Goodbye Gunu

 “Mum, you won’t believe how many kids dad has in the dinghy.”

Maia and I were putting the final touches on tidying the boat and putting out freshly made muffins and the last of our juice and fruit for our approaching guests. Evan had just dropped off another filled-to-overflowing dinghy load at Connect 4 and now our load of guests was approaching.

Dressed for play—and everyone much the same size and with the same haircuts--I found myself unsure just which children we had aboard. Maia seemed to know who everyone was though and happily took on the role of hostess—touring them through the boat and then offering up a morning snack.

We got them back to the beach in time to head to school and then we settled in for a visit with Lewa and her sister Vesi (who Maia loves). Lewa confirmed our understanding—the fundraiser for the school is so the kids can all attend for free. Typically parents have to pay for tuition, supplies and the uniforms. But in Gunu village the villagers decided to raise money together so that any child can attend elementary school and the kids from the other villages are even given a hot lunch.

Connect 4 getting guests--Gunu Village in the background

 She explained it didn’t stay that simple in secondary school. In Secondary school the kids take exams—if they do well, then they can go to boarding school on the mainland. But it’s expensive and it means for each 14 week term they don’t see their families (the boat to and from Latoka is very expensive). Both Lewa and her brother Kelevi (pronounced Caleb) had the grades to go, but Kelevi missed his family too much to stay on the mainland.

Post Secondary school is an even more complex dream—but Lewa is approaching the end of her IT course. And when the school announces her program is back in session (the Post Secondary School buildings are so overused that programs have to take turns using the facilities) she’ll head back to Latoka. Her dream is to get a good job so that she can get as many children from her family through school as possible.

It seems like a huge burden for the ever-smiling 21-year-old and it made us wish we could have done more than just offer good wishes and a few things for the elementary school as we prepared to say goodbye.

On our final walk through the village I was amazed by what a big place in my heart had been given over to it in such a very few days. We said goodbye at the school—dropping off pictures we had printed and some blackboard chalk for Anna—the long-suffering teacher. And Maia was surrounded with hugging children.

Then we stopped in at Lewa’s house and tried not to cry as I put Tahitian pearls around her and Vesi’s necks. I knew everything else we gave them went to others who needed them more and I wanted these lovely girls to have something a bit special—just for themselves.

And then we said goodbye at Bill and Lucy’s house. They scoured their home for more to give us and we tried to steer them away from gifts and to goodbyes. But it seems in the Fijian culture the two are entwined.

And we sailed on.

Village Life

Lucy giving Evan a necklace

 Each time we go ashore in Gunu village we are given a gift: shells, jewellery, a woven basket, flowers, a meal. We hadn’t expected this. In other more well-trodden villages in Fiji there is a friendly spirit but also a hunger for our dollars—the women pull out handicrafts that are often clearly made by some other set of hands, claim them as their own, and then seem to resent our lack of interest in the trinkets.

In Gunu I am overwhelmed as Bill and Lucy empty things out of a hand-made basket and press the basket into our hands. When we visit Lewa and her family the bags of shells they give us are some of their best—shells that would have fetched much needed money from the tourist boat.

wearing our gifts of flowers

 No matter what we bring to shore—and we’ve brought bags of clothes, fabric, food, and school supplies—our offerings can not touch this gentle generosity. They are giving what they have. We give spares—things we bought for the purpose of trading, or things we no longer use. It’s hard to imagine giving the last of what you have, as our hosts seem so willing to do.

Peceli uncovering the lovo

A lovo is a special meal in Fiji that is used for weddings, birthdays, fundraisers and other special gatherings. Our lovo will be one of the highlights of this trip. When we arrived and saw the men digging at the earthen oven and the women and children gathered around we realized this was not a simple meal—but a feast. They pulled bundles of chicken and cassava, white yam and stuffed pumpkin from the steaming pit. Then Lewa and her sister Vesi put salusalus (leis) around our necks and visited with us as still more village women set up the feast area.

