Suva

Two weeks are spent digging and sorting out all sorts of supplies. Hardware shop after another, the list seems to go on forever. I decide to replace the beaten bilge pump. Found the only right one in a Taiwanese parts shop. We're missing three dollars: an employee offers them to fill the gap, a complete stranger. Get permits, sealants; fasteners, assorted hardware and the first money ever made all go into the boat. We sift markets, alleys, and buildings, Chinese stores; everywhere the most cordial and straightforward people imaginable -especially the Fijians-.

Christmas is around the corner and Suva is awash with shoppers. Deejays crowd the entrance to grocery stores, blasting sugary hits of the moment and jingles. The Bus waiting aisles are clogged with sleepy travellers hugging banana stalks, saris, wrapped boxes, bags, dogs, and children. At the movies the latest Indian blockbusters with Amithab Bacham and the worst of Hollywood (Rocky Balboa).

Christmas day is deserted while we itch to leave. Another Christmas in the tropics: no Christmas at all. Liat arrives in the last few days, in time for the last massive shopping and the final cleanup. She brings a mandolin, which will make Augustine happy.

Then Monday comes, I check out bound to Savusavu with all the papers to stop wherever along the way.

Outside the harbour is choppy, after the two ferries for Savusavu and Taveuni pass us, the wind shifts favourable and we move on toward N'gau. Liat pukes nearly the whole night, but she's taking it well.

N'gau appears from the early morning mist shrouded in long clouds. A pod of over ten dolphins accompanies us at the reef entrance on the north-western side. The reef entrance is large, and we welcome the changing waters to a less sober shade of blue. We motor sail along the coast, taking in the bays and coasting along the inner reefs that enclose them. We skip the village at the entrance aiming for a more sheltered one where hot springs are indicated on the chart. I manage to find the entrance that will let us closer to the village (c-map only showing a large patch of coral). We are soon boarded by a troupe of children coming back from a picnic in one of the coves next-door, an older guy introduces himself and asks us to do the sevusevu to get our presence cleared with the chief, so we arrange for a later meeting when we'll be set. At low tide we go ashore, buy kava root and sit in the meeting hut, the marae, dressed according to his instructions. When the proper people are finally present, Idris, the chief's son, recites and introduction for us in Fijian, acting as our ambassador. He talks fast in a quiet tone, head lowered, holding the bunch of brown roots in his joined hands. As the chief accepts our sevusevu the others break out in an exultory formula while I smile and shake hands. The kava drinking begins and so a row of questions on our situation. The village is crowded at the moment, as many families have returned from the capital to enjoy the festivities with their families, back to the quiet village lifestyle. After a few rounds we leave the elders to their drinking: we are invited over for dinner under a common awning and table serving several families (clan). The village is delightfully simple: modest but neat huts of wood and corrugated tin roofs, no doors, grass everywhere instead of concrete or tar, sounds of kava pounding, birds, fires being set-up, children jumping and running everywhere peeking at us mischievously from behind corners.

Idris is rather pushy, trying to organize the next three days for us, pointing time and again of the coming 'fundraiser' for the school. Had he asked for a simple donation to the school we'd happily complied, but the recurrence of the 'fundraiser' theme makes it all a bit suspicious, and we'd rather be free to come and go as we please than having a schedule to respect. So, the morning after, following a brief consultation, we decide to move on before getting caught up in the plan. We move to the northern side, near the entrance of the reef, imagining clearer waters and unmolested anchorage. A little zigzagging through the bommies and we drop anchor twice (rocky bottom) in the farthest corner of the bay.

One day goes by, snorkelling and exploring around a little bit the nearby reef and beaches, enjoying some quiet time. The reef is right behind us, a short swim away, though the water isn’t as clear as it appeared from a distance. On the second day a raft approaches slowly, a man and woman fishing. As they come nearer we salute, they feebly wave back and approach.

First words: “Do you have a cruising permit?”

Damnit, our enthusiasm for Fiji is downgraded a few notches.

He tells us he’s the chief’s son, no problem I reply with a forced grin: ‘Welcome aboard’.

Not being friendly at all and after carefully inspecting the permit he leaves. We decide to leave as soon as possible the day after.