Flashback Episode

Stiji sat back on the mould-free and actually comfortable couch, sipping pulpy fresh orange juice and smiling at Muppet Goo’s last quip.

“And everyone kept coming up to me and telling me I was totally ripped, and I consistently shot them all down and told them I was torn”.

Sven looked on, mild displeasure on his face. “Muppet, you really are lame.”

“Oh come on”, Stevo said, a toothy grin illuminating his face.  “We’re all allowed to have fun from time to time”.

Muppet Goo laughed a laugh similar to that of a muezzin's call to prayer. “Stiji knows all about fun. People say that’s all he did last year”.

“Which isn’t true at all”, Stiji remarked sharply, straightening his back.  “Remember that time I had to write that letter asking for free chickens in order to cover my office’s rent for the month? I’d hardly call that having fun”.

“It was a fun story to hear though”, Stevo commented.

“It’s also just one mildly frustrating story out of about a million excellent ones”, Sven said drily. “I can still recall the complete look of wonder on your face when the little boat arrived at that tiny island, what was it called again? Leleuvia, that’s right. Yeah, you looked pretty damn excited when that boat’s hull hit that pure white sand, and you arrived on that perfect little palm-tree-clad island sitting in that calm, azure water”.

Stiji raised an eyebrow. “Great story, and you’re right. That was my first real trip away from Suva, and it was mind-blowingly amazing. But seriously, who talks like that? Azure water? Come on”.

Stevo cut in diplomatically. “You all have good points. Stiji, you have had a lot of really great times. And most of them were outside of Suva. I mean, remember that trip to Taveuni? Your jaw was on the floor of the plane throughout the entire flight, and that was before you even got there. And yes Sven, who does talk like that?”

“I would like to point out that I’ve had plenty of good times in Suva as well”, Stiji said. “It was where I graduated from being terrible at guitar to mildly OK at it, and had some amazing jam sessions. It was where I learned to make coconut milk, and the subsequent fish curry, from scratch. It was where I had great balcony times with multiple sets of housemates. Where I enjoyed innumerable happy hour drinks at Bad Dog. Saw 46 (and counting) movies. It’s where I’ve eaten some phenomenal steak. So don’t go spouting off that I think Suva sucks. Because it’s just not true.

Stevo put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I stand corrected. Sorry”.

“Except now your argument is that you had fun times everywhere, and no bad times at all”, Muppet Goo pointed out.

Sven piped up. “What about the time your parents came and got ridiculously yet typically ill, and you had to change a whole heap of your plans? Surely that was a pretty low moment.”

“True”, Stiji nodded thoughtfully, “it’s not a natural thing to take charge over one’s parents. Still, a bit of a stomach bug is easily forgotten when they paid for my first trip to the Intercontinental”.

“A bit of a stomach bug?” Stevo asked? “Your mother could barely move. And then you caught it off them yourself!”

The multiple personalities sounded a chorus of agreement.

Stiji conceded. “Yeah, OK, so I was pretty miserable. But it was pretty hard to hate life when I was sick lying on a sun lounger in the Yasawas. Besides, my parents also bought me a can opener”.

“You’re really not helping the case for your year not being totally 100% fun with absolutely no negatives, you know”, Muppet Goo commented. “You’re hardly disproving the masses that believe you spent a year working on your amazing tan and snorkelling abilities”.

“Well, I’m not going to focus on the negatives now, am I? It’s the end of an era!” Stiji practically wailed.

“Shush now,” Stevo murmured. “Let’s focus on the positives then. Do you have a favourite moment in particular?”

“Not really, I don’t think. It’s all been pretty amazing. Although the colour of the water at Yanuca, that will always be in my memory. But yeah…all of it”. Stiji was murmuring quietly now, lazing on the sofa, in a state of warm contentment. His compatriots stood up, forming a creepy circle around him.

“Good night Stiji”, Stevo murmured.

“Sweet dreams”, Sven whispered.