Seated at our feast--Maia and Chelse are probably grateful they're not picky eaters

The villagers followed us into a sparsely furnished house and we were seated on the mat around a long, laden tablecloth. Explaining the food--the fish caught by that uncle, the breadfruit cooked by that aunt, the pulusami made by that sister--the women who made the meal scolded us into filling our plates. As we ate we complimented the amazing cooks, talked and joked, and ate some more. Then we realized from the growing crowd that this was a true feast—we pulled back from our seats of honour and the men and children took our places for their meal. And then at last the women.

Lewa and the ladies who cooked

We settled around the room drinking tea (perhaps from the tea bags I brought) while Maia, Chelsea and Nick ran wild outside with the friends they had made over the past few days. Evan and I were sitting near Nelson, the Methodist minister. From him we learned there are four religions in this village of 360—a fact that became amusing when Maia and Chelsea returned with Awake magazines from the competition. Nelson rolled his eyes a bit, then laughed. But we know from Bill and Lucy (who were once chased out of the village for their beliefs) that small village politics are not always simple.

Some of the children asked if they could see the boat so it was decided that in the morning before school we’d pick them up at the beach and bring them to the boats for a visit.

And then we said our goodnights.

Straddling Worlds

 When you take eight visitors and add them to a grade three class of excitable kids, chaos is the best term to describe the outcome. But it was a joyful chaos; one that came complete with smiles and hugs, and loads of giggles.

 The school at Gunu village is probably typical for isoalted areas in Fiji. With a handful of teachers, a small library and few resources it has an ambitious plan: to educate the children of these remote villages for free so they can successfully straddle the growing gap between village life and a rapidly changing world.

Even our visit is a sign of this change—not that long ago (think the era of Brook Shields and the Blue Lagoon—which was filmed on a nearby island) the very occasional visitor to this village needed government permission and needed to carry adequate supplies of food so they didn’t overwhelm the villagers. These days they get several yachts each year and a small tourist boat stops in three times a month for a traditional village visit—complete with a lovo prepared by the men (using the tourist boat’s own food), entertainment and a handicraft market. They even have cell coverage, which works when it’s not raining.

That said this is still a subsistence-based traditional village. From the moment we land the dinghy we are hosted. We are walked to where ever we wish to go and are honoured guests where ever we stop. It’s truly a strange to be treated this way as we discovered when we showed up at school and threw the entire building into chaos. The children surrounded us and peppered us with questions.

Lewa's home

 Because English is taught in the schools we were able to share a big pile of books—many were ones Maia used in school last year and several that she grew out of this year. On our walk back through the village we discovered that if you stop and visit when a Fijian family is getting ready to eat or drink you become family—and are expected to eat and drink with them: Which is how we found ourselves having lunch with the chief and his family. Actually, we ate and they watched.

Lunch at the chief's home: Bill and Lucy and their four daughters are amazing hosts

 

 Tonight we return to shore for our lovo. Our gracious host is a lovely young woman named Lewa—she lives in a simple hut with her mother Vinny, father Peceli and four siblings. They don’t have running water, electricity or even windows and doors. But she’s taking a post secondary course in Nadi—in IT. And the next time she’s able to get online we’ll become facebook friends.

Hanging with Cannibals

Maia with our kava for sevusevu

We’re sailing through the Yasawas—a dazzling group of 20 or so islands that stretch away from the civilization of Fiji’s two big islands and offer up great diving, villages without electricity (or roads, or cars, or stores, or banks), a few old backpacker resorts, and a few newer high-end resorts (I guess word got out…)

Actually we’re threading our way through the poorly charted reef-strewn waters of the Yasawas--admiring welcoming looking coves (that would be awesome if there was a way in) and imagining what it must have been like for Captain Bligh when he sailed through these waters with 18 men in a 7 metre open boat after the mutiny in 1789. He must have looked hopefully at those same lush coves--where there was sure to be water and fresh food—then despaired when two war canoes filled with cannibals gave him the chase of his life.

