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Hopping gingerly across the hot sand, I approached the water activities hut at the Fijian resort.
“I’m here for the 1pm snorkel tour,” I said to the beaming woman behind the polished wooden counter.
“Bula,” she smiled, using the traditional greeting. Then she added, “I’m sorry sir, the man who does the snorkel tours has gone fishing.” The words flowed like warm honey.
“What time is he back?” I asked, surprised. “About 2pm Fiji time, so that might be 4pm or it might be tomorrow,” she laughed.
I’d always thought time was a fixed, solid kind of thing. But on the 333 stunning South Pacific islands of Fiji, time is elastic and elusive. Here, if you own a watch it’s for decorative purposes only. Deadline-driven and time-poor, Fiji should have driven me mad. But I loved it.
In May, the start of Fiji’s dry season lasting until October, I flew into Nadi International Airport with my wife and two teenage sons.
Nadi is on Viti Levu, the largest of Fiji’s islands.
It was an hour from the airport to the Shangri-La Resort and Spa, one of the most luxurious vacation spots on the Coral Coast tourist strip.
The resort sits on 109-acre Yanuca Island, connected to the mainland by a short causeway over a turquoise lagoon.
We’d barely unpacked before I’d booked my ill-fated snorkel trip, determined to pack in as much as I could during our week-long stay.
It didn’t go ahead that day. Or the next. But, by then, I was running on Fiji time myself. Scattered around the resort were inviting day beds and sumptuous chairs shaded by dark local timbers. It was impossible to resist sitting for a while.
One spot quickly became a favourite. It was modelled on a bure, the traditional Fijian open-sided wood and thatch dwelling. Perched on coral rocks next to the Takali Terrace Restaurant, the bure was fringed with a lattice of rainforest and ocean scenes. Sunlight pouring through the glass sent shards of coloured light spilling across us as we relaxed. Beneath us was a tiny sheltered cove, inhabited by schools of small tropical fish and indigo-coloured starfish.
The Shangri-La has over 400 rooms, but during our stay we never saw another person in the little cove and hardly ever saw anyone on the palm-fringed beach nearby. Most holiday-makers congregated on the lagoon-side of the resort, home to a large pool with life guards and close to a popular buffet restaurant.
The modern and well-equipped resort gym overlooked the ocean but was as deserted as our secret cove. Mind you, I wasn’t surprised. Watching a digital reading of your climbing heart rate while pounding a torture instrument masquerading as a treadmill seemed just plain wrong in Fiji.
There were at least seven different places to eat at the resort, all serving portions big enough to satisfy the appetite of a typically sturdy Fijian.
Fortunately, it was easy to eat healthily. Fish caught on the reef during the day were displayed on ice at the lagoon-side Cafe Coral and could be selected and cooked to order.
After a few days’ relaxation we ventured further afield for a tour to a Fijian village in the rugged rainforest highlands.
Fiji is a developing nation and the people are poor. But if you think a visit to a village means being plagued by touts selling souvenirs you couldn’t be more wrong.
Welcome to Fiji
Though a warrior people originally, Fijians pride themselves on their genuine warmth and friendliness. Their society is one of conservative values and one where respect for the elderly and dignity are highly valued. Both men and women wear a modest wrap-around skirt called a sulu, which reaches to beneath the knee. In the villages at least, shoulders are usually covered and public displays of affection between men and women are frowned upon.
After pulling the tour bus off a dirt track into the village our guide led our party into a small community hall. Wearing shy smiles, the village children filed in, followed by their chief, a tall man, built like a ship’s spar. The children stood proudly, chests puffed out, waiting for his signal. After settling a few of the smaller fidgeting kids with a glance, he turned to us.
“Welcome to Fiji,” he boomed. “Now the children will sing for you.”
At that, he nodded and the little barefoot army burst into song. The joyful music in their voices was infectious. They sang beautifully of greetings and wistful goodbyes.
We’d brought pencils and paper for the children, but nothing was expected. Some of their mothers had made shell necklaces, laid out at the front of one home almost as an afterthought. There was no pressure to buy.
Visitors are treated as honoured guests in Fiji and the women of the village giggled shyly as they placed garlands of flowers around our necks and tucked sweet frangipani behind our ears. A boy threw a stick into a palm tree to knock down some coconuts and we were urged to try the fresh milk and flesh.
Later, leaving the village, I felt touched by the genuine warmth and humility of these humble people.
A few days later we drove to Sigatoka, the largest town on the Coral Coast. Hot and dusty, it is situated on the languid Sigatoka River which flows beneath towering hills, lush with tropical fruit. The area is known as Fiji’s ‘salad bowl’ because so much grows there.
Grab a bargain
Fijians are skilled wood carvers and every other shop in town appeared to be offering war clubs or forks associated with Fiji’s past. Less confronting was the patterned cloth called masi, made from the pliable bark of the paper mulberry bush and traditionally prepared by women for ceremonies.
In the 1870s the British colonial authorities brought indentured workers from India to work on Fiji’s sugar plantations. Many stayed on. These Indo-Fijians are canny traders and own a lot of Sigatoka’s shops. Competition between them is fierce so you’re sure of a bargain.
Sigatoka is also a jumping off point for popular jet boat tours up the river. Going on a jet boat sounded far too much like rushing about to me, so I spent an hour reclining on a grassy river bank watching a fisherman in waist-deep water casting his hand-held net. He didn’t catch anything, but didn’t seem too bothered either. Most of the time he splashed his children as they sat on the bank waiting for dad to catch dinner!
The next day, we finally got to go on that snorkel tour. It even left on time!
Motoring out to sea, we anchored just behind a magnificent surf break and snorkelled in crystal water. “The visibility here is better than the Great Barrier Reef in Australia,” the guide said proudly.
I’d snorkelled in Australia and reckoned he was probably right. The marine life was amazing. Schools of hand-sized fish teemed around us and graceful turtles glided by.
“This is where we catch the fish for the restaurant,” the guide told me when I came up for air.
Our last night was capped off by a Fijian village feast called a lovo. We watched as the men dug a hole in the ground and built a fire to heat large river stones. Once the stones were judged hot enough, chicken and whole fish wrapped in banana leaves were placed on top. Everything was covered with soil and leaves and dug up an hour or so later. Succulent and smoky, it was delicious.
By the end of our stay I’d unwound so much I wouldn’t have been surprised to see my watch going anti-clockwise. Not that I wore one. I’d abandoned it on my bedside cabinet after a day or two.
As we checked in for our flight home I hoped the pilot had taken a look at the glorious weather and decided to sit under a swaying palm with a good book so we could stay a little longer. We left right on schedule. Alas, international pilots don’t run on Fiji Time!
Inside info
How to go: Emirates (Dh11,200) flies from Dubai to Suva via Sydney and Nadi; return flight, Suva to Dubai via Auckland.
Where to stay: Go to Luxury Hotels and Resorts | Official Site Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts to book. There are usually deals enabling children under 12 to stay and eat free.
