Yellow Fin Tuna and Skipjack. After a few photos, these fish go right to the kitchen. Some of the staff bring home the skipjacks to their village and some our cooked that day. The tuna is served a day later as sashimi. They say that waiting a day softens the meat. It all tasted good to me.
Surfing Swimming Pools
Playing on the beach.
Finding amazing shells.
The beautiful people we met.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get pictures of everone.
The Kava ceremony is one of the central Fijian traditions. When visiting a village it is customary to honor the chief by participating in the ceremony and presenting him with the Kava root. The local village people dress in traditional costume, adorned with flowers and leaves. The visitors sit on the floor lining a long mat. After the chief has spoken and welcomed the people to his village, and the gifts of Kava have been given to the chief, the kava root that has been ground and diluted with water is distributed to each person. Kava promotes relaxation and helps to relieve stress. We all agreed it tastes a little like rotting trees, but after downing a cupful, your throat and tongue become slightly numb and the next cup isn’t so bad. The ceremony was followed by a traditional Fijian meal, music and dancing. It was a beautiful event that will live long in all of our memories.
Excerpt from my journal, April 22nd
The boys were up before the sun rose. I was only slightly aware of the movement in the room, but awake enough to know that I wanted to eek out another hour of sleep. I rolled over and in my slightly wakened state, remembered it was Wylie’s birthday. I mumbled a “happy birthday” that must have been clear enough to understand, because he replied with a very prompt and awake, “Thanks, mom!”. I could hear the excitement in his voice. He was celebrating his 15th birthday on a remote island in the South Pacific surrounded by world-class surfing. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know that he had an ear-to-ear grin on his face. In his mind, he had already ridden Cloud Break. He had already been barreled. Now he was making his dream a reality and on his birthday no less.
While the boys were out surfing, Aimee and I wrapped Wylie’s gifts and arranged them on his bed to await his return. He had already opened his first gift – new fins for his surfboard. His second gift didn’t need to be wrapped or opened. It came in the form of water, in the shape of a wave. Each wave he caught that morning was a gift. For him, the best gift of all was to be here on Tavarua, riding waves and forming memories of a lifetime. I loved that he understood the value of this experience and appreciated every moment.
As he walked through the door, the smile was even bigger than I imagined. His eyes had captured the blue of the ocean and sparkled like the late afternoon sun on the water. A lump formed in my throat. I was flooded with emotion. I held back a tear as I went over to give him a big birthday hug. My son was now 15 years old. He was taller than me, stronger than me, and in so many ways, more intelligent than me. I call him my sage. He is the calming force in my life. When things get hectic, he is the one to lay a hand on my shoulder and tell me everything is all right.
We all gathered on Wylie’s bed and watched him open each gift. There were just a few small items that we had bought during our travels. There was a carved wooden
mask and tiki from Tahiti, a new brush and body spray, and a t-shirt with a Kiwi using his beak as a record player needle. But, his favorite gift of all was the possum fur shoe inserts that we found in New Zealand. He had seen them in a store and fell in love with them. He was so excited when he discovered that we had bought them for him. He couldn’t wait to “rock the awesome, possum, feet”!
Excerpts from my journal, April 21st, cont.
As we approach the island it looks just like it did in all the photos. An island shaped like a heart, bordered in white sand and placed in the middle of the south pacific. The ownership is shared by the village people of Tavarua and two couples from the United States.
The staff is standing on the shore wearing floral shirts and sulus, guitars and ukelales in hand, playing a traditional Fijian tune. We slowly glide towards the shore as the music builds, the smiles widen and the song ends with a load, “Bula!”. The guests are helped off the boats and instructed to register at the office and enjoy our stay. I don’t think that will be hard to do.
After registering, we head down the cobble stone pathway to Bure 6. There is a ceramic bucket of water at the base of the steps to wash the sand off our feet and a few steps lead up to a small porch. The one room bure has 3 double beds and a bathroom. A couple of paintings of island woman hang on the wall and the beams over head are wrapped in Tapa and adorned with shells. There are fresh cut bird of paradise and white habiscus around the room.
The noon conch shell call signals the start of lunch. We feast on the first of many delicious meals of fresh fish, fruits, and salads. Sweet potatoe, pumpkin, coconut milk, curries, rice, tuna, and sashimi will fill our plates for the next seven days.
The small pool sits under the palms surrounded by lounge chairs. Water cascades down a small waterfall at the far end of the pool. The spa sits there empty during the heat of the day but will soon welcome the tired muscles of the surfers as the sun sets. It doesn’t take long to begin to sense the magic of this island. We jump in.
Excerpt from my journal, April 20th
We load up the van in at Waidroka and head to the Tavarua Boat Landing. Another 2 hour drive through villages, down a long dirt road to a small parking area in the bush. I see a glimps of the ocean through the trees and beyond the truck that is backed up to the waters edge. There are a handful of Fijian women sitting cross legged on the ground at the edge of their blanket. In front of them lies hand made jewelry made from the shells and fish bones. I listen to one women tell me how my purchase will help the people in her village. The heat is too much and I retreat to the shade of the tree with a tinge of guilt for not buying. It is not the money, but there is just no more room for little trinkets in our already stuffed bags.
I am still not sure if we are at the right landing. There is nothing else here, no covered area, no signs, no toilets, just organized chaos as a bus of people arrive and this big truck unloads heaps of luggage and surfboards. Finally someone approaches us and asks if we are going to Tavarua. We hand over our luggage and watch it disappear on a ponga. Time passes and we barely hear the call “Tavarua”, that alerts us to the boarding of our passenger boat. We wade out through the calf deep water trying to keep our cameras and laptops dry. This is not exactly what I expected but I like the local feel and bit of adventure.
I look around at the other 20 people on the boat and the 20 people loading on the boat next to us that has Tavarua painted on the bow. These are the people we will be staying with on this heart shaped island the size of a couple of football fields. We will be sharing meals, boat rides out to the surf, and various other activities. I wonder who has been here before, if anyone, and if they are having the same concerns about whether or not their luggage and boards will arrive safely on the island. Most of all I wonder if I will like them.
Van ride to Tavarua Landing.
Roadside villages.
Vendors at the landing.
Organized chaos.
Ponga filled with surfboards.
Wading out to the boat.
While the boys were out surfing, Aimee and I spent a lot of time swimming at the pool, kayaking, playing cards, snorkeling, reading, and writing. We bonded with all the other girlfriends and wives left behind while their partners were out surfing. Although there are women who surf big reef breaks, there are not many of them. I am certainly not one of those women who is strong enough or brave enough. Aimee and I are both adventurous, though. One day we kayaked out from the bay, down the shore line to a river that headed inland through the jungle. Mangroves formed a tunnel as we paddled deeper inland. Eventually the river winds into a local village but we never made it that far. We were happy just enjoying the stillness and remoteness of the jungle, and the sound of the beautiful bird calls. Unfortunately, we left our cameras behind, fearing that they might get wet in the rougher waters on the way to the river mouth.
Swimming at the pool.
Playing pool.
Playing cards.
Checking out the local Flora.
Eating family style dinner and sharing surf stories.
Playing guitar with new friends.
Frigates is a world class surf spot in Fiji. It is about a 45 minute boat ride from Waidroka Bay. This was the boys’ main surfing objective and luckily it was going off the first morning we arrived. The boys headed out early for a great session. It was the first of many great days of surfing in Fiji. 
