OK. Perhaps I cheated a bit on the
title, for the sake of alliteration. Fiji is certainly known for its gorgeous
plant life and amazing animals, many of which are on the endangered species
list and are friends you’d never otherwise see (particularly if you have an
affinity for reptiles and birds), but people don’t fly from the U.S. (or
Europe) to Fiji to examine the eco-diversity of the islands (unless, of course,
they’re fans of Greenpeace or the “Big Bang Theory”).
They come for this!
People come here for the ocean, the
beaches, the tide, the coral reefs (which facilitate wonderful surfing, scuba-diving
and snorkeling).
But that is not why I have fallen in love with
Fiji. Set aside the notion that I’m biased because I don’t surf, scuba-dive or
snorkel. Focus on the fact that I, as an old fogie, nevertheless love this
place. It’s not just filled with unsurpassed natural beauty. Far more
significantly, it contains residents who, without exception, seem to have
embraced a theory of life that is beautiful, innocent, healthy and in tune with
the cultures that Bill and Pamela Chalmers (the program directors) have striven
to ensure we see on all of these trips, since I began taking them three years
(well, three trips) ago, and that are totally alien to my ordinary life.
What I mean by that is that the people
here seem to live for life. They don’t live to work. Rather, they work to live.
Work is a means to the end of living comfortably. Not the other way around.
(And “comfortably” means a lot less to them than us.) Yesterday, I drove
through a significant part of this amazing island with a gentleman who waved to
almost every passerby on the road. And the walkers uniformly waved back. And they
smiled! (How often to do you get that in the States, even after bumping into
people who just saw a Broadway show that even Ben Brantley has praised?
I saw the rich, the middle class and poor
yesterday. And they all had a positive attitude. They enjoy life,
notwithstanding the trials and tribulations they may (or may not) have experienced.
Everyone is positive and pleasant. By way of example, I visited an extremely
poor village where everyone greeted me with a smile and a handshake. The
village consisted of various buildings, each of which housed numerous people in
the same rooms. There is no real privacy much less glamour associated with
this. Yet, there didn’t appear to be a single malcontent among the bunch. And
unless this was a government conspiracy (which seems unlikely, given my
insignificance to the world), this was rather extraordinary. The men perform
various jobs for a living. The women make pottery. When I arrived, they sat me
on a bench in a small building that ordinarily might house several families.
They had me drink Cabo (an intoxicating mix of ground root mixed with water
that is supposed to relax you for the remainder of the presentation – I’m such
an alcoholic, it seemed to me like nothing more than half an aperitif). The
women then danced for me. Then, they had me dance with them. Then, they showed
me their pottery. Then (not surprisingly), they asked for a donation for their
children’s school, which I promptly gave. (No one, worldwide, is beyond asking
for help for their children, and why should they be? I would frankly be rather
suspicious of people who didn’t seek help with their children’s education when
they didn’t have the means to pay for it themselves. Rest assured, I will never
be a Republican.)
 |
| They had me dance with them |
So,
what did I get from Fiji? What made me fall in love with it? Not what you
think. Not the beaches. They are magnificent, of course. Not the surf. It is
great, needless to say. And the 300-plus islands surrounding the main one have
even better beaches and surf, as I understand it. (As do the remainder of the 500-plus
islands, when the tide is low.) It’s all beautiful. But we have beautiful
beaches in North America. Numerous towns in Southern California sport white
sand and clear water. So do places in both the western and eastern sides of
Mexico. And the southern coasts of Europe. And, of course, all the tropical
islands of the Caribbean. Is there a reason to like this place more? Yes. The
people. They are happy. That are thriving. They are content. They are kind.
They are generous in spirit. And yet, many seem to have next to nothing. They
are happy for each other, and us, and their kids and their health – all the
things we should adore but are too busy working to really think about.
“Bula!” That’s what all the people I
met said, as they grinned widely in my direction.
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