Paradise Lost - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

Welcome to out last day in Fiji, dear reader. We have been checking the weather at home intermittently and have been unsurprised to see little change. Sydney has now become the rainy city and the forecast for arrival tonight is 90% chance of rain. Fortunately, I purchased weatherproof luggage while I was travelling with work (seems like a lifetime ago) so our belongings shall at least arrive home dry.

The arrival of our new ferry transfer time last evening put a dampener on things and overshadowed a glorious morning and our breakfast. We do have a new breakfast sport: bulbul watching. On the quieter mornings, the bulbuls fly in and perch on the top of the pillars, just below the roof line. When the coast is clear, they swoop in and grab some breakfast too. It’s not just for humans. One morning, granola was the target. The next day, there was no granola on offer and he opted for the sunflower kernels. Today, after a long wait on the pillar top, he opted for the closest of the foods, bircher muesli. Down he swooped, up high on his legs, surveyed the bowls, hopped up onto the muesli bowl and tucked in. The guests always seem amused. Not so the staff.

Island Bar - wide angle

We chatted with another couple at breakfast, also from Sydney, lamenting the abysmal weather at home. Also we quickly learnt they are Bunnies supporters and she grew up near Redfern and now works there. Small world. This once again adds weight to Jayne’s hypothesis that, if you are visibly a Bunnies supporter, you will never be alone – someone always wants to talk about the players, the latest game, the points table, the upcoming game, Latrell’s hamstring…

We were just delaying the inevitable and finally dragged ourselves down to reception to discuss the ferry back to the mainland. You want to catch the later ferry, of course, no problem. Late check out, of course. How about 2pm? While this was all welcome news, some things have already been set on an irreversible course. I didn’t swim laps this morning because of the tight time frame for getting out of the buré. Jayne opted to shower before breakfast because we wouldn’t be swimming in the lagoon, again because of the time frame. Now, we have an extra 4 hours to relax and enjoy the vista and complete the immigration information on the Australian government Digital Passenger Declaration (DPD) app.

Every review I read about Musket Cove rated it 5 stars. Except one, and she rated it 1 star because she was goading them into answering her email enquiry – she hadn’t even been here yet. There are many aspects of the resort that are excellent and worthy of 5 stars. The natural environment is an absolute winner and the sunsets here are better than Cable Beach, better than Santorini, better than anywhere I can recall (except maybe Redfern). I have posted at least one sunset with every post. 

The people, absolutely everyone, are friendly and helpful and lovely. The beach front accommodation, OK I could nit-pick, but sitting on the verandah looking across the lagoon; I could do that every day forever and not tire of it. Activities? There were activities enough if that’s what you wanted, or not, if that was your expectation. It’s not a party island and doesn’t pretend to be.

First world problems

On the not-so-5-star side is a lack of eye for detail, the maintenance of facilities and communication. We have already mentioned that it would be very helpful to advertise the dinner menu each day so people can decide if they want to have lunch as the main meal (unless you are one of those people who wants 3 main meals a day and then advanced warning is irrelevant). 

Then there is the wine list. That is pretty much what it was, a list. Much of it was out of stock for half of our visit. The list itself was not something to excite any wine lover. Three or four NZ sav blancs from the old school, high acid with in-your-face herbaceous fruit. They were interesting in the ‘80s but the world has moved on. There was a chardonnay, recognisable by the label, not the taste and a pinot gris that was out of stock for the first four days. As mentioned, the red wine list suffered a similar fate in terms of availability, but then, it's not really a red wine climate. Unless you like drinking blood. Of the three rosés there was only one available and it was too sweet to become a mainstay for us.

As with many ‘all meals included’ resorts, the cream of the profit is skimmed from alcohol purchases. Price-wise, even in Fiji dollars, they weren’t bottle shop prices, not outrageous, but not cheap. One couple asked if we’d won lotto because we’d ordered a bottle of wine with dinner. While we did have a bottle of wine with our meal each night, there were occasions where we could have ordered another bottle to sip slowly on our verandah as the night came down but this was not on offer. Given the number of guests they can accommodate and the passing yachties, stopping in for a feed and a drink, they have missed a significant opportunity to improve their bottom line.

As to facilities, well the lovely sun lounges out the front of the buré are homemade and not quite as solid as they should be. Should one attempt to sit on them, the fabric comes away from the side revealing several very long sharp screws. Each day someone comes along and re-screws them, for them to come loose again as soon as anyone should sit on the lounge. It may provide work, but it is neither safe nor sensible. It is a design fault that should be rectified.

The offending sun lounges

Then there is the air conditioning. It is essential to have it on at night. Ours works effectively enough, but it drips condensation onto the beautiful polished timber floor. There it pools and seeps through one particular board which is slowly rotting through. This is not obvious at first glance and at some point, someone, guest or staff, or is going to put a foot through the floor. My short-term solution was to position the bath mat underneath the drip each night to soak up the water.

The timber floors behind the lamp are a bit soggy.

It has also become apparent that it depends to whom you speak, as to the level of information you obtain about arrangements and activities. An example of this is the Cloud Nine offer we had as part of our stay package – our first inquiry led us to believe this was a snorkelling opportunity, off a platform in the middle of the ocean. We were interested in this, until we then found out, by chance, from the water activities guy, with whom we were about to book a Cloud Nine time, that we needed to “Take your card.” Why, we asked? Because it is actually a floating pizza and cocktail bar - you can jump in the water if you like, but that is not the main game. Our package included the return boat trip out there, but not what we might consume while marooned there, presumably with a lot of music and people outside our demographic. Not sure how it would have been received if we had arrived at the platform and jumped into the water for the entirety of our time there, without using “the card”.

Cloud 9 or hell on water?

