Volume 3: Pete in the South Pacific. A young balding mans journey to Mana Island and back
Day 1 – “It ain’t half hot mum”
This time the tour would be to Fiji. The small Mana Island resort to be exact. It would be a chance for me to relax, forget about everything and just completely unwind. Oh, and there is the little event of one my friends getting married on the Island which is probably the main reason for the tour.The heroes for this episode:
The soul mates
Paul*: My friend and the guy getting married. We met back in high school and I knew we’d get along well when I figured out how to draw dirty pictures using the “logo” programming language on the computer in our IT subject and he found them just as amusing as I did.
Hyon-Jeong*: Pauls’ wife to be. They met a few years ago while he was (and still is) working in Korea. She dreamt about a white serpent a few days before she met him, which apparently means you’re about to meet your husband according to Korean culture. Can’t argue with that bit of the Korean culture (unlike the eating of the “crap dog” to enhance a man’s sexual abilities).
The happy immediate family (The Dubaichs)
Mr D: Paul’s dad. Also has an uncanny ability to relate every event in his life back to an episode of either Seinfeld or The Simpsons. Also has some unique views on race relations. May have also suffered shell shock or drunk too much Fosters during a tour of duty during the Vietnam War.
Mrs D*: Paul’s mum. Tries to keep the sanity and prevent international incidents whenever Mr D chooses to share some of his unique views on race relations.
Sarah*: Paul’s younger sister.
The happy extended family (The Milligans)
Mr M*: Uncle to Paul (Brother of Mrs D). Still retains Scottish accent despite living in Australia for 20 odd years. Affectionately known as “Normie” to his kids.
Mrs M*: Aunty to Paul. Good honest Aussie.
Fiona*: Cousin of Paul’s. Would qualify for an episode of Ray Martins “Top blokes and good sorts” TV show he did a while back. An attractive member of the fairer sex, with the type of personality that just draws people to them.
Derrick*: Cousin of Paul’s. Top Bloke.
*Note: even though mentioned here, will receive little mention here on in because didn’t really do or say anything I could take the piss out of.
The tour started off with a slight miss understanding in the Hart household, where my Dad was going to be taking me to the airport. I was to depart on Thursday morning at 1:25am. In order to meet the 3 hour check in time, I would therefore have to be at the airport on Wednesday night. So you can imagine my surprise when my parents showed surprise when I carried my suitcase to the door around 9:30pm Wednesday night and they said “You’re not leaving now are you? I thought the flight was tomorrow?” Whilst technically correct in that I was flying tomorrow, it hadn’t quite clicked that it was early tomorrow morning and therefore meant being at the airport today. The old man had already change into his PJ’s and was ready for an early night, but after I pulled out a white board, explained the concept of the 24 hour day, 7 day week, we were eventually back on the same page and the old man got changed into some clothes that were less likely to allow his “old fella” to poke its’ head out in public which is a risk you run whenever a man chooses to wear PJ’s.
After checking my luggage onto the flight and exchanging my almighty 100 Aussies dollars into 100 Fijian dollars, it was time to go through customs. As I walked through I was pulled aside for a few questions from some Customs police type guy (more prejudice from society against the bald man!). After a minor chat, a look at my passport (I was pretty happy with my passport photo so quite keen to show it off) he let me go. It was lucky I didn’t have my “Property of Rockridge State Prison” t-shirt on otherwise I would have heard that sound that sends a chill down every man’s spine; the sound of a rubber glove being slapped onto a naked hand, ready to go where no man has gone before. The customs people ignored the Al Qaeda looking guy and Mr D constantly going on about how he could have smuggled C4 explosives “this far”. A quite word from Mrs D about how airlines don’t like to hear the words “explosives”, “bomb”, or “Pull up! We’re gonna hit that mountain!” and Mr D was soon quite (well, back to relating everything to a Simpsons or Seinfeld episode).
