We rely on our bodies to work. That’s a no-brainer. Traveling on a budget often involves staying in a hostel, taking public transportation, and very commonly using your appendages to get from place to place. I have walked all over this planet, and I expect my body to continue accommodating my knack for physical exertion.
I thought I knew how to treat a wound. I’ve taken basic aid classes. I have a Bachelor’s degree in Science. After stepping on the nail, I tried everything I knew possible to stop the impending infection. It probably didn’t help that I went swimming right afterward. I slapped a bandage on my foot and ran straight to the river. It was that hot. (Continued)
Returning after our holiday, we had not only our backpacks but boxes worth of books, school supplies, and ingredients for a week of comforting menu items. Fane gave us no hint as to when she would return to the village, and we were given permission to run her household to our liking, to cook and clean for ourselves.
After being dependent on others for a month, we came back with something to prove to the village.
Making the Exotic Familiar
Ten days of tourist comfort reminded Garrett and me how much we yearned for the familiar: reasonably pure water, meals with lots of protein, comfort foods, and clothing that had even the slightest resemblance to clean. Instead of being reluctant to return to the adventure, we decided to find a new comfort with what Fiji provided; however, this also meant we took a turn for the debatably worse. Thankfully we didn’t let the others closely witness the change, but we took it…there.
Even if the only information one is exposed to is from cable TV and the local newspaper, Americans know what makes them unhealthy, and many continue to live as though they don’t. 34% of us are obese, so to travel globally and point fingers at people’s awareness of their own health seems little hypocritical.
However, these informational resources offer very current facts streaming in from the source of the new data. I don’t think Garrett and I found a science or health book in the village that wasn’t printed in the 1970s or a poster that wasn’t peppered with indecipherable vocabulary from a medical dictionary.
How could the Highlanders be expected to know how to care for their bodies with subpar resources and virtually no disposable income? They certainly tried, but there was one motivation most of the Fijians lacked that thoroughly worried us.
The final Fiji experience: a week crisping the skin and exfoliating the feet on Waya Island in the Yasawa chain. Since Garrett had to head home early, I went on my own to relax, do a little Fijian research, and eventually find the best meal I had in three months – at a hostel in Nadi pre-flight home.
Garrett awoke me with a cheer, but I could barely move. Having not shifted an inch the entire night, my hardening body was attempting to fuse with the modest mattress like a mother to her long-lost-but-now-found son. It felt like heaven, as did the tile floor…and the calm coastal breeze. (Continued)
There’s only been one other time when my Christmas wasn’t filled with earmuffs, slick roads, and airings of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. And the night we left for Maui with the rest of the holiday escapists was a tad doleful as we left winter in our contrail.
Two Bellies Churning
Photo by Garrett Russell
Our rosy-nose expectations of the twelve days of Christmas made the final week leading up to the big day a little anticlimactic. How do we prepare for the event? What’s going to happen? The rest of the villagers were jolly as ranchers but had no advice for us on how to infuse ourselves in the mix…aside from purchasing four sugar sweets and three Fijian hens for every child in town. We learned quickly that the children didn’t know of Santa, nor did they receive presents for the occasion.
Unsure of whether we were really expected to provide for the feast or the kids (we weren’t) or whether we were being inappropriately pressured (as is the way in this region), we turned to what we couldn’t misconstrue and what certainly seemed generous to us: more class time, with a new focus that week on teeth brushing. (Continued)
Regardless of our desires to infuse routine into our Fijian lifes, the days always promised to be unpredictable. Waking up in the morning, I could lie in bed, staring at the illuminated ceiling and think:
Today, I could eat something crazy, go some where amazing, end up crying, hurt myself, receive a phone call, get charged by a wild boar, who knows…
One such morning, Abel ordered us to grab our sulus and hiking shoes and head to Navunikabi, a village 8 km away by foot over the nearby bushy hills. His cousin had died.
Wobbling awkwardly in my rain boots, a favored hiking shoe when the soil is slick, I gritted my teeth as each of my open sores rubbed against the bending plastic with every lunge up the hill (darn you, tropical bacteria). We crawled over shattered bamboo patches, croutched through caves of foliage, weaved through tight openings in the trees, and slid down an extreme pitch to finally ford a river at the village’s periphery.
I pulled off my rain boots to dry and was immediately carted off to the women’s gathering, while Garrett walked toward a sea of men drinking kava. Moments later we both emerged from our respective houses, making lines to the home where the wake would take place – I in a sulu-i-ra sprayed with perfume (to wrangle a man, supposedly). (Continued)
One of our last mornings in the village, we awoke early to join the kids at school, helping them brush their teeth and watching their military-esque line-up and discipline hour.
When I think of Fiji water, I don’t think of rectangular bottles with untouched, artisan liquid inside. I think of the teal waters draped with vines and littered with bamboo shoots weaving through the interior of Viti Levu. We always found new ways to appreciate the water, and playing on this vine swing and wading in the hot springs were no exceptions.