Up to this point, the post has actually been written on our verandah. Bags almost packed, but now with time to enjoy … Once again, the bird song and lapping of the waves is interrupted, read shattered or destroyed, by what sounds like a leaf blower. We all know it is ‘smoking man’, not the one from the X Files, but the guy here who sprays the undergrowth with chemicals every day. It doesn’t smell organic or natural. He sprays every day and wanders around in a cloud of insecticide, wearing little more than a disposable surgical mask for protection. Very safe for him and the guests. Just a question - is Dieldrin banned in Fiji?

I know this is all being very picky, but this hasn’t been the cheap Fiji holiday I read about in the media. And none of it was a deal breaker. It was, as pointed out since we arrived, the little things that matter – and they shouldn’t, because they shouldn’t be noticed. It’s in the not noticing that makes a 5 star establishment.

Paradise Lost

And before I sign off dear reader I’m sure you are speculating on the title. Is there a song called Paradise Lost? I was actually referring to Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost because it is relevant here in so many ways. Not in the religious sense. In a snarky moment, it can refer to the things that the Resort didn’t get quite right. In a broader sense it is about what human kind has done in the destruction of natural habitat and our inability to recognise or attempt to repair it. Then of course there is the historic “white man’s burden” destructive invasion of the islands in the name of their Christian god. Let’s move on, this could spawn a novel, not a blog post.

The Department of Home Affairs

Just when I thought we’d finished writing for this trip, we experienced something incredible. Something amazing. Something unbelievable. A Federal Government app that worked easily and smoothly, the way it should have. Yeah nah. The DPD app – it’s free because nobody would pay for it. However, it is currently essential to complete it before Australians can return to Australia. And who would take returning to Australia as a given, under the current (now former - ed.) government, even if you are Australian and a resident? Remember when they locked the borders to everyone at the start of COVID?

Mr Potato Head’s department has excelled this time in that it works better than any other government app I’ve attempted to use. They also win because if you don’t use their app, you can’t come home – sort of like buying into big tech. 45 minutes later … we had completed the simple questions, many of which could have been pre-filled by the government who know who I am, where I am and what I think. It was, however, not the clusterfuck that was the Census before last, or the attempt at COVID tracing, but it still wasn’t smooth sailing. 

Today is May 11, hopefully the current bunch of incompetents will be dispatched in 10 days’ time. Don’t @me, I don’t care if you vote LNP. You have my most sincere sympathy and disgust, in equal parts. If you haven't realised yet, dear reader, this post is exactly 2 weeks after the listed date the result of lack of wifi access and a missing camera cable. (And I'm still celebrating the LNP loss of power).

And that is a wrap. We have a couple of weekend expeditions planned which may or may not rate a mention on this blog. It may well be our next communication will be in August when we venture off for the twice-postponed European river cruise. Unless, of course … but let’s not go there.

Until then.

I Can See Clearly Now - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

Let me commence today’s post with an observation, my dear reader. Moustaches. To echo the pathetic attempt to curb social drug taking by the Howard government of the ‘90s, “just say no”. To moustaches. You can make up your own mind on drugs. I’m not your dad, I can’t tell you what to do. To see a young man shuffling in for breakfast, squinting eyes and wearing the exertions of last evening’s festivities across his brow, is confronting enough. When that young man is also wearing a moustache that appears once to have sported waxed ends … no, no, no. It’s enough to put one off the bad coffee one is drinking. This is 2022, not 1922. It may be in fashion but fashion is not always in good taste.

Life has settled into some sort of pattern. Not completely regular and regimented but there is a pattern. Once again, I rose before Jayne to swim laps in the pool. Exercise always allows one to feel righteous. It also excuses any excess at the breakfast table. Today was a carbon copy of the last few mornings - cloudless, with a slight breeze. The pool was empty and the restaurant only slightly more populated by the early breakfast fraternity.

Laps achieved, it was time to shower, dress and return with Jayne for the breakfast dilemma. To omelette or not to omelette, that is the question? No omelette today, but a promise was made to the staff that she would have one tomorrow. There will be no omelette passing these lips. Or any other egg concoction, if I can help it.

We lingered over breakfast, allowing the tide to rise a little higher, in preparation for another assault on snorkelling. Today we opted to walk to the Island Bar, which has become a haven for yachties and other assorted ne’er-do-wells. Think Jane Austen gypsies, but more annoying and not so scary. Our reasoning revolved around the very limited areas of clear water in which to snorkel. If the visibility is low, there is little point being out there, particularly as Jayne is snorkelling without lenses, the contacts being safe and sound in Sydney (along with the Aeroguard). While the goggles have a magnification effect, it is not enough if there is no water clarity.

The breakfast bulbul planning his next attack.

The water closer to the island is a little clearer and we floated our way towards where the vision was best yesterday. Then we turned our attention to the coral that borders the deep-water channel that provides boat access to the marina. It was the clearest we’ve seen. Not brilliant, but very good. There were plenty of different coral varieties and colours. Orange, yellow, iridescent blue, purple and other less vibrant colours and more fish than we’ve seen all week. It was certainly worth the effort today and our 45 minute (self-imposed) time limit in the sun was soon reached.

The water clarity spawned today's title. Yes, dear reader, I know the Hothouse Flowers version is a remake, but it is one of the best versions. Have a listen.

We followed a slow drift back towards the beach in case there was anything else worth seeing. There wasn’t. The sun was high in sky and letting us know it was time to re-occupy the chairs on the verandah to read and relax until lunch/cocktail time.

Our allegiance for cocktails has switched from the Island Bar to the restaurant. There is no particular reason for this except that I am interested in the lunch options to minimise my dinner intake. I think it’s an age thing. For the last two days I have had lunch, coinciding with swimming laps of a morning. The cocktail today was unchanged from yesterday, a Blue Malolo. Jayne opted for the safety of a Pina Colada and I went for the experimental Island Itch. The passion fruit seduced me. Like many a seduction, it didn’t live up to expectations. Or so I’ve been told.

