CAST AWAY IN FIJI

Originally published in The Australian newspaper, February 2014.

When I first saw ‘Cast Away’ in the middle of a cold and wet Amsterdam winter in 2000 I couldn’t have dreamed that thirteen years later I’d be having breakfast on that very same island. And yet here I am, with my wife and daughter on a perfect November morning eating freshly baked pastries, juicy tropical fruit and hot coffee. We have not washed ashore after a plane crash; we’re here with Ray from Malolo Island Resort. Ray is a boatman and he is very cool; he sits on the roof of the small runabout’s cabin and steers it with his dangling left foot.

We’ve woken at 6am in order to take advantage of the early morning’s flat seas. It’s warm and the sky is blue as we walk along the palm tree-shaded path between the sea and the white, colonial-style bures down to Malolo’s jetty. After a smooth and stunningly scenic ten minute boat ride we arrive at Monuriki, where Tom Hanks’ character, Chuck Noland, spent 1500 days in pure isolation. Ray tells me that ‘mon’ means land and ‘riki’ means ‘place from where you can see a long way’. Appropriately, the 16 hectare island is deserted but we are not the first visitors since Chuck left; on the sandy tip of the beach there are coconuts arranged in the shape of a heart, and above it the words ‘HELP ME’ rendered in small rocks.

Somewhat disconcertingly, Monuriki looks only vaguely like it does in the movie. It may be global warming or rising sea levels but I can’t see, for example, the spot where Tom did his fishing, or the place where he first created fire. On the other hand, those abrupt, 180-metre high cliffs where he was going to end it all by jumping off are definitely there. They’re the ones that put the ‘riki’ in Monuriki.

After breakfast, we snorkel and explore the island a little bit more. and then I come up with what I think is a very clever idea. In order to more fully immerse myself in the ‘Cast Away’ experience I ask the others – Ray, and my beloved wife and daughter – to abandon me.

For half an hour.

Most of the other guests at family-friendly Malolo are parents of young children; consequently most of us spend of our holiday applying (and reapplying and reapplying) sunscreen to writhing, wriggling, reluctant children. And telling them to wear their hat. And helping them on and off with their sandals. And spraying insect repellent on them. And pleading with them to eat vegetables as well as endless amounts of pasta. And telling them to stay in the shade of the pool. And not splash other kids and scream and shout too much even though plenty of other parents are quite happy to let their own kids do precisely all that. And as I lie on a sun lounge by the busy kids’ pool I reflect on my thirty minutes’ isolation that morning and can’t help wishing it had achieved a more Hanksian dimension.

By the time happy hour rolls around, even if you haven’t done much, you can’t help feeling you deserve a drink. At the Beach Bar next to the jetty I have a delicious coconut-spiked mojito that takes the edge off my anxiety at not being Tom Hanks. Nearby, some of the staff are playing rugby on the sand and in the water. Beneath the soaring apex of the adjacent arrival bure a musical trio sings a highly unpredictable mix of pop standards and traditional Fijian tunes. Soon after cocktail two, bamboo torches are ceremoniously lit and when a blue-winged seaplane lands in the bay fifty metres away from me and my tiny umbrella the picture of tropical paradise is made complete.

The following evening at this time we take a sunset cruise. For company we have a few bottles of the excellent local lager, Vonu, as well as a charming, voluble and very funny host/guitarist/singer named Amare, who proceeds to massacre (lyrically at least) various songs by  Roy Orbison, Eric Clapton and ‘The Beatles’, whom Amare believes are responsible for  ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’ I have to confess that the idea of a sunset cruise always struck me as pretty corny, even a little boring, but it’s actually an extremely terrific thing to do. The beautiful water, the neighbouring islands, Captain Ray’s dangling steering foot, the firelight along the shore at Malolo, the vast shimmering clouds and the ever-changing colour of the sky as the sun slips slowly and spectacularly – it’s all  quite magical. Although I can see that 1500 days of it might be a bit much.

Leaving Sylvie in the hands of babysitter (which costs an absurdly inexpensive $5 per hour) my wife and I head up to Treetops for dinner. This adults-only restaurant is perhaps the crowning glory of Malolo’s recent $3 million refurbishment after the devastation wrought by Cyclone Evan in December 2012. The restaurant’s entrance, via a double-wide wooden staircase reminiscent of a Colonial homestead, is quite spectacular while the airy dining room overlooks lush tropical gardens and the resort’s tiered pools. The ambience of tropical chic is  continued inside, with large wooden chandeliers, shuttered windows and waiters in white.

The menu, which changes daily, is a first-class marriage of fine contemporary cuisine with local touches, typified by a lime-infused pumpkin soup entrée I have which is outstanding. It’s followed by a slow-cooked beef cheek with a perfectly fried garlic prawn on top – chef Yngve Muldal’s play on surf and turf – which may be the single best thing I’ve eaten in half a decade.

Malolo Island was once a copra plantation, and in a nod to the past the bures here are built and furnished in colonial style; white ceiling fans spin above white tiling floors and white wicker furniture. There is no Wi-Fi and no TV, and neither is missed because the water and the snorkelling are both outstanding here. And both are conveniently located on the doorstep of just about every one of the island’s 49 bures, however due to the rocks and coral reef shoes are absolutely essential. My wife suggests to the resort’s very affable manager Steve Anstey that they begin making their own line of shoes with red soles and call them Malolo Blahniks. He loves the idea and promises to get on it right away. We promise to come back next year and check.

The Australian newspaper.