Fiji like a tourist

Think Pacific really did offer us the best all round Fijian experience. Not only did we fulfill our potential as volunteers, supporting the young community, we had a chance to explore the island just as though we were on holiday. Every Saturday, the team leaders took us out on trip. Usually they found something within an hour's drive and each outing offered a view of a new Fijian landscape.

The first weekend, we traveled to a waterfall. Here, just as with any attraction center, we were given a professional guide. But as far as attraction centers go, this was the only similarity. The building looked just like a Fijian house from the outside , with it's corrugated roof and single-story walls, but on the inside it was patterned with trinkets and hand-crafted products; it was a gift shop, with all the items lain on the floor for browsing. Before Leah and Ferg paid for us, we had a quick look around then were required to undertake a short kava ceremony with the manager. At this point, joined by a few Australian tourists and we experienced a strange, new feeling that Leah liked to call 'Tourist Snob.' Watching the backpackers giggle and take the cups of kava with a confused sort of amusement, we felt superior to them somehow, more cultured, and rather protective of the culture they seemed to be laughing at. We shook this feeling off however, when a young, tight-muscled Fijian guide beckoned us, and we began our walk.

It was uphill, but not steep. Through the forest we traipsed through nine streams that cut across our path; for once I felt grateful for the sparkly yellow jelly shoes that mum had slipped in my packing. All lunches were zipped up inside long bags that swung at our sides and Haz and I took turns to carry ours. It was a short walk, shrouded by tall palm trees and the smell of warm, tropical air that fizzed with insects. The streams got deeper the closer we got and soon we found ourselves disregarding the stones and fallen logs and just wading straight through.

Finally, we heard it. A constant heavy rush of water crashing into the pool below and lighter, shallower streams tinkling down the wall of weed and stone. At once, our pace quickened, like we were racing each other to get a closer look. The waterfall was beautiful. Everyone wanted to be the first to take a picture and the first to dive; the latter being delayed a little by the lunch break we took upon arrival.

Food was scoffed rapidly. Many of us who had swimming costumes on beneath our clothes found ourselves stripping even as we chewed. That was until a new spectacle had our mouths hanging wide open with dread. Our guide, who had babbled away pleasantly enough during our walk, did not stop to watch us eat. No. He was currently climbing the steep rock, ready to make his own colossal splash. Within minutes he had reached ridiculous heights, each hand and foot sucking him to the crevices like he was molded for it. When at last he stopped, our hearts stopped alike. Surely, he wasn’t going to jump from there! But of course, he did, flinging his belly out and ‘wooping’ on the way down. His plunge was met with a round of applause and he continued to perform his jump until we were ready to join him.

Not everyone wanted to make the jump. Some only waded in the pool below which was clear and beautiful anyway; although perhaps, the thousands of stones underfoot restricted the number of footsteps we took. I braved the climb, of course, just once, although I’m not a fan of jumping off slippery surfaces. To my delight, we didn’t go nearly as high as the instructor, but it was certainly high enough. Thankfully, the guide, who climbed ahead of each one of us, also held our hand when needed. Although the climb was not far, it was precarious and hard to navigate. We all had the heart-quenching fear of watching Andrew slide back down a few feet at the start of his ascent, a poor choice of fate for one who was already afraid of heights. But he made it, and like the rest of us, had a fantastic experience.