It has been firmly established on this trip, dear reader, that the less one does, the more exhausted one feels. In the mid-afternoon on our last full day, I am struggling to raise myself from the deck chair to walk the 20 metres to the lagoon to cool down. I am uncertain if this is just island malaise or the impact of the cocktail at lunch. It is an effort, but one must succeed.

Post-lagoon exercise, we are back lounging on the verandah. There is a new yacht in at the marina this afternoon and as the day winds down, they are winding up. Why is it people with appalling taste in music feel the need to share that fact with everyone? The music, if it can be called that, is, unlike the water, crystal clear and can be heard quite a distance away. Hoping they shove off soon. (See what I did there?)

A Vanikoro Flycatcher

One of the nice touches of the resort is the hibiscus flowers that are used to decorate the buré. They are placed upon the bed, the bar, the side table on the verandah, the bathroom – just about anywhere there is flat surface. Soaking up the scenery the other afternoon I looked at the grass in front of the verandah area. Hibiscus stamens in various states of decay littered the ground like the cigarette butts of a previous generation. I’ve seen very few people here smoke. We have a coconut ashtray on the verandah that I place the flowers in every day.

Pre-dinner, I summoned the strength to chase tiny little birds. The Fijian Parrot Finch was back in the area and I finally managed to get a couple of reasonable close-ups – I hope. I won’t really know until we’re back home and I’ve loaded the photos onto the computer.

Nailed it.

Our last dinner. Tonight was curry night. As mentioned previously they are obviously following a set program. I don’t get why this can’t be published to the guests. Regardless, dinner was lovely and the sunset stunning. We thought we would celebrate our last night with a relaxing bottle of red after dinner and listen to the local musicians. Well, that was the plan, but nobody came near us all evening. So, no red wine. 

We walked back to the buré where sometime later Jayne suggested someone was at the door. I thought it was the clicking frog until it spoke. Our final bill, minus tonight’s wine, had been delivered. Which also delivered a surprise. We had been moved from the 3:45pm Cat back to Nandi to the 12:15pm trip. That’s a whole lot of wait time at the airport that we hadn’t factored in.

Too tired to discuss this tonight, we opted to leave it for the morning.

Until next time.

If I Could Turn Back Time - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Island

I’m not sure if I am taking a while to adjust to Fijian time, (it is only a two-hour time difference), or if the heat combined with the humidity is what is making me lethargic. Perhaps it’s just island life, dear reader. Whatever, I woke with the sunrise this morning and loitered in bed until I was sure Jayne wasn’t waking. By 7am, I had crept silently from the bed, put on my swimmers, grabbed my goggles and towel, and walked quietly to the pool.

The tables were being laid for breakfast and the smell of bacon faintly scented the air. There was still a slight breeze as I slipped into the water to churn out 500 metres. The best thing about this is that it will be saved on Strava as twice the length because my watch is set to 50 metre laps, not the 25 metres of the resort pool. Officially today I swam 1,000 metres in less than 13 minutes. Happy with that, but don’t tell anyone, my trusted reader.

No idea. Pretty.

The main pool is very warm and extremely salty, even more salty than the lagoon. It was necessary to have a fresh water rinse off as I headed home. By 7:30 am, I was back stretched out in bed next to a still sleeping Jayne. I am a ninja.

For the first time since we arrived, we had no close neighbours. Sunday must be the major departure day. It would also explain the sparse showing at dinner last night, something that was replicated at breakfast. Although the reduced crowd didn’t discourage the resident cats or visiting birds. Jayne maintains that the animals know me because I’ve fed them. I accept that with the cats, not sure about the bulbul. However, this morning after I placed my muffin on the table and went to get the bad coffee and a cup of tea, a bulbul landed on the back of my chair. When Jayne didn’t provide instant sustenance, it flew directly to the granola station and had a couple of beaks-full before staff scared it away. I am not responsible for rogue birds, although I am happy because it is a native.

Another flower

After breakfast, we walked to the notice board to see what was on the published agenda today. Nothing particularly enticing, except the date was recorded as: Monday, April 9. Hence today’s title dear reader. Jayne remarked that they had turned back time and May hadn’t happened yet. It has nothing to do with Cher and straddling big guns. If it had, I would have chosen the Beatles’ Happiness is a Warm Gun.

It's island time

The breeze was quite strong still but we decided to brave it and go for a paddle in the lagoon in one of the double kayaks. Jayne, as agile as she has ever been, managed to fall out of the craft before she even got in. It was warm, I reasoned, she probably wanted to cool off before we worked up a sweat. She’s always been the sensible one. And work up a sweat we did, once Jayne managed to sit in the kayak, fighting both current and wind at varying times. We ended up beyond the Island Bar and made an interesting discovery. The water out there was crystal clear. Noteworthy for snorkelling, after the murky experience the other day. Eventually we manoeuvred the kayak so it faced the shoreline and began paddling again. I’ll be surprised if I don’t feel this activity in my shoulders tomorrow.

The White-faced Heron turned from Jayne, embarrassed.

By the time we returned the Kayak I was hot and sweating. If only I’d had the foresight to get into the water before we set out. We made use of the shade from the coconut palms on the stretch of sand in front of our buré and discussed the clear water. The tide was high so it was good time to snorkel - at least we wouldn’t need to walk most of the way out to the clear water – if it still existed. I collected the flippers and goggles, we re-applied sunscreen and went in search of underwater worlds.

The water wasn’t much more than waist deep, chest deep in some spots. The lack of clarity continued as before; visibility was less than a metre. For either Jayne or I to locate the other required a head up out of the water. Or an accidental collision – there were a few of those. Until about 150 metres from shore, there was little to see. The water was clouded with silt and the seabed populated by those curious little fish that dig holes and then sit in their entrance. There were very infrequent beds of seagrass and occasional pods of weed.

