A Series of Unfortunate Events

When you’ve been traveling for over 13 months and your biggest snafu has been forgetting your long underwear in your friend’s car (with the cold weather on its way…), you tend to do two things: 1.) Keep thanking the heavens with all your might for the graces your guardian angels have bestowed upon you, and 2.) Forget that, perhaps, your good luck might just run out one of these days.

On my flight from Sydney to Nadi, Fiji, my flight attendants were all smiles, greeting each passenger with a friendly, “Bula, bula!” As I walked into Nadi customs, the room filled with islander tunes, courtesy of Fijian locals dressed in brightly flowered shirts, singing and strumming guitars. Each visitor was given a beautiful flower with creamy white petals and a yellow center to tuck behind their ear. What a warm and colorful welcome!

The next morning I was off to Mana Island on the Mana Flyer – a relatively small jet boat packed to the brim with island supplies and a few too many passengers. Everyone was bright-eyed and eager for sun, sand, and beachside pina coladas!

As soon as I was able, I had my swimsuit and shades on, a book in one hand and sunscreen in the other. I bypassed the hammocks for a comfortable sun-soaked lounge less than 20 feet from the silky blue waves breaking in gentle rhythm against the golden shore.

The darkening clouds and increasingly strong winds must have been an omen for the various degrees of uncomfortableness I would be experiencing throughout the rest of my Fijian holiday. That very afternoon, one of the male staff members came over to chat with me. From his outwardly obvious chestward gaze, it took me about two seconds to conclude that he wasn’t all that interested in having a conversation with me per say, but rather with my cleavage, which was apparently far more engaging. During our “talk,” I soon discovered that this particular staff member was a very talented jewelry carver, able to carve various trinkets and pendants out of coconut shells. Thus, I told him rather pointedly, that if he intended to stare at my chest, he might as well make me something pretty so I could at least pretend that he was admiring his own art. He presented me with a lovely starfish necklace just a few hours later.

The next morning I woke up a bit itchy around the ankles. It seemed as though the Milford Sound sandflies had stolen away in my luggage and come along for a change of scenery! Fiji was known to have mosquitoes so I shrugged it off as part of my initiation into Fijian life.

That weekend, the sun played hide and seek, several of the guests, including myself, got food poisoning from the Blue Ribboned awarded “Nastiest Lunch,” and I found myself sharing my room with some rather unpleasant, and totally unwelcomed, roommates - bedbugs. These nasty little buggers are no picnic in the park, that’s for darn sure! And, since there were no laundry facilities on the island, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it. Soon, several guests were competing for the title of “Biggest Welt,” “Most Bites,” and “Greatest Bodily Coverage!” Needless to say, we were an itchy bunch.

The daily torrential downpours during the first four days seemed only to enhance the dinginess of Mana Lagoon. The scummy shower stalls, soggy toilet paper, and dim lighting left an emotional stench to waft throughout the hostel, seeping into the nostrils of both the guests and staff. The quality of our meals was, on average, very poor and created a general lethargy that hung heavily in the damp and humid air. I could only puzzle over the “Fijian Paradise” that I had heard mentioned from many a traveler that I met throughout New Zealand and Australia. Being bedbug ridden was not my idea of a beach bumming holiday!

Despite all the unpleasantness, I tried to focus on the silver lining. The international hodgepodge of guests staying at Mana Lagoon made for some great conversation and hilariously entertaining evenings. The Mana Lagoon staff threw a party on Saturday night complete with traditional Fijian dances and fire twirling! And, participating in evening Kava ceremonies was a wonderful way to connect with the Fijian locals. Kava, a traditional Fijian drink, is made of a powder from the root of a Kava plant. The powder is mixed with water in a large wooden bowl and then passed person to person around a circle of camaraderie. The Kava tastes as though you’re drinking liquid earth, but the Fijians love the stuff! It even leaves your tongue and lips slightly numb as an after-feel. If you only want to have a small sip, ask for a low-tide. But, if you’re feeling like a grande, tell ‘em “Tsunami!”

A real highlight out of the grab-bag of holiday lows was scuba diving! One of my goals in life was to become Open Water certified. So, between reading my lesson book and taking quizzes, I was able to do four open water dives and explore the reef.

