags and make it themselves. Instant kava. The maidens have been liberated! Yay! Each one takes a turn at pouring water over the bags and squeezing them until the water looks like it has been taken from a muddy river. Drink on men, and some women too. Smile. Graciously pass the ‘bilo’. No talking. Just listen to the music. And when one gets tired of preparing the Kava they pass the task on to another, who accepts without need for words.

I took a bad video in bad lighting of the drinking circle of song, where Russ joined in with passing the ‘bilo’. I will try to include it. If you don’t find it, know I did not succeed.

The last night in the garage my heart was filled to overflowing. Bob’s third staff member is one of the musicians—sadly I do not recall his name, Isireli? He sang There’s a Light, the Fijian ‘goodbye song’ for Russ and I. This song is often sung in honor of visitors who are about to leave, wishing
that they return to this island in the sun.

Look up the words, if you can, of There’s a Light-- the Fijian ‘goodbye song’. Some fragments are--

“Someday I’ll return to Fiji, to my island in the sun. Once again I’ll return to Taveuni holding hands with my loved one…….dadadadee……..never more will I sail away……the Fiji isles are calling…….and I’m returning home to stay.”


Too bad this photo is so dark. This musician had a voice of an angel.

Images that I’ll take away

I will carry all these images with me of our visit to Taveuni. But the two I will especially keep are--the Bellevue high school friends from long ago deep in conversation, and the sun setting on the calm sea, signifying time passing by. Friendship carved at a young age remains for all time.


The Bellevue, Washington high school friends meeting in Taveuni Island, Fiji.


Sunset high up on a restaurant patio signifying time has passed by.

I’ve also decided the home boyz are both a combination of the unwrapped attributes I mentioned up front. OK I’ll leave a few out like: gets into silly trouble, likes girls, not too disciplined in school.

Definitely they get credit for being well read, intelligent, fearless, frivilous, know it all, and take on the world like a bite of an apple. This is them now wrapped.

It has been a wonderful visit at Mauru Vale—Happy House. Thank you Bob and Tamy, and your staff: Maureen, ‘Tuvui’, and the beautiful gentle man who sang us the parting song, There’s a Light.

Now the rain has stopped, I put my pen down, and blow the candle out. Even though we have sailed so far away from Taveuni, the Fiji isles are calling and soon we’ll return for another magic stay.