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Captain's Log 13: Fiji
September 20 - October 30, 2008
September 20 - October 30, 2008
Our love affair with Fiji
Fiji consists of two island groups. The southwestern group (home to
Suva, the capital and largest city) is the drier, more developed,
populated, and touristy of the two. The northeastern group, clustered
around the large island of Vanua Levu, is wetter, more lush, sparsely
populated, undeveloped, and visited by only a smattering of
adventurous tourists and "yachties." It is known as the "Real Fiji." We
spent a month there and loved it.
Fiji combines some of the best features of the places we've visited:
mountainous islands draped in verdant, tropical vegetation; colorful
coral reefs great for snorkeling; protected, solitary anchorages lined
by untouched white-sand beaches; dense growths of mangroves laced
with narrow, winding passages; small, uninhabited islands; broad
expanses of open water, webbed with coral reefs, that offer great,
challenging sailing; and tiny communities of friendly people. Plus, most
of the people speak some English (a relief to our weary brains), and
the stores and markets offered a broader range of goods than we'd
seen in months. At reasonable prices, no less. What's not to love??
Fiji consists of two island groups. The southwestern group (home to
Suva, the capital and largest city) is the drier, more developed,
populated, and touristy of the two. The northeastern group, clustered
around the large island of Vanua Levu, is wetter, more lush, sparsely
populated, undeveloped, and visited by only a smattering of
adventurous tourists and "yachties." It is known as the "Real Fiji." We
spent a month there and loved it.
Fiji combines some of the best features of the places we've visited:
mountainous islands draped in verdant, tropical vegetation; colorful
coral reefs great for snorkeling; protected, solitary anchorages lined
by untouched white-sand beaches; dense growths of mangroves laced
with narrow, winding passages; small, uninhabited islands; broad
expanses of open water, webbed with coral reefs, that offer great,
challenging sailing; and tiny communities of friendly people. Plus, most
of the people speak some English (a relief to our weary brains), and
the stores and markets offered a broader range of goods than we'd
seen in months. At reasonable prices, no less. What's not to love??
Savusavu
After our 3-day (short!) crossing from Tonga, we made
landfall in Savusavu, a bustling, colorful community on
Vanua Levu. At least 50 percent of its population is
from India, brought here in the early 1900s to work the
plantations. Two-story buildings line one side of the
single main street, housing every kind of shop and
store. On the other side of the street stretches the
shoreline, with small, local boats pulled up on the
beach. Someone was always playing some lively music.
People thronged the sidewalks, carrying baskets full of
produce. Indo-Fijian women walked along in their
elegant saris. Decrepit trucks unloaded their goods
outside the markets, and rustic buses carried folks to
their homes across the island. The place pulsed with
energy and life. We anchored a short paddle from
shore, protected by islets of mangroves, and soaked up
the colorful atmosphere.
After our 3-day (short!) crossing from Tonga, we made
landfall in Savusavu, a bustling, colorful community on
Vanua Levu. At least 50 percent of its population is
from India, brought here in the early 1900s to work the
plantations. Two-story buildings line one side of the
single main street, housing every kind of shop and
store. On the other side of the street stretches the
shoreline, with small, local boats pulled up on the
beach. Someone was always playing some lively music.
People thronged the sidewalks, carrying baskets full of
produce. Indo-Fijian women walked along in their
elegant saris. Decrepit trucks unloaded their goods
outside the markets, and rustic buses carried folks to
their homes across the island. The place pulsed with
energy and life. We anchored a short paddle from
shore, protected by islets of mangroves, and soaked up
the colorful atmosphere.
Visitors and a birthday
Our dear friend, Judy Pigott, and
her dear friend, Marijo, flew to Fiji
to sail with us and help celebrate
Jan's birthday. They came loaded
with goodies for us--spare parts,
Starbucks coffee, and the all
important York Mint Patties
(impossible to find, even in Fiji). It
was like Christmas.
But actually, it was a birthday --
Jan's -- and we celebrated in style
at a local restaurant. Every year,
Joan makes a French silk pie for
Jan's birthday. This year, Jan
decided that since her birthday
was on Wednesday in the States,
but on Thursday in Fiji (we had
crossed the international dateline),
she should have two pies. Who
can argue with such faultless logic?
In addition to being wonderful
friends, Judy and Marijo were
terrific crew. They took over the
galley (meeting with very little
resistance) and conjured one
creative and delicious meal after
another from the local produce.
