I opt for the Mitai show, held on tribe-owned land a ten minute or so drive outside of the centre of Rotorua. It's less serious than some of the others; there is a display of songs, Battle stances & weaponry, dancing, and, of course, poi, but there are also plenty of jokes, particularly about the 'ancient' village (built 7 years ago when the cultural show started up) and our night's elected 'Chief Dave', from the UK (well, it's forced onto him, after no-one out of our sixty-strong group, from 17 countries, volunteers.... he's a typically reticent british guy, and doesn't look to pleased with the decision initially!) .

We see our hangi dinner being uncovered from it's steam-cooking pit, and then, after watching some of the young guys who are part of the show paddle along the forest-stream on a Maori canoe, lit by flaming-torches, we move on to the theatre and stage area. There the Maori chief makes a challenge and speech to Dave, and Dave has to make one in return. Then there are the dancing, weaponry, songs and poi displays - with one girl using FOUR long pois at once! - and a quite terrifying, goose-bump inducing haka (particularly since I'm sitting in the middle of the front row next to Chief Dave). Those taking part are generally young men and women, in their twenties, who giggle when they drop things or make mistakes, helping the whole seem more relaxed, less weird & false. The cultural shows, as the chief explains, are both sources of tourist revenue, but also a way of keeping their traditions alive in the younger generation. We also learn about the symbolism of the tattoos the men and women wear (all the facial ones tonight drawn on, semi-permanently), and get an explanation the meaning of some of the chants and songs.

The hangi is good too - though I can't comment on the meat part - the kumara and white potatoes are sweet and smoky... and the chocolate roll for dessert is obviously absolutely authentic! After dinner we split into groups for a torch-lit glow-worm hunt in the forest, finishing at the tribe's sacred spring. Although it couldn't have been more touristy, the show managed to balance this by being genuinely fascinating and educational - much more informative in the performance of the Maori traditions than a museum exhibition could ever be.

written by  LizIsHere on March 30, 2010 from Rotorua, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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Whakatane is a nice Surprise though - set on river estuary, backed and bisected by a huge cliff, and with a fantastic beach, Ohope, just a short bus ride or 2 1/2 hour hike away. I choose to get the bus that afternoon, and spend the rest of the day there. Then in the evening I head back to the hostel to wait in suspense with the other 5 at the hostel who are hoping to be on the tour tomorrow for PeeJays tours to call us to confirm that the weather conditions are right for the 80min sail out to the island. Luckily, at around 8pm, all our Mobile ring in sucession - we're going to walk on the Volcano!!!

Our 9am sail sets off, and it's great, the hostel group sit on the back of the boat with the wind our hair, the sun shining down. And then the sea-sickness starts to hit - first the kids, then quite a few others. I wasn't expecting it since I never get motion sick, but within 30 mins I'm as pale as most of the other passengers, huddled up on aseat and wondering when the rough, bouncy trip will be over! Then someone spots a dolphin - leaping out of the water in the cliche fashion, and suddenly i feel fine again. Dolphins! It's brilliant - they swim along the prow of the boat, five or six of them, leaping and diving, and everyone crowds round the front to see them, suddenly cured of sea-sickness.

When we arrive at White Island the sea is rough - there are even concerns we won't be able to land at all. There's no way of mooring the boat directly, so we have to pile off in groups into a little dinghy, and cross that way. It gets a whole lot more exciting when a very large american man gets into our boat and upsets it's balance, a lot. The crew seem pretty concerned about the crossing - when we finally manage to moor onto the makeshift jetty, the guy driving the boat urges us to scramble out of the boat as fast as possible. One girl gets her leg trapped between the boat and the wooden jetty, but luckily it's only badly bruised, nothing broken. The whole incident brings home that this isn't a disneyland trip - not only are we about to wander about on an active volcano, there's also the distinct possibility we won't be able to get back off if they seas become to rough!