Bligh almost ended up in a cooking pot, although it’s hard to imagine it now. Fiji is easily the friendliest place we’ve been and yesterday when we anchored off of Gunu Village we were treated to even more Fijian hospitality.

Rajieli, Chelsea, Maia and Marica

Gunu is one of eight villages on Naviti Island. There are about 300 people in the village and there is an elementary school for about 100 kids (the school serves three villages.)

We quickly learned the school is the heart and pride of the village. And after giving a (very quick) sevusevu where we asked for permission to visit and were made part of the village we were led to the school by Marica and Rajieli—two adorable girls who are in the 3^rd and 5^th grade. Along the way we were greeted, and thanked, by everyone—our visit and our interest confirmed their quiet pride: this was a good village.

 

On the path to the school we stopped a few times and learned how the house mats were woven and shown what a home was like. Then the girls toured us through their classrooms where we saw cobbled together desks, very few books or resources, but enthusiastic signs of learning. They invited us back for school the next day. On our return to the boat we stopped in again to see the progress of the mat—then the family asked us if they could prepare us a lovo (a meal cooked in an earthen oven). They explained there was a school fundraiser coming up and anything we donated for the meal would help the school.

So we’ve decided our exploring is done and our final days in the Yasawas and Fiji will be here in ‘our’ village. We’ll do what we can for ‘our’ school and we’ll have dinner with ‘our’ family.

Maia and the lovely Lewa

There’s a lesson here isn’t there? Not the one that Bligh learned, that you must flee to survive. But more the idea that unless cannibals are actively chasing you, pretty much everywhere we travel comes with the potential joy and responsibility of becoming our home.

If only for a day.

Pay it Forward

In my dream goats are surrounding our boat. The bleating made me wonder if they would disturb our neighbours so, coming awake only gradually, I popped my head out our hatch to see what they wanted.

Awake now, and squinting into the rising sun, I discover we’re in a tranquil bay—looking across reef strewn shallows toward an uninhabited island. But then the goats went off again and I realized it was inhabited—that the offspring of goats first brought by the explorers were running wild on the island, munching their way through the native plants and waking their sleepy visitors early in the morning.

A visitor with a headache.

Not long after dropping our anchor off of Nanuya Balavu and Drawqu islands we decided to swim ashore and check out Manta Ray Bay—a small eco-resort on Nanuya. After visiting, and deciding it would be the perfect place to have dinner (and get a break from cooking) we headed down the beach across the frothy sand and onto slick volcanic stone—where I slipped and cracked my head.

The rest is a blur of feeling sleepy, and not being permitted to sleep, and the annoyance that comes when someone roughly pokes you awake to shine a light in your eyes and take your blood pressure every time you drift into a peaceful dream. Happily Steve on Connect 4 has had medical training and between him and Evan they decided we didn’t need to test our medical evacuation insurance. And within a couple of days I was feeling like myself.

helping Karinya recover their anchor

So often we’re reminded that while we are on our own out here—it really is the network of other cruisers, friends and family at home, and supportive locals that makes this lifestyle work. Cruising is an endless game of Pay it Forward. A game that means when our inverter died in the midst of shaping our new dagger board (it has since resurrected itself) we had offers of help and a generator on our deck within hours. When Karinya lost their anchor overboard (a link broke in the chain!) within minutes Evan was there with scuba gear. And when Connect 4’s dinghy engine threatens to die—we’re there alongside to be sure they get in.

It also works in the fun stuff. Having a compressor means the whole Connect 4 family has been diving with us—the kids having their first ever chance to try and Cheryl getting down for her second and third times. It also means we share our skills—I’ve paid my wonderful sushi making lesson (courtesy of Meri on Hotspur) forward a couple of times. While my new jewellery making skills and several recipes in my recipe box that came from our buddy boating group are making their own appearances.

