China Pictures Part 1

Juyongguan Pass

You must be crazy to climb the wall

Shower-Toilet

Climbing the walls……..

Like the Great Barrier Reef, the Great Wall of China is worthy of the title “Great”, not necessarily for its architectural grandeur, although there are subtle design features which are elegant; nor its’ structural beauty, it’s really just a stack of bricks set in an grand landscape, but it earns the designation for the sheer size and magnitude of its’ construction. The scale is absolutely astounding. Although started in the Qin dynasty (~210 BC) the heyday of its construction was during the Ming dynasty (14^th-17^th centuries). The Great Wall is ~5000 miles long, ~15-20 feet wide,~25  feet tall, these are rough figures, but you give you some idea of the immensity of the structure and why it is considered one of the 7 Wonders of the World.  Over three days, I had the opportunity to climb five different sections of the wall; Badaling, Juyongguan Pass, Huang Hua Chang, Mutienyu, and Jinshanling; and in that time I hiked maybe 20 miles, so while I may have seen more of the wall than the average visitor, in reality I saw very little of the wall.

Climbing the wall is not as easy as you might think. Except for the real touristy sections, you usually have to walk up quite a number of stairs or climb part of the mountain just to get on top of the wall, or if you want to take the easy way out, at some touristy sections they have cables cars which will bring you up the wall with no effort on your part. Climbing the wall is not like hiking up a mountain where you walk up in one direction to the top and then down in the other direction to the bottom. When climbing on the wall the general trends are upward and downward, but since the wall follows the contours of the mountain, you walk up and down in both directions; picture a stock market chart. In many places the wall is steep, sometimes very steep, and there is very little level ground on top of the wall; you are always either leaning forward walking up or leaning backwards walking down, and as if that wasn’t difficult enough, in one section they added a twist. At Mutienyu, the top of the wall is also slanted to one side in order to allow rainwater to run into a gutter running along the edge. Climbing the wall is not necessarily dangerous, but you certainly have to watch your footing. In the touristy sections, the stones of been replaced, paths are smooth and they’ve even added a handrail; everything is fairly solid, but even there, the rise and run on stairs is not always of the same height or depth creating a challenge and when wet they can be slippery. In some of the wilder places I hiked, stones were broken or missing on the path and stairs, guard towers and the wall itself were crumbling, and large sections of the ramparts were completely gone.  You could easily trip, fall, or walk right off the edge of the wall, but these were the most interesting and beautiful places to climb. Best of all, there were relatively few people in these areas and many times I would be blissfully climbing completely alone.

I gained my first glimpse of the wall, high upon mountaintop, as we were stuck in traffic on the way to our way to the first stop Badaling. Traffic is horrible in Beijing, the surrounding area and pretty much everywhere I went in China, including the rivers; but what can you expect in a city of 20 million and a country of 1.3 billion. Badaling is the closest section of the wall to Beijing and the most visited by foreigners and Chinese alike. According to my guide Sean , the reason for its popularity is that Chairman Mao once walked on this piece of the wall and said anyone who climbs the wall here is a hero, so now all the Chinese people come to this section of the wall, to them Badaling = The Great Wall. It’s funny, as you enter the gate to climb up onto the wall you can go either to the right or to the left. Virtually everyone goes to the right since this is the way Mao walked, it is also less steep than going to the left, but there were what seemed like thousands of people going to the right and maybe a hundred going the other way. This part of the wall has been restored to accommodate the hoards of visitors and they’ve even added handrails to make the climb easier.  Given all that, Badaling was my least favorite section.

My next stop was Juyongguan Pass. This part of the wall was out of the ordinary because it wasn’t just a straight line of wall; it encircled the mountain pass so you could walk completely around its 2.5 mile circumference. Known as the Juyong Stronghold it guarded the Juyong Pass. There is a gate at the north and south end of the valley that travelers would have to pass through and the wall rises from the gates and runs across the mountaintops flanking each side of the pass with the town inside the ring of wall. It’s really like a big castle, but instead of lying on flat ground, the walls are on the slopes and mountaintop. The first part was steep (always start with the hardest while you still have energy) and I thought tough, until I saw a little old Chinese lady with a cane slowly climbing the stairs one step at a time and she was almost to the top.  I had been climbing for 40 minutes and she may have taken much longer, but I still was amazed; it’s a hard climb. I later met a 62 year old Chinese man on the way down. One interesting architectural feature was the rampart; like a castle, the crenellations at the top of the wall for defense were only on the outer facing part of the wall, the inner part being low and rounded. Although Juyongguan Pass has been repaired and they’ve added handrails, it still is an impressive part of the wall to visit.

Huang Hua Chang – “Yellow Flower Village” was probably the best section of wall I visited. It is a wild, raw, unrestored part of wall. This part is not open to the public; I know this because that’s what Sean told me and you pass a sign saying so after you pay an old farmer 2 yuan, about 30 cents, to cross her land to climb up onto the wall. Climbing here I had the wall almost all to myself although I did meet two girls from Switzerland at the “end”.  It was not really the end, because the wall did continue on for a long way, as far as you could see, but at this point the wall took a steep downward angle and the steps were badly deteriorated making any descent dangerous. You could also see a little further along that there was a break in the continuum of the wall and vegetation was growing along the top of the wall. Besides that, my time was up and I needed to head back. How it worked was that Sean would get me to the wall and then tell me what time to be back, usually about three hours. I would then climb as far as I could leaving enough time to get back to where I started, assuming that if I did not return at the appointed time Sean would come look for me; glad I didn’t have to test that assumption. We stayed at a local “hotel”. I’ll never understand the logic of an all in one toilet/shower. That’s where the bathroom has a drain in the floor and the shower is next to the bowl without any separation or curtain; it’s like a shower with a toilet bowl. Everything gets wet when you shower. I can understand it on a boat where you are space limited, but on land it doesn’t make sense to me. The whole room smelled damp and moldy. They had a large concrete basin outside maybe six feet long by three feet wide by three feet deep, filled with about a foot of semi-clean water and an aerator bubbling in it. There was also a large, bottom dwelling fish in it. Turns out that was dinner; at least I knew it was fresh.

From there we went to another touristy spot, Mutienyu.  There they had two gondolas that would take you up to opposite ends of the wall. They also had a “toboggan” run that you could ride down. There is no ice, the sled runs on plastic blades in a steel half-pipe. Having seen them on TV and always wanting to try one, I rode it down; lots of fun. For a touristy section, Mutienyu is not too bad. It has a nice steep finish with a set of nearly vertical steps that end on top of a guard tower for a great view. The day I was there people were applauding if you made it to the top of the tower. There is the obligatory gauntlet of souvenir shops and vendors you have to pass to and from the parking lot, but you see these at every section of the wall and anywhere tourists congregate in China.

