Back to Life. Back to Reality.

For all the crap I've gone through and posted in this journal, I'm still a little blue to be back. Don't get me wrong! I love my bug-free bed, my cats, my shower and a clean, flush toilet. But I don't love bills, traffic, the hectic pace of life, and no ocean.

I'm trying to settle in and get over jet-lag. It's taken me longer than usual since I went to an 'all-nighter', going away party for a friend the night after getting back. I was exhausted, but alcohol and adrenaline kept me going until after 4 a.m. (By the way, I shaved my legs for the party. I know I know! I caved pretty quickly, didn't I? So I chose sexy over empowered. Sue me. It feels great. Too bad the pesky hair just keeps growing back.)

Today was my first day back at "work". I use the term "work" loosley here since all I really did was check my email, go to lunch, and well... that's about it. So, why the hell am I still here at 7:30 p.m.? I'm addicted to the internet. I can't stop. It's fun chatting with people online, reading about hiking the Andes... and it's better than watching TV. Right?

That's all for now. My life's boring again. I'll try to make up some interesting stories to keep your attention and provide entertainment - at least for me!

Later,
me
p.s. Check back in a few days for pics from Fiji.

Tokyo Layover and the end of my current adventure (8/20)

I arrived in Tokyo yesterday at 5 pm. I hate to jinx my luck, but I've had relatively few problems getting through customs, immigration, security etc. I'm worried that this means I will be anally searched in Atlanta.

While getting my bags in Tokyo, I saw the cutest little girl I've ever seen in my life. I'm not kidding. I certainly wouldn't write about it if she hadn't made such an impression. She was a 2 year old Japanese girl wearing a pink dress and an adorable straw hat, like something you'd see in an impressionist painting. Her hair stuck out from her hat and draped across her forehead like black velvet. She had big, brown, almond shaped eyes and a pouty little pink mouth. I wanted to take a picture of her so badly. I would have to if I'd had any film left. A black & white image of her standing alone in the airport with the innocent/curious expression on her face would make a wonderful framed portrait. Anyway, I wrote that mostly for my own benefit, so I can remind myself of the vision later.

The first thing I did when I got to my hotel was take a shower. It felt unimaginably good. I was revived. Then I grabbed a bite to eat and had some tea while reading my book ("Without Reservations" by Alice Steinbach - excellent). Once back to my room, I wrote a few letters while enjoying some Japanese sweets. I was exhausted, so I went to bed.

I got up early this morning, took my bags to the airport and checked them into storage. Then I bought an express ticket to Tokyo. I only had 3 hours in Tokyo before I had to head back. While on the train, I met a Puerto Rican lady who was familiar with Tokyo. I asked where I should go if I only had 3 hours. She directed me to a section of the city that is similar to 5th avenue in New York. I wanted to go to Shinjuko, but that's more of a nightclub district, so I'll have to save that for another time. I was interested in Shinjuko after reading a book by a Japanese author called "Norwegian Woods". It was a really good book and I enjoyed the descriptions of Japan.

I think the name of the place I went was Ginza, but I'm not sure and I don't have my map with my right now. Anyway, it was impressive. The shops were very fancy and the building were big an shiny. I walked around for a while and then made my way to a large park. Afterwards, I headed for the Imperial Gardens, which were closed. But, I got to get a peak. Finally, I found an adorable Cafe and enjoyed an iced cocoa coffee and an impressive Japanese pastry. I watched the scene of daily life in Japan pass by the window, then headed back to the airport. It was a nice adventure.

I'm back in the airport now and getting ready to board the plane. I'll be back in Atlanta in roughly 23 hours. I can't believe my trip is over.

I'm already planning my next!!

Don’t let the bed bugs bite! (8/17)

Aaaarrrgggghhh! There’s homosexual rape going on all around me at night!!! My bed is infested with bed bugs (see earlier journal entry). I wake up every morning with fresh bites all over my torso and butt. I have a single bite in the dead center of each butt cheek. It makes for very unlady-like scratching episodes. I’m positive I’m getting the bites from my bed. I had the same problem last time I stayed in Suva and Zach did too. It makes me cringe. Last night, all I dreamed about was alien-like, blue bugs crawling all over my body and making little munching sound as they bit down into my flesh with their pinchers. That’s one of the reasons I’m still awake at 2:00 in the morning posting in my journal. I really don’t want to get back in that bed.

A farewell song…

Duh de-na de duh
I’ve got the blues. I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve got dem blues.

I’ve been livin’ on dis island, to study the sea.
I’ve been here so long, now it’s time for me to leave.
Headin’ back to Atlanta! With no time to kill.
I miss dem boys, but I don’t wanna face the bills.

Duh de-na de duh
I’ve got the blues. I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve got dem blues.

I’ve had bad times and good times too.
Got drunk on Kava, and tried not to puke.
I made me some friends in a village on the coast.
The big man, the chief. I’ll miss him most.

Duh de-na de duh I’ve got the blues.
I’m tellin’ ya, I’ve got dem blues.I’ve got the I – don’t – wanna – leave– the – Island – Fiji bluuuueeees!

Duh de-na de duh - - Duh de-na de duh…

What I’ve learned so far in Fiji…

1) The ocean is like a belligerent 2-year old child – willful, surly, uncooperative, and moody.
2) Something WILL go wrong
3) It can usually be fixed
4) Kava hangovers suck

A deathly funny story (8/16)

Apparently there is a hospital in Laotoka (the old capital). I know this because a man I met recently was hospitalized there for a broken leg. He had a private suite, the works! For, how much? $45 a day. That’s cheaper than most backpacker’s here, and you get waited on hand and foot. I’m not sure if the sponge baths are included (ha ha). He met a young French girl there who had run out of money. The staff couldn’t get her to leave the hospital because it was so nice and I guess she’d been staying in some pretty crappy places. Anyway, I’m digressing from the point of my story.
In this hospital there is a morgue. And, in the morgue there are dead bodies. A lot of dead bodies. Why so many? It has to do with Fijian culture and their “traditions”. I use the word “tradition” loosely because Fijians tend to pick and choose among what they call a “tradition”. I’m not being condescending, this bit of information is important in setting up the story. Historically, the whole village (and thus extended family) would participate in a burial ceremony. In the present, Fijians are more spread out, so when someone dies, it’s not always possible for a relative to get back to the village soon after the death. This, of course, means the burial must be delayed.
What’s a Fijian to do? The solution. Just don’t pick the body up from the morgue. Yup, leave Grandpa Joe on the slab. There’s an overbooking at the morgue. Too many bodies and not enough slots. In addition, there isn’t enough staff to deal with the decaying corpses, so the nurses have to take up the slack. This is where another ingenious solution has been put into action. Because there are too many bodies for the ‘corpse coolers’, the nurses have started rotating them – 4 hours IN, 4 hours OUT. The mental image this creates up cracks me up. I know, I’m sick. The Pacific International Nursing Organization has offered to donate money to the hospital to make the morgue bigger, but the local nurses protested. A bigger morgue would mean more bodies and still not enough slots. The nurses weren’t willing to shuffle any more stiffs.
How does this tie into “traditions”? Well, the nurses have launched a major effort to end the body bag hotel scam. They tried charging for space, but the people picking up the bodies refused to pay and would take it anyway. (Tiny Indo-Fijian nurses can’t do much to stop a group of large Fijian men, or even larger Fijian women!) They can’t incinerate the body after a certain amount of time because they don’t have the means to do it. This problem has caused a big stink, and I don’t mean from decaying flesh. The Fijians claim that it’s tradition for the whole family to be present during a burial, so they HAVE to wait until everyone is present before burying the body. But, what did they do before refrigeration? Surely they didn’t let the body stink up the village while waiting for Aunt Bale to get back from the Mamanucas. It turns out that bodies were traditionally buried within a day or two of dying. So, this “new” tradition is really a twisting of an old tradition to make it fit.
Due to the crowding at the morgue, dead bodies are also stored in any other type of refrigerated container available. For example, a prominent vegetable distributor in Fiji lives just outside of Laotoka. People from near and far are constantly demanding that he let them store Uncle Harry in the vegetable cooler. And, he constantly refuses. A dead body next to the frozen asparagus would most likely lead to a hefty fine from the health inspection officer. Needless to say he’s been ostricized from the Fijian community. The way of life here is ‘you help me out and I’ll help you out’. Or, if you don’t help me out, I’ll bug the hell out of you, then give you the finger.
Ahh, Fiji. I still love it though! Don’t get me wrong.

