Soccer anyone?

Culture shock is unavoidable when traveling abroad. The food is different, rules of etiquette will vary, there may be a language barrier – but in my experience there’s one thing that remains the constant regardless of culture or country: sport.
Upon arriving in Fiji, I immediately set out to find a game of pick-up soccer. I soon discovered this wasn’t a difficult task. A few locals told me that I could always find a game at the field behind the courthouse.
So I strapped on my cleats and headed down to the field hoping to have some fun and meet a few new friends. Upon arriving I received a warm welcome from a group of boys, and they invited me to join the game. Everyone asked where I was from, how long I would be staying in Fiji and how I was enjoying the country so far. After a round of introductions, handshakes and exchanging pleasantries we started the game. The second the ball hit the ground all culture differences disappeared. It didn’t matter that I was from a far off country. It was irrelevant that some of the players didn’t even speak English. Nobody cared about the social status, political opinions or race of their teammates – all we cared about was playing soccer.
And that’s exactly what we did
The game continued until well after sunset when could barely see the ball anymore. We laughed when someone slipped in the mud, cheered when a goal was scored or a good play was made – but most of all; we shared our love for the game.
After the match, covered in mud and sweat, we huddled together and said a prayer. At this moment I realized that sport is the universal language of friendship.
Back at home in Canada – where it can get quite cold – we only have a few precious months where playing outdoor sports is possible. Yet, it seems like we Canadians don’t capitalize on this scarce time. Rather, most of my friends would rather sit at home and watch sports on television or the internet instead of actually getting out and playing a game. Yet here in Fiji, where the weather is great all year long, locals don’t squander their surplus of beautiful days. At almost every field I pass there seems to be a group of people kicking around a ball, practicing rugby or doing some other form of outdoor exercise.
Now my weekdays revolve around playing soccer. Everyday at 5 p.m. I put on my shorts and walk down to the field. Even as I write this blog I keep stealing anxious glances at the clock wondering if I will finish my assignment on time and make it to soccer tonight.
The citizens of Suva have been incredibly welcoming and friendly to me, but by far, the boys who I play soccer with are the ones who make me feel truly at home in Fiji.

Got kava?

Forget Java – here in Fiji the locals prefer to drink Kava.
Made from the Kava root, the greyish, brown beverage is sipped by Fijians of all ages, genders and classes. Kava acts as a mild sedative and has a relaxing, calming effect.
I had my first encounter with famous island drink when my real estate agent, Basil, invited myself and my companion back to his house after a long day of apartment hunting. Upon arriving I take a seat on the couch but notice Basil and our driver sitting on the floor. They beckon me to join them on the floor. I reluctantly comply, but as my long legs cross over each other memories of elementry school come flooding back. Although crossing your legs may seem like a simple task, mine are extremely long and I may just be the least flexible man ever. I twist my legs together like an awkward pretzel and pray that kava has the sedentary effects I've heard about, because already I'm in a world of pain.
I look on as a Fijian wearing a skully mixes the Kava in a large wooden bowl. I'm relieved when the first glass is goes to my friend instead of me. He drains the cup and doesn’t seem to mind. But my relief soon fades when I realize that everyone is sharing the same cup – don’t they realize it’s flu season!
My turn.
The cup is passed to me, and I bring it to my lips. I down it in two gulps. The liquid has mild aftertaste and within seconds my lips and mouth are numb. After everyone in the circle receives a cup, we sit around listening to British hip-hop and talking. Soon another cup was passed my way – and I was pleased to see it this time. After a few more cups I’m feeling comfortably numb, as is everyone else in the circle. And I don’t even mind sitting cross-legged anymore.
After the bowl is drained of every last drop our driver takes us back to our hotel. Immediately upon exiting the car Hart looks at me with a smile and says, “More kava?”
“You read my mind,” I reply.
So we set out on a mission to quench our thirst for the Fijian speciality. When we can’t find a kava shop – which usually isn’t hard to do – we start to panic.
We could go to a bar and grab a beer, but our mouths are salivating at the thought of more kava.
We stop off in a bakery and ask for directions to the nearest shop.
“Kava?” asks the man behind the counter. “We'll make you some.”
Success.
After buying some brownies the man ushers us to the back of the store into a tiny kitchen where an older man and woman are already sipping on kava and listening to music.
“Sit, sit,” says the woman.
We sit down and are immediately handed a cup of kava, which we gratefully accept.
It tastes similar to the last batch except this time the kava isn’t mixed out of a traditional wooden bowl – it was prepared and served out of a plastic bucket. But we didn’t care because we found more kava.
After nearly an hour in the cramped, unbearably hot kitchen we decide to head back to our room. We ask for some kava for the road and our hosts graciously fill us two coffee cups full. Back at the hotel we sip on kava into the late night – and the best part: we awake in the morning without a crippling hangover.
And I make a decision about the first thing I will buy for my new apartment: a kava bowl.

