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.