Graduation

It’s that time already. Kids grow up so fast, don’t they? Why, I remember the day we all met at Brisbane airport before boarding the plane. So young, so naïve, so excited! So pale. All kind of angry we hadn’t been given free excess baggage, but still excited. And now here we are, spread across Fiji, from the Burning West to the Exotic-but-equally-burning East, with a little pocket hunkered down in Suva. It’s been almost four months, and we’ve learnt a lot. We’re not so young anymore (obviously); we’re definitely not so naïve - we no longer think that taxi drivers want to marry us because we’re nice people; and for the most part, we’re not so pale. And to top it all off, we’re no longer the new kids in town.

That’s right people. Graduation occurs in Fiji every three to six months when a new intake of volunteers arrives and the former new kids are no longer...new. That was sort of self-explanatory. To experience it both as a newbie and a graduand is actually fairly interesting (read: interesting only to people who care about social interaction), and made something apparent to me. Wait for it, it’s a good one.

I actually know stuff! Who knew that after four months, useful and interesting information has filtered through my sun-bleached (SUN-BLEACHED I TELL YOU) hair and into my skull? Furthermore, the slower pace of life hasn’t destroyed all my brain cells because I was actually able to recall said pieces of useful and interesting information and pass them along to some of the new first-years when we went away for the weekend.

So, whilst you people at home reading this constantly comment/critique that I don’t do any work; that it looks like I’m having a ball; that all my photos are so awesome; that my hair really is lighter, are you sure you haven’t dyed it?; let the record show that even though most of the above statements are true (all of them except the hair one), I’m also being wise, just, and largely awesome on an epic scale. So really, Fiji hasn’t changed me at all.

The graduating class of 29 April 2011

A couple of other things have happened in the last week that aren’t worth their own posts, so I’ll summarise here. Since I’ve returned from Australia (whoa, it's weird to say returned from Australia), I’ve seen three movies in four days, with another two to come on the weekend. BUT I only had two choc tops. I’ve been called fat by our house cleaner (she obviously didn’t realise that I could very well have had one more choc top); went to the Fijian equivalent of Rock Eisteddfod/Wakakiri, which was way more awesome than I expected it would to be, despite the use of about four of the same songs from the Suva Soundtrack in nearly 15 performances (which led to almost 15 exasperated face-palms on my part); and did some real work. True story.

Exile's Return

Storm clouds gathering, thunderheads piling into a darkly vicious fortress on the horizon. Lightning illuminating the bowels of the beasts as they race west across the firmament. Was that a head in the clouds? Were those teeth? Gods, what was that thing grinning down from the sky, smirking at the twinkling lights below? A dull rumble passes through the underbelly of the clouds, followed by a swift silence that is shattered by an enormous CRAAAAAAAAAAACK-

Tomn sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face. The mark on his forehead throbbed with pain (he’d slammed it against the bedhead not one night previously, after waking from the same dream), and his nightclothes stuck to his sweating body. He sat panting, willing his heart rate down, willing that terrible face to leave his memory…

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?”

Tomn’s eyes darted to the shadowed corner of the room, where his friend stood, perhaps a little creepily. He rolled his eyes and then gasped with pain. Even a sarcastic eye roll was painful. “The same. But it’s just a dream”.

Wenddel, Tomn’s friend, slammed his hand against the wall. “It’s not just a dream! You have the sight! We must warn him".

Tomn was indignant, not to mention overtired. He’d not been sleeping properly after all. “But I don’t wannaaaaaaaaa”, he whined.

“Come,” said Wenddel. “We need to see him. How else can we progress the plot?”

The two young boys left their chambers and raced through the castle/keep/military facility/school/generic location where stories such as these take place. They stopped at the bottom of a winding staircase.

“You have to go up there alone”, said Wenddel, almost mournfully.

“But why?” asked Tomn, who as the hero, always asks why.

Wenddel placed a hand on Tomn’s pubescent chest. “Because this is your story”.

And with that dramatically vague/nonsensical explanation, Tomn began to climb.

At the top of the staircase was an office of sorts, full of things indicating the inhabitant was incredibly learned. And he was. For the man who sat behind the large dusty desk was none other than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius, the most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. A sallow man stood at his shoulder.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius spoke: “a little late to be wandering the corridors, isn’t it, young Tomn?”

Tomn had the good nature to look abashed, then realised why he was there. “Wenddel made me do it, sir! He told me to come here, I didn’t want to. It was just a stupid dream”.

The man standing only slightly lecherously behind the J-man leaned forward. “A dream? What dream? Speak, boy, for your father’s sake!”

“Who are you?” Tomn asked rather bluntly, purely for the sake of the narrative.

The sallow man sighed, and flourished his robes. “I am Grinadafalukinteraneabapol, second most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. It’s obvious, because my name has one less syllable than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius’s”.

An awkward silence followed as Tomn counted the syllables. It took longer than one would expect the potential saviour of the world to do maths. He looked up, puzzled.

