Paradise Resort, Taveuni

[Kyle]Our 135 nautical mile sail from Oneata to Taveuni was an easy overnighter in moderate beam winds. We made good enough speed that we were able to arrive just before the commencement of a day of heavy rains. At the Taveuni Paradise Resort, we were even able to pick up the last of their complimentary moorings. We were later to learn how lucky we were for doing so. The last boat occupying it had departed in the same day's pre-dawn darkness. Those moorings rarely sit idle for long.

A couple of hours later, as we were tidying up from the passage, a woman paddled up in a kayak and handed us a complimentary bag of fresh cinnamon rolls with Begonia's name on it from the resort's on-site bakery. They do this every day for every boat in the anchorage, whether they are on a mooring or not. That is a nice touch. From the smile on the woman's face, it was pretty clear that cinnamon roll delivery is one of the best jobs at the resort. I mean, what person wouldn't greet her arrival with an equally big smile?

Many resorts don't allow them to come ashore to their premises (or sometimes even to anchor in view); Paradise was especially cruiser friendly!

Maryanne and I decided that our first day at the resort would be dispensing with chores. Begonia's water tanks needed topping up, requiring several round trips with jugs in the dinghy, and Maryanne was hoping both for some fresh veggies from the resort's farm (which it turned out no longer exists), and also to do some laundry and generally get the lay of the land. We decided to split up, mostly so I could have more room in the dinghy for water containers.

When I was done, I was looking forward to relaxing at a table overlooking the water with Maryanne, possibly over umbrella drinks.

Alas, I was too late. Maryanne was already in the thick of it with a couple of other sailors when I climbed up the stairs from the wharf to meet her. I was politely excused to resume my Man Day while she hung out with 'the ladies' for a while longer. What the hell? I like sitting around talking about my feelings way more than she does...

Fine. I had been putting off my routine check of each engine's impellers for a while. I guess now is as good a time as any.

It turned out to be good that I did. One of them had three missing blades (out of six). I had to dig out and install a new one. I got everything back together just in time to make it to our pre-arranged dinner date at the restaurant, where I got the look that said, "What have you been DOING all day?"

Not talking about my feelings, that's what.

Over dinner, Maryanne asked me if I wouldn't mind if she went SCUBA diving the next day, again without me. What am I, a monster? Of course I don't mind. I kinda had a feeling that might be coming.

Way back when we met, Maryanne was a very high-level diver/instructor. For a lot of reasons, she has since let her practice lapse, but diving remains one of her great passions. Lately, she has been worried that recurring ear infections would make it difficult for her to equalize the pressure in her ears as she descends, and so has told herself that she was content snorkeling as a consolation. {Maryanne: SCUBA diving often costs $100's, with equipment hire and boat/guide fees, and if I paid that and then couldn't even get down I'd be really frustrated}

Here, at Taveuni, it wouldn't cost us too much for her to rent some gear and try an easy shore dive. If she has ear trouble, we aren't out too much. If she doesn't, she gets to dive again.

That was fine. After replacing the impeller, I knew I hadn't finished the job properly. The prudent thing was to get into the cooling system and find the missing blades to make sure they're not blocking the heat exchanger. I would probably be good for me to have some Maryanne-free time to swear properly, without the danger of her inadvertently taking offense.

Well, both things worked out just great. I found my missing blades, which I forensically matched with the rest of the old impeller to make sure there were no stray bits. Maryanne's ears were just fine, which allowed her to spend the better part of an hour beneath the surface. There she could enjoy the luxury of looking at various little critters (remember, she also has a marine biology degree) without having to constantly leave to go get some more air.

Since the dive went so well and since gear rental is for a full day period, Maryanne floated that she would also like to go for a night dive. As a consolation, I would be free to sit in a lounge chair at the pool, beer in hand, watching the last of the twilight disappear behind the anchorage. I do spoil her...

