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!