Then, inexplicably, the water became crystal clear. The pods of weed increased, followed by pockets of fledgling coral and bay clams. There were a few interesting fish near these tiny outcrops, but they too were small. Everything appeared in scale. We were probably approaching 200 metres from shore and still hadn’t reached the deep-water line. Time to go back. Sunscreen doesn’t last forever and we’ve been badly burnt snorkelling before.

What an active morning! Time to chill with a book on the verandah and wait for lunch and check out the cocktail of the day. I’m reading Girt Nation by David Hunt. It’s the third book in his unauthorised history of Australia. It’s a pity that historians didn’t write texts like this when I was at school way back last century. If you ever want to laugh and depress yourself simultaneously, the Girt series is for you. It explains a lot about Australia’s current political and social situation.

With only a couple of days remaining, today we opted to have lunch for the first time. Perhaps because of the radical exercise of the morning. Who knows? Anyway, we shared tonkatsu sliders and halloumi salad, paired with the cocktail of the day for me, a Blue Malolo and Jayne had a Tropical Splice. She wouldn’t try mine because it had been poisoned by the addition of Banana Rum.

Back on the verandah, we decided we would have another go at snorkelling off the Island Bar’s beach tomorrow. Hopefully, the clarity of water out there will allow a better view of the coral than we experienced last time. And then … read … siesta … a little of column A, a little of column B.

An afternoon lap of the tourist inhabited area revealed the Fijian Parrot Finch, a recognised subspecies of the Red Faced Parrot Finch. It’s the same bird we saw at the Sheraton on the main island. I’ve done some checking since then. I didn’t have the big lens with me, so I’m hoping I jagged a decent photo. Sorry, that section should have come with a bird-nerd alert.

Not quite as good as I had hoped.

Another relaxing afternoon on the verandah as the sun moved towards colouring the western sky. That means dinner. And in another piece of exciting news, they now have the Pinot Gris in stock. It was very good. Probably not as good as we thought, but hey, it wasn’t one of those herbaceous, sugar laden NZ sav blancs.

There were a few new faces at dinner tonight, our penultimate dinner. Not to mention there was another group of travel agents from the States or Canada – Ok, I can tell the difference, but I just don’t care that much. There were about ten of them and, if they were on a similar program to the last group, it means 8 resorts in 8 days. That is a schedule that does not vaguely interest me. Gruelling. It’s like speed dating, or a sample plate; it might pique your interest but in the end, you will be unsatisfied.

My phone takes a better picture than my camera

Unlike us. We are both satisfied and sated after our day’s activity, dinner and another knockout sunset. It has been spectacular every night, better than anywhere we’ve seen. Don’t try and hide in the corner Santorini, I’m looking at you.

Time for a new camera

Until next time.

Prisoner in Disguise - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

There has been one constant battle since we arrived, dear reader, and that is us versus insects. I mentioned earlier the midges that make life uncomfortable from time to time. We have fought skirmishes with mozzies and other biting bugs. A can of Aeroguard, (I told Jayne we didn’t need to bring insect repellent), at the local supermarket cost about the same as the GDP for Tasmania. Money well spent when you consider how Jayne’s skin reacts to bites from the scheming little blood suckers. The damage is done; all we can do now is prevent further attacks.

Last evening, as we were preparing to leave for dinner, I thought I could hear the silvan sounds of a leaf blower. If ever you doubted the existence of evil in this world, you have not heard a leaf blower early in the morning. Peering through the louvres of the bathroom as the sound became louder, I espied a man walking along the road wearing a large backpack that contained some chemical which he was blowing onto the shrubs and into the undergrowth. Even now as I write this, I have a strange taste in my mouth. Given the state of Jayne’s bites, one can only imagine that we would have been carried off the island by the bugs, had this preventative measure not been in place.

A frangipani that has not been sacrificed for personal wear.

Today promises a reprieve from the heat. Not with a drop in temperature but with a rising wind. It provided respite yesterday afternoon and made for a much more pleasant evening. The adventure today, aside from anything the Musket Cove people have planned, is to walk to the eastern side of the island. Making this simple idea a complexity, rivalling the Burke and Wills expedition, is that (a) the map runs out before we reach our destination, (b) the map is not to scale and (c) there is a spine of possibly insurmountable mountains/hills running through the centre of the island. My best guess is the road runs parallel to the airstrip, similar to Lord Howe Island, meaning it is the lowest, flattest point of egress. Time will tell.

Breakfast brought the mundane. The cat came to visit, mooching unsuccessfully for food from our table. Jayne returned to type and her second successive omelette. We logged into the wi-fi and cleared rubbish email, hoping for an email from Lotto. The cat and I have something in common. Neither of us got we wanted.

The post-breakfast walk proved as I believed it would. The road was flat and stretched from one side of the island to the other down the length of the airstrip. While the wind was predicted to get up in the afternoon, it was still around 15 kph in the morning and we were walking straight into it. Any thoughts of swimming on the eastern side of island dissipated as we were buffeted by the growing wind.

The road petered out about half-way down the airstrip and ended where the staff accommodation was situated. No, dear reader, not on the airstrip, on our side of it. The track beyond was boggy and we were forced to create our own path. Reaching the beach was anticlimactic. The tide was still reasonably high so there was precious little sand. The blustery conditions were not conducive to enjoying time on the sand. It was totally exposed which is why all the resorts are on the other side of the island. It offered views of the main island and Cloud 9 which is as close as I care to get to it.

The Eastern beach

Proceed with caution. Rant ahead.