The goats, it seems, are satisfied with having woken me and are moving on. My headache is easing with the thought of the day ahead: snorkelling, finally having that meal at Manta Ray resort, and spending time with friends.

This is a good way to live. Goats, head bangs and all.

*we continue to have slow internet but will try for pictures soon

Fireworks on the Beach

"The water is blue again!" Maia called from the bow, "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"
There wasn't much wind, but we raised our new main anyway, just to gaze at the crisp white fabric. Then I pointed out two reefs I saw, and Evan admired the little islands. We all grinned at each other. Somehow after doing this for two years we're still giddy with joy when we get underway.

our lovely new Island Planet sail

 Threading our way through reefs we passed the islet where Tom Hanks was Castaway. Then we went a little further-arriving at isolated and pristine Vanua Levu-a stunningly gorgeous anchorage made up of three small rocky islets with stretches of empty beach and that's surrounded by reefs. On the way in we strayed from the channel and grazed the edge of one reef, and although the coral was 30' below I could make out the detail on the fan coral.

 When Steve from Connect 4 had called us earlier to make plans where to meet he let us know this might be a great place to have a bonfire on the beach-if we could get through the reef that surrounds the island. As we set our anchor and went for a swim-they looked for a beach landing-working their way down the sort of white sand beach that occupies winter daydreams until they found a calm place we could get our dinghys ashore.
Our surf landing was textbook and soon the snacks were out, the wine was open and the bonfire roaring. The kids wandered deep into the island-playing Robinson Crusoe or, given the family connection, Alexander Selkirk. When it was dark it was time for fireworks.
We lit them with sparklers and backed off as they boomed and whistled into the sky, adding more stars to an already starry night. And adding a hint of celebration to a day that was steeped in gratitude.
Can you believe it? We're in Fiji, man.
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Musket Cove Regatta Week

We were slow getting underway this am. I was still camped out in my jammies drinking coffee when I saw Andrew from Hawkeye motoring toward us to pick up some pictures we promised. He surprised us with a bottle of wine for the shots of his boat in the Round Malolo race. The wine was a nice touch—especially because Ev accidentally smashed our portion of the prize from the race: a bottle of rum. (The prize for placing as the second cat was $100 fuel voucher, rum and a case of water).

Regatta Week is over. And for an event we hadn’t known about prior to meeting Mamalu—we can’t rave about it enough. It’s a must with the Auzzie/Kiwi crowd but somehow news of the event really hasn’t reached the rest of the cruising community. Which is odd because:

a) It’s free.

b) There are a lot of very generous prizes to be had.

c) They feed and fill us with booze on a couple of occasions.

d) There are some great races and a good variety of beach activities.

We missed the first few days of the week-long event but were quickly pulled into activities as soon as we arrived. Our first afternoon was the beach sports day. We spent the afternoon running three-legged races, tossing coconuts and playing volleyball (we were adopted by the Fiji team because we split up by nationality and there were no other Canadians). That night it was a fancy dress party with an R&R theme—so everyone came as something that started with “R”. Evan was road kill, Maia was a rainbow, and, in deference to our friends on Connect 4 who have been onsite for two different reef groundings, I was a reef with a sailboat on my shoulder. Maia’s costume got her a prize—a choice between a frothy resort drink and a pizza voucher.

The next day we raced and I fell in deep lust, and am still heartbroken so won’t talk about it.

Yesterday was the final day. There were hobie cat races and a dinghy decorating contest. We decorated the dinghy with a palm-frond Christmas tree and fake fire-place with stockings. After doing a terrible job of singing Christmas Carols for the judge we were awarded second place and received a very generous prize of a $40 voucher for the resort store, a pizza voucher and a bottle of wine.

Then it was on to the pig roast—which honestly had been the selling factor that got me to the regatta. I really wanted to go to a South Pacific pig roast… And while the pig was great, the entire night was a blast.

