Life and the Meaning of Fiji

Originally published in The Sunday Times (U.K), April 2013.

On her first afternoon at the beach my three-and-a-half year old daughter, Sylvie, discovered a beautiful striped sea snake half-buried in the sand beneath warm, shallow water. It was small, just the width of my index finger and I encouraged my sweet, trusting daughter to touch it. “But only the tail,” I cautioned. (At least only what I assumed was the tail.) Sylvie dutifully patted the snake before it slithered away and we continued exploring the perfect, unspoiled beach as the sun began to set, blazing the sky purple and orange. A holiday in Fiji is full of small, delightful moments like this and I am looking forward to many more of them over the next week…

A few days later I’m sitting on the dining deck of the Water’s Edge restaurant, gazing out over the calm and sparkling blue water of the South Pacific, wondering what it would be like to live here on Castaway Island, in the Mamanuca islands of Fiji.

In the South Pacific you are surrounded by beauty: the beaches of pure white sand and sapphire-blue water; the lush, stunningly colorful vegetation; the warm, friendly people, many of whom – male or female – wear comely frangipanis in their hair. You will see heart-meltingly gorgeous sunsets, dramatic storms, and live in a small, very comfortable island cottage or bure.

Nestled among Castaway’s verdant garden of banana trees, frangipani, coconut palms, red ivy and papaws is our own bure, modeled after the traditional Fijian village hut made of reeds and thatch. It’s spacious and welcoming, and although we aren’t far from other bures it nevertheless feels very secluded and private. There’s even a little native skirt laid out for Sylvie.

Castaway’s own existence is unabashedly family-focussed; their Kids’ Club is free and offers a great variety of games and activities with a distinctly local flavour. It also offers parents the chance for a few precious hours on their own. Sylvie enjoyed herself at Kids’ Club; I know that because after we dropped her off her mother and I spent our few precious hours of self-time hiding in the vegetation covertly observing her catching hermit crabs and building sand castles and running a three-legged race. We did it because our entire existence centres around her and is utterly meaningless without her.

Naturally, there are plenty of exciting and invigorating activities for adults at Castaway – deep sea fishing, waterskiing and scuba diving to name a few – and I find that after day three I yearn for something to break up the beautiful, addictive monotony. At the western tip of the island I see people parasailing. I’ve wanted to do that ever since I was a kid; it looks highly colourful and highly exhilarating, and at GBP35 it is highly affordable. In fact, this is precisely the kind of diversion I am after… Unfortunately, I will never, ever do it.

It all comes down to whether I’m willing to risk spending rest of my life in a wheelchair for the sake of a few thrilling minutes. According to my fevered projections this can come about in various ways: a sudden gust of wind causes me to slip through the harness. A murderous seagull flies beak-first through the parachute. Disintegration of tether rope leads to floating away and disappearance of self. There are many other scenarios and they all end with my crashing into that beautiful, rock-hard water. And then onto the jagged coral reef just beneath the surface.

Nevertheless, I decide to investigate the situation a little more closely and roll myself off the hammock I’ve been trapped in since breakfast and make my way along the beach to the parasailing take-off area. The nearer I get the more certain I am that I won’t be doing it. From a distance it doesn’t appear that you’re all that high off the ground. It’s only when you get up close you see that the parachute in fact takes you way, way above the earth’s surface. And only when you get up close do you see that most of the people doing the parasailing are twelve year old girls…

In search of an alternative, I decide on the catamaran. After a lifetime spent never sailing anything at all, I receive a 60-second briefing on what a sail does, what a tiller is and what that rope there is for then jump onboard. It is surprisingly easy to maneuver and far less treacherous than parasailing and I have a marvelous time up until I find myself in a sealane with an enormous ferry bearing down on me at many knots, some 3 to 15 nautical miles away. I need to turn to port (or starboard) with extreme immediacy but there appears to be no wind, or it’s blowing the wrong way, or my sail is the wrong colour or something for I find myself and the cat just bobbing on the waves not going anywhere or doing anything other than waiting to be rammed. Back on Castaway, staff are jumping up and down and waving in my direction and I can’t help panicking a little… Until I realise that they are actually getting ready to welcome the new arrivals on the killer ferry. And those aren’t special-shaped nautical flags of warning they’re waving, they’re guitars. I change direction 3 oceanic degrees, my spinnaker (or something) gathers, and calmly sail on. I will live to eat another day.

I’m glad about that because the food at Castaway is both plentiful and excellent, most of it locally-sourced from organic farmers. Wednesdays are particularly good because it’s Fijian Culture Day, and the dinner banquet of local specialties often features pork baked in the lovo, or earth oven. There’s also smoked octopus in coconut cream; sea grapes (also in coconut cream); coconut cream in coconut cream; mouth-watering wood-smoked chicken; and for dessert there’s haupia an absurdly more-ish coconut jelly.

Continuing Fijian Culture Day at Kids’ Club, the children spend hours learning a traditional dance which they are to perform that evening dressed in skirts and tops decorated in native patterns. Most of the island is abuzz with anticipation, and shortly before sunset all the parents gather near the bar overlooking the beach and begin recording proceedings with very sort of recording device known to man. The dozen-member amateur dance troupe are a little out of synch in the beginning but gradually come together and soon all of them are putting their whole selves into the twirling and chanting and clapping with a sombre earnestness that’s completely endearing whether you happen to be a parent of one of them or not. (And if you happen to be Sylvie’s parent, the experience is just that much more gratifying.)

At lunch the next day we watch as a family sit forlornly with their luggage, waiting for the South Sea Cruises ferry to take them back to reality. Suddenly the father jumps up from their table and runs over to reception. Is there a dispute about the bill? Did he leave something in the bure? I can’t help myself from asking Lingo, one of the resorts managers, who tells me that the man couldn’t bring himself to leave without having next year’s Castaway holiday already booked. In further conversation, I also learn that the creature Sylvie discovered and patted on our first day was most likely a highly venomous, highly deadly Sea Krait. “But don’t worry,” Lino assures me when I suddenly turn pale. “No one’s ever been bitten on Castaway.”

Getting there

A 150-seat South Sea Cruises catamaran departs Denarau Marina three times a day for the 90-minute journey to Castaway Island. Fares are from $40 one-way for adults, $20 for children under 16. Children under five ride free. See ssc.com.fj.

Staying there

Castaway Island bures accommodate four people and cost from $350 a night. The optional (but highly recommended) meal plan includes hot and cold breakfast buffet, a la carte lunch and dinner menus, wood-fired pizzas all day and theme-night buffets, costing $50 a day for adults, $22 a day for children 5-12 (kids under five eat free). See castawayfiji.com.

All prices quoted are in USD.