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.