I was filled with joy when I discovered there would be no crying babies on this flight. That joy was short lived when some fat guy sat next to me. It had looked like I was going to get the whole row to myself, until tubby planted his considerable load next to me. So my middle row looked like this: 1 spare seat, 1 fat guy, 1 me. In a proper world it would have been 1 fat guy, 1 spare seat, 1 me. There should be a note registered somewhere saying guys like that need 2 seats so that uncomfortable stuff like some fat guy elbowing you in the kidneys every time he moves doesn’t happen. Maybe they had put down a note saying he needed 3 seats and he had booked his ticket before me? Either that or they had to sit him right in the middle so that the plane didn’t tilt to 1 side.
The woman I had pencilled in as my “sex before the plane crashes” looked like she was of Indian decent. I hoped that Buddhism or Hinduism didn’t frown upon sex before marriage in a crisis situation, otherwise the last few moments of my life were going to be spent alone.The stewardess on the flight for my row always served us after the stewardess for the other row was well past. I figured she did it because it meant she had to do less because everyone kept getting stuff from the other stewardess. As the stewardess was so slow, it wasn’t until after the start of the movie that she reached me for a drink. In anticipation I had taken my ear phones off to get her attention so she didn’t go past me, which was really annoying because I could see this Scooby Doo movie was going to have a deep, complex plot line, so I didn’t want to miss anything. It’s interesting; I don’t know whether airlines show movies like that to entertain you or to help you sleep. In any event, I got no sleep on the flight.
When you get off the plane in Fiji you’re greeted with a punch to the face. Not by some big, burly Fijian male but by the heat and humidity. I’d only just stepped off the plane and I could feel condensation forming on the skin of my arms. After checking through possibly the most relaxed customs on earth, which consists of only 1 guy asking you if you want to declare anything (I was tempted to declare that Fijian customs was inadequately staffed), and I’m pretty sure he’d try to convince you to say ‘no’ even if you said ‘yes’ because it would have meant more work for him, it was onto a bus to head down to the port of Denaru. From Denaru it was around a 1 and a half hour cruise to Mana Island.
We finally reached Mana Island at 10:30am local time, but weren’t allowed to check in until 1pm. This meant I was forced to stay in my Melbourne clothes, ie 15 degrees 10% humidity, until 1pm before I could put on my Fiji clothes, ie 35 degrees 80% humidity. As I had left my sunscreen in my case, it wasn’t until after 1pm before I had a chance to apply any. Come the end of the day I was burnt enough to allow the hotel restaurant to turn down the lights and let my skin illuminate the room.
When I finally checked in to my room, I had a quick shower, and then headed straight for some snorkelling with Paul and Hyon-Jeong who had landed in Fiji a few days earlier. The snorkelling was sensational. It was like the God’s had 50 different paintbrushes with 50 different colours, and they were only allowed to use each brush on only 1 fish. The time was now about 1:30pm, and given I’d woken at 11am the previous day, I’d now racked up 25 and half straight hours without sleep. Strange thing was I didn’t feel tired at all. I don’t know whether it was the heat, or 8 months of anticipation of hitting the beach, but I was wired and figured I could go another 8 hours. Turned out it was only another 7 hours before I crashed into bed for 12 straight hours of sleep.
Day 2 – “Oooh, you can see the fish!”
After the long pleasant sleep in my Ocean View Deluxe Bure it was onto breakfast. I had been hesitant about staying at a hotel that used the word “Deluxe” to describe its rooms after the Sydney “shoe box” debacle, but the accommodation was perfect. The Bure (that’s a small hut to you and me) was in fact deluxe, featured a big ass air conditioner with climate control, and most importantly, an Ocean View. At breakfast our game plan was to stock up on muffins and take them back to our Bures’ so we didn’t have to pay for lunch, a plan that would turn out to be highly effective.
After breakfast it was back in the water. First some more snorkelling, then followed by lounging around in the pool. From there, we chose to take in a coconut ice cream making lesson. Turned out they only showed us how to scrap out coconut shavings, with no making of ice cream in sight. It was lucky we didn’t have to pay otherwise we would have felt ripped off because we all thought we were going to learn how to make the actual ice cream. Or even more in depth, show us how to make the coconut (down side is with having to wait a few years for seed to grow into tree, then coconuts to grow on tree).
