The Cannibal Isles

The Fijian archipelago, consists of 322 mountainous islands of volcanic origin. In the past, these islands were known as the cannibal islands (although documentation is scarce) and were avoided by sailors due to treacherous waters and fierce warriors. The industries are tourism, sugar, clothing, copra, gold, silver, lumber, and small cottage industries. Although located in Melanesia (black islands), the demographics reflect 54.3% indigenous Fijian, 38.1% Indian (from India), and 1.2% Polynesian. The Indians were brought to Fiji as indentured servants to toil away in the sugar cane fields. As they weren't allowed to own land, they evolved into shop keepers, business people, and money lenders. The current political landscape has been marked by several military coup d'etat (1998, 1998, 2000, 2006), as native Fijians fear the encroachment of Indo-Fijians into their traditional sphere of influence. As a result, many Indo-Fijians have returned to India for safety reasons. The 2 major ethnic communities are further divided by religion (christianity vs hinduism) and language (fijian vs hindi).



Aside from the recent political turmoil, The Republic of Fiji is blessed with amazing scenery above and below the water. Home to some of the most spectacular coral reefs in the world, we planed to travel to the outer islands and "walk on the moon". In the northwest corner of the archiplego, between the islands of Vanua Levu and Taveuni lies the Somosomo strait. Fed by nutrients that emerge from the depths of the Tongan trench, rainbow reef is world famous for its multitude of reef fish and soft corals. The trademark or signature species in the area is the soft coral, which billows and undulates in the currents. The soft coral comes in dramatic, often electric hues of orange, red, pink, and white-fringed by purple. The visiblity is typically around 40 meters, making the diving similar to an aquarium.


This trip differed from our normal wilderness expeditions due to the fact that we were staying at an eco-resort. This was necessary for several reasons, mainly due to accessing the reefs. Although Fiji is less than 2 horus from Samoa you would think that getting there would be a breeze. In actuality, we had to take a 30 minute puddle jumper plane to western samoa, then take an overnight light into Nadi, Fiji. No comment on the city area of Nadi, as urban centers were not the focus of this trip. After crashing at Mama's place, we boarded our 15 seater plane for Matei, Taveuni nearly 2 1/2 hours late. At the airport, after listing the plane as delayed, our flight was taken off the board, with new boarding schedule as "pacific time" or whenever. I noticed the planes' right tire was 2/3 full and the left was completely bald as we taxied down the runway. Although expecting a crash landing, we safely touched down onto the "garden isle" as Taveuni is known due to its abundant flora.


We were met by a wild-eyed 1/2 German dude and a straight laced Indo-fijian who took us to the dock for a 40-minute crossing of the strait. The German explained that he was Silesian, which as a result of World War II and the redrawing of political boundaries, he was a German and Polish citizen - which sounded like a great place to come from if you're a secret agent. We boarded the aluminum boat and roared full-throttle across the pounding waves of the strait. As usual the boat driver said the rough waves were nothing. On the website Dolphin Bay Divers Retreat sounded remote, describing itself as without roads, disco, or electricity. As we approached a sandy cove of the south of Vanua Levu, I saw no roads or disco, yet also no resort. Immediate paranoia set in, as i thought we could be on the menu, until i noticed a smiling Fijian lady come out of the rainforest. She was a documented smiler, as she later showed us a Book of Smiles with her picture in it.



We were introduced to our hosts, a wonderful lady from germany who ran the retreat and her partner from switzerland who operated the dive shop. Our bure was constructed of bamboo and corrugate, and located a stones throw from the ocean. The host said not to worry about the paper work, just relax. Note to self- we had truly entered the garden of eden. To our surprise there were solar powered lights during the day and a generator in the morning and evening hours. We were free to enjoy heaven, except for a few simple rules. The brown dog could not be petted, the 7 cats could not be fed, yet the white bog named socks was fair game for anything. The retreat was in the middle of nowhere, but run with german efficiency. We spent the first evening meeting the other guests, and drinking Fijian bitter beer.