P.S. I got the permit to take coral out of the country today. *Hooray!* Too bad it doesn’t say anything about RNA. I guess I’m just going to have to smuggle it out of the country in a latex glove shoved up my @. Ha ha! Just kidding, I’ll ‘hide’ it under the live coral and if questioned, lie.

They’re baaack. (8/15)

Oh, THERE they are! I thought I’d lost my little Gremlins for a while. Things were going so well extracting my samples that I’d forgotten all about them. I guess it’s a good thing (for them) that they made their presence known today or they might have gotten left in Fiji.
Here’s what those nasty little buggers did for me today. It started out a normal day in Suva: me waking up with a horrible headache (no doubt from the pollution), eating breakfast and then heading to the marine station. I found Klaus (my contact/collaborator at USP) since we had a meeting with the director of the Ministry of Fisheries this morning at 9:30. The purpose of meeting this man is of the utmost importance since I can’t take any samples out of the country without his approval. I was told that meeting with him and getting his “John Hancock” or more appropriately, his “Anuri Rawailairi” on my export permit was just a formality. (Bear this in mind as the story continues.) We caught a cab and made the drive out to the Fisheries to meet with Anuri. Of course, he wasn’t there, even though we had set an appointment with him. We were told he would not be back until 11:00. Klaus needed to get back to USP, and that was too long to wait. So, we jumped back in the cab and drove back. Total cost, $15.
At 11:00 I caught another cab and revisited the Fisheries. Anuri was there this time, but informed me that he couldn’t accept the documentation because it was a photocopy. He said I needed Bill Aalbersberg’s endorsement. I said he’d already signed it. Apparently, he needed to RE-sign it since it was a photocopy of his signature. Fresh ink is important. So, I caught a cab back to USP. Total cost, $15.80. I went to Bill’s office to get him to sign the form. His secretary informed me that he was in a workshop for the whole week. Great. Now what? Normally I would appeal to the kind-hearted, helpful secretary. But, Bill’s secretary is as cold as a Michigan winter. I informed her of the urgency of the matter. I would have gotten more of a response from the wall. I ended up leaving the form with Klaus who said he MIGHT see Bill at lunch. I was supposed to check back at 2:00.
To kill the time, I went to the market to buy gifts for my friends and family. It was a good thing I was in a terrible mood. It made bargaining much easier. I didn’t put up with any crap and I didn’t care to hear any sob stories. Like why I should pay $120 for a carved lobster because the seller had lost all of his limbs in a freak curry explosion, and that they had to be sewn back on with his only fishing line. So, now his family is starving because he can’t fish without any line. To bad. Eat chicken.
The Gremlins also had a good time with my bank account, again. I pulled out what I figured would be enough money for the rest of my stay and a cab back to the airport. I was completely shocked to find I only had $30 left in my account. I’m apparently terrible with money. Oh well. If you don’t die in debt, you never lived. Right?
Finally, after dropping the gifts at my room, I went to get the signed form from Klaus, fully expecting it not to be there. Low and behold! It was signed and ready to go. I quickly caught a cab to the Fisheries. (Total cost, $16.70.) I met with Anuri again and we went over (and over) what I needed to take out of the country, which consists of less than 1 mg of RNA and roughly 100 pieces of 3 cm coral fragments. The fragments were something I added several weeks ago, after talking with Terry. I want to analyze the nutrient content of the tissue and do a zooxanthellae count. Combined with gene expression, I think these two measurements would give a better picture of what’s happening to coral during elevated nutrient conditions. I originally gave up on the idea because I thought (correctly) that taking intact coral out of the country would be too difficult. But, when I met with Terry, he told me that everything was taken care of and approved. He said I should go ahead and collect the coral, and that all I needed to do was get some guy at the Ministry of Fisheries to sign the form. It sounded simple enough. That is, if Gremlins don’t haunt your life. Now, Anuri has to check with CITES (don’t ask) to see if it’s okay for me to take the coral out of the country. I’ll find out tomorrow if I can, and if so I have to pay an export fee. If the answer is “no”, the collection was for naught, which really bothers me since I still feel horrible about damaging the corals. *sigh*

I have a headache.

Does anyone want to adopt some Gremlins?

Odd sightings (8/14)

Riding to Suva the other day, I saw a very strange site. Seeing something peculiar isn’t in itself unusual. So far, I’ve seen a pack of wild dogs chasing a mare and her colt down the road, tons and tons of chicken sex (roosters are apparently very horny), a cow with utters so huge that she could barely walk, and a man pushing a large pig down the road in a wheelbarrow. This latest sighting though was bizarre, even for Fiji. We were half-way to Suva, in a nicer area called Pacific Harbor. I was watching the trees and houses wiz by as the mountains slowly lolled along. We came upon a river, and on the far bank was a naked white man. He was sitting on what appeared to be a black barrel reading a newspaper. The only conclusion I’ve been able to reach is that he was taking a crap. But… in a barrel? On the riverbank? Out in the middle of (what I think was) a park? Huh? It’s not like it was a slummy area. The houses were nicer than most in Suva. I’m SURE they had flush toilets. Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe he was just sunning.

Speaking of “sightings”, the lodge in Tagaqe is haunted. One night, during the first week I was there, I woke in the middle of the night to find two young Fijian boys standing at the foot of my bed. I asked them what they were doing, but they just giggled. I assumed Sam was sleeping over, as he often did, and that the two boys were friends of his. Fuzzy logic, but I fell back asleep anyway. When I woke up the next morning, the memory of the little boys was vague, but I was sure it wasn’t a dream. Sam had not spent the night. However, it’s not that difficult to get into the lodge, even with the door locked. So, I assumed some local boys were being mischievous boys. I mentioned it to Zach in passing, but we both wrote it off and went about our business. During the course of our stay, other minor things happened. I came back one day from church to find my suitcase completely opened and rummaged through. I made sure to always keep it closed so spiders and roaches didn’t take up refuge in my clothes. Gwillyam and Lucy (from Coral Cay) also had incidences of things out of place in their rooms. Nothing was ever missing (except food, and that can be explained by rats and local larceny). Then, a few weeks ago, Zach woke up to find a boy standing in his room. The boy never said anything; he just stood quietly staring. Zach looked over at Gwillyam who was tossing and groaning in his sleep. When he looked back to where the boy was, he was gone. That day, I asked Sam if there was anything strange about the lodge. He said, “Oh yes, it’s haunted.” As if it was the most normal things in the world. He said that a family had lived there for a while and that when they returned from being gone for the day, the house would be completely clean, but things would be out of place. Damn it. Why couldn’t we be haunted by THAT ghost? Ours didn’t clean worth a crap. I had another sighting just before leaving. I saw a boy walk past my room towards the kitchen. I didn’t even bother to get up and investigate.

Final collection before heading to Suva (8/11)

In two days I head back to Suva for a week where I’ll extract RNA from the coral I’ve collected from my field sites. Today was the last collection. I got up early this morning, in time for low tide. After breakfast, I gathered the necessary equipment and headed out to the shallows where my nutrient experiment lies. I was hoping (against the odds) that the changing phases of the moon had not drastically shifted the tides. When the moon is full, I can walk to the site at low tide and the water never gets deeper than mid-calf with the incoming waves. As the moon changes, the tides shift and the site becomes covered with water, too shallow to snorkel, to deep to wade. Today, the heavens were against me. I could get right up to the site, but I couldn’t get anything done. The water was knee high on the outgoing waves, and waist high coming in. I was either lifted off the ground or knocked off balance with every movement of water. Try as I might, I couldn’t even maintain my position long enough to tell what replicate was in front of me. I headed back to the lodge, soggy and disappointed.

My only option was to attempt collection at high tide, which was going to be difficult. I passed the time waiting for the tide to change by reading, writing and getting organized. At 1:30 I made my way back to the beach. A survey of the water told me I was too early. High tide wasn’t until 3:30, so I waited on shore for a half-hour. When my patience ran out, I geared up and jumped in the water. It takes me at least 20 minutes to swim to my site, so by the time I made it there, the water was just a bit deeper. The geography of my site is such that to the right of the area is a steep drop off into the channel of 20 – 40 feet and to the left is shallow water (< 3 feet) where the waves break creating a foamy white ambience, like floating in soda pop. The corals I’m working on are situated in roughly 6 feet of water. This means that I can’t reach them without holding my breath and diving down. Even with a weight belt on, this is difficult, especially in such a high-energy environment. I would dive down, ass up like a duck, and attempt to grab onto anything without spines. If the waves didn’t drag me away, I’d hold on for dear life and go about collecting. If they did, I’d kick as hard as I could against the drag to get back to the point of interest, usually only to be pulled away in the other direction. After several attempts, I finally got the hang of it. I felt like giving up a number of times, but the task needed to get done, one way or the other. So I did it.