With a belly full of coconut-covered ice cream, it was back into some snorkelling with Sarah and Fiona. It was at this time that Sarah remarked “Oooh, you can see the fish!” to which I calmly replied “Really, who would have thought an ocean would contain fish?!?”. It’s comments like that from me that just make the whole holiday experience all the more fun for everyone involved. Man, I was doing it tough. I figured I’d spent only about 4 hours in the water for the day.
The plan for the night was to have dinner at a Japanese restaurant on the south side of the island. It turned out none of us had a scientific calculator on us so there was going to be no way we were going to be able to calculate what was going to be a considerable sized bill, so we went to the cheaper restaurant on the north side of the island. It was about this time that Paul came in saying they had burnt the wedding dress while trying to iron it. I considered saying the easiest way to fix the dress would be by burning the rest of the dress to be brown, but my better judgement said no, otherwise I would have had to kick my own ass (after about another 9 people). Mrs D and Mrs M then rushed into action the way only a mother can do when she senses trouble for one of her children, and after some review the “burn” turned out to be nothing visible. The Wedding would not be ruined; it was all still green lights.
With the wedding dress crisis that would have even made the people of the Middle East think their problems were trivial averted, we took in some post dinner entertainment. It consisted of a live band and dancing girls. The dances consisted of island dances from all over the world. Apparently every island is pretty much the same, with a lot of hip movement and either a straw skirt or grass skirt. I thought it was a bit rude to not include any Australian dances; after all it is the biggest Island on earth. I suppose you wouldn’t call watching some bogan in moccasins and acid wash jeans head banging to AC/DC entertainment.
The band sang a song I’d never heard before. The lyrics went “Fish and chips, gotta shake those hips, and do the rumba”. Now given that they were surrounded by one of the most attractive places on earth, I would have thought the lyrics could have been a bit more inspired. Then again, Island life is so laid back and relaxed (the locals all refer to the “Fiji Time” work ethic. That is, work half hour, talk 1 hour, work half hour, sleep 1 hour) you’d probably just find any word that rhymed with “hips” and think “bugger it, near enough. I’m supposed to be relaxing, don’t wanna be stretching myself by spending 5 minutes filtering through the dictionary or thesaurus looking for words that rhyme with ‘hips’”. At the conclusion of the bands set, I was dragged into what could only be described as the most piss weak excuse for a conga line a resort has ever seen. No one was dancing; it was essentially a bunch of stupid tourists walking behind some Fijian girl trying her hardest to get some audience participation.
At the end of the night Mr D dropped this classic quote about the dancers “Those girls are real pretty, they can’t be Fijian”. I suppose if you looked up the book “101 ways to get kicked of an Island”, you’d probably find implying their women are ugly is in there somewhere. How Prime Minister Howard hasn’t been able to work Mr D into some sort of foreign ambassador role is beyond me. Another favourite of Mr D’s is to find everything “unbelievable” or “amazing”. The digital camera was “amazing”, the video camera was “unbelievable” and I think he found the ability for water to flow from a tap “unbelievable” and “amazing”. You’d swear the guy was Amish or had been in a coma for the last 25 years and as such missed all technological advances.
I retired to my bure at about 10pm and had trouble sleeping due to water in my ear. Who would have thought there would be a downside to spending a 1/6th of your day submerged in water?