They jumped right in with sailing
tasks, even doing repair work on
our genoa. Sailing with them was a
joy.
Our dear friend, Judy Pigott, and
her dear friend, Marijo, flew to Fiji
to sail with us and help celebrate
Jan's birthday. They came loaded
with goodies for us--spare parts,
Starbucks coffee, and the all
important York Mint Patties
(impossible to find, even in Fiji). It
was like Christmas.
But actually, it was a birthday --
Jan's -- and we celebrated in style
at a local restaurant. Every year,
Joan makes a French silk pie for
Jan's birthday. This year, Jan
decided that since her birthday
was on Wednesday in the States,
but on Thursday in Fiji (we had
crossed the international dateline),
she should have two pies. Who
can argue with such faultless logic?
In addition to being wonderful
friends, Judy and Marijo were
terrific crew. They took over the
galley (meeting with very little
resistance) and conjured one
creative and delicious meal after
another from the local produce.
They jumped right in with sailing
tasks, even doing repair work on
our genoa. Sailing with them was a
joy.
Saved by Casteele--again!
Our exciting and blustery sail to our first destination, Fawn Harbor, became more exciting when the rod holding
up our staysail disconnected from the mast. Oops.
Jan and Joan spent an hour on the front deck, getting drenched by waves and spray while trying to bring
things under control. Judy and Marijo shuttled tools and parts forward. We thought Monty, our self-steering
vane, was handling the boat, but when we returned to the cockpit, we discovered that Monty's lines had
jumped off the drum. Casteele had been steering herself the whole time in 25+ knots of winds, over choppy,
wave-whipped seas.
We love this boat.
Our exciting and blustery sail to our first destination, Fawn Harbor, became more exciting when the rod holding
up our staysail disconnected from the mast. Oops.
Jan and Joan spent an hour on the front deck, getting drenched by waves and spray while trying to bring
things under control. Judy and Marijo shuttled tools and parts forward. We thought Monty, our self-steering
vane, was handling the boat, but when we returned to the cockpit, we discovered that Monty's lines had
jumped off the drum. Casteele had been steering herself the whole time in 25+ knots of winds, over choppy,
wave-whipped seas.
We love this boat.
A kava ceremony and a marriage proposal
Fawn Harbor is a small, mangrove-lined bay at the southern
end of Vanua Levu. We negotiated the curving pass through
the fringe reef and dropped hook in perfect calm behind the
reef and sandbar.
The next morning, we paddled through the mangroves to
visit the tiny community on shore and to ask permission from
the local "chief" to stay in the bay. This is the protocol in Fiji.
The people of a village consider the surrounding waters to
be part of their home. To anchor there without permission
would be like setting up tent in a stranger's backyard.
To get permission, visitors present the local chief or leader
with a kava plant (purchased in the market in Savusavu).
The chief accepts the plant and then shares with the visitors
and other men in the community a bowl of yaqona, a
dish-water-colored, mildly intoxicating drink made from kava.
With everyone seated in a circle on the floor (they're not big
on furniture in Fiji), the leader dips a half-coconut into the
bowl and serves each person in turn. Before and after the
person drinks the yaqona, everyone claps three times. Once
the ceremony is complete, the visiting sailors are officially
welcome to stay.
We attended a small church set among the scattered
houses of Fawn Harbor, and then visited with some of the
local people. We all fell in love with Wayne, a bright and
friendly young man who gave us a tour and introduced us to
his duck and his pigs. Marijo and Judy had brought gifts
from the States. They donated several pairs of reading
glasses to the church, and to Wayne they gave a sports
watch. He was in seventh heaven.
We were in love with Wayne, but Wayne's neighbor decided
he was in love with Jan. He announced to her that he was
"looking for a wife" and was "thinking of her." Jan suggested
he think again.
Marijo and Judy participated in the kava ceremony while Jan
and Joan returned to the boat to take care of the inner
forestay problem. Luckily it wasn't broken; it had somehow
come unscrewed. Jan climbed the mast and managed to
reattach it.
Fawn Harbor is a small, mangrove-lined bay at the southern
end of Vanua Levu. We negotiated the curving pass through
the fringe reef and dropped hook in perfect calm behind the
reef and sandbar.
The next morning, we paddled through the mangroves to
visit the tiny community on shore and to ask permission from
the local "chief" to stay in the bay. This is the protocol in Fiji.