Collecting the corals was very difficult, especially since I wanted to do it in a way that wouldn’t kill the whole colony. I think I managed it though. The other task at hand was to pull up the site. This meant removing the nails from the substrate and picking up the nutrient bags that had been nailed down around the corals. This part was actually kind of fun. I would hook the forked end of my hammer around a nail and wait for a wave. The surge was so strong that hanging onto the hammer required a fair bit of muscle. The feel of the water ripping around me was exhilarating, like free falling from a plane. I finished the whole process in two and a half hours. The swim back to shore nearly killed me. I had placed all of the nails and nutrient bags in a sack around my weight belt. The drag from the heavy bag and the unusually strong current made for the toughest swim of my life. Once in shallow water, I literally crawled the rest of the way to shore. I looked up and saw Zach sitting in the shallows just as worn out and pathetic as me. We laughed at the site of each other and then headed back to the lodge.

After prepping my samples, I sat and contemplated the day. It was really hard work and I honestly didn’t think I’d get it done, at least all in one day. It felt really good. Now, tomorrow can be spent leisurely packing my stuff for the trip to Suva and maybe even catching some rays, cocktail in hand.

It was a good day.

Let’s talk about hair…

Have you ever thought about hair? It’s been on my mind quite a bit lately and relates to a project I started while in Fiji. I stopped shaving my legs. When was it that sleek legs became necessary for a woman to be considered feminine? It’s so unnatural. If you think about it, modern society equates the epitome of feminine sexuality with a hairless mole rat. Hairless pits, hairless legs, and a well trimmed… ahem. Anyway, I got tired of it. My legs, once sleek and as hairless as an eel, now have a long, fine coating. It started out dark and coarse, but has softened and lightened with time. Dark hairs now intermix with fine, blond hairs adding depth and dimension to the cascading field on my legs. Some of you may recoil in disgust at the description of my newly formed appendages, but I look at them with a sense of fascination, pride, and yes, slight repugnance. I’ve been conditioned right along with the rest of society. I can’t help but look at this new feature as an oddity… like the sudden sprouting of a third nipple. I can’t decide what I’m going to do about it when I get back to a culture that actually cares. Should I shave? I might feel like Samson when Delilah cut his hair. My new legs provide a sense of power from rejecting society’s imposed rule. But, I should admit that I don’t feel all that sexy with hairy legs. I’m now in a position where I must choose between empowerment and femininity.

There’s another peculiar aspect of hair that I’ve been pondering. Why is it that a full head of hair is beautiful and desirable, but once off the head that same hair is so repulsive? When does the disgust factor set in? Is there a grace period or does it happen immediately upon detachment from the scalp? There are three women with long, full hair living in our lodge, including myself. Needless to say, every once in a while someone recoils at the sight of an entanglement of loose hair, dust, and lint on the floor. No one wants to touch it. Why? It used to be on one of our heads not too long ago. What’s wrong with it now? If it’s the dirt, then why is it even more disgusting to pick slimy, wet hair out of the shower drain? Surely it’s clean. Anyway, isn’t long, wet hair sexy when cascading down the back of bikini clad swimmer? I’m not placing myself outside the realm of hair hating. I don’t even like picking my own hair off the floor or out of the drain. I just find this particular characteristic of hair (or humanity) strange and worth mentioning.

A day trip to Suva (8/10)

Where to begin…. I guess at the beginning. I got up early this morning, before sunrise. I enjoyed my favorite routine of watching the sun peak up over the mountains while eating a bowl of Weet-Bix and drinking a cup of hot Milo. It’s winter here and there’s a surprisingly crisp chill in the air during the early hours of the day. After breakfast and an eye opening icy cold shower, I gathered the samples I collected yesterday and walked up the dirt path to Queen’s Road. I only had to wait for 10 – 15 minutes before a van approached flashing its lights. I stuck my hand out and as it pulled to a close stop, I had an uneasy feeling that this might not be a good idea. Instinct warned that getting into a cargo van with three strange men, all staring at me as I climbed aboard, should be avoided if at all possible. I decided, as I do many times, to ignore such innate fear and plopped down next to the man in back. He was an older Fijian man, which made me feel better for no clear reason. The young Indo-Fijians in front continued to make me uneasy, but after a while the novelty of a pale-skinned female wore off and everyone sat staring out the windows. A few miles down the road, more people and roughly 700 paw-paw fruits joined the silent ride to Suva.

After two hours of a trip reminiscent of the rides in Grandpa’s old jeep, barreling down the dirt roads on his farm, and being banged in the head repeatedly by crates of fruit, we made it to Suva. Sore, but in one piece. I took care of some business at the university and felt good about accomplishing a set task. I rewarded myself with an indulging lunch and an iced mocha at the Garden City café; probably one of the best restaurants I’ve ever patroned. After running a few errands, I made my way to the city bus depot. A regular bus takes twice as long to get anywhere and taxis are expensive, so I was on a hunt for a mini-van or an express bus. Of course, neither parks at the depot, so I spent a good 45 minutes wandering around looking like a dumbfounded tourist. Eventually, I reached a point that I had to find a bathroom. Iced coffee and 2 liters of water were quickly revisiting me. There was no way I could make a non-stop, 2-hour trip back to Tagaqe at this point. I had to ask a police officer where I could find a public restroom. I usually use the one in McDonald’s, but it was a good 20-minute walk away. So, I made my way to the building pointed out by the officer. To my surprise I had to pay… pay to enter the most vile shit-hole (sorry Dad) I’ve ever come across in my life… and I’ve been in some really bad pit stops. The smell was enough to make a pig farmer gag, there were feces on the wall and none of the toilets would flush. I had to walk carefully to not slip in the indeterminate gray sludge on the floor. Once in the least disgusting stall, I had to precariously balance myself against my canvas bag and groceries since there were no hooks and setting anything down was not an option. It was tricky, but I got the job done. The lesson here: McDonald’s DOES have some value.

After my traumatic trip to the powder room, I continued on my hunt for a fast, cheap ride to Tagaqe. A young, Fijian boy from the highlands eventually set me in the right direction for a fee. Nothing is free here. I found the mini-bus station – like a corral of wild horses just waiting to break loose and terrorize the road. My ride back was much more posh that the trip to Suva but resulted in white knuckled fear as we went careening down the winding road. The concept of lanes and blind curves is lost on Fijians. I spent the entire ride eyes shut, or looking anywhere but out the front window. Obviously, I made it back in one piece, but I wasn’t at all convinced that would be my fate.

First sample collection (8/9)

I went out to my field site today as excited as a child opening a present to see what had happened as a result of my experimentation. A few days earlier I had collected various kinds of algae and wrapped them around the branch tips of several coral heads. The algae ranged from Hypnea, which is relatively benign with no known chemical defense, to a nasty red/brown, filamentous cyanobacteria to a beautiful, green, but chemically defended alga called Cholordesmis. I had tested the algae application prior to setting up the experiment and it appeared to work nicely. But, when I went to check my experiment, I was dismayed at the sight before me. Something (or someone) had caused extensive damage to the beautiful field of Acroporid corals. Many of the coral colonies were missing tips and branches. White discs of skeleton indicated the breakage like a wound cut to the bone. A few colonies were completely toppled over or were broken in half. I couldn’t figure out what happened. We haven’t had bad weather or stormy seas. The only other culprits I could think of were fish and man. The site is near Hideaway Resort and some idiot tourist could have either decided to collect of few pieces of the pretty ‘plant’ or in effect trampled the coral in an awkward, ungraceful attempt at snorkeling. (The corals thrive in an area of reef only 4 – 6 feet deep). On the other hand, the coral could have been preyed on by parrotfish. However, many of the pieces missing looked to big for grazing scars, and I could see several of the fragments, uneaten and beginning to bleach on the sandy bottom. The Hypnea may have attracted herbivorous fish, which during their feeding frenzy, banged into the coral causing breakage. I have a hard time picturing big enough fish in a large enough number to cause that to happen though. So, it’s still a mystery.