Day 3 – “Going to the chapel and we’re gonna get married…”
Today is the wedding day. As I couldn’t find a suitable bride in the last 25 years, it was only going to be Paul and Hyon-Jeong. Hyon-Jeong was to get prepared in their Bure, while Paul came up to my Bure to “tidy himself up”. I told him it was only going to take me about 15 minutes to get ready, ie shower, shave, get dressed, the average time for a man to get ready for any occasion, whether that occasion be a day on the couch watching footy or being an astronaut on a NASA rocket destined for the moon. So you can imagine my surprise when Paul told me it was going to take him an hour to get ready. The thought “what are you? Some sort of woman?” immediately came into my head. After cleaning up the bathroom the next day, I was surprised it only took him an hour. The man must have used about 15 types of soaps and assorted fragrances. I’ve heard of guys virtually shitting themselves on their wedding days, well no one would have known if Paul did because he’d put so much anti-funk fragrance on there was no way he was going to smell anything other than “spring in Tuscony fresh”. As for me, I too smelt a treat. I had created a unique fragrance that combined my deodorant, sunscreen, and tropical strength insect repellent. I decided to call my fragrance “Pacific Breeze” and would advertise it as having the “triple effect”. It would repel skin cancer and insects, but would attract the ladies.
It was hot in my full wedding attire, which consisted of a Country Road slack pant, black shoes, socks, a white shirt and a tie. I decided to carry my jacket to wear for pictures (and to cover my nipples, as I’m sure I was sweating so much I would have just about created a wet shirt. I like to leave something to the imagination and keep my modesty). Paul was decked out in a white suit, white shoes, no socks, white shirt (with name embroidered on pocket) and blue tie. Now, as you read this I know you’re picturing him in something that resembled the white suit from “Fantasy Island” or a Miami Vice episode (I remarked that his shoes looked like the ones Cousin Eddie gave to Clark Griswold in the first National Lampoons movie), but he did scrub up a treat. It’s probably better to describe his attire as something Enrique Inglesis or some other Latino pretty boy would wear, good enough to attract women while being good enough for men to start a rumour he was gay so as to keep their women away.
The wedding party went to the chapel in a trailer attached to the back of a tractor. The trailer pretty much consisted of a trailer with some token vinyl seats and a roof. We had to ensure we all didn’t go to 1 side as that would have potentially rolled the trailer. For the bride and groom: “The executive tractor”. It was essentially a small hut decked out nicely, towed by a tractor.
It’s not often you see perfection, but the small chapel, coupled with the view, with the choir, and the vowels written by Paul where he quoted Saint Joseph or some other saint (all I know was that it wasn’t Saint Nick because there was no mention of “him making a list and checking it twice”) made for the greatest wedding I’ve ever been to. Ignore the fact that it was only the 2nd wedding I’d ever been to; I don’t think I’ll see a better one ever again. It was hard to believe that the same person who had laughed with me all those years ago at the phallic images I’d drawn on my computer screen could write something so deep and beautiful.
It was during the wedding dinner that I discovered Paul’s cousins’ last name was Milligan. So naturally, being on a small island with the Milligans the rest of the night I had the “Gilligians Island” theme song stuck in my head. Every time I heard reference to the Milligans I got “A 3 hour tour, a 3 hour tour” playing in my head.
After dinner, we all went to the main bar for some local entertainment. When the dancers had finished and Paul and I had finished a few shots, it was off to the dance floor where we tried to out bad dance each other. I’m a man of many talents, dancing is not one of them. I’m sure Paul and Hyon-Jeong would’ve got a few wedding night dances in, if we hadn’t almost killed her after her 1st shot. After what had been a big day for her, I think all that nervous energy in her guts mixed with a shot almost saw her showing us exactly what nervous energy looks like when it takes an express journey from your guts out through you’re mouth. Thankfully, she didn’t taste the drink twice, as it were.After showing the locals a thing or 2 about bad dancing, it was off to bed.
Day 4 – “Table tennis and Uno: A great Aussie holiday tradition”
At breakfast this morning Mr D was still finding ways to reference every 2nd event to a Seinfeld episode. If you’d just dropped in from another planet you would have thought George Costanza was his brother or old boarding school roommate he got so many mentions. Talk at breakfast soon gets to about how we are going to mix Fijian language with English when we get back to Australia. Apparently the Milligans (a 3 hour tour, a 3 hour tour) live next door to a nutter they have affectionately named “Budgie Bob” (either breeds budgies or he’s a giant bird called “Bob”). The 2 main words you hear in Fiji are “Bula”, which means welcome or hello, and Vinaka, which means thank you. So the conversation between Mr M and Bob would perhaps go like this:
Mr M: Bula Bob
Budgie Bob: Get stuffed! And don’t swear at me!
