Labasa town is bustling. Unrecognizeable from the Sunday I had arrived. The heat is unbearable and I have been pulled out of my paradise. I decide to head straight to the airport and get in a taxi in the throbbing market. I am on a sugar high still from all the Indian sweets I consumed last night and am craving more. The taxi driver invites me for Christmas and gives me his details so I will call him and come and stay next time I am in Labasa. Okay. I am still in the Friendly North.
I buy Fiji’s version of Oreos, a coffee and settle myself in the airport lounge which is teeny tiny and shed like in manner. I am immediately joined by an elderly man who insults my sweet purchase, commenting that the sugars, and artificial nature of my choice of snack is something he would never choose to put in his body. I feel defensive and like I have been caught out. this is not normal for me either! But he is somewhat bullish in his approach to conversation. He is Swiss, lives off his own land in Labasa, having had lived in Tonga for 20 years previous doing the same. He fires questions at me and talks about lots of things, some over my head. He is interesting but it is all a bit much. Fortunately his plane is about to board. I go for a walk down the road where there is a little shop at the end. The owner is playing pool outside. I feel I should buy something after surveying the pitifully stocked shelves with a whole lot of nothing. I get an ice cream which I do not even like. HA! There you go Mr Swiss man! Double bad stuff!! That will show you and your vocal judgements.
When I arrive in Nadi I ask about a taxi to the hostel that reads so much better than the dreaded factory that is Smuggler’s Cove. It is expensive and I decide to try to work out the bus. As I walk with small bag, my big one I will have to collect from Smuggler’s before tomorrow, a small hotel bus pulls up with a Fijian driver and a smiley Australian. Where you going? Unbelievably, I am going to the same place that emblazoned across the vehicle. But I have not booked yet and I am not going to the hotel part, I am looking for a dorm bed. It is okay, hop in. Lucky.
I decide to deal with my bag immediately so I can relax and enjoy my last evening in Fiji. A taxi takes me to Smuggler’s and back. His friendly ways are a little too much. He wants to take me for dinner, he wants to marry me. This is very sudden and very weird. He even asks me for a kiss at the end of the drive! I say no and haughtily shut the door.
It is a quiet spot, here. No one else is in my room and I head down the road for a wander. I walk with a police officer who is leaving the hotel grounds. He and been here to investigate an issue. I mention my over friendly taxi driver and we laugh. We walk together and chat. He gives me his number and invites me to stay when I am next in Nadi. It is not the North but they are still friendly.
There is a market and I stand in the street and eat mango. I have my last indulgence after all this Fijian feasting, with a fish curry and lots of roti. The next morning I head back to the market and buy to mangoes and eat them in succession, savouring the sweetness in the sun and the joys I have found in this country wash over me.
The minibus shuttle takes me to the airport and I as I check in for my New Zealand flight there is a problem. I have not applied for my Australian entry visa. I planned to do it in NZ but apparently I should have already. The check in man can do it but it will cost quite a lot of Fijian dollar, which I do not have. He tells me to sort it in the internet cafe, he says he trusts I will do it. He must have felt sorry for me because not only did he let me off with that, he bumped me up to business class without telling me! This is like the cherry on the top, a final embrace good bye from this land I felt so connected to. I could not quite believe it when I stared at my seat number and the seat that was before me. I was kind of sad it was just a 3 hour flight to Auckland. I am a bit scraggly for this class but sneak a selfie in to prove my good fortune.
The elderly gent that sat beside was full of chat and was concerned that I didn’t quite know where I was going. I am 35, and I have managed so far, I said, thanking him. He said he thought I was sweet 16! Now that may be pushing it but he was very lovely and full of tips about Auckland and New Zealand. I sort of wanted to watch some of the films but never had chance to erect my screen with all the conversation.
Arriving in NZ is (well, seems) crazy. The restrictions and customs are so strict; there are a load of arrivals and there appears to be a bottle neck. I read the extensive list of no-nos and feel perplexed. I panic about the oats that I have in my bag and the mud on my trainers but manage to eventually get through, unscathed but losing that lighthearted Fijian haze and groove that seemed to sail me through any adversity.
My air bnb host was picking me up and although it was deceptively sunny, the first thing my bare legs register when I stepped outside was biting cold. This princess was not prepared. In fact this girl thought that she was arriving in New Zealand’s summer months. My Singaporean host was so sweet and drove the 30 minutes to the neighbourhood with lovely conversation, taking me to a supermarket before we hit home. All the supermarket choices, produce in abundance and variety, presented perfectly, polished and gleaming is unsettling in a way. The modern technologies of the self check out seem alien and I am clumsy in my operations. My host had to assist me at every step. But I knew one thing, I wanted greens. I bought salad and detoxed for the following days. Healthy foods only. I felt mental on the sugar I had been consuming. I savour my own cooking.
My room in this house was with two young Malaysian girls and a Malaysian couple that worked nightshifts in a fish factory. The air bnb hosts ran a hostel type set up and I was there very first guest that was from England. Another room had some other young girls. They were about to start work on a blueberry farm and I their innocence, excitement, laughter and fun almost had me swept up into the feeling that I too should join the blueberry picking season. One morning they are blowing dandelions in the garden, giggling and taking pictures. They want a photo of us all together and are ever so sweet.
I wore all the clothes I had as I borrowed a bike and discovered the area. I sit in a cafe in Half Moon Bay, immersed in thoughts and the beginnings of a blog about Fiji.
I contemplated the next two weeks and relished in the fact that I had booked and paid for an organised trip. Although the freedoms I had enjoyed with an open heart and no plans in Fiji felt amazing, I realised this was not the same country here and it would not quite work in the same way. This 'Flying Kiwi' tour had all been sorted way back when I bought my world wide ticket. Having (properly) read my list of needed items for the trip I would undertake in a days time, on top of realising it was merely Spring in NZ (which is not known to be particularly warm), I panicked and headed into the city centre. Thermals were on the list. Bugger. The poor Malaysian girls had also been shopping. Fleeces and waterproof jackets. They thought it was bitter and complained as bitterly as I did. I felt waves of resentment against the bus stops and houses that seemed devoid of personality but had to shake myself out of this lovesick-ness and longing for my Fijian world. I had always wanted to know new places. Gratitude. No fleeting and scathing judgements. Allowing. So I wander (shivering) around the centre and enjoy the sights.
My stay with my Malaysian buddies is kind of bizarre but I like them and I like the seemingly odd set up. I enjoyed the warmth and novelty of my heavy duvet and I liked the very good coffee that is dotted around Auckland.
And then coffee in hand, I hit a juice spot too. So it ain't all bad...
Memories of Fiji warm my bones, although the cold here threatens to make it feel like a distant dream. I leave my Malaysian friends and set out to meet my 'Flying Kiwi' bus. It is cold and raining. But I am full of hope and warm myself with messages I have received from Long Beach and Liza.
Next adventure: Fly with the Kiwis! Southern Island bound (possibly it is warmer there??) and thermals in tow...
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