The most disconcerting thing, though, was pollution. To be specific: plastic pollution. I walked a section of beach maybe 100 metres in length. In that short walk I came across: lego, pegs, a washing basket, a nail brush, a tooth brush, margarine containers, bags, bottle caps, bottles, Tupperware lids, chip, Twistie and noodle packets, an asthma puffer, parts of children’s toys, buckets, lolly containers and a toilet cistern. A cistern! Complete with internal workings. All plastic. And that is limited to the detritus I could recognise and remember. 

The Eastern beach looking south

It is an absolute crime that we cannot look after our planet. It’s a self-evident statement, I know, but then look at the climate deniers that inhabit Australian politics and adopt a position purely because they believe it will gain them votes. If I was 40 years younger, I’m not sure I would want to bring children into a world where it is hard to see hope of a positive future. We are being screwed by the quest for power by people who don’t know what to do with it when they gain it and a distortion of capitalism that equates greed and excess with success. Sorry. I’ll step down from my soapbox now and go for a walk and calm down a bit.

Still not over it.

On the walk back from the Eastern beaches, we were caught unawares by a resort worker, presumably on his way to his shift, who sailed past us on his bicycle, calling out the usual greeting, “Bula!”, just as we reached a sign that warned no bicycles beyond this point.

As we continued into the resort precinct, we stopped to check out the “What’s on?” notice board for the daily update of activities. Adult activities today – “Relax.” Child activities today – “Relax.” Well, it is Sunday…

A couple of dips in the lagoon, a cocktail at Dick’s Place, where dinner is served and that was about the day. As we sit on the verandah and read and watch the day while away, the distant noise of a dance party at the Plantation Resort is pushing across the water on the back of the afternoon breeze. A dance party. Well, I assume that is what’s happening; mostly all I can hear is a thumping baseline. Although the lyrics and cheers associated with the Macarena are quite audible. The Macarena? Wasn’t that the 90s? Move on people. It is obvious, dear reader, that we have landed at the right resort.

The remainder of the day was spent reading. Although Jayne did remark, when I suggested she join me on the verandah, that she was worried about the biting bugs and felt like a prisoner. "A prisoner in disguise," I quipped, hence today’s title. A track from the (1975) Linda Ronstadt album of the same name. Classic stuff. I produced the $17 can of Aeroguard so Jayne could rejoin the world.

That brings us to dinner. Sitting on the verandah as the dinner hour approached, there was an inordinate number of people heading in the wrong direction. Hmmm. Was this to be the surprise today? Dinner at a different venue? Just to be sure, I walked down to Dick’s Place. They were set up for dinner. All good.

In the meantime, we learned that Dan had sold our car. Don’t panic, dear reader, it was already for sale; he was looking after enquiries while we are away. A reason to celebrate, tonight it would be champagne with dinner. 

Yes, it was another buffet, but it was pizza and pasta night. Happy days. After scoffing pizza and pasta, I thought I should lighten the evening and balance my meal with some salad. A couple of scoops of tomato later I was back at the table. My first mouthful was surprising. What I thought was tomato and feta actually turned out to be watermelon and I know not what. Regardless it was refreshing. A few minutes later Jayne overheard the conversation at the next table. Someone also thought it was tomato.

It was very quiet tonight, comparatively. When I remarked on this to one of the staff, she replied, “It’s always quiet on Sunday.” The people in the burés either side of us appear to have moved on. However, the Island Bar has attracted a larger than normal crowd and their laughter and merriment is carrying across the water.

The sun has set. The colour has gone from the sky. The stars are resplendent. There is a gentle breeze keeping us cool. It’s 8pm and almost bedtime. The real world is only a few sleeps away.

Until next time.

Love Lift Us Up - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

 Warning: longer than usual post to follow. Get a drink or a cuppa.

She did it. Jayne went the omelette option for breakfast – mushroom, ham and cheese and was well pleased with the outcome. As ever, I opted for more pedestrian fare and had bad coffee with fruit and pastry. What is it with brewed coffee in 2022? Why has no one introduced the espresso coffee machine to Fiji? Has Australia had no influence here? Actually there was an espresso machine. However, you had to order the coffee, another thing that was overlooked in our introduction to the restaurant.

It was another stunning morning, not a breath of wind and already 27° by 8am. There is not much on the agenda today, a swim, a massage, a walk, another swim perhaps, reading on the verandah. It’s a life.

At breakfast this morning, I was able to feed one of the Bulbuls that bravely takes on the numerous marauding Indian Mynahs, damn ferals that they are; the Mynahs, not the Bulbuls. They hang out in packs, tormenting the local birds and resident cats; again, the Mynahs. So, I was happy to reward the Bulbul with a small piece of muffin for his or her bravery.

Some fresh muffin was his reward.

Following breakfast, we walked down to reception to check out “what’s on”. Not a lot of things for us, but there was a Kokoda class. We are a long way from New Guinea so this was intriguing. Jayne asked what it was about. “It’s a cooking class,” came the reply. Interesting, so is Kokoda a style of cooking? “No. It’s a fish. You prepare it and eat it raw”. Not quite a cooking class then. More a food preparation course. NSW TAFE would know the difference. It's not actually eaten raw, it’s cured in a mixture of lemon juice and coconut milk, from memory. Google it but don’t correct me. I really don’t care.

Ever since we visited Rarotonga, I have wanted to buy a bracelet with a single black pearl. They had one at the shop where we bought Jayne’s pearl earrings but I was indecisive and didn’t buy it. A regret I’ve carried ever since. I’ve searched for something similar, online and when we visited Broome - to no avail. Jayne casually mentioned she saw something similar in the island shop at reception. Clearly that was our next stop. And there it was. Just as I remembered. A single black (read black/green) pearl on a twined leather bracelet secured in place by silver. It is now mine!