Needless to say, I was so upset I could feel tears beginning to well up in my mask. I had high hopes for this particular experiment. It was going to be elegant and simple but produce exciting, interesting results, not headaches. I surveyed the damage again and decided I would still try to salvage some of the replicates. I lost 4 whole colonies (including all of the attached algae) and all of the Hypnea replicates on the remaining colonies But, I was able to collect the Cholordesmis and cyanobacteria from 5 colonies. Walking back with my samples, I was utterly despondent. I needed a drink. Instead, I assessed percent bleaching, measured the fragments and placed them in TRIzol. When all was done, my spirit brightened. I realized that I may have enough replicates to get significant results, and the pattern of bleaching that I observed matched up with my expectations. Maybe all was not lost. I was still feeling the frustration of the day, though. So, I walked up to Hideaway for a cocktail. Rum and coke, a tonic to cure many woes. If it teaches you nothing else, fieldwork teaches you patience and resolve.
“Woe is me, have mercy on my soul. If it wern’t fer bad luck. I’d have no luck at all.”

More random thoughts...

Those of you who know me well know that I’m a vegetarian. More importantly, you know that seafood was the first meat I gave up specifically for enviro-political reasons. I won’t go into my tirade on the raping of the oceans by poor fishing practices, but an understanding of how I feel on the issue is important for this story. I guess just as important is my sensitivity towards killing or deliberately harming other living things. I realize that I kill corals in an effort to prevent their obliteration, and I have to make my amends for even doing that. Anyway, let me move on to the story at hand. I was preparing to snorkel out to my site in the channel the other day when a group of Fijian guys asked me to wait. They were in the first phase of an elaborate fishing scheme and didn’t want me to scare away the fish. I obliged and we talked for a little while. The three men were waiting on shore while two other men swam out to drape a net across the channel. When it was ready, the three men spread out at a distance and walked towards the net while yelling and slapping the water with large sticks. It was all very interesting to watch, but I had business to take care of. So once they were out of my way, I swam on to my site. In my naivete, I thought the fishing would end there. They would round the fish into the net, scoop them up and head back to shore. I was definitely not prepared for the bloody display that lay before me. After they rounded up the fish, they began beating them with the same sticks that they used to scare them into the net. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it also looked like they picked up a few of the fish and whacked them on the water. All I could imagine was the beautiful, terrified fish fleeing desperately and hitting nothing but net. That image, and the smell. I wasn’t prepared for the smell. It was a mixture of death and blood. I couldn’t take it. I finished what I was doing and swam as fast as I could back to shore. I made it back at the same time as the fishermen. They were so proud of their catch. They asked me to come look. I didn’t think I could. I pondered the idea for a moment and came to the conclusion that I NEEDED to look. I don’t believe that everyone should abstain from meat, or even seafood. But, I think people should understand how that fillet gets on their plate. I felt that by looking, I would see the fish as sustenance and not as the pretty jewels of the sea that I so admire. It did help. Not only was it interesting to view the fish, it was interesting to talk to the men about it. I admire these local fishermen because they eat everything that they catch. I mean EVERYTHING. They know what they’re eating and exactly what it took to get it. I had imagined a mass slaughter of 100’s of fish, but they had roughly 50. The parrotfish were gorgeous even in death, and there were a few tiny little disc shaped fish. I asked them what they were going to do with them; they said they’d fry them up and eat them whole. A puffer fish, filled with air, was rolling around in the breeze. I said, “and that?” The reply, “We’ll eat it too!” Then one of the men picked up the puffer by gouging out its eyes and using the sockets as a handle.
There are more fish in this section of Fiji than I’m used to seeing, and some large fish at that. But, I know that Fiji is feeling fishing pressure just like most oceanic countries. You can tell not only by the absence of large predators and the overabundance of algae, but also by the stories told by the older generation. What exists today is a poor representation of the abundance and diversity of just decades ago. The fishermen I witnessed only caught 50 fish, a drop in the ocean. But, day after day of fisherman after fisherman in village after village all catching 50 to 100 fish adds up to a lot. Add commercial fishing and other more destructive fishing practices by local fishermen, and a drop becomes a sea. It’s something to think about.

Random thoughts

I would try to fill in on the missed days between now and the last entry, but days and events tend to blur together here, so I’ll just write about things that have stuck with me and other randomness that I’ve considered and have forgotten to include in this journal.

Public transportation is a funny thing here. I think I’ve already talked about the “party buses” with quiet Indo-Fijian drivers, loud Indian music and funky Hindu-like décor. That’s the cheapest way to travel, and the slowest. But it is entertaining. However, the “rockin’ vans” are even better. These are mini-vans that fly along at record-breaking speeds, held together by loose bolts, a bit of duct tape and g-force (as far as I can tell). They rocket down Queen’s Road along the Coral Coast blasting Fijian music with kickin’ beats and catchy tunes. Depending on the driver, the alignment of the stars, or the mood, the price ranges from cheaper than the bus to just a bit more expensive. It’s never the same. But, I love riding in the vans. There’s an air of excitement similar to a roller coaster at a theme park. Thrilling, a little scary, and over way to fast (sometimes). To catch a ride (bus, van or taxi) all one needs to do is stand on the side of the road and stick out your hand. If a van isn’t full, the driver will flash the lights to indicate a potential ride. If you keep your hand out, he’ll come to a screeching stop, usually within a foot or two of where you’re standing. Once the dust settles and you’ve collected yourself, you hop in with the rest of the daring souls on board. Of course, the other way to go is by taxi, which out of all the choices is more boring and much more expensive. It’s only good when you have a week’s worth of groceries and don’t have the energy to lug it all on the bus.

This discussion of transportation has reminded me of my daily jaunts along the road to hell (i.e. Queen’s Road). I’ve named is so because surely that’s where I’m going some day, and if I keep walking on that road, it may be someday soon. Every day, I have to travel between the lodge, the village, and my field site frequently. Pretty much anywhere I need to go is a 15 – 20 minute walk from the lodge, which is too short for automotive transportation. I’ve seen one person on a bike since I’ve been here. I think I’d rather take my chances wrasslin’ a 12-foot tiger shark than to ride down Queen’s Road on a bike. Needless to say, I do A LOT of walking. It was quite terrifying at first. There are no sidewalks. Only beaten down paths of grass no more than a foot or two off the edge of the road. The trick is to keep to the path without stepping on the road, and to maneuver the obstacle course of variously aged piles of cow crap. I’ve gotten used to it now, but the bent and mangled road signs are ominous warning of bad drivers in fast cars.

Let me say a bit more about the culture of this strange little place in Fiji where I’ve been stranded. I’ve mentioned the traditional dances performed by locals from the village at the Hideaway Resort. The Meke dances. Have I mentioned the “other” shows? The ones performed every other day that range from Latin night to the Island Pacific Show to a Fijian rendition of Greece. I think I may have said a word or two about this particular genre of entertainment, but I don’t think I gave it proper due. These shows have a mix of locals from Tagaque as well as Fijians all the way from Nadi. A common them to these performances, the Meke shows as well as the off, off, off-Broadway productions, is that the men REALLY get into their roles. They love to perform and are extravagantly entertaining. The women, on the other hand, display the same feelings I have while sitting in church – a desperate desire to escape. Their performances are forced and uncomfortable. An entertainment specialist was brought over from France to train the Fijian performers. Apparently she threw her hands up in disgust and frustration, exclaiming that “Ze women, zey dance like ze man! Fortunately, ze men… zey dances like ze woman. I can work with zees.” With that in mind, let me continue discussing the off, off-Broadway entertainment. I would venture to say that there’s nothing like it in the world. I’ll describe the Latin production to give you an idea. The costumes are outlandish is their extravagance – giant feather headpieces, glittering sequenced bras, and other more traditional Latin garbs including oversized sombreros. The show consists of a series of short musical skits including salsa dances, comedy acts, and a rendition of “The Shady Dame from Seville”. The last skit mentioned is appreciated MUCH more when you realize that most of the performers on stage are men… and you’ve seen “Victor Victoria” with Julie Andrews. What you may THINK is an attractive Fijian woman is actually a man. It’s surprisingly difficult to tell. Thus, “pufter shows” is the name often used to describe such entertainment. Apparently, ‘pufter’ is slang for ‘gay’ in Britain. Here’s where an even more strange aspect of Fijian culture comes in. If a Fijian family has all boys, the parents raise the youngest boy as a girl. Therefore there are quite a few effeminate men here, and while gay men don’t necessarily get the same respect as straight men, being gay is not a sin. From what I can tell, and what I understand, gay men are accepted by society and rarely, if ever, harassed. Gay women on the other hand are much more rare and ‘behind the scenes’, if you will.

