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.

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.

My Heart Will Go On - Fiji, Malolo Island Musket Cove

 I know dear reader, who’d have thought that I’d willingly choose a Celine Dion song for a title. As Daffy would say, “not this little black duck”. But here we are. As I mentioned yesterday, we are transiting from the main island to Malolo today. We were absorbing time pre-departure and walked into a shop and that was playing the theme from Titanic. Since we were about to board a boat, I dead-panned to Jayne, “I hope that’s not an omen”. If you are reading this you can assume that we arrived safely.

Breakfast at the Sheraton Fiji Resort is next level. The main dining room offers a “full American breakfast”. Now I don’t know what that is exactly, but these two Australians certainly left full after breakfast. There was the usual bacon, sausages and eggs to go with a variety of coffee, tea and fruit juices. Omelettes and eggs benedict rolls, made while you briefly waited, also proved popular. There was also a section that was very Japanese in focus. Another delivered French style pastries as well as pikelets and donuts. There were also soups and casseroles and hotpots and wait for it … breakfast pizza. OMG. This is heaven. Pizza for breakfast. OK, I didn’t indulge, but had we been staying longer, it would have been on.

The highlight of the morning, dear reader? What could be more exciting than breakfast pizza? As a well-known bird nerd, it was seeing several red-faced parrot finches in the garden. Sadly, I was sans camera and we didn’t really have time to back track. Still, I thought it was exciting.

Post breakfast, it was a quick repack and down to reception for the bus to the marina. Unlike yesterday we had to share with another couple. Life is tough.

We checked in for the island catamaran trip, swapped our bags for a luggage tag and wandered off to the shops to burn some more time. Nothing particularly special to report except the theme from the movie Titanic as already noted.

Back out into the sunshine, eat your heart out Sydney, and the humidity, we sat and waited with the other passengers, slowly sweating into formless puddles. At 10:30am, bang on time, we boarded. As we motored out, someone made an announcement about the trip, where we would be stopping, safety procedures and the like. The only problem; it was very difficult to understand what he was saying. It was either a rubbish sound system or he was speaking with the microphone in his mouth. Eventually I understood that we were the second and last stop.

Denarau Marina

The voyage out was uneventful. I was disappointed by the amount of rubbish floating in the water, but aside from that, nothing to report. It takes about an hour to get to the Malolo Island and as we manoeuvred into the wharf at Plantation Island, the first drop off, we could see two guitarists singing a welcome to those who would be departing the catamaran. That was pretty much everyone but us.

The Island Trader on its way to Malolo

Our stop was another five minutes away. Around the point we go and stop. Seriously, it would have been more efficient to offload us and drive us around in a golf buggy. It was literally a few hundred metres. As we neared our wharf, we could see the singers, many singers and multiple musicians. Imagine, I said to Jayne, if we were the only people left on the cat and they were singing for the two of us, especially given the massive number that got off at the last stop to be serenaded by two musicians. As so it proved. They were performing for the two of us. Talk about being the centre of attention.

Off the catamaran for a more personal welcome and induction to Musket Cove and everything it has to offer. Time for lunch at the café and a couple of glasses of wine while our beach buré was being prepared. No double bed tonight – a king bed, two day beds, bar area, verandah, hammock – OK you get the picture. And if not here are some I prepared earlier.

from the verandah

looking back from the lagoon

the bed and the welcome

It is hot and humid so we went to the pool for a dip. The tide was out, so to swim in the ocean required a long walk. Post swim we went to reception to book in for Cloud 9. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to discover what that is about, but then, so will we. Then it was out to the Island Bar, a place where you can have drinks or a meal or even cook your own BBQ. Like that will happen.

Cloud 9 from the ferry

In the quest to have a Pina Colada equal to those we imbibed on Rarotonga, we ordered a couple. They were good, but not quite there. The quest continues. It was very pleasant out there in the shade and the breeze, enjoying an afternoon cocktail. We could have returned by walking across the lagoon because the tide was out, but opted for the more obvious path back to our buré where we adjourned to the chaise lounges out the front to enjoy the scenery. Every person that went past said “bula” and many stopped for a chat, including a travel agent from Canada. She was part of a group on a whirlwind tour of selected Fiji resorts. 8 resorts in 8 nights. That is cruel and unusual punishment.

