Country #112: Fiji Delayed part 3 (let's finish this already)

I'd toyed with the idea of getting a proper underwater camera for a long time. I'd bought the disposable kind that you have to take into the store to get your photos developed... like a fucking cave person. I'd bought a cheapie one that produced meh photos and gorged on batteries that I never seemed to have on hand. It was a mess.

When I made the decision to go to Fiji and swim with sharks- check out the last post for more details- I finally broke down and bought a GoPro. For the unfamiliar, this is a tiny but rugged camera that is generally associated with very physically active people. I am not that person. If you ever see me scaling the side of a mountain, know that there is some really scary shit is coming up from below. Honestly, I am surprised they even sold it to me. Anyways, all that aside, I now had an underwater camera.

That same motivating factor, swimming with sharks, got me back into diving. I realize by phrasing it this way, it could be implied that at some point in the past, I was super into diving. This is not true. I got certified in 2011, did 4 dives in Tanzania and never put on a BCD again. This could be because on my last dive, I got kicked in the face, lost my regulator and in a panic swam straight to the top, which is kind of a no-no. Or it could be because most dive trips start much too early in the morning and even when I did try to dive, say in Turks and Caicos, I crashed a party, drank too much and overslept. Whatever the cause, I was no longer a diver and had forgotten more than I had learned. After a couple of failed attempts, I finally managed to get a proper refresher course in Nacula and followed that with some diving in Vanuatu and of course, the shark dive itself. All of this was done as a means to an end. If you want to visit the sharks, you've got to figure out this dive thing. But somewhere along the way, a strange thing happened. I stopped worrying so much whether I was doing it right and started simply enjoying the view.

Even after achieving my goal and having the most shark-centric birthday party ever,  I kept longing to strap on a tank and see what else the Fijian waters had to offer. It was this desire that led me to what is now one of my favorite spots in all of Fiji.

*Nananu-I-Ra and Takalana Bay

Translating to "Daydream of the West",  this tiny secluded island is said to be the send-off spot for souls departing to the afterlife. I'm not buying it. I can't imagine why anyone would ever want to leave. And if you happen to already be dead, what's the worst that could happen? It's not like you could be deported. I'd be a dead Nananu squatter.

Fortunately, my friend Antray and I were not there on an afterlife road trip. We were there to dive the Bligh Waters, one of best places in the world to see soft corals. This body of water, which sits between Fiji's two largest islands Viti Levu and Vanua Levu is truly a diver's Disneyland.

Our host, Warren, picked us up in Rakiraki, apologizing that he was a couple of minutes late because he had been windsurfing. Everything about him screamed "guy who is living his best life".  My initial assessment was borne out by the place he'd built, the Safari Lodge. It's the kind of place you would go for an overnight and end up staying for weeks.

We did not have that much time, but we did have enough to see what all the fuss was about.

Antray had just gotten certified in Mana and I was still relatively new so we were lucky to have our fantastic guide, Joji, all to ourselves. Actually, Antray felt more comfortable holding his hand throughout had him more to herself but I was perfectly content to play third wheel on this underwater date.

Our first dive was at a spot called Bula Maker. Which reminds me, I don't know how it is possible that I am on my third (and hopefully final) Fiji post and have not addressed "bula". You can not spend more than five minutes in Fiji without being taken aback by the barrage of bulas coming your way. It is hello, good-bye, excuse me, gesundheit and anything else you can think of. Tourism posts talk about the "bula spirit". The term "bulanaires" exists unironically. It means 'the people have no money but they have a happy spirit' which is actually pretty accurate.

For the newcomer, there are stages of bula. At first, it is cheerful and easy to remember. Walk up to the hotel counter to check in: Bula! Next, it starts to get on your nerves. Why do I have to bula every single person I pass on the street? Enough already. Then, slowly and without notice, it becomes a regular part of your vocabulary. I went straight from Fiji to Amsterdam and confounded many a Dutch bartender and bus driver by starting every single interaction with "Bula." I did this for at least two weeks. I had to put myself on Bula detox.