When we've gathered on the 'beach' of the island, created after an eruption which blew out one side of the volcano's funnel, we get a safety run down and a warning that our trip may be cut short if the skipper thinks the seas are getting to high and rough to make crossing back to the main vessel safe. Then the tour begins - we put on our hard hats, sling our gasmasks around our necks and accept a handful of sweets to suck in case the sulphurous gases become too strong. We follow our pink-hatted guide over the white and yellow chemical deposits left on the rock, crunching over the basalt and pumice rock left from a previous eruption. Ahead of us is the crater lake, and a vent which is pumping out steam at an alarming speed and pressure - there's no doubt that this volcano is very much alive!! The smell of sulphur is all around, and as we move closer to the vent, skirting boiling, bubbling mudpools, the heat increases.

For the whole trip there's a palpable sense of excitement and disbelief - that we're actually walking on a live volcano, one which could, potentially erupt at any moment (the threat is a 1 on the 1-to-5 scale, the scientists can never rule it out). We peer over the edge of the crater lake, gazing down into a steaming, frothing bright green alek with a PH rating of -2 - that's incredibly acidic. As our guide quips, you'd only take one swim in there!

At the end of the trip we look around the ruins of a sulphur mining factory which operated on the island in the 1930s. The guys living there had tough lives; absolutely reliant on ship deliveries for food and fresh water, their teeth blackened by sulphur fumes, and their clothes all but eaten away by the chemicals in the air. The factory was closed down in the 1930s due to lack of profit from the low-grade sulphur.

After a slightly sketchy and wet trip from the slippery jetty to the boat, the journey back is a lot less green-tinged that the outward one. The group of backpackers from the Windsor sit at the front of the boat, spotting flying fish, two seals, and then more dolphins! Volcano tour, boat-ride, nature-eco-tour... sweet as!

The final surprise of the trip is when we can't get back into Whakatane harbour due to the low-tide. Another dinghy trip calls! Since there's only two dinghy's, we have to wait an hour to get back ashore. Still, on the way back we get a personal meet'n'greet from Moko, the young, wild bottle-nosed dolphin who has taken up residence in Whakatane harbour for a month (he likes to steals people's surfboards and fetch a ball).

written by  LizIsHere on April 3, 2010 from Whakatane, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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On the way to Tatapouri, where we spend the night, we stop at some secret roadside waterfalls, which are so shielded that we would never have found them without Leigh, and for fush 'n' chups at a tiny, not-even-one-horse town. It's a relaxed journey, bumping along in the minibus with two seats each to stretch out on, although tha he screeching of the worn brake-pads causes some concern as drive along the winding, rural roads. The East Cape is very sparsely populated, with the majority of the inhabitants being Maori; we pass many marae's on the journey.

That night we stay at the Tatapouri Dive Centre, a beachfront five centre with accomodation for backpackers across the road. The dive centre itself, an open-fronted building with a large Terrace, firepit, bbq and sofas, is so close to the sea that at high tide the sea slaps against the Terrace wall - you will get splashed if you stand too close! Our accomodation has a boys' and a girls' dorm, so I get a room all to myself - luxury!

We spend the afternoon exploring the rocky beach in the hot sunshine, and meeting the family who run the centre; there are lots more people there than usual that day because of it is Easter weekend. That night we eat hangi, freshly-caught-that-day by the centre owners snapper and crayfish (I do not like crayfish and fresh vegetables! Expensive or not, it tastes horrible!), then gather round the firepit to drink possibly a little too much wine, and listen to sea slapping against the seawall and the owner of the centre sing classic rock songs and maori songs accompanied by his acoustic guitar. We see the moon rise, golden-orange above the sea, and the thousands of stars scattered across the pitch-black sky.