No prize for guessing what's in these glasses.

The sunset was quite spectacular and took me by surprise. I’d taken some shots of the sun disappearing beneath the horizon but there didn’t appear to be much colour. Not long after I’d put the camera to bed I was grabbing it again and running out the door telling Jayne to come and look at the sky. Ok it wasn’t quite the Aurora Borealis, but the colours were spectacular as they bled into the coming dusk. It was like a painting where someone had smudged the horizon into the evening, although the photos don't do it justice. Very special.

the sacrifices I make for my art

Prior to this reminder from nature about how insignificant we are, I learned a very valuable life lesson that I wish to share with, you dear reader. Underwear. Don’t leave home without it, to paraphrase Karl Malden. While I was sitting on the beach in my sarong, watching the sun dip below the horizon, I sincerely regretted going commando, as the young people used to say back in the day. Why? I hear you giggle. Well, let’s call them midges because I know not what they are. Small dark coloured bugs that were nipping my legs as I waited for the sky to colour with the sunset. Legs and feet getting bitten is a whatever moment for me, I’ve never blistered or had any reaction to sandflies or mozzies. However, one little midge bit me where no man ever wants to be bitten. Unless of course they are some sort of fetishist. Again, I say, underwear. It’s your friend. Jayne, ever helpful, offered ice to allay the discomfort.

Dinner was at the restaurant by the pool, also where we will have breakfast tomorrow. It is a beautiful place, close to the water, the breeze keeps the temperature down and the guests are serenaded by the locals playing a range of songs. Tonight was ‘roast’ night and there was another amazing array of food. Three roasts plus seafood, vegetables, salads, seeds, fruit, on and on and then dessert. Or six or eight. Another wide choice.

While at dinner, we amused ourselves by watching two local cats try and cadge scraps from the diners. It was a touchy business. The cats had to endear themselves to particular diners and stay well away from the local wait staff. The group of travel agents sat nearby and were responsible for the following quote: “If you haven’t had it before, camel milk is an acquired taste. It is very salty”. So there you go. Can’t say I expected to hear a conversation like that on a beach in Fiji.

And that is about it. The biggest decision of the day concerns leaving the air con on or turning it off and relying on ceiling fans. We could both do with a decent night’s sleep, it’s been a while.

Until next time.

Sunrise, sunset - Sydney to Fiji

Once again, dear reader, we commence our story, as one used to do, in the airport lounge, waiting for an international flight. It has been almost 3 years since our last international flight. Today's destination is Fiji. It was not our first choice, but is a reassigned booking.  In a world that no longer exists, pre-Covid, we booked a holiday to Vanuatu and had paid for it, in full, before the world closed down. For a while I waited patiently for that trip to eventuate. Well, what choice did we have? We weren't allowed out and they wouldn't let us in. My patience soon evaporated as borders reopened elsewhere. Vanuatu has still not rejoined the world, so Fiji became the destination.

The day commenced - actually the day commenced yesterday, with Qantas sending us a text suggesting we arrive at the airport 4 hours before flight time. Hmmm. No calculator required for that, we would need to be there at 4:30am. Jayne does not recognise any pre-dawn time frame. This is a problem. I cancelled the Uber and re-booked it for 5am. That should see us safely there before 5:30am. Not quite the Qantas request but close enough.

Mingming was waiting for us in his brand new Tesla, before 5am. Whatever opinion you may hold on Elon Musk, the Tesla is quite an amazing piece of machinery. Given the early (ungodly Jayne would say) hour, the crowds had not yet materialised and we were through security and customs and seated in the 1st Class lounge within 60 minutes of walking out our front door. I love my platinum frequent flyer status - but not for much longer I suspect.

