Article:

THERE WE GO: FIJI – A COUNTRY THE TOURIST FORGOT…

By Jayne Seagrave

 

I had chosen to visit Fiji on a whim, after seeing an advertisement at a bus stop in Vancouver by Fiji Airways offering direct flights (12 hours). Following the breakdown of a thirty-year marriage, 2023 was to be my first Christmas and New Year alone, and I was keen to escape the invites from well meaning friends to share their family interactions (and tensions) during this festive time. I knew nothing of Fiji other than it comprises of over 300 islands, having an excellent rugby team, and that the people were reputably very friendly. What I was not aware of was that it is essentially undiscovered. On 25th December 2023 I boarded the flight, returning ten days later.

Fiji is special – but it may not hold this status for long. It is a forgotten little backwater - how I image Hawaii or Mexico or Majorca were 40years ago. There are very few tourists and those I met were all from New Zealand or Australia. During my entire vacation I never spoke to another North American or European.

The guidebooks and internet sites I had read in preparation for my holiday advocated visiting the capital city – Suva, so after a couple of days on the beach, which in a cliché way offered everything one would expect from a Pacific Ocean Island; clean sandy beaches, blue safe waters, palm trees and endless sunshine, I drove on the well maintained, quiet island highway to this city. During my day in Suva I saw only five tourists, all in the Grand Pacific Hotel, a building dating from the early part of the twentieth century, where I had decided to have coffee, and where my guide books told me to visit.

It took me all of twenty mins to look around The Fiji National Museum, which the experts described as being the premier tourist attraction in the city. While there I even tried to gain access into a storage cupboard in search of more artifacts, as could not believe this museum consisted of only one room. There was a single employee running the establishment, and when I exited through the gift-shop I could have taken everything with me as no employee was in evidence. Visitors that day comprised of me and two fathers with two three-year-old boys. The museum was in Thurston Gardens, a park where hundreds of bats hung from the trees and made loud bird-like screeches. I shared the location with the bats and two smiling, patrolling police officers, but no one else.

From the museum I headed to The Parliament Building which was supposed to have an interactive display. Upon arrival I was greeted by ‘Charlie’, a taxi driver standing in the “Reserved for The Prime Minister” parking spot, who told me the display was closed and the Prime Minister not available - as if I was planning to see him. Charlie asked if I’d like to visit the post office, so, as he seemed very keen to show me, I agreed. We entered the Parliament Building - interestingly Charlie could access the aged security coded panels - and walked through miles of tunnels, past wood panelled closed doors to the underground post office, located in a deep bunker. This post office sold not only stamps, but packets of chips, canned drinks, condoms, soap, and a collection of used books. All items looked like they had been in place for decades, as did the two employees. Purchasing stamps for Canada was no easy task as different stamps were needed for Ontario than for British Columbia, and adding up the various costs complicated, as clearly the workers had not been given this objective before. I left the bunker post office via the police vehicle car park, watched by grinning officers eating their snacks who obligingly pointed the way out. I then strolled the short distance to the Presidential Palace, again closed to visitors and guarded by a tall, uncommunicative gentleman carrying a riffle.

From the Parliament Building I walked into the town of Suva. There was an excellent huge, fruit and vegetable market, a bustling downtown, but again remarkably no tourists. Unlike so many other countries known for visitors with money to burn, I was never approached for cash. As a woman travelling alone, I never felt threatened or unsafe. I was for the most part ignored; just another individual going about her business.

Even the flight from Vancouver to Fiji seemed to be from another century. Fiji Air used an older plane, so there was considerably more leg room, even in Economy Class. Only one bottle of red and white wine could be found on the drinks trolly (when you try to buy alcohol in Fiji it’s distributed from locked cages in the difficult-to-find supermarkets, and customers are made to feel deviant asking for the cage to be opened). The meals on the Fiji Airways plane are not dispensed from the trolly, instead the attendants deliver four trays to four passengers, then returns to the rear of the plane to retrieve more. Quaint.

Only four planes were on the tarmac in Fijis International Airport when we landed. A band was playing local music as the passengers entered the terminal and grinning passport control officers welcomed us to their country. Clearly no one was expecting the importation of drugs or wild non-native animals or kidnapped Eastern European women for the sex trade. Everyone welcome.

In days when it is becoming increasingly difficult to travel to other countries and feel like you are not just the same as thousands of others embarking on the same path, Fiji is uniquely special. The question is how long it will remain so.

 

 

Jayne Seagrave is a BC Best selling Author. The ninth edition of her book Camping British Columbia, the Rockies and the Yukon was published by Heritage House in April 2023. Over 60,000 of her camping books have been sold. She also writes fiction, non-fiction, freelance articles and occasionally teaches writing and publishing.