It is incredibly peaceful to float effortlessly just above the ocean floor hearing nothing but the sounds of your own Darth Vader breathing. My diving instructor, Tuks, pointed out all sorts of colorful or camouflaged sea life as we cruised weightlessly through the water and buoyed ourselves over the coral castle, being nosy Nancy’s into the curtained rooms of thousands of royal sea subjects. We spotted flute fish, clown fish, flounder, cleaner fish, and several tiny garden eels poking curiously out of the sand only to retreat shyly into the safety of their cylindrical homes. Tuks pointed out a morey eel twisted amongst the coral reef, nearly invisible if not for its beady yellow eyes staring unblinkingly out from behind its coral fence. As we propelled ourselves around the castle, we saw a small shark lurking just beyond the visibility line. As we swam closer to get a better look, we saw two more! We stopped, suspended underwater, watching the sharks slice gracefully through the clear blue waters. Thankfully, I had already learned that the Fijian sharks are really no threat to humans, so I was happy just to watch them cruise merrily along.

I was very excited to have earned my scuba certification, but unfortunately, the pure relief at finally leaving Mana Lagoon took precedence over the bulk of my emotions. I was on my way to another island and could only hope against hope that my new accommodation would (please, please, PLEASE!) be a few steps up from the last.

My new Canadian friend, Kristina, and I practically melted with joy when we arrived at Walu Beach Resort. The receptionists greeted us with a complementary glass of orange juice. There were folded napkins on the table, electricity that ran all day long, free drinking water, and a swimming pool!! Oh boy, oh boy! The resort was clean, tidy, and peacefully quiet. You know…when you’ve just gone to Bedbug Hell and back, it’s the little comforts in life that really count.

Funnily enough, upon our arrival at Walu Beach, the sun came out from her hiding place and graced us with her warm presence for the remainder of my time in Fiji. For the next four days, I relaxed by the poolside, took out the kayak, snoozed in the hammock, and drank Kava with the Fijian locals late into the evening. On one evening in particular, we sat around a beach bonfire, and I mentioned that I hadn’t yet tried fresh coconut juice. At that, Percy, one of the staff members, literally shimmied himself 30 feet up a coconut tree, plucked a couple coconuts from the palms, and threw them down to his brother below. I was shocked, yet unbelievably impressed. Talk about great customer service!

Despite being a great deal more at ease with our stay at Walu Beach, Kristina and I found ourselves waking up several times throughout the night, only to snatch up our flashlight and beam the bed, eyes squinting in search of any stowaway bedbugs that might have jumped ship from our luggage. Having been unable to wash and dry our stuff left us with our skin crawling at all hours of the night and day. And, as much as I was enjoying watching my skin turn to a toasted marshmallow brown, I was itching (no pun intended) to go home. On top of it all, I had recently found out that my Fijian travel agent who I had booked my entire holiday with had, in fact, ripped me off. This meant that instead of really being able to fully relax and enjoy the rest of my beachside tanning, I was writing emails back and forth to the travel company to request a refund. I had discovered, rather reluctantly, that perhaps my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants travel philosophy wasn’t always so fool-proof.

On my last afternoon, I was back on the mainland in Nadi and, only hours from my departure flight, I found myself in a cramped, second story office building – the setting of a backpacker travels gone wrong horror film. I was the single lady in the main office of Travelicious, my Fijian travel company, and, with heart pounding, I was holding my ground. My travel agent, Noah, and his business partner had agreed to meet with me to “sort things out.” Well, as long as “sorting things out” meant that I’d be getting my refund, I was game. I felt like Judge Judy - only I was the one arguing my case. And, two hours of discussion and a round of beer later, I won. Case closed (insert gavel *bang* here).

It wasn’t until my plane had lifted off that I, at long last, could truly breathe easy. My airplane buddy, Jen, and I joked that we should wear t-shirts that read, “I Survived Fiji!” But, despite the itchy, swollen bites that covered my legs, I only had one thing on my mind – jumping off the plane at LAX, woah, am I gonna fit in? It’s a party in the USA!!