Okay… until later, Adios!

Am I really that hopeless?

It was pointed out to me that regardless of a recent entry, I have (in fact) toned down my language in subsequent posts. It was not a conscious effort. I revel in rebellion and try to always speak my mind. However, I have a soft spot in my heart for a particular patriarch. Out of love and respect, I can’t help but act differently around this man. In his eyes, I’m still his little girl, which is fine with me. He once referred to me as his “hopeless romantic” and that has always stuck with me. I believe to a point that I am just that. Hopeless and idyllic. Anyway, maybe it’s difficult for him to view me through my own eyes, or to see the unedited version of myself. I never really thought of that until now. It’s difficult to write a journal though, and not be one’s self. I hope his vision of the little girl who once swung from tree limbs upside down, and sat in his lap to be comforted by the sound of his voice isn’t tarnished. I’m all grown up now and have established my own opinions and personality. But, a part of me will always remain that little girl.

Randomness (8/2)

Ironically, it's another rainy day here in Fiji. It works out nicely since I designated the day to spend online in Sigatoka. Plus, I'm highly irritable (for no good reason), so it's nice to be away from the crowd at the "lodge."

I guess I havn't updated my journal in a while, but we have three new people staying with us. They "work" for Coral Cay Conservation, which means they get food and board, but no salary. They're here to do survey transects of the inshore reef. They're pretty cool and we all get along well. In fact, tomorrow is Louis's birthday, so we're taking here out to get her schnockered.

Terry and Kirk Bowman (another prof at Tech) were here for 4 days. They left this morning. Terry seems happy with the work I've done so far and is very interested in getting me back to Fiji. It was nice having them here because they bought me and Zach tons of food. We went out to eat (on their tab) every night. I'm pretty sure I'll have to put extra weights on my dive belt now.

I have to mention something regarding my posts. They reflect me... who I am. A few comments have been made regarding my language (which isn't nearly as bad as my day to day linguqistic ballads). But, I will not "tone down" my writing since that would be censoring myself and I'm strongly against censorship. I write what I think - - what I feel. I hope that people find my writing somewhat entertaining, insightful, and possibly creative. If anything, at least, not boring. If you are offended, bored or get a blinding migraine from reading my journal, the best advice I can give is to stop reading. Enough said.

I've been online for 4 hours now. I think it's time to stop. I will continue working on my journal entries, if for nothing else than my own amusement later.

I hope everyone is well and I miss you all very much. I'll be in Tagaqe for another 10 days. After that, I'll be in Suva for a week before flying home to Atlanta. I'll contact everyone when I get back.

Love you!
me

Rain Day (7/23)

It rained all day… pouring off and on. We didn’t get in the water. Everything is damp. The covers of my books are curling up and my bed feels disgusting.

I spent most of the day reading. Did you know that bed bugs mate by way of traumatic insemination? The male is armed with a long sharp penis. Instead of linking genitals with the female, he uses this organ to puncture her in the abdomen. He then ejaculates into her body cavity, and the sperm travels through her bloodstream to special receptacles, where she can store it until her time of ovulation. The puncture wound heals over, and all is fine. This sounds perversely like the worst sort of S&M, but to bed bugs, it’s just sex as usual. But hand on, it gets better. One particular species of bed bug practices homosexual stabbing-rape. The males puncture and inseminate other males. In fact a male may be thus assaulted even WHILE he’s copulating with a female. The punctured male serves as a proxy, in other words, a genetic courier, delivering the sperm of his attacker on to the next female with whom he mates.
It’s dark now and it finally stopped raining…. Just in time for the bugs to come out.

Thursday 7/22

Today was frustrating. I spent hours swimming around with 50 lbs. of crap looking a specific type of coral, but I couldn’t find enough of it. I was exhausted, and nearly drown from the weight of all the tools and field supplies I was trying to carry. The only redeeming thing about this morning was my encounter with a giant puffer fish (called suki-suki in Fijian). It was the size of a football and watched me, curiously, with a large, charismatic eye. We stared at each other for several minutes before he swam away. I wonder what he thought of me?

Then, when I finally made it back to the lodge for lunch, I discovered that the villagers working in the yard ate most of our food and left an enormous floater in the toilet. Thanks guys.
Sam made up for it though by climbing a tree and getting me a coconut. The meat was the most succulent, delicious coconut I’ve ever had. The milk was even good! I’ve never liked coconut milk all that much. I guess I haven’t been getting it from the right place. He explained that there are different phases of coconut cuisine. Each of the five growth stages provides a different form of food or drink. The first stage is ideal for drinking, because as yet there’s no flesh inside. During the next stage, tasty jellied flesh appears inside. The best eating stage is the third, when the flesh inside is firm but thin and succulent (like what Sam brought me). After this, the flesh becomes thick and hard – ideal for drying into copra. This is apparently the only stage I’ve eaten in the past. At its fifth stage, the nut begins to shoot while the mild inside goes crispy; making what is known in Fiji as ‘coconut ice cream’.

At dusk, Zach and I went back out on the reef but to the deep channel where the coral is more abundant and healthy. We had to swim across the channel to get to the Tabu side. It was unnerving because it was deep, murky and there was nothing around (i.e. no coral stands or rock outcroppings), just blue ocean. We saw several large stingrays and a 5-foot white tip reef shark. The dive operator (Alex) told us that other, larger sharks (tigers etc) swim in and out of the channel too. Great. What’s that fin in the distance?

We tried to catch the firewalking ceremony, but were too late. We watched the Kava ceremony (for the umpteenth time) instead, and decided that most tourists are obnoxious. Then we took Dominiti and Daryl over to Hideaway for the Meke (traditional) dance show. Sam was in it and he had a grand time dancing and singing. I keep asking him when he’s going to perform in the drag show. I think he gets a kick out of me teasing him about it.

After the show, Sam pulled me aside and asked me if I told Bear that I would meet him later. I said, “No, why?” I can’t understand what the hell Bear is saying half the time. I thought he said “see you later” when he had actually said “CAN I see you later?” Oops. Sam told me he was waiting for me at the lodge. Great. This is the guy that keeps calling me a pretty coral reef fish. I keep my distance from him, but he catches me on the beach every once in a while when I’m alone… when all I want to do is get my work done. It’s annoying.

More swimming and another trip to Sigatoka (7/21)

Today I was swimming around in the shallow Tabu area looking for sites for my next experiment. I saw an awesome octopus! It was the size of a small dog and blended in perfectly with the dark rocks all around. When I first approached, it was swimming. As soon as it saw me, it backed up against a rock like a person hiding against a wall. A “Dr. Who” hide if you will, except it matched the rocks so perfectly that it was really hard to see. As I got closer, it would turn a deep purple color with vibrant, white spots. Amazing! I floated, mesmerized, for what seemed like hours.

After spending most of the day in the field, I had to go to Sigatoka again. Last time I was there, I was on a desperate hunt for knee high stockings. They don’t exist in Fiji. It’s like trying to find sushi in Troy, Alabama. Everyone thought I was crazy. But I don’t want to WEAR them, I want to fill them with fertilizer and nail them to the reef! Jeez, give me a break people! (ha ha) Anyway, I ended up buying spandex/cotton children’s socks. They were expensive, for how many I needed, so I only bought what I thought was just enough. Nope. I needed 30 more pairs. That’s why I went again today. When I was buying them, a woman at the counter looked at me and said, “all for your children?!?” I said, “Yes. I’m very fertile.”
I found a MUCH better Internet café. It’s an obscure hole-in-the-wall that I would have NEVER found if not for Daryl and Dominiti. It’s only $4 an hour and faster (and more reliable) than the other place. There are only 4 or 5 computers and it’s run by some young (college aged) Indian students. This may sound racist, but its not. It’s just a fact. I was nearly knocked over from the thick, hot smell of multiple ethnic bodies encapsulated in a tiny, non-ventilated room. I got used to it after an hour though. But, can you believe it? I forgot my thumb drive with my paper and all of my journal entries. Damn. I think Gremlins are following me around on this trip.