The final section of wall I climbed was Jinshanling. This was the farthest from Beijing and outside the municipality of Beijing; and because of the distance it did not have very many visitors. This is a very beautiful, very long section of wall. Here you can walk 10.5 unobstructed miles and it was the only section where I ran out of time before I ran out of wall. There was still a lot of wall flowing up along the mountain ridge and I had the energy to go on, but unfortunately my time had run out and I had to return as the sun was starting to set. Jinshanling was a splendid way to end my adventure climbing the Great Wall of China and was an experience I will never forget.

Next up Beijing to Hong Kong with a side trek to Tibet.

norb-posted by emelia

Mt Fuji Pictures

Starting out optomistic.

Bus stop base camp.

Our intrepid climbing team.

What you saw most of the time.

Down off the mountain.

Space Blanket.

The hallway camp.

Best view of Mt. Fuji all day.

Exhausted.

The Trifecta.

The French guy.

Only a fool ...........

There is a proverb in Japanese that roughly translated goes something like: “You are wise to climb Mt. Fuji once and a fool to climb it twice”…….. I wonder what that makes me? 

The traditional way to climb Mt. Fuji is to arrive at the mountain in the evening and climb overnight so that you arrive at the summit in time to observe the sun rise over Tokyo. My plan was to arrive in Tokyo Tuesday, bus to the mountain and reach the summit Wednesday night, climb down and bus back to Tokyo Thursday, use Friday to recover and Saturday morning fly to Beijing.  They were predicting a typhoon to hit Japan on Friday, so I thought that would be enough time to get up and down the mountain before the storm made landfall. There are 4 different trails up the mountain so I decided to take the bus from Tokyo which takes you directly to the Mt. Fuji Kawaguchiko 5^th station; which is the easiest way to get there, and climb the Yoshida route. Stations are way points along the trails with “huts” where you can buy food, water, oxygen tanks (if you need one why are you climbing), have your walking stick stamped (wood burned) and sleep (many people will climb almost to the top, get a few hours sleep, and then finish the climb in time for sunrise).  Stations are number from 1-10, 1 being on the bottom and 10 being the upper most, so when you start your climb at a 5^th station, you’re already a good way up the mountain, but the numbering system is not that straight forward as there can be more than one station for any given number, for example there are at least 10 7^th stations on the path I climbed.

Mt Fuji rises to over 3700 meters and the Kawaguchiko 5^th station stands at ~2200 meters. They say during the peak season (July-August) there are thousands of people climbing the mountain, so even though I was travelling alone, I was confident I would meet someone to climb with along the way. It was August 31, but the official climbing season had closed on August 22 this year. You can still ascend the mountain, I don’t know if they ever stop you from climbing, but the huts start shutting their doors and the weather gets progressively worse as the year goes on. Having read about climbing Mt. Fuji, I brought my large backpack and felt I came prepared with all the essential items needed to conquer the summit; food, water, raingear, warm clothes, and a headlamp, as well as a few other non-essential but useful items. When you start your climb it will be warm as you work up a sweat hiking the lower level, but as you go up in altitude it would get progressively colder until you reach the summit where it could be freezing and most likely there would be snow; and there is always the potential for rain. There were only about a dozen people or so on the bus and I noted many of them were not carrying much at all, small backpacks, no raingear and one couple was only in shorts, tee shirts, and carrying a tiny camelback looking more like they were spending the day at the beach than climbing a mountain; maybe I had over packed. When we left Tokyo it was very hot, humid and sunny, but as we approached Mt. Fuji about two hours drive away, it started to rain; and it would continue to rain virtually non-stop until we returned to Tokyo the following afternoon. Since I didn’t know exactly what the procedure was for climbing Mt. Fuji, when we got off the bus at the 5^th station I quickly followed everyone into the only shop that was open to get out of the rain and get my bearings. The shop was a combination bus stop, souvenir shop, restaurant (although it had already closed) and kind of base camp; with toilets, lockers and a small open space to prepare for the climb. As everyone started changing their clothes and gearing up for the climb, the tentative, polite small talk of strangers thrown into the same, shared unfamiliar situation started; “Hi”, “What’s your name?”, “Where are you from?”,”Why are you climbing?”, “Are we insane?” ; the jury is still out on that last question. As we slowly got to know one another better, a small troop started to form. Our unit consisted of Carey from Japan, who spoke perfect English; his three Japanese friends, 2 gals and a guy; Jeanette, a lone traveler from Boston; Sean and Blaine, a young couple from Arizona; and me. This was the makeup of the group at the start of the climb, but it would change several times before the night was over.

Carey was the proverbial fool i.e. he had climbed the mountain twice before. Since the rest of us folk were Mt. Fuji virgins, who spoke virtually no Japanese, we smartly gravitated towards his expertise and made Carey our unofficial leader which he graciously accepted. Everyone in our group came fully prepared to climb except for Jeanette who did not anticipate rain and therefore brought no rain gear, but the store sold everything the forgetful or unprepared climber would need. Sean and Blaine had come straight from the airport with all of their luggage. They had booked a “nearby” hotel and thought they would have time to check in before the climb but were surprised when they found out the hotel wasn’t that close and it would have cost them $130 taxi fare one way, so they had no choice but to leave their belongings at the bus stop. Wanting a memorable memento to mark the occasion, and having read a review about its’ value, I purchased a wooden walking stick and planned to have it stamped along the way. The article was absolutely correct, it was very useful in maintaining your balance on the uneven footing, easing your steps on the way down and giving you something to lean on when stopping to rest; I highly recommend one if you climb. Finally at 9:30pm, with everyone dressed and full of enthusiasm and confidence, we turned on our headlamps and stepped out of the shop into the darkness and the pouring rain. Once you left the glow of the bus stop windows there were no lights on trail until you reached the next station and you could only see as far as the reach of your headlamp. I think this was a good thing for if I was able to see the difficult terrain and the height of the mountain I may have quit right then and there. On the first part of the trail, the path is good with a relatively gentle slope upwards. Even though it was raining and the walk wasn’t that strenuous, after 30 minutes you were already sweating. From here on the exact timeline of events was lost in an arduous, wearying, sleep deprived climb.

