Today there is plenty of sunshine (punctuated by lovely puffy clouds) making the island look like the idealistic Fijian dream. Hussein has a new confidence now that his wheel bearing is fixed and he drives speedily around the curve, up into the mountains and down the other side. He only slows for villages (which have jumbo sized speed humps) and for road side produce stands to do his bartering and shopping.
"It is cheaper than the market" he explains, pulling over to fill his water bottle from a tap jutting out of a ditch. He then investigates a stand manned by a few village youths ("yoots"). Jenn and I buy a bunch of ripe bananas for a Fijian dollar (50 cents Canadian). Hussein scratches his chin and meanders up and down the stall which consists of a few bags of hot red peppers, some oversized cucumbers and cooked corn on the cob. He picks out a large bag of peppers for which he pays another Fijian dollar.
We are hoping to stop at the Waisali Rainforest Reserve for a nice hike into the rainforest, but when we arrive (our second attempt) it is still mysteriously closed.
On to Lambasa and the shopping expedition continues. At another village, Hussein waves over a local woman selling roasted peanuts. The lady comes directly to the taxi door- drive thru shopping! For a fresh roasted bag of locally grown peanuts, we pay another Fijian dollar. She is also selling roti which we jump at. Hussein then shows us how to drive 80km/hr while shelling and eating peanuts. Yikes!
At this point we are officially on the other side of the island, having descended into the "dry side", dotted with pine forests, rice paddies and sugar cane fields. The land is flatter and more open.
Just outside of Lambasa, Hussein pulls over at an automotive parts shop looking for a part for his 4x4. It takes longer than he expects, so he gives up. He drives us into town and drops us outside a hotel, points out a market and a good restaurant for lunch and takes off (promising to return at an agreed upon time) to take care of more business.
Jenn and I wander the market which is quadruple the size of that in Savusavu. Lambasa is populated more by Indo-Fijians so it feels a bit like we are in Little India. We inquire about a few things and buy a gorgeous pineapple for $1 Canadian (for tomorrow's breakfast).
We have a curry hurried lunch and are late meeting Hussein, but he doesn't seem to be bothered. Yet, heading out of the city, he drives even faster and appears to be in a rush. We wonder if it is because he has missed his prayer time?
Prayers or no prayers, he stops at another stand and barters a young girl no more than twelve down from $1.70 to $1.50 for a bag of cabbage (what we would call bok choy). The Indian girl says she has to ask her mummy if she can sell the cabbage for less. Hussein inquires where her where her mummy is? "Out in the field planting rice." The girl points across the road to a woman behind two oxen.
Hussein looks over. He says, "I'll give you a $1.50 or I will drive away". The girl glances behind to her slightly older sister sitting on the bank. The sister nods and with a dismissive wave of her hand, a deal is struck.
The next stop is for pineapples. There are many villagers hovering around the stand, sorting and standing the pineapples upright for appraisal. Again, Hussein gets out of his taxi, bypassing the pineapples on the stand and, with his hand on his chin, goes over to inspect a freshly picked crop not yet out for sale. He selects a trio of pineapples and pays $2FJD.
"How much did you pay for YOUR pineapples at the market?" he asks us as we continue down the road. When we tell him $2FJD, he smiles. "See I get THREE pineapples for $2FJD". Apparently, Hussein is not aware of, or has forgotten, the burden of the white man tax!
He then explains to us that there are three different kinds of pineapple. Wild pineapple which is smaller, dry and not so sweet (Hussein prefers these). There is a larger variety which is juicier and sweeter (our selection from the market), and a very VERY large variety which is "very, VERY juicy and very, VERY sweet".
Passing by the Waisali Rainforest Reserve, the gate is still locked which means no hike for us yet again.
One final shopping stop by the roadside, this time for a cob of cooked corn. Jenn and I buy one also, expecting to bite into autumn peaches 'n cream and are instead met with a corn more suited to feed livestock. It has a smoky flavor, is very dense, and is not too bad at all once you let go of your taste expectations.
Hussein demonstrates how to munch corn-on-the-cob and drive 80km/hr back to Savusavu. We feel a touch nervous when, with one hand on the stick shift and one on the cob of corn in his mouth, he veers to the other side of the road to pass slower vehicles while going up hills and around curves. "37 years of driving and no accidents," he reassures us. We're dubious...
Two items of note upon return:
Zakia has been at the cottage with her young daughter doing some cleaning and cooking (coconut fish for our dinner!).
And, biking into town we meet "Sig" outside the Copra Sheds, a beefy rugby player/paramedic from Seattle who, we determine, is a "polite narcissist" - he asks us questions only as an opening to talk more about himself. He reminds me a bit of Matt Damon's character in "The Talented Mr. Ripley". Self indulged or not, he invites us to visit a village over the hill the next day to meet the chief (bring a bundle of cava root), and observe a traditional meke. An interesting invite...if only we were here longer. But tomorrow is already booked!
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