After a cocktail party and the beating of the retreat by Fiji’s ‘royal’ police force (apparently the country is still in denial over being kicked out of the Commonwealth—the Queen is still on all the money and it seems the hope is that coup thing will eventually be forgotten and they’ll get reinstated) we were seated banquet style.

Initially we were disappointed that this meant we wouldn’t get to sit with Connect 4 and that we’d be forced to (horrors) mingle. But our table turned out to be excellent fun. Andrew was there and we realized that it was his boat that I had a great series of shots of. There were also a couple of nice young crew girls at our table and Ev was rather pleased with himself when two of them claimed him as their dance partner for a good part of the night.

It almost made up for the fact that our late start at regatta week meant we had missed the wet t-shirt contest…

From Silence to City

 When I last blogged (it seems like so long ago!) we were still at anchor in a peaceful cove. A few local fishermen had yet to stop by and visit and offer us some of their day’s catch—because to them we were part of the village: a village we had no idea was there and couldn’t see. But no matter—we offered them baseball hats and school supplies for the village kids and chatted about weather and fishing and enjoyed their company.

And sailed on: Which is our theme here as we seem to rush through the ports.

A month isn’t going to be long enough for Fiji. Especially with projects to complete and plans for Australia needing sorting. If I did this again I’d go from Tonga to NZ and then return to spend an entire second season in Fiji and Vanuatu. Especially now with so many formally Med-bound boats beginning to back up in SE Asia--there really is no reason to get there quickly.

From Vatia Lailai we sailed on to Lautoka, an industrial sugar mill town where I realized we were just about the only white faces. It was my noticing, more than the fact itself that surprised me—when we were walking down the street we saw a couple of shiny-pink tourists. They stood out so completely against the backdrop of Fijians that I realized we must be equally obvious looking.

I tend to forget.

 Lautoka is affordable—and with Maia seeming to double in size on a near monthly basis it looked like a good place to outfit her in clothes that fit again. She and I set off with a shopping list (being a good cat sailor I had her pull out everything she had grown out of to donate—then we could replace those items only—rather than her doing what I do and just accumulate more clothes…) and a budget.

Lautoka has both a local clothing industry—with nice locally made things for a good prices, as well as several shops where last years’ (or the year before) brand name clothes are sold off at a bargain. We rarely paid more than $10 f ($6) for an item of clothing and most were in the $5 range. By the time we had finished shopping Maia was fully outfitted in up to date tween fashions and I had a pretty new dress.

The other shopper’s paradise in Latoka is the market. It’s good we started with the smaller versions in previous ports—because this large cavernous building could overwhelm otherwise. We stocked up on the normal fruits and veggies, but having ditched Evan for our girl’s shopping day, we also decided to pop into the handicraft market (claiming it was research for our upcoming visit from the NessetsJ) I’m a little addicted to tapas and the Fijian ones are gorgeous and affordable. So we stocked up.

Lautoka isn’t beautiful. It’s noisy and busy and the fact it had streetlights! multi-story buildings! so may shops! made us realize that other than Papette it’s been  five months since we were last in a city, or even a biggish town. But Lautoka is incredibly friendly and as the kind of person who tends to gravitate toward non-tourist centres (I’m also not that keen on ex-pat towns—they always strike me as a cross between summer camp and a dysfunctional family reunion…) it is the kind of city I love: easy to navigate, everything we need and lots of cheerful energy.

Our stay was brief though—we wanted to get to Musket Cove for the regatta and to reunite Maia with her friends (and us with our friends) on Mamalu and Connect 4.

So we sailed on.