Next, mission impossible, a map of the island. The tourist blurb bangs on about walking trails through the palms, blah blah blah, to get people to book the idyllic South Pacific holiday. Yet, we were not furnished with a map upon arrival. Nor were we encouraged to explore our new locale on the brief introductory walk to our accommodation. There was nothing in our buré to assist with island navigation but there were clearly things to see. So, to reception we went with our simple request, “A map of the island please.”

Not so simple it turned out. Lights flashed above our heads; sirens were screaming in the rooms behind reception with a blinking neon sign “troublemakers”. I find it difficult to believe that no one has asked the question before. There are two other resorts on this side of the island, an airstrip separating us and it was made clear we shouldn’t visit the other resorts. Interesting, since the couple we shared our dinner table with the other night were planning on spending time there because that is where their daughter is holidaying. OK then, we don’t visit Plantation Island Resort. Although we wouldn’t require a map for that journey. It is clearly visible across the lagoon. I don’t think even Jayne could take a wrong turn on that short trek!

After several minutes of colleague consultation and then, research on the computer, (the reception girl was probably playing solitaire to look like she was trying help us), we drew a blank. Then, indifferently, a well-worn map was produced from within a drawer and a photocopy was made. See, it wasn’t that difficult. Much.

Then it was time for the massage. Hayley, who usually straightens out my old, crooked body, ensures that the answer to the question, “How was the massage?” is never “relaxing”. Not so here. A holiday massage. De-stressing and relaxing, although she did find some points of interest that will guarantee I’ll be seeing Hayley shortly after returning home.

While I was being de-kinked (just leave that alone), Jayne was relaxing on the verandah with a novel. It really is a tough life here. Books down, lagoon time. The only drawback being sunscreen. I detest the stuff although it is a necessary evil.

After bobbing around for 30 minutes or so, we went to the restaurant to check out the lunch situation. Normally we would eschew lunch. Seriously, how much can one person eat? But I’m approaching my buffet limit and am looking for options. Whatever was being offered for lunch today was not going to entice me to eat, so we walked on, towards the airstrip to have a look. It looked like an airstrip. Thoroughly unremarkable, although on the other side of it, we did see a man in a sentry-type house, next to a boom gate that had a stop sign on it. Presumably this was to discourage Musket Cove ‘resorters’ from fraternising with the other resort patrons. Like a high school dance separating the love interests. 

A Wandering Tattler racing us to the lagoon

On the return trip to the verandah to enjoy the afternoon breeze and sunshine, we walked past the fire pit where part of dinner is often prepared. Tonight, it would appear we are having slow-roasted suckling pig. Jayne is excited. I am, meh. I hope there are some interesting salads.

I am not far from ordering a late pizza at the Island Bar and skipping the buffet dinner. I love eating pizza in different parts of the world. It is, as I have remarked previously, the true international food. It also allows me to be bitterly disappointed. I have had some really bad pizzas in my travels. That’s a story for another day.

It now time for the big reveal, dear reader. Are you seated? Today could be an alcohol-free day. I know, I know. Instead of wading or walking out to the Island Bar, we opted to put our freshly minted map into use and navigated the northern end of the island. Excited? Don’t be, it was rather unspectacular. There are some interesting houses with excellent views of the Pacific but I’m not certain if they are private or available for rent. There are also some other island villas on other lagoon-style waterways. It did provide an interesting perspective looking back at the marina. There were also plenty of dead frogs. A major island pastime appears to be obliterating frogs with your vehicle. We passed many flat examples of former amphibian life.

Looking toward Island Bar and the deep water channel.

Exercise instead of alcohol – what is to become of me?

Dinner is up next. Oh, be still my beating heart, another buffet with precious little choice of wine. I have had it up to pussy’s bow with grassy NZ sav blanc and too-sweet rosé. The trader ship has been sighted the last couple of days but, as previously mentioned, so far it has not had a positive impact on the wine selection. An AFD is a big chance. Stay tuned.

Alas, an AFD was not to be. Jayne attempted to order a pinot noir to go with the suckling pig. There were two choices, both out of stock. Unsurprisingly. She settled on a cab sav which, when paired with an ice bucket, proved to be an excellent wine. Red wine at blood temperature is not pleasant. I could never be a vampire.

Perhaps I’m reading too much into dinner service but I’m seeing a pattern. The night some new guests arrived from England, we had Yorkshire Pudding to accompany the roast beef. I know that’s a thing, but in Fiji? It seemed somewhat incongruous. Last night, one of the new couples was Japanese and there was sushi. Not a major contributor to the meal, but still, sushi, and it stood out. I am hoping for visitors from Italy, China and the Middle East in the coming days.

It was the sushi that saved my evening. Ignoring the pig, the roast chicken, baked potatoes, baked pumpkin, and aubergine concoction I had fried rice, fish and sushi. OK, so the red wine was an anomaly, but finally serving light food. There was also sufficient variety of fresh vegetables to construct a salad. Perhaps tomorrow night.

In the continuing attempt to keep all the guests guessing, last night was performance night. Who knew? Not us. Just as we were finishing dinner and thinking about heading back to the buré, a couple of Fiji warriors in traditional dress appeared on the edge of the light beyond the diners. Then women, also in traditional dress, appeared and an MC stepped forward to introduce them and announce that it was performance night. It was difficult to hear the MC’s explanation for every performance but there was singing and dancing about happy things and sad things and warriors with spears, scaring little girls in the front row, the usual schtick. Although, like Advance Australia Fair, or a Banjo Paterson poem, or Scott Morrison’s tenure as PM, the performances tended to go on a little too long and audience interest visibly waned towards the conclusion of each performance.

The climax, of course, was crowd interaction. Unlike the cultural evening on Rarotonga, participation here was voluntary and did not involve the ritual humiliation of every male in the room. I was safe, this time. However, the pretty young girls in the crowd, and there were many, were targeted by the grass-skirted, shirtless, be-muscled warriors to participate in the dance. I’m sure the new husbands, who were left on the shelf, were supportive of such hijinks.