The next day, us three get up at 5.30am to watch the first sunrise in the world from the beach. Then, after cooking ourselves a pretty impressive Easter breakfast, we each take a hammock next to the sea and stay there for most of the morning, before setting off, under sudden black clouds, for Tikitiki. I'm feeling pretty exhausted by now, after only four hours sleep, so the rural, rain-lashed charms of the farmstay-hostel at Tikitiki don't have much impact. The evening improves when Leigh cooks J'kar, the guys and two WWOOFers at the hostel an amazing roast dinner - complete with good wine, wild pig (caught by the WWOOFers) and yummy roast kumara, pumpkins and carrots. I'm so full and sleepy that even the massive crevasse in the middle of the my squeaky bunkbed's mattress feels cosy when I crawl into bed.

The next morning we're pursued out of the Eastender Backpackers driveway by their over-enthusiastic dog, and get on our way. We drive for most of the day, including a slightly hair-rising km or two along the unsealed East Cape road, which is slippery and stony in the intermittent rain. The road hugs the sea-pounded coast, with a fair drop-off to the left, particularly on the stretch closest to the East Cape lighthouse, which we walk to by climbing 760 steps. It used to be situated on the island offshore from the Cape, where the lighthouse keeper and his family lived year-round. What a way to live - so close and yet so far from the mainland, on a small, wind-lashed island; unable to leave in rough or stormy weather, hours from medical care and emergency supplies. No wonder many of the keeper's children died there.

The weather and skies clear in the afternoon, perfect for our drive back along the gorgeous coastline, with views out of the blue sea to White Island in the very far distance.

written by  LizIsHere on April 4, 2010 from Tatapouri, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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The next day I and a French journalist, Ophelie, catch the Magic connection to Whitianga via Hot Water Beach and Cathedral Cove. At Hot Water Beach you can dig yourself a hole in the sand and sit your own private hot pool, due to hot springs in the area - but only if you arrive at low tide! We don't, so instead Ophelie and I sit in the sunshine on the sand and compare the styles of journalism in Britain and France. It turns out that it's a matter of course for public figures in France to read copy before publication, and to demand edits! I find this quite a surprise - it seems like pretty shoddy journalism to let politicians edit their own interview scripts! Still, journalism in the UK isn't exactly the beacon of truth it (never?) was....

From Hot Water Beach we move on to Cathedral Cove, which is a short, undulating thirty-minute walk from the carpark high on the coast. The temperature has risen, the sky is blue, and Cathedral Cove, when we reach it, is picture-postcard-perfect (well, apart from all the people! Damn tourists...ha.). The cathedral-like roof of the cove-passageway is spectacular, the beach is gorgeous and the cliffs around the cove drip with green foliage and small waterfalls. It's a shame we don't have a whole day to spend here, but we have an hour to have lunch here and soak it all in, and then we have to hike back up the track to the bus.

I jump off the bus at Whitianga, where I'm spending two nights, straight into the middle of the annual Whitianga Festival of Speed. The town is buzzing, and the air throbs with the engine noise of cars, motorbikes, planes, helicopters, and, out on the sea just across the road from the hostel, motorboats. Since there's not much else to do here except laze on the beach, or do bone-carving (a popular tourist-offering around NZ), it's a welcome distraction!

That night there's a parade is town, which is preceded by a skateboard race along the main-street, and a drag race. Now, since it's a Festival of Speed, I have to admit I was expecting something slightly more petrol-powered than a bunch of men racing past in make-up and dresses! It's a pretty funny spectacle nonethless!
The parade is pretty good too, a succession of boats on trailers, cars (GTO's, Mustangs...and, erm...some other nice-looking, noisy ones...), motorbikes, and even a motorised toilet! I meet two guys from the area watching the parade (one sporting the interesting fashion choice of leather jacket, very tight shorts, and jandals), and immeadiatly upon voicing a vague interest in cars I get treated to a litany of car-related terms and makes, most of which goes straight over my head.
It's a different evening (particularly the drag-race) !

The next day I catch the Thundercat boat races in front of the hostel, so it's another beach-day, as is the next day, where I have hours to kill till my bus to Coromandel. When Ross the Coromandel connection driver does arrive, it's only about an hour journey over the hills to 'historic Coromandel Town', where I'm spending the night before catching the ferry for a stopover in Auckland tomorrow night. Coromandel Town is historic by NZ standards, and I end up (out of slight boredom/desperation), taking the historic buildings walk, which follows the main street up and out of town, past the interesting town graveyard, and ending at the gold stamper battery.

