Carol, January 2007

From Tribewanted

I've been back for a few days and could have stayed another week because I'm off work with a cold until Monday now! I wonder if the doc in Labasa would have written me a sick note: "Carol is too happy to fly. Oh, and she has a cold too." Ahhhhhh

Vorovoro….

The day to day you know already, Lucy did a fabulous job of describing that, so I’ll prattle on and see how I do describing my Vorovoro. I’m prone to tangents and meanderings. I always think back stories make sense of the front story and can get carried away with that. I don’t want to edit much, so apologies in advance for my ramblings, but you don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.

Most trips are never exclusively about the destination, but how we get there – our travel through ourselves to different arrival points. Back in November, with winter and the festive season bearing down, I knew what I needed to rejuvenate me.

I needed peace in nature and warm air so my freedom would not be hindered by heavy clothing. I needed have the sound of the ocean lull me to sleep. I needed there to be no traffic noise to interfere with my thought flow, no lights to mar my view of the stars, no vigilance about my personal safety to necessitate staying somewhat alert. I needed an empty, private piece of beach where I could be a mermaid resting ashore and swim naked under a moonlit sky.

I’ve experienced all these things before and know how completely they reset my inner rhythm to its steady even beat. I knew I would find all these things on Vorovoro, so, after months of watching the website, I joined TW.

Good company was completely welcome, but even if I felt affinity with no one I encountered, I needed all of the above so deeply, I didn’t care. I was exhausted and nothing but simple living in nature would help.

Luckily, happily, beautifully, I found easy, joyful company, affinity and connection on our shared slice of paradise. For this I am exceptionally grateful.

I was at peace from moment one in Fiji. I texted “Bula! Aloha!” to many saying “my body mind and spirit feel at home in the heat of Fiji and the easy warmth of the people”.

I spent a day in Nadi on my way from Dublin to five days in Sydney before my week on Vorovoro. I sipped a soy latte at Nadi airport and seriously considered skipping Sydney and heading straight to Labasa.

Ultimately I decided to continue to Sydney, I’d made plans to meet up with two other tribies and an Aussie friend I worked with in Whistler a couple of years ago.

When I decided just before Christmas that I was going to Oceania, I felt compelled to revisit Sydney.I always say I love Sydney whenever I meet someone who’s been to or is from there, and I wanted to see if it was true or if I had simply romanticized the city in my mind.

Ahhh, but Sydney is still incredible, resplendent in nature despite being a huge cosmopolitan city.

I indulged myself in glorious ferry boat rides with scrumptious fresh fruit salads in my lap and excited children to talk with. I reveled in the vast array of healthy take away food choices (not available here in Ireland) that you can pick up so easily in Sydney and had little picnics amid the cockatoos in the Botanical Gardens, or beside the Archibald Fountain in Hyde Park while listening to a random string quartet compete with the bells of St Mary’s.

I squandered a few beautiful hours sipping coffee and watching earnest players manoeuver giant chess pieces around the Alice in Wonderland chess board in Nagoya Gardens.

Observing, and being part of, the pedestrian traffic at my favourite intersection in the world (so far) made me smile one of my biggest smiles.

The meeting of Druitt and George Streets down near Darling Harbour is always congested with foot and vehicle traffic. It is a typical city cross roads, but the way the light timers are set, the little green man lights up on all four corners once every three or four minutes and people cross the wide streets all willy nilly without a care in the world. There is something anarchistic about it, like a controlled display of organized chaos, and I often wonder if the urban planner who engineered this particular intersection emits gleeful giggles each time s/he passes by.

I met the Fionas (Fiona M’s pics of us all are on my profile page) one evening for drinks on the Quay by the Opera House. The Fionas were delightful to meet and their enthusiasm about TW and all the TWOT gossip kept conversation, and drinks, flowing.

We all have walls, some paper thin, others more solid than stone, hopefully all malleable, permeable and changing. All of us involved in TW share at least a few common values, and, as we know this from the get go, a layer of self-protection is already shed before we even meet. Community, wherever and however you find it, allows for some walls to be dropped without hesitation. This is entirely magical in a world full boundaries and borders.

My night with the Fiona's led us over to the Rocks area for food and wine, then down to Central, where most of the hostels are. We drank too much, stayed out too late and just generally had a very good time. Vinaka.

Oooops, meandered there for a minute.