Time isn't on my side

Upon arriving in Suva, Fiji, I knew I had a lot of work to do. According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs I would first have to fulfil my physiological needs: food, water, sleep. So I headed to the Holiday Inn to satisfy these basic, yet essential, needs. After sleeping in a comfortable bed and eating an incredible brunch, I felt my physiological needs were all well satisfied. But there was just one problem – I managed to ring up a $428 bill in doing so. Maslow never mentioned how expensive it could be to fufil these needs! Clearly I couldn’t afford to stay at this pricey hotel much longer or I would end up like the Prodigal Son: broke, homeless and shamefully returning to my father’s house.
Now I needed to find an apartment and adhere to the second need on Maslow’s hierarchy: safety.
So I called a local real-estate agent. The agent, Basil, told me he would come to my hotel in 30 minutes and take me to look at a few places. But nearly an hour later there was no sign of Basil. Then a phone call from Basil. He said he was going to be seven minutes late. But wasn’t he already half an hour late? Oh well, he’ll be here in seven minutes, I thought. But seven minutes came and went and I was still waiting. I resorted to the progress call. Yes, he was on his way, the secretary assured me.
Finally, after another half an hour Basil made his much anticipated appearance at the Holiday Inn.
“Fiji time,” he said with a smile, as if that explained his lateness.
He showed me six flats, and I liked two of them. I told Basil I would make my choice after seeing both apartments for a second time. It looked like I would be spending another pricey night at the Holiday Inn. But this time I would keep my tab to a minimum. Note to self: no more $150 calls to my girlfriend…unless it’s a collect call.
Basil told me that he would be back in the morning at 9 a.m. to pick me up. Normally I would object to such an early appointment but I was still jet lagged and would be lucky to sleep past dawn.
I woke up at 7 a.m., showered, ate breakfast, and waited for Basil to arrive. By 9:30 a.m. I got tired of waiting and headed down to the pool. I told the front desk to send Basil out to the pool when he arrived. Now we’ll see how he likes waiting. But by 11 a.m. I was tired of swimming and went back up to my room. So much for making Basil wait.
Finally around 11:30 a.m. Basil once again came waltzing through the hotel doors.
“Fiji time,” he said again with a grin.
Normally I would be frustrated with this constant abuse of punctuality, but I was starting to understand that lateness was socially acceptable in island life.
The following day when Basil’s boss, Ohanah, told me she would pick me up at the hotel to sign the lease, I wondered if she would be on time. She said she would be there by checkout time, 11 a.m.
But 11 a.m. breezed by, and Ohanah was nowhere in sight. Fearing that the Holiday Inn would further pillage me if I wasn’t out of my room on time, I went down to the lobby to wait. But after sitting in the lobby for 20 minutes, I decided a progress call was in order.
I asked the woman at the front desk if I could make a call. But like everything at the Holiday Inn, the call would cost me, she said. Frustrated, I paid $5 to make a 20-second local call and learned that Ohanah was on her way.
Eventually Ohanah, along with Basil, pulled up to the front door of the hotel. Happy to be escaping the pillage and plunder of the evil Holiday Inn, I forgave Ohanah’s lateness. We headed over to my new flat to sign the lease. Ohanah called my new landlord, Mr. Singh, and told me he would be there momentarily. But 15 minutes later, he still wasn’t there. Sensing my frustration, Ohanah gave Mr. Singh a progress call. He told her he would arrive soon, but soon turned out to be 30 minutes. Mr. Singh, although a shred businessman, operated on Fiji time as well.
I don’t know if it’s the hot, sticky weather, the laidback island lifestyle, or just an excuse that local people give to foreigners, but everyone in Fiji seems to be late. However, unlike Western tardiness, which requires an elaborate excuse explaining why you are late, Fijians only offer two simple words: Fiji time.
And then something dawned on me. I was supposed to be posting a new blog entry everyday, yet I’ve been here for four days now and I’ve only posted once. I guess you don’t have to be a native Fijian to operate on Fiji time.
I, too, am on Fiji time now.