Tuesday (7/20)

Today I spent most of the day checking my experiment, making measurements etc. You know… all those boring things scientists do. While cursing and hammering back into the reef a belligerent nail, I saw one of nature’s most peaceful, graceful creatures – a sea turtle. I held my breath. It glided past me, a foot or two away. I could have touched it, but that seemed so wrong. I just watched in awe and admiration. It made my frustrations with the unwilling nail and the resistant reef dissipate.
Later in the evening I took a walk on the beach and ran into Dominiti. I was way out on some shallow reef rock and deep water was on either side. She was swimming in the deep. I hadn’t planned on jumping in and was still wearing my dress. I jumped in anyway. We had a great time swimming around. It was the first swim I’ve had where I wasn’t working. Daryl had some bread so we fed a few fish and just floated. It was nice. :)

More Kava and a trip to town (7/19)

This morning was the official welcoming Kava ceremony. Jim told us to be there at 9 am. I guess we forgot about “Fiji time” since he was still taking his bath when we got to his house. We sat around and waited for half and hour. When he was finally done, we walked over to the meeting hall. A hot, dirty, single room building which the women (or cleaning staff) obviously did not frequent. We sat on the floor and swatted the flies and mosquitoes while the men talked in Fijian about us for a while. Then the Kava was prepared and all the official rituals taken care of. It lasted for several hours. It would have only lasted for @45 minutes if not for Fiji time. We had to sit there and swat insects while waiting for the rest of the village men to show up. They would straggle in one at a time during the proceedings, but no Kava was served until they were all there, of course.

After the official proceedings, we caught a van to Sigatoka and Sam joined us. We decided to get on the Internet before lunch and shopping. That’s where the nightmare began. I was online at a Net Café for 45 minutes and was only able to read two emails. I was kicked offline 4 or more times during the short interval. I had worked all night to make changes to an important paper that I’m writing so I could send it to Terry for his comments. Of course, THAT didn’t happen, which sucks since the paper is due to the editor on August 1. I also needed to check my bank account and reply to a few important business emails, AND I’ve been working on this journal to post. I was so frustrated the last time I was kicked offline that I jumped up and said, “Alright! That’s it. I’ve been kicked off again and I’ve only really had 15 minutes online this whole time.” I thought I was gonna have to throw down with the skinny Indian lady about the price, but she took $6 off, so I was placated. I found another little Net Café around the corner, but the encryption level was too low for me to access Georgia Tech’s webmail server. C’est la vie, right?

A new couple Daryl (Australian) and Dominiti (French) moved into the lodge today. They seem really cool. Daryl was a first year law student and Dominiti a biochemical engineer until they quit their jobs and started on a journey around the world for an undetermined length of time. Fiji is their first stop for 3+ months then they’re off to some other Pacific islands. They’re just figuring things out as they go along. I admire them. I’d like to do something like that. I told them that in two years I plan on trekking through South America. They said they might make it over to that side of the world by then, and we’ll hook up if they do. It would be really cool if that plan worked out.

Fijian Church and Lunch with the Chief (7/18)

Okay, now don’t pass out when you read this. The world has not come to an end, but... I went to church this morning. I know, I know, stop gasping. I didn’t WANT to. We HAD to by order of Ratu Jim. Let me say first off that Fijian Methodist church is even more boring than American Methodist church. Mainly because it’s all in Fijian… and it’s church. I made things up I thought he might be saying to entertain myself for a while. Then I resorted to reading a version of the bible apparently written for people with an IQ of a potato and the attention span of a gnat. After and hour it was all I could do not to run out screaming. It lasted for TWO HOURS!!!!!!! I was convinced I was being tortured.

After church, we went to a Kava ceremony at Ratu Jim’s house to welcome a new priest. I noticed (consciously) for the first time that they pick their feet while mixing the Kava. My stomach turned. Then we ate lunch prepared by Una, Jim’s wife. The taro root (or daloh) and breadfruit were really good, especially with salt and ketchup. But, out of respect, I tried the freshly killed chicken and fish. I admit, it was tasty, but I was riddled with guilt walking through the village and watching the mamma chicken with their biddies. And later, being mesmerized by the bejewled fish of the reef. No more meat. They know I’m vegetarian, so I think they’ll understand if I don’t eat it.

I gave up shaving my legs, its too much effort. Zach says I’m officially a hippy now. There was no wind today and it was hot. This equals mosquito heaven… I wonder if I can have a blood transfusion, but replace my blood with DEET. Jim and his wife came over for what appears to be their nightly visit. My conundrum? I’d cooked enough dinner for me, Zach and Sam, only because I had to cook the whole package of pasta due to our other houseguest, the rat. However, as I’m not a maid, or a chef, or a servant, or a “wife”… Zach and Sam were gonna have to serve themselves. Then, Jim and his wife came over; I HAVE to serve them. It’s like the law or something, and I want to continue my experiments on his reef (social politics). I felt like I SHOULD serve Sam if I was serving Jim and his wife (since Sam is technically a guest). I didn’t want to serve Zach, but I knew Jim would think me very rude. So, I made a point. I said, “Zach, am I going to have to serve you too?” He said, “Of course!” I said, “you aren’t getting crap if I’m EXPECTED to do it.” He said, “Sara, can I please have some pasta.”
“And?”…
“And I’ll do the dishes since you cooked tonight.” Okay. Here’s your pasta. After dinner, Jim grabbed me by the throat (pretty firmly) and mumbled something in Fijian. It seemed affectionate, kinda like Dad’s “love spankings” but it freaked me out a little. I think he was happy that I actually cooked for the men-folk. Hmph.
We have to do another freakin’ frackin’ bricken bracken Kava ceremony tomorrow morning at 9 am! I’m gonna be half baked before I get off this island.

One experiment up and running… finally! (7/17)

I was really upset about yesterday’s wasted day. It’s already Saturday and I haven’t anything to show for it. I got up early this morning and prepared my nutrient bags. They consist of knee-high pantyhose filled with slow release fertilizer; the controls are knee-highs filled with sand/gravel. I prepared my site labels earlier (large nails with numbered metal tags). I gathered all of my supplies and headed to the beach with Zach and Sambu. It’s really difficult to swim with two large plastic bags of pantyhose filled with gravel or fertilizer, a heavy bag of nails and a hammer.

I was looking for the same species of coral, of roughly the same size in pairs (one treatment and one control). I found the first set on a wall in the channel, but realized (after setting it up) that it’s a little too deep to work with while snorkeling. It’s already set up though, so I just have to deal with it. The next 8 pairs were in shallower water next to the channel. The problem there was the surge. Trying to complete the simple task of hammering a nail into the reef rock seemed impossible. I’d be swept past the nail on an incoming wave and be violently dragged past it on an outgoing wave. It was like the sea was against me. You could hear me cussing vehemently through my snorkel. After a while, Sam (who was helping me) just took the hammer from me. He could drive a nail into the rock with 5 or 6 strikes. It took me 10 or 20. Although I did hear “Sheet!” coming out of his snorkel more than once. It took Sam and I five hours of non-stop hard work and concerted effort to get all nine replicates set up. I don’t know about Sam, but I’m bruised and battered. My legs hurt no matter how I sit or lay. I can’t WAIT to set up the other nine reps. Since I’m not allowed to work tomorrow, I’ll have to go out on Monday to check the sites and make sure everything is still in place. I also have to take measurements of the coral colony sizes and distances apart.
Ratu Jim and his wife visited us at night. Jim asked me what we’d be eating for our meals. I told him cereal, sandwiches and crackers. He asked me why I don’t cook for Zach. I said Zach could cook for himself. Jim said I should cook because I’m a woman and that’s my job. I smiled and chuckled and said I don’t even cook for myself. Besides, Zach doesn’t WANT me to cook for him. Zach vehemently affirmed my assumption. Jim said we should come to lunch at his house tomorrow and he’d show me how to cook. Yeah right. Of course, this amused Zach to no extent and I’ve had to hear countless jokes regarding my womanly duties. He better watch out or he’s gonna find rat turds mixed in with his raisin bran.

Meeting and then delirium – a lost day (7/16)

This morning I woke up feeling a sharp pain in my abdomen. Not a good omen. Then, Zach gave me no warning that he was heading to the Hideaway to meet Bill Aalbersberg (the professor we’re working with from USP). I was a little irked at his lack of consideration to at least give me some time to brush my teeth. So, I told him to go ahead and I might try to meet him up there.