The other clientele were reminiscent of the casts of a television show. There was a semi gay Swiss man, who was traveling with an Indian guy from Australia. The swiss guy was famous for yelling obscenities in English, out of context and for seemingly no reason at all. The first time i met the Austrlaian guy i thought he was mentally retarded, michelle thought he had too many drinks. We were both wrong, as this was his normal persona, which included walking up to you and identifying his name and where he was from in a thick Australian accent, although he grew up in India&England. He would sing songs into the night, accompanied by one of the dive masters who played guitar. He would ask you to visit him or tell you when he was coming to your home for a visit -- the day he left we breathed a sigh of relief. There was the 1/2 german who had come to the island for an undetermined amount of time, to do undetermined things, as he recently received an inheritance (German spy anyone?). There was an angry German man, who reminded me of a prussian general, who had dived over 10,000 times and had done everything known to man. There was a California blond, who had a sushi roll named after her and believed you could pick wild oranges from any tree in California. A Cardiology medical student, who instantly attended to anyone complaining of sniffles or sore muscles. This collection of characters spent christmas together on a remote, small island in the south pacific.


Adhering to German time standards, at exactly 7:15am each morning the generator would snap into action, which was the signal for the start of the day. We would stroll over to the dive shop, organize our gear, and sit down for a breakfast of brewed coffee, fresh fruit, and toast. My only complaint (which being American Im entitled to at least one) revolved around the family style seating, where every meal was shared at a communal table. This sounds organic and wonderful, until the Australian man started bellowing an Indian love song and the Swiss man commences to belt out obscenities at awkard moments. In hindsight it was interesting to meet such a strange cast of characters and learn about their lives.



Around 8am, the dive boat would pull out and we would discuss the dive plan for the day. Depending on the currents, weather, and who was diving a suitable site would be discussed en route. Boat dives are a bit different from land dives, which we had been doing in Samoa. Each person has a partner, who simultaneously backrolls with you off the boat into the water, and you rendezvous before descending. Usually, there are 4-5 divers and 2 dive masters, who know the reef and its inhabitants. The first dive was a bit of a shock as the current was excessively strong, blowing the divers down the reef, meeting up at the bottom was difficult, as we all had to hang onto the various hard corals to keep from being blown away. My first glimpse of the reef was memorable, as the visibility was amazing and the colors of the reef reminiscent of a district of neon signs. After re-grouping, we changed directions in order to follow the current. After 45 minutes of interstellar moonwalking, we surfaced and reboarded the boat, many sustaining deep cuts and bruises. The Prussian General sustained the worse injries, and stated that he had never been in such a strong diving current. To pass the time during the hour wait on the surface in order to avoid nitrogen building up in the bloodstream, we drank tea and ate biscuits and discussed the dive plan for the 2nd dive.


When first learning to dive the underwater world seems supernatural, yet as you return to the ocean depths, things become more familiar, and as humans we begin to categorize. The most difficult thing for new divers is learning buoyancy. Each diver wears a weight belt to help them sink, and regulate their depth with their BCD or Bouyancy Control Device, which has 2 buttons for ascending/descending. Depending on how deep you go, a mandatory safety stop occurs before surfacing, lasting from 3-5 minutes. This is based on mathematical formulas, to keep you from getting The Bends (joint pain) or a condition arising from the precipitation of dissolved gasses into bubbles inside the body on depressurisation. Its effects may vary from joint pain and rashes, to paralysis and death If you do get the bends, you must be taken immediately to a re-compression chamber, and the nearest one to rainbow reef was a 2 hour flight to the main island of Vitu Liti.


The week was filled with artistically named dive sites called: The Zoo, Rainbow End, The White Wall, Jerry's Jelly, The Edge, Annie's Bommies, Cabbage Patch, Fish Factory, ect. The aquarium was filled with white tip & black tip reef sharks, which are typically smaller and less aggressive types of sharks (divers are generally more agressive). Other larger species included green turtles, spotted sting rays, baarcuda schools, Picasso triggerfish, Moorish Idol, Anemones, etc. The geography of the dives ranged from pure drift dives (where the boat drops you off at one end and you basically float on the current to the other end), caves and tunnel dives, hard coral and soft coral walls. Like a choreographed dance, the weather was sunny and brilliant each dive, wind was minimal, vibility 40 meters, water temperatures around 29 degreees celcius.


