Repetition Repetition

It’s it’s one one of of my my pet pet hates hates,, so so you you can can imagine imagine how how difficult difficult this this is is for for me me. A a source source of of major major frustration frustration, repeating repeating myself myself is is something something I I just just can’t can’t stand stand.

Alright, I think I’ve proven my point. That was hard for me. The following post will probably make some readers angry, just like repetition does to me. And people who don’t indicate. Seriously, how difficult is it to move ONE finger and push a small lightweight lever up or down? Now I’M angry.

With the ten-month mark rapidly approaching for the surviving members of my intake and I, it’s somewhat of a mad dash to fit in as much stuff before the end. For some of us, this means cramming in an awful lot of work (i.e. making sure a bookshelf at school actually gets built so books aren’t locked in a cupboard). For others, it’s a test of just how much work can be avoided in the final weeks, not due to their own laziness (entirely), but more because the rest of the office isn’t quite interested in participating in the four workshops that have been built around four manuals that no one will ever read. I’m not bitter, I swear. Either way, all this pales in comparison when it comes to the scarily scant remaining amount of the most sacred object of them all.

Weekends.

Most of the volunteers in my intake can count them on one hand. We all have five fingers on each hand, so you can do the maths. They’re precious commodities (weekends AND fingers), and much thought goes into how they will be spent. Here’s the rub though: we’ve already had forty-something weekends in Fiji, and it’s not exactly a big place. There is a very finite number of places one can get to on a weekend out of Suva. This means repeating yourself. A couple of weeks ago, I spent the weekend on an island called Yanuca. It was my second trip. As you can see, it hadn’t changed much.

Yanuca the first time

Yanuca the second time

Even the frighteningly eccentric leatherbound American who managed the place was the same (although she had attempted to strangle my sister in between my visits). The weekend previously, I spent at the Intercontinental, one of Fiji’s finest resorts. It was also my second visit there, although slightly different due to inclement weather. And the list goes on. Volivoli: twice. Wyndham Denarau: twice. Leleuvia: four times. Beachhouse: at least five times and counting.

I can see the looks of horror on your faces. OK, fine. It’s not like they’ve all been identical visits. The sunset the first time I went to Yanuca was truly stunning. Not so much the second time, although watching the rain roll across the mainland was pretty amazing in its own right. The buffet dinner at the Intercon the first time was better than the second, although I did have the most perfectly poached eggs at breakfast the second time around. And in all of these cases, the company has been different. As volunteers come and go, and other expats get promoted onwards from Fiji, the people that constitute these weekends away change dramatically.  So whilst the location repeats itself often, the contents of the weekends themselves is generally pretty fresh (unless like me, you have a favourite hammock and lie in it for hours at a time each time you go to the same place).

The absolute worst thing about repetition though is just how habit forming it can be. My Dad always insinuated that forming habits was a major weakness (although try getting him to vacuum at any time other than Sunday morning). It means you’re not thinking or caring, and simply going through the motions. In some ways, he’s right. But I have to admit, as habits go, visiting the cream of tropical island crop is definitely one of the better ones. And if, God forbid, I was found repeating myself on Yanuca or at the Intercon one more time, I think I’d be OK with it.  It wouldn’t be easy, but then again, neither is getting into a hammock with style.

In the midst of all this repetition, I recently found myself doing something entirely new: dolphin watching and snorkelling at the amazing Moon Reef. Ah, I love this country.

Stormy Weather

Sometimes it’s hard not to take things personally. Like when your cleaning lady says you’ve gotten fat. Or nobody but you is in your office for two weeks (and you spend the majority of that time smelling your armpits, just in case the reason is that obvious). Some more recent examples also come to mind. Watch and be amazed as I eloquently weave a tale that is not only humourous, but also beautiful and symbolic. And if I don’t meet your unnecessarily high standards, you’ve only yourself to blame. You should know the kind of quality this blog produces by now.

I’m no meteorologist, but I can tell you this much: storms occur due to a collision of warm and cold fronts of…air? Pressure? Stuff? Apparently I didn’t need to preface that sentence with ‘I’m no meteorologist’. My well-crafted point is that storms occur due to atmospheric turmoil. OK yes, Fiji isn’t exactly the most tumultuous place. It’s hardly brimming with violence or intrigue. Outside of Suva the skies are blue and the palm trees are still. Life is generally lethargic.

Until BAM.

Cyclone season.

In a matter of days, the landscape can go from this:

to this:

And suddenly life goes from seeming:

to:

The last couple of weeks here have been a bit crazy. Cyclonic conditions in the west and north, parts of the country being declared a state of natural emergency, new housemates (definitely not akin to a low pressure front or whatever, but a change nonetheless), and yet another person leaving Fiji for a bigger but not necessarily better country. You would think that after nine months (that’s right, the home stretch is upon us), I’d be accustomed to this constant state of flux, but it doesn’t always get easier.  Of course, my frustrations are minimal compared to those volunteers who actually had to experience firsthand the above floodwaters, deal with a lack of electricity for days, and no water for even longer. Still, you have to look at the positives, and it was pretty great having some of those volunteers come to Suva and batten down their hatches with us, party style. However, when several depressions moved over the Pacific and threaten further wind and rain at the same time as my very last legislated long weekend, the idea of spending a weekend on an island whiling away the hours in a hammock or wearing a snorkel (or both, if you’re feeling particularly idiotic) doesn’t seem so appealing. Then again, the thought of spending three whole work-free days in Suva is on par with having an ingrown toenail removed while simultaneously having your wisdom teeth ripped from your jaw sans anaesthetic.

We followed the wildly inaccurate weather reports for days before deciding to bail on our tropical island adventure (it was that or spend a few hours bailing out the boat). It was a painful decision to make, until I realised that sitting in a hammock in torrential rain wasn’t the most fun. So Suva it was. And it actually turned out to be pretty great. Which just goes to show that even if you do take things like cyclones personally, you can make the most of a bad situation by eating a lot of food and seeing a lot of movies and getting chocolate stains on your clothes from gorging on choc tops. All in all, there are much worse ways to weather the storm.

The storm was more lots of grey skies and heavy rain every now and then than an actual storm. Of course, the day after the long weekend, the sun came out. Which was even harder not to take personally.