Tranquil with a Chance of Waterspouts

We may as well have been glued to the bottom. Between sunrise (when the hills glow pink and gold) and sunset (was that a green flash? Our second in Fiji.) we spent the days aboard, enjoying the most peaceful anchorage we've been in, in the whole of the South Pacific.
There was this nagging feeling that there is more to Fiji than an anchorage of our own, with a stretch of sandy beach and nice diving a short dinghy ride away. But between books that needed reading, naps that needed indulging in and chores that had been put off too long-the need to leave just didn't seem that pressing.
And then there was the weather-not bad exactly, but changeable: shifting from clear blue sky, to a gusting torrential downpour within the span of a chapter, or a nap. And because the trip to Lautoka (our next port of clearance) is carried out inside a reef, which is strewn with all manner of hazards, it helps to have sunny weather.
Yesterday though after a swim to clean the prop (hey, we don't need clothes, we're the only ones here…) it was time to leave Nananu-I-Thake. The sky was clear, the sun was high enough to see the reefs and the wind was calm. We had news that friends were just a few anchorages away and a goal to get to the other side of the island in time to meet more visitors (who are not only bringing our new spectra shrouds [our rigger figures the high-tech solution is the way to go] they're also bringing a new hard drive-because our main one just died. Sigh.)
I love traveling inside a reef-when I can see where we are going.

can you see the reef? no? me either...

 But as the day progressed thunderheads started to build. The wind picked up and the vaguely charted reefs disappeared from view. "Maybe," I suggested, "if I steer toward where the outer reef is supposed to be we'll pick it back up and be able to avoid all those rocks and things." So I steered at the reef; squinting into the water; watching the depth sounder and trying to pick-up the most subtle changes in colour.
When I found the line of brown reef I began to concentrate on the clouds--watching with interest as they changed shape and formed downward aiming points. It wasn't until one of those points dropped all the way down to the water that I caught on, and I called Evan and Maia to see the waterspouts.
Maia did some research and discovered that contrary to popular belief waterspouts cannot be destroyed by shooting canon balls into them. They also don't tend to harm boats--especially when they are small and you're already upwind of them. So rather than causing worry-we got a science lesson.
Just before another squall hit we pulled into another peaceful, empty anchorage at Vatia Lailai. When the squall passed the sky was scrubbed blue, then gold and pink. Rather than a green flash we got a rainbow radiating upward from where the sun had set.
We had planned to continue on today-but there is a reef for diving on just outside our anchorage, and a long sandy beach to explore. And we caught enough water that we can catch up on laundry. And it's peaceful here. So peaceful.
*pictures will be added when we have a more functional hard drive and faster internet
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Four Colours of Vegetables!

I haven't begrudged a single $4 carrot on this trip.

Well, the $14 lettuce that I bought in Makemo (but hey, it was a three pack of romaine hearts) did cause a moment of marital strife. But for the most part we knew what we were getting into, and when we left Mexico our lockers were filled to bursting with all manner of tinned, dried and heavily processed food-like stuff.

That $4 carrot (and in its defense it was sort of biggish...)? Well, it wasn't really a necessity, at least not according to the lore of old-school sailors who live off of potted meats, mushy tinned peas and rum (and clearly even they stocked up before reaching the South Pacific...).

But before we left Vancouver I spent two years penning a natural living column and came to the conclusion that what we eat is sort of important. My guru, Michael Pollan (eat food, not to much, mostly vegetables), would be rendered speechless (appetiteless?) by a diet that consists of white bread, white rice, white fish, spam, taro, cassava, breadfruit, coconut, banana and the occasional sweet potato. And so we made the decision to supplement the local menu and our heavily processed stores with fresh fruits and veggies—at any cost. After all—we've dragged a growing child into the hinterlands and away from our organic farmer’s market, the least we can do is make sure she ingests something green now and again.

The cost, it turned out, was mostly palatable. What was lacking was variety.

 Actually what was lacking was having a clue what to do with the few local veggies that were available—because, you see, we had no idea what half the stuff was. And even less idea how to make them edible. And seriously, this is an important detail. Taro leaves for example (which we recently discovered are really delicious and we should have been eating from day one) can make you sick if you don't cook them enough. And who knows what that large, lumpy, reddish root(?) with spines would have tasted like if we got it wrong.

