During the night one of the guys took me to see the chief, one of those compulsory things one should do when visiting a Polynesian village. Also you should bring some kava with you when you go. This seems kind of odd when there is kava growing just outside the chief's house, but then if you think about it why bring a bottle of wine to a friend’s dinner party if they already have plenty of bottles to go around? It is just customary and respectful. The problem was that I apparently did not buy enough kava. I only bought about $5 worth and the chief needs about $10. No one told me this. But the family I stayed with rummaged around and put together some good kava root for me. No hesitation, no charge. Then they told me that I needed to give him a $2 gift. For what? For his cigarettes. Why can't I just give him cigarettes then? This is just what you do.

The problem was that I only had $1.50 in change and I don’t think the chief was about to break a $20 note! So I asked the family; they didn’t have much money but between us all we managed to find about $1.90. So we then went around the village and finally somebody came up with a $2 bill and everyone was happy. Then just before I left they told me I needed to wear a savu savu or sarong to see the chief and I did not have one, but I was lent one without hesitation. This preparation process literally went on about two hours or so.

Finally we went to see the chief. When we got there, Ron, the guy leading me, started to talk in hushed tones and told me to wait outside. I heard a chief-like voice yelling from inside. It was about 9pm, everything was dark and I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that I had to wait outside with Ron for about 15 or 20 minutes or so and no one could explain why. Finally I was allowed in, first taking off my shoes. There were about five or six people lounged out on straw mats. I went right to the oldest, sort of wisest-looking guy to greet him, only to find out later that I picked the wrong man. The chief was, in fact, one of the youngest there, about 35 years old and built like an ox. I shook his hand, he asked me my name, where I was from and that was the extent of our interaction. He was laying belly down on his foam mattress, covered by a blanket and with a cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

There were about 20 minutes where there was a constant flow of chatter - all in Fijian of course - and it was as if I wasn't even there. Much of it seemed to be humor, as the chief appeared to keep cracking jokes and everyone laughed. Of course the constant laughing at the chief's jokes may have had something to do with the two boxing champion belts hanging on the wall. Every once in a while young girls would come and sit next to the chief's bed and use his cosmetic products and mirror. The chief either must have the best stuff or the only stuff in town. I later learned though that the chief did not sleep here, he slept in a rather large bure next door and his wife was the biggest and oldest woman around. I had many questions but no one to whom they could be put, so I just sat, observed and tried to interpret what I was seeing.

Finally the kava came out. I watched as the chief conducted some sort of ceremony over the kava and the tanua (bowl). Four people grab each corner of a cloth which is placed over the tanua. The kava (in this case a large amount) is then sprinkled over the cloth and someone else slowly pours water on it, while yet another person grinds the kava and water into the cloth. The resulting liquid that filters through into the bowl is what you eventually drink. The whole process lasts about 15 minutes, and most of the time the chief is watching eagerly, awaiting his kava. This was my first kava and I thought I was about to vomit after one swig. But after three, whew! Before drinking, everyone, including the drinker, claps three times and shouts "BULA!" After the full chug of the bowl (anything less would be disrespectful) the drinker claps once and says "fvanaka!" Fijian 101 was coming in very handy.

These kava ceremonies can go on through the night. Ron said he was going to church and I could come if I wanted to. I decided to pass, given that it was 10pm, so he gave me his flashlight so I could walk back alone in the dark. He accompanied me some of the way and then suddenly asked for his flashlight back. Luckily there was enough starlight to show me the way. Before going back to my bure I stopped off at another house to say hi, and drink some more kava. This went on for a couple of more hours where the matriach-in-residence told what were probably very entertaining and thought provoking stories. Too bad I couldn’t understand any of it!

The next morning I walked to the highest waterfall in the country with a French-Canadian named Claude and Ron as our guide. The problem was that Ron was a bit hungover. I am not sure if he ever made it to the church, but what was evident was that he had been drinking kava until 5am that morning. My first lesson in the excess of kava!

When I returned to the predominately Indian city of Nadi, I decided to expose myself to the other side of Fiji. I headed for Robinson Crusoe Island, a tiny island that takes about 20 minutes to amble round. It was full of British and American backpackers for the most part. We were greeted by a group of "Fijian Warriors" playing guitars and singing the sort of songs you expect to hear on a Neil Young album. The entertainment was non-stop, from fire dances to skits and group bonding activities. I thought I’d walked onto the set of MTV's 'Spring Break'! At night came the kava ceremony. It was long and formal and drawn out. And the kava was very good. Why? Because there was about a finger full of kava and the rest was water! It felt good knowing something that the rest of the partygoers did not. I had had a quick glimpse of the other Fiji. They would all go home thinking they had experienced the real Fiji; but I had tasted traditional Fijian food, most of which I did not even recognize as food - here they served pancakes for breakfast. I took the first ferry out at 9am the next morning. It was time to move on.

From then on I tried a different town every night or two. I took the public buses and spoke with the locals, whom I found to be among the friendliest people I have ever met. On the Coral Coast bus I sat next to a guy about my age called Sabo. Sabo didn't say a whole lot, but when we had a 10 minute break in Sigatoka (pronounced Singatoka) he came back with some cream-filled breads and offered me one. I refused in shock but he indicated he had to give me something, so finally I took his Fiji Times off of him. All of this was done with his eyes, he barely spoke. For my part, I just said "Fvanaka".

Feedback:
"I totally enjoyed this article! Adam has a wonderful way of expressing his thoughts. I feel like I had just visited Fiji myself. Keep them coming Adam!" Joyce Contois

"I enjoyed the article very much - well written. I am Fijian and I am always happy to get a 'palagi' insight into our way of life. By the way, Adam would've worn a 'sulu' (sarong) and the 'sevu sevu' is the yagona and cigarettes which were his gifts to the chief." Clyde King