At some point before reaching the next station, one of Carey’s friends had a problem with her boot and he told the rest of us to go on and they would meet up with us later further up the mountain; that would be the last we would see of Carey and his friends until the next morning. Once on the path you can’t get lost since there is only one way… up; there are other people climbing the trail to follow, although they were few and far between, not the hundreds I had expected; and there are signs, in Japanese, indicating your position and pointing to the top, so the rest of us continued on. While you can’t get lost, you still can walk off the edge of the path, so in many places there are light reflectors to keep you on the straight and narrow. At some point the path became “stairs” and then the stairs turned into uneven volcanic rock; there would be variations on this theme all along the way. We reached the next station and stopped for a short breather and to see if Carey would catch up. After a reasonable wait time Sean and Blaine had had enough rest and headed on; that would be the last time we would see them on the mountain, and a short time later Jeanette and I started up. Jeanette would be the only member of the original group who climbed with me the entire time. As we stopped to take short breather at another station, a fellow named Mike from, Portland Oregon, asked to join the two of us. He had been watching groups go by and said he chose us because we spoke English and looked like we would make it to the top. Since comaraderie is part of the Mt. Fuji climbing experience we welcomed his addition and the 3 of us would remain together until we were back in Tokyo. On we climbed.

After a while Mike needed to use the toilet bad, however when we reached the next station the facilities were closed. On we climbed as Mike’s need grew greater with each step, however at the next station, the facilities were also closed. On we climbed as Mike’s need grew desperate; thankfully at the next station the facilities were open much to his relief. You could tell Mike was one of those people who had not prepared for the climb because he was wearing one of those bus stop bought, clear, see-through raincoats, made with plastic about as thick as a dry cleaning bag, and it had burst Hulk-like as he had stretched it over the small backpack purchased just that morning for the climb and he had also purchased the matching rain pants. The climb was a spur of the moment thing for him. Since I had brought tape with me (I told you I came prepared), we took the opportunity to go into the toilet facility to tape his coat and get out of the rain for a few minutes. It’s not as bad as it sounds, there is a central hall with several stalls on either side, it didn’t smell too bad, and best of all it was out of the relentless rain. As we were taping Mike up, another intrepid trekker entered and believe it or not, asked to join our party. Unfortunately I don’t think we ever got his name since the three of us always referred to him as the French guy. Why…. because he was French of course, and he became quite a character in our adventure. Talk about unprepared, the French guy was only wearing regular pants, a sweater, normal shoes and was carrying a small handheld flashlight. He had no backpack, raingear, food, water, nothing else. We tried to tell him that he was unprepared for the top but he was persistent, so he became a new member of our team. Out of the toilet and into the rain we began climbing again. Climbing was difficult. Even if we didn’t have the continual downpour it would still be tough but the rain made the rocks slippery with the rivulets of water coursing down, visibility was poor, and the muscles were starting to feel the strain. My legs were achy, my hips were feeling the weight of the backpack and my breathing was increasing, but if we continued our slow steady pace I had no doubt we would reach the top. As we climbed higher it started to get a little colder, the rain was intermixed with sleet and the wind began to pick up, so at the next station I donned a fleece. We tried to convince the French guy to stay at the hut for the night, but he said he wanted to test himself and see how far he could go. He was still convinced he could reach the top. I give him credit because he made it farther than I ever would have dressed the way he was, so on and up we went.  At the next station, growing evermore weary, we tried again to convince him to stay. He still said no, but at least this time he asked the cost, 5000 yen (~$65); he only had 4000, so on and up in the rain we climbed. The French guy was always bringing up the rear slowing our pace, which was a actually fine with me because Jeanette and Mike were half my age, if that, and would have had us moving much faster, maybe too fast for me; when his flashlight went dead.  So now we were using our lights to light our path and to try and light his path as well, which is difficult when you’re climbing single file.  We got to the next station and again tried to convince him to stay. He checked on the price here, still 5000, so I gave him the 1000 yen he needed, I didn’t want to see him die on the mountain, at least not with our group. He still wanted to continue, this guy had more guts than brains, so on and up in the rain we went. Jeanette was leading us, followed by me, with Mike nursing the French guy in the rear. Before we got to the next station, Mike caught up with us. We asked where was the French guy? Mike said they were climbing along and when he turned around to find the French guy standing still, holding on to rock, looking like he was frozen solid. Mike was then able to convince him to go back to the last hut and stay there until morning.  I was thinking that might be a good idea for all of us, but on and up in the rain we climbed.

The rain kept falling fast and furious, the wind was blowing, and I think we passed two more stations, the details are a little sketchy, but I do know this, when we walked past the next station and turned the corner to continue our climb, the wind was howling like a lone wolf on a full moon and blowing the sleet sideways. We decided to take refuge for a moment in the toilet facilities to assess our situation and plan our next move. It was now 1:30 am. We had been climbing for 4 hours and from our starting point at Kawaguchiko 5^th station they say the climb to the summit should take 5-7 hours. Obviously with the rain slowing our pace we knew it would trend towards the upper end of the range, but we had no idea exactly where we were on the mountain. Being able to read Japanese would certainly have been useful; wish I had continued taking my classes. We were tired and a little sore, at least I was. We were wet from rain on the outside and sweat from the inside, but not really cold; and we knew that the toughest part was yet to come because the trail gets steeper the closer you get to the top, becoming almost vertical and the weather would only get worse. As we were contemplating our options to continue up, head back down, or stay in one of the huts, a Japanese fellow, who looked like he worked in the hut at this station, entered to use the facilities for something other than our town hall debate. As he was leaving we stopped to ask him where we were. His English was not very good, but through hand gestures, pointing and lots of one word sentences we found out that we were at the last 7^th station on our way to the eight. He also determined for us that based on the speed we had climbed this far, it would be another 4-5 hours to reach the top, but it was the next thing he said that clearly convinced us our journey to the top was over. He said it was too dangerous to climb and the guy looked dead serious. We verified it with him a couple times, asking it in several ways but each time the answer was….. too dangerous. He wasn’t going to stop us if we wanted to go on and in our minds we knew he was right, but in our hearts it was difficult to accept. We had worked so hard to get this far. Okay, so now what? We knew the goal of reaching the top of Mt. Fuji had ended, but should we climb down now or stay in the hut? We decided to at least go down 1 or 2 more stations figuring that everyone would stop climbing up, stay overnight in the huts and come down in the morning clogging the trail, so at least we would be ahead of the crowd, therefore we started climbing down in the rain. Climbing down was harder on the lava rock portions and you really had to watch your footing to avoid falling; this is where the walking stick came in handy. As we were climbing down we met Sean and Blaine coming up the trail. I thought they had been well ahead of us on the trail and have no idea when or where we had passed them. Being young and foolish, they listened to our story of the dangerous conditions that lay ahead, but still fool heartedly went forward thinking that they would accomplish what we could not. We wished them Good Luck! and went our separate ways knowing that it would only be a matter of time before they learned the error of their ways. We met many more people coming up the path as we climbed and those we spoke to, like Sean and Blaine, continued up despite our warnings. 

