At puja, the Sunday prayer

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2 STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY / SUSAN KRAUS Traditional thatch homes provide shelter and community structure for mountain villages of Fiji. Bula for Fiji Lawrence Magazine travel writer Susan Kraus visits Fiji for beaches, villages, temples, second helpings and bus route friendships At puja, the Sunday prayer service at the Sri Krishna Kaliya temple in Lautoka, Fiji, there are no seats, no pews. Women sit crosslegged on the marble floor on one side, men on the other, while children play with crayons in the back, facing altars decorated in golds, reds, pinks, purples, beads and jewels. There is, however, a sermon. Then music and dancing. No organ here, but there is much drumming, bell ringing, conch blowing, chanting and clapping. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, Hare, Hare. The tempo mounts as dancers entwine their arms, sway, step forward three steps, then back, forward and back. To the side. And back. It s a Texas line dance in saris. MORE THAN A BEACH Just hearing the word Fiji evokes images too ideal to be real: exquisite sand beaches, swaying palm trees, turquoise seas, impossibly blue skies, darting fish and pulsating coral reefs. It s touted as a 84 CE MINE / FALL 21 / M

3 haven for serious scuba divers, a honeymoon destination a paradise. After spending three weeks in Fiji, I found that all these stereotypes were, amazingly, true. But don t go all that way just for scenery. If what you crave is a pool with a swim-up bar and a beach with palm trees, there are picture-perfect places a lot closer. But if you have a sense of adventure and want to experience a culture totally different from home, Fiji is definitely worth the trip. It was the people of Fiji, not the beaches, who made my visit so memorable. The markets in Fiji, above, are accessible, affordable and filled with local produce. Fiji has a substantial ethnic Indian population, resulting in a cultural and religious mixture where cathedrals and Hindi temples, right, are found across the country. Expensive resort hotels with gorgeous scenery, opposite, are spread across the nation s islands. KEREKERE, SEVUSEVU, KAVA AND BU! It takes a village is more than a saying in Fiji. Villages, made up of family clans with hereditary chiefs and myriad rules and expectations, are core. For many in these small farming and fishing groups, life is subsistence but also sustaining. Everything done is for the good of the group. According to the Fiji tradition of kerekere, time and property are seen as communal if someone wants or needs what you have, you give it to them. To go to Fiji without visiting a village, or several villages, is to miss the soul of the country. Visitors show respect through the tradition of sevusevu, presenting a gift to the village chief. Usually that gift is the roots of a certain pepper plant, used to make kava, the national drink, which has a mildly narcotic property for some. (It turned my mouth numb the first time by the third you don t notice.) After presenting the gift, a visitor is welcomed with a kava ceremony. The ceremony is not an ancient ritual reincarnated for tourists, but an essential part of every Fijian gathering or event. Prepared in a tanoa, a ceremonial wooden bowl, the kava is mixed with water and then strained. Protocol is to clap once, accept the half-coconut shell with the kava and say Bula! before draining the cup, returning it and clapping three times in appreciation. Bula, which means life, is the first word you ll hear when you arrive in Fiji and the last when you depart. Bula is hello, welcome, an all-purpose toast and farewell. 86 CE MINE / FALL 21 / M

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5 FIJI WHERE AND HOW Fiji is about 98 percent water and 2 percent land as a country of more than 300 islands, the majority uninhabited. Some belong to groups with exotic names: Mamanucas, Yasawas, Lomaiviti, Kadavu, Lau, Moala, Rotuma. The smaller ones often lack roads and cars, get limited electricity from generators and have rustic accommodations. But some small islands have been turned into high-end luxury resorts. It s an equal opportunity paradise. Getting to Fiji is surprisingly simple. Fly to Los Angeles and hop on an Air Pacific direct overnight flight. Eat, drink (free drinks on Air Pacific), sleep and wake up in Fiji. I arrived at 5:30 a.m. local time, was at my hotel by 7 a.m. and on a schooner cruise for a day of snorkeling and swimming by 9:30 a.m. By late afternoon, I d enjoyed my first Fijian feast on an atoll and sailed past Monuriki, the island where Tom Hanks movie Castaway was filmed. And throughout the day there was music. Fijians use music to turn daily life into a celebration with guitars, drums or just voices. Everyone sings, and the singers enthusiasm is contagious. It was a very fine introduction to a country and a culture. Music provided a brilliant end to the first day of travel, a wonderful introduction to the days ahead all in all, not bad for a first day. TAKE A BUS One way to connect with the people of Fiji is to travel as locals do. I spent a week taking public buses on the largest island, Viti Levu, explored the capital city, Suva, and stopped at towns and villages. For me, it was a hot and sweaty adventure; for the locals, it is how they get around. Roads can be gravel and dirt, the buses old and worn, the ride slow and bumpy which may be why I never saw another tourist or white person on a bus. But the Fijians noticed me. They asked me where I came from and why was I taking the bus. They shared stories of their lives, kids, the cousin who joined the U.S. Marines and was serving in Iraq. Just as travel is about observing different cultures, it is also about understanding how people experience their lives and how they may see yours. Such glimpses can be moments of epiphany. I won t forget chatting with a young man bringing his produce to the market in Rakiraki, his machete tucked between his legs. He asked where I was from. So I tried to describe the prairie, and Kansas, a place in the middle of so much land that it would take two very long days of driving a car at 100 kilometers an hour to reach an ocean. Oh, he said, his eyes opening wide. How sad for you. BACK TO THE TEMPLE After the service, it was time for Sunday lunch. Everyone filed back to the temple hall, lined with long tables and folding chairs, looking like any church hall around the globe. In Kansas, we serve casserole dishes, salads and fried chicken. Here it was mounds of rice, smothered in green vegetable curry, served in metal bowls. No utensils, no napkins. People ate with their fingers, swishing curry into the rice, scooping up rice and curry with three fingers, sucking their fingers at the end. Across from me sat several church ladies smiling through yellowed and missing teeth. They asked me in halting English where I was from. They talked among themselves in rapid Hindi. Then they said what church ladies always say: Eat some more. When I finished, I watched what to do next. Following others, I took my plate out back where there was a very long metal sink with many faucets, washed it, laid it on a table to dry, then cleaned my gummy hands. I found my sandals in the pile by the door and started to walk away in the sultry afternoon heat. The church ladies waved goodbye at me through the glass walls. Bula, they called out. Bula! M Singing and dancing, right, are part of many village gatherings. This mountain village home, far right, is slightly larger than many others but typical of the interior décor and intergenerational family living. 88 CE MINE / FALL 21 / M