At about eight-thirty, we spotted a boatload of officials heading our way. They gave hearty waves, and then sped past us to the other boat: Midnight Sun. A few minutes later, the boat reversed course and our half of the contingent arrived.
Like most Fijians, our officers were polite and friendly as they did their inspections and passed around the requisite forms. Fiji has a lot of paperwork for visiting yachts to navigate and they seemed genuinely apologetic about this. Our Customs guy was surprised to hear that their process was nothing compared to New Zealand's.
Still, they're trying. The initial boarding by Customs and Health is only the beginning of an all-day process. After bidding our officers farewell as they boarded their launch, it was our turn to go ashore for the remaining tasks and to pay the fees.
After visits from several agencies, we were officially "arrived" in Fiji and could switch out our yellow "Q" flag for the traditional "courtesy flag" (Ours is a little tatty here and to be replaced once we can find a new one)
We got to the dinghy dock at the Royal Suva Yacht Club about the same time as Shane and Lisa from Midnight Sun. Despite spending most of our days at South Minerva only a half mile away, this was our first time meeting them in person. We all agreed to share cabs and help each other figure out how to get from one office to the next. First we needed to find an ATM to get cash to pay the various bills. Then we needed cruising permits for the boats; that was done at the furthest office. We took a cab there and then walked back through the city via a meandering route through the offices for Quarantine, Customs (again, so they could see our new Cruising Permits), and then Immigration to collect our passports (now stamped with official visas).
Along the way, we got the lay of the land and, in a desperate attempt to fend off hunger with just about anything at all, popped into a two-table hole-in-the-wall that turned out to have fantastic Indian food and a charming friendly staff that kept insisting on giving us things to try as if they were doting grandparents. We also made a first pass through Suva's amazing produce market. Despite our relatively late start at the dinghy dock, we managed to get all the rest of our officialdom completed before end of business on the first day. That meant the next day could be entirely focused on other unpleasant jobs, without the need to modify our itineraries to finish clearing in. It also meant we would no longer be required to carry the sheaf of important, practically irreplaceable paperwork to a hundred places where it could be lost until we arrive home and realize we can't find it in the bags with the other stuff.
Our first order of business, since it was closest, was to stop at a metal fabricator to replace a bracket that had fatigued on one of our wind turbine brace poles. This seemed on its face to be a simple task. All we needed was a short aluminum strap, which could be bent to fit and then drill the holes to match those on the pole.
The problem was that we were on an island frequented by container ships. There didn't seem to be much demand for such a thing here, and as such, our only choices were a thick foil that would surely fail within days, or the kind of stuff road crews put over holes to keep the dump trucks from falling in. After digging around, the guy at the shop eventually found something that would work, but it was way beefier than what we had before, so there was no chance I would be bending it into place with a pair of pliers. They would need to use their heavy tools to cut, shape, and drill it. Come back in twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes! We had too much stuff to do, so Maryanne suggested we stop by in the afternoon on the way home from our long list of errands. One of the first of these was to replace a broken watch strap of mine. That was close enough to the hole-in-the-wall, officially called "Rangoli Food", that we popped in for another meal. The owner filled our bellies and told us we had just missed Shane and Lisa, who had apparently had the same idea an hour ahead of us.
Once we were done with all the 'little' tasks, it was time for us to go to the produce market to load ourselves down with provisions for the weeks to come.
Suva's produce market is a thing to behold. It covers the area of an entire big box store (or two), but is just produce stands as far as the eye can see. No soda, no car parts, no appliances, no kid's toys, no men's and women's clothing sections, just produce.
Suva's produce market (also has beautiful floral displays for sale outside)
Maryanne had her list. As we wandered the stalls, buying this and that, I started noticing a discrepancy. The list was a third crossed-off, but our wheelie cart was half full. Then the list was half crossed-off and we were already having to carefully balance things on top. When I pleaded with her to stop, she pulled a couple of empty bags out of her purse, filled them, and gave them to me to sling over my shoulders. We managed to get most of the important things we needed, but were having a hard time finding potatoes. We asked someone, and they told us the potatoes were upstairs. There's an upstairs?!
Oh, yes there is! That's where you go for spices, dried beans of every variety, onions, potatoes and, of course, kava. Oh, yeah, we also need to load up on kava!
It's not that I like kava (officially called yaqona in Fiji) that much, but I don't necessarily dislike it, either. It has a nice, mild, soothing, sedative effect, which I have likened to having a single beer without any of the alcoholic side-effects like mild headaches or hangover. It has an indisputably rough flavor, though, which even heavy users follow up with a lot of rinsing and spitting. Imagine cough syrup before anyone tried to make it palatable. I would happily accept any offer of kava, but I will never be in danger of preparing my own. If I were to load up on, say, tabasco sauce, it would be so that I could eventually pour 99.5% down my own gullet. Kava, not so much.