“There is power in words, young Tomn”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius said, then rolled his eyes behind half-moon spectacles when Tomn continued looking confused. “Literally. There’s literally power in words. The longer a person’s name, the more powerful they are”.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” breathed Tomn. He’ll think ‘I only have a one syllable name, how can I be the saviour of the world?’ only after leaving the office and facing his destiny. It usually works like that.

“The dream, boy! Describe the dream!”

Slowly at first, to build tension, Tomn began to retell his dream of dark clouds and scary faces. He rubbed his forehead to build further emotion into the scene. The two long-syllabled men stared at each other as Tomn completed his tale. It was obvious they knew exactly what the dream meant.

“We must wake the Guardians. Tell them the Exile is returning and to make the barriers solid”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius commanded Grinadafalukinteraneabapolbanius. G-man nodded and left the room swiftly, robes billowing, motes of dust skirling in his wake. “Tomn, we must palaver. Sit with me”. Tomn nodded and sat at the desk, J-man looking over his spectacles into Tomn’s eyes.

“Your dream is a prophecy Tomn. It has foretold a great power which will come to this land once more. Only it’s too soon….we exiled him only three months ago to the lands beyond the sea. For him to have grown in power so quickly, well, it just doesn’t usually happen that way. Generally speaking, a generation or two passes, giving ample time for heroes to die and people to forget the blight which has been removed. Even eleven or twelve years can do the trick, allowing a new hero to grow up and avenge his parents’ deaths. But this, this is most unfortunate.

“Three months ago, a group of Guardians of old were resurrected from legend to deal with this threat, which has known many names – Fran, Sven, Wack, just to name a few – and cast him into the ocean. But it is clear from your dream that he has fed his power, and is even now returning to lay waste to this place. Our worst fears have been realised. He has most likely consumed complex and starchy carbohydrates and offensively cheap bananas to revive himself. It is even possible he has used the native people’s innate ability to stay dry in torrential rain to construct some sort of water-repellent vessel in which to travel across the sea”.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius reached across the table and grasped Tomn’s shoulders, his eyes wide. “The one called Sitiveni comes! And according to your dream, he is hungry. For real food. Red meat cooked to perfection, vegetables that aren’t eggplant, fresh milk, cheese! He wants to consume burritos and kebabs and roast dinners and eggs benedict. And heat. He will bring heat from the east! But it will not last, it will be nothing more than a false spring. Offering people false hope. Like the villain he is”.

“But sir,” Tomn whimpered, “how am I supposed to stop such a monstrosity?” At this, the great J-man laughed a hearty laugh, his breath rattling in his small chest.

“My dear boy, this is not your responsibility! The Guardians are all still alive and well, and will push him back into the sea once more. Your story ends here, I’m happy to say. There will be a battle of blazing magicks, depending on the budget of course, but you will play no part in it. No, Tomn, you will go back to your room and sleep once more. Perhaps you’ll dream of Sitiveni again, perhaps not. But your role as the weird dream guy is now over. We might use you again in a sequel or something, but to be honest, you’re quite the dullard. Now get some sleep. Pip pip”.

That was weird. Sorry. Let me provide some all-important context: when I first left Australia it was joked that I was being exiled. Sophisticated, I know. Seriously though, apart from not dealing with the temperature differences at all well, I had a great time back home. Thanks to all those who took me in, bought me food, lent me vehicles, and let me be a part of their special occasions. You all rock, and on a scale of burritos to eggs benno (eggs benno being the ultimate food, but of course you already knew that), you all come in slightly higher than eggs benno . It’s a compliment. Enjoy warm, with a side of bacon and a refreshing beverage.

Official Apology

Well, despite the warning I placed at the beginning of one of my earlier posts (you know, the one with all the pictures of hammocks and paradise), some foolish people apparently ignored it, thinking they were strong enough to look at the pictures I posted. Absolute folly. I’ve received a fair amount of hate mail in recent weeks, and if the postal system were any good over here, I’m confident I would have found a few disgusting/possibly fatal surprises in my letterbox. Not cool people. Always one to look for a silver lining, I see this as an opportunity to tell you all that I told you so. You’ll think twice before ignoring me again, won’t you? Who am I kidding? Of course you won’t.

In order to appease all you angry and jealous readers, and to inform you that yes, things aren’t always gravy (gravy! I miss gravy) here, I thought it would be a good idea to show you the more sordid side of Fiji. The underbelly, if you will. Kind readers, I present to you: Suva (and surrounds).

Caution (likely to be ignored by you chumps): some viewers may find the following images distressing. They include grey skies, dirty streets, and dilapidated buildings. If you look closely enough, you may even see people – shock horror – not smiling. Effects of viewing should include mild revulsion and disgust, and most importantly, an overwhelming feeling of sympathy towards me, in addition to a severe bout of self-loathing at being jealous of me in the first place. Shame on you.

The cleverer of my readers may have noted that nowhere in this post was an actual apology. You can choose to find the apology within the images, or more correctly assume that I am in no way apologising for having an awesome time. As my friend Captain Planet used to say, the power is yours. And quit it already, I’m NOT the Heart guy.

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.