Fiji Adventure Travel Holiday - Island Hopping the Yasawas on Fiji time!

After freezing in New Zealand it’s time for me to thaw out, and where else would be more desirable for a lazy vacation by the sea than the temperate climate of Fiji with its lulling tides, sandy stretches of isolated beach and soothing scents of coconut oil and dewy rainforest?

Alternatively, I find myself thrown into the mayhem of mainland Nadi, and it takes me right back to my travels through India, with a large population of Indians thriving in the business and retail sectors. The streets are dusty and consumed with traffic and touting taxi drivers rip you off with overpriced fares. As a local lady advised me, “you tell them to put the metre on”. It’s better to walk away and wait for an honest man, or a desperate one, than succumb to their tricks.

I escape the hubbub of Nadi and catch the big yellow catamaran, the ‘Yasawa Flyer’, I’m ready to island hop the Yasawa group. A seven day ‘Bula Combo Pass’ includes my ferries, accommodation and meals for many of the resorts, and the overnight stays are easy to book with reception on board the boat.

My first stop is at Coral View Beach Resort on Tavewa Island. A group of us are shipped from the ferry onto a dinghy, and then we trudge through the shallow water, greeted individually by each staff member with big smiles and handshakes. Coral View has a pile of activities on hand, including great snorkelling, lagoon trips, sunset walks and volleyball in the afternoons. The front beach is nothing spectacular and I mosey down a little village track to an alluring stretch of sand. At night we have a buffet dinner and are entertained by welcome dances, song and games. We participate too and the gardener chooses me to be his dance companion. How can I refuse? Except he is not the cliché of a sexy, muscle-ripped man – he is the gardener who has been pruning the bushes since the beginning of time! At least he is wise to the rules of the game and I end up winning a beer.

In Long Beach Resort on Matacawalevu Island I am surprised by the solitude. There are only seven guests, but the beach is a fantastic long crescent of white sand and translucent water. A guided walk through the village reveals the islands industriousness. Coconut oil is produced to sell to the mainland, cassava plantations are abundant (one per family), and they host one of the biggest schools in the Yasawas. Most of the original houses are thatched bures, but now timber and brick is implemented to stand the cyclone season.

At White Sandy, deck chairs occupy the beach and in the shade hammocks invite relaxation. The local boys prepare a ‘lovo’ (traditional underground barbeque) for dinner and the end result is a subtle smoked flavour. The “bula boys” perform their traditional dances, resembling the ‘haka’ with stamping feet and guttural, rhythmic shouting. They are extremely fit and I hear rumours of their popularity with the visiting ladies. In the morning we make bangles out of coconuts and watch on as a stealthy lad scales a coconut tree with bare hands and feet, to roundup bunches of coconuts. He shows off by crawling down face first like a lizard and adds some acrobatics to the show. It makes the English guys nervous; they laugh it off pretending they can contend.

My favourite resort is the pretty Waya Lailai, where we partake in a kava drinking ceremony. Kava is made from the root of a pepper plant, it tastes like muddy water, but the ritual of the ceremony is engaging. One of the girls tells me that the chief of the village recently passed away. The village held a kava drinking ceremony that lasted ten days.

The snorkelling and scuba diving here isn’t as spectacular as in Koh Tao, Thailand where I got my PADI, but the whitetip reef sharks waiting for me at the bottom of the big deep blue are pretty heart-starting! Joe started the dive shop ten years ago and the sharks seem familiar with him, waiting to be fed fresh fish. They know Joe is boss as he pulls on their fins and smacks them with the metal rod. Joe points out giant clams and almost pushes me under a coral cave to check out a sheepish lion fish. The scuba gear is a bit old and it was hard to find a wetsuit to fit, so near the end of the dive I am covered with goose bumps and ready to surface. Also, make sure to check your oxygen level is correct before your dive; Joe had to top ours up before departure.

I splurge on an extra night on South Sea Island. The island has much better food and free water sports like sea-kayaking. I prefer to relax and walk around the entire island – it takes five minutes. In the evening there is crab racing, and plenty to drink. These small islands, like Beachcomber, are popular with party goers.

In the Yasawa’s, don’t expect shops and boutiques, roads (instead you will find long winding paths slashed back and worn down for local use from village to village), cars or hot water (unless you shell out on the luxury resorts). The only noise on the islands is of the local people working, well known Bob Marley tunes drifting through the air, and the occasional beat of the drum to signal meal times or organised activities. On the islands you feel how remote you are and removed from technology there is a reminder of a quieter life, a less hectic approach to the world, a different pace – its Fiji time! And with that a group of smiling, singing Fijians welcome you with a roar of “Bula Everybody!” “Bula!”

