TO THE ISLANDS
Sarah Daniell finds a home away from home in Fiji, in a hot week in December
Asa is diving down, following the coralclad drop- off — a wall of sprawling magnificence and fragility. Down, down he goes, 10m or more to the seafloor on a single breath of air. Neon fish dart in and out. Blue starfish. Soft coral, lit by shafts of brilliant sunlight. It’s a Disney world, in watercolour.
In this silent, finely tuned otherworld beneath the waves of the Mamanuca Islands, Asa hovers momentarily, before ascending like a graceful torpedo to the surface. Minimum effort, maximum skill.
I duck- dive, holding my nose to equalise, peering under the intricate lace fans that are home to the shy, bright angel fish, parrot fish and dozens of electric blue devil damsels. I don’t quite manage Asa’s reach or depth, but there is so much life it’s easy to forget you don’t belong here. It’s not your world. It’s not your home. You are a tourist. A baby turtle swims beneath us, then realising it’s not alone, speeds off with urgency into the abyss.
Iam in Fiji, for the first time, 30 years earlier. Another person. A former life. A newly minted Padi diver, in Kadavu, the fourth and southernmost island. Mountainous, raw, lush. We do a night dive and I feel encumbered in equal measure by the weight of my gear and my fear. By the darkness and the unknown. Our guide has the single source of light, a torch, and I follow him like a minnow, eyes wide at the sight of creatures rarely seen by day. It’s the predator zone. A moray eel, usually deep in its cave, emerges and shows its giant gaping mouth. Sharks. Rays. A nightclub in phosphorescence, heaving to a soundtrack of hissing and wheezing from my regulator.
I am back, again, to dive and explore. To drink cocktails at lunch and get deep in discussions about the world and things we cannot change. To feast at a lovo ( hāngī). Cassava fries and kokoda and coconut milk from the husk on the beach with a straw. It’s December and at 8am my weather app says 30C. Day after day of sunshine. No wind. It rains once, on our last night. It feels symbolic, but mostly it feels good to know that the water tanks might be replenished, that balance may be restored.
There’s a depression over the Solomons but it either passes us by or expires before it gains momentum.
I have never travelled overseas in December, other than when I was 21, landing in London where it was so cold the trains stopped running and the Evening Standard newspaper announced on the front page: “Today Is Cancelled”. No such headlines here. But it’s been tough these past few years, in many ways. Many changes and challenges, and this could not have come at a better time. Bula vinaka. Take a breath.
‘ When you take a breath” says Asa, “hold your nose and take out your snorkel. When you dive down you will be able to control and hold your breath more easily.”
We are sitting on the boat after two dives just off Monuriki Island. I’ve seen the devastation beneath the surface wrought by cyclones, the crown of thorns, overfishing and climate change — but here, in Fiji, they’ve been tending the garden. Sustainability is at the heart of conversation and endeavour. Coral seedlings are planted seasonally. Mangroves returning to their former glory. Farm to fork. Locally sourced. Due diligence. Buzzwords playing out in real time, just in time. You hope.
Den, the skipper, steers us to the island Tom Hanks made famous in the film Cast Away. It’s so small and perfect. “He never climbed to the top of that hill. It would not have been possible,” says Xavier, our funny, smart guide who becomes a friend. “He got taken up there by helicopter.” Of course he did.
To define Fiji solely by its geographical attractions — the ocean, the islands — is to ignore the most fundamental and defining of all “assets”: the people. Without them, it could be another resort, another umbrella in a cocktail glass, another lounger in paradise. Nature might have the last word, but it is the people who make the place.
Both Xavier’s parents are Fongs. “I’m a Fong, on both sides,” he says, laughing. He’s a Fijian of Chinese descent who grew up in Suva. He’s curious and wants to know about our lives. You can make close, real connections in just a few days.
We talk about music that inspires us. We talk about our national dishes. We stop talking and dive into the “swimming pool” off Monu Island.
“This is the bluest water in all of Fiji,” says Xavier. When you zone in on Google Earth, it’s
the shape of a person, like a chalk drawing in a turquoise crime scene. We do manus off the boat.
Asa’s brother is a Fijian rugby player who’s just signed to Japan. Asa doesn’t play rugby. He holds up his hands: “These are for music. I play the guitar. I sing.” He lives in a small village near Tokoriki Island and he takes tourists on diving excursions. Like many other workers here, he also performs, sings, works in the kitchen. They are busy here. Multi- talented, multi- tasking. And they smile. All. The. Time. It is not a fleeting hospo smile. They are often living and working away from their families for long periods of time, on F$ 3 an hour minimum wage ($ 2.20). They have mana.