We climbed down a few stations, took a breather and reassessed our situation again. None of us was sleepy, we would only be in the hut for a few hours, and the cost was relatively expensive for what you got; a small space on a hard mat, packed like sardines, next to a bunch of wet sweaty hikers. The only advantage as we saw it was you were warm and out of the rain. We decide that we would continue down to the bus stop, change out of our clothes and use the money we would have spent on the hut to buy us some sake to keep us warm. That was a much better plan, or so we thought at the time. The more we climb down the more tired my legs became, but at 3:30am, after 6 hours of climbing in the pouring rain, we finally arrived at the bus stop ………………..to find it CLOSED!  There are other shops and restaurants at the Kawaguchiko 5^th station, but nothing was open and the way they designed the buildings there was really no shelter from the elements. As we looked around to find other hikers who most surely must have come down off the mountain before us, we spied some movement, at a lower level, by a building near the parking lot. That must be a restaurant, shop, or room where wet hikers can find a warm cozy spot to rest their weary bones. Our hearts sank when it turned out to be a drafty, semi-clean hall next to smelly, unsanitary, public bathrooms. Several hikers were there trying to dry out their clothes, stay warm and get some sleep. Some folks had even taken of their shoes and boots and were standing barefoot or with their feet wrapped in plastic bags because that was warmer than their waterlogged footwear. The same question was asked of us as everyone who strolled into our makeshift camp that night, “Did you make it to the top?  Dejectedly we said “no” and tried to find a clean, dry space to squat. I was lucky, or smart, because I had a full set of dry clothes in my backpack including long underwear and a goose down jacket, but if I was so smart, why did I just spend 6 hours, in the dark, during a typhoon, a typhoon that would later claim at least 80 lives, attempting to climb Mt Fuji. I changed my clothes and loaned Mike an extra long sleeve shirt (Mike I would like my shirt back!), a hat and gave him the fleece I was wearing; the sleeve cuffs were a little wet, but it was much warmer than what he had on. I had an extra pair of socks and although my feet were wet, there weren’t really cold so I loaned them to Jeanette who needed them more; told you I came prepared. We settled in with the rest of the refugees swapping stories and small talk, while killing time and trying desperately to stay warm until the bus stop opened at 6:30am; our bus wouldn’t arrive until 1:00pm. While we were climbing it was fine, but once you stopped moving the wet, cold, chill to the bone set in. The bathrooms were large, warmer and could have easily held us all, but the unpleasant smell and unhygienic conditions kept everyone from using it as anything but a toilet. While we waited in our exhausted, hypothermic, stupor, more hikers joined our encampment including Sean and Blaine. They had made it only slightly farther than we did, never reaching the 8^th station (they should have listened to us) and were really bummed because all their clothes were safely locked up in the bus stop. Another couple settled in and opened one of those silver space blankets which was a great idea. It packs very small, is extremely light weight and was big enough to cover 3 people; with a couple of those and my tape and we could have built ourselves a tent. I will definitely be adding that to my supply list. Sadly no one in the camp had made it to the top.

Finally around 6:30 the bus stop opened and you never saw people move so fast to be inside, dry, and warm. Some folks bought socks and shirts, but the most popular item came from the vending machines (the restaurant would not open until 9:00am)…. hot drinks. The vending machines sell cans of hot tea and coffee and people in the group bought them rapaciously, actually empting two of the vending machines much to the chagrin of the climbers who would arrive later, then lovingly cradled the warm metal containers in their hands before savoring the now tepid liquid; I think the heat was more valuable than the contents. As we waited, the other shops and restaurants at the station started to open, busloads of tourists began to arrive and more intrepid trekkers came down from the mountain. We saw Carey and his friends, but they had only made it to one of the 7^th stations before calling it quits, but we saw no sign of the French guy. Around 10:30, Mike Jeanette and I decided it was time to have a hot meal and get ourselves that bottle of sake we agreed to so many hours ago. We crossed the street to pick up our sake in one of the gift shops and check out all the available restaurants. With sake in hand, we found a quiet, roomy, uncrowded restaurant with a table overlooking the bustling 5^th station center. We placed our order, cracked open the bottle and toasted our incredible journey. Jeanette showed off her the dry shirt she had packed which ironically had printed on it “No such thing as a rainy day”. We finished the first bottle of sake rather quickly and still had plenty of food and time left, so we decided to have another bottle. Lunch was now gone and so was the second bottle of sake, but we still had time left before our bus would arrive, so we bought a third bottle of sake, which of course we also finished. Mike had been our sake buyer and when he went back for the third bottle he reminded the seller of the first two purchases and negotiated a discount, so it really was a good thing we had three J Feeling full and fortified we headed back across the street to catch our bus. As we waited the final minutes, who should walk through the shop door…..the French guy! He had safely made it off the mountain. The bus ride back to Tokyo was uneventful and of course it was hot, humid and sunny when we arrived. I was supposed to meet Mike and Jeanette later that evening, but when I got to the hotel, I fell asleep and slept way past our scheduled meeting time (Sorry guys)

I tried to climb Mt. Fuji and never reached the summit, but I am confident that I had the strength, stamina and determination to make it to the top had the weather not intervened; heck, I never even saw the top of the mountain since it was shrouded in clouds the entire time.  And I would like to try and climb Mt. Fuji again; anyone want to join me?  So am I wise or does that make me a fool? You be the judge.

Sayonara,

Norb-Posted by Emelia

Daku

Here are some photos from Daku.

The underwater photos were provided by Matt.

 

My Bure at Daku.

These are BIG leaves.

Anyone interested?

Daku from above.

View from the shala yoga platform.

Reef? What reef?

I love you man!

Boat seen from below.

Leaf fish.

Yellow fish.

Feathery Coral.

Fishy, Fishy.

Trumpet fish.

Norb-Posted by Emelia

It must be the karma…..