Kava is getting easier to get since the last time we were here. It is even possible to buy it in powdered form by weight, which is much more portable. I could make that at home by straining water through it, but then it would still taste like kava.
The stuff we needed, though, was the original version, which is clusters of roots arranged kind of like an upside-down bouquet, complete with a ribbon. This is because these little kava bouquets are the traditional gift for sevu sevu, the traditional Fijian welcome ceremony.
The basic idea behind the ceremony is that if you arrive at a new village or island bearing gifts, and kava is a good one, you are thereby indicating that you come in peace and are not intending to steal. In return, you basically become an honorary member of the village, allowing you to wander and swim and fish as if you were a resident. The original ceremony involves sitting around a kava bowl, some speeches, and then some sharing around of the kava. The increase in numbers and frequency of tourists, many of whom are wary of kava, has streamlined some ceremonies, particularly near population centers, to a "Thanks for honoring our customs. You are now free to use our jurisdiction"-type speech.
Regardless, showing up at a new village and NOT bringing kava would be a huge affront to norms of etiquette, like pitching a tent on somoene's lawn without permission.
Since we were here last in 2019, we couldn't help but notice that the price of kava has gone up a LOT. This is no doubt because the hipsters found it and it is no longer considered something only remote villagers are going to want. What used to be a nice gift has morphed into a pretty hefty fee for each bunch. We also noticed the bunches seem to be suffering from shrinkflation. Even with large orders like ours, our kava provider hid a few of the below-average-sized bundles beneath the bigger ones at the top of the bag.
This has led to Maryanne and me having to be a little less fast-and-loose about where we visit. Instead of every island along the way, we will hopscotch and spend more time when we do stop, or we'll stay in one section of a multi-region group to avoid doling out too much kava at surrounding villages. I'm sure the villages have noticed a change as well, but maybe that is at least partially made up for by the general increase in visitors. Even with half-portions (we drew the line there, but I still think our seller likely shorted us), some of the more popular spots should still be well-supplied with kava. Also, a lot of those places have the conditions to grow their own, so maybe the whole thing is more of a formality anyway.
With a bulging wheelie cart, multiple shoulder bags, and a giant sack of what was obviously a whole lot of kava on top, we decided it would perhaps be best to avoid the walk back to the yacht club and spring for a cab for the trip home. Cabs around here seem to be priced so that a full one split between passengers works out to about the same price as taking a bus, so we were more than happy to pay double bus fare to have each of our weight in provisions delivered along with us.
Just before we got to the yacht club, I bailed out and Maryanne continued on her own. I just made it to the metal fabricator before they closed for the day.
The poor Shop Manager. He went to collect our parts and couldn't find them anywhere. Not only that, but the old parts I gave him as a pattern were also lost. With building embarrassment, he worked his way through increasingly improbable places like under trash cans and on top of electrical junction boxes at ceiling height. After waiting over an hour, I told him I would try again tomorrow. This was met with a big sigh and another apology.
It turned out Maryanne had been just fine waiting for me at the yacht club. I found her yucking it up with Lisa and Shane, cold beers in hand, in a corner of the bar with our haul for the day. When she finally noticed me standing there ten minutes later, looking forlorn and parched, she swore she had been missing me the whole time.
The next morning, our plan was to go back to the produce market to get the remaining items on Maryanne's list. After thinking about it again, we came up with a new plan: She would go to the market and get a cab back, while I walked to the metal place to collect our parts (hopefully). After that, I was going to spend my time shuttling jugs of potable water and some fuel to the boat. Whoever was done first would patiently wait for the other at the yacht club bar, coldie in hand.
At the metal fabricators, the manager told me he had our parts and dragged me back to his office to show me what happened. He hadn't wanted to lose them, so he hung them from the hook by the door where he keeps his keys.
"I must have walked by them fifty times while I was looking everywhere else," he said. "When I finally gave up and went to leave, there they were!"
We had a good laugh over that one. I was just glad none of the whole affair could be pinned on me. He handed the parts to me with clear relief at being relieved of the responsibility.
We didn't need much water or fuel. We had over a month's supply of water left, but we knew the next place we would be able to reliably get safe, potable water was going to be around two months in the future. Getting there would require us to fill everything to the brim.