“You’re totally a crazy person”, Muppet Goo crooned.

And he was. But a happy one.

Another flashback that just springs to mind is spending 20 minutes one morning walking to work with George and discussing the pros and cons of turning Japanese, after I spilt tumeric on my foot and made it turn yellow. Yes, I may be actually crazy.

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.

The Finer Things

There comes a point in many of our lives where we’re able to really enjoy the classier things in life. And no: turning 18, buying a cask of wine and playing Goon of Fortune does not constitute ‘classy’. Not even a little bit. I’m referring to the time when you get your first real job and your first real paycheck, and you buy yourself a nice bottle of wine, instead of Passion Pop. Or when you go to a restaurant and get a full meal instead of a side salad with a side of salad. Or buy real cheese instead of cheese slices. Maybe even going to see a show, or a stand-up comedian, instead of watching reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger (Fun Fact #461: it’s one of the cheapest shows to air reruns of, which explains why it’s on here all the time. All the time) while eating noodles and wiping your mouth on the hood of your jumper and your hands on your ‘comfy’ (read: unwashed for 10 months and counting) trakky daks.

Most people around my age would agree that finer things come with the demise of university lifestyle. Sure, we can still eat off paper plates and use plastic cutlery, but that’s just for funsies. Not because we smashed the two plates we had playing My Big Fat Greek Frisbee and bent the spoons out of shape using just our minds. And then I decided to become a volunteer, and watched as my very life devolved before me. No flatscreen TV (for some of us, anyway). No indie bands gigging in town. No comedians. No electricity, currently.

Even our paltry volunteer allowance gives us the opportunity to, from time to time, enjoy the finer things in life. The great and beautiful Pam Beasley had it right. For the more ignorant, it might appear as though a place like Fiji is devoid of opportunities to appreciate these finer things. This is of course completely incorrect, in addition to being horrifically discriminatory. Shame on you. For you see, there are many places in which to discuss books and art and celebrate culture in a very civilised way.

Ye Olde Book Clubbe

Established at a time when adding ‘ye’ and random ‘e’s to phrases and words was totally in vogue, this high-falutin monthly meeting is terribly refined and exclusive. By exclusive, I of course mean expensive. Occurring at the most prestigious (again, read: expensive) dining establishment Suva has to offer, Ye Olde Book Clubbe offers an opportunity for the more high-minded volunteers to come together and discuss great literary works over a meal (usually just the mushroom soup, because the steak is too expensive. Delicious, but expensive). Tie required; pants optional.

Jam Sesh

Affectionately nicknamed ‘IXLing’ by a puntastic member, Jam Seshes fill the live music void. Whilst some pubs and clubs offer music, it really pales in comparison to being in a band yourself. That’s not really a live gig, you say? Only playing for yourselves, you whisper snidely? Up yours. Our first live gig was at the Hilton Special School. Performing to largely Deaf students. And even though my sign language skills are only basic, I’m pretty confident they totally loved us. Don’t believe me? Check out our official tour T-shirt.

Cinema

Village 6 cinemas don’t just show the Hollywood rubbish, no sir. I might only see that stuff, but hey, that’s my own fault. Because there’s so much more on offer. Bollywood, for a start. Even a Korean film festival. And then of course most recently, an epic shadow puppet showdown during a city-wide blackout.

…Fiji

Alright fine. We don’t have an opera house. The tallest building here is about eight storeys high. An orchestra would serve only as some sort of science experiment testing the effects of saliva on mould growth in wood and brass instruments. But you know what? That’s OK. Because there are plenty of fine things here. And I don’t just mean the 5 star resorts, although they’re not so bad either. The food’s pretty amazing, the company is truly stellar, and let’s face it, what’s finer than a tiny tropical island with white sand and snorkelling and sunshine?

And there you have it. The finer things.

This does not mean I don’t want care packages with fine things (i.e. chocolate) in them anymore. I still do. Bigtime.