I didn't like it. While it was heartening to see Maryanne once again all geared up and plunging into the sea, I didn't enjoy the part where she didn't resurface FOREVER. Yes, I could follow the group's bubble trails and I know Maryanne knows what to do if she sucks on her regulator and nothing comes out, but not being in the water where I could at least see her, and not being able to see the reassuring sight of her actual head breaking the surface periodically was a bit unnerving to me. Perhaps I should just calm down and order another beer.

Maryanne returned smiling, a little chilly, and completely unaware of my angst. It was nice to see her happy.

Maryanne went SCUBA diving for the first time in (well) over a decade!! And then again the same day!

After a very short night, we were up early for a bird tour/brunch at nearby Bobby's Farm. We were told to report at 6:30, which required us to be off Begonia in the dark at the other end of the same night as Maryanne's night dive. I wouldn't be surprised if we were the first people up on the whole island.

Our problem was compounded by vague directions. One set said it was a fifteen-minute walk from the resort. Another had a pin on a map that had been placed by guessing. We walked further than that without seeing anything obvious, but then managed to second guess ourselves on the theory that we must have missed it in the darkness. After backtracking most of the way to the resort again, we found a turnoff to a weak candidate. We followed it up the hill and quickly encountered stern signs reading 'No Trespassing' and 'Private Property'. That seemed odd for a business that was supposedly open to the public, but it was the only place around. We continued anyway, and soon encountered someone who very politely set us straight. We had turned around just a little too soon.

Now we were late. One more bend on the road after where we had reversed course the last time, we saw a big, unmistakable sign at the entrance. We wandered in and found Bobby, who didn't seem the least bit perturbed by our tardiness. We were the only visitors on today's schedule.

We started with the bird tour, which was the main reason we were told to arrive early. Bobby had this one sorted, because most of Fiji's rare birds like to roost in the immediate vicinity of the house. Our tour was mostly an amble through the grounds, looking through binoculars at movement in the trees above.

Next was a tour of the reserve generally, Bobby is on a one-man crusade to try to conserve as much of Taveuni as he can. He has spent years slowly buying up the land around the farm, working to eradicate invasive species, and trying to change the laws to restrict development and encourage sustainable agriculture.

As he was telling his story during our walk, one of his groundskeepers, Si, would occasionally peel off to retrieve things from the jungle to taste.

Some were medicinal and ridiculously bitter, some were delicious. One of the latter was a football-sized cocoa fruit. He bisected it, revealing the seeds within, and explained that they are meant to be plucked out and sucked clean of their sweet, gooey coating. While delicious, they are also very sticky, which had me wandering around looking for any little rivulet to rinse my hands.

Then we were presented with papaya, followed by drinking coconuts and more fruit. Oof! On the leg back to the house, Si presented is with two more forms of coconut with which we were not acquainted.

The first tasted like a cake. For this, you find a coconut that has just sprouted, with a single shoot and a handful of leaves, and crack it open. Inside is a delicious, fluffy ball with the crunchy, sweet consistency of a meringue pavlova. Technically spongy mass is known as haustorium, which in coconuts provides for a sweet tropical snack.

The other was heart of palm. This requires using your machete to chop down a slightly older tree than the first, and then whacking your way inwards through a section until reaching the pale green cylinder within. All that work rewards you with a delicious, crunchy snack that tastes little like the canned version. Maryanne promptly declared it her favorite thing. It would be great in (or even as) a salad, sliced into discs. Sharpening our machetes is back on my to-do list.

By the time we got back to Bobby's house, we were feeling quite full from all the grazing. I wasn't sure how we would now manage the brunch as well. We didn't want to seem ungrateful by picking at our food.

Well, that turned out not to be a problem. Bobby's wife and mother had both whipped up a delicious meal that each of our stomachs somehow found room to accommodate.