The fuel was even more ridiculous. We had one jug that was partially empty out of five extras. Normally, I think of the last three as unwanted, unnecessary weight, and we almost never fill them. These days, though, there seems to be supply issues in a lot of places caused by a war/not war/maybe a war, but not really, except that it is, or isn't. Anyway, for the time being, our new policy is to get what we can when we can, so we bought half a can. By the way, Americans, I understand the cost of fuel is going up, and that hurts, but when the rest of the world hears you talk about how five-dollar-a-gallon gas is going to ruin the economy, it does not invoke sympathy. Most places in the world haven't paid that little for fuel in a decade or two. We paid about $12US per gallon in Suva and were told prices here haven't really started to go up much yet, since most of their fuel doesn't come from the Middle East. That was for the lower-taxed marine stuff.
I had expected Maryanne to finish way before I did, since the market was not that far and she didn't need too much. Instead, we finished within five minutes of each other.
Not wanting to waste a trip to shore with just the market, she had run a few other errands as well. The most notable of these was to a dressmaker to have something traditional made for her that would be conservative enough to wear to sevu sevu (no bare shoulders, no bare knees). She heard about the place from a tip from Lisa, who had done the same the day before. It turned out to be easy to find, since it was on Toorak Avenue, right next door to Rangoli Food.
{Maryanne: I was actually doing way more than Kyle recounts... I was exchanging money - which took visits to multiple money exchange sites, and lots of "I'll check with my supervisor" moments (and wanting to see ID and paperwork, all confused since I didn't arrive by plane to Fiji), I was figuring out the bus system (they no longer accept cash fees, you first have to get a payment card and load it with credit, but for some reason you have to go to the main phone provider store - with ID - to get your card), I was getting new keys cut (since the day before we'd given ourselves a scare when we somehow lost our dinghy key, and for a while thought we'd also lost our padlock key), and a ton of other stuff - as well as a trip to the produce market for all the "other" bits on my list - whew!}
As we were having a little rest break before taking our over-laden dinghy home, I started to notice something peculiar about the yacht club. The location is lovely, with tables overlooking the water, and the staff couldn't be nicer. The fun always happened when it was time for a refill. The message wouldn't quite make it through. It wasn't a problem like in French or Spanish where, if you say it wrong, they will think that instead of an additional beer, you would like to switch beers, presumably to something more palatable.
Here, in Suva, someone would bring our beers. Then halfway through them, someone else would bring our beers. By then, we were probably on the fence as to whether or not to have another, so we would usually ended up saying, "Ah, what the hell..." and taking those beers as well. Add in some confusion about whether you meant to order another individual beer or a round for the table and random beers keep showing up periodically, usually at about the time you're deciding whether or not to have another beer. Since the staff is so nice, the beer is cheap, and it probably was just some kind of miscommunication, somebody always ends up digging out their wallet and paying for them, rather than sending them back. In this way, I would bet the Royal Suva Yacht Club bar sells almost twice as many drinks as people actually order. Or, looked at another way, their system keeps us from actually having to order what we were really going to drink in the end. Perhaps I was sat on the button on the barstool that said: "To auto-renew your subscription, click here."
With our jobs list (almost) complete, we were now free to start on some actual tourism. Maryanne had a list for that, too.
We started with a trip to Parliament, site of the 2006 coup. Or at least we thought we did. Suva has an Old Parliament in the main town area and a New Parliament in a quieter area wth more grounds. We were planning on a tour as described in our 2016 Lonely Planet Guide, so we took a cab to the New Parliament building (Veiuto). This is where we learned about unscrupulous cab drivers. We hadn't noticed until part way through the trip, but our guy had his meter covered with a little cloth, like he was trying to protect it from sun damage. Cab fares are strictly regulated in Fiji, so when the guy quoted us triple what we expected, we knew something was up. When we protested, he made some excuse about our trip not being on a regular fare schedule because we were on the day tour rate. True, he did point out two things as we were zinging by on the way here, but we were pretty sure that didn't count as a 'tour'. We begrudginly paid what he asked and wrote off that excess as the cost of an important lesson: always make sure the meter is visible. Subsequent cabbies were very unhappy about this and told us guys like that give them all a bad name.
It turns out the New Parliament is not where you can get a tour of Parliament. The Fijian Parliament moved into the Veiuto complex after the 1987 military coups, using it as its temporary base while the permanent structure was in use. By 2014 they had already moved back to the original parliament buildings in the center of Suva (my guidbook out of date even when it was new!). The "New" Parliament building houses some courthouses within the larger complex. The floor of the crumbling New Parliament chamber building is now used to store boxes of old paperwork.
The Veiuto Court Complex (once the "new" Parliament), and the neighbouring War Memorial site
Fine! It's a lovely day for a walk.
