Independent since only 1970, Fiji was settled about
3,000 years ago, and became infamous for tales of fierce warring and
cannibalism, which is certainly what deterred Capt. Cook from landing when he
passed by 200 years before disco diva Donna Summer hit the charts. with "Bad Girls." The only
remnant of that particularly gruesome past are carved wooden cannibal forks for
tourists, most of which seem to be made in China.
Our first site to visit was Suva, the capital city of the country
and the most cosmopolitan city in the whole of Oceania. Ignoring the calls to
go to island resorts for scuba diving, or to Fijian feasts with fire walking,
we set out on our own, on a lovely hot day with just enough breeze. First stop,
the Fiji Museum. I remember being impressed with it the last time I was here,
but as that was last century I didn’t know what to expect. Set in the lovely
botanical park Thurston Gardens, the museum is in a large airy building with other rooms
added on the other side of a rather good gift shop. Exhibits are well marked
and laid out with lots of room around each. The elephant in the room is an enormous
Duha, a double hulled boat of the style used by the first explorers to the
area. One hull is larger than the other, and there is a platform between hulls,
with a thatched hut on part of it. A gigantic steering oar requiring the
strength of four men is attached to the outside of the larger hull, and a tapa
cloth sail stretches above.
There is also the original rudder of HMS Bounty, of the
famous mutiny, when Captain William Bligh and 18 men loyal to him were dumped
unceremoniously in a small open rowboat off the island of Tofua, in the Tongan
islands. The maligned Capt. Blight was a superb navigator and was able to get
his men (all but one) all the way to Timor in the Dutch East Indies, about
6,500 kilometres, in less than 6 weeks! At one point, they were chased by
canoe-powered cannibals off the Fijian island of Yasawa, which is way up on the
north-west of the islands, and a stretch of water near there is still called
Bligh Water.
The Bounty, meanwhile had returned to Tahiti, where it had spent
the previous winter, the mutineers having found the lifestyle of ladies and
leisure more to their liking, which was the whole reason for the mutiny in the first
place. Sex over duty - how long has that argument been made? Most of these men chose sex for too long, and they
were picked up and returned to face justice in England, and we know what that
meant – bye-bye, boys.
Fletcher Christian, one of the less hedonistic of the
mutineers, took the Bounty onward to remote Pitcairn Island, where he destroyed
the remnants of the original, non-Christian society, and avoided the
call for justice. The ship was burned to avoid detection, but the rudder, or
what was left of it after souvenir hunters had taken off bits of it, ended up
in the Fiji museum, where it could be preserved appropriately.
As a post-script,
the Pitcairn crew ended up killing most of each other through jealousy, treachery
and murder, primarily because there were too few women for the men. Oddly
enough, it was Capt. Bligh that has been regarded as a villain over the years, quite
unfairly. Fake news.
If you like war clubs, then this is museum for you. There are
lots and lots and lots of them.
There is also a room outlining the history and
craft of tapa cloth, also called masi, which is made from the bark of a
mulberry tree. This bark is stripped off, soaked until the fibres are soft, and
then it is beaten senselessly for hours (usually in the very early morning quite
close to guesthouse windows as I recall) until it forms a sort of paper. Then it
is sundried, and attached to other such pieces with more pounding, or a glue made of cassava,
which is a starchy vegetable quite delicious baked (personal experience). Then it
is decorated, mostly rust-brown and black, by rubbing, stamping, stencilling, smoking or dyeing. Lots of geometric borders and images, but also with images of flowers, plants, fish, and turtles, which are a sign of
luck for Fijians.
In need of sustenance at this point I took my mother back through Thurston Gardens and across Albert Park, now a soccer and rugby field but earlier was where Australian Charles Kingsford Smith landed his small plane in 1928 during on his epic flight, the first trans-Pacific crossing. In 1990 I encountered the Grand Pacific Hotel, a colonial gem fallen on hard times. Two years later it went bankrupt and rotted in place for over 20 years. Thankfully, someone acknowledged its potential and restored it, beautifully, to its former glory, adding some new buildings and outside luxury, opening it in time to celebrate its 100th birthday, in 2014. We had a lovely chi-chi lunch there, looking out over the swimming pool we backpackers had been allowed to swim in way back when, and now filled with well-to-do Australian visitors. The inside still had the original fans in the gallery, and fine wicker chair and dark wooden furniture as it would have when it opened in 1914.
There are other exhibits highlighting the contributions of
other groups that call Fiji home: Indians, Chinese, Japanese, Indonesian,
Polynesian (Fiji is in Melanesia). Many of these were blackbirded or indentured
workers that stayed and contributed to the culture. There is also a room
devoted to the insects and arachnids of the islands, but as I have experienced
more than my share of these in earlier times, I was happy to avoid this room and you will NOT see any photos.
