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FIJI, BEYOND THE BEACH

Idyllic islands offer glimpses of rich cultural traditions amid day-to-day life

TIM JOHNSON

It's just another hot, sunny Sunday afternoon on Viti Levu, and the Navua River is busy. Skimming north, into the mountains, on a sturdy wooden longboat we wind back and forth.

We see couples diving for freshwater mussels and whole families playing in the cool flow. Everyone waves as we pass. Closer to town, small bamboo rafts line the banks, our guide Benji Rokonui explaining that people make them for just a single trip, to take their fruits and vegetables from village to market.

“They only sail them one way,” he says. “Then you catch a ride back.”

The boat is driven by a smiling grandfather whose two young, hardworking grandsons serve as his only crew. Their community owns the land we're about to traverse. Reaching our destination, we climb out at a small beach and head to a path under the rainforest canopy. The jungle heat closes in quickly, as we cross the cool waters of a creek, hike over a ridge and arrive at a tumbling waterfall. We're the only ones there, perhaps not surprising in a country that hasn't seen tourists for most of the pandemic.

Located in the western reaches of the South Pacific, Fiji reopened to visitors this past December. It is a paradise for sun-seekers, 330 islands (about one-third of them inhabited) with powdery beaches strung along aquamarine waters — a coral reef teeming with marine life never far away.

But Fiji is also a cultural destination, with traditions that stretch back thousands of years, and still lived out now in day-to-day life.

Formed by volcanoes some 150 million years ago, human history in Fiji stretches back as far as 3,500 BC. The British annexed these islands in 1874, and they gained their independence from the empire in 1970.

Villages speak hyper-local dialects, and the country has three official languages, English, a national form of Fijian, and Hindi, spoken by Indo-fijians, who make up a little less than 40 per cent of the population. The local culture is nuanced and community-based, with much of the land here shared and held communally.

On our way back from the waterfall, Rokonui tells me that during the pandemic, most Fijians went back to their roots. “From the store, we only need to buy flour, sugar and salt,” he says. They grow and raise everything else they need: cows, chickens, pigs, taro and cassava, plus papaya and avocado and all sorts of other fruits.

The barter system — trading food you have for food you need — is still used widely. “And we all share,” he says. “If you see your neighbour and you're about to have a meal, you always invite them over.”

Fiji is a paradise for sun-seekers, 330 islands with powdery beaches strung along aquamarine waters — a coral reef teeming with marine life never far away. But Fiji is also a cultural destination, with traditions that stretch back thousands of years.

Back at the resort, another guide, Josua Cakautini shows me how Fijians have been cooking for centuries. He's prepared a roaring fire, and the stones are already hot. We will be cooking freshwater prawns today. “We catch them where the water is still, often under the roots of trees,” he says.

Under his careful direction, I load up a bamboo tube with about 10 prawns, all of which had been swimming that morning, plus tomato, onion, pepper, and all kinds of herbs and spices. “Planting, fishing, hunting, gathering, that's all we really need,” says Cakautini, a member of his clan's warrior class. Placing the bamboo on the fire, the simple meal cooks.

Viti Levu is Fiji's largest and most-visited island (usually referred to locally as “the mainland,”) but a short half-hour hop on a Twin Otter aircraft takes me from a small airport near the capital city, Suva, to Vanua Levu, the second-largest island in Fiji.

Still relatively undeveloped with just a handful of small lodges and resorts, a short transfer takes me to Jean-michel Cousteau Resort, which was founded by a team that includes the son of the famed conservationist Jacques Cousteau. Jean-michel is himself an oceanographic explorer who still visits frequently, and marine biology is a focus here.

I stay in a thatch-roofed “bure” right on the water. Day trips include an excursion to a nearby pearl farm, as well as the resort's private island, where you can circumnavigate the whole place in just a few minutes in a kayak, then enjoy a picnic under the coconut palms.

I also take a walk around the property where marine biologist Ofa Morrell (one of two marine biologists on staff) points out the traditional healing qualities of plants growing right on site, including noni trees and soursop leaves, the latter good for boils and wounds. “I didn't believe in traditional medicine,” Morrell confesses. “Until I tried it, and it worked.”

And at a place called Cousteau, I definitely spend time in the water, taking short snorkelling trips near the resort, as well as a whole halfday at the 60-square-kilometre Namena Marine Reserve. Morrell explains that a nearby community owns the reserve, and the adjacent island is inhabited only by those involved in its preservation. She adds that they've spotted all sorts of sharks here, including hammerheads.

At Namena, we float over acres and acres of bright, healthy coral, a whole world under me, vibrant and strange. We find weird sea slugs and orange-striped triggerfish and tiny blue devils, so bright they seem to glow. But no sharks. “They must have known we were coming,” she says with a laugh.

Days here end gracefully. After dinner in an open-air dining room, the Bula Boys, a threeman band, sit around a big bowl of kava and sing and play on the guitar and ukulele. They invite guests to imbibe this root that's harvested, dried, ground into a paste and mixed with water. Every significant event in Fiji is accompanied by a kava ceremony, and the slightly bitter mix is said to relieve anxiety and tension.

Tonight is laid back, people coming and going for a song or two, a bowl or two. I tip back the small bowl they offer me, my mouth tingling a little afterward. The warm winds blow, and the tunes continue, and I don't know whether it's the kava or everything else around me, but I couldn't be more relaxed.

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2022-05-28T07:00:00.0000000Z

2022-05-28T07:00:00.0000000Z

https://vancouversun.pressreader.com/article/282574496701091

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