The people of a village consider the surrounding waters to
be part of their home. To anchor there without permission
would be like setting up tent in a stranger's backyard.
To get permission, visitors present the local chief or leader
with a kava plant (purchased in the market in Savusavu).
The chief accepts the plant and then shares with the visitors
and other men in the community a bowl of yaqona, a
dish-water-colored, mildly intoxicating drink made from kava.
With everyone seated in a circle on the floor (they're not big
on furniture in Fiji), the leader dips a half-coconut into the
bowl and serves each person in turn. Before and after the
person drinks the yaqona, everyone claps three times. Once
the ceremony is complete, the visiting sailors are officially
welcome to stay.
We attended a small church set among the scattered
houses of Fawn Harbor, and then visited with some of the
local people. We all fell in love with Wayne, a bright and
friendly young man who gave us a tour and introduced us to
his duck and his pigs. Marijo and Judy had brought gifts
from the States. They donated several pairs of reading
glasses to the church, and to Wayne they gave a sports
watch. He was in seventh heaven.
We were in love with Wayne, but Wayne's neighbor decided
he was in love with Jan. He announced to her that he was
"looking for a wife" and was "thinking of her." Jan suggested
he think again.
Marijo and Judy participated in the kava ceremony while Jan
and Joan returned to the boat to take care of the inner
forestay problem. Luckily it wasn't broken; it had somehow
come unscrewed. Jan climbed the mast and managed to
reattach it.
The fellow on the left was interested in
marrying Jan, but she preferred young
Wayne, shown above with his duck and
below with his pigs (and his new watch).
As in Tonga, most Fijian boys and men
wear a wraparound skirt instead of pants.
marrying Jan, but she preferred young
Wayne, shown above with his duck and
below with his pigs (and his new watch).
As in Tonga, most Fijian boys and men
wear a wraparound skirt instead of pants.
Above, Judy at the kava ceremony.
Left, local men knock down
mangoes for us.
Left, local men knock down
mangoes for us.
The Banaban people and kayak races with the kids
On the island of Rabi, we met the Banaban people, who had
been moved to Rabi from their home island in the central
Pacific. The British moved them to Rabi during WWII, ostensibly
to protect them from the Japanese. However, after the war, the
British wouldn't let them return to their home island, which
British and international corporations were mining for
phosphate. This is a tragic tale of powerful corporations
displacing local communities. The Banabans are known as the
"Forgotten People of the Pacific."
In a mangrove-lined bay at the southern end of Rabi, we visited
a tiny community of Banabans. Their simple houses and tidy
yards lined the single dirt road. At one home, the community
was gathering to celebrate the "coming of age" of a young girl.
A group of women sat beneath a tree weaving serving bowls
from palm fronds, while young men tended the outdoor fires
where they were cooking fish. The older men were inside the
house, talking and playing cards, while the older women tended
the babies. We were invited to join the men for the kava
ceremony, a pretty solemn affair.
Once outside, we were quickly surrounded by kids. That's when
Jan got the brilliant idea of organizing a kayak race. About 30
kids thronged the beach when they learned of Jan's plans. We
split them into two teams and marked out a course. Most had
never paddled a kayak before, and most spoke only
rudimentary English, but they all caught on pretty quickly. It was
wild and it was classic Jan.
On Rabi, visitors need to check in officially with the Banaban
police. This meant going to the one town on the island, a
couple hours away, by "bus." We soon discovered that the
"bus" was actually a truck, with a tarp covered bed and two long
benches. We bounced our way for two hours over rough dirt
roads crowded into the "bus" with all the local people and their
wares. In the island's only town, we checked in with the police
and then bounced home again.
Back at "Katherine's Bay," scene of the kayak races, we
paddled the maze of narrow inlets that cut through the
mangroves. The next day, we weighed anchor (sailor talk) and
headed to the north end of the island.
On the island of Rabi, we met the Banaban people, who had
been moved to Rabi from their home island in the central
Pacific. The British moved them to Rabi during WWII, ostensibly
to protect them from the Japanese. However, after the war, the
British wouldn't let them return to their home island, which
British and international corporations were mining for
phosphate. This is a tragic tale of powerful corporations
displacing local communities. The Banabans are known as the
"Forgotten People of the Pacific."
In a mangrove-lined bay at the southern end of Rabi, we visited
a tiny community of Banabans. Their simple houses and tidy
yards lined the single dirt road. At one home, the community
was gathering to celebrate the "coming of age" of a young girl.