Coffee. Breakfast. Coffee. Then champagne. Ok, it was just after 6am but no one judges you at the airport. And we weren't the only ones. It's good to be back travelling. We watched the sunrise over Sydney as we relaxed into breakfast. 

The plane was late boarding for reasons unknown. It was also late taking off, due to a delayed connection from Melbourne, pronounced 'Malbourne' by the steward - no prize for guessing where he is from. Due to issues we had transferring the money paid to Air Vanuatu over to Qantas, we could book neither Business Class nor adjacent seats, as the plane was already quite heavily booked. While we did secure exit row seats, we were separated by two other passengers. It is only a 4 hour flight to Fiji, curiously 5 hours on the return journey, and the seats on the 737-800 were reaching the limit of comfortability by the time we touched down at Nadi Airport. Glad we'll be up the pointy end on the way home.

Nadi Airport functioned like clockwork. A pity the same couldn't be said for the air crew. During the flight, we had been given the COVID declaration forms to complete - all cool and normal. As we disembarked, however,  we were given yet more paperwork to complete which saw all passengers standing around, completing their second declaration, this time for bio-hazards and weapons, before being processing through immigration. The MyFiji people were there to greet us and usher us through their express lane - nice. Then it was a quick stamp of the brand new passports and out to meet the people from Rosie's who were transferring us to the Sheraton Fiji Resort for the night, before heading out to Musket Cove tomorrow. Seamless.

The drive from the airport to the Sheraton Fiji Resort was about 30 minutes. We were the only passengers. The road spoke of modernity, but some of the houses not so much. No doubt it resembled many areas of the tropics, that constant battle between people and nature. Sometimes humanity wins, other times it is nature. It was verdant and luxurious with growth, undergrowth and canopy and, similar to the Cook Islands, chickens. And dogs. Every house seemed to have a dog roaming the block, some had cattle.

The Sheraton, the one we stayed at, is part of the Denarau resort precinct. It also contains the Westin and the Hilton and possibly more. It is much more Port Douglas or Palm Cove in style where the battle with nature is held in check by armies of men snipping and hedging and mowing. There is also a gated estate, Queensland style, on artificial canals, where you can pretend you don't belong to the rest of the world.

No arrival at the resort goes uncelebrated - or unnoticed, due to the noise made by the welcome drums. With new guests arriving every little while, reception is a very noise place. Our welcome swung somewhere between amusing and embarrassing. Once booked in, we were driven in a golf cart style vehicle, to our room. Nice, but unnecessary, it wasn't that far away.

The view from the balcony across to Malolo Island

The room itself seemed to be suffering an identity crisis. Twin double beds and Japanese themed sliding doors contrasted with the knowledge that we were in Fiji. The resort itself was clearly designed by the same person/people who designed the Sheraton at Port Douglas. Large open spaces, plenty of fans and air conditioning, restaurants and bar areas built around swimming pools. It goes without saying that the staff were lovely. All of the staff. Every single person you met or interacted with.

Bags unpacked, well, opened, as we are only staying one night, we went for a meander around the complex and dropped in at one of the bars for an afternoon aperitif. A glass of white wine. Could have been colder. Actually, it could have been cold, it was a warm humid day. There also could have been choice. I believe it was a New Zealand sav blanc. It was, however, complimentary as it was cocktail hour. Nice touch. 

Malolo pulls the sun into the sea.

There was a plethora of choices for dinner and we opted, for the Brazilian style grill. The food was delightful. As was the venue and the staff. We noted dualling musicians as each food venue had its own entertainment, despite the fact that the close proximity meant that they were all within hearing distance of and in competition with each other.

Dinner over, it was time to do battle with Google because I'd been locked out of my account. It's a long, frustrating, blue-language filled story, dear reader, which you don't need to know about.  Suffice to say it all ended well. Eventually.

Tomorrow we have another reasonably early start because we are transiting to Musket Cove on Malolo Island where we will stay for the next seven nights.

I suppose I should explain today's title, a classic from the 1964 musical Fiddler on The Roof ... we saw both. The sunrise in Sydney and the sunset in Fiji.

Until next time.