The Mass Effect

“In the year 2148, explorers on Mars discovered the remains of an ancient spacefaring civilisation. In the decades that followed, these mysterious artefacts revealed startling new technologies, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for the incredible technology was a force that controlled the very fabric of space and time.

They called it the greatest discovery in human history.

The civilisations of the galaxy call it….

 

OK, that was the second videogame reference currently on this blog, and I can’t promise it’ll be the last. But stop your groaning! This will be exciting, I promise. If you’re into hardcore science fiction.

That was another joke. I’m a barrel of laughs. LAUGHS, not lard. Although this seques quite nicely to the topic at hand. If you’ve forgotten, just read the intro again (sans groans please, a little respect goes a long way).

Ready? Let’s embark on a scintillating journey, involving the usual stunning beaches and palm trees, with an added dash of lush rainforests, waterfalls, and lessons in mass. Before we begin, please be aware that I know nothing about mass apart from what I learnt in the above videogame. And I’m pretty sure they bent the rules laid out by – I wanna say Isaac Newton? – so you’ll forgive me if this isn’t scientifically accurate.

Taveuni. Pause for effect. An emerald island set within a sea of sapphires, Taveuni (known as the Tav to the cool kids) is a paradise in the truest sense, tucked away on the edge of the Fiji Islands. It is also the location of several lessons on the Mass Effect. Sort of like the Chinese mountainous countryside where young useless losers go to be taught kung fu and how to get the girl by mysteriously patient masters in a series of lamely awesome montages.

Montage #1 – Planes Have Little Mass

Have you ever wondered how planes fly? They seem like pretty heavy pieces of complex equipment. As it turns out, not so much. This became apparent while we were waiting in the airport lounge (the airport outside of Suva has one lounge, and one gate (Number 3 for some odd reason), but it serves as both the international and domestic point of departure. It’s quite exciting. After being given a hand-written boarding pass, I witnessed our plane – a 15 or so seater with two turbo props – being manhandled onto the tarmac. Manhandled by men. Three of them. Pushing a plane.

3 men + pushing 1 plane = 1 ‘oh dear’ moment.

Fortunately in this instance the Mass Effect was negated by one of the most stunning flights I’ve ever been on.

Montage #2 – I’m Heavy

Roads (or any major infrastructure) are not Taveuni’s strong suit. A sealed road connects maybe a quarter of the island. Another quarter has no roads to speak of. And the remaining half could be classed generously as ‘a gravelly track’ or more accurately as ‘an elongated deathtrap with nice views to distract’. The taxi ride south from the airport took us along this road, and Sikeli our driver was clearly proud as we drove past several areas where road works were about to commence in a potential future. It was somewhere between a flat bit and a steep decline (read: a really steep upwards section) that the van lost traction and all forward momentum.  It was only when Sikeli asked me to shift my person to the back of the van that the wheels properly bit into the loose surface and propelled us onwards.

Me + weight shift = Saved Bacon (parenthetical equation: me = fat).

Again, all negative impacts of the Mass Effect were minimalized by our arrival at Vuna, which boasted a sickeningly quaint seaside cottage and Treka, Fiji’s most awesome (albeit racist) dog. Clean, friendly, with a penchant for loving foreigners but attacking Fijians. I’m not even kidding.

Montage #3 – Added Mass Makes Things Break

The Sunday morning bus from Vuna back up the coast ended up coming earlier than normal (meaning we missed it), so we watched Treka attempt to bite a baby’s face off (see above) while our host rustled up some transport. The ute only took us 15 minutes up the road in a failed attempt to catch the bus, but broke down several times along the way. Probably because me, Amanda, and a complete stranger were kicking back in the tray watching the weirdly coloured palm trees flash by.

Ute + extra people = broken ute (possible parenthetical equation: me =  fat?).

Montage #4 – One Person’s Mass Can Be In Two Places At Once

True story. The International Date Line (capitalised because a) it’s awesome and b) it’s what Word told me to do) runs through Taveuni, making it possible for people to be in two whens (which is infinitely cooler than two wheres) at once.

Person + two timezones = cheesy/cool pictures.

Montage #5 – Heavy People Go Slow Down Waterslides

Which is weird, right? I was always under the impression the heavier you were, the faster gravity took you down a slide. I’m sure I learnt something to that effect in school. But it’s not the case, not in the Tav, anyway. Being a Jurassic Park-esque location, Taveuni has several waterfalls. One of them has been harnessed by the locals and turned into a natural waterslide. It’s basically just a steep creek, but the rocky bed is smooth and it’s possible to slide down with the water about 30 or so metres and get dumped unceremoniously into a gorgeous pool at the end. We shared it with a family, who, between cleaning their teeth and bathing, helped us along by stopping up the flow of water with their bodies and then unleashing a torrent of water to make us slide faster. It’s not a completely smooth slide however, and even a high volume of water wasn’t enough to propel me all the way down to the pool without getting snagged on a rock or two. I had better luck in Lavena the next day, after swimming to a secluded waterfall and climbing up a fairly precarious rockface. The slide was shorter, the fall to the water bigger, and the thrill much more fun.

Subject of mass + self-deprecating humour = many fat jokes.