Tour of Nabogiono Forest Park (AKA Bobby's Farm)

After walking back to the resort, which took forty minutes instead of the advertised fifteen, we popped into the bakery for a light lunch at local, non-resort prices. We figured that should do us for the day, saving us an evening of cooking and dishes. As we were walking back to the dinghy, a woman from the resort chased us down to give us the cinnamon rolls we had missed earlier. We had told them we wouldn't be there that morning, but they went ahead and made them anyway.

Despite having a couple of long days, I decided to also squeeze in a snorkel while Maryanne stayed aboard, since I had yet to get into the water here. There is lots of good coral right at the edge of the mooring field and all along the shore. At the spot that was almost closest to Begonia's mooring, I found a colony of anemones that is more extensive than I've ever seen. With them were dozens of clown fish in the biggest school of those that I have also ever seen. That was worth the dip all by itself.

Kyle enjoyed a bit of snorkelling too, and was especially happy to stumble across a large area of anemone fish

Paradise Resort - Not a bad place to hang out for a few days

[Maryanne]I was sorry that we couldn't stay longer at the resort. We did manage to source some fresh and shelf-stable provisions, do laundry, and fill our water tanks (along with several other chores), but I would have loved to do more SCUBA diving (they have some great locations nearby); alas there was a rare/good weather window to push on to our next destination so we departed wanting more.

---

Mooring location - there are at least 6 moorings for public use >> On google maps

Oneata, Lau Group

[Kyle]We had a longish day planned for the sail from Vulaga to Oneata, nearly fifty miles to the north-northeast. Winds in the mid-to-upper twenties was forecast, which seemed to be keeping all the other boats in the area tucked in somewhere safe to ride out the day.

Departing Vulaga - Beautiful sunrise and then rainbows to send us off

Our exit of Vulaga's pass was uneventful against a flood current of about a third of a knot. When we got into deep water, I couldn't help but notice that the sea temperature climbed three degrees Celsius, which is backward from usual, since shallow lagoons generally allow water within to heat up faster in the sun.

With the strong wind on our starboard quarter, Begonia ate up the miles easily, even with an extra reef tucked into each sail. Even better, the gloomy drizzle of the last few days had gone, leaving bright sunshine on a sparkling sea.

Our fun ended when we reached the lagoon at Oneata. The pass entrance is on the far, northern side, about four miles from the island. Conditions weren't too bad in the lee outside the reef, but once we reached the pass, we had to turn directly into the wind and bash into steep chop that had been heaping up since the island. Our nice, dry decks and windows, which had so recently been rinsed of their accumulated salt by the rains during our last few nights in Vulaga, were now being completely recoated with flying spray being driven over the boat by thirty-knot headwinds.

The rough seas and our headwind-hindered speed improved ever so slowly as we crept up into the protection of the island. When we dropped anchor, we were down to eighteen knots of wind on a slightly annoying swell that was still somehow managing to wrap its way around the island. Still, it was way better than what it had been like on the way in, and we were more than grateful to let out a big sigh that our day was now over. Those last four miles from the pass took more out of us than the forty before them.

A welcome view on arrival in Oneata, and a beautiful beach ashore

In the morning, we gathered up our things and rowed the dinghy ashore for the walk to Oneata's main village, Waiqori. The route there requires a bit of what the Kiwis call a Tiki Tour. From the beach where Begonia was anchored, we had to blaze a trail through the jungle to the adjacent beach. At the far end of that beach, there is a proper trail to the village of Dakuiloa, Oneata's original settlement. From Dakuiloa, we could join the island's main artery to Waiqori.

The trail was difficult for us to follow, and we managed to find ourselves in a swamp at one point (but those buttress roots of the swamp trees were just so enthraling to look at so we didn't mind too much, even if we nearly lost our shoes)

The thing is, the trail between Dakuiloa and the beach isn't heavily travelled, particularly on the beach end, which is far beyond the village's garden plots on the village side. With vague directions, we managed to find the trailhead, but lost it several times in the thick undergrowth. We squished our way through boggy swamps, filling our shoes with greasy mud. Ewww! The place did at least have the most interesting trees with the most delicate buttress roots that looked like fine filigree.