But back to the dive, if you could somehow transport yourself onto the set of a Tim Burton movie, it would be akin to diving the Bligh waters. There is a riot of colors and undulating shapes that is impossible to properly convey. I truly wish I could accurately show you what I saw. The problem is that due to tricks of light, you actually lose colors as you dive. At 15 ft, you lose the color red. At 25, orange goes away. At 35-45, bye bye yellow. We were at 60 feet.  Your brain will compensate as best it can which is why you do see those colors, albeit in a muted form but even my new fancy GoPro can not make that adjustment. (If you see underwater photos with vibrant colors, odds are they are using some kind of strobe light).

But I tried. Every few feet, there was some new cool thing to photograph. Honestly, I could have picked one spot and stayed there all dive, marveling at Nature's crazy creations.  But there was also these really fun swim-throughs, like portals to the next wondrous landscape.

If all my prior dives had started instilling in me a love for this new hobby, it was our next dive that sealed the deal. As I swam through Golden Dreams, I thought "this must be what it's like to be inside of a Vincent Van Gogh painting." Could it have been nitrogen narcosis talking? Maybe. But most likely it was discovering how many different shades of yellow could exist underwater. (Again, none of which I captured fairly).

As if all of this wasn't cool enough, late in the dive, we encountered a bloom of jellyfish (note: yes, that is a correct term for a bunch o' jellyfish, I just googled it. You can also use "smack" or "swarm"). Normally, this is cause for alarm but Joji let us know that these were harmless. Suddenly, we had gone from Van Gogh painting to the inside of a lava lamp.

A bit later, when Antray was running low on air, Joji took her back to the boat while I stayed in place just letting them swim around me. I'd never realized that this was something I needed in my life but now I knew better.

Our day, post dive, ended with Warren taking us on a back roads drive to Takalana Bay. Why? Because that is where the spinner dolphins are. It is also home to the Takalana Bay Resort.

There are a million or so books written on finding happiness. I can save you the trouble. All you need is an overnight stay in one of their adorable bungalows and an afternoon filled with spinner dolphins. Problem solved.

*Drawaqa Island

So far in Fiji, I'd seen sharks, dolphins, turtles and lots of fish I could not identify. What next? Why not Giant Mantas. Between May and October, they frequent a channel alongside Drawaqa Island and are the stars of one of Fiji's most popular activities, the Manta swim.  So popular, in fact, that you rarely hear the island's proper name used. For all intents and purposes, it is now called Manta Island.

As in the Barefoot Manta Resort, the sister property of the Kuata one and my home for a couple of nights. It is a beautiful property with several beaches to choose from. There is sunrise beach, sunset beach, that beach you land on...you get the idea. Scattered among them are a series of bungalows with rustic trails in between. Rustic unmarked trails. I swear, I spent more time lost, trying to find my bungalow than I would have thought possible on a small island. On my second night- not first but second- I left the bar and was trying to find my bure but no matter what trail I took, I kept ending up at the dive shop. I must have tried at least four times and was about to give up and ask a member of the staff to walk Ms Daisy back home when I spotted someone that I was pretty sure was staying in the same dorm as I was. I followed him, from a distance because I was maybe 80% certain and knew I might be tailing a complete stranger through a dark path. It turned out he was not in my dorm after all but he was in the right neighborhood so at least that worked.

The Mantas usually show up in morning during high tide so, based on the ferry schedule, you are unlikely to see them on your first day.  With no mantas on the agenda, I decided to go diving instead. I'd already learned that in Fiji, having diving as your plan b will never lead you astray.

Our first dive spot was called Picasso's Playground. I don't know how they choose this name. There were no misshapen fish, no cubist corals, no wall with hundreds of vagina sketches (you think I'm joking, check out his museum in Barcelona. Homeboy was fixated). Cero, my dive instructor, was similarly stumped and our boat captain could only volunteer that it used to be called by some other name.

One thing I did find at Picasso's playground was an asshole fish. Technically, he was a remora, also known as a suckerfish but much like the dive spot, some misnaming has obviously taken place. What this little asshole does is use his sticky suction cup mouth to adhere to a larger animal and hang on for a free ride. Instead of hunting for his own food, he will scavenge off the bigger fish's leftovers.