And so, dear reader, a surprise performance ended our evening. And the title today? From An Officer and A Gentleman, I’m not sure I’ve even seen the movie. As the song goes, “Who knows what tomorrow brings?" Certainly, no guest staying at Musket Cove.

Until next time.

Little Things - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

Having mastered the fans and the air con, dear reader, we slept much better. To the extent that we didn’t wake until 8:30am. No swim before breakfast today. The buffet breakfast was the same offering as yesterday and, unless Jayne goes rogue and starts ordering some bizarre omelette concoction, it shall probably only be mentioned in passing from here on.

Post breakfast, we slathered on the sunscreen and walked the 20 metres to the lagoon edge to swim there rather than in the resort pool. Now there’s a concept, the resort pool. It’s something I don’t get. There is a picture-perfect lagoon directly across the sand path. Admittedly there is no coral or any attraction to warrant breaking out the snorkelling gear, but the water is cooler than the pool, is way less crowded and even out 70 or 80 metres from shore, it is still only chest deep – on me, so that’s waist deep on everyone else. There is plenty of shade beneath the palm trees to spread a towel, as opposed to baking in the sun around the pool where the breeze is difficult to find. And most of all, the salt content of the lagoon is lower so you don’t feel as sticky when you get out of the water. The last time I saw people lounging around a pool in such a fashion was Santorini – and I didn’t understand it then either. It may be a break from the helter-skelter of work/life but you can close your eyes and lie poolside anywhere and pretend.

Hibiscus flower

A morning shower encouraged us out of the water and back onto the verandah of the buré to read and blog and soak up the scenery. The rain (passing showers, unlike Sydney’s unrelenting deluges) provided some relief from the heat on the back of the breeze that brought it in. It was short lived and the sun was soon back.

The physical challenge today was a walk beyond the restaurant to the island spa retreat to investigate a massage. Booked in for tomorrow morning, it was time to return to our private lagoon to cool off, since everybody else seemed to be poolside and eating lunch, despite the enormous breakfasts that had been consumed only 2 hours before. 

Lepidoptera. Actually I have no idea.

After a dip, we returned to our buré to remove the sunscreen and read before heading out to the island bar to catch the breeze and a pre-dinner aperitif. The breeze was a definite winner and again the bar was almost deserted. 

Sadly, the drink options have not improved despite the Island Trader barge being in port yesterday. It must have delivered fuel and not essentials. After yesterday’s attempt at a chardonnay – seriously Mr De Bortoli, I’m not sure I could have identified the wine without the label, we returned to the rosé. Yes, as usual, first world problems, but as I have remarked previously, dear reader, it’s the little things that make all the difference. Like knowing where dinner is being served, or what is being served for dinner, or providing a map of the island showing points of interest and walking paths, or explaining what is available or offering a wine that is NOT a NZ sav blanc … anyway, let’s not do the comparison thing.

OK, it’s already occurring in my head, I can’t help it. Jayne has already likened the situation to being on a cruise that doesn’t go anywhere, except our sleeping arrangements are a tad more expansive. I think she’s on to something. 

Tonight, as we countdown the time to dinner, a cloud of smoke has descended on us. It’s like Sydney when the powers that be conduct fire mitigation burns (now there is an euphemism) in the mountains and poison the population of the city. Except here we have smoke without the bushfire smell. I have no idea what it is, but the view is decidedly smudgy this evening. It promises to be a cracking sunset.

And tonight for dinner we had, wait for it, a buffet. I know dear reader, who would have thought it? It was the usual suspects with some variation, smoked salmon, grilled aubergine, fish, chicken (tandoori this time, a bit out of place) and a massive slab of beef fillet – perfectly cooked and accompanied, (would you believe it?), by Yorkshire puddings – very colonial. 

The sunset did not live up to early expectations and when the colour came it was late and difficult to photograph without a tripod for longer exposure. Had I attempted to hold the camera by hand it would have looked like we were experiencing an earthquake. Hopefully that scenario will not eventuate since there is no published tsunami plan – luckily we have started swimming laps for exercise this year…

Still awesome.

The title, dear reader? A song that is perhaps a tad obscure for anyone whose children were not fed a diet of Yoram Gross as they grew up in the late '80s and early '90s. Still not with me? How about Dot and the Kangaroo? I’m not sure which of Dot’s adventures gave birth to Little Things (Jayne thinks it’s the exploration of the world of insects in Dot and Keeto) and with extremely limited internet connectivity I’m am unable to verify my memory. So, in the parlance of the millennials, Google it. Actually I've done the work for you back in civilization. Click here.

Another day in paradise is over.

Until next time.

The Sounds of Then - Fiji, Malolo Island, Musket Cove

Our third day commenced a little earlier than expected due to an unseasonal thunderstorm. At dinner last night we were aware of the lightning in the background but couldn’t hear any thunder so we assumed it was a long way off. At 11:15pm thunder had become the new sound track replacing the rattle and hum of the air con and whirring and clicking of the fans. Whichever way you look at it, it's better than Redfern's concrete saws and sirens. By midnight the thunder was the rain on the tin roof. It sounded far worse than it was and when I looked outside, the grass in front of the buré was populated by frogs. Perhaps the next plague is on its way; we've already endured fire, flood and the Morrison government. The storm was done by 1am and replaced by a gentle breeze. Louvres open, air con, back to sleep.

I’m sure, my dear reader, you are curious about today’s title. How does a classic Gangjagang song about Australia fit with our holiday in Fiji? Sing it with me, “out on the patio we sit, and the humidity we breathe, we watch the lightning”, OK, let’s stop there. That is pretty much our world at present. Except our view is the Pacific Ocean and surrounding islands and we can wander off to the pool or down to the water’s edge at any time to cool off.