Fiji has made up for four months of high-priced (and often wilted) produce. We still don't always know what things are. But now, rather than getting the name of a new veggie in a language we only have a basic grasp of, we get the name in English and almost always we get cooking directions and a recipe or two. In a few cases I've received cooking lessons and a taste of the finished dish.

$1 Fijian worth of a yam thing...

And stuff is cheap. I spent $20 Fijian (around $12) and got 7 coconuts, a pile of eggplant, 6 bok choy, taro leaves for a lifetime, a huge yam thing, cooking bananas, green beans, tomatoes, cilantro, carrots, 8 cucumbers, a squash-like pumpkin, ginger, pineapple and a shiny, spiny thing.

And tonight—dinner included fresh veggies in four colours. Four!!

What we’ve been eating:

Dalo (also known as taro): A dry starchy rootcrop which is boiled and often served cold and sliced like bread with dinner.

Dalo leaves: The young leaves (look for ones with green stems) taste like spinach when cooked—unlike the green leafy stuff that the locals call spinach… It has to be well cooked though. Our two favourite dishes are rourou and palusami.

Tavikoa (tapioka or cassava): Also a rootcrop with a bland taste that's lot starchier than dalo. You get given huge piles of this stuff—it does grate up nicely and works well in desserts.

Miti: Thick coconut cream combined with onions, chillies, lemon juice, salt and pepper. We have a coconut grater and have learned to make our own cream. Maia can make enough cream for dinner from one coconut in about 20 minutes.

Yams: We’ve been getting yams and sweet potatoes that look like the ones from home (orange, red and white) as well as giant real yams which are very gooey to work with but really tasty.

Rourou

1 litre water

15 mls baking soda

20 young taro leaves (washed stems removed and chopped up)

Coconut oil

1 chopped onion

5 cloves garlic

2 cups coconut cream

Salt and pepper to taste

Add taro leaves to boiling water with soda and cook for 10 minutes with the lid on.

Drain and set aside.

Heat the oil and fry the onion for one minute add garlic and chilies if you like.

Add the taro back in and sauté 5 minutes

Add the cream and bring to a boil (the leaves should be nearly dissolved)

Serve on rice

Palusami

Stuffed Leaves:

Wash and stack 3-4 leaves for each bundle. Cook 2 diced onions in oil until tender. Add meat (the locals use corned beef or fish but we’re trying to use up our tinned beef and chicken), garlic, lemon and a cup or two of coconut cream. Put the mixture on your leaves and fold into a bundle then wrap with tinfoil. Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

Casserole:

Line the bottom of a pan with 1/3 your taro leaves. Cook up your mixture. Pour ½ the mixture over the leaves, and top with the next 1/3 and repeat. Cover pan tightly with foil and bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 60 minutes.

Bula! From Fiji

I already have learned more Figian than I learned Marquesan, Tahitian or Tongan. The reason is you can not pass a person or enter a store without someone greeting you and striking up conversation. And though everyone speaks English to a degree--everyone seems to take pleasure in teaching a few words of Fijian.

everyone in their party dresses...

 It hasn't taken long to discover why Fiji has been a favourite stop with so many of our friends. This is easily the friendliest place we've ever been--and not only is there a diversity of veggies to be had, we're back to near-Mexico prices. Good-bye $4 carrots.

Our arrival timing turned out perfect. After we pulled in and got our moring the wind rose and rose. Rather than fighting through it we wandered the streets and admired tapas and tomatoes, baskets and bokchoy. The next day our friends arrived and while it stormed we wandered through town and then caught up with them.

While we've waited for the wind to drop we've visited waterfalls and sugarcane fields and eaten a Fijian feast. They guys got their sulas and today we'll buy our gifts of Kava so we can visit outer villages. We're in Fiji man!!

**The only thing marring our lovely time is a sailboat called Quest was lost on the reef outside Savu Savu last eveing. We don't know the boat but listening to their mayday unfold was sobering and heartbreaking.