We walked the waterfront Queen Elizabeth Drive, past the Presidential home (The State House and grounds lined with chattering bat-filled trees), and on to the Itaukei Affairs Board building (our last step in retracing our track to see if our missing dingy engine key might be found - no luck!)
Fiji Museum in the grounds of Thurston Park
(site of the original Suva village, all traces now long gone)
We took a direct route to the waterfront, we stopped for lunch at poked around in the Fiji Museum in the grounds of Thurston Park, and then crossed over the grounds of Albert Park to the actual working Parliament at the Old Parliament. It was lunchtime, but a nice woman there graciously agreed to give us the tour anyway. It didn't turn out to be much, just a look at the portraits of current and former ministers and a peek at the floor of the chamber, which was currently not in session. After that, we got a bonus look at the Speaker's outer office. The whole thing was over in ten minutes.
We finally visited the current seat of Parliament (in the city center)
No worries, right across the big sports grounds is the Grand Pacific Hotel, once reputed to be the finest hotel in not just the South Pacific, but the whole world. Maryanne figured it would be a nice place to pop in for a drink. Built in 1914, it closed in 1992, and was left abandoned and decyaing, until eventually restored and re-opend in 2014.
She was not wrong. Although it would probably be a stretch to characterize the service here, as James A Michner once did, as "none could surpass"; it is still a beautiful buidlding in a great location. My fancy drink was very well made, but also entirely out of stuff it turns out I don't particularly like. Maryanne's was better, but there's no way we're buying two of those. Still, it was a relaxing place to lounge and enjoy the view while we waited for the very last of our ice cubes to melt.
A break for cocktails at the Grand Pacific Hotel where we watched on as a local caught fish with his throw-net
From there, we meandered home the long way through every park and green space we could find. The one errand we had for the day was to make a visit to the dressmaker. During our break at the Grand Pacific Hotel, it became apparent that Maryanne and I had a bit of a miscommunication. Earlier in the week, when Maryanne asked when I thought we would be leaving Suva, I replied that Sunday was looking like the best day. Later, as the day approached, the answer changed to Saturday or Sunday, but Saturday is way better because we could leave at a normal time and not two a.m. For the last two days, my answer was definitely Saturday. Unfortunately, the change didn't register, with all the other stuff she had to worry about, so she had told the dressmaker she would come to collect her new dress on Saturday {Maryanne: although the answer may have changed, I'm pretty sure this was NOT shared with me!}. Now she had to hike back up Toorak Avenue with me in tow to act as Grumpy Husband in the hopes that they would take pity on her and get the dress done early. They agreed to have it done Friday afternoon.
Visiting a few of the churches and cathedrals in the city
For our last day in Suva, we took a cab to Colo-i-Suva Park, which was twice as far and half the cost of our ride to New Parliament. We paid for our tickets and then walked the 2km to the road/trailhead for the many swimming holes in the river. We knew about the swimming, but decided we didn't want the hassle of schlepping towels and a change of clothes with us all day, so we instead planned to spend the morning hiking the park's trails. When we purchased our tickets we were warned that most of the trails were closed (under maintenance), but were hopeful of enjoying some prisitne wilderness regardless.
At end of the "road" part of the trail, a security guard came to check our tickets and introduced himself as Rusi. Maryanne asked him where she could find the tour guides, hoping to get some info on the parks many endemic plants and birds. He said he would be happy to guide us right now and waved to one of the other staff that he was going with us.
It wasn't long before we realized a couple of things. First, Colo-i-Suva is operated less as a nature reserve and more as a series of swimming holes to beat the afternoon heat (popular with the locals, especially at weekends). The long trails through the forest on the big map are still in the aspirational stage. All the existing roads/trails were just to get from the parking area to the swimming holes. Second, there was a discrepancy in our goals. We were looking more for the tour part of a guided tour. Rusi seemed to think that we were asking for a guide to help us find the trail. The trail was mostly boardwalk, so this was completely unnecessary. As we walked, Maryanne tried to squeeze any information from Rusi by peppering him with any question she could think of. He pointed out three different tree species about three times each, with little further commentary. When we finally got to the farthest swimming hole, we were standing in the uncomfortable silence after the part where we had decided we had seen it and, without a plan to swim, didn't really need to see it anymore, when Rusi stripped off his shirt, climbed a tree and did a 15 meter dive into the pool below. Finally, we felt like we got something out of our tour fee. That was genuinely entertaining and no, I wasn't tempted to try myself because there is a section of the tree where if you lose your balance on the way to the jumping-off point, you are going to fall ten meters onto jagged rocks.
