FIJI: Paradise Found (again)
I must have died somewhere over the Pacific, tho I failed to notice... I didn’t become fully conscious until I was bumping down an unpaved road, slippery from recent rain, threading its way thru dense jungle along hidden beaches on the western flank of Taveuni. That would be jungle with a capital J. Vines swamp entire trees and groves, giving new meaning to the term forest canopy. Here, multi-trunked banyans shrouded in curtains of aerial roots rub shoulders with rain trees (that look like mimosas to me) whose domes are large enough to comfortably house a family of five in Swiss Robinson style. All manner of rain forest timber support dense colonies of lichen, small slender ferns or the occasional star burst of epiphytes glimpsed thru roadside grasses and brush as high as passing vehicles.
Altho the blooming season has peaked and passed, wild gingers and assorted birds of paradise, hibiscus, vinca, lantana, mandevilla and coral vines, striated ti and mottled crotons relieve the dense verdance with splashes of white, salmon, crimson, vermillion, purple and gold. Our little caravan winds thru plantations of long legged coconut palms--not quaint little groves, but acre upon acre of shaggy headed palms sheltering cattle grazing shoulder deep in fodder, only their brown and black backs visible in the undulating sea of soft green.
Ferns and fern trees alike cluster in boulder strewn streams, and rare breaks in the vegetation yield tantalizing vistas of distant islands and green capped outcroppings that tend toward navy and violet hues under heavy, rain swollen clouds typical of a tropical summer afternoon.
J is for journey too, this one long but smooth thru 18 time zones and nearly as many hours in the air for the Texans among us, a jovial band of divers and snorkelers enjoying the final segment of jolting, jostling locomotion past laden breadfruit, lime, banana and papaya trees to a tiny oasis of civilization aptly named Paradise.
Our bures (rooms) in Paradise are small, traditionally thatched buildings with gleaming white tile floors and modern plumbing inside, as well as delightful warm outdoor showers and spas in the adjacent rock walled gardens. No heaters or air conditioners in this generator powered outpost, a quietly whirring ceiling fan keeps our large, low, mosquito net draped bed comfortable. No television in heaven either (yippie!); nature is the star of the show here, as it should be.
Altho there is glass on the french doors which peek thru dense tropical foliage at the ocean, the remaining windows are screen and wooden shutter affairs freely breathing the rain washed air. Fresh sprigs of bougainvillea, hibiscus, orchid or ixora grace bed, table, sink and shower shelf, whispering warm “welcome,” like little kisses or prayers that spill out onto the fresh rolled towels on the sturdy wood porch table, and appear in hollow coconuts, large, spiraling top, triton or trumpet shells, and giant clam basins at the entrances to the larger, communal bures.
Paradise sits on the lip of a black lava flow cliff overlooking the crystalline waters of the Somosomo Strait across from the long low ridge of Vanua Levu, the second largest of the Fiji Islands, on the northwestern horizon. Perfection lies in the fact that a mere dozen steps down from the emerald lawn, a dive ladder drops directly into the healthiest reef I’ve ever seen. The water is so clear the yellow butterfly fish, schooling blue chromies and a wide variety of parrot fish are visible from the cliff’s edge.
Designed like everything else to refresh and renew body, mind and spirit, a negative edge freshwater pool with cascading clam shell fountain overlooks the small boat dock and dive bure, and another thatched hut, fragrant with essential oils and coconut lotions, houses a massage table and the necessary accouterments for facials and pedicures. All this under swaying palms and stately mimosa and flamboyant trees would be enough to earn the title Paradise, but the truth is that it is the people who truly makes this place heaven.
The dark skinned angels in Paradise, dressed in tasteful floral shirts and sulus (skirts/sarongs for men and women alike) with flowers tucked behind one ear or the other, greet us with whole, freshly punctured husks of cool coconut milk, firm handshakes, beatific smiles and a careful exchange of names. No one is too insignificant for introductions. Thru out the week, friendly Fijians on and off the premises greet us at every turn with smiling, “Bula!” (hello). Food service, cleaning, groundskeeping and diving staff introduce themselves and quickly learn our names, often anticipating our needs and desires before we can even formulate them.--and the thing is, they don’t HAVE to.
“Sega na lega” (pronounced senga na lenga, meaning no worries) is a fitting mantra when you have no mortgage to pay and the food you eat grows in your back yard. The owner of Paradise explains in private conversation that the intrinsic rewards of work are more compelling than a regular paycheck in this tiny backwater. Employees simply don’t show up when they they don’t feel like it; those who do show up with their sunny smiles do so for the opportunity to interact with people beyond the borders of tiny Vuna village nearby and the pleasure of sharing their world with us... and it shows.
It’s not just what our hosts do; it’s the warm, smiling graciousness of the proffered services that makes the difference. “Vinaka” (thank you) is always answered with “Vinaka.”
I’m profoundly touched by the gentle spirits around me, Maikeli who good naturedly reveals the inner life of local plants, people and ceremonies to us, Mere who doubles over in laughter at our attempts to speak her language, flamboyant Tomasi who gives me my first Fijian hug and teaches us how to wrap our sulus, Kini and Perina who inquire regularly as to our well-being with the utmost sincerity and flashes of humor.
When employment is elective, and accommodations intimate (only 20 guests at a time in Paradise) smiles and jokes and hugs rise spontaneously; cigarettes, favors and kava bowls are happily exchanged. The cup of human kindness overflows.
Jean-Paul Sartre said “Hell is other people.!” So too heaven.
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