Montage #6 – Kids are light. And cute.

Our arrival in the sleepy yet beautiful village of Lavena coincided with lunch time, and after grabbing a room at the lodge, we sat on the beach (which had surf! I’m sure the moon’s mass has something to do with that too, but it’s clearly beyond my knowledge) and had a bite to eat. Six or seven kids were playing on the beach nearby, yet as soon as they heard the crinkle of a packet of Tymos (Tim Tam equivalents) being opened, they’d formed a semi-circle around me. After being denied treats by the cruel overweight kai valagi, they went back to playing with a large piece of driftwood.

Six children + large piece of driftwood = something very cute to watch as the spindly little tykes attempt to roll it back into the ocean, then stand on it, then push each other of it.

Well I'm not going to put pictures of kids up on the internet am I? Just look at this and be jealous instead.

Montage #7 – Many Foreigners ‘Working’ Is Fun To Watch

Our arrival at Lavena coincided with a largish group of American high school students doing a sort of homestay thing and doing bits and pieces around the village. Their task while we were there was to paint the lodge. They spent the afternoon and much of the evening painting a large mural, whilst almost the entire village stood there and watched.

Combined mass of kai valagi > the old adage that insinuates watching paint dry is boring.

I didn't take any pictures of teenagers painting either. So no one will sue me.

I can hear you all whispering behind my back. Yes, I’ve put on weight while I’ve been here, OK? I also just got asked if I smoked because I apparently have brown teeth. Haven’t been asked that question since I was 15.

Goodbye, Hello

Saying goodbye to good friends is never an easy task. It’s not like I’ve just come in through the bathroom window: I know how this sort of thing works. I’ve made some truly fantastic friends in my time in both Brisbane and Canberra, and had to say goodbye to all of them at some stage. It’s hard. Despite being told ‘don’t let me down’, or ‘don’t pass me by’ by close friends, I’ve done exactly that. Heck, one friend even screamed ‘get back!’ at me while I ran helter skelter to a plane I was about to miss. Of course I didn’t miss it: I had a ticket to ride.

Fiji is a little different in some respects because complete strangers have been thrown together in a volunteer program and told to play nice whilst saving the world. In some ways it's good: you have an instant community of similarly-aged expats to hang with. But there's also a danger of being trapped with people you'd rather not connect with on, well, any level. The people in the program could easily have been a march of the meanies, and led to lonesome tears in my eyes. Fortunately, the opposite is true. The people here are, on the whole, fantastic, and I would never dream of setting fire to this lot. I know, without a doubt, that any and all of them would lend me their comb if I really needed it, and if that’s not a true sign of friendship, I don’t know what is.

We’ve come together as mates, a motley assortment of personalities that just seem to gel. There’s Lucy (who’s tricky to hang with because she’s in the sky, but she does have diamonds); Carol; the ever-depressed Eleanor Rigby; lovely Rita; Clarabella; the dizzy Miss Lizzy; Lady Madonna; sexy Sadie; Julia; long tall Sally; Maggie May; and of course my Bonnie. And Polythene Pam (my personal favourite). And that’s just the girls. Yesterday we had a BBQ in the Octopus’s Garden with the blokes: Sargeant Pepper; Teddy Boy; Maxwell (who always brings a ridiculous silver hammer everywhere he goes); Johnny B. Goode; and some other guy. Hey, Jude just walked by. I can’t believe I forgot about him. And before you say anything, yes, we do have some weird nicknames for each other over here. Even me. In Fiji, I am the Walrus.

If Canberra taught me anything (apart from learning to twist and shout to prevent hypothermia), it’s that all you need is love saying goodbye is a normal part of life. In a transient population like Canberra’s, friendships are always fluid and you generally meet new people as often as old people leave for greener/warmer/better pastures. Living in Fiji as a volunteer is much the same. Except of course for the fact that the mailman brings me no more blues. Or much of anything, really. The fact is, a new group of volunteers arrive every three to six months, and existing groups leave with the same frequency. Sometimes I wish it would all just slow down: I’ve been here just on two months now and already individual members of an older intake have begun to run for their life back to Australia. It’s more than a little sad to see these friends go. Even my guitar gently weeps (mostly because in a couple of weeks we’ll be two band members down) at the thought of our little community slowly disappearing. Then again, soon we’ll have brand new volunteers arriving from across the sea of monsters. Thus the long and winding road continues.

Like being a paperback writer, it can often be a hard day’s night persevering with friendships when those friends no longer inhabit the same city or country as you. Like anything worthwhile, it takes effort from all parties. I’d like to think I will remain friends with most of the people I’ve met here even if they moved across the universe. And anyway, the fact that these new-found friends live all around Australia and can thus provide free accommodation is quite a nice sweetener. Of course, this doesn’t always work, and sometimes you just have to let it be. Especially if they won’t leave your kitten alone.

The person who finds the correct number of Beatles song titles (you didn’t just realise did you? Oh! Darling….well, you’re not guilty of anything but needing help!) in this post wins my respect and admiration. If you would please please me by letting me know said number, I’d appreciate it. You know me, I get by with a little help from my friends.

Oh, and Yellow Submarine.