It was a short flight from Nadi to Suvasuva on a small, ~20 seat, propeller driven plane. They weigh you and your carry-on first, then assign seats to properly balance the load. They also keep the cockpit curtain open, which I don’t know if it is a good idea or bad idea since you can see the pilots in action and out the windshield. I noted that on takeoff, the pilot and co-pilot hold hands together on the throttle; how sweet. This is not unusual for the pilots, but it is for others as many of the people I met at the resort commented on the procedure. It’s not that the pilots like each other so much, apparently it is a safety issue should the pilot have a heart attack or stroke on takeoff. A heart attack is more likely on landing, at least from the passengers, because you come in over a mountaintop and nose dive along the downslope towards the runway before pulling up at the last moment to land. I’m sure the angle is not as steep as it seems while sitting in the plane, but since all you can see out the windshield is the ground rushing towards you it gets your attention. I was met at the “terminal” by JJ, who was disappointed that he failed to pick me out of the 6 arriving passengers (there was another old white guy on the plane) because he takes pride in being able to do so. JJ is a charming gent, originally from the UK, with a stint in South Africa, before coming to Fiji. He’s kind of cross between Dudley Moore; short, British and funny, and George Hamilton; old and very tan. JJ told a story of actually working with Dudley Moore in commercials and he works hard on his tan, if you consider lying in front of your cottage or floating on a raft in the pool, as the tropical sun turns your skin a nice leathery brown, work.  You can do that when you own a resort in Fiji. JJ and his wife Delia are the owners of the Daku Resort, a small resort quite different (in a good way) from Wananavu and most other resorts on the islands. More an intellectual retreat than resort, Daku hosts many workshops throughout the year. The week I was staying there was a yoga workshop being held, the following week would be the botanic painters and they had just finished one on marine biology. The resort is also much more personal. JJ shuttles you to and from the airport and will give you a ride to other places if his schedule allows; and Delia will take you on snorkeling trips or hikes to the waterfall and participate with you in those activities. The number of staff is small and have been with JJ and Delia for years, so you see the same smiling faces every day; Kenni coordinating meals and assuring you have a cold drink if desired, Raj managing reservations, billing and IT support, and the 75 year old cleaning lady that JJ would never have the heart to let go. Then there are the dinners, my favorite part of the experience. Every evening it was like coming to Thanksgiving dinner and meeting your cousins for the first time, or being invited to a dinner party at JJ and Delia’s home, which Daku really is, and getting a chance to meet new people make new friends. You don’t get that other resorts. Dinners are a set menu if you choose to dine at the resort, sometimes a buffet, other times individual servings, but always communal. Everyone, including JJ and Delia, sit at a long table, eat together and converse with each other. One night you might be sitting next to Kristy who works for the Australian High Commission in Lombassa, the next night it might be Rachel the banker; self-deprecating, with a dry sense of humor and dead pan delivery so funny she doesn’t even know it. Or Jim, a guy I briefly met on the first on the first night, but unfortunately did not have much time to talk to because he was leaving the following morning for a 7 day live aboard dive trip. I needn’t worry though, for I will see Jim again. Jim was sitting a few people away from me at dinner when I overheard him sharing his story that he too was travelling around the world, only he’s taking one year; how cool is that! As he’s recounting his itinerary I hear him mention China. I say, hey I’m going to China too, when are you going to be there? He says starting September 9^th. Wow, what a coincidence that’s when I start my tour in China. Now there are only 9 people on my China tour and it turns out that Jim is one of those people. So here we are, two guys independently travelling around the world, who wind up at the same, small, out of the way resort in Fiji and have booked the same tour in China. What are the odds of that! It must be the karma of Daku.

Of course I had to do some diving while there. Daku doesn’t have much of a beach. They do have a strip of land next to the water which contains a small reef, but it’s not a nice sandy beach like you might expect for Fiji. They don’t have a dive shop either, but they do have a close relationship with the Jean Michel Cousteau resort, just a short 70 minute walk down at the end of the gravel, pot-holed covered road; they seem to have a lot of these in Fiji. I dove for 3 days, the last two with Matt, an Aussie sailor who was also staying at Daku. The diving we did at the nearby reefs was okay, but we really wanted to dive a site farther out in the open ocean called Namenu, which is supposed to be one of the best sites in Fiji. Every day we asked to dive Namenu, but the dive master said not today, maybe tomorrow, because the weather is too bad; so we always dove within the protection of the bay. It was hard for us to believe because it always looked so sunny and beautiful where we were. Although Matt had to leave and my scheduled diving was done, I told them that if there were going to go to Namena before I left on Sunday, to let me know. On Friday night I received the call to say we would be going to Namena on Saturday. Even though I was leaving on Sunday, I couldn’t pass the opportunity so 7:30 am Saturday morning I was on the boat heading out to Namena about an hour and half away. After 20 minutes or so, we passed the protection of the bay and moved into the open water. The waves were a little larger out here and it wasn’t long before the boat started to rock and roll like a stoner at a KISS concert. When the waves became higher than the boat, I began to second guess my decision to dive Namena. The boat wasn’t that big, maybe 25 feet long, but like chief Brody I thought we needed a bigger boat; and the waves were running at least 8-10 feet high. I was standing, because it was easier than sitting, holding on for dear life and looking out the windshield as the wipers pointlessly struggled to do their job. As we were coming down off one wave, the next wave came up over the bow completely covering the front of the boat and almost bringing us to a dead stop. All I could see through the windshield was water, and water was pouring into the boat through some front vents. I assume the boat is designed and built to do that, but being a landlubber it’s not comforting to see your boat filling with water. Mentally I was checking for life preservers and thinking what I would do should the boat capsize or start to sink. Shortly thereafter the dive master announced that we would not be going to Namena today because we still had quite a ways to go, the tide would be coming in so it would only get worse, and it was just too dangerous to continue.  He asked if we were okay with his decision. While I think everyone, including myself, agreed, we were all like “Well, okay if you think so”, no one wanted to admit he was right. If this was a good day to try and go out I can’t imagine what it would have been like earlier in the week. On our way back we saw a sailboat that had crashed on a reef the night before. It was lying on its side with a gaping hole in the bottom. I tried to get a good picture of it but our boat was bobbing more than Ali in fight with Joe Frazier. Despite not seeing Namena, I did learn a valuable lesson while diving this week, one that I understood conceptually but came to fully appreciate after the experience. Having completed a back roll entry, I was breathing through my snorkel waiting for the other divers. When you’re floating on the surface, you use your snorkel to conserve the air in your tank; this is especially useful for an air hog like me. Once everyone was in the water, it was time to descend. Let me make it perfectly clear, you cannot breathe underwater with a snorkel in your mouth. After a moment of terror and the thought that I would drown because of stupidity, my training kicked in and I replaced the snorkel with my regulator. Compressed air never tasted so good.  Yes I can hear all you divers, S.O.R.T.E.D. and where was your buddy; believe me it will not happen again.