After several minutes of collecting mud for our legs and getting increasingly annoyed with each other's navigational prowess, we stepped right into the middle of what was very obviously a somewhat well-trodden trail that was leading in the direction of Dakuiloa. We considered backtracking all the way to the beach to see where we had gone wrong, but we had a long day ahead of us, so we decided to hope it would be obvious on the way back.

In Dakuiloa, we arrived as we had in Vulaga, by ducking under a line of drying laundry. The first woman we met greeted us like returning family, with a smile and handshakes that turned into hugs. When we explained that we were needing to get to Waiqori for sevusevu, she assigned her four young sons to show us to the path.

We have been to Oneata before. The path between the villages is wide and obvious, but the boys insisted on showing us the way. Once we were out of the village, the eldest, Seko, explained that he was going to accompany us for the whole journey. His next younger brother, Solo, was also keen to go, but they weren't so sure about the youngest two, Joni and Cama, who they kept trying without success to send back home to mom. Eventually, it became clear that it was going to be the six of us the whole way.

Local kids from the village of Dakuiloa were assigned to help us find the main village of Waiqori (an obvious path, but their company was delightful, AND they sourced refreshments on route for us) - maybe you can spot Solo up in the coconut tree?

The kids were actually a lot of fun. Cama was trailing a long piece of polypropylene line and seemed to think there was nothing more fun in the world than the game of keeping us from stepping on it as we chased him. Give a kid anything and they will figure out how to make it into a toy.

At about the halfway point, Seko decided we must be getting thirsty, despite our obvious, hot-pink water bottle, and ordered Solo up a tree to collect us all a few drinking coconuts. He opened them deftly with his machete, which of course he had, because he's eight. Fresh Coconut water is sweet and delicious, although I have yet to master drinking out of the little hole without dribbling a third of it down my shirt.

Further down the road, we met a man who introduced himself as Uraia. He was the same Uraia we had met in 2019, when he was delivering hot lunches to the school for Dakiuloa's children. I thought we had taken a picture of him, but the one we had was of a different man. When we showed him that picture, he pointed out that it was taken right in front of the tree where we were all now standing. How funny. It looked like a lot of the others, but on closer examination, it was the same tree, only a little older. There is a man who knows his island!

In Waiqori, every person we met, including his wife, told us the Chief was out fishing and wouldn't be back until later to do sevusevu. Then we started meeting others who said they had heard he was in Suva. In the meantime, it was determined we would wait at the school until someone figured out what should be done with us.

There, we met Saukula, the kindergarten teacher, who invited us to wait at the house she has at the school. Inside, a man was laboriously pounding casava into flour, occasionally taking breaks to diligently pick out any unwanted pulp. Saukula introduced him as Ledua, and explained he was one of the Chief's sons. He was soft spoken, but kind and funny. He apologized for not being able to offer us any clarity on his father's whereabouts. Apparently, the coconut telegraph also suffers from occasional outages.

As the hour was getting late for us to make it back to Begonia by dark, it was eventually determined that it would be acceptable in a pinch for us to do our sevusevu with Asaeli, the village pastor. He ran through the ceremony efficiently and Maryanne and I were soon bid a good journey home.

In Waiqori, it took a while for us to find someone who could perform the sevusevu (permission/welcome) ceremony - and while we waited we were again enthralled watching locals land with their fresh fish catch, or grind flour from cooked/dried cassava roots; once again we were in a living museum (where we had plenty to learn)

After completing our sevusevu, we found Solo, Joni, and Cama, but Seko was apparently off somewhere with friends. His brothers wanted us to wait for him. When Maryanne and I explained that we had no time for that (we needed to get back to the boat before dark), but that we *could* easily find our own way back, they opted to go with us instead. Solo said Seko could find his way back in the dark, no problem.

But Seko has the machete. What if we get thirsty?