Mr M: Vinaka
While “you had to be there”, I think the fact that Mrs D laughed pretty much a mouth full of coffee out of her mouth and nose onto me would give you a fair idea of how funny it seemed. Mrs M remarked about the coffee flying out of most of Mrs D’s orifices that “she missed it”. To which I replied “I didn’t” as I proceeded to twist and scrunch up my t-shirt in an attempt to drain the large quantity of coffee that had landed on me.Just after 1pm we say goodbye to the Milligans (a 3 hour tour, a 3 hour tour) as they sadly have to go home today.
Just before they go we go snorkelling, and this time we take some bread to feed the fish. Mr D joined us for his 1st under water encounter and justifiably so called it “amazing”. It truly is like another world under the water (a fact Mr D would repeat a few times during a glass bottom boat ride the next day). During this snorkelling experience I discover a new weird looking fish. It was like the God’s had run out of colours so had decided “I wonder what a javelin with eyes that could swim would look like – bugger it! Let’s just make one!”.
Paul and Hyon-Jeong after being screwed around in pre wedding preparations, which included the ironing debacle and the fact that if Paul wanted to rent cuff links he would have to rent a whole suit, had been upgraded to the Executive Bure as a way of Mana Island management saying sorry. The Executive Bure included twin air conditioners, a spa and being located only 1 step from the beach. Yes, the squeaky wheel gets the coconut oil.
At dinner one of the staff remembered me from my “unique” dancing the night before. His name was “Eppie” and he suggested I might prefer the DJ tonight as opposed to the live band the night before. It’s always nice to be remembered and leave your legacy.After dinner we played some table tennis and then went back to Paul and Hyon-Jeong’s bure to play Uno. It’s amazing; it doesn’t matter if you’re on holiday down Rosebud in a $20 a night caravan or in a spectacular Fijian resort spending a few hundred a night, it’s your duty as an Australian to play table tennis and Uno. What a great 2nd night as a married couple for Paul and Hyon-Jeong, playing table tennis and Uno with your parents and friend. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
Day 5 – “Fiji Time”
The combination of heat and more heat left us all feeling fairly tired today, so it was decided to operate on Fiji time, ie take it easy, no rush. After breakfast we decided to go for a ride on the glass bottom boat/submarine. Mr D found the experience to be both amazing and unbelievable which was justifiably so on the amazing bit, but I did find the whole event believable. The boat/submarine was not quite as good as snorkelling, as snorkelling helps you to submerge your mind into believing you’re in a different world, but if you had no arms and/or legs thus limiting your ability to swim then the boat would be a suitable replacement.
After the boat/submarine ride, it was back to my room for some writin’ and relaxin’ (note the lack of a “g” as by spelling words incorrectly it helps the mind to release itself from the stress’ of the outside world, one being correct spelling and correct grammar). Found myself a little bored after a short nap so I decided to compile the following guide to Mana Island:
Mana Island In A Nutshell – For people too lazy to read the brochures
Humidity: High
Air temperature: Hot
Water temperature: Hot
Beer temperature: Cold
Variety of beer: Low
Number of single chicks: Low
Number of Aussies: High
Number of friendly Fijians: High
Number of over priced water sports: High
Number of views good enough to be your last before you die: High
Use of the word “Bula”: High
Accomodation
Garden View Bure: Small, with tiled floor, cooled by ceiling fan. Also contains bathroom, which may contain large cockroaches finding their way into your toiletry bag. Comes with 2 chairs that are as comfortable as small milk crates. Are located in such a way that you’ll enjoy your long walk to the beach.
Recommended for: People with low budget and have no trouble sleeping in hot and uncomfortable conditions, ie someone who was on the Kokoda trail during WWII.
Ocean Deluxe View Bure: Larger than the Garden View Bure, polished floor boards (well, they were polished when they were originally laid down), cooled by a big ass air conditioner with climate control. Comes with a comfy couch and are located a very short walk to beach.