A group of women sat beneath a tree weaving serving bowls
from palm fronds, while young men tended the outdoor fires
where they were cooking fish. The older men were inside the
house, talking and playing cards, while the older women tended
the babies. We were invited to join the men for the kava
ceremony, a pretty solemn affair.
Once outside, we were quickly surrounded by kids. That's when
Jan got the brilliant idea of organizing a kayak race. About 30
kids thronged the beach when they learned of Jan's plans. We
split them into two teams and marked out a course. Most had
never paddled a kayak before, and most spoke only
rudimentary English, but they all caught on pretty quickly. It was
wild and it was classic Jan.
On Rabi, visitors need to check in officially with the Banaban
police. This meant going to the one town on the island, a
couple hours away, by "bus." We soon discovered that the
"bus" was actually a truck, with a tarp covered bed and two long
benches. We bounced our way for two hours over rough dirt
roads crowded into the "bus" with all the local people and their
wares. In the island's only town, we checked in with the police
and then bounced home again.
Back at "Katherine's Bay," scene of the kayak races, we
paddled the maze of narrow inlets that cut through the
mangroves. The next day, we weighed anchor (sailor talk) and
headed to the north end of the island.
The good and the bad of Fiji's coral reefs
The good: Fiji is renowned for its abundance of spectacular coral. Divers come from all over the
world to explore the reefs, and especially to marvel at Fiji's "soft coral," for which she is justifiably
famous. Soft coral is just that--soft and flexible, resembling colorful plants swaying and pulsing in the
currents. With Judy and Marijo, we had our first look at soft coral at an anchorage off the island of
Taveuni, a place that reminded us of Kauai with its mountains, lush vegetation, and beautiful flowers.
The snorkeling was fantastic. Elsewhere, we snorkeled at every opportunity, and were never less than
awed at the color, vibrancy, and beauty.
The bad: Fiji's web of coral reefs make safe navigation a daunting challenge. A bay or waterway may
look totally open and safe, but just feet or even inches beneath the benign surface lurk coral reefs
that can easily rip out a hull. Negotiating these waters is a challenge.
While in Tonga, we were lucky to meet a fellow by name of Curly, who knows Fiji like the back of his
hand. For many years, he has operated a charter and cruiser-support business in Fiji. He supplied us
not only with a suggested itinerary, but also with a series of GPS waypoints. With these, we wound
through reefs, found passages into protected bays, and even knew where to drop our anchor without
hooking a coral head. Thanks to Curly, we were able to visit the best parts of Fiji.
On Taveuni, Fiji's version of Kauai, Jan and Joan said a fond farewell to Judy and Marijo and then
headed out, Curly's waypoints at hand, to explore other islands.
The good: Fiji is renowned for its abundance of spectacular coral. Divers come from all over the
world to explore the reefs, and especially to marvel at Fiji's "soft coral," for which she is justifiably
famous. Soft coral is just that--soft and flexible, resembling colorful plants swaying and pulsing in the
currents. With Judy and Marijo, we had our first look at soft coral at an anchorage off the island of
Taveuni, a place that reminded us of Kauai with its mountains, lush vegetation, and beautiful flowers.
The snorkeling was fantastic. Elsewhere, we snorkeled at every opportunity, and were never less than
awed at the color, vibrancy, and beauty.
The bad: Fiji's web of coral reefs make safe navigation a daunting challenge. A bay or waterway may
look totally open and safe, but just feet or even inches beneath the benign surface lurk coral reefs
that can easily rip out a hull. Negotiating these waters is a challenge.
While in Tonga, we were lucky to meet a fellow by name of Curly, who knows Fiji like the back of his
hand. For many years, he has operated a charter and cruiser-support business in Fiji. He supplied us
not only with a suggested itinerary, but also with a series of GPS waypoints. With these, we wound
through reefs, found passages into protected bays, and even knew where to drop our anchor without
hooking a coral head. Thanks to Curly, we were able to visit the best parts of Fiji.
On Taveuni, Fiji's version of Kauai, Jan and Joan said a fond farewell to Judy and Marijo and then
headed out, Curly's waypoints at hand, to explore other islands.
