The village people

Yesterday I experienced the real Fiji. Yes, there are authenticity levels to the small island country. I know because I have now experienced the various types of Fiji.
At the bottom of the rung is the resort. When most people think of Fiji the following elements come to mind: a white sand beach, crystal clear water and grass huts. Having been in the country for more than one month and not seeing any of these, I decided to check out a resort. While enjoying my pricey stay, I mixed with the other guests – who were predominantly Europeans, Australians and Kiwis – and ate my meals at the resort restaurant which served Western-style food. The only Fijians I interacted with were the hotel employees and a few locals who came to drink at the bar at night.
This definitely isn’t Fiji.
A step up on the rung is my hometown and capital of the country, Suva. Here there are plenty of Fijians and few tourists. When I first arrived I would get excited to see other white people because they were such a rare sight. What are they doing in Suva? I wondered. The city is busy, noisy and crowded. There are no beaches for miles and it’s not safe to walk around alone at night. Suva is no country for old men. And while both the Golden Arches and Colonel Sanders are present in the downtown, the city remains fairly franchise free. As for food, there are plenty of street vendors and small shops selling roti (potato and meat stuffed wraps), fish and chips, barbeque everything and curry anything.
Like driving in any developing country, the only rule of the road is rules don’t exist. Factor in vehicles drive on the left side and the insanity is increased. Crossing the street can be a terrifying feat during rush-hour.
This is Fiji – or so I thought.
But, on Friday, my editor, Robert Wolfgramm, invited me to his wife’s village for a visit. Despite having to get up at 7 a.m. for the journey, I gladly agreed.
We departed for Vutia Village bright and early, and after a 45-minute car ride our party pilled into two small motor-powered boats for the last leg of the expedition. We cruised down the picturesque Rewa River Delta, passing small fishing boats full of curious fishers along the way. After about 15 minutes we arrived at the village.
Vutia, which is situated at the mouth of the Delta, is considered the village of the warrior, because in the past its inhabitants were tasked with guarding the nearby grand chief’s residence.
The Vutia people welcome us with open arms – literally. After a round of introductions, hugs, and handshakes we are taken to one of the larger homes and served what is possibly the best watermelon in the world; the fruit’s flesh is so dark red that the juice dripping down my face as I eat looks like red wine.
Soon a village male offers to take us to their private beach. We travel 20 minutes through a thin path cutting through thick brush before arriving at what can only be described as paradise. The beach is perfect: white sand, blue water with big waves and not a single person in sight.
Hart, our new friend Knox and I immediately hit the water. We battle against the wall of waves and make our way deeper and deeper into the Pacific until we hear the motherly voice of Lupe Wolfgramm calling at us back to shore.
After a few hours at the beach we head back to the village where a feast is awaiting us. Laid out on a blanket is the freshest meal ever I’ve ever seen. There are plates of oysters, chucks of barracuda seasoned in coconut milk, boiled dalo (a starchy root), spicy prawn cakes and hollowed out watermelons filled with pineapple, bananas and melon. Everything we are about to eat came from less than 100 feet away – now that’s eating local!
We all sit on the ground and eat the food with out fingers. During the meal I ask if pineapples grow on trees and the village roars with laughter – apparently pineapples come from a bush.
We finish eating and I play some soccer with the village boys until I’m told it’s time to head back to Suva. As I’m getting into the boat a village woman hands me a going away present: a large bag full of fruits and vegetables.
As the boat takes me away from Vutia I can’t help but feel like I’m leaving the real Fiji.