After diving we would clean the gear with fresh water, as salt water is extremely corrosive. Have lunch, which could include a freshly caught fish from the local fisherman. Followed by reading and nap time, the amount of energy spent diving makes even the most energetic spaz take a snooze. Communal dinners were in the open air with beach view. The Swiss Dive Operator and I spent many a night talking about Polynesian, Africa and south East Asian adventures, politics, and religion. for such a remote location and limited electricity, the bungalows were comfortable, spotless, and the food excellent. They even have a wine list, to share boozy evenings with fellow divers swapping fish stories. Being a closet romantic, I arranged for a candle lit dinner for 2 on the the beach with a bottle of red. We laughed away the evening as the tide creeped under the table.



The valley where the retreat was located had an arid micro-climate, where little rainfall occured. They told us that a cyclone had come through last week and brought a bit of rain, if not they would have been switching to bucket showers. On all toilets the slogan- "if its yellow stay mellow & if its brown flush it down" got to the point of water conservation. The organization of the retreat had Fijian women working in the kitchen and cleaning rooms, Fijian men as dive masters and boatsmen, Tuvaluan as groundskeepers, and Indians as taxi drivers to/from airport. Tuvalu is a small coral atoll in the south pacfifc, which may be one of the first victims of global warming. As a result of the threat, they bought an island in Fiji and moved 12,00 people to Kaio near the rainbow reef.


Mid-week, we decided to experience some of the beauty of Taveuni above the water line. Early one morning, we crossed the Somosomo strait and traveled north through the greenery of Taveuni. The only drawback was dropping the Australian at the airport, where he gave us his information and said before we came to visit, to write him an email about where we met, who we where, and the circumstances. We both laughed about how many people this poor soul had accosted during his aggressive traveling campaign. We were headed to the secluded Lavena Coast within Bouma National Park. The guide looked a bit disappointed as we asked him to cover us for the entrance fee and that we liked to hike alone. A 4km windy path took us along a rocky coast, with secluded sandy coves, suspension bridges, and a sleeping banded coral snake that we almost stepped on (it had been sunning itself). At the end of the magical walk, we reached a stunning display of beauty, including two intersecting waterfalls leading to a crystal clear river. We had to wade a small distance upriver to the base of these majestic falls. When in Rome I thought, as I climbed the smaller falls and commenced the time honored rock slide into a pool below. Great blue herons flew overhead and time stood still. Why more people can't appreciate nature is inconceivable to me. It's always right in front of us, beckoning us to come home. At times we feel as if we're seeing things that the next generation cannot comprehend. There's something deeply satisfying about doing the dead man float in a pool under the convergence of 2 waterfalls on a sunny day. I had succumbed to the euphoric powers of the fiji tourism moniker that states: FIJI ME.


Upon our return to Dolphin Bay, the hostess suggested that we may want to spend Christmas in the next bay over where they manage an upscale resort for a California couple. I stated that we prefered our bure, and when she said that we could transfer for 3 days, 2 nights at the same price i sold out, and it was phenomenal. The rainbow reef resort had handcrafted bungalows perched on a white-sand beach: large front porch, comfortable family room, outdoor bamboo shower, ornate bedroom, we were spoiled on christmas. Im a big believer, like many americans, in free stuff or perks.



