Linda, I've a feeling we're not at the Westin anymore

*Guest blogger Linda writes about her experience in Fiji*
To the Western world Fiji appears to be another tropical destination that most can’t find the time to visit or simply is unaware of its existence. Many individuals believe the tiny island is part of the Caribbean – not knowing it’s on the other side of the world. Meaning, no one really has an extensive knowledge on this small Pacific nation supposedly known as “paradise” and I’m no exception.
My boyfriend has been there for more than four months prior to my visit, and although I had read every one of his blog entries and spoke with him countless times a day about his experiences, I had absolutely no idea what I was up against. My first indication of the hard times approaching was the purchase of my flight, where I soon realized I would endure a 24-hour plane ride and a 14-hour time difference before I would see the grand Pacific ocean. But, once again, ignorance is bliss; 24 hour flights have nothing on me! I'm infamously known to fall asleep anytime and anywhere – especially when there’s a movie involved. I even made a sincere attempt to stay up the night before my journey so I'd guarantee my exhausted state and my boarding of that dreaded, early morning flight. Unfortunately I failed (miserably) and I slept the entire drive to the airport. By the time I arrived I had slept a decent amount of hours and was not overly tired.
To spare you the gory details I survived the flight(s) and eventually find myself face-to-face with the person I miss and resent the most – my boyfriend. (Resentment is what forms when someone leaves you to deal with your first winter alone).
Delirious, eyes half open and trying to account for all of my luggage, I’m completely unaware of the amazing resort he has taken me to, thinking I was just going to his apartment four hours away in the capital city, Suva.
As Soon as I’m led into my new room, I’m in heaven. There, before me, sits a king-size bed with the perfect duvet and air conditioning that filled the room overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I had never seen anything more beautiful and nothing agreed with me more. With a quick (and by quick I mean rather lengthy) shower I fell into the bed and drifted into a deep sleep and my winter blues instantly dissipated.
As an early riser, I made no exception on my vacation. I woke at an hour most would find ungodly, and, eventually growing impatient, I was forced to wakeup my partner.
We strolled downstairs to see the largest breakfast buffet and it lacked NOTHING! My vacation continued to be getting better and better.
After a few days at the resort, I knew my time was running out. We would have to make the four-hour drive back to Suva where Dale lives, and I’d be expected to survive under much harsher living conditions. Two famous lines that formulated in this city were “I'm going to be sick!” (referring to the heat combined with the lack of air conditioning) and “this country has almost been the end of me on multiple occasions!” I can't seem to live them down either.
Once I had set up camp at his apartment, meaning I had covered every inch of his place in girly attire, smelly lotions and shoes galore, I set my sights on pure optimism. It couldn't be that bad! After all, I’d spent 5 years in Texas, and the south is known for its insanely high temperatures. Approximately 10 minutes later I found myself sitting in front of the fan … just sitting. It was all I could do! My optimism vanished.
My boyfriend, being the enthusiast, constantly cheered me on, coaxing me through the days; this is something that almost sent me into murderous action on several occasions. To pile the negative on thick, I was also stared at by several locals like I was a circus tramp there to perform tricks; I was followed at an uncomfortable, rather close and frightening distance; cars honked at me while my significant other was within viewing distance; and I endured a type of heat I’d never experienced before. The rules in Western society most certainly didn’t apply here.
But now, home, looking back, I consider it one of the greatest learning experiences in my life. I met some exceptional people, saw some amazing things and, most of all, opened my eyes to my sheltered life and received some perspective on what really matters to me. I'm thankful for every day I was able to spend on the island and the people that contributed to such an incredible trip. I'll miss my travel companion dearly and continue to count the days until he returns. But falling asleep the last night sans air conditioning (once again) was enough to make me wish I could close my eyes, tap my heels three times and think to myself, “There's no place like home.”

Special delivery

Every Christmas my girlfriend asks her dad for the same present: a designer handbag.
Louis Vuitton, Michael Kors, Marc Jacobs – there’s more designer bags in her closet than there are designers still in the closet.
But this year she made the painful decision – albeit reluctantly – to ask her dad for something different: a plane ticket to Fiji.
I was thrilled that she was coming to see me, but scared she was now going to expect me to fill her insatiable appetite for handbags. Thankfully, the thought of escaping the cold Canadian winter seemed to make her forget all about purses, satchels and clutches.
On a frosty February morning, my dad drives her to the Detroit airport. Having never travelled outside of North America, she’s both excited and nervous to be flying to the other side of the world. But, as an avid reader of this fine blog, she knows from second-hand experience just how gruelling the flight to Fiji is.
She boards the plane, and two calendar days later, arrives in Fiji at 2:10 a.m. Sunday morning.
I’m eagerly waiting for her at the arrivals gate when she burst through the exit.
“I need a bathroom,” she squeals.
It’s surreal to see her face. Since returning to Suva I’ve been slowly counting down the days until her visit.
After finding her a washroom, I load her into a cab.
Although I tell her we’re making the four-hour drive back to Suva, I’m really taking her to one of Fiji’s finest resort destinations, Denarau Island.
When we arrive at the Westin, I tell her we have to catch a bus the rest of the way home. Jetlagged and exhausted she accepts everything I say.
Finally, when I open the door to our suite she realizes what’s happening.
We spend the next three days lying on the beach, swimming in the Pacific Ocean and eating great food.
But this isn’t my Fiji, and soon I’m eager to take her back to the Suva city life.
It still feels surreal that she’s actually in Fiji. I’ve spent so many days wishing she was here to share my adventures, and now she finally is.
Like many tropical destinations, this island is full of lovers from honeymooners to retired couples. Yet, the closest thing I’ve had to a significant other is my childhood friend, Hart.
And although Hart is a great travelling partner, paradise isn’t quit the same without the girl you love.

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.