Fiji

On our first full day in Fiji I was quite depressed.  It felt like we had turned some sort of corner and were finally heading home.  This, in itself isn't so bad.  I do get homesick sometimes, but I found that I was already homesick for all the people in New Zealand and Australia we had just left behind. 
 
Caro was also a little low.  She had opened the bure slats to look out on an overcast day.  "It's not even sunny on a tropical fucking island," she spat in disgust.  It had rained most of the time in Australia to our surprise but we thought we would escape this sort of thing in Fiji.  However, the sun remained elusive our entire time in Fiji.  However, you must remember we were there at the beginning of May which is off-season.  This became even more obvious when we ventured into the huge dining area (basically just a raised wooden floor with a roof and no walls and a bar attached.  
 
There was NO-ONE there.  Not one person.  Eventually someone rocked up to take our order, but we were apparently staying at the “Marie Celeste” of resorts.
 
Caro gathered up some brochures to see what was going on locally.  Not A Fucking Lot was the answer.  There were some really expensive tours to other islands, but we were apparently staying on The Island of Bugger All To Do.  This, as I said, was FINE.  We WANTED to do Bugger All.  It's what I do best!  But I just thought I'd let you know that the biggest attraction near Nadi is the Raymond Burr Orchid Farm.
 
Did you know Raymond Burr lived in Fiji?  Me neither.  But he did and is HUGE here.  (Mind you Raymond Burr is huge everywhere.  I blame bad diet and all those years in that wheelchair in "Ironsides".)
 
Our lunch came, and like most of the meals at the resort it was covered in grease and came with a limp salad that had an orchid in it.  But the service was very friendly.  Most of the staff were.  Every time they saw you they would cry, "Bula!"  And if there were two of you, "Bula!  Bula!" and so on.  
 
(I wondered what would happen if half a dozen Fijians all met each other all at once - the bula-ing could go on for DAYS.  It would sound like The Goombay Dance Band had reformed or something.)

Back at the bure, we decided to do our laundry.  Partly because I had a stain down the leg of my favourite travelling pants that looked like I had pissed down my leg, and partly because we were seduced by the bizarre clothing list that came on the laundry slip.  Items like, "t-shirts" washed for $1.90 (fair enough) and then you get to "safari suits" for $7.50 (unfortunately I had neglected to pack my safari suit).  Then there were "gentlemen's stockings" for $1.40.  Quite frankly I would pay a great deal more than that just to keep it quiet that I wear stockings.  But anyway, we parceled up our stuff and gave it to the front desk.
 
Big mistake.
 
The laundry list just added to the very Graham Greene, an Englishman Abroad type of vibe, with the coconuts lying around outside our veranda, the chirping geckos at night, the continuous whirring of the ceiling fan and the tea-making facilities in the room.
 
(Not that we used them much; the milk there was so revolting that Caro had to go without coffee for a week.  I was lucky to escape with my life, and my testicles.)
 
We had dinner at the resort again that night.  It was actually very nice sitting there with torches blazing all over the place and a few other people had now materialised.  Caro asked if she could smoke and the waiter asked, "smoke what???"  When she explained she meant tobacco he said, "Oh SURE - you can smoke THAT."  And there I was thinking we had left Nimbin far behind...