Recommended for: People with generous budget and like to sleep as perfectly as their surroundings.
Executive Bure: Roughly same size as Ocean Deluxe View Bure, but with recently polished floor boards, generous size bed, large couch and 2 comfy chairs. Also comes with spa and laundry service. Located 1 step from the beach.
Recommended for: Person(s) whose budget is large due to laundering money through 1 of the neighbouring islands.
After compiling the above guide (look for it shortly on the Mana Island web site) I decided to flip through the Fijian Yellow Pages and phone book for a little light entertainment. It was there that I found an AIDS prevention ad. It included the following statement “You can prevent the spread of AIDS by: being faithful to your partner, using condoms, not having casual sex”. The 1st option should come with an asterisks, with “Note: only effective if your partner is faithful to you”. The 2nd option is a bit vague. My definition of using condoms also includes using them as novelty balloons and water bombs. I don’t think by using them in that manner you’d prevent the spread of AIDS. The 3rd option is just plain unreasonable. The same ad also included the following slogan “AIDS: Anyone can get it! Learn about it, decide and live!”. What if I decide to share needles and shag every woman I meet? Other interesting facts to come out of the book were that the name Kumar, Prasad, and Singh each took up around 10 pages each of the 392 page total, while there was only 1 Hart in the entire book. For those playing Fijian phone book bingo, his first name was John.
After that light reading, it was off to partake in happy hour as per my duty as an Australian. Whilst enjoying a drop of Fiji’s finest ale, there was a small group of locals with guitars singing songs. They had rewritten “When the saints go marching in“ to include “when the brandy, will make you randy”, “when the whiskey, will make you frisky”, and “when the gin, will make you spin”. It was a song I found easy to relate to. It was at drinks that Mr D showed some more insight into the different cultures of the world when he asked Mrs D “Do you think the locals wash?”. Mrs D’s eyes rolled back in dismay for about the 20th time of the tour and she informed him in no uncertain terms that the locals did in fact wash.
After dinner, it was time for more UNO, then table tennis and some pool (the big green table variety). I soon discovered that the local staff have reached a level where they could hustle the tourists out of money (fortunately they didn’t) or turn pro. The Fijian sports commission should be scouting all the resorts to uncover the next Ping Pong or Snooker World Champion. Mark my words: Fiji will 1 day be a world power house in indoor recreational sports in the next 10 years.
Being impressed with local talent proved tiring and I was soon off to bed.
Day 6 – “Still Fiji Time”
As I was bagged about writing about nothing on my last trip, I shan’t bother the reader by going into depth about how I did nothing on day 6 (I hear you say ‘that hasn’t stopped you on the first 5 days’, to which I reply ‘get stuffed!’). The highlights of day 6 were Uno, table tennis, feeding the fish, and my ass in a hammock for 3 hours, not necessarily in that order. There was one conversation where Hyon-Jeong talked about the culture differences between Koreans and Australians. She didn’t understand why in Australia everyone said ‘excuse me’ after sneezing, coughing, or yawning. It was agreed, however, that in both countries it was polite to say something when you farted, in Korea it was ‘excuse me’, in Australia it was ‘better out than in’.
So with nothing to write about in Fiji, I decided to write about what I believed to be:
‘The 10 most unnecessary sequels in the history of movie making’
Weekend at Bernie’s 2: Flogging a dead horse in both the figurative and literal sense. Hard to believe there wasn’t someone in the board room when they were getting the finance for the film who didn’t say “But didn’t he die in the first movie? Much like the career of any actor willing to work on such a stupid move”
Police Academy 5: No Steve Guttenburg, no new jokes
Police Academy 6: Large breasted chick gets more air time, but still no new jokes
Police Academy 7: Not quite sure whether this one was called ‘Police Academy 7’ or whether they just gave it a sub title. Something like ‘Police Academy: Straight to video’
Crocodile Dundee 3: some would say no point in making the 2nd, but the 3rd one died much like ‘Hoges’ face (trust me, somewhere buried under all that plastic is Hoges’ dead face)
Rocky 5: Coincidentally the fifth movie and the number of people who went to see the movie
Superman 4: Yeah, yeah, guy who can run fast, jump high and surround himself with people so stupid they can’t tell the difference between him and Clark Kent. Scary thing is he was working for a newspaper in the ‘Investigative Journalism’ section. Surprised the Daily Planet didn’t realise the headline “Sun rises in the morning!” and call it an exclusive
Never Ending Story 2: How can you have a 2nd part to a movie that proclaims to be the never ending story? 1st movie was a jib in that it actually finished
Jaws – The Revenge: Friggin shark with a grudge. Must have hired his own PI. How the flying f#!k is a shark going to know the exact location of 1 single family?