Just the beginning

The number haunted me. It began to steal my sleep. That number is 17.
No, it wasn’t the age I longed to return to, nor was it the amount of days I had left to live. Those dreaded digits represented something far more serious – the hours I would have to spend on a plane during my flight to Fiji.
Standing 6’4” with an equally long wing-span, the confined seats of airplanes are less than accommodating to say the least. My knees push up against the seat in front of me, and my arms are far too wide for the allotted space.
On the dreaded day, September 20, as I took my window seat I noticed the gentleman seated in front of me already had his seat reclined slightly. But then, about 30 minutes into the flight, I noticed him reach for the handle to indulge in an even greater recline. Knowing this would be the end of what little leg mobility I had remaining, I placed my hands against the back of his chair to prevent him from further invading my limited space. He clearly noticed his intention was being foiled but was unsure of the culprit. He thrust his body back, hoping the momentum would push his seat into the desired position, but my firm grip was depriving him of his desired outcome.
“No, please. I’m 6-foot-five,” I pleaded.
And yes, I did round my height up for effect. But it seemed to work because he then proceeded to decline his seat a little, giving my lengthy legs a few more precious inches to manoeuvre around.
But even more troubling than the space issues on my journey was my devastating case of airplane insomnia. I couldn’t fall asleep on a plane if my life depended on it. Come to think of it, this condition is probably related to my space issue, too.
I couldn’t help but feel envious when the man sitting two seats over fell into a deep slumber ten minutes into the flight while I sat wide awake.
The first five-hour leg of the flight, which took me to Los Angeles, wasn’t so bad. I watched Drag Me to Hell on my friend’s laptop – when that dreaded movie didn’t put me to sleep I knew there was no cure for my severe airplane insomnia.
The three-hour stopover in LA provided me with some much needed time to stretch, and I purchased some outrageously priced airport food (a fruit cup and sandwich totalling $15 American)
Then onto the real challenge: the 12 hour flight to Nadi, Fiji. I knew this would test me both mentally and physically. Again I was fortunate to get a window seat, but my luck ended there. The flight left LA near midnight so most of my fellow passengers – including my friend – immediately dosed off as I sat awake in the darkened cabin. I decided to try to sleep and I even had a few minutes of success but couldn’t stay asleep for long. In the end, I read, watched another movie, and stared out the window to pass the time.
Surprisingly the time went by fairly quickly, and soon I was landing in Nadi at 5:45 a.m. Fiji time.
My travel companion and I found a cab and started the three-hour drive to our final destination: Suva, the capital of Fiji.
Thankfully our driver let us indulge in a few of the beverages we purchased at the duty free shop. So there I was, finally in Fiji, drinking beer in the back of a cab at 6 a.m. as it sped down the windy, mountainous roads while the sun rose in the distance.
I have arrived.
No time for sleep now.