At Dakuiloa, we dropped the kids off and said a quick hello/goodbye to their mother, promising to return in a couple of days to spend more time.

Just after joining the beach trail, we noticed a pig that had somehow escaped from the adjacent pen. I went back into Dakuiloa to report it. After some consultation by an ad hoc committee, it was determined that a boy of about fourteen years would accompany us back to the pen, where he would corral the animal while Maryanne and I continued on our way.

Back to the dinghy on the beach "just in time" for Sunset

Back at the beach end of the trail, we quickly found our error from the morning. After taking two steps off the beach, the trail bends sharply in the direction opposite of Dakuiloa. Then there are about twenty paces to get around the edge of the swamp, before the trail starts heading directly at the village again. Now that we knew where to go, our next trip ashore should go much more smoothly.

We spent the next day at home, which we learned the day before is called Lawaki Bay by the locals. As it was Sunday, no fishing boats came around and we had the whole uninhabited side of Oneata to ourselves.

Time for a snorkel. We were pleased to find that the water was noticeably warmer than it was back in Vulaga. That small difference allowed us to stay out for hours, exploring the reef adjacent Begonia, plus the fringes of the nearest three bays. The coral was not amazing, but good, with a few fish left that hadn't been taken for bait or dinner. The most interesting spot was in the next bay to our east, where a craggy islet with two lonely palm trees serves as the centerpiece of the bay.

As promised, we left Begonia early the next morning so that we could spend all day on the island. At Dakuiloa, we met several people, including a woman called Wati, who took us to see the cave where the locals like to go to cool off. It probably would have made sense to have a dip ourselves, as we would undoubtedly be completely dry after an hour of walking, but we elected to give it a miss today.

A little further on, we were invited in by three other ladies, who were each at different stages of stencilling some Masi (tapa) cloth for a big event coming up at the church to commemorate the arrival of the first missionaries to Oneata. The most senior of these (Wati's mother: Ulamila) was so efficient at the task that she practically completed her entire Masi as Maryanne and I watched on.

The cave off the beach in Dakuiloa

The local women stencilling their masi (tapa) cloth ready for the church anniversary in Dakuiloa village

At the far edge of the village, no children were following us, but we were joined by an enthusiastic dog who seemed to be glad to have someone to join him on a long walk to Waiqori.

There, we spent some time hanging out over lemon leaf tea with the Chief's wife and sister, and also his brother. Then we meandered through the village. A characteristic pounding sound drew us to a sheltered area, where a woman was pounding Mulberry bark into Masi cloth. She invited us to her house to see the finished product. Her latest creation was enormous, requiring almost all of the floor area in the room to display. She explained that it was going to be for a wedding (not hers) and that it was going to be hung on the wall as a backdrop.

The stencils are all hand made by each woman (not shared between them). At one time the stencil material would have been banana leaves, but nowadays it is repurposed sheets of old x-ray film used for the task (making the patterns reusable longer-term). This giant masi, once finished, will be a centerpiece at an upcoming wedding (mounted on the wall)

Waiqori is the larger of the two villages, and also has its own beach for the local fishing boats, etc

We excused ourselves a bit early because Maryanne wanted to head to the school. The school uses traditional drums, played by a specially chosen child, in place of the school bell for a subset of a day's events. Maryanne was hoping to get to witness it.

Each day, one of the senior local school kids is assigned to "sound the school bell" which in this case is a traditional Lali (drum). All the kids seem to totally disregard the call to class so we had to excuse ourselves to remove the distraction we'd caused.

In doing so, we managed to inadvertently hijack the event, which in this case was the end of lunch. As soon as the kids saw us coming, we were mobbed by smiling faces practicing various English greetings and barraging us with questions. The poor kid tasked with the important duty of being the day's drummer had lost his limelight. He got it back later when everyone realized his performance was why Maryanne and I had detoured to the school in the first place.