Pristine Albert Cove
We found a slice of heaven on the northern end
of Rabi--a beautiful cove with coral reefs,
white-sand beach, turquoise waters, and, tucked
back from the beach, a few simple palm-frond
structures locals used when they came here on
weekends to fish. We snorkeled the reefs,
kayaked along the shores, and soaked up the
beauty and quiet.
Over the weekend, a couple families came to the
cove in their open boats to fish. We visited with
them and met some of the kids. Girls swung on a
rope swing and a young man strummed a banjo
in front of his weekend home. One group, a mix
of Banabans and Europeans who had
intermarried, came for a picnic. They threw out
nets and caught reef fish to barbeque (look at
the teeth on that fish!), played volleyball, and
showed us how to make bowls from palm fronds.
In exchange, we loaned them our kayaks.
We found a slice of heaven on the northern end
of Rabi--a beautiful cove with coral reefs,
white-sand beach, turquoise waters, and, tucked
back from the beach, a few simple palm-frond
structures locals used when they came here on
weekends to fish. We snorkeled the reefs,
kayaked along the shores, and soaked up the
beauty and quiet.
Over the weekend, a couple families came to the
cove in their open boats to fish. We visited with
them and met some of the kids. Girls swung on a
rope swing and a young man strummed a banjo
in front of his weekend home. One group, a mix
of Banabans and Europeans who had
intermarried, came for a picnic. They threw out
nets and caught reef fish to barbeque (look at
the teeth on that fish!), played volleyball, and
showed us how to make bowls from palm fronds.
In exchange, we loaned them our kayaks.
Unexpected rescue operation
Our time Albert Cove came to an abrupt end when we were asked to help a
local woman escape from her husband, who was threatening to kill her with a
knife. You've never seen such a fast exit from a cove. With the frightened
woman hiding below, we hauled up anchor and beat our way against wind and
current to reach the bay at the southern end of the island, several miles away.
There we spent the night, hoping the husband wouldn't find us. At first light,
we raised anchor again and sailed to another island, where our new friend
could catch a ferry to the main city of Suva, a long and safe distance from her
abusive husband.
She spoke only broken English, but we learned that the abuse had been
going on for years. (She was missing several teeth as a result.) She had tried
to run away before, but on the small island of Rabi, he had always found her.
Friends and family were sympathetic, but wouldn't cross her husband and
counseled her to stay with him. But this last incident was the final straw for her.
We had no doubts about helping someone in her situation, but being visitors
in a foreign country and unfamiliar with their customs and attitudes, we were a
little nervous. (Thank goodness she wasn't Muslim . . . ) But no one ever
mentioned it to us. We only hope that our friend is safe and happy with her
brother in Suva, and that one day she will be able to visit her children without
her own life being in danger.
Our time Albert Cove came to an abrupt end when we were asked to help a
local woman escape from her husband, who was threatening to kill her with a
knife. You've never seen such a fast exit from a cove. With the frightened
woman hiding below, we hauled up anchor and beat our way against wind and
current to reach the bay at the southern end of the island, several miles away.
There we spent the night, hoping the husband wouldn't find us. At first light,
we raised anchor again and sailed to another island, where our new friend
could catch a ferry to the main city of Suva, a long and safe distance from her
abusive husband.
She spoke only broken English, but we learned that the abuse had been
going on for years. (She was missing several teeth as a result.) She had tried
to run away before, but on the small island of Rabi, he had always found her.
Friends and family were sympathetic, but wouldn't cross her husband and
counseled her to stay with him. But this last incident was the final straw for her.
We had no doubts about helping someone in her situation, but being visitors
in a foreign country and unfamiliar with their customs and attitudes, we were a
little nervous. (Thank goodness she wasn't Muslim . . . ) But no one ever
mentioned it to us. We only hope that our friend is safe and happy with her
brother in Suva, and that one day she will be able to visit her children without
her own life being in danger.
Our lady friend. When
she first came on the
boat, she was shivering
and crying with fear. But
by the next day, she was
smiling and trying her
hand at the helm. What
a strong spirit she has!
We wish her the best.
she first came on the
boat, she was shivering
and crying with fear. But
by the next day, she was
smiling and trying her
hand at the helm. What
a strong spirit she has!
We wish her the best.
The "inconvenient truth" about Tuvalu
Those who scoff at the concept of global warming should talk to the
people living in Talofa, on Kioa. These people are not Fijians but
Tuvaluans. They were forced to relocate to Fiji because rising sea
levels are encroaching on their low-elevation native islands, making
them uninhabitable. For the Tuvaluans, the "inconvenient truth" of
global warming is a harsh reality.
