Seasons of Love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand moments in Feej

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure

Measure a Year

In sweat stains

In hard rain

In screams at people

For drinking coffee

In welcomes

Farewells

In sunsets and booze

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure

Measure a Year

Yes, fine. It hasn’t been a year. I was going to change the lyrics to three hundred and two thousand four hundred minutes, but it just didn’t have the same ring to it. I recommend you just deal with it. And with that out of the way, let’s dive right in. Seasons. In a place like Fiji, they don’t quite exist, so the song on which this post is based on is rather pertinent. I’ve been here seven months now, almost enough time for three seasons. Of course you’d never know: the maximum temperature in seven months has fluctuated all of 10 degrees. And whilst the year can technically be broken up into the dry season and wet season, Suva seems largely to be exempt from this contrast, opting instead to be soggy year round. I guess if I had to be totally honest, you could differentiate the seasons via the calculation of parts per million of mosquitoes and other airborne bite-inducing creatures in the atmosphere, but really, that’s just too much work. Instead, I’ve decided to devolve things (do I do anything else?) and proffer the Theory of Seasons using Food. Yep.

The Theory of Seasons using Food is simple enough, although hardly accurate. TSF splits the year into two uneven parts: the season of avocadoes and mangoes; and the season where we all wish there were avocadoes and mangoes. I arrived Feej-side just as the avocado season ended (and it didn’t end well, stupid avocado pears and their watery tastelessness), and the mangoes had long since stopped falling off the trees. Despite no real change in temperature, real seasons clearly turned, because over the last couple of weeks, avocadoes and mangoes have arrived in full force.

And. They. Are. Delicious.

If you’d asked me a month ago to write down the ten things I missed most, 80% of that list would have comprised food items. Largely within the realms of red meat and high-end dairy products, with a large space for all things Mexican (technically avocado makes up a significant portion of Mexican food, but let's ignore that fact for the time being). And then last weekend my world was turned upside down, when Housemate Emma picked up about 15 mangoes and several avocadoes. On a side note, Housemate Emma turned things further around yesterday when she became like the eighteenth person to leave Fiji, and more importantly, me. So the world is kind of skewed at a 320 degree angle right now. Or something. But it’s a skewed world with mangoes in it. And avocadoes. I honestly didn’t know how much I missed them until I destroyed one of each. And then two of each. And then I ran out of avocadoes, but I’m still going strong on the mangoes.

And there you have it. TSF. Theory of Seasons using Food. Way better than anything Rent could come up with.

It’s official. I only ever think of ‘humour’ involving lyrics when I’m walking places. For those not so musically-inclined, see the below video to get an idea what this post is based on. Special shout out this time goes to Steve Carell for leaving The Office, and to Housemate Emma for leaving my house, but being considerate enough both to buy avocadoes and mangoes, and to not laugh at me for shedding a tear. For Steve Carell, not her.

Sunburn

There are many, many things that set expats apart from tourists visiting Fiji. The ability to pronounce ‘Bula’ correctly; the knowledge that whilst you can wear a t-shirt and shorts to work, the line is drawn before you combine socks with sandals; and knowing where to find the few good coffee places are just a few examples. Then there’s the whole actually being culturally sensitive thing. But what is it that actually sets them apart? Steveinfeej investigates.

New research suggests that over time, expats develop what experts and teenaged bloggers alike have labelled ‘Awesome Shields’, or ‘Shields of Awesome’ (evidence can be found both in peer-reviewed scientific journals such as I Can’t Believe It’s Non-Fiction Journal and The International Journal of the Mundane and Strange, and like, all up in the blogosphere). Dependent on the initial awesomeness of the individual, an expat can develop this shield in as little as one month, and thus begin life as a non-tourist.

Figure 1: the muppet and clown in this image made the mistake of donning Fijian clothing  before developing an Awesome Shield. Results are as you see them.

An expat with an Awesome Shield develops a natural repellent to Bula shirts and other Fijian/Indo Fijian fashion. However, should a Bula shirt or otherwise be particularly ferocious and force itself onto the expat, that expat’s Awesome Shield will alter the appearance of the apparel, enabling the wearer to, in layman’s terms, look fully sick. The longer one employs an Awesome Shield, the less likely one will be forced to wear Fijian clothing. Generally speaking, should an expat have to wear Fijian attire after approximately  one year of living in situ, that expat will pull it off so well s/he will elicit cries of pleasure and potential shouts of ‘uro!’ from the local population.

Figure 2: Awesome shields are very evidently in place in this image, as the girls here look at ease and practically native.

Awesome Shields also protect the bearer from being ripped off, to varying degrees. In its nascent stage, a Shield of Awesome is only capable of identifying threats, not dealing with them. For example, an expat with only three or four months in country will know that s/he is being ripped off when s/he is charged $35 taxi fare to the airport. An increased Awesome level allows for slight manipulation of what is technically known as the ‘rip-offeree’. This includes purchasing multiple drinks simultaneously, just prior to happy hour ending, and flashing a homemade ‘local ID’ in order to get cheaper rates at an assortment of venues (NB: this cheaper rate is by no means the same as a local rate, but at least partially diminishes the effects of having lighter skin). A fully-developed Awesome Shield allows the bearer to maintain cordial relations, either independently or via a well-connected network, with a number of resort-style establishments. This is in addition to having an intimate knowledge, to the 10c, of taxi fares within Suva, as well as the ability to shout down a driver who refuses to turn on his metre. A fully-fledged Shield of Awesome can, in the right environment, also work to rip off the locals (an honour system has been put in place, although it unfortunately has not prevented certain individuals for using their powers for evil). For instance, the Shield is capable of creating an air of confidence that Fijians are not capable of puncturing. Uses for this include walking into various establishments without paying (ranging from gyms to resort restaurants for free buffet breakfasts), getting chairs delivered to the office only 3 weeks after you paid for them, and giving smaller fares to taxi drivers who are stupid enough not to have a metre and think you’re nothing more than a clueless tourist.

Finally, Awesome Shields are able, if developed enough, to prevent sunburn. Please note, they are not capable of preventing skin cells going into trauma. Being an invisible and highly conceptual idea, Awesome Shields can in no way block UV rays. They can, however, turn those rays into a rather healthy glow, which assists in providing yet another physical differentiator between expats and tourists.

Unfortunately, the Awesome Shield has not been tested enough to ascertain its effects on those tourists that come to visit expats. It has been suggested that proximity to one bearing an Awesome Shield affords non-expats some low level protection. Whilst this is highly probable, recent field research has ascertained that the Shield of Awesome has no effect on others’ tanning abilities, leaving all but the bearer of the Shield burnt and peeling after prolonged exposure to the sun.

Figure 3: Note the healthy glow of the Awesome Shield emanating from the expat (second from left),  with the other subjects exhibiting either pastiness or sunburn.

More research into this fascinating area of quasi-science is needed before fully conclusive remarks can be made. The author would like to thank members of WorldLan Summit 2011 for taking part in the most recent iteration of study. The author would also like to thank WorldLan for sponsoring the study. ‘WorldLan: Whatever, Your Mother Works at McDonalds’.

On a personal note, I’d like to thank Poods, Fatto and Danny (you really need an offensive nickname) for visiting me. Specifically, thank you for making me, for the first time in my life, look incredibly brown and awesome, and for providing some fantastically hilarious company during a time when work was so frustrating (read the previous blog post for further details). You guys are awesome!