I decided I didn’t feel like making the trek to the resort, so instead I started washing my laundry in the sink. As I was just about to finish up with a pair of my unmentionables, Bear, on of Jim’s sons came to the back door. He let himself in, as is the custom here, and started chatting. I didn’t want to finish washing my delicates in front of him, so I just sat and talked. I began to feel a little uncomfortable. Bear is really nice, but also kind of aggressive. He saw a yoga vinyasa that I’ve printed out to do in the mornings. I explained what yoga is and he said, “oh, that must be why you look so good.” And followed by saying, “you must be really good in bed.” Uh, what? Who says that to someone they don’t know? Fortunately, someone knocked on the door. Bear got really agitated. It was his father, Ratu Jim. I could sense that Jim did not approve. He kept asking me where Zach was. Damn it. How in the hell do I get myself in situations like this?

But, it all worked out. Jim decided that I needed to go with him to the meeting at Hideaway (where Bill was). I relented, and on the way he warned me to be careful of Bear, the “black sheep” of the family. I think Bear is a good guy, I just need to be cautious around him. Fijian ways are different.
Unfortunately, I got stuck sitting in meetings for several hours, and the pains in my abdomen were getting worse. Jim decided that I should eat lunch with him at Hideaway. Ugh. Food was NOT appealing, but you DON’T say NO to the Chief. So, I ate… painfully.

When I got back to the lodge, I told Zach that I wanted to lie down for a little while before heading out to the reef. He was supposed to wake me up after a 30-minute nap. When he came in to give me my wake up call, I asked him to feel my forehead. I was burning up. I had a fever, and later vomited relentlessly for several hours. It was all great fun. Actually from 2pm on, the day was a feverish blur. It was actually quite horrible, as you can imagine. I thought for sure I was going to die. I think my ailment was due to swallowing a huge gulp of seawater the previous day. I was snorkeling in a high run-off area (so lots of nutrients and accompanying algae and bacteria). The run-off was also most likely from a nearby pig farm. Gross.

When I was finally able to move (~3 am), I stumbled my way out of bed and groggily headed to the bathroom. In half a daze, I turned the light on in the kitchen only to be greeted by a terrified rat. He leapt of the food shelf and I leapt out of the kitchen. When I composed myself, I headed back into the kitchen to look for the extra tenant. I didn’t see him, so I assumed he’d made his escape to the attic or the great outdoors. I warily made my way to the bathroom, which has no light, so at night I leave the door open so I can see. Just as I had relaxed enough to pee, Mr. Rat came hauling ass into the bathroom. I hauled ass OUT of the bathroom with my pants down around my ankles. I screamed loud enough to wake the dead, but not Zach. Anyway, I guess I didn’t break his back that first night. That’s good. But, Mr. Rat and I need to come to an understanding of who gets to be in the bathroom and when. I’ll take care of that tomorrow.

First full day on the reef (7/15)

Okay… THERE are the corals I need. Damn, it took a while snorkeling around to figure out where to find the coral reef. The reef around Fiji is a fringing reef. The fore reef is essentially exposed during low tide for ~1/4 mile. You can walk (in inches of water) all the way out to the wall – where the reef makes a dramatic vertical drop to 100’s of feet deep. Corals grow all along the wall, but you really need to SCUBA dive to see that part of the reef. When walking along the reef, you can follow a channel out to the wall. The channels are anywhere from 20 – 40 feet deep depending on the tide. They make for good snorkeling. It’s really cool when you’re walking though, because if you look to one side, you’re in a foot or more of water with small fish and coral heads – when you look the other way you see deep water with huge, mounding corals and big fish. Zach even saw a little white-tip shark today. I’m not crazy about snorkeling with sharks. SCUBA I don’t mind. But, sharks find snorkelers more interesting. I think we look more edible. White-tips aren’t bad, but the locals say big tigers and bulls are seen in the channels. That’s not good. Those sharks are more aggressive. I hope I can swim faster than Zach. (ha ha)

Zach did a night snorkel. I went with him, but I was tired and cold and didn’t feel like getting in the water. I sat on the shore to beacon him in when he was done, and sit helplessly if he got attacked by a shark. While waiting for him on the beach, I laid back and watched the night sky. I wonder why that’s so romantic? There were dozens of shooting stars, and the stars themselves seemed to be twinkling more than usual. It was nice. Then, someone put a spotlight on me and cried, “who’s there?” It was Lea, a woman from the village. Apparently Zach and I had scared them because they thought we were strangers fishing in the Tabu (pronounced Tambu) area, or the marine protected area. The villagers are very protective of the Tabu area, which is great for the reef. When they realized it was me, Lea, Kenny (Jim’s daughter) and a few other random people came down to keep me company on the reef while Zach was finishing up his swim.
We later realized that Zach’s night expedition was a very bad idea. It caused a lot of commotion in the village and has called for a special village meeting to discuss whether Zach can continue going out on the reef at night. It’s very hard to get any work done here.

Trip to Sigatoka & first foray onto the reef (7/14)

This morning Zach and I caught the local bus to Sigatoka (pronounced “Sing-a-toe-ka). It was only $F1.30, but very slow. Also, we felt like we were on an Indian version of the “Party Bus.” The driver was Indo-Fijian and blared funky Indian tunes as the bus bumped and bounced along the winding road. The seats were cherry red and the décor consisted of bright gold, red, and green flowers interspersed with random figurines. There were curtains instead of windows. It was a fun ride, but we caught a taxi back.

In Sigatoka, we stocked up on field supplies and groceries. Coolers here are ridiculously expensive - $F150.00 for a medium sized, plain cooler! We also looked for a water filter. A stander filter to hook up to the faucet was $F180. I guess we’ll just continue to boil our water and drink it brown. I also mailed off some post-cards. If they get to anyone, I’ll be amazed. Sigatoka is a lot nicer than Suva, but it’s also a lot smaller.
We made our first foray onto the reef today. It was low tide though, so we didn’t swim… we walked. The water was literally inches to a foot deep. I was amazed. There were corals! Tiny branching corals and small clumps of mounding corals. The water was warm, like bath water and HAD to be oxygen poor. The light was also intense. None of this usually bodes well for coral existence, which may explain why they were all really small. The starfish here are really cool. They’re super abundant and a regal purplish-blue. Brittle stars are everywhere as well, but tend to hide up in cracks and crevices. Our Fijian friend, Sambu (or Sam) went with us. He had eyes like and eagle. He caught a ton of little crabs for Zach (who uses them in his feeding assays to test algae palatability). He also kept pointing out dozens of poisonous eels. He would prod them out of their hidey-holes and send them slithering in the shallow water, leaving a cool snake-like trail behind them. I kept my distance… those things are deadly! He showed me a baby eel though. It was really cool.

Meeting with Ratu Jim etc. (7/13)

We survived the first night. I was tired due to lack of sleep, but I didn’t have body lice and R-O-U-S’s hadn’t attacked (see Princess Bride). Zach and I did what we could to “freshen up” and then walked up to the Hideaway Resort to meet Mark Hay for one final rendevu and to get the rest of our load of crap. Afterwards, we decided to walk to the village to meet with Ratu Jim (upon urgent instruction by Moses) about obtaining power. It was too early to go right away so we sat on a brick wall facing the ocean. Our focus turned to a crane of sorts that was “fishing” in the shallow receding tide. It was hilarious. The bird was so excited about the abundance of fish that it would flap its wings awkwardly, chasing the fish around in vain and turning its head wildly from side to side trying to determine which school of fish was better. The normal fishing habit of such birds is to stand like a statue and watch movement in the water intently until lunch swims by. This bird’s behavior was so comical it was like a Disney cartoon!

We made it to the village at around 10 am and Ratu Jim invited us in for breakfast. We had bread, crackers and butter. It was actually quite tasty. The crackers were “spit-suckers” though, and when Ratu Jim talked (which was often) they went FLYING from his mouth in bits and pieces. A sign over his head should have read: “Beware of unidentifiable flying objects.” I had to cover my tea. Jim talked about a lot of things… he promised our power would be turned on today, and he went over some “rules” with us. 1) Since Zach and I aren’t dating or married, we can’t share a room. Fine. 2) No liquor or Mary-Jane in the village, but we can have liquor in the lodge. 3) And most importantly, no work on Sundays. In fact, Jim said no working today. Okay. I can live with that, but the no working on Sundays… that’s gonna set me back. I guess I’ll have to work extra the rest of the days of the week.

