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It's about the journey, not the destinationI had decided the day before that I was going to leave Taveuni and make my way to Kandavu, on the other side of the Fiji Islands . From previous experience this kind of trip was perfectly possible, as everyone was very friendly and keen to help me on my way around. Little did I realise what Fiji had in store for me One of the benefits of drinking kava is that you don't get the hangover associated with alcohol, so it's never too hard to get up in the morning and be ready and raring to go. I had to catch a bus from Vuna at the southern end of the island back up to the northern tip where the airstrip at Matei is. In Taveuni, the self-titled Garden of Fiji, there is an awful of rain. Anything planted in the ground will grow at a phenomenal speed due to the heat, humidity and copious watering. Not such a good deal for human beings you might think, but Fijians have solved this problem, for transport at least, by having no windows in their buses. The philosophy seems to be that you may get wet, but at least you won't be too hot. There is one main road along the eastern edge of Taveuni, but for two-thirds of it you would be hard pushed to call it a road rather than a muddy track full of large rocks. As the bus sped along and shot over impossibly narrow wooden plank bridges and careered around abrupt drops, I couldn't help noticing that some people on the bus were, amazingly, fast asleep. The bus was full and all the heads would sway violently but in perfect synchronisation as if choreographed as we lurched and bumped along our way. The bus arrived at the depot and, after a short taxi trip, there were no problems with the first flight. The 20-seater planes are tiny and flimsy and there is a mad rush as they take off and land on runways, which are sometimes only grassy strips of cleared jungle. I flew to the capital Suva and then to my horror discovered that my onward flight to Kandavu had been booked for a day 3 weeks away! This was a disaster; there were no places left on the plane, the rain was torrential, and the airport was far from the city. I got onto the standby list and was very relieved when there was an 11 th hour cancellation and I was allowed to board. The flight was short and sweet and I landed at Vunisea, finally on my new island. I had booked ahead with the Australian-/English-run resort and they had assured me that someone would be there to collect me, but the airport' quickly emptied and I began to have some reservations about their promise. Thankfully a small handful of locals noticed this stranded traveller and immediately found out where I was headed and offered me a lift. I found this kind-hearted attitude typical of Fiji - everyone is prepared to step in and offer their help. A man named Seva was from a village near to the resort and would take me there. Our lift turned up and took us to an empty muddy bay with a few small boats tied up, bobbing quite roughly in the choppy water and with their hulls half full with rain. Apparently it was a 2 hour ride to the resort, and with heavy grey clouds hanging over us, Seva and I rolled our trousers up and waded through the muddy flotsam to dump his boxes of provisions for the village onto the boat, and then we covered them with plastic sheets to keep them dry. The boat's owner arrived and we set off, shouting out introductions over the roar of the outboard motor. After giving some advice about the best place to sit, Seva went to sleep amongst his boxes. How he managed this I'm not sure, because the water was very choppy and the boat lifted and slammed back down onto the waves both alarmingly and jarringly. You must relax and move with the boat! he had shouted before he dozed off, probably setting a new record for instantaneous sleeping. The boat tracked along the coastline, weaving through the reefs and coral pillars that could be seen just under the surface, guided by the boatman standing perfectly balanced with one hard gripped on the motor. The dark shapes passed very close but the skilful boatman calmly negotiated the hazards. The rocky coast was crowded with palm trees and vegetation leaning out over the water, but this started to disappear in a rainy mist, and then the drops really started to fall. It was pouring down and there was nowhere to shelter on the boat. I looked about at the others; Seva, completely soaking wet, was still asleep, and the only change to the boatman was that he was squinting his eyes just a little bit tighter against the stinging drops. I turned back round to face the front and decided to enjoy it. Before long the boat approached the shore and a few buildings appeared in a clearing. It was low tide and we left the boat out in the silty mud and ferried the boxes to Seva's house, mud squelching through my bare toes. My reward was a tour of the village kava production process. Kava is a mild narcotic that is infused in water and drunk socially and ceremoniously from a carved wooden bowl. It comes from the roots of a pepper plant which are harvested, chopped up and dried between corrugated iron sheets out in the sun. Next, the roots are then pounded into a powder using a hollowed log and a large pole. Kava makes your mouth and tongue tingle and go numb, and you become very relaxed. It's far easier now to embrace the Fijian lifestyle! Seva and I returned to the boat and headed on to the resort. I had used nearly all the possible forms of transport available to get from one side of Fiji to the other in a single day and it had definitely been an adventure, and even had a lesson in the national drink. Despite the problems along the way, the good natured Fijians greatly assisted me, I couldn't ask for a better nation to travel with.
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