Journey with Christina

After three weeks in the glorious, but modern country, being chauffeured around I figured it was time to get back to some real adventures. Everyone, in New Zealand was raving about Fiji and because it was only 3 hours away we decided to make yet another side trip there before hitting Australia (eliminating our intended work-away). After a little research, I found out that you can do a homestay in a traditional Fijian village. Jon and I booked ourselves at the small village of Malakati, in the remote and stunning islands of Yasawa. The village had about 200 inhabitants who have not changed their lifestyles much in the past 100 years.

The ferry we took for our 5-hour journey to the Yasawa island of Nacula and the village of Malakati from the water.

This village was traditional! I was required to wear a sarong and neither of us could wear sunglasses or hats when walking throughout the village. As part of our entrance we also were required to bring the chief Kava. This was supposed to be an actual Kava root but being clueless we brought some premade packages at the recommendation of our hostel in Nadi. It did not make for much of a presentation in a plastic grocery bag so we also were told we should hand him a $20.

The people of the village live very simply, basically from the land. They fish, keep chickens and grow large gardens. Kitchens are in separate metal outbuildings and food is still cooked with an open flame. There are no tables or chairs or even silverware, they eat sitting down with their hands. Grateful, Jon and I were provided with some silverware. The villagers each took turns providing us with meals in their homes. By the end of the three days Jon and I were both pretty sick of fish for every meal even though it was delicious. The first stop off the island, in true American style, we order a pizza and scoffed it down.

A typical meal while on the island.

Jon did win the boyfriend of the year award by arranging to have our meal served on the beach one night. We sat facing the glorious lagoon, a slight breeze cooling us while a few of the teenage girls serenaded us.

Our “home” was a simple bure directly on a turquoise blue lagoon. We basically had the beach all to ourselves as the villagers rarely used it. We snorkeled, read and just sat admiring the amazing view. At night, we would fall asleep listening to a gecko and a mouse fight over the prime real estate of the corner beam (thankfully the one furthest from our bed).

Our bure.

After our first day of meeting the chief, lazing in the hammock and swimming in the picture-perfect lagoon, I meander off to the bathroom facilities. The toilet was normal but barely flushed, on most occasions we had to pour a bucket of water in-order to get anything to go down. It was also a novelty for the other villagers and we were told to lock up the toilet. The shower was a separate stall. I headed in looking forward to washing of the salt and grim of the day. Under the shower head, which was just a spout, was a big blue bucket filled half-way with water. I thought that this was odd but figured they did not want to waste. I turned the spout. Nothing. About this time, I realized that the bucket filled with water was how we were to bathe. Wetting and rinsing ourselves with an empty butter container. I did the best I could but it was not that heavenly feeling of washing away the days sweat and grime. To imagine that most of the villagers use this bucket method every day and have never felt the refreshing sensation of a good shower (can you tell I missed showers!).

Me and Jon on the stunning lagoon with not a soul in sight.

Sunset from our bure.

We were lucky enough to be there on Sunday to attend a church service which is very important to their culture. In fact, they have three service on Sunday and many people go to all three services. The women sit on the right, the men on the left and the children in the middle with many dressed in white. There is a privileged spot next to the minister for the chief and other elderly prominent men. On the other side of the minister was the most magical choir we had ever heard. Their voices were like pure silk. The whole mass was done in their local dialect so I have no idea what was said but it was a magnificent experience.

The church.

The cost for the experience was about $100 a night including all our food. This money goes directly to help support the village. There is also a store to purchase items open odd hours and they would gratefully take donations. This is well worth it, despite not having a shower, not only do you get to have a gorgeous stretch of fine white-sand beach to yourselves you are also helping a community and gaining a better understating of how many in Fiji live.

View of the lagoon from the mountain we hike behind the village.

Our final farewell (after 3 days of bucket showers)