The so- called “smiling islands” have long been a haven for tourists. New Zealanders and Australians have been the dominant wave, sweeping frothily into the multi- level concrete resorts and conference rooms of Denarau and to the bures of outer islands. But Americans have now taken over from Kiwis in numbers, even though their journey is a far longer one than the less than three- hour jaunt from Auckland to Nadi.
Tourism is both a blessing and a curse. About 40 per cent of Fiji’s GDP is from tourism.
The country is walking the knife edge, both leveraging and protecting the land and the marine environment.
On the drive from the Marriott Momi Bay to Denarau, we pass thriving mangrove forests. More than 3000 seedlings have been planted around here, says Ravesi, our guide and friend. Mangroves are the kidneys, flushing out toxins and providing an invaluable buffer for environmental impact from storms, like tsunamis.
A wave of warmth hits you when you land. Both the temperature and the mood. Fijians say “welcome home”. My inner cynic compels me to ask Matthew, who is driving me in a buggy around the landscaped and labyrinthine pathways of the luxurious Marriott Momi Bay, is this a line — welcome home? I’m swooning from our welcome home cocktail, a Bloody Mary that is a weapon in a towering glass. Are you told to say it? “No,” he says, laughing. When he smiles it travels right up his cheeks to his eyes and it stays there.
“This is your home away from home. That’s what we all say.” I ask Ravesi, who hosts us for dinner that night, at the Fish Bar, with Sera ( who is from Kadavu), and she says her mother says it too. A mantra for an industry born from a common phrase, spoken from the heart.
Homes within homes. There are worlds within worlds at Momi Bay. At the infinity pool, it’s like a casting call from The White Lotus. Insouciant couples, either honeymooning or about to, drape themselves over loungers in cabanas and gaze out to the horizon. A guy plays a Bill Withers tune on the guitar. It is indeed a lovely day. I message Renee with a selfie saying: “White Lotus — I’m playing the role of ‘ total menace’,” and she replies, “I want to be there with you doing a crime in a bikini.” I order a Fiji Gold and pick up my book, but the people- watching is irresistible and I stare behind sunglasses, making up plotlines to their lives, their worlds. When I walk back to my room, there’s a group of Fijian craftswomen from the village sheltering from the heat; their sulu pegged up like curtains; their jewellery laid out in neat pearly rows. Nearby, smoke is coiling up from the lovo pit for a big feast later on, for locals. I buy a small wooden turtle fridge magnet and a tapa print sulu.
At the lagoon we make fish houses with Vilitati — “everyone calls me Tati”. He gives us gloves and tells us to choose a large piece of coral for the foundation. Then we pile on wet concrete, and continue with layers of coral and finish with shells and a light covering of sand. I could live in one of these. A blue devil damsel in distress. Once the concrete is set, the little houses will be dropped into the lagoon so the small fish — and octopus — have a nursery. A chance to get bigger and survive.
The breakfast menu is written in chalk on blackboards at various stations. Eggs and bacon. Congee. Dumplings. Tom yum soup. Indo- Fijian curries. Dim sum. Mango iced tea. Watermelon and mint water. Papaya. Coffee. Icecream. At the Voi Voi bar, kokoda and onion bhaji and spiced cassava fries. On the Salt Menu at the Fish Bar: smoked pork belly, lumpfish caviar, scallops and wild hibiscus sea salt. It looks like Japan on the plate, but is inspired from the chef’s South American homeland. You can order a burger and fries if that’s your jam, but there’s a big wide world on the menu to explore, here at Momi Bay and everywhere we go.
Worlds within worlds, a multi- ethnic population that call Fiji home. The indigenous Fijians of Melanesia are iTaukei. Many of those who came from India in the late 1800s were indentured labourers. Fiji is now a vastly more complex and culturally diverse population and that is reflected in the cuisine. At the cabana at the Sheraton in Denarau, Jo delivers an entree as the sun pours a molten lava moce ( mor- thay — farewell) across the skies. Tuna tartare, smoked mussel, and a rose from Chile. Jo wears a deep red hibiscus in his ear. He used to work in a Nadi nightclub. But he likes it better here.
I’ m writing notes at an outside table at Tokoriki Island Resort. There’s a game of volleyball in the pool. I order a mojito and cassava fries.
A mynah bird sits on the rail, calling to its friends. The bush telegraph. My leftover cassava fries are on the table and the word is getting out. But my words aren’t. I can’t focus on anything other than that soft horizon, where the clouds are turning pink and throwing light on to the pale blue sea.
It’s not my home. It is my home. A world of unfathomable beauty and fragility; of kind, generous people helping us pause from the chaos of our other- worlds in a hot, unforgettable week in December.
Sarah Daniell stayed at the Fiji Marriott Resort Momi Bay; Sheraton Fiji Golf and Beach Resort; Sheraton Resort and Spa, Tokoriki Island.
Fiji Airways: fijiairways. com