The ferry over to Auckland seemed like a great idea when I booked it - not only did it cut out having to spend another 'useless' night in Thames, but it was also Not A Bus. After a good two months of buses, anything that is Not A Bus is a definite plus. However, after stepping aboard the ferry ( and meeting a couple of my dorm-mates from Whitianga), and experiencing the quite alarming roughness of the sea, I swiftly change my mind. The ferry is small, foot passengers-only, and the seas are rolling. The vessel feels like it's being tossed about like a cork - it leaps up and bangs downward, and most of the passengers become slightly panicky and/or green within about twenty minutes. The only people who seem unconcerned are a couple who appear to have had a few too many beers from the on-board bar (maybe the rolling of the boat compensated for their corresponding weaving?).
Still, the captain assures us that 'These are only some speed-bumps guys', and eventually it calms down enough so that we're not totally convinced that we're going to capsize and drown imminently. In retrospect, it was exciting, and definitely more interesting than a bus, but... I wouldn't jump at the chance to do it again, let's say. I get onto dry-land at Auckland in one piece, eventually find the bus to my hostel in Ponsonby, and after navigating around the darkened hostel and finding my dorm (in the basement... I'm slightly apprehensive as i descend the stairs and walk along the concrete corridor, but luckily the dorm itself turns out to be brightly painted, light, and to have two very friendly people in it), I collapse into bed.

written by  LizIsHere on April 11, 2010 from Whitianga, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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Raglan is a nice little town, with just enough going on to entertain people when they can't surf. The town hostel, Raglan Lakefront Backpackers, which backs onto the river estuary, is pretty legendary with backpackers in NZ too; it's popular and fully-booked in summer; they rent surfboards, wet-suits and boogie-boarding gear, and there's a sauna and hot-tub, as well as a surf car which you can catch a lift in (for the horrendous price of $2) down to the main learners surf beach, Ngarunui. There are two other surf beaches in Ralgan, including the one with that fabled 'left-hand break', but these have rocks and strong currents, so they're too dangerous for foolish learners like myself who are more likely to knock themselves out with their own surfboard than catch a great break.

My surf lesson with Solscape Surf school turns out to be one-on-one - I'm lucky that no one else has booked in today. In retrospect this may be because a storm surge was coming through the area which made the surf much more pounding, rough and 'messy' than usual, but still, it meant I got to make the most of two hours in water. (First, though, I have to get the hang of carrying the board...)
We start with some practice of standing up technique on the beach, then move into the water, where my instructor Andrew cites out the best waves for me to catch. It turns out that what seemed fairly simple on land is actually a lot tougher when I'm trying to stand up on moving water; who'd have thought it? I faceplant the water numerous times, also managing, at one memorable point, to get thrown around underwater whilst sampling a mid-morning snack of sand. Andrew is nice enough not to laugh when I emerge from the water covered head to toe in the stuff.
It is great fun though, definitely something I want to try again - the moments when I manage to stand-up are brilliant, even though they only last seconds at most! By the time the two-hour session is over I'm shattered but buzzing.

The day before I leave Raglan myself and another girl take the surf car down to the beach again. We spend a comedy hour or so in the water, desperately attempting to catch waves as the rougher-than-ever sea churns around us. The moments which clinch the idea that I should quit for the day include the time I wipe out and emerge, coughing and spluttering, down the beach a long distance away from where I fell, due to the strong side-current, and the memorable episode when I manage to fall and hit myself in the face with the board while paddling out to catch a wave. Although our enthusiasm isn't dampened, it's clear the gnarly state of the surf and our inexperience are not a good combination.