Since my phone had the better camera, Maryanne had designated me to be the one to video the drumming. I was all ready to go at the end of the question-and-answer period, when someone asked if I had any pictures from our 2019 visit. I pulled the phone out of my sulu and was immediately crushed by several layers of warm bodies pushing to get a view of my screen. The feeling was not unlike being in the first couple of rows at a rock concert when the lights come up and the crowd rushes forward to the barriers. There was no way I could move my arms, much less raise my phone to record a video. Maryanne had to hastily make her own.

When the kids recognized one of the girls in a 2019 photo, they all cheered as if she had one a big prize. The double-aged version was standing right in front of me with what was obviously the same shy smile. The current young lady looked like a one-and-a-half scale model of her younger self.

With the drums now officially beaten, it was once again time for classes to resume. The teacher gave them a little slack, giving a chance for everyone to shake our hands and bid us goodbye before heading back to their desks.

Maryanne and I then walked over to Saukula's house, where we were hoping to catch her, and even possibly Ledua, one last time. Neither were there, but we did meet the Lunch Lady (each day the village of Dakuiloa assigns one of the parents to trek to the school in Waiqori and take/prepare their school meal), who has a lovely Fijian name that dropped unfairly out of our heads almost as soon as we heard it. She offered to accompany us on the walk back to Dakuiloa. With her were four children who were young enough to only be doing half-days at school and were thus finished with lessons for the day. Two were hers and two were her sister's. The youngest, we were told, is only two years old. That kid walks the four-kilometer round trip between Dakuiloa and Waiqori at least five times a week.

Wait, that's not right. That kid RAN the whole way. She ran ahead, then turned around to run back to us before running ahead again, putting in three times the overall distance. An Olympic sprinting coach couldn't design a better workout. The other three kids were the same. They spent the whole journey chasing each other, playing tag and hide-and-seek in the tall grass. The whole time, they were giggling the giggles of pure joy that only young children possess, as if commuting with strangers was the most fun game in the whole wide world to play.

When we all sat down in the shade under a tree at for a brief rest at the halfway mark, all four kids slept deeply for the ten minutes before it was time to go again. Then they were good as new. Oh, how I miss being able to do that.

The locals and the kids make every village visit some form of memorable fun

At some point on this part of the journey, I must've grabbed one of the children and lobbed them ahead a bit. That was it – now I was Kyle, the Human Merry-Go-Round. For the next good long while, I strode the path while swinging a kid from each arm. Sometimes, Maryanne joined in, with a third child swinging between us. That, like the interval training earlier, is also fantastic exercise. I wonder if CrossFit knows about it? I was finally spared when Mom/Auntie told them to leave the nice old man alone for a while. Wait, who are you calling nice?

When we reached the outskirts of Dakuiloa, the children all peeled off to resume their play with dogs or uncles or grandparents or even Dakuiloa's stalwart climbing trees. Theirs seems like a pretty perfect childhood.

The day was waning and the next thing we knew, it was already time for Maryanne and I to be hitting the trail back to the beach one over from Lawaki Bay. At the end of the day, we would each end up walking 19.5 kilometers. We were bid farewell with smiles, handshakes and hugs, and told to come back the next time we were this way again.

Maryanne and I really like Oneata. Vulaga's lagoon is indisputably prettier, and with no annoying wrap-around swell issues, but I think the actual island of Oneata is just lovely, with its rolling hills and central grasslands. The people are also so warm and friendly. Oneata has also been (so far) able to avoid the cruising boat invasion fleets of some of the more over-loved islands. The irony of that is not lost on us, but Oneata does hold a special place in both our hearts.

We weren't actually leaving just yet. Before the next good weather window for us to continue, we had a couple of days to explore the unpopulated northern side of Oneata with the dinghy and to have a last snorkel. Again, like at Vulaga, we got to where we could almost wade to Waiqori from the terminal beach before we turning and heading back to Begonia for the night.

Exploring the coastline near the anchorage

---

Anchorage location >> On google maps