Terminator 2: While being one of my favourite movies, due to events in time should never happened because the Sky lab is destroyed, so therefore the robots never took over, therefore no need for robots to be sent back to kill leader of the resistance. Plus the kid’s father was from the future and he was only sent back to protect the mother of the leader of the resistance, ie the kid, but because the robots were beaten there is no need for him to go back in time, therefore he wouldn’t have fathered the leader of the resistance, therefore no need for robots to send back robot as there is no leader of resistance. Technically makes the 1st movie unnecessary, but that’s a different list.
Day 7 – ‘Back to life, back to reality’
Unfortunately day 7 is the final day. Time to pack things up, say good-bye to Paul and Hyon-Jeong, and let my ass say goodbye to the hammock. The last 6 days had been possibly the most relaxing of my entire existence. No phones, no TV, no work. I’d travelled to a different country, but it might as well have been a different planet as I’d completely forgotten about the outside world. My only worries had been waking up in time to have breakfast, and getting to happy hour in the evening. MY GOD ISLAND LIFE IS GOOD!
At around 1:30pm it was time to hop back on the boat that had brought us to the island just 7 days earlier. As you can expect, it was an emotional time, with Mrs D realising she wouldn’t be spending the Christmas with her son as he was going back to Korea with Hyon-Jeong, and me realising it would be some time before my ass would be in a hammock again. My spirits were soon lifted when I discovered they sold beer on the boat, so the cruise back to Denaru was quite pleasant as we went past the many neighbouring islands.
Back on the main island of Viti Levu we had some time to kill, so the small bus that had picked us up took us into Nadi to do some shopping. Our guide on the bus was named ‘Bolle’ and it showed great restraint from Mr D to not say “I own a pair of sun glasses with the exact same name”. The bus stopped at ‘Jack’s Crafts’, a typically tourist shop that I’m sure Bolle and his driver were receiving kick backs for bringing in the tourists. That said, Jack’s Crafts might possibly be the greatest shop on earth. Upon entry they offer you a complimentary beverage, which includes beer! It was a great initiative and one I hoped would take off soon back home in stores across Australia. Nadi reminded me much of Tijuana in Mexico, a city set up to catch as many tourist dollars as possible. Another thing that stood out was the number of Bob Marley t-shirts available for sale in the local shops. After killing a few hours, and some brain cells with some more beer in a local restaurant, Bolle drove us to the airport.
On the flight the Gods had set me up well for the “sex before the plane crashes”, with about 3 rows of young dread locked, blonde aussie women within my proximity which would be easy to find, even in a smoke filled cabin full of screaming people. There were 2 movies, one aimed at children called something along the lines of ‘The day Santa ran over Grandma’. It was predictable, while being somewhat confusing with its songs glorifying the fact Santa had mowed down some innocent old woman in his sleigh. The 2nd movie ‘Be like Mike’ would have been bettered titled ‘Be like Shite’ as it was a shocker; another aimed at helping the passengers get some sleep.
After touchdown it was time to go through customs. Everyone except some couple formed an orderly queue. I figured they must have had something illegal strapped to their lower intestines judging by the fact they tried to go under numerous barriers and out the exit. It’s queue jumpers like these who should receive an automatic body cavity search to serve as a lesson to anyone else thinking of jumping the queue. The queue moved quite quickly and I was soon back in my parent’s car and heading home.
