What Culture Shock?

We anticipated wild animals or at least poisonous critters; there were only slightly famished mosquitoes. We were prepared for long drop squat toilets; we sat on flushing porcelain thrones. And we assumed we’d make many a cultural blunder within our first days, but honestly, living in the Fijian Highlands for a week was only culturally shocking in one sense: it’s so friggin beautiful. Idyllic. Lush. Vibrant.

And to think a place so lovely is not only that but open to outsiders such as ourselves and able to make us feel comfortable beyond our expectations.

What we as travelers often worry about is the possibility of experiencing the new and/or shocking and not knowing how to deal the right way. And being prepared for the new causes us to step in the unknown as we would put a timid toe into frigid waters.

Will this sweet old lady be offended if I forget to say jilo when I walk behind her? Will a snake cross my path or hang near my head on this mountain hike? What if I wear a hat as I walk across the village, will the children howl in shock? Aw gee, look at my leg! I’m bound to have malaria by now!

The reality in Nakavika is that there’s a greater chance of forgiveness for making mistakes than disrespect for what you didn’t know. Plus, the Namosi Highlands were blessed with both hands in that all those things that make jungle life so unappealing are not there in Fiji. It’s safe. It’s perfect. We were living in simple, gorgeous, welcoming luxury.

Makes it easy for wayward nomads like ourselves to dive into a culture so utterly stunning. Hesitate no more, readers, Fiji wants you, and trust us…you want Fiji.

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Hiking in the Clay: Day 6

I rose, as I would continue to every subsequent morning, to the sounds of repeating Fijian radio commercials. Bui and I played some billiards, at which she klobbered me, and frolicked in the mist that surrounded the mountain village. Moji, being the stellar village rep that he is, wanted to show Chris and I where Nakavika residents used to live down by the river; in other words, take us on a spectacular hike through the Namosi Highlands for a muddy good time. Every other step sunk me ankle-deep into clay-like slush that at one point conquered my shoe clear off my foot. Many a slapstick slips occurred, and by the time we reached any sort of clearing or stopping point, my shoes were no longer recognizable and our bodies drenched with sweat and dew.

After forging a river about a half dozen times, we arrived at some houses where mothers and children were washing their clothes on the river rocks. This was the village of Bara. We chucked our defeated shoes and socks to dry in the sun and went in a house perfectly equipped for multi-hour lounging.

Padded with hay and woven fern mats, open to the breezes of the mountains, the Fiji juice and pancakes that were delivered to us put the final touch on a supreme afternoon in paradise. Joining us were a few of the men from Bara, including a jovial old man named Phillip who had about three teeth with which he nibbled at a wee core (fruit similar to an apple). We drank a little kava with the fellas before adorning our nasty shoes once more for a river crossing and slippery jungle climb.

Every so often, Moji would point out a plant that was brought here by the many colonizers and foreign influences, one of which was the giant bamboo shoots that loomed overhead while we took a quick breather. The sounds made by these shifting columns were like that of an incredibly old house with rapidly settling furniture. I kept looking above thinking a “timber” moment was in the works, but that’s just the way it is in a bamboo forest. The massive plants seemed prehistoric, and I had a little “wow” moment sitting there under their creaks.

I was utterly exhausted by the time we ascended the last wet trail and meandered through Nakavika’s back end. I could have fallen asleep face down in my dinner but managed to keep it together for a little rugby viewing at sunset. Sitting with some of the ladies and kids, I watched the finely trained men sprint through mud puddles, enjoyed a cloud transformation from gold to purple, and found poetic beauty in the clothesline of flapping clothing stretched across the entire skyline.

When I returned to my house, Bui and I napped so deeply, it took Moji calling my name about twenty times before I rose from a lovely slumber. The brothers all congregated at our house for the day’s final meal. All cheeks puffed out from large bits of taro and noodles. I watched with a grin as the lamp flickered on all our content faces.

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Bumpin' into the Interior: Day 5

Anthony Bourdain, chef and world traveler extraordinaire, is a firm believer that the best way to approach a new culture and community is to check out the marketplace. Lautoka's market was quite a large spread of all things root vegetable and spice, and the smells within the arena brought to mind East Africa, Southeast Asia, and the ever-pungent Subcontinent of India. We shelled out some dollars for peanuts, bananas, and food for the day of movement into the Fijian interior.