Does this woman ever get to Vorovoro? Yes.

I caught an uneventful flight to Nadi and waited for the shuttle bus to Skylodge. Be patient at the airport, people, be patient. At least 4 or 5 friendly people in sulus and bula prints will ask you where you are going once you are in the arrivals hall and they will point you to the right place to wait. When you get up to wander around after 20 or so minutes of waiting, 4 or 5 other people in sulus and bula prints will ask you where you are going and point you back to the place to wait.

There is never a rush in Fiji, so just slow down. Treat it as easing yourself onto Fiji time. Ask your new friend waiting for the Skylodge bus to mind your luggage while you go get a cup of tea. Sloooooow down. It will be half an hour to an hour and a half from when your plane lands to when you check in at Skylodge. If you can’t wait, get a cab, it’s about 6 dollars and takes about 7 minutes. Once you are checked in and feeling secure, get a beer and chill. Leave clocks, fretting, worry and uptightness at the bottom of a beer bottle (or a cup of tea) and just kick back. Vinaka.

I chatted with a woman on the shuttle to Skylodge and mentioned I had an 8am flight in the morning. “You do?” she drawled in pure American South “Me too! To Labasa??” I told her I was going to Labasa then onward to a little island called Vorovoro. Smiling, the woman pulled her wooden TW pendant from beneath her shirt and I flashed the blue wristband Fiona M had kindly (or was it drunkenly? Both.) given me two nights before. We introduced ourselves, Gigi enthused about TW and being glad someone was going with her. I was glad to have met her, glad of evidence – in the form of a lovely Tennessean woman in her 60s – of the diverse population of TW. We talked for a bit before heading our separate ways for the evening and met again the next morning.

The plane ride to Labasa is stunning, marbled lapis lazuli like reefs leap from the clear ocean to drown out the sound of the airplane. I’ll say no more except that I hope we all get clear days for our flights.

Labasa airport is tiny and you will be greeted quickly, or if for some reason your TW team member has been a held up, you should just get cab to the Great Eastern Hotel, have a coffee and wait. The boat for Vorovoro leaves from the hotel’s jetty, so you will not be left behind. Try to think of waiting as not waiting, try to understand waiting as free time to simply exist without reason for doing so. It is a gift.

Truly, I can’t stress this enough: throw your watch in the ocean, metaphorically or otherwise. The Pavlovian kitchen bell on the island will tell you the only time you need to know about. The sun and moon will rise and fall whether you know what the clock says or not, your belly will tell you when you are hungry, your eyes will shut when you are tired and open when you are rested. When working or playing, your body will tell you when to stop and have some water. No one will leave for a village visit, snorkeling or fishing trip without you. Chuck the watch, relax and just listen to your body.

We get so little opportunity to do this in urban living, try not to waste your chance to enjoy freedom from schedules by being chained to a clock. Try to remember that clock time is a construct that doesn’t even actually exist. Whole societies function well and completely on this planet without ever seeing a clock.

I’m really good at not having a clock, I fall asleep so well and with absolute confidence I will wake when I am meant to.

The first morning I slept really late, until 10ish and woke sweltering in my tent. I threw on the nearest shorts and top and flung myself into the ocean. Luckily it was Sunday, so I hadn’t missed breakfast.

Another morning I awoke as the sky turned that deep dark blue of almost dawn but with stars still hovering on the edge of darkness. I got up, took the 15 steps to the water, had a swim and did sun salutations (vinaka Gigi for reminding me how yoga enhances life). I took some photos and a little video of sunrise, (www.youtube.com/v/APrh6loX_XA), made coffee and then settled on top of one of the long tables to read my cards and write in my journal. I could use a fair few more mornings like that one.

I should also say here, a big smiley vinaka vakelevu to everyone on Voro who hollered or came to get me when it was time to do stuff. Really, thank you. The Carol clock is pretty accurate, but I think it’s about 10-20 minutes slow sometimes.

If I was at peace in the warmth of Nadi, I was a puddle of super relaxed pudding arriving on Vorovoro. I tossed my gear on the floor of the Great Bure, kicked my shoes off and was home.

I’m pretty good at feeling at home most anywhere, but this was by far the easiest place to do so other than what I affectionately call “my little island”, an island off the coast of Vancouver.