True story, someone in the periphery of my group of friends was once dating this horrid married man. On top of being a loudmouth and a crap husband, whenever we would be out to eat in a group and the check would come, this idiot would develop T-Rex arms. No number of dirty looks could get him to reach for his wallet and eventually, the girl would end up paying for them both. His nickname amongst all of us: the remora.

My point is remoras are known dickheads. Normally, you see them attached to sharks or similarly sized fish. I guess I must have been taking too much advantage of the resort meal packages because this one particular little jerk kept trying to attach himself to me!

I was wearing a shorty wetsuit and kept feeling something nibbling on my calf. This would inevitably cause me to do a weird herky-jerky dance move to try and get him off. But here is the thing, he was pretty small so anyone swimming behind me, in all likelihood would not see the little asshole. They would just see me swimming along all peaceful and then all of a sudden, there would be an arrhythmic flurry of flailing limbs.

Aside from that nuisance, it was a great dive, as was the second one at the Garden of Eden.

But I was there for the same thing as everyone else, the Mantas. There is no guarantee that they will show up. I'd spoken to people who were there for days at a time and never saw them. Even if they do appear, there are only a limited number of spots on the boat so the drill is as follows: when the rays are spotted, the resort staff will beat on a drum and then you run to the dive desk and try and grab some snorkel gear which gets you onto the boat. That sounds simple but it is an imperfect system. That is because they use the same drum for every single thing. Come to lunch- bang bang bang. Happy hour has started- bang bang bang. My first morning, I had planted myself in the shadow of the dive hut because I was not about to take chances. I heard the bang bang bang, darted to the desk and was told that I was hearing the "raising of the flag" drums. Seriously guys?

I went back to my spot, took out my knitting needles and was just chilling when I heard one of the  staff members casually tell Cero, my dive guy, "They're here". I jumped up "Who's here?! Is it the mantas?!! Are they here?!!  ARE THE MANTAS HERE??!!!" "Yes, crazy person. The mantas are here." With that, I was signed up and with mask and snorkel in hand before the first bang bang bang.

The channel where the Mantas like to feed has a very strong current. Trying to swim against it is both exhausting and pointless, not to mention dangerous if you are on your own. To counteract this, the boat operators have come up with a routine. They drop you off at the top of the waterway, you float down to the other end, where they pick you up, take you back upstream and repeat.

In the interim, you get to practice the favorite Fijian sport, rugby. Granted, I don't really know what exactly a rugby scrum is but I imagine it has to be similar to thirty-some people angling to get a better view of three rays while being dragged along by a raging current. It is not for the faint of heart. Once you accept that it is every man for himself out there, you can adapt and come up with a strategy.

Mine was to float and wait. While everyone was getting tangled up chasing a ray, I'd move away from the pack and hope that the ray was going to turn around and come my way. More often than not, this plan worked. I'd get a ray to myself for a couple of moments before the hordes would come splashing over.

It worked so well that I managed to go two days in a row and had a good number of manta meetings.

The rest of the time, I did what I enjoyed best, kicking back and soaking in Fiji's natural beauty.

And of course, knitting...

I could go on about so many other magical Fiji experiences: day trips to South Sea Island and Modriki (aka the island where they filmed Castaway); visits to Suva, the "big city"; overnights in the rain forest and of course, adventures in my adopted home: crazy Nadi (pronounced Nandi) but I think you get the gist.

Fiji is so much more than a tropical vacation destination. It is a feeling, a generosity of spirit, an acceptance that embraces all who arrive on its shores. Pretentious as it sounds, I feel I am a better person for having spent time there. 

It is hard to believe that exactly one year later, as I write this, things are so different. Covid-19 has brought the world to a halt and two days ago Cyclone Harold slammed into Viti Levu, the island where I spent most of my time. My thoughts, now more than ever, are with the remarkable people of Fiji. May their strength and bula spirit carry them through this. And may I have the chance once again join them in hoisting a kava shell and celebrating this beautiful land.