After a four hour bus ride around the coast of Fiji, the man waiting for our arrival at a dirt road junction on the side of the highway was Moji, our program "manager" while we were up in the Nakavika village. We played a little Frisbee, a universal crowd pleaser/entertainer, until the carrier made its way in from town.

When it came time to pile on and squeeze in between brothers, mothers, and children, we happily merged with them and blessed the breeze that billowed in from the open flap. The air grew increasingly heavy and cool, and while others found it frigid, my Hoosier blood found it warming and kissed with memories of summer.

Two hours on that bumpy road brought us to a home where we waited for the onward carrier towards Nakavika village. The occasional step uphill squeezed old oranges underfoot and sent juice squirting for meters.

We sat on mattresses on the porch and enjoyed some tea and biscuits, together might I add. Moji and Kimbo took their big hands and crushed four or five biscuits into their mugs and made soup. We all tried it out of curiosity, which from the speed of our decisions to join along made me wonder how much they could sway us to do in the name of new cultural experiences.

It was only 3 or 4pm, and the sun was bursting through the sides of the palms on its way to setting. The mountains were slathered with foliage and looked like cliffs I'd never seen before. Seemed as though they came from the world of Zelda. I snapped photos of them like a shutter-happy maniac.

Finally, the last carrier ended our full day journey with the arrival to Nakavika, where many children flocked to form our welcoming committee. When the village dispersed our weary frames to different houses for the week, I got the good fortune of staying with Moji's brother, Weiss, wife, Fane, and their daughter, Bui, who was also my six year-old bunkmate.

Even though the sun was already set, it was only time for afternoon tea and a little farm corn. We sat Fijian style around a tablecloth as neighbors joined and left after grabbing an ear or sharing a cup of sugary tea. Heads would pop in from outside and give me a firm handshake (along with pull away finger snap) before engaging in speedy Fijian to discuss me.

And then came the kava.

We walked by kerosene lamp with kamikaze frogs leaping in and out of our path. Moji's father acted as the headman of the village, so it was at his house that we were greeted and officially welcomed into the community. A large wooden bowl of water soon turned murky when a thin cloth bag of ground kava was massaged into it. Moji informed us that once the kava hits our lips, we were no longer citizens of America but full-blooded Fijians, living here as part of the whole family. We happily drank to that.

The kava tasted like something I couldn't place. Instantly, the tongue goes numb, and you're looking for a chaser. Not that the drink is particularly disgusting, relatively; it's just not the flavor of which lollipops are made.

We lounged and occasionally sat up to put the coconut shell to our lips, while I attempted to learn a few key terms like "tongue" and "come here" with Moji's youngest brother, Abel, who was living with and taking care of his parents while they were sick. It's surprising how quickly and seamlessly those from Nakavika could make us go from strangers to homogenous among the clan.

I returned to my home for dinner and to learn a local favorite card game called "Last Card", similar to Uno, before heading to the red group's fundraising event for the school. It pleased me like mad to see the emphasis this village put on its schools and education. Every Friday night, the village splits up into four teams (red, yellow, green, and blue) to drink kava and pool together money for the school system. I landed the equivalent of $3.50 U.S. in the pile and became the honored donor, shelling out the tsunami (or massive) bowls of kava to the headmaster, school manager, and everyone edging the room.

Wandering back to my home with a heavy head and sloshing stomach in the pitch black of night, I could just barely see the grass in front of me. Already I had memorized the layout of the Nakavika land, and that pleased me. I was surrounded by a style of living that at times makes more sense to me than American suburbia.

The word that came to mind as I followed the dirt path to my home was "necessary": the reasons for doing anything, the logic behind NOT doing so much else...necessity. What's necessary to survive here cuts out all the clutter and worries we thrive on at home. As it says on many sulus walking around the village, "Fiji is how the world should be."

I slept like a log in paradise.

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Some Favorite Travel Photos Thus Far

If you'd like to read any of my posts relating to the lovely Fiji and Australia photos, check out my blogs for the little and big island!

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