In need of sustenance at this point I took my mother back through Thurston Gardens and across Albert Park, now a soccer and rugby field but earlier was where Australian Charles Kingsford Smith landed his small plane in 1928 during on his epic flight, the first trans-Pacific crossing. In 1990 I encountered the Grand Pacific Hotel, a colonial gem fallen on hard times. Two years later it went bankrupt and rotted in place for over 20 years. Thankfully, someone acknowledged its potential and restored it, beautifully, to its former glory, adding some new buildings and outside luxury, opening it in time to celebrate its 100th birthday, in 2014. We had a lovely chi-chi lunch there, looking out over the swimming pool we backpackers had been allowed to swim in way back when, and now filled with well-to-do Australian visitors. The inside still had the original fans in the gallery, and fine wicker chair and dark wooden furniture as it would have when it opened in 1914.
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| As it is today |
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| The restored interior today |
Back to the boat via the handicraft market with its varying
collection of similar items, many of which were seeing Fiji for the first time I
think, and the fabulous food market, where we bought limes for our gins and
tonics – half a dishful for a Fijian dollar. Covered now, the market is vast
and, being Saturday, busy as all get out. But nowhere else can the varied
cultures that form Fijian society be seen more clearly than in the fruits,
vegetables, spices and condiments available, their scents mingling like some rich,
intoxicating stew.
Sunday is another story on the islands. In many countries, it is illegal to do anything other than attend church and spend time with families on Sunday, and anyone engaging in commerce must pay a fee to be allowed to do so. But when in Rome, do what the Romans do and go to a Fijian church! Everyone is there, dressed in their best, but the best thing of all is the singing.
Every denomination produces a joyful eruption of multi-line harmonies, a cappella, by every member of the congregation. It is surprising and glorious, and the best thing is just to sneak in and listen. Impossible not to be noticed however, us white palagis, and inevitably the priest asks us where we are from and thanks us for coming, after which there is applause and we are embarrassed when he switches to English to accommodate just us. But if you dress sensibly, covering your knees and shoulders, you will be heartily welcomed by all and maybe even invited to join them at their family feast afterwards.
The city of Lautoka, on the west side of Viti Levu, is much smaller than Suva, with drier terrain but mangrove swamps at waters’ edge. It is the central point of sugar cane production, and so is largely populated by Indians, long ago indentured to work in the fields. Non-indigenous Fijians are not allowed to own land, but can lease it, and it is more common to see an Indian Fijian running a business on land owned by a Melanesian Fijian than the other way round. Sunday, October 15 was in that sweet spot of being a few days after the national holiday, Fiji Day, and a few days before Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Light. Also, a big cruise ship was in town, so there were a few fees being paid to the government, and a few businesses open.
We were able to take a free shuttle in to the city, which was near the Catholic Church Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The website indicated Sunday service was at 9am, but a local we asked told us it was at 10am. In reality it was at 11am. Ah, Fiji time! Too early, we walked along, bought a bottle of tonic water at the local supermarket, and then followed a shy boy’s arm ushering us along the side of the church to the area behind.
There we found a large field, surrounded by covered stalls on three sides, with a stage on the forth side, and several school buildings behind that, run by the Catholic Church and its missionaries. There had been a two day fundraising gala and this was the Thanksgiving service, which is why it was later than expected. We and two other visitors, a German couple from Bremen, were seated on wooden chairs brought over to a specific stall area, while everyone else sat on woven mats. The women wore their bright dresses and shirts with matching tops, and the men wore bright shirts over simple black sulus, also called lavalavas, like a sarong. We were probably the only ones there that wore shoes. On the side of the stage sat about 50 people of all ages, the children all in white. This was the choir.
A wonderful priest, with the girth appropriate to his long white robe and emerald green cape, came to welcome us and ask where we were from then he wound his way along the side and back stalls until he took his position directly opposite the stage. He was joined by several boys and young men in white robes, green ties, and bare feet, who led the procession as the choir sang. An elderly pere (bishop?) in a wheelchair was pushed along at the back, bumping over the hillocky grass, and then hoisted up to the stage, wheelchair and all, by a couple of beefy Fijian men.
It was a good service, if long. The choir lived up to expectation and sang with gusto in its harmonies, with the several hundred in the congregation adding their harmonies too. Surround sound. Near the end, there was a special dance performance by the children, who looked like they ranged in age from 4 to 18. They each had a candle and used it to illustrate the moves of a recorded song about showing the world your light. The young girl at the front was the best dancer easily – she used her body so well, and she must have only been about 7 years old. A little boy was beside her, in front of the second line of dancers, the youngest of the group. He had formal clothing, including a wide woven piece across his middle. Trying very, very hard, he did not have quite the same talent and inevitably swung the candle instead of swinging his hand, or turned left when he should have turned right, or ended up facing back when he should have been facing forward. The crowd murmured its delight and amusement.
Children on these islands are loved, and treated well. They learn to sit still and if they have to run around they do, but not for long. They are happy and well fed and friendly and polite. A family without several children is pitied, and nowhere could we see a child not part of an extended loving family of sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles. They may not have a lot of money these people, but they sure value family and community.