On the days that I didn’t dive, I participated in the yoga workshop. When I first suggested that I wanted to join their class, the ladies were a bit skeptical of my ability since I told them I had never formally taken yoga and they said this was not a workshop for beginners. I did explain to them that we use similar postures and movements in the weekly aerial conditioning class I take at Aloft Loft (www.aloftloft.com), but they still had their doubts. If you’re ever in Chicago, you should stop by the studio and drop into the conditioning class, it’s awesome; or you can try one of their other circus classes like silks or trapeze. The yoga class at Daku was led by a gal named Lotus (of course). Her original name was Tokie (sp), she was raised on a commune and I’m guessing her parents were children of the 60’s. She now lives with her husband and four children on the small Fijian island of Koro where the ferry stops by twice a week and the plane only once. They try to be self-sufficient using wind and solar power, raising their own food and home schooling the kids. For the first 15 minutes of the yoga class, if I closed my eyes, which we were supposed to do, I could easily imagine myself in aerial conditioning since the movements were the same ones we use for warm up.  In fact about 75% of the movements we did in yoga class we do in conditioning, the difference being that in conditioning we do them faster, we concentrate on the physical movements more than the spiritual component, and not once have I been asked to “breathe in the light”. Sure I didn’t place my palms in the proper upward facing position and maybe I did fall asleep for a moment during the breathing and relaxation segment, but conditioning had trained me well because by the end of the sessions I had completely changed their minds on my sincerity and ability for yoga. Namaste!

On Friday we were joined at Daku by AJ and Julie, a couple from New Zealand. Julie is a life coach who had come with her husband to assess the resort for a workshop she is planning for November.  It must be the karma, for there is another famous life coach who has a resort, spa and “mastery university” on the island, Tony Robbins. You can learn to walk on fire there, but I bet Tony won’t pick you up at the airport or dine with you while telling non-PC jokes and regaling you with stories of scuba diving with Sandra Bullock. There was a big “footie” (rugby) game being held on Saturday night; the final match of the Tri-Nation (Australia, New Zealand, South Africa) series to determine the overall champion. The Australian Wallabies were playing the New Zealand All Blacks and it was a game AJ, an avid sports fan, could not miss. Daku has no TV and the only place in town showing the game was the yacht club. Not knowing much about footie and wanting to see more of Fiji life, I joined AJ and Julie for a night out. The club was nothing more than a room with a small bar and a large TV and wide doors open to the hall and out to the marina. At one point a large gecko came out from behind the set and scurried across the wall. There were only about 7 of us in the bar with a dozen or so sitting out in the hall. I thought they were there because the room was so small, but it turns out the hall was not part of the club and they were sitting there just to watch the game and drink their own beer. We arrived in time to see the “haka”, a traditional Maori war dance performed by the All Blacks to intimidate their opponents. Unfortunately it didn’t work as they were trounced in the first half and wound up losing the game.  I felt sorry for AJ and Julie, they were the only ones cheering for New Zealand in a sea of Aussie loving Fijians; reminded me of Packer fans at Soldier Field, pathetic losers.  I asked AJ a lot of questions about the game which he politely answered along with occasional input by an Aussie seated near us. At one point I jokingly asked the guy if he owned the 65 foot yacht parked outside, turns out he did. After the game Julie commented that AJ was remarkably patient and actually listening to me during the game and answering all my questions in detail, something he apparently doesn’t always do with her. Maybe he felt sorry for the guy who has to watch the poor substitute for real footie, American football or maybe he just wanted to keep his mind off the game since his team played so poorly. Either way I learned a lot about the game and a little bit about Fiji as well. By the way, the World Cup of Rugby starts September 9 and the USA does have a team in it.

Doing his best Jacques Cousteau.

On Sunday it was time for me to leave. At the airport I caught up with Bev, her sister Katrina, and their 90 year old mother; both girls were born in Fiji. Katrina and her mom still live on the islands and Bev owns a cottage at Daku, but she did the unthinkable. Bev moved from Fiji to Australia and on top of that she married an Aussie too; sacrilegious.  When saying their goodbyes and how much they would miss each other, mom couldn’t help but throw in a little guilt reminding Bev that she was the one who left Fiji behind. We boarded the plane while Katrina and her mom drove down to the end of the runway so that they could wave goodbye. As we watched them from the plane I could see tears welling in Bev’s eyes; it was a heartfelt moment.  I was leaving just an island, she had left her family and a way of life.

Ni Sa Moce

Norb-Added by Emelia

Unbelievably this marks the half way point of my odyssey. Next stop Japan and the challenge of Mt. Fuji.

Hi All,

It looks like China is blocking access to my blog, I think they heard how awesome it is, so I won’t be able to post anything for a while. I’ve asked Emelia to post this note and we may try to do other posts this way, but unfortunately photos will not be included if we do, only text. One thing you learn while travelling is the differences, good and bad, between the USA and other countries; freedom of ideas and speech is something special. Cherish it.

norb

Do you Wananavu?..............

One beautiful view of Fiji

The main road

Bula! That is the greeting you will hear from everyone you meet in Fiji whether in the hotel, the villages or just passing people on the road; and it’s usually accompanied by a wide happy smile. The flight from Sydney to Nadi, pronounced Nandi, on the island of Viti Levu took 3.5 hours over hundreds of miles of open water. The drive from Nadi to the resort of Wananavu took almost as long covering only a fraction of that distance along the only road that circumnavigates the island; mostly paved, sometimes gravel, and like roads in any city, under construction. The going is also slow because the road travels through the many Fijian villages where your rate is reduced even further through the use of speed humps, but what’s your hurry, you’re now on Fiji time. That’s another statement you also hear quite often, “Fiji time”, a pace a little slower, and a little more relaxed than the rapid pulse our normal day-to-day life. Viti Levu is the largest one of more than 300 islands that make up the Fiji archipelago. The area is divided into 14 provinces and further divided into districts within the provinces; Wananavu  is on the north end of the island in the Raki Raki district of the Ra province, and a million miles from your worries and cares. Leaving the main thoroughfare, 

View along the gravel road

Wananavu  sits on a peninsula 2.5 miles down a dusty, pot-holed, gravel road which I came to know quite well as it became the avenue of my daily ramble for there is no fitness center; there is no phone, no TV.  You don’t come here for those things, you come here to get away from those things; and for many, you come here to dive.