I think I bored the gang to death talking about my little island, but because Voro – the atmosphere, the ease of being– felt so familiar and just right, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Even though I didn’t grow up there and haven’t lived there in almost 6 years (other than for a few months in 2004) my little island is where I call home.

When I lived there, I averaged one little carrier bag of garbage a month, and most of it was plastic packaging (which everyone there avoids, but even the most conscientious consumer ends up with some packaging). Everything else I recycled, composted or burned (paper and such) in the wood stove. Living like that feels most normal to me.

I’ve been traveling and living abroad since 2001 and I haven’t been able to live that conscientiously anywhere else as other cities and countries simply don’t have the infrastructure to make it possible. Being on Vora, I instinctually looked for a compost bucket when I finished my first lunch, what else would you do with food waste? Composting is as natural to me as a morning wee. So, I guess, being in my natural habitat meant I was constantly being drawn back to my little island.

Sorry if I went on and on about it there, and now here, it was just a very good and familiar feeling. I’m trying to create a link between the school (about 40 kids) on “my little island” and the Mali school. The kids actually have quite a few things in common in terms of their lifestyles. I hope it works and the two groups of children on opposite sides of the world start communicating with one another soon.

What to tell you of my adventures and excursions? I don’t want to hijack anyone’s experience and I think discoveries are best left until you get there, but I was honoured to be invited to join the villagers for different things and be so welcomed by everyone everywhere.

Smiling faces greet you at every turn on Vorovoro and neighbouring Mali. We truly are welcome, so be kind, be warm, be open. Smile lots and laugh even more and you will fit right in. Oh, and try to clap at the right times during Sevusevu, but if you don’t, it’s okay too. Everyone will just smile.

I couldn’t manage to keep my sulu organized. This garment is supposed to keep me modestly covered up, but I kept flashing a bit of thigh at the side or the whole thing would unravel and I’d be left flashing more. I felt pretty inept at sulu tying. I was relieved to see one of the older women villagers constantly retying and tucking in her sulu. She’d had years of practice and still couldn’t do it.

The lads all managed to keep their sulus secure, even after loads of kava. I should have asked one of them how to do it, but I think they cheated and tucked them into their shorts or something. I’ll do that next time.

Walking round the island with Kimbo at low tide was like being those kids in Stand By Me: we didn’t know what was round the next bend, but forged ahead unfazed. We passed through several different landscapes and climates and we even found a dead body. Okay, it was a bird skeleton, but it was pretty cool, and no mean teenagers showed up to try and pretend they’d found it first.

Secret Beach is a really really really big secret as far as I can tell. I don’t think there was one day I didn’t scramble up the rocks to try and find my way down to it. I did see it mind you, so I know it exists, but I couldn’t get to it. I think the boys were deliberately misleading me with their descriptions such as “there’s a goat trail. Just by that rock outcrop, you haven’t seen it? Don’t know how you could miss it...” and “just off to the left by that rocky bit, where it looks like you’ll plunge to your death if you take even one step further? That’s the trail down”.

I laughed at myself as I tumbled down another (the same?) dry creek bed and ended up near the jetty – again – or found myself moon-walking through bent over long tropical grasses that reminded me of gingerly tramping on snow banks so deep you don’t know when or where you will sink in up to your waist.

The mossies loved me adventuring around trying to find that trail, perhaps that was the lads’ ploy: send the silly Canadian who can’t find the trail off into the woods and the mossies will follow her……hmmm

Most evenings, when we all said goodnight after fire or table conversations, I went back to the beach in front of my tent to wish on shootings stars. Sometimes songs would pop into my head and I took these as clues; sometimes I wished for clarity; sometimes I just lay there reveling in the day I’d spent and the people I’d spent it with; sometimes I just lay there, like that Snow Patrol song, and sang that Snow Patrol song. Sometimes I’d feel sad and not know why, so I’d wish on stars to bring me sweet dreams and they always delivered.

Next time I’ll go for longer and get stuck into a project of some sort. It was a quiet week in terms of construction, but Gigi and I got to tear down the shower while Kimbo “supervised”. To be fair, he did carry all the stuff away and chop up the wood for fires, and I really don’t think Gigi and I would have relinquished our machetes or hammers under any circumstances.

I got exactly what I was hoping for on Vorovoro and much much much more. It was so easy to just be - without explanation, without judgment, without superficiality.

Vinaka Vakelevu