Following the conclusion of Christmas dinner (cooked in underground lovo oven) we sat on fine mats underneath the stars in a circle. Guitar music filled the background, as flying foxes swooped underneath the southern cross. In the center was the kava master of ceremonies and a large handcarved bowl of muddy colored water, before us was a 1/2 coconut sheel called a "bilo." Kava is sedating and is primarily consumed to relax without disrupting mental clarity. Its active ingredients are called kavalactones. In some parts of the Western World, kava extract is marketed as herbal medicine against stress, insomnia, and anxiety. Fijians call it "grog", due to its relaxing and groggy effects on the drinker, made by pounding sun-dried kava root into a fine powder, straining and mixing it with cold water. when the Kava master fills your cup, he asks "high tide or low tide" (small or large), you say bula and clap 2 times, followed by everyone chanting bula and clapping. Bula is a word that you hear more than any other in Fiji. It can mean hello, welcome, or even exclaimed when you sneeze. It means life and is a way of saying good health to the recipient. By the end of the 800th round, we were all laying supine and singing songs like west virginia, buffalo soldier, and many fijian songs we didn't know the words to.


The last few days we lazed on our private beach deck, snorkeled, and hiked through the extensive trail network in the hills surrounding the resort. With only 2 other groups, the resort was more like a wealthy person's house that we were squatting in for a few days. The Prussian general's girlfriend had arrived, and a swiss souple working for the international red cross were our distant neighboors. After many sedating afternoons reading books: Paul Farmer in Haiti, The Sushi Revolution, and Ann Raynd cult classic Fountainhead our time in the garden of eden was coming to a close. The whole staff including the owners presented us with symbolic beads and sang us a farewell song. As we crossed the Somosomo strait one last time, we felt like we were returning from some strange planet. Im still not a resort kind of guy, but Dolphin Bay Divers is a special place, truly a retreat from the world.


While waiting for our red-eye flight back to samoa, somebody came up and said "hey doc you headed back to pago?". You know you live in a small place when 2 countries over someone recognizes you and wants to share a taxi when you get back. After arriving back in Samoa, we split the fare to transfer airports. He and his wife stated that they had spent a week shopping in the 2 largest cities on the main island and were disappointed. When asked about our experience we stated " it was ok," at which the man replied "there's nothing like pago though right doc". We arrived at the airport at 4am, which had no lights and the guard had to let us in. We shared 4 slabs on concrete for the next 3 hours with an old solo Italian lady, who had visited 235 countries, and 3 guys from Vanuatu who had never left their small islands. They had been on 4 flights (their first flying experience), and were headed to pago to work on the fishing vessels for 2 years. We helped them with their immigration papers and called their company to notify them of their arrival. Imagine the culture shock for these guys who had never met an American before, let alone an American Samoan. Our car was not towed from the airport, started without trouble, and our house was not broken into during our vacation. All in all it was a great excursion into the Melanisian crossroads of Fiji.

Enter the Dragon

The dilapidated car screeched up the steep incline to the highest village on the island, A'oloaufou, elevation roughly 1317ft. Through the cracked windshield rain clouds loomed heavy in the distance, as we explained our itinerary to the local land owner- the plan was to hike along the ridge line, due west until reaching the end of the island, where we would bisect the road and hitchhike back. The man asked where our machetes were and we explained we had none, only a compass with altimeter. As with many instances when Samoans think Palagi's are behaving irrationally, he just smiled and said have a nice day.


On the map, the area looked like a mass of unbroken green, transected only by the ridge line. No roads, paths, Pizza Hut, Disco music- only wilderness. My brief encounters with the largest section of virgin rain forest on the island, had been camping in sandy coves during kayak trips and an unsuccessful boar hunting trip on the edge of one of the valleys. In modern times only wild boar roamed this section of the island, yet in traditional society, footpaths dotted the landscape and people used to walk between villages. The retracing of ancient footpaths, just a sea kayaking along the abandoned northern coast provides a time machine into the olden ways. Where roads and sport utility vehicles had not carved up the soporific coastline.

The Swedish radiologist & I followed a small toe-path through the back of the village, as the skies opened up. We huddled under a thicket, and discussed the educational television project that had been instituted in the 1960's here. Within 3 years of its inception, the subsistence farming dropped significantly, progress on the move. As the mist lifted off our shoulders, we continued the trek. After backtracking a time or two, we came to a taro field next to a corrugate shelter. The swede, being on-call from the hospital received a call from the emergency room. Head CT needed to be read as soon as possible, unfortunately being in one of the more remote regions of the island without a vehicle, mobility was limited. Luckily another Scandinavian radiologist was at home and accepted the job as we continued our quest.