The small boat

The reefs around Fiji have some of the best soft coral in the world.  There were two large groups of divers at the resort when I arrived; one from New Jersey and the OBCD’s (Old Broads Dive Club). I was talking to one of the ladies of the club and she said started diving when she was 58, she is now 63. Later I would dive with Bob, 73, and at the next island a young boy age 10 would be part of our dive group. It just goes to show that diving is relatively safe, not too physically demanding and a sport that can be enjoyed at all ages. The big boat was full the first day, so instead of going out with the seasoned divers I opted to join two novice divers, Graham and Marcella, a honeymoon couple from Portland, Oregon. We took the small boat over to another island about 15 minutes across the water where we would start with a shore dive. To me the leaky wooden vessel, with warped floor and 75hp outboard engine that wouldn’t initially start, did not inspire confidence and looked too undersized for Lake Michigan yet alone an open expanse of ocean, however it did not fail and served us well the whole time. We landed on the beach and as we were preparing for our dive I looked across the water to my home island for the week; a volcanic, mountainous, land mass, covered in lush green vegitation, rising from the cerulean water,  reaching upward into the sapphire sky and golden yellow sunshine. The image was out of this world and I commented aloud “I can’t believe I’m in Fiji”

Heading out to dive

and had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. How did I get so lucky to come to this island paradise? There wasn’t much to the first or second dives, they were more to get Marcella and Graham comfortable in the water, but on the second day we moved out to the deep water of “The Bligh”. The Bligh, named after the captain of “The Bounty”, is a stretch of sea that separates Fiji’s two main islands, and the one’s I would be visiting, Viti Levu and Vanua Levu. . Kudos must be given to the Fijian crew, these guys are amazing. Without GPS and no buoys to mark the reefs (they keep getting stolen even if they use just an empty plastic Fiji water bottle) these seamen can find the dive locations in a great plane of plain blue sea just by using landmarks on the island, an island I could barely see at times because of the clouds; paradise is not sunny all the time. The water where the coral reefs lie is a lighter blue than the deep blue surrounding them but to be able to know that the reef we want is this one and not the one a hundred or two yards further is pretty amazing. Our dive spot this time was “Heaven’s Swimthrough”, and heaven it was.  Fantastic canyons of feathery soft coral, like living pieces of dainty lace, growing out from the ravine walls and up from the sea floor. The passages were sometimes barley wider than shoulder length apart, but always breathtaking in their color, fragile delicate beauty and filled with fish. On this dive I had reduced my weights and felt and my buoyancy control improve dramatically; from that point on all my dives became much more fun and enjoyable. The following evening before I arrived at dinner Marcella would be recounting her experience to Ben and Rachel, the husband and wife resort managers. She was telling them how good she felt swimming in, out and through the narrow coral passage and how she thought she was doing very well for a beginner. Unfortunately her bubble as a

The dive team

 diving savant was burst when Kristen, our dive master, let on that she (Kristen) was swimming behind Marcela holding onto her tank and actually guiding her throughout the dive. The letdown was pricelessly funny and Marcela took it all with great humor. That evening I entered the dining room, as I had the previous nights, expecting to have a quiet dinner by myself writing in my journal and working on my blog. We had a late lunch that afternoon because diving took a little longer than usual so I didn’t go to dinner until 8:00. As I came through the door I hear this shout “There he is, NORB!” It was like I was entering the “Cheers” bar and I was Norm. Astonished, I didn’t know what was going on. Marcela and Graham, who seemed to have started celebrating their last night a little early, were talking to Ben and Rachel about me; don’t know why. Days before I had just met them, did a couple dives with them and had the courteous conversation you would have with interesting people you had just met; nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently they had  been waiting for me and there was an ongoing running joke that Rachel didn’t think I existed as she had not met me earlier in the week and hadn’t seen me around. She and Ben usually introduce themselves to the guests, but I had come in under their

These things are worth a fortune in Australia

radar. They invited me to join them for a drink and then to dinner. We laughed hard and talked for hours. It was after midnight before we finished; Ben had to catch a flight in the morning and sadly Marcela and Graham would be leaving that afternoon. It was a great evening and another example of the fun of flying. (Marcela, if you’re reading this, I’m still waiting for that photo.)

On the third day I dove on the big boat with the more experienced divers. It was there I met a retired couple from Texas.  The lady l is an award winning underwater videographer. They have been to all 7 continents, over 70 countries and have dove pretty much all the great spots in the world so I thought this would be a great learning opportunity, and it was. I learned she is a b…..,

The big boat

somewhat unpleasant person. Self-important and disdainful, I did not hear a please or thank pass her lips the entire time.  She was constantly telling her husband what to do, demanding things instead of asking and nothing was ever right or good enough for her; the soup too spicy, the other divers idiots, the dive master swimming too fast for her to video. I once commented on the beauty of the coral and her response, said with contempt, was “I don’t care about coral, I’m only interested in the small stuff”. I’m a new diver, so I’m still looking at the forest, for her videos she is not looking at the forest or the trees, but is down to the blades of grass, yet for all her experience in some ways I am a better diver. Several times I saw her touching the coral and moving it out of the way for a better shot or resting her fins on it and damaging it just to steady herself for the sake of her video, all things a respectful diver is not supposed to do. On my last night, as I walked into the dining room, they were sitting at a table and asked me to join them for dinner. Not having a good excuse to say “NO” and knowing that I would be in the bus with them the following morning for the long ride back to the airport I politely sat down, but once she had finished eating it was, Okay I’m done so we’re going back to our room now, even though I still had food on my plate. Not everyone you meet while flying is fun.