A Road Trip Through the South Island (NZ)

It’s pouring down rain. I’m with some lads I met in Queenstown and we are in Franz Josef wishing for the skies to clear up so we can climb the Glacier. The weather won’t cooperate. We pile into the car deciding to tough it out. After all, if I held my breath waiting for sunny days I would never see or do anything in New Zealand!
We reach a massive dried up river bed of grey stones and rocks. The glacier rises across the valley. It appears close, but takes a long time to trek. We pass waterfalls running off from the cliffs. At the foot we clamber up a steep incline and see the stunning mountains assembled before us, with the glacier the centrepiece.

Red tape runs around the base of the mountain, serves as a warning. There are workers chipping away with ice-picks at the glacier to make new staircases for the tours. We are making our own tour and without equipment we mostly scramble around the outskirts of the glacier over loose rocks that slip under our feet. Turning back the reward is an extraordinary sweeping vista of the canyon below. Eventually, as the tour groups are leaving we see a guide watching and waiting for us. I think our fun has come to an end, and he tells us later that we were walking dangerously close to a potential rock slide. Oops!
In the evening we head to the Blue Ice bar and watch the boxing, enjoying two-for-one house spirits after presenting our hostel key. It’s a very small town, but the whiskey helps!

The next day we drive through Arthurs Pass towards Christchurch. Snow sweeps past the car, horizontally. The enchanting and bold terrain is unique to New Zealand and we often remark on settings reminiscent of the ‘Lord of the Rings’.
Our road trip continues, after dropping ‘Curly Bob’ (as the Irish lads have dubbed Sean) at the airport, we cruise north past the sleepy seaside town of Kaikoura – famous for whale watching and home to vast seal colonies - further up to Nelson , a vibrant, fresh little city with plenty of class, before stopping in Motueka for the night. Our destination is the National Parks of the Able Tasman, our final wonder (or wander) before catching the ferry to Wellington.
After a blissful sleep I wake next morning with excitement and ready to jump out of a plane, literally. A shuttle bus picks me up and takes me to the Sky Dive centre. After getting the gear on and a quick debrief I’m ready.
The ride up has been the longest twenty minutes of my life, and I am all too aware that it will be over in less than five. A short English lad, Chris, is strapped to my back (I hope). I wanted a seven foot Serbian with massive guns and brooding good looks to protect me (think Mills and Boon), but you can’t always get what you want. Instead, I’m a foot taller than my man, and impressively I am not as scared as I am pretending. Chris has been trying to keep my mind clear by playing twenty questions. He reminds me of a dentist. But I want my fear. Isn’t it part of the process?
The door slides back alarmingly, too quickly. I expect a force of wind to suction me out of this light, rickety plane and send me twirling through the cloudless, blue sky plummeting towards my death. It is eerily still and not as cold as you would think at 13 000 feet, probably due to all the adrenaline coursing my blood lines.
The dive knocks the breath out of me. I can feel everything rushing past – all this air, and my stupid collar is slapping my cheeks and it really stings. I’m going fast, like 200 kilometres. Chris taps my arms, signalling me to bring them up in front of me like I’m flying. It’s indescribable, I’m Superwoman! All of a sudden, I’m lurched upwards as he pulls the shoot, it’s jolting but then I just laugh and scream with joy and I know I am alive. Everything becomes deadly silent, and after about ten seconds Chris asks, “Are you alright?”

Spinning the big, red canopy around I’m shown the North Island, which is visible on this clear day, and turning again the mountain ranges to the west and the Able Tasman are in view. The Motueka River snakes across the land meeting with the sea. It’s really peaceful, and actually feels a bit tame after the intensity of the dive. As we sail down to land I lift my legs up high in the air and we slide through the grass on our butts. Ecstatically, I feel like doing it again, like some ride at the show you can’t get enough of. I hug Chris and thank him for not killing me.
The boys are waiting. I am so high and feel like bouncing off the walls, they seem flat by comparison. I’ve already had the aerial view, but we drive to the Able Tasman and spend a glorious afternoon exploring the hills and beaches of this truly exotic paradise. Someone wise told me that when you go to New Zealand don’t expect big cities and night life, it’s all about the scenery.