Before I leave Raglan I arrange farm-stay with a lady out in Parua Bay, near Whangerei in Northland, which is where I'm headed after another one-night stopover in Auckland. The last night in Raglan is low-key but fun, with juggling tricks, an entertaining collision of schoolteachers from different hemispheres, and some very strange anecdotes from a Canadian airline steward.

written by  LizIsHere on April 17, 2010 from Raglan, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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When Joy, an American ex-pat and ex-hippie, arrives to pick me up, I'm relieved but also slightly nervous. She puts me at ease immeadiatly though, mainly by being slightly spaced-out, and also by the hilarious amount of rubbish in her car - it literally spills out when I open the front passenger door! When I get in the car and Joy promptly gets out and disappears for half an hour, I'm starting to look for the hidden cameras. But eventually she returns and we drive off to her property, out in Parua Bay.

As it's getting dark when we arrive, and Joy, who has businesses in Morroco and family still in the US, often works through the night and therefore doesn't get up till the afternoon, I get some basic instructions that she wants the front paddock raked and cleared. We have dinner... fish-head soup... interesting, definitely not something I've sampled before but actually quite tasty (perhaps it would have been tastier if she hadn't told me about the fish-head component...), and I retire to my 'apartment' , a bedroom, bathroom and living room-cum-kitchen at the opposite end of the building. My own room - and two beds to choose from! I sleep very well that night.

The next day I get up and start work around 9am, raking. Raking raking raking. Let's just say that after five hours of that, Professional Raker is not on my list of ideal careers! But the property has a fantastic view, over the rolling hills, towards mountains and the sea, with bellbirds, tuis and fantails singing in the trees, and a family of pukekoes pecking away in a field in the adjacent property. The ten sheep on the property were extremely nervous of me, which is a bit difficult because they seemed to spend most of their day eating or laying about in the vicinity of my path back to the apartment.

Joy appears around 1pm, disappears again to 'meditate', and returns again at 3pm, when we do some planting in the veggie garden until it starts to get dark. That night we make a great stir-fry for dinner, and Joy tells me about her youth in the US, when she was a hippie, hanging out with Dennis Hopper (who is her daughter's godfather), and living in Paris and Marrakech.

The next day I spend most of the morning clearing leaves for the front paddock and the flower and veggie gardens. Then I relax with some music on the chair-shaped-cut treestump at the highest point of the property, before doing some more planting with Joy in the late afternoon. The final day I trim the large spiky plants which dot the property (don't ask me what they're called...) which is actually pretty fun and relaxing, in the sun with a cooling breeze and my ipod on. Even the sheep seem slighty less scared of me... just slightly. Before Joy drives me back down to Whangarei to spend a night at the Bunkdown Lodge before catching my bus on to Paihia the next morning, I clear plants from the large porch, sweep, re-pot plants, and attempt to tame some of the bushes around the veggie garden. I get the feeling she's got a mile-long list of tasks and would like me to stay on, but it's time to move on. It was a nice, different interlude to months travelling around and living in hostels, and would definitely have been more fun with another person, but spending so much time (4 days felt like a long time!) on my own isn't really for me!

written by  LizIsHere on April 19, 2010 from Whangarei, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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My main aim in Paihia is to go on the day-trip to Cape Reinga and 90 Mile Beach. I take the trip run by AwesomeNZ, and our driver turns out to be a very cool Maori guy called Barry. The trip takes you through some of the more northern Northland towns, on a visit to the Kauri forest, where we creep around almost in silence, over-awed by the gigantic, ancient kauri trees which tower over us. Then we drive on to 90 Mile Beach, a massive stretch of beach which is defined as a 'recreational highway', which means that taxed and WOF-ed (like an MOT) vehicles can drive on it. There's a speed limit of 80km/hr. The beach is not 90 Miles long, incidentally, and the tour guides seem to get some relish out of disabusing us of the fact. It's actually around 64 Miles long, and the reasons for the mistake - ranging from the fact that '90 Miles sounds better', to the disparity of the seamen using nautical rather than land Miles, to their making an estimate of the distance they could travel over 3 days, 90 Miles, and christening the beach without checking their calculations, are myriad. But it seems pretty irrelevant when you're driving along the beach, watching the surf flash past on one side, and the dunes on the other.