We visited Talofa with our good friends on "Yamana" and were
instantly charmed by this tidy, industrious community. The simple
little homes (most with no indoor plumbing or cooking facilities) are
laid out along trails bordered by flowering shrubs. The school
occupies the bulk of the village property, and every morning a
young man beat on a hollow log, calling the students to class. They
lined up on the beach for roll call, dressed in crisp uniforms.
The women of the village are known for their weavings. They dry
palm fronds in the sun and from them create a variety of attractive
baskets, bowls, and purses. As soon as we arrived, the women
gathered in an open-air building to show off their wares. We didn't
go away empty handed.
Those who scoff at the concept of global warming should talk to the
people living in Talofa, on Kioa. These people are not Fijians but
Tuvaluans. They were forced to relocate to Fiji because rising sea
levels are encroaching on their low-elevation native islands, making
them uninhabitable. For the Tuvaluans, the "inconvenient truth" of
global warming is a harsh reality.
We visited Talofa with our good friends on "Yamana" and were
instantly charmed by this tidy, industrious community. The simple
little homes (most with no indoor plumbing or cooking facilities) are
laid out along trails bordered by flowering shrubs. The school
occupies the bulk of the village property, and every morning a
young man beat on a hollow log, calling the students to class. They
lined up on the beach for roll call, dressed in crisp uniforms.
The women of the village are known for their weavings. They dry
palm fronds in the sun and from them create a variety of attractive
baskets, bowls, and purses. As soon as we arrived, the women
gathered in an open-air building to show off their wares. We didn't
go away empty handed.
Presidential debate
Being on a boat in the middle of the Pacific made it difficult to follow the
Presidential election campaign. We were determined to watch at least
one Obama-McCain debate, but how? In tiny Talofa, there were two
satellite TVs--but they operated only in the evening, when the village
turned on its generator (which, by the way, is fueled by coconut oil). The
debate was being broadcast in the afternoon.
If Jan Campbell gets it into her head to do something, then watch out.
Determined to see the debate, she negotiated with a woman on the
village council to drive us in the village boat to another island, where
there was an operating TV. Our friends on "Yamana," Peter and Alice (a
Kiwii and Brit respectively), opted to join us, to see U.S. politics in action.
After a wild ride over reefs and open water, we got the proprietor of a
local tavern to open his doors and turn on his TV.
BTY: Jan and Joan did vote in the election. King County emailed the
ballots to us. In Savusavu Jan found a couple tourists from the States,
who took our ballots home and mailed them.
We anchored in a number of other coves in Fiji and loved them all. Below
are a few more pics.
Being on a boat in the middle of the Pacific made it difficult to follow the
Presidential election campaign. We were determined to watch at least
one Obama-McCain debate, but how? In tiny Talofa, there were two
satellite TVs--but they operated only in the evening, when the village
turned on its generator (which, by the way, is fueled by coconut oil). The
debate was being broadcast in the afternoon.
If Jan Campbell gets it into her head to do something, then watch out.
Determined to see the debate, she negotiated with a woman on the
village council to drive us in the village boat to another island, where
there was an operating TV. Our friends on "Yamana," Peter and Alice (a
Kiwii and Brit respectively), opted to join us, to see U.S. politics in action.
After a wild ride over reefs and open water, we got the proprietor of a
local tavern to open his doors and turn on his TV.
BTY: Jan and Joan did vote in the election. King County emailed the
ballots to us. In Savusavu Jan found a couple tourists from the States,
who took our ballots home and mailed them.
We anchored in a number of other coves in Fiji and loved them all. Below
are a few more pics.
The end of our South Pacific adventure
Our time in Fiji was far too short, but we had to
get to New Zealand before the beginning of
cyclone season. So we said a sad and poignant
farewell, knowing we were leaving not only Fiji,
but the tropics as well. As we steered south
toward KiwiLand, we watched the Fijian islands
sink slowly into the ocean--the end of our grand
adventure in the tropical islands of the South
Pacific.
Our time in Fiji was far too short, but we had to
get to New Zealand before the beginning of
cyclone season. So we said a sad and poignant
farewell, knowing we were leaving not only Fiji,
but the tropics as well. As we steered south
toward KiwiLand, we watched the Fijian islands
sink slowly into the ocean--the end of our grand
adventure in the tropical islands of the South
Pacific.