View of the islands from a kayak

One of the activities offered was a boat tour around a few of the nearby islands, so I joined Johnathan and Carol on this voyage. I would join them again later on a bamboo rafting expedition. Johnathan, it was always Johnathan, not John or Johnny, was an anthropology professor from England who had lost his job and couldn’t find another one in the UK so he and his wife Carol moved to Poland. Johnathan was an interesting character who asked a lot of unanswerable questions. We cruised around three islands. One was bought by some guy who gave it to his daughter as a wedding present; and it is a substantial sized island, covered by jungle and with some great beaches. The only inhabitants were the caretaker and his family. Our Fijian “tour guide” didn’t know the name of the owner. I was going to ask them if I could use their island sometime since they really weren’t using it. The second island, “Dolphin Island”, has only one hotel on it with four “bures”. Bures are the traditional style of housing in Fiji. Like island log cabins, they are simple dwellings with high steep thatched roofs and screened windows with jalousie shutters instead of glass. It’s what I stayed in while at Wananavu and later at Daku, but I’m sure the ones on Dolphin Island are much nicer. I looked it up on the internet. When you rent the place, you get the whole island for yourself. If you only rent one bure, it was something like $28,000 dollars for 4 nights. If you could get 3 other couples to join you, the price dropped to something like $12,000. You’re paying for privacy. The guide said that when you own property in Fiji, you don’t own the beach up to 6 feet from the water line. Supposedly everyone has access to all the beaches. I’d like to show up at Dolphin Island sometime and plant myself on the beach to test that rule and exasperate the

paying patrons. The third island had two backpacker hostels and a few private homes. Virtually all the nice homes on the islands are owned by outsiders, many from Australia and New Zealand. They use them as vacations homes and rent them out when they’re not staying there. Also on this island was a deserted hostel. It was bought out about 6 years ago by some large hotel chain that was going to develop a resort but their plans fell through and now it sits abandoned. The Fijian guys miss it because they said it was always busy which brought substantial income to the island. It was kind of eerie walking around the empty grounds. I hiked up to the lookout tower and almost fell through the rotting floorboards. There was even a helicopter landing pad up there. We did a little snorkeling from the sandy beach before heading back.

Another reason there may be no worries

The other activity I took part in was a trip to one of the villages, Barotu,  for bamboo river rafting. The resort is working with some of the nearby villages to promote cultural tourism and provide them a means of income. When you enter a village, you are always invited to a “kava” ceremony. Kave is a drink made from the ground up root of the kava plant mixed with a little water and squeezed by hand through a kava rag. It is non-alcoholic, but contains an active ingredient that numbs the lips, tongue and mouth, and supposedly has a calming, sedative effect. Maybe that’s why “No worries” is another popular phrase. I never felt anything more than the numbing effect because I could never drink more than one cup, but would see the men drinking it all evening.  It has a bitter medicine tang, looks like gray, dirty dishwater and tastes awful. Everyone sits on the matted floor as you are offered a cup of kava. You are required to clap once, accept the cup, and drink. While you are drinking everyone else stares at you and claps. Clapping is a big part of the ceremony.

A village house

 By US standards the houses in the village we visited are nothing more than tin shacks raised off the ground to avoid the damp earth and seasonal heavy rains. There is running water and there are flushing toilets, although they are outside the houses and barely a step up from an open pit outhouse. If you judge just by the houses then Fiji would seem like a poor country, but if you look at the homes, i.e. the families and people filling the houses, then Fiji is rich and prosperous. Everywhere I went the people were welcoming and friendly. Always with a big smile and a happy Bula!. Extended families seemed to be the norm. The children would come out to meet us smiling, laughing, curious and full of joy. You could see it on their faces as the school bus returned them back to the village or when they were playing with a ball half filled with air. When I was taking one of my daily walks down the road I could see children running in joyful abandonment, mother doing the wash, father tending to the animals in the field and the grandmother fetching water from a well.  Family and friends visit, sit, talk and seem to really take pleasure in being together. They have little in material things but seem to have everything spiritually. I was talking to Ben about going fishing one day. I asked him what would I do with all the fish I’d catch. (Hey, you have to think positive.) He said no problem they would use them in their kitchen. He then went on to say that

Children come out to say Bula!

sometimes he has trouble getting fish because the fishermen will go fish and catch enough for himself and his family, If there happens to be extra he will sell them, but he won’t go fishing again until he needs more fish for his family. The thought of continuing to fish just to make extra money doesn’t cross his mind. Why would he need more, when he has everything he needs? He doesn’t need two cars, a larger house, bigger boat, etc. he has something more valuable, time to enjoy friends, family and life. Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned.

Crusing on a Sunday afternoon 

The bamboo river rafting was interesting too. The bamboo raft is a mode of transportation and way of life for this village on the river. In addition to Johnathan and Carol, we were joined by an Aussie couple, Ian and Jane, who came to Fiji with their four children ages 2-12. They did not bring their brood on the rafting tour because they were not sure what we would encounter but later regretted the decision because it would have been a wonderful experience for the children. Together we were carefully boarded onto two long bamboo rafts in a muddy, black, mangrove lined river. It was strange as we were helped onto the rafts as too avoid getting our feet wet or stepping in the mud and given towels to sit on to soften our seats, yet the men and fifteen year old boy poling our craft or “like punting at Oxford” as Johnathan tried to explain, had no problem standing

The pole boy

barefoot, waist deep in the murky water. I wondered how they view us and our apparently delicate ways. As we went downriver we learned about the plants, mostly mangrove, along the banks and their traditional uses. Several times we got stuck on a shallow sand bar and the boy would jump off the raft and struggle to pull us to deeper water.  We came to the confluence with another river which was our turning around point. We were told that ships used to ply this river carrying sugar cane to the coast and that one sunk in this very spot. They insisted the river was 300 feet deep at this location. I found that hard to believe given the narrowness of the river and the shallowness of the river we were on, but what does this city kid know.  On the way back, the boy jumped off the raft and ran into the jungle while we continued along. A little while later he emerged upstream carrying a handful of something. When he rejoined us on the raft we saw that he had caught some mud crabs. People from river villages catch the crabs for food and sell them

Yummy!

along the roadside for about $2.00 a dozen. We saw many of them, along with fish mongers, as drove to and from the airport. Of course the boy had to pull the pincher claws off the crabs before handing them to us to look at; wouldn’t want the city folk to be nipped. I wonder if it is tough for him to do that, not because it’s physically difficult, but the claw is the meatiest part and it would be like throwing away good food. I’m sure their mothers love them, but mud crabs are not cute.

After dinner on the last night before you leave, the staff at Wananavu get together and sing to you “Isa Lei”, a traditional Fijian farewell song. The words to the song and their translation I don’t know, but the poignant melody, beautiful chorus, sweet harmonies, and lovely voices conveyed the sentiment; we are sad that you are leaving and will miss you when you’re gone.  I know they sing the song almost every day, but they do it with such feeling, passion and delight that I truly believe they will miss you when you’re gone. It’s quite emotional and touches your heart. Now whenever I hear that song I will be transported back to the tropical paradise and smiling faces that is Fiji.

Odysseying can be hard work

Do you Wananavu?...........I think you do.

Norb

Next stop SavuSavu