We walked to the edge of the scorched taro plantation, and found a pig trail behind some bushes. Taro, aka steroid of the pacific, provided much needed complex carbohydrates in the past, now it secures American Samoa's title as the most obese nation in the world at 93.5%. When the novice hiker is walking in the woods, they feel alienated by their surroundings, things can seem almost threatening. After spending some time in nature, you begin to realize how interconnected things are and your senses become heightened. One of these aspects is following animal tracks or in this case a pig track. The low shrubbery concealed all but a glimpse of the well-trodden soil below, but without question provided a reliable track if you looked close enough.

We maintained an elevation of 350m with westward direction, discussing the importance of The Swede's compass and altimeter. Without these aides, the bush would become disorienting, as the ridge line twist and turns gaining and losing altitude. We did not here the ocean during the course of the trek, only the rushing sounds from clear mountain streams as they navigated the divide. If there is one thing besides taro and bananas that Samoa has in abundance, its water. The only sign of the elusive boar was a few tracks in mud pits along the spine of the dragon. Occasionally, losing the trail we stumbled on many artifacts of traditional society, stones from foundations and some type of rounded bowl carved from solid rock.

Except for a colony of flying foxes, occasional birds such as the kingfisher, we were alone with the mountain. After six hours of rappelling down steep hillsides, rock climbing cliff faces, and maintaining our western bearing, the concept of darkness entered the play. With only a headlamp and some peanuts, spending a night with the mosquitoes in the forest seemed like good possibility. Hence, we decided to enter the veins of the mountain, and follow the river system south to civilization. This proved very difficult, as the streams became rivers, and the rivers ultimately waterfalls. Being a microscopic organism would have been a great way to run the rapids, but unfortunately being a human, it was overtly awkward and dangerous. Luckily, rivers change their direction over years, leaving a lower grade on one side for coming down the mountain.

We had descended over 200 meters, yet knew at some point the small waterfalls would become a miniature Niagara falls, we had too much elevation. As the slopes of the water system became steeper and the flow of the water increased, we knew that spending a night in the green maze was all but inevitable. This prospect would eventually require us to re-climb the mountain, as there was no suitable level ground to sleep horizontally. Just when the situation looked dire, i noticed a lone banana plant to my right. I had not seen a banana plant along the entire trek, and as we pulled ourselves over the ledge- the mother lode- a plantation and sounds of the sea crashing along the shoreline. We had reached the end of the island, and had stumbled onto taro fields interspersed with old army surplus tents. A few Samoans where constructing a small house, and looked no more surprised to see us then had we been one of the chickens strutting around.

A "Malo" greeting was exchanged and they pointed us in the direction of the road. I asked why they were living in tents so far up in the mountains. They explained that that the tsunami had destroyed their village and they were afraid to live along the coast. They had been squatting in the hills for almost 2 months and planned to rebuild there settlement here. In order not to intrude, we thanked them for there help and proceeded down the path. We had not heard of people living in the mountains after the disaster. The path was well constructed with a slight grade, providing a wonderful descent to sea level. The Swede & i joked about what good fortune it was to encounter the camp, which had been the best route all day, no tracking skills required.

As we descended to the road, we marveled at how camouflaged the trail was and what great effort was needed to climb the 1/2 mile trail to their homes. Only, a tsunami could make a Samoan leave his idyllic seaside village and coerce them live in the hills. We wondered how many other tents were in the mountains, people reconstructing their lives after so much loss. A truck appeared from around the bend and we hopped in the back. We guzzled a cold beer and beamed at the adventure, which seemed almost choreographed, as if pulled by marionette strings.


We ended the afternoon at the local Filipino pizza shop, finishing every last slice from a large hand tossed vegetarian. The emergency room paged The Swede again, this time his presence was mandatory. We parted ways covered in dirt, smelling like wet dogs, and completely content. The map stated we had walked only 10 miles, but like many things in life- if you take the road less traveled, the experience cannot be quantified.