A collection was made to send to Rome, to support the poorer dioceses around the world. One would be forgiven if she thought this was one of them and perhaps it is, but people here give generously to those who are poorer than them, really believing it, and I silently said a prayer to Rome to use this money wisely because it was given by people without a lot themselves. I guess I have less faith in Rome’s financial guardianship than these people do. I stuffed in the rest of our Fijian dollars, knowing we could get the shuttle back to the ship. As expected, the father thanked the foreign visitors from Germany and Canada and we were greeted with smiles and compliments on our way out. A wonderful example of island culture and another beautiful memory to take away.
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| It didn't look much better than this when I saw it in 1990 |
Sunday is another story on the islands. In many countries, it is illegal to do anything other than attend church and spend time with families on Sunday, and anyone engaging in commerce must pay a fee to be allowed to do so. But when in Rome, do what the Romans do and go to a Fijian church! Everyone is there, dressed in their best, but the best thing of all is the singing.
Every denomination produces a joyful eruption of multi-line harmonies, a cappella, by every member of the congregation. It is surprising and glorious, and the best thing is just to sneak in and listen. Impossible not to be noticed however, us white palagis, and inevitably the priest asks us where we are from and thanks us for coming, after which there is applause and we are embarrassed when he switches to English to accommodate just us. But if you dress sensibly, covering your knees and shoulders, you will be heartily welcomed by all and maybe even invited to join them at their family feast afterwards.
The city of Lautoka, on the west side of Viti Levu, is much smaller than Suva, with drier terrain but mangrove swamps at waters’ edge. It is the central point of sugar cane production, and so is largely populated by Indians, long ago indentured to work in the fields. Non-indigenous Fijians are not allowed to own land, but can lease it, and it is more common to see an Indian Fijian running a business on land owned by a Melanesian Fijian than the other way round. Sunday, October 15 was in that sweet spot of being a few days after the national holiday, Fiji Day, and a few days before Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Light. Also, a big cruise ship was in town, so there were a few fees being paid to the government, and a few businesses open.
We were able to take a free shuttle in to the city, which was near the Catholic Church Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The website indicated Sunday service was at 9am, but a local we asked told us it was at 10am. In reality it was at 11am. Ah, Fiji time! Too early, we walked along, bought a bottle of tonic water at the local supermarket, and then followed a shy boy’s arm ushering us along the side of the church to the area behind.
There we found a large field, surrounded by covered stalls on three sides, with a stage on the forth side, and several school buildings behind that, run by the Catholic Church and its missionaries. There had been a two day fundraising gala and this was the Thanksgiving service, which is why it was later than expected. We and two other visitors, a German couple from Bremen, were seated on wooden chairs brought over to a specific stall area, while everyone else sat on woven mats. The women wore their bright dresses and shirts with matching tops, and the men wore bright shirts over simple black sulus, also called lavalavas, like a sarong. We were probably the only ones there that wore shoes. On the side of the stage sat about 50 people of all ages, the children all in white. This was the choir.
A wonderful priest, with the girth appropriate to his long white robe and emerald green cape, came to welcome us and ask where we were from then he wound his way along the side and back stalls until he took his position directly opposite the stage. He was joined by several boys and young men in white robes, green ties, and bare feet, who led the procession as the choir sang. An elderly pere (bishop?) in a wheelchair was pushed along at the back, bumping over the hillocky grass, and then hoisted up to the stage, wheelchair and all, by a couple of beefy Fijian men.
It was a good service, if long. The choir lived up to expectation and sang with gusto in its harmonies, with the several hundred in the congregation adding their harmonies too. Surround sound. Near the end, there was a special dance performance by the children, who looked like they ranged in age from 4 to 18. They each had a candle and used it to illustrate the moves of a recorded song about showing the world your light. The young girl at the front was the best dancer easily – she used her body so well, and she must have only been about 7 years old. A little boy was beside her, in front of the second line of dancers, the youngest of the group. He had formal clothing, including a wide woven piece across his middle. Trying very, very hard, he did not have quite the same talent and inevitably swung the candle instead of swinging his hand, or turned left when he should have turned right, or ended up facing back when he should have been facing forward. The crowd murmured its delight and amusement.
Children on these islands are loved, and treated well. They learn to sit still and if they have to run around they do, but not for long. They are happy and well fed and friendly and polite. A family without several children is pitied, and nowhere could we see a child not part of an extended loving family of sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles. They may not have a lot of money these people, but they sure value family and community.
A collection was made to send to Rome, to support the poorer dioceses around the world. One would be forgiven if she thought this was one of them and perhaps it is, but people here give generously to those who are poorer than them, really believing it, and I silently said a prayer to Rome to use this money wisely because it was given by people without a lot themselves. I guess I have less faith in Rome’s financial guardianship than these people do. I stuffed in the rest of our Fijian dollars, knowing we could get the shuttle back to the ship. As expected, the father thanked the foreign visitors from Germany and Canada and we were greeted with smiles and compliments on our way out. A wonderful example of island culture and another beautiful memory to take away.
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