In Suva, the Fijian capital, Suzi decided to stay on board the ship, but I wanted test myself against the hot and thick air. As I got outside rain with wind tore on the tarps of some of the market stalls across from the pier. I decided to take the shuttle bus downtown rather than walk in the rain. One of the reasons I got on the bus was to avoid the aggressive touts trying to sell me tours, massages and handicrafts. The bus had more Fijians than cruisers, there were only three of us. It was midday and more people were coming back to the ship for lunch than going out. The bus was put on by a tour company, and the Fijians were touts selling tours for the next port, Lautoka, on the same island. One woman told me that she would get up at 4 AM to drive there to meet our ship. The bus was not a good advertisement. It was a regular sized bus, but the seats were three abreast on the right side and two abreast on the left. If this were Japan, I would say that this is because of the smaller size of the folks in the country (have you ever ridden on a Japanese domestic airliner?) but the Fijians on this bus were some BIG fellows and gals.
The traffic was heavy. It was the Saturday before the new school term. The touts were great conversationalists when they realized I wasn’t buying. There are three, three month terms a year. The first starts at the end of January after an 8 week vacation. The other two terms follow a two week break. This is the start of the new school year and there were families out with kids in backpacks doing their back to school shopping.
It took about half an hour to go a little over a mile. By the time we arrived the rain had slowed. We were greeted by five buskers, two on guitar, two on yuke and a drummer. I was able to walk a bit more than a mile without stopping to rest, although I did find myself short of breath in the heavy air.
Suva fashions itself as the “New York of the South Pacific.” It probably has a PR agent who was a direct descendant of the guy who called Sitka “The Paris of the Pacific” in the early 19th Century. Other than the hustle there is not much resemblance. The town is an architectural mix of English colonial, with balconies out over sidewalks allowing us to walk in the rain, and modern steel and glass, with shopping malls interspersed with small shops.
City buses were windowless with canvas or plastic rolldown curtains for the rain.
Bula is the Fijian word for hello, welcome and goodbye. It’s Fijian counterpart of Aloha. Three types of people greeted me with hearty Bulas, cops, little kids, and touts trying to sell me, well everything. But it was good natured. I got so many Bula Bulas that I began to think I was heading to a Yale football game. (Boola Boola is the Yale fight song.)
Back under the balcony where I was dropped off one of the buskers offered me a seat and they serenaded me and one other ship passenger until the shuttle bus came. I left a tip, both for the music and the seat.
There were more touts on the bus back. Not only the tour operators for tomorrow, but people urging us to visit craft booths near the dock. Miss Sara was insistent that I “needed” a message when I got off the bus. “Less expensive than on the ship and better.”
When I got off the bus, rather than rejoin the ship, I went to the market across Rodwell Road. The one that had its tarps flapping in the wind on the way out. I had to be careful crossing the street, while there are crosswalks, they are more suggestions than actual crossing places. The best bet is to get into the middle of a scrum of Fijians who step into the street when the cars show the slightest space between bumpers and to stay in the middle of that scrum.
When in the market I needed to take care because the lines for the tarps that merchants had put up before the rain were just at neck level. I got back to the ship in time to join Suzi for a late afternoon espresso.
The sail out sunset was outstanding.