Sea Kayaking the Milford Sound

It’s early and I am the only person awake at the Lakefront Backpackers in Te Anou. I’m making sandwiches and rushing around packing things I might need for my trip to the Milford Sound. Mental Note: Don’t forget the camera!
Outside it is cold and the lake is still and quiet, not yet awake. A small van pulls over and a kiwi guy jumps out and introduces himself to me as “Will”. He is my tour guide for the day from ‘Fiordland Sea Kayak’ and that is exactly what we will be doing.
The journey into Milford is mountainous through national parkland and the landscape is dramatic and rugged. We stop at a lookout for hot chocolate and biscuits that Will has brought along. I see for the first time the pesky but pretty parrots - Kea birds – known to peck the rubber out of a car window frame and scavenge for crumbs like seagulls.
Along the way we see the aftermath of snow avalanches that occur when too much snow has piled up on the mountains, and their path is one of pure destruction. We see where the road has been cleared in front of the Homer tunnel. It looks like a snow cave, and it is the only access into the Milford. Work on the tunnel began in 1935 and Will tells us that it started with just five men, picks in hand, and one wheelbarrow. Three were killed by avalanches. Sometimes for months on end they went without sunlight. Now that’s hard yakka! The project stopped during the war and then wasn’t finished until 1954.
We pull up at the basin of the sound and Will begins to unload the van. Before we are on the water we have to get dressed in layers and layers of protective clothing. First there are the very attractive thermals, then a rubber vest, a polar fleece jumper, a bright orange rain proof poncho and a strange contraption that looks like an oversized tennis skirt (a spray skirt) used to seal us into the kayak. And of course on top of that is a well coordinated, fashionably purple life jacket. We stand around our kayaks feeling completely ridiculous as Will gives us a briefing on how to paddle and so forth.
Most of the other people doing this sea-kayaking tour are on their honeymoon. I’m paired up with a guy called Paul who is training to be a tour guide. Chuck Norris comes to mind, and he and I are quick to start bantering and bickering as though we have met before. The sky is cloudless and as we paddle out we are joined by a family of dolphins. They glide underneath our kayaks and show off by spinning and leaping through the air. They swim so close to us that they tip onto their sides as they pass so they can peer up at us with one eye, and then empty their blowholes. It’s incredible! And Will agrees that this is quite a rare experience, possibly due to the amazing weather we are having. Oftentimes it is raining, which we are assured is very magical, but I am happier with the dolphins playing and warm sun on my face.
We are directed over to a large waterfall pouring out from one of the cliff faces. The watery mist cools our faces as we paddle ferociously up some small rapids to get as close as possible to the Bowen Falls. Actually, I don’t have to paddle hard at all. Paul (or Chuck) has announced that he likes to be “a very physical person”, so he doesn’t mind as I lazily sit back and take photographs. I think we make a good team, and I know that tomorrow my shoulders won’t be sore!
We discover, after tasting the slightly salty water, that the Milford is not actually a sound but a fiord. Further along the mossy banks we spot a young fur seal yawning sleepily after being disturbed by our loud cries. He poses for awhile, stretching and sighing before clambering down the rocks and slipping into the cool, dark waters.
The seal disappears as the dolphins reappear to host us down towards a rocky beach where we have a glorious view of the ‘Mitre Peak’, the tallest sea cliff in the world at 1692 metres about the sound. It gets its name from its appearance, similar to that of the mitre headwear of Christian bishops. We stop for lunch
sitting on uncomfortable rocks and sipping cups of hot tea while we take in the breathtaking vista. My sandwiches go down a treat after all my hard work.
After lunch there is more kayaking, and Will fills our heads with information about the region, and some of the Maori legends. He points out two prominent mountains called “The Elephant” and “The Lion” and with a little imagination we are supposed to see the forms of the animals. It takes awhile, but everyone eventually begins to see the shapes, everyone but me! The Milford is also used for Cray-fishing. The local fishermen make a mint off the tons of crayfish they catch in one season and sell to the Chinese. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are made very quickly in this industry, from heavy pots that are lying right beneath us – a gold mine.
We arrive back on shore late afternoon and pack the gear up, before heading back to Te Anou. Will gives us all cinema tickets to see a locally made documentary about the history of the fiordlands. I really appreciated the small and thoughtful gestures we received during the tour. It was really personal. I get back to the hostel and drink a little whisky with a friend and sit on the balcony in the freezing cold to watch as the sun melts away over the lake. The weather is changing back. It only lasted a day at the Milford, and it was magic. I can clearly see why Rudyard Kipling described it as the eighth wonder of the world. But now it’s time to get back to reality (as much as possible in this fantasy land they call New Zealand) and tomorrow I must hitch back to Queenstown to find out what’s been going on at the backpackers while I’ve been gone.