Exploring the plants and swimming holes at Colo-i-Suva (Colo is pronouced Tholo) with our adventurous guide
After leaving the park, we decided to fortify ourselves with lunch at the adjacent eco-lodge. The food was good. Our table overlooked a pond that had a tree full of parrots on the other side. The best part was when a little kitten that could not have been more than a week old came over to befriend us. Its favorite place seemed to be one shoulder or another, where it would fill that ear with purring.
Refreshments an some kitten-fussing time at the Rainbow Eco-Lodge
We took the bus back into town, where we disembarked to make yet another trudge up Toorak Avenue to collect Maryanne's outfit. Toorak Avenue is steep, I think I've decided I've had more than enough transits of its full length, which I now have completely memorized. I'm looking forward to not having to see it again for a good, long while.
Tailor made outfits, and local busses - just some of the fun to be had in Suva
Anyway, Maryanne's outfit was ready as promised, with the need for only minor adjustments. While we were waiting, I saw a shirt I quite liked for myself. The fit seemed okay, but the ladies there insisted it could be improved with some alteration. As they were measuring me up, I realized this was probably the first time I have ever bought a custom-tailored shirt (indeed a first for either of us).
We took the long, non-Toorak way down the hill to the Albert Park grounds, where we presented ourselves as the only patrons for an early dinner at a well-reviewed restaurant there. It occurred to me that restaurateurs can probably make a pretty good guess of your age by when you show up to dine. Old Fogies (like us) apparently want the whole operation completed before darkness falls.
We were a bit put off by the double-pricing on the menu, but persisted anyway and were rewarded with a giant, truly delicious pizza that made the whole thing seem totally worth it, served by the friendly owners themselves. As we were leaving, we started to see others arriving for dinner. There was something unmistakable about them in their impeccable, overly flashy outfits and their curated aloof manner. Many had poorly-controlled children wearing the same. I realized we may have ended up in the preferred watering hole of the city's elite class. It was the Gucci loafer set, when the rest of the city wears flip-flops. I was trying to find the right word when Maryanne caught it for me: snobs. As we were walking away, I detected distinct sneers from an arriving car of twenty-something preppies for using our shoes as transportation.
For our trip back to the Royal Suva Yacht Club, which does have the word 'yacht' in the name (take that, snobs!), we walked to the bus station and took the bus.
I know it sounds like a strange thing to say, but taking the bus in Suva is fun. The main bus station in town is where the crush of humanity is greatest and the controlled chaos the most head-spinning. Most Fijians take the bus everywhere out of walking distance, so the whole plaza is reminiscent of a big event at a stadium that just opened its doors, with crowds and crowds of people all jostling for their specific destination. Fijians are culturally pretty much the opposite of football hooligans, so the whole thing is done with smiles and good cheer.
There are no schedules we could find, per se, but all the routes are fixed. Each route is operated by a different color bus. For us, we were looking for the blue busses, which go by the yacht club. The procedure is: scan over everybody's head for "our" blue busses, then make your way through the crowd to them and get on any one you like. They leave when they feel like it or when they are full, which is never too long to wait. If you get lost, asking anyone, even teenaged school kids, is unlikely to get you directions; instead, they are more likely to grab you by the hand and walk you right to the front door of the bus you need, even if they were previously standing in line at their own bus on the other side of the terminal.
When the time comes that the driver decides they're ready to leave, the bus goes into reverse and backs slowly into the crowd, which manages to part before anyone gets squished. Then forward happens. Same thing. Many of the busses have no windows, just openings where the windows would normally be. The people in those seats get to ride with an arm hanging out. That arm usually ends up waving to smiling friends on the sidewalks below or in other busses as they pass.
The yacht club got us again. It really was a bit of marketing genius to put the friendly barman on the direct path between the door and the dinghy dock. Had the lounge been upstairs or something, I'm sure it would have still been lively up there, but it would also have been easier after a long day to skip it and head straight home. I'm glad it wasn't, though. It's a nice spot for a break and the staff are all very sweet.
Maryanne said she would be fine to stay in Suva for a few more days to do some more exploring (further afield), but I was less enthusiastic. Suva is an important city in the region, but it has definitely more of an industrial, utilitarian feel than one of a Pacific Paradise. I had had my fill of trudges up Toorak Avenue and diesel fumes and traffic noise and the 5:30am sirens and the long dinghy ride to shore and being anchored in water that is brown instead of blue. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet while anchored off a palm-fringed beach of blinding-white sand.
Anchorage location (off Royal Suva Yacht Club) >> On google maps