Another - very New Zealand - attraction of the area around 90 Mile Beach is sandboarding. It involves taking a boogie-board, climbing up a giant sandune, lying face-forward on the boogie-board, pushing off down the slope and, possibly, praying or yelling out expletives as the momentum gathers and you either slide safely all the way to the bottom, with an added aquaplane across a muddy sand-dune stream, or bail out on-purpose or by accident, eating copious amounts of sand as you roll, boardless to stop. It's fun! More fun obviously when you don't eat the sand - or stop yourself with your actual head, as I saw one girl do (she made that her first and last attempt)
Even Barry has a go, though,as he points out: "As you can see I only went down once. Do I LOOK like an [idiot] to you?!"

From the Giant Dunes we drive on to a quiet beach. It's quiet because everyone else packed off when it started to rain. We wait, oh, maybe five minutes, and the sun is shining again, almost uncomfortably hot! Tut, silly other tourists who haven't worked out NZ's ninja weather yet. We have lunch on the beach, and then have to be practically dragged back onto the (it's a really beautiful beach!) bus to head off to Cape Reinga.

Cape Reinga is a very sacred Maori site - it is known is Maori as Te Rerenga Wairua, 'the leaping-off place of spirits', and it is where spirits are beleived to come to enter the underworld, by climbing down the roots of a 800-year-old tree on one of the rocky outcrops of the Cape. Barry explains to us that it customary for Maori families to visit Cape Reinga to bid farewell to their dead loved ones, explaining that a visit to Cape Reinga some years ago had helped him in some ways face the grief of losing his young son in a car-accident.

The Cape is also where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific, resulting in an incongruous line of surf, or tidal race, in the middle of the calm sea off the North-West side of the Cape. The Maori people see the two seas as the sea of Rehua (male) and the sea of Whitirea (female).

It's a beautiful spot, though it's hard to feel any significance in the area without a greater understanding of Maori beliefs. Still it strikes me as pretty beautiful and appropiate place to 'farewell' dead relatives, whatever your beliefs.

Our return from Cape Reinga is a long drive, punctuated by as visit to a Kauri showroom where there are myriad products carved from ancient swamp kauri, dug up, preserved, from Northland swamps, and to the 'famous' Mongonui fush'n'chup shop.

written by  LizIsHere on April 24, 2010 from Cape Reinga, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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On my last night in Paihia I hit the strip of bars (calling it a strip makes it sound so much more than, erm, four bars) with three guys (English, Dutch & American) and an American girl from the hostel, picking up along the way an incredibly loud Irish girl and some germans (there's always some germans), as well as a slightly strange Isreali guy who keeps trying to pass of Borat jokes as his own, along the way. The bars are all located on the main hostel-strip of the town (Pickled Parrot is tucked away in quieter area a street away). We start at the dead-as pub quiz at one end of the strip, and end up dancing to Kings of Leon and Doors covers at the other. The night ends with Sam, the English guy, sparked off by the offhand behaviour of the hostel cat, treating us to a surprisingly passionate rant about the fickleness of cats.

written by  LizIsHere on April 26, 2010 from Paihia, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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After leaving Paihia, the Magic connection took us down the West Coast of the Northland, stopping off to visit and marvel and the gigantic kauri tree, Tane Mahuta. It's the kind of the sight to marvel at in silence... a majestic tree towering over all others in the forest.