The best story Jim told was of a man named Tim (a “con-man, according to Jim) who’s in the “live rock” culturing business. Live rock is stone that’s been set on the reef to let algae and other critters settle on it. People then collect it and sell it to aquariums. Jim was worried that Tim was collecting coral and/or other illegal things from the reef. He reminded Tim that Fijians practiced cannibalism in the not too distant past. He said: “If you do something behind my back and it makes me mad, I would want to EAT YOU!” He essentially threatened the man with cannibalism. Ha! I think that’s great. Terror by consumption.

Ratu Jim invited Zach and I back for a Kava Ceremony that the villagers (men) put on for guests of the Hideaway Resort. It was fun; a little “hokey” because it was for tourists, but still – I got to drink Kava! They make it by placing the dried powder of a Kava plant in a cloth. There is a special wooden ceremonial Kava bowl (very pretty) which is filled with water. The Kava drink is made by squeezing the cloth and continuously wringing it in the water. It stinks while they’re making it… kind of a soft, alkaline smell. A designated man scoops the drink out with a small wooden bowl. It is handed to the higher-ups and special guests first with ritualistic clapping and chanting. Once that’s all over, it’s given to each person in the circle individually. The appropriate way to take the drink is to cup your hands, make a hallow clap and say “Cola” (pronounced “Thola”, which is the regional dialect for Bula)… then bottoms up! Kava doesn’t taste all that great. I even caught some of the Fijians wrenching their faces after taking the bowl. It has a very bitter, plant-like taste and it numbs your mouth for a few minutes after drinking it. But, the aftertaste doesn’t linger. After a bowl or two, you start to feel a little buzz. It’s similar to caffeine, but not the same. With more Kava, everything slows down. You feel relaxed and a bit stoned. It’s not an intense feeling though. You have to drink A LOT of Kava to get a ‘serious’ buzz.

The mountains are beautiful here. I can’t remember if I said that before. I really want to hike up into them. I’m a little wary of the bugs and wild boars though. The stars are also amazing. It seems like the whole sky is awash in the Milky Way cluster. It makes the night sky look like stardust on a black blanket set with a million jewels. The lodge we’re staying in is nestled at the base of gorgeous rolling hills, which are bare at the top and covered with quiet pines along the slopes. At the base of the hills sit small individual farms with a few cows, chickens, small tin homes, and natural plant life (coconut trees, breadfruit trees, palms, and a variety of other tropical plants). Last night and tonight have been cold. The villagers say it hasn’t been this cold since they can remember. I have to use two blankets and sleep in my long pants, but at least it keeps the mosquitoes down.

Zach and I had a little adventure of the wasps today. I tried, unsuccessfully, to kill two wasps in my bedroom for an hour. The next hour Zach tried, unsuccessfully. We eventually gave up. But, not before Zach caught me on tape in a vein attempt to squash the little wasps. I really didn’t want to kill them. They were very pretty; bright gold with bold, black stripes. We opted for the tolerant approach. Live and let live. They didn’t seem very aggressive, so I’m not too worried.

One of the villagers, Mary, came by and brought us tiny bananas. They taste like a mix between strawberries and bananas. They were delicious! Apparently, the tree that produces them only blooms once and then dies. The trees are continuously planted to keep a crop of the bananas. Mary also invited us to go with her to the Hideaway Resort tonight for a traditional Fijian dance show. It was interesting. I’m not sure just how “traditional” it was, but the villagers that put it on were excited to do it, and it did incorporate several of their traditional songs.

My first night in Tagaqe (7/12)

We didn’t arrive to the village until 8:00 pm. Dammit. Zach was fartin’ around all day showing Mukesh how to make squid paste with or without activated chemicals and feeding it to unsuspecting fish. Fish: “Oooh! Look squid paste. My favorite! *chomp chomp… SPIT* Eck! What the hell is this crap?” Zach & Mukesh: “Okay, so that algae seems to be chemically deterrent. Let’s test the next one.” And the cycle continues.

It gets dark here at 6pm. I mean really dark. The dark like you imagine nothingness to be. It was even worse since there was no moon on Monday night. Anyway, we caught a cab and after an hour and a half made it to the village. Ratu Jim (chief Jim) whose name is actually Timocy (pronounced “Timothy) – how Jim is short for Timothy, I don’t know – wasn’t there. His wife gave us the key to the lodge we’re using, and some tea and sugar… and mumbled something incoherently about someone not paying their power bill. Anyway, we had the taxi driver drop us of a mile down the road at the lodge. Once arriving, we discovered there was no power. Shit. It was pitch black… like the movie with Vin Diesel as Riddick. Any minute I was expecting screeching , flying things with sharp teeth to pour out of the house and devour Zach and Putel (our cab driver) while I vainly tried to run away, only to be devoured because I tripped and feel since I was the only girl in the scene. It didn’t happen. But there was a lot of screeching coming from a few yards away in a nearby pasture. As far as I could tell rough handling aliens were anally probing several cows. It sounded painful. In Fiji, cows don’t go “moo”; they go “eeaahhhiiiiyyy”.

Fortunately, we had a few flashlights. We were able to get our ridiculously large amount of crap into the building when a villager named Mary approached us. “Bula! I’m Mary, are you the Americans?” We introduced ourselves and explained we had no power. She took us to her uncle, Moses, who gave us his next door neighbor’s lantern. Once dimly lit, we assessed our abode. I had seen the house previously and was dying to show Zach the shower and “bathroom”. As we walked into the room off the kitchen, I stepped down only to feel something dart from under my foot. Zach caught the butt end of a large rat in the light of his torch. A rat. I stepped on a rat. Great. I was a little freaked out, but I got over it by imagining that the rat was like the rats in Disney cartoons who live in cute little homes in the walls, complete with miniature furniture, a dutiful wife rat with an apron and big brown eyes, and three little children rats with cute butts. I’m over the rat phobia. Mark said I probably broke his back and now he can’t take care of his family, who are starving in the walls – the mother weeping and the children crying for their daddy. Yeah Mark, it’s a rat, okay? I can hear them in the attic though. They sound like midgets on crack scurrying around to get something very important done, but never seeming to finish the task.

Later that night, Moses came over to check on us and retrieve his neighbor’s lantern. Damn. There goes most of our light. Zach and I sat around for a while. That didn’t last long. There’s not much to do in the pitch black. We went to bed. The mattresses here are kind of disgusting. But the pillows make the mattresses seem like sterile Serta sleepers. The pillows smell like a mixture of mildew, crap, and dirt. They’re pungent. Fortunately my friend Anne left me her pillow before she went back to the US. Thank you Anne! I put a sheet over my mattress and then placed my OWN sheet (that I brought with me) over that. It was as cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra that night, so I had to use two blankets. Fortunately, the blankets weren’t bad (smelly, I mean). Unfortunately, I dreamed ALL NIGHT that I was covered with bugs. I kept picking tiny insect off of me and examining them. Some were robots that looked like fleas, which would bite and tear your flesh. I also dreamed I had body lice. Needless to say, it was a restless nights sleep. Then, at 5 am (or earlier) the big cocks started dueling by seeing who could cock-a-doodle-doo the loudest. I was up by 5:30. If you take away the sound of coyotes and the smell of bacon and eggs cooking at 4:30 in the morning, and add the sound of deranged cows, there’s an aura of grandpa’s house here.

Oh, I forgot to mention the sound of scratching on the window screen. I lay in bed and read for a while before going to bed. As soon as I turned off the light, I heard what sounded like fingernails scraping on the window screens in my bedroom. It was a little disconcerting. I noticed the sound intensified when I would shine my light on the window and then settle down a few seconds after removing the light. I summoned the courage to whip the curtain out of the way, fully expecting a ghostly white vampire with long red fingernails to be standing there waiting for me to invite him in so he could suck my blood. But, it was just geckos! Lots of tiny green lizards. I mean lots. I think I counted 16 or 17 of them on each window. They would scurry around eating the bugs attracted to my light when it shone on the window. Huh, my little insect repellents! J

I have so much to tell you about today and yesterday (Wednesday and Tuesday) - - ie. breakfast with Ratu Jim, the traditional dance show with Mary, etc. But, it’ll have to wait. I need to finish working on my paper before there’s no place left for the bugs to bite me, and get to bed.

I love you all!
Sara