The lagoon in the morning

We discussed the storm at breakfast with one of the locals who said it was unseasonal and probably linked to climate change. Despite the pathetic posturing by current Australian LNP politicians, climate change is very real here and threatens, not just their way of life, but their world. The tide is in as I type this and we are barely 1 metre above the water level. While the reef protects the islands from the kind of storm surge we experience in coastal Australia it can only be a matter of time before rising sea levels have a devastating impact on the communities of the South Pacific. It’s hardly surprising that the Solomon Islands are seeking a closer friendship with China, given the disdain with which the Australian Government has treated Pacifica’s climate concerns.

Looking at to the Island Bar

Sunrise was around 6am. No photos. I was merely up to adjust the air con. We did roll out of bed just after 7 and headed for the pool to make use of the 25 metre lap swim area. A heated (it could be natural), salt water pool was not as easy to swim in as I first thought. The salt was extremely dehydrating. We managed 20 laps before breakfast.

Breakfast, like dinner last evening, was a buffet. There was quite the choice: bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, omelettes made to order, fresh fruit, cereal, yoghurt, an assortment of pastries, bircher muesli and more. It was quite pleasant to linger over a coffee and watch the resident cats attempting to get fed, or the bulbuls flying ever closer to the diners, hopeful of some crumbs.

Did I mention the heat and humidity, dear reader? It is almost too hot to drink alcohol. We are going through bottled water at a great rate. Probably at a 5:1 ratio to rosé, the current wine of choice. Quite unusual for us in holiday mode.

The day drifted by, assisted by a pleasant breeze. We picked up our flippers in anticipation of our Cloud 9 experience and headed out beyond the island bar to have a practise snorkel. It’s been a while. Actually, it’s been an eternity and our goggles and snorkels (we bought our own you know, covid and stuff) were covered in a thick layer of Redfern dust. Ah, how we miss the sounds of sirens and construction and traffic. Nah, not so much.

There is not a lot of coral here, although they are clearly attempting to grow their own. Now that was a tempting title for today. No? Neil Young, Homegrown. Anyway. They have a series of steps down into the water where we sat and washed our goggles and put on the flippers. The visibility today, official rating, was shit. It was very cloudy, the water, not the sky. There were plenty of small colourful fish, numerous blue starfish and the coral re-growth was fascinating to see. Some of it was growing on rope attached to other outcrops. As a place to snorkel, I’ve experienced better, but it was just to test the equipment. Also, I believe it would be a better experience in the morning. We shall see.

Post snorkelling the decision was – no lunch. How much can one person eat? We lounged and re-applied sunscreen for the adventure to Cloud 9. The name promises so much. Jayne was concerned about the transfers, by boat, a question we would pose prior to departure. And then, there was an epiphany moment. We are standing there, ready to embark, snorkel, flippers, beach bag, discussing the ease of access and egress and the guy we’re talking with makes everything clear. Cloud 9 is NOT a snorkelling platform. It is a multi-level pizza bar. People, read millennials, pay $75 each for the pleasure of being transported to a floating dance club. I have no doubt the pizza would not live up to expectations, the drinks would be overpriced and the music … let’s not go there. And the Murdoch press thinks smashed avo is stopping millennials from owning a home. His journos should get out more.

A Pacific Kingfisher

It was a tough decision but we opted to have a RAT instead. It is a travel requirement to have a RAT between 48 and 72 hours after arrival in Fiji.  Was it a tough decision? Let’s think about this. A couple of hours listening to ear drum splitting girls squealing and giggling, music that I detest, bad pizza, ridiculously expensive alcohol and buff boys posturing for the girls, OR have someone shove a stick up your nose. No contest. We both passed the test and were allowed to continue our holiday unhindered.

There was only one choice now, the Island Bar. It has shade. It is slightly elevated. It gets the breeze. And, it’s a bar. Bonus. The barge arrived earlier today so I’m excited for the expanded wine choice, tomorrow. Today, eschewing the rosé, we opted for a NZ sav blanc. Yep. Whatever. No need for fruit salad for dessert tonight. Curious why all the chardy and pinot gris has sold out. Or is it?

A flower. What? I'm  not Costa from Gardening Australia.

We whiled away the afternoon as the workers set up for tonight’s BBQ - for a special group. We are not among them so we don’t care. And then catastrophe. Jayne’s bikini top clasp decided to disintegrate… she let out a little squawk, a gasp and demonstrated her discomfort by the look of horror on her face. Thankfully the wardrobe malfunction was quickly salvaged via the sarong and, since my wife is a very resourceful person who plans for the unexpected – upon our return to the buré, the sewing kit was located and the bikini top has been successfully resurrected.

Crisis averted, it was time to wash off the sun screen pre-dinner and enjoy the breeze we wanted so badly yesterday.

As it turned out we were invited to the special dinner at the Island Bar. We walked down to main the restaurant to see the staff setting up for breakfast. "Dinner?" We politely enquired. “Oh, it’s at the Island Bar tonight, like every Thursday. Did you not see the sign out the front”? Clearly we didn’t. Out the front is actually the back for us. Our buré faces the water and we walk along the water to the restaurant. The front, as they refer to it, is on the other side. We have no need to walk down there, ever. It’s a pity they don’t publish a list of what’s on, what’s for dinner and the like if there is a set structure to meals and where they are going to be served. We don’t need three meals a day and generally skip lunch, but we could easily opt for lunch and skip dinner if we knew what the choices were.

That said, the Island Bar is a lovely spot with a more expansive view of the island, made the prettier by night lights across the lagoon. However, it was a little more crowded than the restaurant and we shared our table with a couple who had arrived that day.

It was a beautiful starlit walk back to the buré. While I have no regrets moving to the city, there are things I miss. The quiet nights and an inky black sky, pierced by a million sparkling stars are two.

Until next time.