Then I was back in Auckland for a few days, back at Verandahs, doing boring pre-travel chores and shopping before catching the train to meet my aunt and go back to her property in Manukau. There I got to help out more than I did on my previous stay, planting native trees (wielding a pick-axe, learning out to plant trees in properly on sloping ground and battling with an unco-operative hosepipe), feeding the sheep silage (it's very pungent and the smell is almost impossible to remove from your hands/clothes once you touch it), and even getting to drive the quad-bike, which was ace, once I got the hang of the gear changes. Reversing it with a trailer, however, was not so easy. More practice needed there, i think. I also went to stay with my other aunt in the Auckland suburbs, and caught a Frank Turner gig at the Kings Arms Tavern in the city. It was a great, small gig (half the crowd or more were English), with lots of singalongs and general raucousness. Generally it was just great to be back with family again, although a little sad because I didn't know when I'd see them, particularly my cousins, again.

Then, far too soon and yet eagerly anticipated, since I'd finally get to see N. again, I was leaving New Zealand. It's been an amazing trip, with moments of feeling almost drunk on the beauty of the country - every time I thought I was getting 'over' the beautiful landscapes, I'd turn a corner or catch sight of a new mountain or lake or forest and be bowled over again. And the blur of the faces of people I met, the odd, fun experiences (the East Cape 'family' roadtrip), my sudden worrying inability to finish sentences (Cool as... Sweet as... Hot as....). It's hard to pick out the best bits... So I won't, and maybe I'll get to come back one day... there's a still a whole load more to explore in the two islands.

And now... on to Fiji...

written by  LizIsHere on May 7, 2010 from Auckland, New Zealand
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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N. met me at the airport, looking slightly more beardy and hairier than before, and it was brillinat, brilliant, brilliant, to see him after so long (3 1/2 months!), although also a little strange, because I hadn't seen someone from back home in the UK for that long. It all felt kind of unreal! We stayed the Blue Water Lodge in Newtown, which is seperated from Nadi city proper by a swathe of farmland, and caught the shuttle bus out to the Port Denarau Mariner to ride the Yasawas Flyer catamaran to our island destination, Waya Lailai, early the next day.

The weather was very warm and muggy, though 'not as hot as Darwin', as N. kept telling me, which makes sense since Darwin is, apparently, face-meltingly hot. On the 2 1/2 journey we passed other of the closer Yasawas Islands, including Southsea and Beachcomber, which are traditional, cliche picture-postcard 'desert islands', small islands (you could walk round their circumferene in 10 or 15 minutes) of yellow sand, with a little rainforest in the middle, and bures on the beach. We also saw small flying fish diving and soaring out of the wake of the boat, which I found endlessly exciting - fish that fly, amazing!

Waya Lailai is a different type of island to the 'desert islands', with a small, rocky mountain at it's centre, a lovely sandy beach, and, in the resort area, green lawns. It's the only resort in Yasawas which is completely owned by the village (made up, actually, of 5 villages on the island and the mainland, who form a 'family'). All the money from the resort, minus wages for staff (who are villagers), and maintenance costs, goes back to the village, to build community buildings, schools, etc. The women of the village located nearest the resort also sell jewellery at small, rickety stalls on the beach, and give weaving lessons for 5-7$ per item. Their income from this will go direct to their own families, for high school fees and luxuries ('sugar, sugar, sugar!' as one older lady tells me, with an impish grin). Most goods and food have to be brought in to the island from the mainland, and since the cyclone a month ago which destroyed many of the islands plantations, even the fruit and veges the island could previously grow itself have to brought in by boat. There are still root crops (cassava, which is similar to Maori kumara, sweet potato) growing on the higher points of the island, which we see on a sunset hike.

There is great unemployment and poverty in Fiji (much more evident on the mainland), despite what the glossy tourist brochures would have visitors believe, so the resort is viewed extremely positively by the villagers. There is no real sense of divide, either, between resort guests and villagers (though of course guests can't wander into the village in a bikini or shirtless) - the village kids come on to the resort-area of beach (which has hammocks, volleyball net, tables, the activities and dive sheds), to play, and there are frequent village vs. guest volleyball games. We don't feel sealed off from the locals, which is really good.

written by  LizIsHere on May 8, 2010 from Waya Lailai, Fiji
from the travel blog: New Zealand & Australia 2010
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